The Dreamsnatcher

by Abi Elphinstone

  ‘You’ve got to fight it, Moll!’ Oak said. ‘Fight back against the Dream Snatch.’

  ‘If I give up, the Shadowmasks’ll leave you alone. It’s only me they’re after . . .’

  ‘Don’t listen to it, Moll!’ Alfie cried.

  Moll was silent for a few seconds as the Dream Snatch crowded in. And then she gasped. ‘I – I can see my nightmare inside my mind – clearer than I’ve ever seen it before . . .’ She choked on her words and, when she coughed, blood stained the cloth Mooshie held to her face. ‘I can see the Shadowmasks. But there’s only five of them, and – and – my parents are there too!’ Moll closed her eyes; she was sobbing now. Her body contorted and then her jaw shuddered as she fought the Dream Snatch, trying to use its power but not let it take her completely.

  Gryff pawed at Moll’s skirt and looked deep into her eyes.

  ‘Do something, Oak!’ Mooshie shouted. ‘A child isn’t meant to go through this – to see what she’ll see. We need to help her!’

  Cinderella Bull put a hand on her shoulder. ‘Moll will see how the Shadowmasks kill . . . If she can handle the Dream Snatch.’

  ‘It’s not right!’ Mooshie cried.

  Oak took Mooshie’s hands. ‘Moosh, we’ve never known the truth about how the Shadowmasks kill. If we know what happened to Moll’s parents then we’ve got a chance of stopping them.’

  Moll tore her hair against the pulsing rhythms of the Dream Snatch, sweat glistening on her chest. She looked into Gryff’s eyes, begging him to rescue her. But she had to stay inside the nightmare – she knew that – because she had to unlock the last part of her memory. She closed her eyes.

  Her mother was there, lying on the bank of the river, her green eyes wide with fear as one Shadowmask pinned her down by her arms and another clutched her long black hair in a fist to hold her still. Nearby was a tall, strong man – her father – and he was fighting against the other three Shadowmasks. But they had surrounded him now and were forcing him to his knees. They bound his hands and held him to the ground. And then the Shadowmasks’ chant began:

  ‘Tonight we summon you to finish our chant,

  Master of the Soul Splinter, do what we can’t.

  Come from the shadows, the gloom most dim,

  Use curses of power, deadly and grim.

  Guardians of the Bones before you lie.

  Fill them with darkness, so much that they die!

  Pour out our shadows into each soul,

  Kill all that is living, turn it blacker than coal!’

  And from the shadows came a figure, with wild black hair surrounding a mask of charcoaled wood, like burnt skin. It prowled forward, drawing in the enormous leathery wings that jutted from its back and trailed along the ground. In its long, thin fingers, the figure held a splinter of black ice that didn’t seem to melt. It stole closer to Moll’s parents, its mask raised high, and then it towered over Moll’s mother, lifting the Soul Splinter above her mouth. Moll’s mother screamed, but the Shadowmasks held her fast and, as she panted into the night, the Soul Splinter began to melt and droplets of black dripped into her mouth. Her eyes widened, drowning in horror, then she lay still.

  Her father recoiled as the Soul Splinter came towards him, but he was powerless against the Shadowmasks and, like droplets of death, the ice fell into his mouth. Moll watched as a blanket of darkness enfolded the scene.

  And then she screamed.

  ‘This isn’t my nightmare any more! It’s gone – gone! It’s just the Dream Snatch now and I can’t escape it!’ She ripped at her ears, thrashing her head from side to side. ‘I can hear Skull’s chanting and muttering! I can hear the wax squelching through his fingers! And I can hear another voice – it’s the Shadowmask with the face of slate I’ve just seen! He’s saying my name, like he’s come for me!’

  Moll struggled to get up, but Oak pinned her down.

  ‘He’s saying it over and over again: Hemlock’s come for you, Moll. Give yourself up to the Dream Snatch!’

  Moll’s body began to shake uncontrollably. ‘Help me, Gryff! Help me!’

  Gryff wrapped his body round Moll’s, but she continued to shudder, wrestling beneath his weight.

  ‘Fight it, Moll!’ Oak cried. ‘You can beat it!’

  Cinderella Bull bent closer over the strawberries Moll had spat out. And then she gasped. ‘These berries aren’t what they seem. See here – these white seeds . . . I’d know them anywhere. They’re hemlock seeds – poisonous seeds. And they’ve been growing inside our berries!’

  Oak’s face was grave. ‘The second Shadowmask’s come for Moll in the very form of his name.’

  And then it dawned on Alfie, clear as day. He limped away from the gathering and up the steps to Moll’s wagon. Moments later, he returned with a small phial of black liquid. Mooshie looked at him guardedly. Beneath her, Moll was crying out against the Dream Snatch, tossing from side to side.

  ‘Mellantha gave it to us,’ Alfie explained as he unscrewed the lid. ‘She said Moll’d need it: You’ll need it when they’re fighting for your mind, she said. Maybe – maybe it’s a cure for the hemlock berries!’

  Cinderella Bull blinked. ‘An antidote to the poison?’

  Alfie nodded.

  No one moved. Alfie could feel their distrust. But it was Gryff who acknowledged him first. He stepped back from Moll and stood before Alfie with shining eyes. Moll’s eyes. And then he dipped his head.

  ‘Go on,’ Mooshie said quietly. ‘We trust you.’

  Alfie bent over Moll and tipped the black liquid into her mouth. For several seconds, Moll continued to shudder and shout but, as the antidote felt its way into her body, the fever withdrew and she lay on the ground, panting but free.

  The Shadowmasks had come for her, but she’d broken their Dream Snatch.

  And beyond the river, in their darkened lair, Skull and Hemlock knew it.

  It was night but no one slept. Even the youngest members of the camp lay awake in their wagons, wide-eyed with fear. Gryff sat just back from the campfire, facing out towards the trees, his ears swivelling at the slightest noise. And around the fire, sitting on tree stumps, were the Elders, together with Moll, Alfie and Siddy.

  Hard-Times Bob puffed on his pipe. ‘You did well, Moll – fighting back against the Dream Snatch like that.’

  Moll pulled the rug tighter around her. ‘I don’t understand why the Dream Snatch opened up the last bits of my nightmare. Why do the Shadowmasks want me to know about the Soul Splinter?’

  Cinderella Bull stoked the fire and her gold-penny shawl jangled. ‘They don’t. The Shadowmasks wanted you to give yourself up to Hemlock’s poison and their Dream Snatch. They thought, now they know your name, they’d be strong enough to destroy your mind, but you fought back before they could work their curse in full. And, in fighting back so hard, you uncovered the memory they wanted you to forget.’

  Gryff crept towards the fire and burrowed beneath Moll’s rug, away from the eyes of the camp. Then he leant against Moll’s legs.

  Alfie frowned. ‘But the hemlock inside the berries, how did they get it in there? You’ve got your people guarding the camp from the trees the whole time.’

  Oak shook his head. ‘Hemlock didn’t need to touch those berries – or even come close to the camp. He must’ve worked his curse from a distance, and that’s when Moll saw him between the trees.’

  Siddy shifted on his stool, cuddling his earthworm close. ‘And to think poor Porridge the Second could’ve eaten those berries.’

  Patti threw him a scathing look.

  Alfie turned to Cinderella Bull. ‘This Soul Splinter – the shard of black ice that one of the Shadowmasks dripped into Moll’s parents’ mouths. How can something like that kill people?’

  Cinderella Bull was silent for several seconds, then she looked at Moll. ‘You know, don’t you, child?’

  Moll looked down at her toes and nodded.

  ‘How do you know?’ Siddy asked.

  Moll looked up. ‘Beca
use I felt it – the horror and the darkness all seeping into my bones at once – and I heard their chant, the one worse than the Dream Snatch . . .’ She took a deep breath and beneath her rug Gryff wound his tail round her ankle. ‘The Soul Splinter is filled with the darkest curses.’

  Cinderella Bull nodded. ‘There’ll be curses in there darker than the deepest night, more rotten than decaying fungus.’

  Moll shrank further inside her rug. ‘The Shadowmasks tore away their shadows – their souls – for a reason.’ She paused. ‘They’ve locked them inside the Soul Splinter and that’s how they kill: they drip their cursed souls into the mouths of their victims and the darkness that grows in them is too much for any living soul.’

  The fire crackled on into the inky darkness, but no one spoke.

  Then Alfie rummaged in his pocket and drew out the tattered rag Mellantha had given them on which was written:

  SHADOWMASKS

  Limping, he pulled his stool nearer Moll’s. ‘The letters,’ he said quietly. ‘S for Skull . . . H for Hemlock . . .’

  Moll’s eyes widened. ‘Just like Mellantha said: Think about the letters, the word. It’s all there. It’s a pattern, isn’t it?’

  Cinderella Bull peered at the rag, then nodded grimly. ‘And you’ve got to see it through.’

  Siddy pointed to the letters. ‘If Skull came with the Dream Snatch and Hemlock with the poison, maybe every Shadowmask has a different curse.’ He paused. ‘Who does the Soul Splinter belong to?’

  Moll shuddered. ‘The Master – that’s what the others called him.’ She looked up at Oak. ‘But I saw something else. Something I know you saw too, when you found my parents. Something which none of us will know how to explain.’

  Oak hung his head. Mooshie raised a hand to her mouth.

  ‘The Shadowmasks had shaved my parents’ heads.’

  And to that not even Cinderella Bull had an answer.

  As they made their way to their wagons, Cinderella Bull stopped in her tracks. She was clasping her obsidian fortune-telling ball and her eyes were closed.

  ‘Oak,’ she said gravely.

  Oak hurried over and Moll followed with Gryff.

  ‘I can see them coming – as clear as if I’m looking at a picture.’ Her voice sounded distant, like an echo. ‘Skull and all of his gang, with the hounds at their feet, straining forward on their leashes. They know Moll broke their Dream Snatch. They’ll come from the Deepwood – and they’ll come tonight.’

  Her voice stopped suddenly, like a tap being turned off, and her eyes opened. They flitted over Moll’s and Gryff’s faces and then rested upon Oak.

  ‘We haven’t got much time.’

  Night deepened. Oak’s camp was silent and still, as if holding its breath. Tucked up in the branches of the Sacred Oaks, they waited.

  Mist slunk into the clearing below them, settling on the branches of the trees like an unwanted guest. All of the wagons had been bolted and the cobs and greyhounds tethered to trees hidden deep within the Ancientwood. Even the chickens and, on Siddy’s insistence, Porridge the Second had been caged up and concealed.

  The embers of a fire glowed in the middle of the clearing, turning the hanging mist to amber, and, far above this, Moll, Gryff and Alfie crouched inside the biggest of the Sacred Oaks. Siddy had been prised away into another tree to take care of his baby sister, but, on the branch below Moll, Cinderella Bull, Mooshie, Oak and their sons huddled.

  Gryff leant into Moll and she ran a hand along his back. He’d keep her safe. She’d seen him leap from the tallest branches of a beech tree and land on his feet unscathed. She tucked her knees under her chin; so long as Gryff was with her, she’d be all right.

  ‘It must be past midnight now,’ Moll whispered. ‘Perhaps they’re not going to come after all.’

  Alfie shifted beside her and the leaves on the branch trembled – as if they too knew what was coming. ‘Skull will come,’ he said. ‘He always does.’

  ‘And you think Cinderella Bull’s plan is really going to work?’

  A branch creaked beneath them. ‘It’ll work, Moll.’ It was Mooshie’s voice, but Moll noticed that even she couldn’t mask the fear that had settled itself over the camp like a hard frost.

  Seconds later, it came.

  At first, it was the pounding of hooves they heard; then came the feverish shrieks of the hounds. Whips cracked, shattering the stillness, and the hounds bayed louder. But there were no voices. Skull’s gang were approaching the camp in a terrifying wave of silence.

  Moll’s palms were hot and her heart was thudding inside her. But no one moved or uttered a word within the trees, exactly as they’d planned.

  The beating of hooves was louder now – and closer. Then, bursting through the mist, Moll saw the dark shapes of Skull and his gang, urging on their cobs. Six hooded shapes thundered towards them: Skull, Gobbler, Brunt, the other two boys and . . .

  Moll’s heart raced. The second Shadowmask.

  The hounds rampaged through the forest and stormed into the clearing, tearing at their leashes, their teeth bleached against the night. And then suddenly they were still.

  One of the riders threw back his hood; Skull’s white mask hung in the mist.

  ‘The cowards are locked inside their wagons.’ His voice was brittle, like dried-out clay.

  Gobbler’s hunched back was a shadowy bulge in the darkness, and beside him was a man with a mask of slate, a jutting mouth and gaping eyeholes. Clumps of dead flowers for hair and poisonous berries rotting away where ears should have been . . .

  Hemlock. And he was muttering under his breath.

  Almost at once Moll felt his curse, crawling through the night to her soul, feeding on her fear. Come to us, Moll Pecksniff. You’re ours now. You’re not one of them. You never will be. And, so long as you stay here, you put them all in danger. Come away now; give yourself up to our curse.

  Moll’s mind raced. She was safe, tucked up inside the highest oak, but every fibre in her body wanted to climb down and give herself up. As if he sensed this, Gryff put two legs in front of her. His claws dug into the bark, but it would only be a matter of time before Hemlock’s curse sought him out too.

  Moll wanted to shake Gryff, to make him understand. What chance did any of them have against the Shadowmasks and their curses, against the Soul Splinter?

  And then Gryff began to shudder as Hemlock’s curse hunted him down.

  ‘We’ve come for Moll Pecksniff and her wildcat, Oak!’ Skull shouted. ‘If you give them up now, we’ll leave you and your camp in peace.’

  Moll could feel Gryff’s heart thumping with her own.

  And then Hemlock spoke, his words slithering over his tongue like venom. ‘If you refuse to hand over the girl and the beast, every wagon in this clearing will be savaged by the hounds.’

  Moll thought of her box bed, of the catapults Oak had carved for her and the mounds of feathers and fir cones she’d collected over the years. And then she thought of Mooshie’s wagon: her finest china, her precious lace and the bobble-fringed curtains. She wanted to leap down through the branches and hug Mooshie tight. Cinderella Bull’s plan had to work, it had to.

  ‘You give us no choice, Oak!’ Skull shouted. ‘Drop the leashes, boys!’

  Moll held her breath. A second later, the night was filled with a terrible baying. Skull and Hemlock laughed – a clash of shrill, hideous laughter – as four blackened shapes raced up the wagon steps.

  Moll covered her eyes; she couldn’t bear to watch.

  The hounds stopped baying suddenly and into the silence of the clearing came the sound of jaws working – greedily, furiously – at the slabs of meat left on the steps of every wagon.

  Moll’s heart leapt. The riders shifted on their cobs.

  Moll could hear Cinderella Bull whispering to Oak. ‘It should work: a wisp of mist; the sliver of a moonbeam; a spoonful of midnight dew; a drop of sap from each of the Sacred Oaks; a pail of crystal-clear river water. I brewed the Lull just as
our ancestors taught us . . .’

  At that second, the hounds’ jaws stopped grinding, and there were four loud thuds.

  ‘No!’ Skull roared. ‘Get over to them, boys!’

  Brunt edged towards Mooshie’s wagon where a hound lay sprawled on the steps. Its eyes were closed, its body rising and falling gently as if it was asleep, and beside it was a half-chewed lump of meat.

  Brunt nudged the hound but it didn’t move. ‘They’ve – they’ve left meat coated in something, Skull!’

  Gobbler raced up the steps of Moll’s wagon: another sleeping hound lay before the remains of a chunk of meat. ‘It’s that Dukkerer of theirs. She’s laced the meat and it’s sent them to sleep!’

  ‘Into the wagons!’ Skull muttered. ‘Smash them up hard.’

  A cold sweat clung to Moll’s skin.

  Doors were wrenched off and thudded to the ground and the night was filled with pandemonium: furniture crashed to the floor, windows shattered, objects clattered against walls and china was smashed to smithereens.

  And then there was silence.

  ‘Oak!’ Skull roared.

  But it was Wisdom who answered. ‘Skull,’ he replied, his voice gravelly and tough.

  Moll could see Skull’s mask searching through the mist.

  ‘Oak’s taken Moll,’ Wisdom said. ‘They left as night fell.’

  Wisdom lowered himself down several branches and finally, as he crouched upon an outstretched branch, Skull and his gang rested their eyes on him. But he was above their grasp and there were no hounds to leap for him now.

  ‘Leave,’ Wisdom growled. ‘You’ve destroyed our homes and we’ve nothing here you want.’

  Hemlock nudged his cob closer to the tree. A deep burning sensation throbbed inside Moll; it felt as if Hemlock was looking right at her. ‘The girl and her wildcat could be up in the trees with you,’ Hemlock crooned, ‘and we want them very much.’

  Moll buried her face in her knees.

  Wisdom threw a dagger down from the branches and it landed centimetres from Hemlock’s cob. ‘That’s a warning.’ He spat through the leaves, then sprang up on the branch so that he was standing. ‘They’ve gone after the amulets – and they’re going to find them before you can break the Bone Murmur. You’ll see.’ He was silent for several seconds. ‘Leave. You’ve no business here.’