The Slightly Alarming Tale of the Whispering Wars

by Jaclyn Moriarty

  I pushed through this row, and emerged onto the hilltop.

  ‘Eh!’ came a voice.

  It was Colonel Spoforth, right behind me. He must have only just arrived here himself.

  ‘Child!’ he called.

  But I was staring down into the valley.

  There, arranged in straggly lines, were the people of Vanquishing Cove.

  They were so close I could have spoken to them without raising my voice.

  Dusty and grass-stained, sweat dampening their torn clothes. Their faces were drawn, worn and wet with tears, their eyes bloodshot.

  ‘Get back behind the lines, child!’ Colonel Spoforth commanded. I ignored him.

  Ranged around the outskirts of the group below were ten Whisperers. I counted them up quickly, recognising them as Whisperers at once. Not only did they have long hair draped over their shoulders, they also seemed to be taller than everyone else. Strange! I thought. I never knew Whisperers were tall.

  But it was just that they held their shoulders straight, while the people of Vanquishing Cove slumped and drooped.

  I ran my eyes along the rows and—there was Aunt Rebecca! My Aunt Rebecca! Oh, I wanted to sprint to her! Bundle her away from there! She did not see me: her face was bowed, her knuckles pressed to her temples.

  She was trying to resist the Whispers.

  Others were doing the same, I could see. Most simply stared up towards the hill, desperately miserable. They’d probably already tried resisting the Whispers and given up.

  Colonel Spoforth hurried over. He placed himself between me and the Vanquishing Covers. This was brave, I suppose, but now I had to tilt my head to see around him.

  ‘Who is the commander of these troops?’ he boomed.

  One of the Whisperers raised a hand. She appeared to be chewing gum. ‘I am.’

  ‘Tell your force to stand down,’ Colonel Spoforth ordered. ‘Let’s talk.’

  The Whisperer giggled. ‘No,’ she said. ‘Thanks all the same.’

  I was wasting time listening to this.

  I needed to Spellbind.

  To Spellbind ten Whisperers.

  I squeezed my eyes tightly and sought out the shadow magic.

  Nothing.

  Still nothing.

  Just the usual black you see when you close your eyes. I pressed the heels of my palms to my eyes, and now I could see the usual threads and wires of light, the dashes and darts of colour. It’s just tricks of sunlight.

  ‘Surrender at once,’ called the gum-chewing Whisperer. ‘Or we attack.’

  ‘You are outnumbered five to one!’ Colonel Spoforth spluttered. ‘You are leading your troops to certain death!’

  I bit my lip sharply. I slapped my own cheeks. Where is the Shadow Magic? How can I bind you if I cannot see you?

  I couldn’t do it.

  I am not a Spellbinder.

  Aunt Rebecca was going to be shot down right before my eyes.

  ‘Honey Bee!’ barked a voice.

  It was Sir Brathelthwaite, wheezing and panting, crushed in amidst the soldiers. He’d caught up with us at last.

  ‘You are in the line of fire! Child! Get back here at once!’

  I closed my eyes. I could not look at Aunt Rebecca down there.

  But behind my closed eyes, I saw her anyway. Aunt Rebecca in her kitchen baking cakes. Aunt Rebecca making cheeping noises like a bird. Standing in a courtroom, begging a judge to let me live with her. Riding her bicycle alongside mine. Filling our home-made string bags with peaches, grapes and plums—

  String bags.

  Home-made string bags.

  A string bag is a kind of net!

  I know how to make a string bag!

  Why do I keep trying to make fishing nets?!

  ‘Perhaps,’ agreed the Whispering commander. ‘But we will attack unless you surrender. If you want to save these people, surrender your town within the next ten seconds.’

  ‘You know that’s not going to happen,’ Colonel Spoforth said, his voice low with terrible sadness.

  ‘Ten seconds,’ the Whisperer called, ‘and then we attack.’ What if I forgot the Shadow Magic for a moment, and made the perfect net for it?

  I squeezed my eyes more tightly shut and looked for it: the loom on Aunt Rebecca’s table. Screws in the corners for tying the first knot.

  Where’s the string?

  Ah, here it is. Green-gold plaited thread, thick and strong.

  A lark’s head knot.

  I tied it good and firm.

  My hands shook. They moved slowly. I tied the second knot.

  ‘Come on!’ Colonel Spoforth pleaded. ‘You don’t want this! You don’t want these good people mown down!’

  ‘Surrender,’ the Whisperer replied. ‘Surrender the town of Spindrift. Surrender the Kingdom of Storms. Have your queen sign the Kingdom of Storms over to the Whispering Kingdom.’

  ‘Let’s talk,’ said Spoforth. ‘Let’s find a way.’

  Now my hands were growing stronger, more confident, remembering just what to do. They moved rapidly, reaching, lifting, threading through. Reaching, lifting, threading through. Faster, faster, my fingers pulled, tightened, my hands had never moved so fast!

  The string bag was forming! I could see it—

  ‘Ready!’ barked the Whispering commander.

  Inside my mind, there was a rush of darkness, just to the right of my almost-finished string bag.

  At the same time, a clatter of rifles being raised, locked and loaded in the valley below.

  A louder clatter directly behind me, as our soldiers did the same.

  ‘Hold your fire,’ Colonel Spoforth ordered his troops frantically. ‘Not until they fire the first shot!’

  ‘Honey Bee!’ called a voice, and it was Finlay, crouching, shuffling towards me, reaching out his hand. ‘How can I help?’

  I looked from his outstretched hand to his worried face. His eyes held mine steadily. He knew what I wanted to do. He remembered I was a Spellbinder.

  He gave a little nod.

  As if to say: yes. You can do it.

  I’m your friend, he had said when he had chased me here.

  ‘Aim!’

  Another bolt of darkness, right by my string bag.

  My hands carried on with their frantic weaving, but I looked to the side, and there they were in the darkness—

  The Whispers!

  Ten Whispers, each like a single polished stone, metallic grey and scribbled over with the red and black of shadow thread.

  My string bag was ready. I held it up, opened its mouth. ‘Fi—’

  And I lunged. Right as the Whispers fell I caught them, the ten new Whispers, ten sturdy Whispers, each a single word FIRE! and I slid them all at once into the bag.

  Drew the bag tightly closed.

  Held it firm to my chest.

  Kept my eyes closed.

  Silence.

  Silence.

  Then the sound, from the valley below, of weapons thudding slowly to the ground.

  FINLAY

  She did it!

  Honey Bee Spellbound!

  Just in time too! (Might not want to cut it so fine next time, Honey Bee.)

  But she didn’t just Spellbind!

  Wait for it…

  (Drumroll…)

  She Spellbound ten Whisperers!

  Never heard of a Spellbinder doing that. Honestly. I once read about a Spellbinder taking on three Whisperers at once—but ten!!

  Well, I am that proud of her.

  Here we were then, on the hillside.

  Honey Bee’s eyes still tightly closed.

  She’s got her hands sort of wrapped around herself like she’s holding onto something for dear life. Drips of sweat pouring down her forehead.

  Must be a pretty tough gig, I realise. This Spellbinding.

  Around me, our soldiers are holding fire, but they’re still in position, weapons at the ready.

  Down in the valley, the people of Vanquishing Cove have slumped t
o the ground.

  But the Whisperers? They’ve come together out the front. All ten of them, lined up down there. Their faces are shocked. They’re staring up at Honey Bee, amazed.

  But there’s also a kind of ferocity to them.

  They’re fighting her, I realise.

  She’s holding on, she’s got them bound, but they’re fighting hard to break her binds.

  ‘Somebody,’ Honey Bee hisses. ‘Somebody go and cut their wristbands!’

  Of course!

  Should’ve thought of that.

  ‘Now?’ I check.

  ‘Yes! Now! I’m holding them. But I don’t know how long—’

  I skip around her, and run down the slope, scuffing right up to the Whisperers.

  They see me coming but pay no attention. I’m just some kid. Their focus is on the girl on the hill who’s got them Spellbound.

  Scissors still in my pocket from back in the Whispering Kingdom. I pull them out, and sidle up to the first Whisperer.

  There it is, peeking out of his shirtsleeves: the red-and-black wristband.

  I reach out my hand and—

  I will not remove these wristbands.

  It’s a Whisper.

  A big one too. More like:

  I WILL NOT REMOVE THESE WRISTBANDS.

  It’s come swooping in like an arrow. I look along the row of Whisperers. It’s none of them. They’re all bound by Honey Bee; I can see by their faces, they’re fighting her hard.

  So who Whispered this?

  Oh well, I think. I take a deep breath.

  I’ll resist it.

  Yes, I will—I think back. I WILL remove the wristbands!

  And there it is again. Red-hot iron bars crushing my brain. Where is the Whisper coming from?

  Someone else can do this. Can’t be me.

  But it’s got to me. I’ll just—

  I WILL NOT REMOVE THESE WRISTBANDS.

  No, no, you’re right.

  I will not.

  Good. Instead, I will go back up and distract Honey Bee. I will prevent her spellbinding.

  Yeah, and maybe one of these Vanquishing Covers can deal with things down here? They can cut the wristbands. I’ll just tell them—

  I will not tell anybody else to cut the wristbands. I will go back up and distract Honey Bee. I will prevent her spellbinding.

  The Vanquishing Covers all have this blank, drained look. They don’t know about the wristbands, plus they’re probably still held in place by earlier Whispers. I need to cut the wristbands to kill those earlier Whispers.

  But I won’t. I won’t cut any wristband.

  When I turn back, the ten Whisperers have taken a single step forward in the direction of Honey Bee.

  They’re wearing her down.

  She can’t hold on much longer.

  I have to cut the—

  The sledgehammers in my brain!

  I push against them. Push against the force. Hold my hands out and shove, and shove, but it’s like trying to shove against a thick stone wall!

  Got to keep trying.

  Okay, push—

  Nope.

  Try again. Like with the shot-put at the Tournament, you put it in your shoulders and you—

  Hold up.

  Hold up here.

  I’m not a shot-putter. The twins do that.

  I’m a runner. A sprinter.

  I’m spindrift, Honey Bee wrote.

  Sparks of spindrift on the waves!

  Quick as a splash of water, I am.

  I WILL NOT REMOVE THE WRISTB—

  Yeah, yeah, whatever.

  This time I don’t fight it.

  I duck around it.

  Simple.

  It comes at me again.

  I jump over it.

  And again.

  And, as I dash and spin and climb, I’m dodging and weaving my way up that row of Whisperers.

  Rip

  Rip

  Rip

  Rip

  Rip

  Rip

  Rip

  Rip

  Rip

  Didn’t bother with the blunt scissors, did I? Tore them all off with my bare hands.

  RIP!

  Last one falls into my palm.

  That’s the gum-chewing commander. She whips around—they’re all whipping around, grabbing at their wrists, confused. They’ve been so fiercely trying to take down Honey Bee, it took them a moment to know what I was doing, but now they are proper mad.

  But I’m already sprinting back up the hill again.

  Honey Bee’s hands fall to her sides. She opens her eyes and smiles.

  Honey Bee

  We did it! We saved the people of the Kingdom of Vanquishing Cove!

  They were awfully grateful. So was Colonel Spoforth. He actually sat down on the grass with relief, breathing out a great gust of air. Hadn’t wanted to order his soldiers to shoot innocent people, of course. He hopped up again quickly, of course, and rushed to arrest the ten Whisperers.

  We’ve been back in Spindrift just over a week now, and Finlay and I have been taking turns writing this the last few days.

  The Vanquishing Covers have gone home—all but Aunt Rebecca who stayed on with me. She and Uncle Dominic are being dreadfully polite to each other, but there’s some real frost there. Turns out that Uncle Dominic had forbidden her to visit me, or even invite me to her cottage for holidays, these last three years. I did rather wonder why she never did. How could she be so busy all this time? I used to think. But after the almost-battle, Mayor Franny marched Aunt Rebecca and me up to the Boarding School door, and said that I was a hero and must be allowed a visit from my aunt. ‘Town council orders,’ she said. So Uncle Dominic had no choice.

  Anyhow, this is the end of our story.

  Finlay thinks there is not another word to write, and that this Chapter 104 is a waste of time. He thinks the story should end with the last line of his previous chapter: Honey Bee’s hands fall to her sides. She opens her eyes and smiles.

  ‘That’s all we need,’ he says, terribly proud of himself.

  Yes, all right, it is. But I like stories that wrap things up. For example, surely the readers want to know that Jaskafar and the other orphans are all healthy and well and back home at the Orphanage! Shadow Magic from the mines had begun to infiltrate the bloodstream of many of the children, just as Hamish thought, and that’s why they were so ill. But Spellbinders have cured them by binding the Shadow Magic.

  Most people have recovered from the Witch-made flu, although some are still very ill. The school nurse says I’m still not allowed to visit Carlos behind the curtain!

  ‘Still in quarantine,’ she said, ‘but on the mend.’

  And the reader must want to know about the marvellous, deep, warm, bubbly bath I had on the day we got back from the Whispering Kingdom, after we’d rescued the Vanquishing Covers! Ordinarily, we children have showers but Mayor Franny said I must get bath privileges.

  Oh, you should have seen how black the bathwater turned! Instantly! All that caked-on mud washing away! I emptied the tub and started again with fresh water, because you don’t feel like you’re getting clean, do you, lying in a tub of black water. So I lay there in the bubbles, soaking away the last shreds of shadow thread, scrubbing them from under my fingernails, rinsing them out of my ear

  Sorry, that was Finlay trying to wrestle the pen out of my hand.

  He was reading over my shoulder. I’m killing a great tale with talk of washing my ears, he says.

  So, now I will finish off the story by telling about the awards ceremony.

  It was today!

  I will try to be quick.

  The Queen held the ceremony right here in the green common room of Brathelthwaite! At present, you see, she is staying in the Brathelthwaite Master Guest Suite. The Beach with the Yellow Sand is no longer safe—some of the hotels have been struck by cannon fire! As you might have guessed, the Whispering Wars continue. Even as I write, there is a battle at sea just of
f the coast.

  Several pirate ships attacked yesterday. They sailed close, their ships disguised—they were flying the flags of our allies—and then attacked! A nasty trick. Not sporting at all.

  But the K&E navy is holding them off and we hear that the Anti-Pirate League is speeding across the seas to help! Apparently, the League has thrilling new leaders named Gustav Spectaculo and the Scorpion. They can take down an entire pirate ship with a single sword, people say. They toss the sword between them while doing tumble turns in the air, I think. So that battle, at least, will soon be won.

  It was a very relaxed awards ceremony. The Queen said there was no need for pomp and grandeur: it just makes people nervous, she said. Hrmph, said Sir Brathelthwaite. And he begged her to add pomp and grandeur.

  ‘Hold the ceremony in the Town Hall,’ he suggested, ‘with trumpets and fireworks and the entire town as audience.’

  Why did this matter so much to Sir Brathelthwaite?

  The first award was to him!

  It was raining softly outside, and the lamps were lit. There were trays of cakes and slices on the sideboard, along with a teapot, a jug of hot chocolate, and elegant cups. We had lined up the armchairs and couches so that we were all the audience. When I say, ‘we’, whom do I mean?

  First, the children: Hamish, Victor and me from the Boarding School. Finlay, Glim and the twins from the Orphanage.

  Next, the adults: Sir Brathelthwaite, Aunt Rebecca, Lili-Daisy and Anita from the Orphanage, and Prince Jakob.

  The Queen was up front, alongside Mayor Franny. Oh, and a reporter from the Spindrift Daily News was in the back, taking pictures. But her clicks were very quiet. Click. Click. It was all quite cosy.

  ‘Sir Brathelthwaite!’ said the Queen.

  Sir Brathelthwaite stood up grandly, patted down his suit jacket, and flared out his fancy shirtsleeves.

  ‘You have generously given space in your school for the training of Spellbinders. Thanks to you, we had enough trainee Spellbinders in town to repel the dreadful Witch attack last week. Will you accept this medal?’

  ‘I will,’ said Sir Brathelthwaite, humbly.

  ‘Oh he will, will he?’ grumbled Eli. ‘What a surprise.’

  ‘Eli hates it when people state the obvious,’ I explained, as the Queen was looking somewhat bewildered.

  The Queen nodded her thanks and handed the gold medal to Mayor Franny who hung it over Sir B’s bald head. Clunk, went the heavy medal, hitting Sir B’s nose as it fell down to his shoulders. ‘Oops,’ said Mayor Franny. ‘Can’t think how that happened.’