Ottilie Colter and the Withering World

by Rhiannon Williams

  ‘Bill, I promise you. I touched your arm and you said midges.’

  He narrowed his eyes. ‘You’re having dreams.’

  Ottilie pinched herself. ‘I’m awake – were you maybe having dreams, Bill?’

  Bill looked very confused. ‘I was having dreams?’ He blinked. ‘I was having dreams!’

  Ottilie sighed with relief. ‘Is everything all right? What were you dreaming about? Midges?’ She tried to think of what a midge was. Some kind of insect?

  Bill’s hands shot to his horns. ‘Bridges!’ he burst out.

  She knew instantly what he was talking about. Whistler’s heartstone bridges – the ones Bill had said she planned to build so that dredretches could spread across the entire Usklers.

  Bill’s eyes clouded over. ‘I just saw. Someone, another one of me – like me,’ he corrected, ‘we saw – they’ve been building bridges imbedded with bits of white stone, over the narrow gaps – linking the islands.’

  A map formed in her head: Crown Canal, dividing east and west, and Pero’s Passage cutting off the north. She could almost perfectly remember the angles and curves, the places where the islands cut in and reached out, shoulders leaning, fingers stretching towards each other.

  ‘Who’s building them?’ she said. ‘Why is no-one stopping them?’

  ‘From Shortwood,’ said Bill.

  ‘You mean Longwood?’

  He nodded.

  ‘The Laklanders from Longwood are building heartstone bridges for Whistler?’ said Ottilie, piecing it together.

  ‘They’ve already done it … built them,’ he said.

  She felt like she was falling from a great height. They were already built. ‘While the king’s away,’ she muttered to herself. ‘And his whole army. She sent people out to build them while everyone’s attention’s been fixed on the Narroway.’

  Bill covered his eyes and nodded. ‘And now they’re coming here, too – to attack from the east.’

  ‘But there can’t be many of them?’ said Ottilie, seeking any scrap of comfort. It was true. There could not be many Longwood Laklanders out there. Nothing to rival the king’s army and the entire Narroway Hunt, surely.

  Bill slid his hands to his horns, eyes darting from side to side as if reading a book. ‘After a big fire they got chased out.’

  The fire Gracie’s parents had set in Scarpy Village, burning Montie’s house. The villagers had chased them out of Longwood and they’d scattered.

  ‘Whistler found them,’ said Bill. ‘The ones that escaped the war and the slave traders. She told them they could avenge the Laklands. Some of them want it – vengeance. They’ve been gathering for years, seeking out the mistreated.’

  Of course. Whistler had had thirty years to gather followers. She hadn’t just been recruiting bone singers and raising dredretches. She’d collected people from all across the Usklers to fight with her. To destroy the Sol line, the Crown and everything her family had built.

  A wingerslink in a nearby pen beat her tail against the wall, making Bill and Ottilie jump.

  She squeezed his arm. ‘But the king’s whole army is camped in Longwood. They won’t get past them,’ she said, not daring to imagine how many followers Whistler really had.

  ‘They’re not trying to get past them,’ said Bill, staring into her eyes.

  Ottilie bit hard into her lip. Of course not. Whistler didn’t need numbers in the Narroway. She had her monsters. She just wanted to get rid of the king’s army.

  ‘They’ll sneak in when no-one’s expecting,’ said Bill, his eyes still darting back and forth. ‘They know the forest.’

  He was right. Ottilie jumped to her feet. She had to warn someone – right now. And there was only one adult in the Narroway she trusted.

  Ottilie found Ramona in the stables, but just as she reached her …

  ‘You’re back!’ cried Preddy, glancing warily at the group of mounts he had just ridden in with.

  The mounts stared at Ottilie’s wild hair, ragged uniform and soggy boots with interest. Preddy turned a bit pink and dismounted. Leaving Warship untethered, he hurried over.

  ‘Did you get Ned? Is everyone all right?’ He lowered his voice. ‘Where’s Whistler?’

  Ottilie gripped his arm. ‘Everyone’s fine. I’ll tell you soon. First …’

  She turned to Ramona, who was watching her intently. Ottilie could tell she was about to tell her to eat or sleep or wash, but Ottilie didn’t have time for it. Without letting her get a word in, she hastily told Ramona about Whistler’s followers.

  She only said two words in response. ‘You’re sure?’

  Ottilie wished she wasn’t sure, but she didn’t think Bill could have it wrong. Breathless, she simply nodded, and Ramona went straight to Captain Lyre.

  Ottilie turned back to Preddy. He looked pale and drawn, and in that instant she remembered why she had gone to see Bill in the first place. For Scoot. She had meant to ask if he could remember anything, anything at all, that could stop the heartstone spreading.

  Preddy frowned. ‘Ottilie? What’s wrong?’

  There was no time to lose. She had lost too much already. She grabbed Preddy’s arm and they headed straight back to the lower grounds.

  Ottilie’s mind rolled and tossed like a stormy sea. She thought of the pipe Whistler was using for who knew what. She thought of Maia, who was buried beneath the philowood tree, and the evil that had poisoned the Narroway. She thought of the healing spring, dried up, their only hope gone. Then she thought of Seika Sol, who had lured the fendevil over the cliff and into the Sol River – and it hit her.

  Water picked up memory. It just had to be caught in the right spot. Evil had poisoned the land, but good could heal it. Seika Sol’s selfless heroic deed. The river named for it.

  The pool beneath the waterfall …

  Ottilie gasped and stopped still, clutching the gate of a wingerslink’s pen.

  ‘What?’ said Preddy. He looked as if one more piece of bad news would knock him out.

  But she didn’t have bad news. ‘I think I know how to save Scoot!’

  They hurtled past Bill, and Ottilie tossed him a comb. ‘Brush Maestro,’ she said. ‘It’ll calm you down.’

  As she and Preddy saddled Nox, Ottilie explained her plan.

  Nox snarled, not at all happy at the prospect of another journey. She did her best to shake off the saddle, but Ottilie was having none of it. She snarled right back and ordered Nox into the field. Nox scratched at the floor and flicked her tail. Ottilie shoved her with her shoulder and, with a booming roar of outrage, the wingerslink leapt into the early afternoon sun.

  Ottilie snatched a jar of dry glow sticks from a shelf and tipped them onto the floor before climbing down the ladder. Then, jar in hand and Preddy behind her, they soared out over the boundary wall in the direction of the Sol River.

  She could see it ahead. The river slid over sharp stones like a sheet of silk on a breeze. The waterfall was gentle today. A sunlit veil. Ottilie pictured Seika Sol leaping. She saw the fendevil, its scales glittering with petals of blue flame, its massive claws crunching on the rocky bank. She saw it barrelling over the edge with a volcanic roar.

  Ottilie saw two moments at once, like pages pressed together and held to the light. Seika, still a girl, swallowed by the river; and Seika shifting into a duck an inch above the water, beating her wings and flying out to sea, following the dark shadow caught in the current. Whichever story was true, whatever had really happened, Seika Sol was a hero and this water would heal Scoot. She had to believe it.

  Blinking back to the present, Ottilie swung over the side of the saddle. Getting drenched up to her waist, she held out the empty jar, filled it to the brim and pressed the cork in tight.

  This had to work. It was the only thing that could work. Ottilie hoped one jarful was enough. There was no time for caution or planning. They would have to approach the king directly and ask for his help. Scoot was one of his people. Of course he would save him. Why would
he not?

  Murphy Graves was guarding the king’s door. His bright green eyes were sleepy and his smile slow to form. He looked terribly bored. ‘I’m not supposed to let anyone through,’ he said apologetically.

  ‘Pretend Preddy hit you,’ said Ottilie. She didn’t have time for this.

  Both boys looked at her as if she had lost her mind. ‘What?’ they said together.

  ‘You don’t want to get in trouble. So, fall to the ground, make a noise and say Preddy hit you. The king will only be angrier if you say it was me.’

  Murphy blinked, made a lame ‘arghhahh’ noise, and fell to the ground.

  Without a second thought, Ottilie lifted the latch and marched, uninvited, into the king’s chambers.

  35

  The Crown

  Varrio Sol was lounging in a chair by the window. Ottilie ran a thumb over her dagger. She wanted to throw it at the wall behind him – shock him into reality. Girls and boys were out hunting. His soldiers were camped in that horrible forest preparing for war, no doubt planning and strategising. Whistler was on the verge of attack, and yet here he sat.

  Ottilie thought he looked a little dishevelled. His olive skin had paled to a sickly greenish colour and she could spot the tension in his jaw and fingers. Despite this, he painted a lazy expression on his face and greeted the intruders with a wolfish smile. ‘Not even a knock? What do they teach you boys out here?’ His eyes fell on Ottilie, but he didn’t correct himself. ‘Savages, the lot of you. No better than those things you hunt.’

  ‘We need your help!’ she burst out.

  Preddy tugged her into a bow, but she jerked back up. They didn’t have time for bowing. Scoot could be gone any second.

  ‘I live to serve,’ drawled the king. His gaze shifted to Preddy. ‘Have we met?’

  ‘I – I don’t believe so.’

  ‘Name?’

  ‘Noel Preddy.’

  His eyes sharpened. ‘Son of Jollion Preddy?’

  ‘Yes,’ said Preddy. His eyelids flickered.

  ‘My, my, my, his own brother,’ clucked the king. ‘If I remember correctly, your eldest brother, Fonter, makes my North Wikric list in exchange for the Crown turning a blind eye to your father’s dealings.’

  Ottilie was horrified. Why had the king revealed such a thing? The Crown turns a blind eye … He clearly thought them so insignificant that he didn’t mind revealing his own misdeeds – seeing Preddy’s face fall was worth it.

  Preddy had turned white. Just as the keeper had sold Gully to the pickers, so had Preddy’s brother. Ottilie wanted to comfort him, tell him she knew just how he felt, but it wasn’t the moment.

  ‘We need your help,’ she repeated and, before the king could change the subject again, she said, ‘Whistler turned our friend to stone, but we have a way to cure him.’ She stepped closer, her voice pleading. ‘Someone of her bloodline has to pour this water over him. We don’t have much time!’

  The king’s eyes fell on the jar of water and his nostrils flared. ‘You burst into my chambers and demand that I engage in witchcraft!’

  ‘It’s not witchcraft,’ said Preddy, his voice shaking.

  ‘It’s healing,’ added Ottilie, trying with all her might to keep it from sounding like a rebuke.

  ‘Why should I do this?’ The king ran his fingers down his grey beard.

  Ottilie was outraged. Why had he not just leapt to their aid? Why would he not want to help?

  ‘Because you have the chance to save someone’s life,’ she said carefully. She was terrified of saying the wrong thing, using the wrong tone of voice, tipping the scale in the wrong direction.

  ‘I save lives every day,’ said the king. ‘Everyone in the Usklers is living and breathing because of me.’

  ‘What?’ said Ottilie.

  ‘I. Am. The. King. You foolish little girl!’

  She gaped.

  He gestured to the window. ‘I’ve kept the beasts out of my lands.’

  ‘We’ve kept them out of your lands. You’ve done nothing.’

  The king didn’t react. Her words slid over him without causing a pinch of guilt. ‘I am sorry about your friend,’ he said icily. ‘But I do not condone the use of witches’ evil.’ His smile turned vicious. ‘And you, girl. You come here trying to tempt me into the dark.’ He paused, his eyes fixed on hers. ‘I’ll have your neck for it.’

  Preddy lunged across the room and shoved the king against the wall. ‘You will fix our friend!’ His forearm was against the king’s throat.

  ‘You’ll have to make a puppet of my corpse, boy,’ snarled the king. He shoved Preddy off and reached for the bell chain.

  Alarms sounded all around, followed by thundering footsteps. The door flew open and Murphy Graves stood there, cutlass raised, clearly unsure what to do.

  A few moments later, at least ten huntsmen burst in behind him, looking frantically for a dredretch. But all they found was Murphy, Ottilie, Preddy and the king, staring at one another in breathless silence. Preddy was shaking with rage.

  ‘Take them to the burrows!’ demanded the king.

  Igor Thrike grabbed Ottilie from behind. But Murphy stepped forward and said, ‘Why?’

  The king’s eyes bulged. ‘Because I order it. I am your king and commander. Do as I say!’

  No-one moved. Ottilie even felt Igor Thrike’s grip on her loosen.

  ‘Do you know the punishment for disobeying your king?’

  The boys looked back and forth. They didn’t. The king wasn’t their commander. They took their orders from the directorate, through the wranglers, all of whom would have locked themselves away the moment the alarms sounded. All except …

  Wrangler Morse thundered into the room. ‘What’s going on in here?’ he demanded.

  ‘Two of your huntsmen just attacked me, and I have ordered them to be locked away, yet here we stand,’ said the king, gathering his composure.

  Wrangler Morse looked at Preddy and Ottilie. ‘Right,’ he said, clearing his throat. ‘What are we waiting for, boys? The king commands it.’

  Ottilie’s heart sank. Wrangler Morse was not on their side. He grabbed hold of Preddy himself and Igor dragged Ottilie after him.

  They had barely made it to the stairwell when Morse whispered, ‘Off with you, Thrike.’

  ‘What?’ said Igor.

  ‘I said, off with you!’ And he looked so terrifying that Igor let out a squeak, released Ottilie and hurried away.

  ‘Tell me, quick,’ said Wrangler Morse, bending down to hear.

  And so Ottilie told him everything important, everything she could think of.

  ‘The Sol bloodline, you say?’ said Wrangler Morse, tugging on his red, braided beard.

  ‘Yes,’ said Ottilie. ‘But it’s only the king here.’

  Morse shook his head. After a moment, he seemed to come to some momentous decision. ‘No, you’re wrong there. We have to find Wolter.’

  ‘Wolter?’ said Preddy. ‘Wolter Sol?’

  Little bells chimed in her memory. Leo had told her Wolter Sol was the king’s younger cousin, second in line to the throne. But there was something else. Ramona had once called someone Wolt right in front of her.

  36

  Her Bloodline

  Captain Lyre had always been able to get away with almost anything. She should have known he was special – protected. What had Ottilie overheard him say to the king? That he had been trying to give the boys some semblance of a life? She remembered what Whistler had said about trying to stay on the king’s good side so she wouldn’t be parted from the princess she loved as a daughter. Captain Lyre bent the rules only just enough that he was allowed to remain in the Narroway, watching over the boys that the king had condemned to a life of danger and violence.

  ‘Come on,’ said Wrangler Morse.

  They hurried to Captain Lyre’s chambers, but found them empty. Ottilie’s heart battered her ribs.

  Preddy gripped the doorframe. ‘Ramona!’

  Of course! Ottilie had
sent Ramona to tell Captain Lyre about Whistler’s followers in Longwood. She would know where he was.

  They had just stepped back into the corridor when Wrangler Voilies came trotting towards them, Igor Thrike at his side. Purple blotches flared on Voilies’ cheeks. ‘What is going on, Reuben? Igor says these two were ordered to the burrows.’

  Wrangler Morse nudged Ottilie. ‘Go.’

  As she and Preddy darted around Wrangler Morse, Ottilie heard Voilies shriek, ‘Now wait just – you two –come back immediately!’ But they were already bolting for the stables. They found Ramona filling the water trough in Billow’s stall.

  ‘Where’s Captain Lyre?’ Preddy burst out.

  ‘Wha–’

  ‘We know he’s Wolter Sol,’ said Ottilie. ‘We need someone of the Sol bloodline to cure Scoot, right now!’

  Ramona slopped water all down her front. ‘You … you what?’

  ‘Healing water!’ said Ottilie breathlessly, shaking the jar in her white-knuckled hand. ‘Has to be poured by a Sol. We need Captain Lyre!’

  Ramona’s face fell. ‘He’s gone to Arko.’

  ‘How long ago?’ Ottilie refused to give up. ‘Can we go after him?’ But Alba said the white was happening in bursts. If Scoot had another burst … It could have happened already, with all this running back and forth.

  Ramona was shaking her head. She bit her lip, then said, ‘We don’t need to go after him.’

  ‘What are you talking about?’ said Ottilie.

  ‘Let’s go to the infirmary. I’ll explain on the way,’ she said, leading them out.

  They hurried across the grounds.

  ‘Sol daughters,’ said Ramona, ‘have a habit of having accidents, going missing, or dying of mystery illnesses.’

  ‘They think women of the Sol bloodline are a sort of curse,’ said Ottilie. ‘Whistler told me.’

  Ramona nodded. ‘Varrio Sol lost his first daughter, Maia, to a fever. That was the story everyone was told. Years later, when I got a job at the palace, I became friends with Wolter, who told me he suspected Varrio had actually been involved in her death … Anyway, Wolt would visit All Kings’ Hill every few months and report to him about the Narroway Hunt. But I didn’t know about that for a long time.’