It was night by the time Ottilie left the infirmary. Leo had gone up to dinner, but she couldn’t face noise and people and food. There were new questions. She had to ask Alba and Maeve about the white stone, and no doubt face an answer that plunged her into panic once more. She had just wanted to sit still a little longer. Alone with Scoot, with nothing moving, frozen in time with him.
When she did eventually leave, Ottilie took a detour. Weaving through the dark lavender fields, she came to the healers’ herb garden. It smelled of wild roses and lemon thyme, like soft smiles and the beginning of things.
Holding her pocket vial aloft, she searched for the familiar feathery flowers and found a pale-blue vine snaking up the stone fence. Then, cuttings in hand, she made for Ned’s bedchamber.
Ottilie paced back and forth outside the door. It was such a simple thing. Nothing to be nervous about – just some flowers to bring good dreams. Finally, shakily, she knocked.
No-one answered, but the doorway was leaking light, so she knew he was inside. Steeling herself, she said, ‘Ned? It’s Ottilie.’
There were footsteps, and some other sound – a clattering, like scattered shells – and then the door slid open.
Ned didn’t smile at her. She felt her face tense as she realised this might be the first time he had not greeted her with a smile. But there was no time to dwell on it, because a long, dark nose emerged and started snuffling up and down her legs. Ottilie nearly jumped. The shepherd withdrew and growled in a way that seemed more an expression of displeasure than a threat. She knew that growl. The dog could smell Nox’s scent on her.
‘There’s a shepherd up here ...’ she said, voicing her thoughts aloud. Ottilie recognised him from the night she had found Ned in Floodwood. He was a young, lanky thing, like an overgrown pup. His black fur had a blueish tinge and strange patches of white that she hadn’t seen on many of the shepherds.
‘He won’t stop following me,’ said Ned, warmth creasing his eyes. ‘He just showed up at my door the other day. The shepherds don’t normally try to get inside – I guess no-one thought to stop him. He sleeps here now.’
The shepherd was still growling.
‘Penguin. Enough.’
Ottilie nearly laughed. ‘Penguin?’
Ned flashed a quick smile, and a knot loosened somewhere inside her.
‘The colours,’ he explained. ‘Reminds me of the fairy penguins back home. He answers to Pen too.’ He looked down at the shepherd fondly. ‘Fast learner.’
‘Will they let you keep him up here?’
He shrugged. ‘See what happens.’
Silence fell and, not for the first time, Ottilie wondered at the freedom these boys had. She would never have risked keeping a shepherd in her room. Who knew what sort of trouble she would be in if she was found out?
Ned’s gaze caught the lullaby cuttings in her hand, and Ottilie suddenly felt very foolish.
‘It’s for your sleep,’ she said quickly, stumbling over the words. ‘To help stop – well, I don’t know if it actually – to bring … I mean, it’s supposed to bring good dreams. I thought it might help.’ The heat rose to her face and she longed to turn and run in the opposite direction. A memory surfaced: Skip saying something about boys only getting flowers if they were dying or if someone wanted to marry them. Ottilie cringed inwardly and wished she could sink into the floor.
Ned’s eyes flicked back up to hers, and her thoughts stopped flailing long enough to notice how gravely tired he looked. She had to stop being so sensitive. This wasn’t about her.
His reactions delayed, Ned’s face lifted a little. ‘Thank you.’
She held out the cuttings, but he didn’t take them.
‘It might not do anything,’ she prattled on. ‘But it’s something … until Maeve works out a proper cure.’
Ned took a step back, shaking his head. He hadn’t invited her in, but she didn’t want to have this conversation where they could be overheard, so she stepped into the room and shut the door behind her anyway.
‘Why are you shaking your head?’
Ned sat down on the end of his bed. ‘I don’t want to stop the dreams.’
‘What?’ She was suddenly fearful. ‘But your arm, and the sleepwal–’
‘I know. But the dreams are trying to show me something important. I can feel it, and I want to know what it is.’
‘It’s too dangerous.’ She glanced at his arm. ‘You have to stop it.’
‘It’s not really up to you.’
‘I know that.’
‘Do you?’
Her face heated again. It was true, she had taken charge the other night, but Ned had been shaken and in pain … someone had to. She realised he hadn’t actually agreed when she’d asked Maeve to look into stopping his dreams.
‘But Whistler is the one who did that to you. If the dreams are trying to show you something, it’s coming from her.’
Ned looked up at her, his brow creasing. ‘Ottilie, I know everything you know.’
Her eyes narrowed. Was it really him resisting this? Or was it Whistler’s influence?
He read the look on her face. ‘This is why it’s so hard to say. You don’t trust me, because of this.’ He gestured to his arm. ‘I’m not bound. It’s not like Gracie … or anything else. I’m in my right mind. Well, mostly. It’s just lack of sleep.’
Ottilie wanted to rush forward and peer into his eyes, search for any hint that his decisions weren’t his own. It wasn’t just for his sake. If he was some sort of spy, or if his dreams were some weapon Whistler could use to harm them all, if it was a key part of whatever terrible scheme she was cooking up, then it wasn’t just his business, it was hers, too – all of theirs. Her hand clenched around the lullaby cuttings and the stems wilted in her grip. Had Skip been right? Did they need to watch Ned?
He was tracking her expressions and she felt guilty. She didn’t know what to say. He, too, seemed lost for words. There was something missing from his face. There was no twinkle, no glimmer of laughter. He was really worried that she didn’t trust him. The terrible thing was that now, after this, she wasn’t sure she did.
Ottilie tried to smile, or nod, or offer some gesture of goodbye, because she seemed to have forgotten how to say anything other than ‘don’t be stupid’ or ‘you have to stop the dreams’. Ned turned away and looked out the window and Ottilie took the opportunity to depart.
9
Varrio Sol
‘Who are they?’ Six huntsmen Ottilie didn’t recognise had just entered the Moon Court.
‘No idea,’ said Gully. ‘Maybe they came with the king – they’re wearing green and grey. That’s the Arko colours.’
Ottilie was sitting alone with Gully. She couldn’t face anyone else right now: not Skip with her distrust of Ned, or Leo with his concern for her, and especially not Ned himself, who, Ottilie couldn’t help but notice, was avoiding her too. She had never realised how much Ned looked at her before, but she was keenly aware of the absence of his glances.
Maeve Moth slipped into the seat behind her and leaned forward. ‘I found something.’
Ottilie’s stomach twisted. ‘About the white stone?’ She had asked both Alba and Maeve to look into why Scoot’s fingertips had changed colour, and had been secretly hoping that neither would come up with any answer.
Maeve blinked in affirmation. ‘I was going to wait to tell you, until …’ She gestured to the front of the courtyard, where the directorate was assembling. ‘But it’s pretty urgent.’
Ottilie swallowed the painful lump in her throat and nodded for Maeve to continue.
Maeve’s eyes flickered. ‘It’s the final stage of the transformation. Heartstone is pure white and permanent. Once he turns completely white we won’t ever be able to change him back.’
‘What?’ said Gully. ‘No.’
Ottilie twisted right around in her seat, her heart pounding. ‘How fast does it happen? When will we … how long do we have to fix him?’
M
aeve shook her head. ‘I don’t know,’ she said blankly. Maeve’s voice often flattened when she was upset. Ottilie now realised it was because she was trying to control her emotions. Considering that her feelings tended to light fires, stir wind or chill the air, it made sense that she had to clamp down. ‘Some turn white straight away – others take months. The book says some people’s bodies fight against it. It’s just the tip of one hand so far. That’s something …’
‘Can people last years?’ said Gully.
Maeve shook her head. ‘The longest on record is eleven months.’
Ottilie needed to see Scoot now, to measure it, check how far gone he was. She jumped to her feet, but Gully grabbed her sleeve and pulled her back down. ‘Look.’
Beyond the dais, a door opened and Captain Lyre appeared. Ottilie had rarely seen him so subdued. Today, he wore the face she had only seen across a funeral pyre.
‘May I present Varrio Sol, King of the Usklers and Lord of the Laklands,’ he said, lacking his usual showmanship.
Ottilie narrowed her eyes. Viago the Vanquisher had laid waste to the Laklands a hundred years ago, yet his descendants still boasted the title.
There were gasps and whispers. Everyone rose to their feet. Captain Lyre gestured to the door and silence fell as the king entered the Moon Court.
Ottilie peeked up over the bowed heads. Varrio Sol was a hollow-looking man. He had broad shoulders that rounded into a slight hunch. This was exaggerated by the chestnut fur cloak he wore, despite the mild weather. It looked unsettlingly like wingerslink fur. Ottilie guessed he was just bones beneath it, and that his bulk was made up of his many-layered black-and-gold clothes.
There was something else that she couldn’t put her finger on. Beneath his circlet crown and grizzled hair, his face was angular, almost wolfish. There was something familiar about his eyes. Perhaps he reminded her of Whistler? She was his aunt, after all.
The king slumped onto the grand throne usually reserved for Conductor Edderfed. There were no trumpets, no fanfare, only stiff silence. The bone singers had always played the music – and those who had not flocked to Whistler were imprisoned in the burrows.
Once he settled on the throne, his bulky shoulders curving forwards, the crowd straightened their backs. The king flicked his fingers at them. They sat, and Captain Lyre moved forward to speak.
Captain Lyre’s energy usually brightened the room – it could make things seem less serious, sometimes even fun. Ottilie imagined being greeted on their first day in the Narroway by this sombre version. How much scarier, how grim and violent life as a huntsman would have seemed.
Now he was explaining everything Leo had already told her, and Ottilie stopped listening. There was a strange energy in the room. It wasn’t just Captain Lyre’s sullenness. It was coming from the huntsmen themselves.
Here was the king – the man responsible for everything. And they all knew it. Whistler had told them. She had tricked him; knowing his violent, warmongering ways, she had told him that if he sent his armies out to fight, he would die. And he had been too cowardly to question it, to even test it.
When the dredretches appeared in the Narroway, Varrio Sol had been so frightened by Whistler’s words – her false hex – that he had created the Narroway Hunt to deal with the threat. He had kidnapped children into service: traded them to keep his crown.
Now he had come to help them clean up his mess, but what use was he? His soldiers had never even seen a dredretch, and he was hiding here at the fort he considered the safest.
Captain Lyre’s disdain was mirrored all around, so when the huntsmen were dismissed, Ottilie was surprised by how many of them remained to meet the king. A great line formed before the man on the throne, and one by one they moved forward and bowed as Captain Lyre introduced them.
‘Leo!’ said Ottilie, as she spotted him heading for the line. ‘What are you doing?’
‘I want to meet him,’ said Leo with a grin.
Gully snorted, but Ottilie just gaped.
Leo shrugged. ‘He’s the king.’
‘So?’
Leo didn’t seem to have a better explanation. She turned away from him just as one of the Arko huntsmen approached. He was the youngest of the lot, with brown hair, a nasty scar across his jaw, and shockingly green eyes.
‘Are you Gulliver Colter?’
Gully didn’t answer him.
Ottilie frowned. She’d never noticed him struggle with speaking to strangers before. ‘Yes, he is,’ she answered for him.
The boy’s eyes lit up. ‘I’m Murphy Graves,’ he said, with a slightly lopsided grin. ‘I’ve been wanting to meet you!’
Ottilie recognised the name. Murphy Graves had spent a good part of their fledge year at the top of the rankings – coming in second, behind Gully, in the end.
Gully managed a somewhat nervous smile and said, ‘Oh, hello.’
‘And you’re Ottilie?’ Murphy said, ignoring Gully’s odd behaviour. ‘You two are famous!’
She laughed. ‘Are we?’
There was a whistle from across the room. The other Arko huntsmen were heading out, and one of them was waving Murphy over.
‘Better go. Congrats on making champion, Gulliver.’ As he walked away he called back, ‘I was looking forward to taking you on this season – too bad they’ve stopped scoring!’
Gully stared after him. ‘It’s Gully,’ he mumbled, too quietly for Murphy to hear.
Ottilie elbowed him in the ribs. ‘What was that?’
‘He had really green eyes.’
‘I saw,’ said Ottilie, with a bemused smile. She couldn’t remember Gully paying any attention to appearances before.
‘I have to go hunt now,’ said Gully, and he hurried over to Ned without another word. Ottilie smiled and turned away. Something caught her eye. Alba was waving her over.
She and Maeve were in a corner. Maeve turned and Ottilie was relieved to see she had brightened. ‘Alba’s found something that could help Scoot and Ned.’
Ottilie felt a jolt of panic – what had Maeve told Alba? Not about the dreams, surely? She had promised!
‘His burns,’ added Maeve quickly.
She relaxed. Alba already knew Ned’s burns weren’t healing. Ottilie had told her that herself.
Alba grabbed Ottilie’s arm, clearly bursting to share the news. ‘There’s a legend about a spring in these parts – a healing spring that can cure any ailment!’
‘A healing spring?’ Ottilie raised her eyebrows. ‘But is it real?’
‘There’s enough sources to suggest that it might be,’ said Alba. ‘The legend says that the water springs from the site of an ancient heroic deed. Places … the land … it remembers things. Water soaks up memory, and in that particular spot, the memory is so powerful that it makes the water magic. The water acts as a conduit –’
‘A what?’ said Ottilie.
‘A way we can access the magic,’ said Alba. ‘Absorb it …’
‘But you have to get it from exactly the right place,’ added Maeve. ‘Because as the water moves away from that spot, the magic is ...’
‘Diluted,’ Alba finished for her.
‘Weakened,’ said Maeve.
Ottilie’s heart raced. ‘How are we going to find it? How will we know where the right place is? Do I just start dipping cuts into water everywhere to see if they heal?’ She wasn’t joking. She would do it, if that’s what it took.
Alba shook her head with a sad smile. ‘It’s going to be basically impossible to find without more information. It could be anywhere. It could even be in the Arko or Richter zones. We’re going to keep researching. I’ll let you know as soon as I have more clues.’
Ottilie wanted to stay hopeful. She wanted so badly for this to be the solution. ‘So, so … once we find it, Scoot and Ned just have to drink it, and then …’ she faltered. Scoot was a statue – he couldn’t drink.
‘He wouldn’t have to drink it,’ said Alba. ‘Just come into contact with it. But it has
to be before he turns fully white.’ She squeezed Ottilie’s arm. ‘Pure heartstone is … there won’t be anything we can do after that.’
‘But,’ said Maeve.
Ottilie braced.
‘Because magic is involved with their …’ Maeve searched for a word. ‘Problems, it’s a bit harder to fix. But still possible. The water has to be poured by the caster of the spells –’
Ottilie’s hope winked out. ‘But that puts us back where we started! Whistler’s not going to help us. We might as well just ask her to undo the magic – it’s the same thing.’
‘The caster of the spells, or someone of their bloodline,’ said Maeve, her eyes sparking again.
Ottilie spun and stared at the wolfish figure on the throne. Would he help them? Surely he would. It was just pouring a little water on a statue – and on Ned, one of the Hunt’s prized elites – why would he say no?
The only thing they had to worry about now was keeping him out of Whistler’s clutches. Until Alba could gather more information about this healing spring, they had to keep Varrio Sol safe.
10
Ramona’s Right Eye
The next day, Ottilie planned to meet Leo at the base of the Dawn Cliffs. His hunt would be half done, but at least they could work together for part of their shifts. She was on her way to the lower grounds when angry voices drew her ear.
Ottilie traced the sounds to the pentagonal courtyard, where the rankings were still frozen. Drawing closer, she recognised Captain Lyre’s voice. The other voice was new and, with a thrilling jolt, she realised it was probably the king. She slipped around the corner and ducked behind a raptor statue to listen.
‘Announce it!’ snapped the king. He wasn’t looking at Captain Lyre, but was instead staring up at the ranking walls.
Ottilie followed his gaze and, with a painful scrunching feeling, took in her name at the top of the second tiers. Scoot was just below, in second place, and Gully was third. She had seen it before, but didn’t like to look at it – to see Scoot’s name up there. Especially because Ottilie knew why she, Scoot and Gully were ranked the highest. The scores were frozen just after Gracie’s attack – the day that Whistler revealed herself and Bill was taken, then Ned too, shortly after. The wylers they felled that day had shot them to the top of the rankings.
Ottilie Colter and the Withering World Page 5