Ottilie Colter and the Master of Monsters

by Rhiannon Williams

  After the cleavers, Ottilie tracked a scorver to where the river weakened at the base of the Red Canyon. The trail turned east and she was just about to change direction when she spotted something that stilled her breath.

  Wylers hadn’t been seen around the canyon since Gracie’s escape. It was the first place they had looked for her, considering the pack had been sighted there in the past. After nearly two months of no signs, the Hunt had been focusing elsewhere. But Ottilie had seen it, an unmistakable flash of white. Stubbornly urging Nox forwards, they dipped between the cliffs, searching.

  There was no sign of the white wyler, but she spotted an orange one, slipping into a gap shaped like a bolt of lightning, halfway up the cliff. Gracie must have waited until they stopped looking there, and then doubled back to set up camp in the canyon caves. It was clever. Ottilie didn’t know how they were going to get to her; the huntsmen couldn’t follow her in. There were hundreds of tunnels and caves in there, and no doubt countless wylers, just waiting for someone stupid enough to go in.

  ‘Better go, Nox,’ said Ottilie.

  Nox made a disappointed rumbling noise as they headed for home. She would have to report it immediately. She didn’t know if the wyler had seen her, but if it had, if Gracie knew that her position was discovered, she might be gone before the Hunt had a chance to act.

  Ottilie went straight to Captain Lyre. He thanked her and dismissed her immediately, so Ottilie headed to the infirmary to see how Maeve was faring.

  She was on a bed in the corner of the room. They had erected partitions around her so she could get some rest. Ottilie found Bill perched like a watchful gargoyle on the end of her bed. Maeve was lying on her back, staring at the ceiling.

  ‘She’s sad,’ whispered Bill, the moment Ottilie stepped behind the partition. His mouth was drooping at the sides.

  ‘How are you feeling?’ Ottilie asked her.

  ‘Fine,’ said Maeve blankly.

  Ottilie didn’t quite know what to say next, but before she had a chance to consider it, the door to the infirmary creaked open and she heard Whistler’s voice, saying something about a director. She didn’t quite catch it but, whatever it was, the patchie left the infirmary in a hurry.

  Bill slipped beneath the bed as Whistler’s footsteps approached. Whistler had been kind to Maeve when she had been suspected of being the witch. Perhaps she wanted to check in. Ottilie was glad – now she wouldn’t have to seek her out.

  The moment Whistler stepped behind the partition, Bill’s clammy hand wrapped around Ottilie’s ankle. She nearly jumped. What had got into him? He was going to get caught! She shook him off, pretending to scratch her other ankle with her foot.

  ‘I heard about what happened,’ said Whistler. Her eyes darkened and she looked quite angry. ‘Are you injured?’ Her gaze flicked up and down.

  Had Ottilie imagined it or did Whistler know someone was under the bed?

  Bill reached out again, grabbing Ottilie’s ankle with his hand. This time Ottilie didn’t move. She didn’t want to draw any attention to the bed, but something was wrong.

  ‘Just a bump and some bruises,’ said Maeve, still staring at the ceiling.

  ‘You can come out,’ said Whistler abruptly.

  Ottilie froze. Bill’s hand shook as he released her ankle and slipped out from under the bed. He stood on the other side of it, looking more terrified than Ottilie had ever seen him.

  A strange smile crept onto Whistler’s face. ‘A goedl. Always a pleasure.’ She ducked into a lopsided bow, her stormy eyes fixed on Bill.

  Ottilie didn’t know what to do. What was going to happen to Bill? Would Whistler report this?

  Bill’s gaze was set on Ottilie. He seemed to be trying to communicate with her. What was happening? Was he terrified because he had been caught?

  ‘Go ahead and speak, will you,’ said Whistler, still staring at Bill. ‘We all want to hear it.’

  ‘That’s her,’ mumbled Bill.

  ‘What?’ said Ottilie, her veins frosting over.

  ‘That’s the girl,’ he said in a strangled whisper, titling his head in Whistler’s direction.

  ‘The girl?’ It took her a moment, but she got there. The girl! He was trying to say that Whistler was the girl he had come to warn her about. Ottilie could hear her own heartbeat. Her shoulders rose up towards her ears. All of her instincts told her to run, to get away from Whistler.

  ‘Go on,’ said Whistler, dangerously.

  ‘Dreams …’ said Bill. ‘I’ve been seeing, or remembering, a girl, sometimes younger, sometimes older –’

  ‘It was Gracie, Bill,’ said Ottilie. ‘You said, after the bird showed us, you said that was the girl.’

  Bill shook his head. ‘The girl in the room. I meant the one standing above. I meant the one doing the binding … that was the girl and this … this is her.’

  Whistler’s eyes flashed with an impossible midnight light, and across the room Ottilie heard the scrape of the bolt sliding across the door.

  35

  The Witch

  Ottilie drew her cutlass. Maeve scrambled out of bed. She was unarmed but positioned herself in front of Bill all the same. Whistler was the witch. She had been inside the grounds all this time. Now that she was unveiled, what would she do? Ottilie’s thoughts flew to Gully. Where was he? If Whistler went on a rampage, would he be in danger? She thought he might be on a hunt, but she couldn’t remember.

  ‘Bill, is it?’ said Whistler with a birdlike croon.

  No-one answered her.

  ‘What do you know?’ she asked, cocking her head.

  ‘A girl with a bent hand … a witch … when you were very young, you used to scare people. And hurt them,’ said Bill, as if the words scraped his throat.

  ‘Hardly fair, Bill.’ Whistler flicked back her sleeve to reveal a gnarled hand, bent out of shape, with a thumb significantly smaller than its left twin. ‘How much of the story do you know?’

  ‘Pieces, all jumbled up,’ said Bill.

  Whistler caught Ottilie staring at her hand. ‘It wasn’t always this bad. My wrist was bent and my thumb was too small, but my father tried to have it fixed. Now it’s a claw.’

  ‘Unlock the door,’ Ottilie said in response.

  ‘I gave you a clue, you know,’ Whistler said, flinging her sleeve back over her hand. ‘The night you stole my book. I gave you his name.’

  ‘What do you mean, his name? Whose name?’ Ottilie tried to calm herself, struggling to think.

  ‘You wanted to know what all this is about.’ Whistler waved her arms in the air. ‘Why everything’s happening. Where they all came from.’

  ‘A witch,’ said Ottilie. ‘We figured that out without your clue.’

  Whistler laughed. ‘A witch! Yes, yes, a witch! A horrible, terrible, wicked witch setting the dredretches upon you, very good. Fairly obvious, though, piglet.’

  ‘Piglet?’

  ‘Pigs are smart. Pigs are tough. Take a compliment when it’s given. Now prove me right, clever girl. What name did I give you?’

  Ottilie strained her mind. Whistler had only given them one thing, a book … ‘Sol,’ said Ottilie. ‘The name of the royal family.’

  ‘Fennix Sol,’ said Bill, dizzily, as if he had just remembered something.

  ‘Indeed,’ said Whistler.

  ‘Who …’ said Ottilie.

  ‘My name,’ said Whistler. ‘When I was a girl. That was my name.’

  ‘You’re of the royal line?’ said Maeve, her eyes darting to the window.

  ‘I am,’ said Whistler, her mouth tipping down, as if the answer tasted bad. ‘But that’s not why I gave it. You wanted to know why the dredretches are here? Who made up the rule of innocence? I gave you a clue. When I say the name Sol, who do you think of?’

  Ottilie ran through the royals she knew. Seika Devil-Slayer, the princess who felled the fendevil, and Viago the Vanquisher, who broke the promise – both long dead – and Varrio Sol, the current king, the creator of t
he Narroway Hunt.

  ‘The king,’ said Maeve, simply.

  Ottilie shook her head. ‘The king didn’t raise the dredretches. He doesn’t control them. He’s not a witch.’ Whistler was talking nonsense.

  ‘How do you know?’ said Whistler.

  For a second Ottilie didn’t have an answer. But finally, she said, ‘Because Bill wanted to warn me about you. We saw you binding Gracie to the wylers. You turned that wyler into her bloodbeast. And I saw you the day the kappabak nearly killed me and Leo, and the day the yickers attacked in Floodwood.’

  ‘I was testing you,’ she said.

  Ottilie choked on air. ‘Testing me? Why?’

  ‘Because I knew you were a potential candidate from the first. You’re a fascinating little hatchling. You snuck in here, fooling everyone – not me, of course, but I was eager to see how it would play out, and I am thorough in my research. Did I set some nasty obstacles for you? Yes. But they made you stronger. They made you stay.’

  All Ottilie could see was Floodwood – Christopher Crow sprawled on the ground, Leo resting a hand over the hole in his chest. ‘What do you mean, a candidate? Why did you want me to stay?’

  ‘I just told you. You’re fascinating. I wanted to see what you’re made of. I’m a champion of fascinating people. That’s why I chose Gracie.’

  ‘Gracie’s not fascinating, she’s evil,’ spat Ottilie. ‘I’m nothing like her.’

  ‘Of course not. Everyone’s different. But you can come with me if you like.’

  ‘What?’ said Ottilie, genuinely surprised.

  ‘Well, the jig is up. I’ll be leaving in a moment. It’s about time, too. I told him thirty years – three decades that battle-happy buffoon couldn’t send out his men. It’s time to give the king back his toy soldiers. He’ll be over the moon. War is his favourite thing, and what a war we’ll have.’

  ‘What do you mean, war?’ said Ottilie, her voice thinning with every word.

  ‘As I said. You can come. Maeve as well.’ Her birdlike eyes fixed on Maeve. ‘You’re an intriguing thing. Gracie already offered, of course. We were hoping you would say yes, but look, another chance – best take it.’ She snatched at the air with her sleeve.

  ‘We’re not going anywhere with you,’ said Maeve.

  ‘Pity.’ Whistler cocked her head. ‘But I’m afraid I can’t let you keep the goedl. I like to be in control of the clues, see, and goedls tend to know just a bit too much.’

  Ottilie fired an arrow at Whistler without a thought. Whistler waved her hand and turned it to ash. She didn’t have time to marvel at it, because Whistler grabbed Bill by the wrist. Ottilie and Maeve both lunged at her, but Whistler flicked her sleeve and knocked them down with a gust of wind.

  The bolted door flew open and Whistler marched Bill out into the lavender fields. Ottilie and Maeve stumbled to their feet and scrambled after her but it was too late. There was a terrible shriek, which seemed to be coming from somewhere inside Whistler. Her hair stood on end, mouth stretched wide, and she transformed into a great winged creature. She was like a dredretch, but not quite. Her beak was hooked and needle sharp. Her grey eyes darkened to thundercloud black and her feathers were all the colours of a storm.

  She launched into the air, Bill’s long pale arm clasped firmly in her talons, and soared out over the boundary wall, rolling and sweeping, dodging arrows from the wall and disappearing into the Narroway.

  36

  Hostage

  ‘Tell someone!’ Ottilie cried as she spun and sprinted in the other direction.

  ‘What?’ Maeve called. ‘Where are you going?’

  ‘I’m going after them!’

  Ottilie had never run so fast in her life. She tore down to the lower grounds, through the wingerslink sanctuary, where she saddled Nox and leapt out into the field.

  ‘Ott?’ It was Leo, who had finished his morning hunt but was still astride Maestro.

  ‘Help!’ she cried, gasping for breath. ‘Come with me, Leo. The witch, she’s got Bill – she’s got my friend. Come with me!’

  ‘What? Who’s Bill?’

  ‘Please.’ There was no time to explain.

  Leo blinked. ‘I’ll follow you.’

  The two wingerslinks cleared the wall. There was no sign. Nothing. Ottilie didn’t even know where to begin. Tears streamed down her face as she shouted, ‘BILL!’

  That was when she remembered the canyon. Whistler had recruited Gracie. She might be taking Bill to the canyon caves.

  Nox seemed to know that this was serious. Ottilie threw herself forwards and Nox shot over the tops of the trees. They were still a way off the canyon when she heard a cry from below.

  ‘BILL!’ she called, pushing Nox into a dive.

  Beside her, Maestro copied.

  Ottilie felt as if a clawed thing was trying to tear out of her chest. It wasn’t Bill. She could just make them out, from flashes beneath the thick canopy. It was Scoot, Ned and Gully, crowded into a dense patch of forest, surrounded by the wyler pack.

  Leo had gone deathly pale, his eyes fixed on Ned, who was warding off a wyler with a spear. The wyler leapt. Ned lunged and impaled it. That seemed to set them off. Every wyler attacked at once.

  Her heart hammering, Ottilie, still in the air, tried to shoot them down from above, but the branches were too tangled and everyone was moving too fast. She couldn’t risk hitting one of her friends.

  The towering webwood trees were like spindly giants, their many arms intertwined, making it impossible to land. Ottilie and Leo had to touch down nearby, in a glade at the edge of Flaming River. Together, they charged on foot to join the fray.

  Gully rolled beneath a pouncing wyler. His head snapped up and their eyes locked, but Ottilie couldn’t focus on him or Bill or anything else. If she did, she would get someone killed. She dodged and swung, injuring one wyler and felling another. There was a growl from behind her. The white wyler prowled through the trees, Gracie Moravec on its back.

  ‘Where is he?’ Ottilie bellowed. She gasped and stumbled. Leo had grabbed her shirt and wrenched her back, just before a wyler could sink its teeth into her side.

  Gracie simply tilted her head and continued her slow approach. Ottilie fired an arrow. The white wyler dodged it. She fired another, and it dodged again. Gracie was clutching its fur for dear life, but still her face remained smooth.

  She shook her head at Ottilie, as if to say, bad girl. She slid off the white wyler, drawing the knife that Leo had given her, and another one Ottilie didn’t recognise. Hearing Scoot’s strangled cry, she knew immediately where it had come from. It was Bayo’s knife.

  ‘Take her brother,’ Gracie said quietly.

  Ottilie’s heart cracked open. Her vision swung. It was so wrong. It didn’t seem real, like it was a game of make-believe and this ordinary girl was pretending to be a villain.

  Gracie’s eyes flashed red.

  Ottilie found her balance and whirled around as every wyler turned to Gully. Three pounced at once. He ducked and dodged, fighting them off, but one got through, severing his thumb.

  ‘NO!’ she cried, running towards him. She couldn’t breathe. It felt as if the ground were breaking apart.

  Leo took the opportunity to shoot one down. Gracie’s eyes flashed again and the white wyler lunged at Leo. Scoot ran to help him and Ottilie could hear the clashing of metal behind her. Ned must have been fighting Gracie.

  Gully was still upright. He was bleeding badly, but all right. Ottilie breathed again. He was wearing it out of habit; Gully didn’t need his ring anymore. But warding off the sickness would only get him so far. Surrounded by the advancing wylers, his spear pointed at them, all he could do was back away.

  Gracie cried out behind Ottilie. Ned must have struck her.

  Ottilie fired an arrow, felling one of the wylers advancing on Gully. She needed to get to him. She had to bandage his hand, stop it bleeding.

  ‘Ott!’ cried Scoot.

  Ottilie looked around just in time to
roll out of the way of the enormous white wyler. From the ground, she could see Ned with his cutlass, fighting Gracie and her knives. Ottilie had never seen blades moving so fast. Whatever the truth was about Gracie’s history, she had learned to use a knife long before Leo put one in her hand.

  For one chilling moment, it looked like Gracie was going to win. But Ottilie couldn’t watch; the white wyler was coming at her. From the ground, she fired an arrow. It dodged, but the arrow scraped the side of its face. It screeched, and Gracie cried out with it. Of course, it was her bloodbeast – they were bound! Ottilie aimed another arrow.

  ‘I’ll make them kill him!’ Gracie shrieked, her voice harsher than Ottilie had ever heard it.

  She believed it, without a doubt. Gracie wasn’t really human anymore. She wasn’t a thirteen-year-old girl. She was bound to a dredretch, a dredretch that had become a giant, heart-eating bloodbeast. Gracie was every bit the monster that the white wyler was.

  Her eyes flashed and Ottilie saw the wylers bend to spring at Gully. Ottilie lowered her bow without a thought. Her hands shook as she released it. She clenched them into trembling fists and grounded her feet.

  Ned was about to strike.

  ‘Only I can stop them!’ Gracie trilled as the wylers leapt at Gully.

  Ottilie’s heart stopped.

  Ned dropped his cutlass.

  Gracie’s eyes flashed and the wylers pulled back.

  ‘No-one moves or I tell them to attack again,’ said Gracie, the airiness returning to her tone. ‘They can’t get all of you, but they can certainly get one of you.’

  None of them moved. Gracie looked down at the blood dribbling from a gash on her upper arm, caused by Ned’s blade.

  ‘You’re coming with me,’ she said venomously.

  ‘I’m not going anywhere,’ said Ned.

  ‘Yes, you are,’ she said. ‘Otherwise he dies.’ She pointed at Gully, still surrounded by wylers.

  ‘Ned, don’t,’ said Gully.