by Cliff McNish
‘Are there any near us?’
‘Wolves are never far away.’
Rachel gazed nervously around, expecting huge paw tracks to be criss-crossing the snow. But there were no signs of wolves. The snows stretched out confidently, as if daring anything alive to disturb their featureless grey. Nothing moved or stirred. Even the pallid sky was empty. So quiet, Rachel thought. Was that good or bad? She cleared the snow of Lake Ker beneath her feet, wondering if bright fish might be shivering under the lake’s surface, but there was just the impenetrable blackness of ice forever frozen.
‘What’s down there?’ she asked.
‘Nothing,’ said Morpeth. ‘Unless it can live without breathing. Unless it can live without moving or eating. Perhaps Dragwena has created such a creature, just to know that it suffers. Come on, we can’t rest here.’
‘But what other creatures live on Ithrea?’ Rachel asked, staying close to him. ‘I’ve seen so few.’
‘Eagles live in the western mountains, helping the Sarren where they can,’ he said. ‘They only survive because Dragwena likes to keep a few alive, to hunt when she’s bored. The wolves devour anything that lives on the surface. The only other animals live underground – if you can call them animals. Who knows what they might have been once, but most are now weak slug-like creatures, blind, slurping what scraps they can find from the deep earth. Even Dragwena can’t be bothered to torment them.’
Rachel heard a tiny flutter. It was a pair of birds, streaking across the sky. They flew in perfect formation, their movements incredibly precise.
Morpeth pulled her down. ‘Keep dead still,’ he hissed.
‘What are they?’
‘Prapsies,’ he said. ‘Dragwena’s spies. Half-bird, half-baby, and much faster than eagles.’
‘Half baby?’ Rachel whispered.
‘They’re weird, mixed-up things,’ Morpeth said. ‘Joke-creations of the Witch. Don’t ask me to describe them. You wouldn’t believe me.’
The prapsies zigzagged in several directions across the sky. They travelled in exact straight lines, occasionally stopping and hovering, without needing to slow down. At one point they passed over Rachel and Morpeth and she heard them chattering loudly – a babble of high-pitched voices.
Morpeth waited several minutes before continuing, and now they moved more cautiously. After walking for over an hour they crossed Lake Ker and headed towards the low hills. To Rachel the hills seemed miles away, and the murky wood even further. She noticed her hand throbbing painfully and glanced down.
‘Morpeth!’ she cried.
Where the puncture wound had stood a clear black circle now lay etched on her palm; inside the circle was a perfect five-pointed star. Rachel knew where she had seen that shape before – on the candle in the eye-tower.
‘What’s this?’ she asked, looking squarely at Morpeth. ‘It’s some kind of Witch-mark, isn’t it?’
‘Yes,’ he admitted.
‘Does it mean I’m changing into a Witch?’
‘You still don’t look like Dragwena, if that is what you mean. Do you feel any different?’
‘No, I don’t . . . think so,’ said Rachel. ‘But this mark has grown in a few hours. If it’s a Witch-mark Dragwena must have done something to me. I’m scared, Morpeth.’
‘It’s probably nothing,’ he said, trying to draw her on.
‘You don’t know what it means, do you?’ she said, standing her ground. ‘What if it means I’ll be a Witch by the time I reach Latnap Deep? Eric’s there. I don’t want to harm him, or anyone else.’
Morpeth regarded her gravely. ‘I don’t know what the mark signifies. No Sarren has ever had this mark. It could mean anything. Your first thought is for Eric’s safety. That tells me you are still the Rachel I know. We must trust in that.’
They shuffled on, their snowshoes carving through the snows. Morpeth kept up a fast pace and Rachel, thinking of Dragwena, did not complain. But after several hours of trudging through the everlasting cold she entered a state of exhaustion, her whole body numb with pain and weariness.
Morpeth chatted constantly, trying to keep her alert. Eventually they arrived at the low hills. Rachel was too weary to notice or care. Morpeth let her rest and made his way to the top of a small rise.
Due south lay the safety of Latnap Deep, so close now. Between them and it stood the trees of Dragwood. Which way to go? Dragwood was dangerous, full of Dragwena’s magic, easily stirred. They could go around Dragwood, but that would take over an hour, and Morpeth sensed the detour was beyond Rachel. Not once had she mentioned her tiredness, or complained, but Morpeth saw her fatigue in every step – and he was too weary himself to carry her all the way to Latnap Deep.
He glanced at the sky. A bleak sunset had set in, casting deep shadows around the trees. Soon it would be dark and unendurably cold. Even with her furs, Morpeth knew, Rachel would not survive a night on the surface. Making up his mind, he trotted back and found her lying on her side, half-buried by snow.
‘Wake up, sleepyhead,’ he murmured, lifting her up. ‘It’s not time for bed yet. We’re going to take a short cut through the wood. We’ll be in Latnap Deep within the hour.’
The last rays of the sun vanished. Above them, a few lonely stars and the great moon Armath shone brightly. Morpeth prayed Armath would shine well – its cold radiance was their only hope to pass swiftly through the trees: there were no footpaths in Dragwood.
‘Stay close,’ Morpeth said, linking hands with Rachel, and stepping more boldly than he felt into the outer trees.
14
Prapsies
As soon as Rachel and Morpeth crept inside Dragwood towering trees enfolded them in near darkness. A few moonbeams sliced between the upper branches, stabbing the ground with a piercing brilliance. Rachel listened anxiously to the tremor of a light wind. It rippled through the treetops, causing the branches to creak like doors opening.
At first they made rapid progress. As they penetrated further into Dragwood the trees packed together, their high, gnarled roots making it harder to stay on a straight course. They stumbled along as best they could, Rachel always clutching tightly onto Morpeth.
Then Morpeth squeezed her hand.
‘What’s wrong?’ she asked.
He winced as Rachel’s voice rang in the air.
‘Listen,’ he whispered.
Rachel held her breath. ‘I can’t hear anything.’
‘Exactly. There is a breeze but the leaves on the trees are no longer rustling. Nothing’s moving. Look!’
He pointed at the canopy of the wood.
On every tree the leaves pointed stiffly, like outstretched fingers. The branches had also stopped swaying, as if stilled to listen. Morpeth and Rachel staggered warily on.
Then, without warning, a branch lashed at Rachel’s head. Other trees also started to shake, thrashing their leaves, warning the trees ahead about the strangers.
‘What’s happening?’ Rachel squealed.
‘Dragwood has awakened!’ replied Morpeth.
And they ran for their lives.
They ducked under the lowest branches, tearing through the leaves, tripping and falling, picking each other up and running on. Ahead, Rachel suddenly noticed a spot where the trunks thinned slightly – an opening to the edge of the wood. They dashed towards the gap.
As they neared it two huge branches reached over their heads, ripping off their white cloaks. Instantly, as if a million eyes had been opened, all the leaves in Dragwood lashed the air. Several nearby trunks swayed. They snapped their roots, pulling themselves out of the ground.
‘They can’t run after us, can they?’ screamed Rachel.
‘They don’t need to,’ said Morpeth.
Rachel watched as the uprooted trees were passed from branch to branch of other trunks, until six of them were slammed into the earth, encircling Morpeth and Rachel.
There was no way through the trees. Dragwood, now fully awakened, had no intention of letting them escape.
For a moment Rachel and Morpeth stood in silence amidst the trunks, while leaves showered them from above, and Dragwood decided what to do.
At last, two of the largest trees dragged their slashed roots forward and felt with their branches for Morpeth’s throat.
‘Wait!’ snapped a voice behind him.
The trees froze instantly. Even Morpeth froze because he recognized the voice behind him at once: Dragwena.
He turned to see Rachel standing with her head proudly erect, hands on hips, addressing the trees.
‘Do you not recognize me?’ she purred, her voice so perfectly like the Witch that no one except Dragwena herself would have been able to tell the difference. Rachel reached into her pocket and thrust her knife against Morpeth’s neck. ‘Let me through with this creature,’ she commanded.
She did not wait for the trees to react. She walked confidently forward, dragging Morpeth with her. Slowly, uncertainly, the trees parted and allowed them through, their branches whispering. She pointed imperiously at the last tree blocking her path and it scuttled aside.
Rachel and Morpeth walked quickly to the edge of Dragwood, Rachel holding the knife against his throat all the way.
‘Keep walking – don’t run,’ warned Morpeth.
Twenty footsteps took them safely out of reach of the trees. Rachel released Morpeth and stuffed the knife back into her jacket. Immediately the trees realized they had been tricked. They crowded at the edge of the wood, whipping their branches.
Rachel eyed them anxiously, ready to run. ‘Why don’t they come after us?’
‘It seems they cannot leave Dragwood,’ said Morpeth. ‘Their magic must be confined to its limits.’ He grinned, then stiffened.
‘What is it?’ Rachel asked.
‘Quiet!’ Morpeth hissed. ‘Stay still!’
Behind them, peering from the outer trees of Dragwood, were two flying creatures with human faces.
Each had the black body of a crow, but on its neck perched a small human head: a pink face, snub nose, tiny round ears and soft thin hair – the face of a baby. They were so bizarre that Rachel would have burst out laughing had Morpeth not looked so concerned.
‘Mine,’ said one of the creatures, its voice high-pitched and baby-like too.
‘No, mine,’ said the other. ‘I saw it first.’
‘I saw the trees moving.’
‘I saw it first!’
‘You would not have seen it if I had not seen the trees.’
Its companion stuck out a tongue and blew a raspberry. The other spat at it.
‘Missed me.’
‘Meant to miss you.’
Together they turned their heads towards Rachel and Morpeth.
‘What are they?’ one asked.
‘A man and a girl.’
‘They do not move. Men and girls move. These do not. Therefore, they are something else.’
‘A puzzle. Let’s have a closer look.’
‘After you.’
‘After you,’ chirped the other, bowing – and they both glided down together. One perched itself on Rachel’s head; the other landed on Morpeth’s shoulder. Rachel tried not to blink. The one on her head bent down and pressed the tip of its tiny pink tongue against her cheek.
‘Soft skin,’ it said. ‘Must be girl. Tastes nice.’
The other child-bird bit Morpeth on the ear. Rachel saw him tense, stifling a cry.
‘Frozen man. Statue. Not real.’
‘But I saw it move.’
‘It does not move.’
‘It moved! I saw it!’
‘Rubbish!’
‘You’re rubbish!’
‘You’re rubbish!’
The child-birds argued like this for some time, while Morpeth and Rachel remained as still as they could.
‘Let’s go away and watch them,’ suggested one of the child-birds, eventually.
The other scratched its ear with a claw. ‘Agreed. After you.’
‘After you,’ said its companion, bowing – and they both flew off together. Each retook its original position in the trees and perched there, quietly twitching and staring at Rachel and Morpeth from a short distance.
‘Prapsies?’ whispered Rachel, trying to stay motionless.
‘Yes,’ said Morpeth. ‘Probably the same pair we saw earlier. They can’t harm us, but nothing flies more swiftly. They could warn Dragwena of our presence. Don’t move. They are stupid creatures and quickly become bored. If we stay still they may just fly away.’
Several times the prapsies flew down and landed on or near them, then flitted back to the trees, continually arguing amongst themselves.
‘Statues. Definitely statues.’
‘Yes,’ said the other. ‘Warm statues.’
‘Will we tell Dragwena?’
‘No. Silly mistake. She will spank us if we tell her about statues.’
They giggled.
‘Let’s go then.’
‘After you.’
‘After you,’ said the other, bowing – and together they sprang from the tree. But at that moment Rachel felt a cramp in her right leg and had to lift it from the ground. The prapsies immediately hovered, chattering wildly.
‘Real child and man. Alive! Alive!’
‘Pretend statues! Man and girl.’
‘Rachel and Morpeth!’
‘Morpeth and Rachel!’
‘Tell Dragwena at once.’
‘At once.’ Somehow, while flying in circles, they managed to bow to each other. ‘After you,’ they said – and flew off together.
Morpeth hurled a stick, but they easily dodged aside.
‘Tell Dragwena!’ squeaked one child-bird.
‘Tell Dragwena and the wolves!’
‘Tell the wolves!’
‘Tell the wolves!’
‘Eat them up—’
‘For supper!’
The prapsies sped off, heading northwards, muttering ‘wolves, wolves, wolves!’ in glee until they were out of sight.
15
Wolves
Morpeth watched the flight path the child-birds had taken.
‘They’re heading for Dragwena in the Ragged Mountains,’ he said. ‘The journey is short for a prapsy. Now we have a race to beat the Witch to Latnap Deep.’
Rachel shivered. With the onset of night snow had started falling heavily, bringing with it a searing wind. Behind them the trees of Dragwood continued their urgent, relentless thrashing.
‘Morpeth, I can’t go much further,’ she said. ‘Can’t we hide?’
‘There is nowhere to hide on the surface from the Witch,’ Morpeth said, gripping her tightly. ‘We can get to Latnap Deep! It’s not too far. Please – I know how tired you are. Make one last effort.’
Rachel nodded weakly, barely able to force a smile any longer.
Despite the danger they set off at an agonizingly slow pace. It was all Rachel could manage, and they had also lost their snowshoes in Dragwood, making every footfall heavy through the snow. They skirted Dragwood, heading westwards for a time through the slush of boggy land.
Eventually they turned south again. Ahead, a wide undulating moor rose gently before them, and normally Rachel would not even have noticed the effort of walking across. But her last reserves of strength had vanished in the slush, and she moved through a numbing exhaustion. Only fear of the Witch kept her dead feet moving. She planted one reluctant step in front of the other, too tired to think ahead.
Morpeth allowed Rachel to lean against his shoulder, protecting her face as best he could from the buffeting of the wind. They seemed to walk forever like this, freezing gusts piercing their clothes and Armath so bright that without their cloaks they were lit up for all to see in the snow.
At last Morpeth permitted Rachel another rest. He knew Dragwena would soon arrive – their clumsy footsteps would be like blazing beacons to her night vision and the wolves. Rachel slept, her face already half-buried by dark snow. Morpeth heaved her over his back. He lowered his
face and walked steadily into the brunt of the wind, sheer desperation carrying his legs.
Then he noticed the wolf.
It was eight feet high from paw to shoulder. Thirty or more of the beasts had surrounded them without him noticing. Icy breath steamed around their muzzles, and their glistening yellow eyes gazed in an almost leisurely way at Morpeth and Rachel. The leader of the wolves casually trotted forward. It was Scorpa, a she-wolf: ferocious, sleek and deadly. Morpeth knew her well, as he had trained her as a cub.
‘Hello, old man,’ Scorpa said. ‘I see Rachel has made you handsome. It’s a pity she forgot to change the way you smell. That was a mistake.’
The wolf pack grinned.
Morpeth roused Rachel. He had to shake her several times.
‘Welcome, child,’ said Scorpa, bowing courteously. ‘To greet one who has escaped Dragwena herself is a rare honour.’
‘Leave us!’ Rachel tried weakly, using Dragwena’s voice.
Most of the wolves stirred uneasily. Scorpa simply rocked back on her grizzled hindquarters and howled with derision. ‘Not a bad try. But we are not so easily fooled as the trees of Dragwood.’
Morpeth held his knife against Rachel’s throat.
‘Leave us or I will kill her!’ he growled.
A wolf darted in, plucking the blade from his hand.
‘Not fast enough,’ tutted Scorpa. ‘Rachel has given you a lean young body, but it moves like a geriatric. Another mistake. Still, Dragwena will soon polish the child’s rough edges.’ She licked her lips, pawing the ground. ‘I give you a choice, Morpeth: I can set the pack on you at once – or you can do me the honour of single combat. I promise the others will not interfere. At least you will have a chance to tickle my flesh before you die. What do you say?’
The other wolves moved back slightly, giving them space.
Morpeth abruptly raised his hands. A blue light shot from them, piercing the sky like a flare.