The Huntress: Sky

by Sarah Driver

  ‘I helped your da on his quest to get the Storm-Opals to safety.’

  ‘You were with him?’ My mind races to keep up. That must be why the map showed us Pike.

  ‘Yes. But to complete our quest we had to separate. I trust my parcel reached your grandmother?’ His eyes fall to my pocket and a rush of knowing hits me.

  ‘Did you send Grandma the Opal?’ I say, voice barely a whisper. ‘Was it wrapped up in this?’ I pull out the piece of fish skin Crow found.

  Pike shutters the windows and we’re plunged into guttering rushlight. ‘That I did, and yes, it was. Your da and me never intended to split the Opals for long. We had to get them safe from Stag. When Fox wrote to me, he told me to send the Opal I had on to Captain Wren and he would be there to meet it. He wouldn’t tell me where the others were, in case Stag caught me. So I tied it to the foot of your grandma’s sea-hawk. But I didn’t hear from your da again, and I’ve been sick with heart-worry about it ever since.’

  He inhales a lungful of smoke and blows out a thick green cloud. ‘I am heart-thankful you found our marshes,’ he croaks. ‘But I’m almost not daring to hope – does this mean you’ve found another Opal? I’ve been searching myself, to no avail.’

  I glance at my toes, sticky with slime and slowly thawing. ‘Aye.’ I look up and grin. ‘We’ve ridden a day from the foothills of the Eastern Mountain Passes, where the hearth-healers had one of the Opals safe. Stag almost got his mitts on it, but Yapok saved it.’

  ‘Aye, after he sold us out,’ mutters Crow.

  Kestrel shoots him a dark look. ‘He made up for it.’

  Yapok blushes, squirming.

  Pike waits patiently for us to finish our squabbles. Then he speaks. ‘We must find out the third Opal, and quickly. I have heard reports of trapped whales being attacked by polar dogs, and whole villages destroyed by landslides. There is talk of a group aligning itself with destruction, against nature. Ancient trees have been felled in the forest of Nightfall. The world is splintering, and Stag is reaping full advantage. And I have a feeling he is not working alone.’ He sighs deeply, rubbing his jaw. ‘Enough talking, for tonight. All I ask of you for now is to surrender yourselves to sleep. In the morning, we make a plan.’ He shows us to a sleeping chamber filled with low mattresses woven from eel skin, moss and reeds.

  Curling my knees into my chest, I burrow into the damp, scratchy mattress. My skin is covered in sleeping frogs.

  Mmm, warm skin, they chatter.  Sleepy warm-place snoozings.

  I’ve already stopped bothering trying to scrape them off – but Kestrel sits in her bed, desperately prising them off with the tip of a dagger and flipping them onto the wall. When she’s finished in one place, there are more than ever in the next and her eyes bulge in horror. Crow don’t like it either, but Sparrow just strokes their backs, giggling.

  I shuffle down in my bed and shut my eyes, but too many faces and pictures flood into my brain. I shake my head to try to rid myself of all the mutterings of the frogs and the flickering of all the little beasts’ hearts. The Opals are making me feel too much of the world.

  I take the green Sea-Opal from my pocket and hold it in one palm, then hold the blue Sky-Opal in the other. Side by side, they glow bright and crackle with power. My palms grow warm and the hairs inside my nose twinge and tickle. Their shapes are curved one to the left and one to the right, so that when I bring them together, curling my palms over each other, the Opals fit together with a chink.

  Suddenly I can hear all the beast-chatter on the Marshes right inside my head and it pounds like a rotten tooth. I fall sideways, trying to pull the Opals apart, but they’re fixed and they send lightning down my arm.

  Ettler wriggles out from Kestrel’s bed and stares at the Opals. Their light shines in his eyes. Then Kestrel reaches out and places a hand on my arm, making me startle. ‘They’re trying to heal the rift, for they never wanted to be severed,’ she murmurs. I nod, watching the colours play under the jewels’ surfaces. Then I realise they’re swapping streaks of colour between them, like a gateway has opened from one to the other.

  Beyond the Marshes, there’s a thud and a hiss, a thud and a hiss, like booming thunder followed by hail. ‘What’s that?’ I whisper.

  ‘Makes me imagine giants’ footsteps,’ whispers Crow, eyes gleaming in the almost-dark. ‘Remember when the Skybrarian said they’ve been waking?’

  Kestrel watches us. ‘I have an idea that I’d like to share with you all.’

  ‘What?’ I ask.

  She stares into her lap, then draws a deep breath and looks up. ‘Oftentimes, the full-growns close their borders and cross their spears against outsiders. They shut their ears to reason. This I have always known, growing up in war.’ She uncrosses her legs under her blankets. ‘But I’m of a mind that one can be a quiet warrior, using gentle ferocity to heal, to make, to dance. Quiet strength. And I believe that the youth of other tribes could think this way too.’ The spark of her passion catches her voice, lighting her whole face up, into a glowing brown. ‘We could target the youth of every Tribe. Write to them, visit them in secret. Sneak into Tribe-Meets. Rally them to join us. They will want to stop the creep of this ice and put things right.’

  ‘Every Tribe?’ I look up from the Opals, shocked.

  She nods. ‘I was thinking of starting with the Fangtooths. Yapok’s Skybrary isn’t far from their Frozen Wastes. We could travel to them easily enough from there.’

  I splutter out an angry laugh – she wants to reach out to the most brutal Tribe ever known? ‘You want to go to the Fangtooths ?’ In my hands, the fused Opals grow warm.

  Sparrow murmurs in his sleep, turning over, and Thunderbolt chatters angrily at me. I lower my voice. ‘Are you addled?’

  Kestrel blinks at me slowly, membranes slicking up and down her eyes. ‘There may be many differences between us, but there are also many similarities. We are in this together.’

  ‘The main thing is that I get Da’s map working again and find the last Opal,’ I say.

  She reaches for me. ‘Even if we find the last Opal, we still need to find this golden crown. Who knows how long it will take? At least this way we can talk to people, we can—’

  ‘Heart-luck talking with those murderous bone-clatterers!’

  ‘Mouse,’ says Crow, touching my knee. ‘Let her—’

  I round on him. ‘Have raw eels poisoned your brain?’ I scoot backwards, away from them, my feet tangling in the blankets and the slime of the floor pressing through my breeches, but I don’t care.

  He scowls at me. ‘That’s it. Round on anyone who disagrees with you.’

  I ignore him. ‘Don’t you know anything ?’ I spit at Kestrel. Her eyes widen and a frown flickers between her copper brows. ‘What that Fangtooth Tribe did to my kin—’ I stop, cos I’m in danger of losing grip of my voice. I carry on in hushed tones. ‘You don’t know what I’ve seen them do, what they’re capable of.’

  Ettler chirps at me angrily, and Kestrel flushes. ‘It isn’t all of them! You cannot blame a whole Tribe for—’

  ‘So are you saying my grandma was wrong, then?’ I stand, searching the gloom for my boots. ‘You saying that everything I was taught as a nipper weren’t true? You got any clue what it’s like trying to sail through the Frozen Wastes unseen, while the Fangtooths send their filthy hounds after your kin?’

  Sparrow sits up in his bed, carefully stretching out his injured arm. His fingertips crackle and the smell of burning cloth fills my nose. Even in the gloom I can see the bruises on his neck, made by Stag’s hands. Stag, who let a band of Fangtooths crawl all over my ship.

  ‘No, I’m not saying that, I’m just saying that a few tyrants do not equal a Tribe.’ She crosses her arms and stares towards the window, breath coming too fast. She’s getting angry now, and that flares up my own rage.

  ‘Go on, then.’ I nod at the window. ‘Fly to the Frozen Wastes and see how long it takes them to saw off your head and shove it on a spike!’ Thaw not
ices my tone and hisses at Kes, spreading her wings wide.

  ‘Oh, grow into your boots before you start hurling them at others!’ she snaps. ‘There are good folks among the Fangtooths, just like every other Tribe. You’re beginning to sound as unjust as my mother.’

  ‘She’s got a point, Mouse,’ says Crow.

  ‘It’s no surprise to find out where your loyalty lies, wrecker-boy. But you’re out of luck, ent you? She loves Egret, as well you know.’

  He narrows his eyes at me.

  Suddenly all I can see is the gloat on Axe-Thrower’s face and Grandma’s hawk Battle-Shrieker plucked bald and the polar dogs terrorising our deck. A bolt of power lashes into my hand from the Opals and then the sound of Grandma’s body smashing into the waves fills my ears with a roar that makes my vision go black and my throat close until I feel like I can’t breathe. Stag kneels in front of me, branding me with his mark. Bitterness scorches my throat.

  ‘Mouse?’ Kestrel calls to me, and it’s like she’s stars away. ‘Are you all right?’

  ‘Aye, no heart-thanks to you,’ I snap, blinking myself back into the room. The Opals unfuse and I realise that a low, buzzing hum that was coming from them has faded away.

  I wriggle out of bed and head for the door. Kes reaches for me but I shove past and storm away.

  My vision’s blurred by tears but I keep moving, sobs twisting my chest. The memories make my hands sweat and my legs shake and my heart feel loud and heavy as a drum pounding in my chest. I stumble into the middle of the room where we talked with Pike, then trip over a lumbering salamander and when I’ve righted myself the thought strikes me. Me and Sparrow are getting out of here, without any of these so-called friends. I was right all those times back home. I don’t need no one else.

  ‘Still think you know it all, don’t you,’ says Crow suddenly. I spin to face him and he’s standing behind me. His breath frosts into the air. ‘My loyalties lie with you, little fool.’

  He steps closer, watching me with kind, bright eyes. It’s the first time he’s looked at me unguarded. ‘So what?’ I glance away, confused by the heat creeping up my neck.

  ‘Look, I never had a sister, all right? For so long, I never had anyone. You make me feel like I’ve finally got family to protect.’

  His words make me feel winded. ‘So now I’m stuck with you, am I?’ I hiss, to cover the flush stealing across my cheeks.

  He looks away, his lopsided grin flashing, eyes crinkling at the corners. ‘’Fraid so.’ He looks down, blushing suddenly. ‘Listen, rat. I’m so sorry about your grandma. All them attacks of fright and sweats you’re getting – that’s gotta be hard.’

  I stare at my toes. ‘Heart-thanks.’ Before I can step out of the way, he sweeps me into a proper tight hug that reminds me a tiny bit of Bear. When I pull away, a yawn steams out of my pipes.

  ‘Ready to sleep?’ he asks.

  ‘Aye.’ I look around at the chairs. ‘But I’m not going back in there.’

  In the morning, none of us wants to leave now we’ve found friends. We spend the next two days drinking froggy broth and padding around the marsh-huts with Pike, listening to his stories of Da and his thoughts about the Opals. He tells us he’ll help us get the last Opal, but that we’re to rest properly first.

  I’m heart-glad when I think that we’ll be able to look for the last Opal together. And it’s proper strange to hear about Da from a friend of his. He tells us how they were two scrawny sea-tribe lads who met at a tribe-meet, and got up to no good together. ‘Always singing, he was, even then. Just like you, Sparrow!’ Sparrow goes all pink at hearing that.

  The only rotten thing about being at Pike’s is Kestrel. Since she said her stupid things about the Fangtooths, I can’t stand being near her. She keeps creeping up on me and touching my elbow, trying to get me to talk, but I jerk away from her each time, and go to a different part of the house, or out on the marsh walkways. I don’t wanna hear a thing she’s got to say.

  On the third night, I settle down to sleep in my chair, itching to rove. Pike says we can be off at dawn. I’m starting to doze, lulled by the pattering of the frogs, when the peace is shattered by a roar.

  ‘Pike! ’

  I know that voice and my spirit quails against the knowing, but it don’t change a thing cos the roar echoes through the marsh again. ‘Show yourself. Give me what is mine.’

  Stag. He’s escaped Hearthstone.

  Pike’s fish-spear rings against the scaly floor as he makes his way to the balcony of his home. ‘Hide!’ he hisses as he passes me. He walks on, but when he reaches a gap in the eel skin wall, he presses his lips against it and gives a short, high whistle.

  I stop breathing. There’s a beat where my legs won’t move. What will happen to the marsh-man? I can’t let Stag hurt him! But Pike twists back to glare at me. ‘Now!’

  I slink into the shadows, sinking to my knees behind the rocking chair.

  ‘There you are, good brother. Where have you roved?’ Pike calls the sea-tribe greeting calmly.

  A distant boom drums across the Marshes, thrumming in my ribs.

  ‘Your ramshackle hovels are in my way,’ says Stag, ignoring the greeting. ‘And you are harbouring slaves that belong to me.’ He coughs harshly and spits into the marsh water.

  Shock prickles me. The Marshes are where Squirrel, Hammer and Ermine fled to the day I abandoned my ship. Are they the slaves Stag’s talking about? Or does he mean my brother and me?

  A door squeals. I flinch and look towards the sleeping room – Crow steps out of it and comes towards me. We crouch together, Thaw in my hair, listening to the gentle pop pop pop of Pike’s smoke rings. Then I creep towards the gauzy netting covering the doorway and peer out. Crow follows.

  Stag stands in a canoe, staring up at Pike’s balcony. He turns, hands on hips, and beckons into the darkness. A band of Fangtooths straggle through the reeds.

  Around us, from the other stilt homes, ebbs the sound of singing and spear-sharpening.

  ‘You swore you would not return for another moon-cycle yet. We have much to talk about. Will you drink a dram with me?’ Behind his back, Pike rolls his spear between his palms.

  The boom grows louder, rumbling bones-deep. Across the marsh, lit by the thin moon, stride a line of immense shadows, wearing dented odds and ends of armour. They stand in the middle of the sea-path, feet as long as hunting boats cutting off the flow of water to the Marshes. By their sides hang fists the size of crow’s nests. When I crane back my neck, I still can’t see their heads.

  ‘You will be drained by daybreak,’ shouts Stag, and his followers whoop, beating their chests.

  ‘Sparrow,’ I whisper, but his hand is in mine before his name has even left my mouth. ‘Told you I didn’t wanna come to the Marshes,’ he whispers. ‘You shoulda listened.’

  Yapok and Kestrel stand behind us, clutching each other.

  ‘Marsh-folk, to war!’ bellows Pike, leaping from the balcony to his canoe far below. All around us, in the stilt-houses, throbs the war-beat of countless spears pounding the floors.

  ‘Giants, stop the flow to these marshes!’ calls Stag.

  Sparrow flinches. ‘The burning,’ he quails, and I try to hold him still but he hops from foot to foot.

  ‘The Marsh-folk have chosen drought. Light me a torch,’ Stag calls. ‘I will smoke these rats from their waterholes.’

  I nock an arrow to my bow as I run to the balcony. But the moon’s dipped behind cloud and when it comes out again, Stag spies me and ducks low. My arrow whistles past his ear. I draw another one. Then I’m almost knocked flat by a deafening bellow as lines of Fangtooths and Marsh-folk charge at each other across the Marshes, meeting with a clash of axe and spear that’s loud enough to shake the night’s teeth from its jaws.

  Stag stands straight and stares me in the face. ‘The dust has settled. I have won. You can stop fighting.’ His voice is flat, though malice seethes underneath.

  ‘The dust won’t settle. Not ever!’ I p
icture Grandma’s face, and spit into the water. ‘The dust is blood and knives!’

  Soldiers hulk near him, holding guns, longbows and quivers full of arrows. We’re surrounded. The giants pound their chests, making the house shake.

  ‘Come,’ says Stag, eyes crawling over my face. ‘Give me the Opals.’

  Crow stands behind me and I feel the cool touch of his fingertips on my elbow. His friendship spreads ripples of heart-strength through me. ‘As if !’ I call down. I stick one hand behind me and wave at Sparrow, Kes and Yapok to run – maybe they can get out the way we first came in, on the other side of the house.

  Stag fishes in his cloak and pulls out a glowing amber gem. He’s got the last one – the Land-Opal! Sickness rises through me. He passes it from hand to hand, and the muttering of the poison-frogs grows louder around him. He screws up his face in disgust.  Shut up or I’ll rip the fangs from every last one of you! he growls. Then he shakes his head violently as though he’s trying to get the beast-chatter out of his ears. He looks at me again. ‘Is this what you’ve been looking for?’

  I stay silent, chewing my lip.

  Stag calls to a Fangtooth. ‘The torch.’ His face lights up all red and cragged and wild-eyed as he grabs the rag-wrapped torch that’s passed to him. Then he stoops, touches it to the stilt-legs of the house and hurls the torch at the next one over.

  ‘Don’t! ’ I scream. But a roar goes up, and I ent sure if it’s the Fangtooths, or the giants, or the fury of the Marsh-folk, or the fire itself.

  But I know the fire is hungry. A rich, sharp stink like burning meat and vinegar creeps into my nose. Orange light scorches the backs of my eyes as smoke burns my throat.

  A spine-shivering scream goes up, as toads and frogs and salamanders run and jump and dive to get away. Bare feet slap against the eel skin inside the house.

  ‘You dung-mouthed viper-fish!’ I leap onto the wooden handrail of the balcony, ready to jump into Stag’s canoe and slash his throat, but Crow charges after me and pulls me down. ‘This way!’ He drags me along the walkway. There’s a slap of feet as Kes and Yapok tear down the walkway in the other direction.