Ottilie Colter and the Master of Monsters

by Rhiannon Williams

  ‘But if they got into the fort again,’ pressed Ottilie, ‘you would want to be able to protect yourself. Surely?’

  ‘Yes. Of course – that. But not … hunting. I’m not … it’s not me. I’m good at other things. I can write it for you, though. I know what to put in.’ Her eyes lit up. ‘There are women from history who dressed up as men to join armies, just like you. And Seika Devil-Slayer, the princess who defeated the fendevil –’

  ‘Who defeated the what?’

  ‘Oh, Ottilie, you must know about it! You’re from the Brakkerswamp.’ Alba leaned across the table, eager to share.

  ‘What’s that got to do with anything?’

  ‘Well, it was centuries and centuries ago, before the Roving Empire invaded, before everything … It’s legend now,’ said Alba. ‘Didn’t you ever hear about the monster that terrorised the west? They say it was like a giant firedrake with breath of blue flame that could melt iron.’

  ‘Sure, I know about firedrakes but –’

  ‘There was one in particular,’ said Alba. ‘Only it wasn’t really a firedrake. They say it was twice the size and it seemed wrong somehow. Looking back, the scholars think it was a dredretch, but people at the time thought dredretches were a myth, so they never put two and two together. They called it the fendevil because it lurked in the western wetlands.’

  ‘I didn’t know,’ said Ottilie. ‘And a girl defeated it?’ Her confidence grew. This was going to work!

  ‘Seika Devil-Slayer – well, her proper name was Seika Sol. She was an ancient Usklerian king’s daughter,’ said Alba. ‘She lured it westward all the way to the Narroway and over the Dawn Cliffs. The Sol River carried it through to the ocean and it never came back. That’s why they named it the Sol River, it had some other name before.’

  ‘Lured it over a cliff?’ said Ottilie. ‘But how? And she wouldn’t have had a ring. How did she survive?’

  ‘I don’t know. It all happened so long ago. And stories get so mixed up over time.’

  ‘Where do our rings come from?’ Ottilie had never thought to ask before.

  ‘Whistler,’ said Alba. ‘She makes them.’

  ‘The head bone singer?’ Ottilie supposed that made some sort of sense. But what were those strange things the bone singers could do? What mysterious magic did they wield? Were they mystics? They had to be, she supposed. But she’d always thought mystics were just glorified priests.

  ‘Speaking of Whistler, will you help me with something?’ said Alba with a mischievous smile.

  ‘Anything,’ said Ottilie.

  Alba glanced around and leaned in. ‘I want to get into the Bone Tower,’ she whispered. ‘To Whistler’s library.’

  Ottilie frowned. ‘But haven’t you been there before? I thought that’s where you found the story about the hex.’

  ‘No, this is Whistler’s private tower,’ said Alba. ‘We could get in a lot of trouble, but I bet there’s all sorts of amazing volumes up there! There might even be something that answers all our questions – about the hex on the king, and why the dredretches are here. I’ve tried to get in, but it’s too difficult on my own. Will you help me?’

  ‘Of course.’ This was perfect! Ottilie was desperate to find out something, anything, that might explain why things were suddenly so much worse. She felt certain that finding out more about this mysterious witch would point them in the direction of who let the wyler inside.

  ‘We’ll have to be really careful.’ Alba lowered her voice so much it almost cut out. ‘But I have an idea how to get there unseen.’

  Of course she did. Alba had admitted to sneaking books out of private libraries for years, and had managed to visit Ottilie in the burrows undetected. Her insides squirmed at the memory. If they were caught trying to break into the Bone Tower, would it be back to the burrows? Or worse?

  They would have to risk it. The Hunt never told them anything. They were full of vague explanations and downright lies. If they wanted to find out anything about the witch and the dredretches, they were going to have to uncover it on their own.

  12

  Frost and Flame

  Skip was the best at finding out what was happening and when. Whistler was leaving for Richter the following week and, according to Skip, was not expected back for a few days. When Ottilie told her of their plan, Skip insisted on coming along as well. Until then, Skip would help Alba with the petition.

  Ottilie was glad to let them handle it, and happy to focus on hunting. She was desperate to catch up in the rankings. They all agreed that the more points she earned, the more likely it was that the directorate would take them seriously.

  That morning, Ottilie was scheduled for a patrol with Leo. A little after dawn, she unlatched her shutters to assess the conditions. Beneath apricot clouds, the grounds were coated in frost. Already, the highest peaks beyond Fiory were draped in white capes, and she wondered if the smaller hills, where the fort perched, would see any snow – but winter was still a little while away. Still, she shivered and moved to close the shutters.

  There was a gentle knock on her door and Alba slipped inside.

  ‘Morning,’ said Ottilie, yawning.

  ‘Good morning.’ Alba looked as if she had been up for hours. She held out a roll of parchment. ‘I finished it late last night. We’ve been doing the breakfast, I only just managed to get away.’

  Feeling instantly more awake, Ottilie scanned it quickly. Alba had left a large blank space at the end. She wondered if they would need so much room. The only names they had so far were Ned, Gully and Preddy. She assumed Scoot would sign too, but someone else was probably going to have to ask him. Despite Gully’s and Preddy’s endless attempts at reconciliation, she and Scoot still weren’t speaking.

  Ottilie threw her arms around Alba and kissed the side of her head. ‘Thank you! This is perfect.’

  They needed to be smart about this and keep it quiet. If the directorate found out too soon, they would have time to shut it down before reading Alba and Skip’s marvellous words.

  First, Ottilie would get it to Ned. She dressed quickly and snuck up to the elite towers. As she approached his door, her excitement faltered and she realised she was feeling more than a little nervous. Taking a big gulp of air, she knocked on the blue door.

  ‘Just a minute,’ he called from inside.

  Realising the hand clutching the parchment was quite sweaty, she quickly swapped it and wiped her palm on her uniform. The door swung open. She could sense Ned’s surprise, although he barely let it show.

  ‘Ottilie,’ he said with a smile. He was dressed to hunt, and his weapons cupboard was open. ‘Come in.’ He moved over to the cupboard and continued sorting through his knives. ‘Sorry, I’ve got singer duty – have to head down in a minute.’

  ‘No, that’s fine, sorry I interrupted –’

  ‘It’s no problem,’ he said, rather quickly.

  Ottilie wondered if he might be a little nervous too. Thinking about nerves only made her feel more awkward so she quickly got to the point.

  ‘I just wanted to give you this.’ She held the roll of parchment out to him. ‘You said you might be able to get some signatures.’

  ‘Wow.’ Ned looked it over. ‘It’s thorough. Did you write this?’ He looked impressed.

  Ottilie smiled. ‘No. My handwriting doesn’t look like that.’

  He laughed. ‘Mine doesn’t either.’ Rolling it back up, he said, ‘I’ll get you as many as I can.’ He reached for a knife, his gaze lingering on the blade. ‘The sooner we train everyone, the better.’

  There was something in his expression that made Ottilie ask, ‘How do you think the wyler got in?’ Ned sheathed the blade and, before he could answer, she couldn’t help but add, ‘I think someone let it in.’

  ‘I really hope that’s not true,’ he said gravely. ‘I don’t know how it happened, and the directorate’s not telling us, which makes me think they don’t either.’

  She wanted to say that she was worried it w
as a witch, or to ask him if he thought witches even existed anymore, but she couldn’t bring herself to say it. She remembered Leo scoffing when she had asked him if the bone singers were witches, as if believing they still existed was somehow childish. She realised she didn’t want Ned to think of her that way, so instead she asked, ‘Have you had a chance to talk to Leo?’

  He frowned.

  Ottilie’s mood flattened. ‘He still won’t sign? Why?’

  ‘He’s full of stupid reasons,’ said Ned. ‘But I think he just likes the way things are. He’s scared of change. This place serves him pretty well. He doesn’t want to lose that.’

  She clenched her fists. ‘But there’s already been change. I was a change, and he’s happy with me being his fledge … I mean, I think he is.’

  Ned smiled. ‘He is. Let me see how many signatures I can get, then I’ll shove it under his nose and see what happens.’

  Ottilie was too impatient for that. After a quick breakfast she hastened down to the lower grounds with purpose in her toes. She found Leo in Maestro’s pen, brushing his coat.

  ‘Morning,’ he said cheerily, without looking at her.

  ‘Good morning,’ she said, her tone flat.

  ‘You need to wake up.’ His hand inched towards Maestro’s water trough, but she got in first, splashing him in the face.

  ‘Argh!’ Leo lurched backwards, laughing.

  Maestro, who caught some of the splash, swung around and bared his teeth at Ottilie.

  ‘Sorry, Maestro,’ she muttered, patting his side.

  ‘Sorry, Maestro?’ Leo scanned Ottilie’s expression. ‘You’re mad at me again?’

  Ottilie climbed the stepladder and hoisted the double saddle onto Maestro’s broad back. She was well practised at doing it herself now, since Leo was still insisting she train with Maestro alone in her free time. She knew it was necessary. With the order trials approaching, she needed as much practice as she could get. If Maestro misbehaved, she might miss out on becoming a flyer.

  ‘No. I’m not mad at you,’ she snapped. ‘I don’t get to be mad at you because we have to go out there and hunt monsters together.’

  He flashed her a smug smile.

  ‘Stop it, Leo. I need you to sign my petition.’

  The smile slid off his face. ‘This again. Now I’m getting it from Ned too. Give it a rest, will you.’ He crouched down to buckle the saddle.

  ‘Explain to me why you won’t sign it,’ said Ottilie evenly. ‘Because I don’t understand your problem.’

  ‘Look,’ he said, descending the ladder out of the pen. ‘I don’t want to put my name on it. They’re not going to take it well, and I don’t want to be involved.’

  Her jaw dropped.

  ‘What?’ said Leo, looking up at her.

  ‘That was honest,’ she said, doing nothing to mask her disgust.

  He shrugged. He was always honest, too honest sometimes. She climbed down to join him, and Maestro leapt over her head.

  ‘They’ll be angry,’ he said.

  ‘You’re being pathetic,’ said Ottilie, pulling up into the saddle.

  Leo’s face flushed, but they couldn’t fight it out. A huntsman on the wall raised a blue flag and Maestro soared out over the boundary.

  Icy air whipped Ottilie’s face as Maestro tilted and swept them west, towards the Red Canyon. Their journey was smooth and eerily quiet.

  ‘Where are they all?’ she muttered. They should have happened across something by now.

  ‘I don’t know.’ Leo sounded uneasy.

  She remembered that smaller dredretches would clear the area when lycoats were near, and her back stiffened. Could something similar be happening here? The Red Canyon was the first place she had ever seen a wyler and, according to Conductor Edderfed, was also where the new pack had been sighted.

  They were under strict instructions not to attack the wyler pack. The Hunt wanted to watch them – to try to understand why they had suddenly changed their patterns.

  Ottilie could feel that Leo was on edge. Not only had they amassed no points on this patrol, but now they were about to enter a zone where they were forbidden from felling a high-scoring dredretch.

  Something caught her eye to the left – a sickly myrtle tree. Ottilie gasped. Its mossy pelt, usually vibrant green, was dark and slimy, and its branches were blackened, the leaves drooping and dripping like the trees in the Withering Wood.

  ‘Leo, look!’ she said, grabbing his shoulder.

  Maestro circled around and landed in front of the tree. He wasn’t happy. The ground was sticky and he kept lifting his feet one after the other.

  ‘But we’re not anywhere near the Withering Wood!’ said Leo.

  She remembered the single black drip she had seen oozing from the stump on the way to Jungle Bay. Maybe it hadn’t been dredretch blood after all.

  Something was happening to the ground. Maestro huffed and growled, shuffling backwards as the damp, tacky soil sank in on itself, forming a small basin of rotting earth.

  Ottilie looked around frantically, searching for any clue as to why this was happening. Her eyes fell on the carcass of a golden dog, smaller and sleeker than the shepherds. A driftdog – one of the few natural beasts still inhabiting the Narroway. There was a pack living near the mouth of Flaming River, but this one was much further inland and completely alone.

  ‘Its heart’s missing,’ said Leo weakly.

  It couldn’t be possible. Dredretches didn’t rip out animal hearts; they only did that to humans. But then dredretches weren’t supposed to attack animals at all.

  Ottilie twisted in the saddle, searching for any sign of the driftdog’s heart, but saw nothing. ‘Leo, I think its heart was eaten,’ she said.

  ‘What?’

  ‘Look. It’s nowhere around. They …’ She gulped. ‘They usually tear it up, right? There should be … be … bits of it.’ She did not welcome the images that crowded her mind.

  ‘Dredretches don’t eat hearts. They don’t eat anything,’ said Leo stubbornly.

  ‘Well, do you think something else did it?’ she said. Ottilie wasn’t sure if that was better or worse. She thought of that hooded witch and her gut twisted.

  ‘I don’t know. We need to look around,’ he said, burying his hand in Maestro’s fur.

  Maestro, eager to be free of the festering soil, leapt into the air.

  Before long, the Red Canyon was in sight, the shimmering river tinted red and glinting like flame far below. They swept down, level with the caves.

  ‘Did you see that?’ said Leo, stiffly.

  Ottilie scanned the cliffs. She hadn’t seen anything.

  ‘A wyler?’ Her pulse quickened.

  ‘Too big … wrong colour.’

  Wylers were like the canyon, varying colours of fire. Maestro circled lower and Ottilie spotted a bushy tail, pure white, disappearing into a cave.

  ‘What is that?’ She was flipping back through her memories, trying to remember the bestiaries. Had she read about a white dredretch with a tail like that? She couldn’t think of anything, but of course she hadn’t read them all. Leo was an expert on the bestiaries and he didn’t have an answer either.

  Ottilie’s shoulders bunched into knots. Something drew her attention, down by the river. They must have been there the whole time, their colours blending with the rocks and weeds, but the movement caught her eye. There were wylers below, at least ten.

  Leo swore and nudged Maestro higher. It must have been instinct. She felt it herself, the impulse to flee. Those vile, vicious things were a nightmare on their own. Ten of them, a pack – it was unthinkable. Why was this happening? What, or who, had brought them together?

  Fighting her instincts, Ottilie said, ‘Go lower, Leo.’ She had spotted it again, a streak of white. ‘The white thing is down there.’

  Maestro circled down and every wyler froze, like tiny rusted statues, their black horns tipped back, their flaming eyes staring. Ottilie shivered. Maestro touched down on a ledge just
above the pack. Ottilie and Leo both raised their bows, warning them to stay away.

  She saw it, the creature with the white bushy tail, weaving through the frozen pack, the only one moving. It was a wyler. There was no doubt. But it was bigger than them, the size of a young wolf, pure white with two black horns poking through its fur.

  It wasn’t just its appearance that was strange. There was a sense. It seemed more natural, more alive. Ottilie’s instincts were thrown. She had the feeling that if she pierced its flesh, red blood would spill out onto her hands.

  Something was wrong here. Ottilie needed to get to those books. She needed to learn more, to understand more. Where had these monsters really come from? What was causing these changes, this blending, this blurring of the lines?

  13

  The Haunted Stables

  ‘We’re doing it tonight,’ said Ottilie, her voice hushed.

  Whistler had left for Fort Richter three days before, but Ottilie had been scheduled for evening or overnight shifts every day, so they had wasted a good part of her absence.

  ‘Finally,’ said Skip, lacing her boots.

  After breakfast, Ottilie had come to find Skip in the sculkie quarters. Maeve had greeted her with a look of disdain, followed by an even more familiar expression of suspicion. What Maeve had to be suspicious of now, Ottilie did not know. Her secret was out – there was nothing more to know. Of course, she was planning on breaking into the Bone Tower that night, but there was no way Maeve could have picked that up. Could she?

  ‘Shovels,’ Maeve had muttered, inclining her head as she passed.

  ‘Witch,’ Ottilie had muttered back. She didn’t normally respond, but nerves were making her snappy.

  Now, it was only Skip and two other sculkies in the bedchamber.

  ‘We should wait until midnight, it’s safer,’ said Skip quietly, rising to her feet.

  Ottilie managed a tense nod. After everything she had faced, she was surprised at her nerves. She just didn’t like how much of their plan relied on luck.