by Lian Tanner
Except the cat’s here somewhere, and maybe the chicken as well, she reminded herself. And I think that voice must be Sooli, though I don’t know how she’s hiding from us.
She had another friend too, though she’d been so breathless for the last few minutes that she’d as good as forgotten it. But there was the rough little windmill, on the ground right next to her foot.
Without taking her eyes off Boz, she picked it up and blew on it. And she began to hum the shiny little tune.
Her breeze sprang up, circling around her like a bird. The lantern flames bowed and danced.
‘What’s she doin?’ demanded Rusty. ‘Here, you. Stop it.’
‘I’ll stop ’er,’ growled Boz. And he sprang at Duckling.
‘In his eyes!’ cried Duckling.
The breeze picked up a handful of dust and salt, and blew it straight at Boz. He shouted and threw up his hands, and for one precious moment he was blind.
Duckling leaped past him, reaching for Pummel. But Rusty kicked out at her, shouting, ‘Witch! Get away from—’
His words turned into a shriek as, out of the shadows, like a nightmare come to life, flew the cat and the chicken. Both of them were puffed up to an enormous size, with fur and feathers standing on end, and claws and beak aiming straight for Rusty’s face.
He dropped Pummel to fight them off, and in that flurry of bird, beast and human, Duckling grabbed one of Pummel’s hands, and Sooli (who was right behind the cat and the chicken) grabbed the other.
Sooli stopped for just long enough to seize a lantern. Then the three children ran for their lives, with the cat and the chicken close behind them and the two men in hot pursuit.
Pummel ran and ran. When he stumbled, Duckling dragged him upright again, and when she stumbled, he helped her.
Sooli was ahead of them, leading the way, which was just as well because Pummel was completely lost and had no hope of finding anything, much less the secret tunnel.
His breath grated in his throat. A stitch was starting in his side, and he longed to slow down, but Boz and Rusty were gaining on them, the thud thud thud of their boots echoing through the tunnels until Pummel thought he could hear a score of men, coming from all directions.
But Sooli kept running, as quick and sure as a calf aiming for its mother, and Pummel followed her, with Duckling at his side and his heart beating so high up in his throat that he was afraid it might tumble out of his mouth and be crushed underfoot.
He could feel the ghosts running too, alongside him and in front of him, and once right through the middle of him, which was almost as horrible as being half strangled by Rusty.
And then, suddenly, Sooli was slowing. ‘Hold them!’ she shouted to the cat and the chicken.
Those two brave creatures did their best, flying at their pursuers with beak, teeth and claws. The cat was a leaping ball of fury; the chicken was fiercer than any chicken Pummel had ever known. But for all their warrior hearts, they were no match for the brutality of the salt mine guards. Within half a minute, they were falling back again, dodging cudgel and whip.
By then, Sooli had grabbed Pummel and Duckling and thrust them forward into what seemed to be a wall of rock – but turned out, once they were inside it, to be the mouth of a small, dark tunnel.
Pummel expected Boz and Rusty to come surging in after them, and he readied himself to run again. Or fight.
Instead, Rusty stopped dead, looked right at Pummel, and said, ‘Where’d they go?’
‘Where you cannot follow,’ said Sooli, and with a look of intense concentration she began to make weaving motions with her hands, although she had no wool or loom.
‘Oh yeah?’ snarled Boz. ‘Then we’ll get you instead.’
He took a step towards Sooli – but somehow ended up facing the other way. He turned around and tried again, his face contorting with effort, but it was no good. His legs would not take him any closer.
Beside Pummel, Duckling hissed with appreciation. ‘Now there’s a clever bit of witchery. Wish I could do that.’ And her fingers twitched experimentally.
Boz tried twice more to attack Sooli, and so did Rusty. But they couldn’t get near her. Her fingers wove and wove, and their legs took them in circles.
At last they huddled together, growling like wild dogs, and whispering to each other. Then they turned as one, and tried to stride back the way they’d come.
But they couldn’t do that either.
It’s like a Snare, thought Pummel. Only they don’t disappear. They just keep walking in circles.
He leaned closer to Duckling and whispered, ‘Why is she helping us?’
‘I don’t know,’ replied Duckling. ‘But I’m glad of it.’
The two guards were cursing Sooli now, and threatening her with the ugliest of fates. She ignored them. Her fingers made knots in the air, as if she was tying something off. Then she picked up the cat and the chicken, tossed them into the mouth of the secret tunnel, and stepped after them.
Pummel cleared his throat. ‘They won’t follow us? Boz and Rusty?’
Sooli looked back at the guards with a worried expression. ‘They should not be able to get past the do-not-see. And I have tried to weave their paths into a circle, so they cannot escape and report us, but I do not think it will hold for long. Come, we must not linger.’
It was the worst tunnel Pummel had ever been in. It narrowed just past the entrance, until it was barely as wide as his shoulders, and in places the ceiling was so low that he had to go down on his hands and knees and crawl.
He could hear Duckling crawling along behind him. He could smell unwashed bodies, and the stink of burning tallow. In his imagination, the layers of rock above him were cracking open. Soon they would fall, and crush him and Duckling and Sooli and the chicken and the cat to death.
Or maybe one of the monsters that lived in the mine would creep up on them – because there were monsters, he could feel them. Or rather, he could feel the frantic horror of the ghosts, and knew that they were running from something unspeakable. Something that was coming closer and closer …
‘You can stand up,’ said Sooli, and Pummel realised that he had closed his eyes, so as not to see what was coming after them.
He stood up and shook himself. The chicken looked back the way they had come. Duckling gave Pummel a little push and whispered, ‘Keep going.’
There were voices ahead of them now, and the yellow glow of half a dozen lanterns. The floor of the tunnel was littered with stones and piles of dirt, but Sooli sped up until she was almost running. ‘They are waiting for us,’ she said over her shoulder.
Suddenly the tunnel opened up, and there were the slave children, every single one of them, looking afraid and excited and puzzled and impatient, all at once.
‘It is time to go,’ cried Sooli, raising her lantern high. ‘Quickly! Take one another’s hands.’
As the children reached for each other, Duckling said, ‘But the tunnel’s not finished. It doesn’t go anywhere.’
‘I have the raashk,’ said Sooli. She glanced at Pummel. ‘I thought you had stolen it. Your people have always stolen things from mine. They took everything, including the land itself.’
Pummel opened his mouth to say that he had never stolen anything; that Ma had taught him better than that.
Then he realised that he had never needed to steal anything. He’d never thought about it before, but even when money was short, the farm always provided enough to eat – the farm that was on land that had once belonged to the Saaf people.
Sooli raised her voice. ‘Do not leave anyone out. And make sure you are holding someone who is holding me or you will be left behind!’
The children shuffled into long rows, clutching each other tightly. The cat prowled around them, saying, ‘Hooooold.’ Duckling picked up the chicken.
Pummel said, ‘You can’t take so many in one go. It’ll kill you.’
‘The raashk is more powerful than you know,’ said Sooli. ‘My great-grandmoth
er could take these and more.’ And she took the leather pouch from her pocket.
Pummel could feel it now – it was more alive than it had been for days. ‘What’ve you done to it?’
‘It knows me,’ said Sooli. ‘It knows I am Bayam. Now, are you coming or are you staying? If you are coming, be quick. There is something wrong, and I do not know what it is.’
The ghosts, thought Pummel, picking up the cat. That’s what’s wrong. They’re terrified.
‘Definitely coming,’ said Duckling, and she and Pummel grasped Sooli’s sleeve.
The Saaf girl’s knuckles tightened on the raashk. She raised it to her eye. She took a step towards the rock wall …
The Harshman could not find the Heir.
He found spots where the boy had lingered, and others where he had sat down. But the boy himself was not there.
The Harshman’s rage grew and grew. He strode along the tunnels with ice dripping from his chin and steam hissing from his ears. Stones fell from the roof and pattered against his helmet. Wooden props collapsed in a cloud of dust. But he could not find the boy.
He snarled. He punched the wall with his fist.
He started eating ghosts again.
Most of them were children, and their thoughts were pathetically un-warlike. But they were enough to tell the Harshman that the boy he sought was no longer in the tunnels. And that the two children who had taken the Heir from the Strong-hold were on the brink of escaping his clutches.
His howl of fury turned every earwig in the mine white with terror.
The howl echoed through the tunnel like a rock slide. The shock of it rattled Duckling’s bones and stole her voice, so that all she could do was whisper, ‘The Harshman! He’s here! He’s come for Otte.’
Under its coating of dirt, Pummel’s skin was a sickly white colour. ‘I knew there was something wrong.’
Some of the children began to weep. Others cried out, ‘Monster! Monster in the tunnels!’
Sooli looked as shaken as everyone else, but she said, ‘There are no monsters except the Margravine and the guards. That was just the – the creaking of the rock.’
‘No,’ said Pummel. ‘That was the Harshman, and he’s the worst monster of all.’
‘W–we think he’s the first Margrave of Neuhalt brought back to life,’ said Duckling. ‘He’s got iron teeth and he turns everything to ice – everything he doesn’t k–kill, that is. Quickly, Sooli. Take us through now!’
Then she jammed her eyes shut and waited for that dreadful feeling of not being able to breathe.
But she felt nothing. And when she opened her eyes, she discovered that only Sooli’s foot and knee were inside the rock. The rest of her remained outside, and although she pushed and struggled, she could go no further. And neither could the children she led.
‘Why is it not working?’ cried Sooli. ‘I am Bayam; the raashk knows me. It speaks to me. It must work!’
She stepped out of the rock, and back into it. But she could get no further than knee deep; the rock stood firm against her and would not let her through.
The eyes of all the other children were round with dismay. They had been promised freedom, and now it was not happening. Duckling could see the shadow of the salt mine growing darker inside each one of them, and the shadow of the Harshman too, as if he had stretched out his bony hand and was drawing them back through the secret tunnel to their deaths.
That same shadow was growing inside her, trying to make her panic. But she would not.
‘Let Pummel try,’ she said. ‘Give him the raashk.’
Sooli shook her head. ‘It wishes to stay in my hand, I can feel it. But why is it not working?’
Another howl echoed through the tunnels, making everyone flinch and tremble. The stones on the floor sprouted a thin coating of ice.
‘He’s coming,’ squeaked Duckling.
Sooli was breathing in fast, shallow gulps, but she said, ‘He w-will not get past the do-not-see.’
‘He can walk through stone,’ said Pummel. ‘He got out of the Strong-hold. He can get past anything!’
All around them, the air was growing colder. The roof of the tunnel groaned like a dying beast. Ice crawled up the walls.
Duckling licked her dry lips. ‘Please, Sooli. Please give the raashk to Pummel.’
But Sooli answered in the same terrified whisper. ‘You do not understand. It is not like handing over a spoon or a knife; the raashk is full of secrets that even I do not know. If I give it back when it does not wish to be given—’
She was interrupted by a startled squawk from the chicken, who fluttered to the ground, flapping her wings in distress, and stabbed her beak into the Sooli’s bare foot.
‘Ow!’ cried Sooli.
But then something caught her eye, and she stared at the floor of the tunnel in disbelief.
‘The silver threads,’ she whispered. ‘The paths.’ She fell to her knees, picked something up, and quickly dropped it again, as if it had burned her fingers.
She looked up at Duckling and Pummel, and her face was grey with horror. ‘This monster of yours,’ she whispered. ‘This Harshman. He is eating the do-not-see. He is eating the magic of Saaf!’
Duckling thought Sooli would give the raashk to Pummel there and then. Instead, the other girl said in a shaky voice, ‘We will make a b-bargain.’
‘A what?’ Duckling could hardly believe her ears. ‘The Harshman’s here, and you want to make a—’
‘I must k-keep faith with the magic of the Bayam,’ cried Sooli. ‘I must show that I am not betraying it, or something terrible will happen. Tell me, what do you want right now? Tell me quickly!’
Without hesitation Pummel said, ‘We want to save Otte from the Harshman.’ He looked at the terrified faces pressing around him. ‘We want to save everyone else too.’
‘Then I will give you the raashk,’ said Sooli. ‘I will help you save Otte. And when it is done, you will give the raashk back to me. And Duckling will give me the Wind’s Blessing.’
Duckling began to speak, but Sooli said quickly, ‘That is all I can accept. Nothing else. If you agree, I swear by the land beneath me and the wind above me that I will help you save Otte. May this vow bind me as Bayam.’
Duckling swallowed twice, and felt the salt and the grit scratch her throat. ‘All right, I agree. You’ll do it too, won’t you, Pummel?’
‘Of course I will,’ said Pummel.
‘A vow to the land must not be broken,’ insisted Sooli. ‘If you try to get out of it—’
‘We’re not going to break it,’ said Duckling. ‘Hand over the raashk. And hurry!’
Pummel took hold of the raashk like an old friend. I have to give it up again, he reminded himself. But that didn’t matter, not now. What mattered was getting away from the Harshman and saving Otte.
He put the tooth to his eye and, with the cat in his arms and sixty or more children clinging to him and to each other, he stepped into the rock.
It would not let him through.
A band of fear tightened around his chest. Behind him, Duckling squeaked, ‘Pummel? What’s wrong?’
‘I – I don’t know,’ he whispered, stepping out of the rock and staring at the raashk. ‘Could I – could I have broken it?’
‘It does not work for you either?’ Sooli looked around wildly. ‘I do not think you could break it. It is an idle-cat tooth – it has lasted hundreds of years and will last hundreds more. There is some other reason, but I do not know what it is!’
The Harshman howled again, and the other children huddled together, too terrified now to weep.
The cat’s tail lashed against Pummel’s arm. The band of fear around his chest twisted so tight that he could hardly breathe. ‘He sounds closer. He’s getting through the do-not-see.’
‘Don’t think about him,’ cried Duckling. ‘Concentrate on the raashk, Pummel! That’s what’ll save us.’
Pummel concentrated on the raashk. Sooli didn’t think he’d broken it, so i
t should work. In fact, he could feel it wanting to work.
‘I think it needs something,’ he said. ‘But I don’t know what.’
‘A price!’ Sooli’s eyes lit up. ‘Great-Grandmother used to say that there is always a price to pay for power. Sometimes you pay it before and sometimes you pay it after, but it must be paid.’
‘I’ll pay it,’ said Pummel. ‘What’s the price for the raashk?’
The light in Sooli’s eyes faded. ‘I don’t know!’ she wailed. ‘Great-Grandmother never told me.’
Pummel could hear a scratching sound now, from near the mouth of the tunnel. He wondered if Boz and Rusty were dead. He wondered how much longer it would be before he was dead too, and Duckling and Sooli and all the other slave children. And Otte—
The cat batted his hand with her big paw. ‘Shooooow me,’ she said.
‘What?’
‘Shooooow,’ snarled the cat, and she stood up in Pummel’s arms so that her face was right in front of his. Her whiskers bristled. Her eyes burned as bright as the lanterns.
Pummel opened his fingers to show her the raashk. The cat sniffed it, and a ridge of spotted fur stood up all the way along her back, so that she looked bigger than ever.
‘Iiidle-cat,’ she growled. ‘Wants blooood.’
‘Blood?’ said Pummel.
With one swift movement, the cat dug her claws into the fleshy part of his thumb.
Pummel yelped, ‘What did you do that for?’
The cat looked at the dark red drops welling from his skin. ‘Blooood,’ she said, with great satisfaction.
And suddenly Pummel could feel the raashk again – could feel it properly, all warm and familiar. Sooli was right – it wanted to go to her. It belonged to her. But it would stay with him for now.
He put it to his eye and the rock wall in front of him faded. On the other side of it were more tunnels, and bones, and ghosts.
‘It is the adult mine,’ said Sooli at his elbow. ‘They have dug the tunnel that will take us out. Now quickly, carry us through before your Harshman monster eats his way past the do-not-see.’