I remembered how the rabbit-man had tried to tell us not to come here.
‘Cursed? Why?’ I whispered.
He shrugged. ‘Some say the heart of the forest is dying,’ he said. ‘Nobody knows why.’ He shot one of those ugly glances at me. ‘But you’re from the city – from Ashberg – why do you care?’
‘My mother was from the forest,’ I said. ‘From Stromsa.’
His eyes narrowed. ‘Was? She is dead?’
I nodded, sadly.
‘What was her name?’
‘Jana,’ I said. ‘Jana Lubosdera.’ I watched him carefully to see if he knew my mother’s secret, but all I saw was a flash of recognition of the name, nothing more.
‘You are old Lubos’ granddaughter?’ he said.
‘Yes. I never met him or my grandmother. You – you know them?’
‘Knew them,’ he corrected. ‘They’re both long dead. Well, well, I heard old Lubos’ daughter married a rich man from Ashberg.’
‘She did.’
‘They didn’t like the match, but she wouldn’t be told. Well, well! What are you doing, rich man’s daughter, dressed in rags and sleeping in a barn?’ he said, the mocking tone back in his voice, but this time it only made me sad.
I said, gently, ‘It’s a long story and I don’t want to tell it to you.’
‘Oh, like that, is it? I think I can guess. Your mother’s dead, your pa’s remarried and the new wife doesn’t like you. Am I right?’
I said nothing but he must have got his answer from my face, for he said, ‘I see. And now you have come back here to try and see if there’s a welcome for you in Stromsa. Well, I’m sorry, my girl, but you’ll be disappointed.’
I looked at his wizened face, curdled with misfortune, bitterness and malice, and marvelled at how the face of the moon-sister, all ravaged by illness and most likely more tragedy than he had ever known, could nevertheless be filled with a sweetness of spirit, a beauty of soul that he could not come close to. He’d said he might as well be dead, but the dead I knew – my mother and the moon-sister – were far more alive than he was. And suddenly, despite everything, I was filled with a queasy pity for him. On an impulse, I held out the compass to him. ‘Take it.’
His jaw dropped and his eyes widened.
‘Take it,’ I repeated. ‘It’s the only thing of value we have, take it and go. Leave us in peace.’
‘But . . . why?’
‘Because you need it more than we do, for you have lost your way,’ I said, quietly, and shoving it into his unresisting hand, I turned on my heel and headed back to the ladder.
Before I could reach it, he came after me and said, wonderingly, ‘Who – who are you?’
‘I told you.’
‘What do you want?’
‘Nothing. Just for you to go away.’
He looked disturbed. ‘But I cannot just . . . you must want payment for the compass.’
‘You were ready to steal it,’ I said. ‘Why the scruple now?’
‘This is different.’
I was going to tell him to begone when a thought came into my head. I turned. ‘Very well, there is something you can give me in return.’
He looked sideways at me. ‘I can’t give you too much for it. It’s not the newest of compasses, and see, there’s a nick here where it –’
‘Spare me,’ I snapped. ‘I’m not interested in bargaining. I want you to tell me how to get to Dremda.’
He nearly dropped the compass. ‘What?’
‘Simple question, I would have thought.’
‘Why do you want to go to –’
‘It’s my business,’ I said crisply.
‘Dremda is about a day’s walk from here.’
‘Is it on the way to the border?’
‘No, the Dremda track does branch out from that road but –’
‘Is there a signpost?’
He laughed. ‘A signpost! Where do you think you are – Ashberg? Of course there’s none.’
‘How will I know it, then?’
‘I heard that there used to be two silver birches at the entrance to the track. They’re probably dead by now though.’
‘How far is the turning?’
‘Not for quite a long way. If you leave first thing, you won’t reach the Dremda track before evening, I’d say. But I warn you, it will take you a long way out of your way, for it is a dead end. You’d have to go back on your tracks to get back to the border road. It would delay you at least a day, maybe more, if –’
‘If what?’
‘Nobody’s been there in a long, long while,’ he said. ‘The track is very overgrown so it’s easy to get lost. And there’ll be wild beasts, I’ll be bound.’ His eyes glinted. ‘I don’t know what myths you learned at your mother’s knee, but there’s nothing left there. Nothing. It’s dead, like everything else. If I were you, I wouldn’t bother.’
‘But you’re not me,’ I said, tartly. ‘So thank you, but I don’t need your advice. Oh, and by the way, you know my friend Olga – the one you saw going into the forest?’
He shrugged. ‘Yes. So what?’
‘She was hunting,’ I said.
He laughed. ‘She won’t have any luck. There’s no game any more.’
‘Maybe not for a human,’ I said calmly.
‘What?’
‘She’s a werewolf.’
His face lost all colour. He didn’t protest their existence as a city person might have done. He was from the forest lands, the heart of wolf country, where the werewolf memory was very close, and he knew at once I was telling the truth.
‘So if you don’t want me to tell her how I found you sneaking around,’ I went on, ‘if you don’t want me to tell her how you came by that compass, you will not breathe a word of what I have asked you to anyone. This is what you will do: you will tell my friends you found out about my mother coming from the forest land and that you then felt bad about taking our money and that you decided to give it all back to us, plus some food for the journey tomorrow. And that I was so touched by this I gave you the compass in return.’
He looked at me. His chin wobbled. ‘You are the Devil,’ he said, between bloodless lips.
I smiled thinly. ‘Do you agree? Or do you not?’
‘Very well,’ he said, between gritted teeth. ‘I agree.’
‘Go and get it now,’ I said. ‘The money and the food. I will say you came to me tonight and offered it.’
He shot me a hard look, but nodded. He scurried off and was back very quickly with the coins and a greasy parcel of stale bread and dried meat. I could have told him it wasn’t good enough, but I was feeling oppressed by the whole thing now, so I just took it all without comment, and said, ‘Now go away and leave us alone. If you keep your promise, no harm will come to you.’
He gave me a glance in which fear and hatred mingled. He took a step back, then another. ‘I want you all – I want you all to be gone first thing tomorrow morning. And never come back,’ he added, over his shoulder, as he scurried away.
‘You will not see us for dust, dear sir,’ I called after him, and clambered back up to the hayloft where Max and Tomi were still sleeping soundly. I felt a strange mixture of elation and sadness. Yes, I’d seen off the old thief, and ensured at least some supplies for the next day; but his revelations had disturbed me deeply.
No sooner was I settled again in the hay when I heard Olga’s soft footfalls below. I quickly closed my eyes and breathed softly, pretending to sleep. She was rummaging about for a while longer before silence descended again and I heard her soft, sleeping breath. I lay awake for a long time, thinking over things and by the time I finally fell asleep, not long before dawn, I had made my decision.
My story about the old man’s change of heart
went down perfectly well with the others.
‘It was all right to rip off strangers from the city as far as he was concerned; but forest folk – that’s a different matter,’ I said. ‘He felt ashamed of doing it and even insisted on giving us directions for our journey today. I was quite touched and that’s why I gave him the compass. I hope you don’t mind, Max.’
‘Not at all. Didn’t really trust that thing any more,’ said Max, cheerfully. ‘You did exactly the right thing, Selena.’
He smiled warmly at me, and I felt bad, because he might not trust the compass, but he did trust me and I’d told him a lie. I had to, because he could not know what I intended to do tonight.
Olga didn’t seem to be suspicious either. Of course, she’d been out hunting when the old man had come so she could hardly say one way or the other what had occurred. Not that she had found anything worth having – the old man had been right about game being scarce – so she was glad to see the dried meat and bread too, and didn’t ask any questions.
We set off from an eerily quiet Smutny. No-one had come out to watch us go, though we still had the feeling of watching eyes behind twitching curtains, as we followed the track deeper into the forest. The path was reasonably clear and we made good headway, but the further we went in, the more I noticed how quiet – how unnaturally quiet – the forest was. No-one passed us. We passed no villages, though once or twice at the beginning we noticed tracks which most likely led to villages. It wasn’t just humans who were missing in this place. There was no rustle of animals in the undergrowth. No birds sang. There wasn’t even a ruffle of wind in the leaves or the flutter of a butterfly’s wings. But it wasn’t only the silence. A couple of times we went over what had clearly once been little streams but were now just dry beds of pebbles. And though the leaves of the trees had turned to the autumnal colours of the season, there were no brave reds or bright yellows amongst them, only browns. Worse still, the needles of the evergreen trees were scattered with sickly yellows and browns, and there was little of the strong piney smell you might have expected. It was hard to escape the memory of the old man’s words. The forest was dying, from the inside.
We didn’t talk much but hurried along; none of us liked being there, and Tomi was clearly very ill at ease, sticking to Max even more than usual. I wondered if, in his case, the general feeling of eeriness was combined with an instinctive revulsion against this kind of country that had once been the redoubt of those the Mancers had destroyed and banned. This was my mother’s country, the country of the moon-sisters, enemies of the state and a threat to everything the Mancers stood for. He probably knew only the barest details of these things because he was so young; but it would still speak in his blood.
The shadows of late afternoon were lengthening into twilight by the time we passed the overgrown and tangled path which led to Dremda. I’d been keeping an eye out all day but somehow it was still unexpected. The old man had been right. Two very tall silver birches had once stood at the entrance of the path. They didn’t stand any more, but had half-fallen sideways across it, their roots showing, their topmost branches tangled with other trees. There was something sad and pitiful about them, as if they weren’t merely dead trees but giant sentinels slaughtered in battle.
I couldn’t dwell on it, not now. I had to turn my back on the path and keep going with the others to the border. But I did not want to go too far or I would never find my way back. So when we reached a small clearing about half an hour later, I suggested we stop for the night.
There was no argument; everyone was tired and hungry, and a little cold. We made a fire and toasted the leftover bread from lunch on sticks and chewed on the rest of the meat. Max and Olga talked while Tomi slept and I sat brooding, thinking of what I had to do that night. They talked about how much further it might be to the border, whether there’d be any village along the way where we might stop and buy some more supplies, and what we’d do once we did get to the border. Max noticed my preoccupation and asked me gently if I was all right. I said I was just too tired to think straight and, if he didn’t mind, I’d as soon go to sleep.
I was ashamed of how kind he was to me when I was lying to him. He put his coat over me as I lay curled up in front of the fire with my eyes closed, pretending to sleep. He sat there long after Olga went to sleep, feeding the fire, prodding and poking it for quite a long time, apparently deep in thought.
By the time I woke up sweating from a nightmare of ghostly, giant guards marching relentlessly towards us through the forest, I found he had at last dropped off to sleep. The new moon had long set and the night sky was filled with masses of cold, burning stars. They and the red embers of the dying fire were the only light in the black night.
As I got to my feet knowing it was now or never, for it must have been past midnight already, I felt terribly uneasy. What on earth was I doing? I was safe here, amongst friends, and on my way to freedom. The old man was most likely right – there was probably nothing for me at Dremda. But it wasn’t just a question of my promise to the moon-sister, Mama would have wanted me to do this. I couldn’t leave her country without understanding what I was – who I was. I quickly made myself a rudimentary torch with a strip of cloth torn from my sleeve and tied around a stick. I put the end of it in the fire to set it alight, slipped the coat off my shoulders and put it gently over Max. Oh Max, I thought, if only I could explain! But I couldn’t. Yet I must tell him something, or he would come looking for me, if I wasn’t back by morning. I took a piece of charcoal from the fire and I wrote these words on the greasy paper that had been wrapped around our food: Going to my mother’s people. Don’t wait for me. I’ll catch you up.
My eyes pricked with tears. I wanted to write, ‘I love you, Max,’ but was afraid that if I did, I wouldn’t be strong enough to leave. Instead, I took the heart-shaped locket from my pocket and left it on the paper, hoping he would understand and forgive me. In the light of the burning torch, I took one last look at him, Olga and little Tomi. Then I left the camp swiftly, without another glance behind me.
Everything looked different at night. The forest that had seemed merely sad and eerie in the day seemed much more sinister: the silence that hung over it was no longer of a dead place, but of an alien one. Like our departure from Smutny, it felt as though unseen eyes were watching me, eyes just beyond the small pool of light cast by my torch – eyes that bore me no goodwill. As I hurried down the track towards the path to Dremda, I tried to tell myself it was all fancy and that I had nothing to be afraid of in this empty place. Besides, I might be a stranger but I had moon-sister blood; the dying woman in the wagon had told me I must go to Dremda and she wouldn’t have sent me there if it was dangerous. But still the sense of danger nagged at me, and every shadow seemed menacing as I hurried along with my heart in my mouth and the sweat pouring cold out of me.
I reached the silver birches. In the starlight they gleamed with an unearthly glow, which made them look just like the ghostly beings in my nightmare, only they weren’t marching anywhere but lying quietly in the very same places I’d seen them in that day.
Telling myself to stop being a baby, I took a deep breath and plunged under their tangled branches. Almost immediately, my torch went out. I threw it aside and fought my way past some brambles and clinging vines to the overgrown path that lay beyond. On and on I went round more brambles, through long grass and tangled bushes. While all the time, unerringly, there was the faint path gleaming in the starlight, and somehow, as I kept on, the going seemed easier, the bush less dense and the brambles less cruel. Then I heard the sound of water faintly in the distance and my heart leapt, though I did not yet know why.
I hurried along, the path changing as the bush melted away and the brambles disappeared until, after a time, I found I was walking on a broad track. And though it was the darkest time of night, I knew it was not far to dawn. The sound of water was getting louder and then – I heard my mo
ther’s voice, mingled with the sound of water, and I ran. I ran as fast as I could, round one corner, then another and another until I suddenly stopped and stared.
For there was the place in my dream – the place where I’d seen my mother and the moon-sister from the wagon. There was the waterfall, falling over rocks into a pool surrounded by trees. Only – only it had changed. Oh, so much! The trees were bare, skeletal. There was only a trickle of sluggish water going over dull, black rocks. The pool was practically empty, with only a few puddles of muddy water . . .
With a cry, I ran towards it and knelt by the pool. I closed my eyes, waiting for the tap on the shoulder, for my mother, or the moon-sister, to speak to me. But nobody spoke, nothing happened. I opened my eyes and looked at the muddy water. I cupped some in my palm, like I had done in my dream, and lifted it to my lips – and saw that it was squirming with things. Insects, frog-spawn and God knows what else. With a cry of disgust, I flung it from me, and got to my feet.
‘See Thalia,’ the moon-sister had said. But where was she? There was no-one here and no sign that anyone had been here for a very long time. I was suddenly beside myself with disappointment and a wild unfocussed anger.
I shouted, ‘Why have I been brought here? What do you want with me? If you are here, show yourself, Thalia!’
My voice rang and echoed in that dismal place, bouncing off the rocks. But nothing and nobody answered. I shouted my challenge again, quieter this time, but still defiant. This time, as the echoes died away, even the trickling water grew silent as if my shouts had frightened it into stillness. In the next moment, the black rocks cracked wide open, and something like a huge bat came flying out, straight for me.
I didn’t even have time to scream, let alone run, before the thing was on me, knocking me backwards. And then it came to land quietly by me, and to my utter astonishment I saw clearly what it was. Not a giant bat, not a bird or an animal – or a monster of any sort. No, nothing like that. But a large book loosely bound in black cloth.
Moonlight and Ashes Page 17