Ottilie Colter and the Master of Monsters

by Rhiannon Williams

  Ottilie spun and pierced a yicker with an arrow just a second before it landed on Ned’s face. Another yicker zoomed towards him; Ottilie aimed again and while she was distracted, a dark-scaled morgie leapt off the well, right at her head. Ottilie lunged sideways, and a searing pain sliced her ear. She reached up and felt hot blood trickle through her fingers. Dizzily, she realised the very top of her ear had been torn clean off. She swayed on her feet.

  There was a screech from the tunnels beyond, a live screech, an owl’s screech.

  ‘What is that?’ Leo shouted above the clamour.

  Soaring into the cavern came a shining black owl.

  ‘That’s Maeve!’ Ottilie cried, clutching her ear, trying to slow the bleeding. She couldn’t feel it – she couldn’t feel anything.

  The two wingerslinks were behind Maeve. She must have found them a tunnel wide enough. The owl circled and dived, plucking a barbed toad off the ground and flinging it into the cave wall. Nox pounced on a lycoat, tearing it in two. Leo whistled and pointed – Maestro curled around Ned, shielding him from harm.

  ‘We have to get out of here!’ said Leo.

  Blood streaming down her neck, Ottilie fought her way over to Nox and clambered onto her back. Across the cavern, Leo was pulling Ned up into Maestro’s saddle. A wyler leapt at Nox and Maeve dived again, piercing its eyes with her talons.

  Ottilie turned to Nicolai and aimed an arrow. She took a breath, thinking of Bayo Amadory, and drew back the string, but something stopped her. Shifting her aim left, she focused on the bloodbeast. She still couldn’t do it.

  Nox seemed to sense where Ottilie’s focus lay. The wingerslink leapt from the ground and rose, beat by beat, into the air. The bronze shank dashed to stand in front of Nicolai, its spines flaring so that it doubled in size.

  Ottilie felt Nox bracing to dive, but she couldn’t let her do it. Nox had to listen to her. Tipping her toes down, she dug in hard and threw her weight back, commanding the wingerslink to stay where she was. Nox let out a roar of frustration that echoed off the cave walls. Maestro roared in response and Maeve let out a shrieking battle cry.

  Ottilie’s heart raced and Nox changed direction, diving not at the bloodbeast but at the mass of dredretches that were closing in on Maestro. Swiping with her blade-like claws and gnashing her teeth, Nox sent bits of dredretch flying in all directions like leaves in the wind.

  ‘Maeve, show us the way out!’ called Ottilie, aiming an arrow at a learie that was zigzagging up the rock wall, preparing to pounce from above.

  Maeve turned to face her and screeched. Ottilie didn’t speak bird but she knew what she meant.

  ‘He’s not here!’ she said. Bill. Maeve was looking for Bill.

  Maeve screeched again and soared out through the tunnel. The wingerslinks bounded behind, following her around every twist and turn, finally leaping out of a wide opening in the cliff, into the air.

  They settled on a shelf high above the canyon.

  ‘We have to take Ned to Fiory,’ said Ottilie. ‘He’s hurt.’ Her ear throbbed, and she felt unsteady in the saddle. She had never thought such a small part of her could bleed this much. Free of the danger for just a moment, Ottilie felt the shock of it: a tiny part of her had been cut away. It was just her ear, only the very tip, but it was a piece of her and it was gone.

  She felt a wave of panic and reached down to grip Nox’s fur hard, fighting the urge to spiral into terror and tears. If the wingerslink was bothered by Ottilie’s firm grip, she didn’t show it. She thought she felt Nox push up against her hands, an offer of support.

  There was no time to go to pieces. She took a sharp breath and released Nox’s fur. With her knife, she began to cut away a strip of her shirt to tie around her head. For now, it was the best she could do.

  ‘Not Fiory,’ croaked Ned. ‘They went to Richter, we have to help!’

  ‘You can’t help anyone like this,’ said Leo.

  ‘There’s no time,’ said Ned.

  Leo looked westward. Ottilie couldn’t argue. He was right. They had to go.

  39

  Fort Richter

  Black clouds were gathering in the south and an emerald glow sharpened the sun. From the air, Ottilie could see where the land thinned and the ocean cut in on either side. Richter was perched on a cliff on the north-facing shore. Preddy had told Ottilie that its coastal location made it more peaceful than Fiory, the fort safeguarded by sea air. She had an image of Richter in her mind, shaped by stories from Preddy’s time there. That picture would be forever replaced by the scene that awaited them below.

  What was left of Richter’s boundary wall stretched in honeycombed fragments. Dredretches barrelled, clambered, slithered and swept through the gaps. Ottilie could see Gracie on the back of the white wyler, cutting through huntsmen, knocking them aside and slashing with her knives. Whistler’s winged form was perched on a turret, screeching into the cloud-threatened sky.

  She wondered if there were more bone singers with bloodbeasts. Gracie could control the wylers, and Nicolai the shanks. What other dredretches roaming this battlefield were being controlled by one of Whistler’s minions? Perhaps they were tucked away safely somewhere, in trances. Not Gracie, though. Gracie wanted to play.

  There was no time to get Ned somewhere safe. He simply clung to Leo, pale but determined. Fiory’s mounts were just beginning to fight their way through the field below the Fort. Richter’s shepherd pack dashed here and there. It didn’t look as if the footmen had arrived yet. Ottilie could see flyers from all three stations, dipping and diving, picking up injured huntsmen from within the battered walls and flying them to safer ground.

  With a whistle and a spark, a flare spiralled out of the sky. Nox rolled and Ottilie swung her cutlass, slicing it in half. Swinging upside down, she saw a streak of white. It was Gracie, her knives flashing in the stormy light. Fury blazed at the sight of her. Nox soared in a wide circle, sweeping down to cut across her path. The white wyler tossed its head high and shrieked. Nox met it with a roar so powerful Ottilie felt as if she were roaring too.

  The wyler’s white fur was caked with mud and blood, both red and black. Gracie looked tired, but very alive. Her pale eyes shone with excitement as she flashed Ottilie her first true smile.

  The wyler bent and lunged at Nox, but Nox leapt overhead. Swatting with her claws, she knocked the white wyler down, and Gracie was unseated. Scrambling back up onto its back, she threw a knife. Ottilie reeled backwards and Nox tucked in her wing, the blade passing by without contact.

  The wyler changed direction faster than Ottilie’s eyes could catch. Before she knew what was happening, Gracie and the wyler were fleeing northward.

  Nox leapt into the air, catching the wind, and soon cut in front once more. Gracie was panting. She had mud smeared on her face from the fall.

  Neither moved. They had broken free of the fighting, and the crashing of waves against rock half-drowned any sound. A cool salty breeze brushed across Ottilie’s face, clearing her head. They were perilously close to the cliff’s edge and Gracie had the higher ground. She saw Bayo’s knife, clutched in Gracie’s right hand, and spat, ‘What happened to you?’

  Gracie didn’t respond. The white wyler snarled.

  ‘You’re from Longwood, aren’t you?’ Ottilie pressed, vying for time, trying to think of a way out. ‘The camps near the Narroway border?’

  The wyler leapt and Gracie lashed out with a knife. Ottilie flattened herself against Nox, just missing the blade. Nox swiped out with her claws and the wyler dodged, losing its prime position.

  ‘How long have you been like this?’ She wanted to know, to understand. She didn’t want to believe that Gracie was just bad.

  Nox had the wyler right up against the edge. Ottilie remembered the rumour that Gracie had pushed someone off a cliff near Scarpy Village. She should end it right here. Gracie was dangerous, too dangerous. She could let Nox do it. She could feel the wingerslink’s energy flowing forwards, wanting to attack. Even
if Ottilie tried to stop her, Nox wouldn’t necessarily listen. She could just allow it.

  Gracie couldn’t hide her unease, but a knowing look mingled with the doubt. ‘You can’t do it, can you?’ she said, glancing backwards, towards the drop. ‘How long have I been like this?’ She offered a slight shrug. ‘I could tell you the first thing I remember, if you like.’ Her lips twitched. She knew Ottilie couldn’t end it.

  ‘I remember when my parents set a fire,’ said Gracie. ‘I remember the building lighting up. It looked like the end of the world.’

  ‘A fire? Where?’ said Ottilie. Her stomach dropped. She didn’t want to hear Gracie say it.

  ‘I think it was Scarpy Village,’ said Gracie, innocently. She loved this – taunting Ottilie, knowing she wouldn’t do anything about it.

  ‘The villagers were very upset. It turns out there was a mother and her young daughter inside. The woman got badly burnt and the villagers attacked our camp. We all got separated after that,’ said Gracie, almost lazily. ‘Still nothing?’ She cocked her head. ‘I don’t know why she’s so interested in you.’

  Ottilie could hear the bitterness in her voice.

  ‘You don’t have it in you,’ said Gracie. ‘Though after the binding, that won’t matter anymore, everything darkens once you’re bound.’

  ‘What are you talking about?’ Ottilie spat.

  ‘She wanted to give you a really good one, too,’ said Gracie. ‘She had the kappabak all lined up. She’s not like me.’ She patted the white wyler. ‘She can control any of them. She dropped it in your path to see what would happen. All you need is a mortal wound from a dredretch to get it started, but you and Leo destroyed the poor thing before it could harm you. Though she only found that more impressive.’

  Ottilie was sickened, her senses slack. The sound of the waves faded into a fold of her mind. Whistler had intended to bind her to the kappabak?

  ‘She said you were wasting away as a shovelie,’ said Gracie. ‘But then you became a huntsman, the first girl ever … she wanted to see how that would play out.’

  Ottilie wanted to tell Gracie to shut up, but couldn’t find the words. Her curiosity had the reins and refused to let her move.

  ‘Why can she control them? What is she?’ said Ottilie.

  Gracie smiled. ‘Interested, are you? She’s like Maeve. She’s a fiorn, or she was one. She’s a little different now that she sings to them.’

  ‘Sings to them?’ said Ottilie. ‘What are you talking about?’

  Gracie looked like she was dangling a bit of eel above a hungry wingerslink. ‘She can make it so they won’t hurt you at all.’ She pulled a delicate chain out from beneath her shirt, something sharp dangling from the end. ‘Of course, I don’t need the protection anymore, but it’s useful for other things –’

  ‘What do you mean she sings to them?’

  ‘She summons them,’ said Gracie, as if Ottilie was too thick to comprehend it. ‘Viago the Vanquisher was her father. He broke the promise and the dredretches came. That was the Laklands, of course, a hundred years ago – but that’s where she got the idea.’

  Viago the Vanquisher’s daughter – the one they called the clawed witch. Whistler had told them that story herself. Ottilie could remember it as if it were yesterday. In the Bone Tower, she hadn’t said the dredretches came from the Laklands – she’d said they were here because of the Laklands, because that was where she got the idea. Her father had broken a promise and doomed a kingdom, and now she was doing the same, in her own way, for her own reasons …

  ‘Why,’ said Ottilie. ‘Why is she doing this?’

  Gracie merely smiled. ‘Vengeance.’

  ‘Why? What happened to her?’

  ‘I didn’t say it was vengeance for herself,’ said Gracie. ‘Enough of this.’ She bared her teeth. The white wyler lunged and Nox skirted to the side, catching its flesh with her claws. She heard Gracie yowl in pain as Nox rose into the sky.

  Ottilie looked to the ocean and felt a change in the wind.

  For a little while the world seemed clean, the dredretch stench not yet poisoning the southerly breeze. The air felt thicker, warmer, not with the sickness but with a storm. Nox rose higher and higher. Ottilie knew she had to go back down, but she just needed a few moments to breathe.

  Below, she saw Gracie pause and stare up at the sky. Thunder rumbled overhead. That was what they needed. They needed rain! Whistler had chosen a poor day for a battle. Her bone singers were supposed to be able to predict the weather, but perhaps the sky kept secrets too.

  Perched on a crumbling parapet of the boundary wall, the monstrous bird screeched, her eyes flashing with an impossible black light that Ottilie seemed to feel rather than see. The dredretches shrieked in response, and a flock of jivvies billowed like a ghastly, tumbling cloud. Under Whistler’s control, they didn’t turn on each other. They moved as one, engulfing the huntsmen in a vast shroud of shadow and feathers.

  40

  Varrio’s Hex

  There were hundreds of jivvies, sweeping and winding, herding the huntsmen in like sheep. The swirl of black wings gathered Nox along with them. There was no escape. They could only move where Whistler wanted them to go. Nox was forced to land, and people pressed into her on all sides. Finally, the jivvies slowed, and the huntsmen were squashed together inside the broken boundary wall.

  Whistler plunged from her perch and, with a shriek and a piercing flash, returned to her natural form.

  ‘Better,’ she said, wiggling one ear with her good hand. ‘Such a ruckus is war.’

  Gracie, astride the white wyler, moved to her side.

  ‘While I’ve got you here,’ said Whistler, playfully, ‘I’d like to give you a choice.’ The way she spoke the word made it clear that there would be no choice at all. ‘Your cowardly leaders are still hiding inside,’ she continued. ‘But it’s you I want to talk to. I want to tell you why you’re here, and when I’m done, you will have a decision to make.’

  Ottilie held her breath. She could feel Nox tense beneath her, muscles coiling to spring, but there was nowhere to go. The jivvies were above, with hundreds of other dredretches surrounding them.

  ‘Thirty years ago, almost to the day, I told your king that I had placed a hex on him,’ said Whistler.

  Ottilie couldn’t believe what she was hearing. After all this time, all her wondering, Whistler was going to tell them about the hex.

  ‘I told him that for three decades he could send no man to fight to defend his lands.’ She smiled madly to herself. Still proud, three decades later, Ottilie thought.

  ‘Any external threat to his kingdom had to be resolved by other means,’ Whistler continued. ‘I told him that if he broke the rules I had set for him, he would die.’

  There was something strange about Whistler’s wording. She was making it sound as if the hex wasn’t real.

  ‘My nephew, Varrio Sol, is a violent, power-hungry man. But you know none of that. You were only children, after all, when you were ripped from your homes,’ she said. ‘I turned one of the most violent kings in Uskler history into the most peaceable king in Uskler history.’ She paused. She found Ottilie in the crowd and looked her squarely in the eye. ‘But what does this have to do with you? Well, you’re the exception.

  ‘When your great king heard about this threat’ – she flapped her sleeves, gesturing at the dredretches – ‘this western invasion, he had several paths available to him. He could have given his life for his kingdom and sent an army to defend his people. Of course, coward that he is, he did not take that road.’ Whistler laughed. ‘No Usklerian army can operate outside the king’s command. If he told his people the truth, he would have been dethroned. He could have chosen that path – stepped down and given the crown to his heir, who could have freely sent armies to meet the monsters. Or he could have kept his crown, and armed women instead. But you know the choice he made.’

  It was everything Ottilie had suspected. She and Alba had been right about all of it.<
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  ‘He kidnapped young boys from all across the kingdom,’ said Whistler. ‘He had them trained to hunt these monsters. He spread the lie of the rule of innocence among your leaders and trainers, to scare them into hiding behind your scrawny, still-growing bodies.

  ‘He created the Narroway Hunt and, in so doing, gave me thirty years to experiment and amass this army.’ She waved her arms, sleeves swinging. ‘An army that will be the ruination of his precious kingdom.’ Whistler leaned towards them, her voice rasping with derisive glee. ‘But here it is, here is the truth: there is no hex.’

  Ottilie was frozen, listening hard. For so long she had wanted to know, to understand.

  ‘Magic is not so simple, so specific,’ said Whistler. ‘But in his ignorance and cowardice, he believed my lie, not daring to risk his life, to question, to test. I will allow him this, I made a convincing show of it … but, all the same, it is my great pleasure to reveal to you what a fool and coward is the man who wears the crown.’

  Ottilie could see it on her face, the elation, the release.

  ‘This is just the beginning,’ said Whistler, raising her voice. ‘I said I would give you a choice and here it is.’

  Ottilie tensed.

  ‘Now: join me.’

  High on the parapets of Fort Richter, against the backdrop of dark cloud, Ottilie saw bone singers emerge, their grey robes rippling in the wind.

  ‘You will become immune to the dredretch sickness, to run wild through the Narroway without fear. Live freely and safely in my new world. Please me, and I’ll give you a guardian, a partner, a pet.’ She waved at Gracie. ‘You will gain power over them, learn to see through their eyes. Accept my gifts. Join me. Or fight for a king who sacrificed you for the sake of his own power.’