There was a murmur of voices from Skull’s gang and then Hemlock started muttering. Moll could feel her body weakening – doubt, fear and guilt flooding her thoughts. Beside her, Gryff was shivering.
And then Wisdom did something no member of Oak’s camp had done in Moll’s lifetime: he fired a gunshot into the air. Its harsh crack burst out and silenced Hemlock’s curses. Moll flinched. Below her, Skull’s gang shuffled backwards on their cobs. But Hemlock and Skull remained rooted to the spot, unflinching.
‘Stay away, Skull,’ Wisdom muttered.
Moll strained her ears; she could just make out Skull’s voice – a scornful hiss. ‘Guns and knives,’ he mocked. ‘You’re not going to get rid of the Shadowmasks like that.’ And then even quieter to Hemlock: ‘We need to prepare the clearing. Moll and the wildcat will be there soon enough.’ He turned to Brunt and the boys. ‘Haul the hounds up on to your cobs. They’ll wake later.’ He jabbed a heel into his horse, then turned his head up towards Wisdom. ‘If I find out you’ve lied, I’ll burn your camp to the ground!’
With a crack of whips, Skull, Hemlock and their gang charged off into the trees with the sleeping hounds. And, as if they had been holding their breath all this time, Oak’s camp finally breathed from the trees. Below Moll, Mooshie was sobbing.
‘Everyone down from the trees,’ Oak called. ‘Stoke up the fire and keep the children away from the wagons.’ But he stayed where he was for several seconds, cradling Mooshie close.
Moll twisted her body down between the branches with Gryff, an uncomfortable lump forming in her throat. Mooshie’s wagon had meant the world to her. Now it lay in shreds below them. And it was all her fault.
The mist had lifted and the camp huddled round the fire. Oak’s boys hurled on more and more logs until the flames towered high above them and the clearing was once more filled with light. Even Alfie, with his bandaged leg, was throwing wood on to the fire with Siddy.
A heaviness hung inside Moll and she shuffled over towards Mooshie and Oak who were staring at the crackling flames in silence. She picked up a log and tossed it on to the fire.
‘It’s all because of me,’ she mumbled. ‘It’s not fair that Skull smashed up the wagons.’
‘None of it’s fair, Moll. It’s not fair Skull destroyed our homes. It’s not fair you’re part of something you never asked to be. But life isn’t fair – never is.’ Oak paused and then looked Moll full in the face. ‘You’ve got to be brave. You’ve got to keep going no matter how unfair it gets.’
‘But all that work you and the camp put into making our wagons. You might as well not have bothered,’ Moll sniffed.
Mooshie shook her head. ‘If you think like that then you’ll never build anything in your life, Moll. You build knowing things might go wrong. And sometimes it’s when things get broken or lost or damaged that you realise all you’ve got to fight for.’
Moll twisted her hair into an angry knot and watched Gryff as he padded round the broken steps of her smashed-up wagon, his head hung low. ‘But it’s causing so many problems you hiding us away – us trying to fight back. Gryff and I would be all right out there. Might get into a few scrapes, but we can hunt and stuff.’
Oak smiled. ‘Did you expect it would be easy fighting back against the Shadowmasks?’ He rubbed Moll’s back. ‘None of this is going to be easy or fair, but we’ve got to do it – because the Bone Murmur is something worth fighting for. It’s the old magic and all its goodness is at stake and, no matter how scared you are or how guilty you feel, you keep going and you don’t give up. Because there’s a chance – however small – for all of us in this and, when you’ve got a chance, you fight on, however ugly things get.’
Mooshie smoothed down her pinafore. ‘Tomorrow we’ll rebuild our wagons. They’ll always be our homes and, years from now, there’ll be people who will say, “Mooshie Frogmore’s wagon – now that was one to remember”.’
Moll tried to smile. She wished she would stop feeling like she might burst into tears every time anyone spoke.
Wisdom approached with a bundle of quilts, blankets and cushions. ‘It’s a warm night and Skull won’t be back. We’ll be all right sleeping round the fire.’
Hours passed and Moll waited until everyone in the camp had gone to sleep, until the night belonged to only her and Gryff.
‘We’re going to find the amulets, Gryff,’ she whispered. ‘We have to because I won’t let any more bad things happen to this camp – and I won’t let my parents’ deaths be for nothing.’
But across the river, in the darkness of the Deepwood, Skull and Hemlock were muttering a deadly incantation. And somewhere far, far away, the Master of the Soul Splinter was awakening.
‘It’s time to go, Moll.’
Moll squinted into the sunrise, her ears filling with the taps of a nearby woodpecker. Oak was kneeling before her, a knife and pistol tucked into his waistcoat, and a mug of dandelion tea in his outstretched hand.
The camp were curled inwards towards the fire even though it was now just a rubble of glowing embers. Children nestled close to their mothers, scooped into their chests like newborn puppies, and fully-grown men stretched arms and legs round their families. Moll felt a pang of loneliness until Gryff nuzzled her cheek before arching his back down to the ground in a stretch.
Moll nudged Alfie awake.
‘Get some clean clothes on, both of you,’ Oak said. ‘Mooshie’s laid them out just beyond the fire, together with fresh bandages for Alfie’s ankle. Then meet me under the Sacred Oak behind your wagon, Moll.’
Moll’s shoulders dropped as she looked across at her wagon. The door was hanging from one hinge and the window had been smashed right out. She glanced back towards the fire where Siddy was sleeping by his pa. ‘And Sid?’
Oak shook his head. ‘Not this time, Moll. The more people we are, the more likely it is we’ll be seen.’ Moll was about to protest when Oak said, ‘You’ll need to wear the belts I’ve laid out for you. No questions; we need to get going.’
Minutes later, Moll and Alfie stood beneath the tree and Oak approached, carrying two sheathed daggers.
He held one out to Moll and her eyes widened. It stretched from her wrist to her elbow and the sheath had been made from dark leather. It was scratched and scuffed and the initials FP had been stitched on with lighter thread.
‘Ferry Pecksniff,’ Oak said. ‘That was your pa’s dagger, Moll – a light knife but a deadly blade.’ He looked down. ‘Was my plan to give it to you when you were older, but it’s best you carry it now; you might need it on this trip. After that, I want it back until you’re grown.’
Alfie smirked. ‘Grown? She’ll be button-sized forever.’
But Moll didn’t hear him. She drew the dagger from its sheath; the handle was made out of bone and just before the blade it was bound with string. She held it tight, as if she was holding her pa’s hand.
‘Careful,’ Oak said. ‘The blade’s so sharp it’d slice a man’s wrist clean off.’
Moll gulped and even Gryff took a step back.
Oak smiled. ‘Your parents were honest, kind people, Moll. Your pa was big and strong and he knew this forest better than anyone. He could track an animal by its prints for miles and he could kill a rabbit stone dead with his catapult – and that’s not to mention what he could do with this knife. As gypsies come, he was one of the bravest and most loyal any of us’ve known.’
‘And my ma?’ Moll asked.
Oak ruffled her hair. ‘Sometimes I think I’m looking at her when I look at you. She was small, so small, with hair and eyes just like yours.’ He laughed. ‘And she was kind and funny – and mischievous like her daughter . . .’
Moll held the words tight while Oak gave the second dagger to Alfie. ‘So you won’t need to use your rings to cut. It was my father’s – an ancient iron dagger – but it’s the best blade you’ll find.’
Alfie drew back the sheath and the blade sparkled in the morning sun. ‘It’s shining, this is. Doesn’t
look like ancient iron to me.’
Oak smiled. ‘That’s because it’s made with moon silver.’
‘Moon silver?’
‘You’ve never heard of moon silver?’ Moll said. That’s because you’re no gypsy. But your story’s not as Skull told it either, she thought, but she held her tongue because finding the amulets was more important than the lies Skull might have told Alfie. For now.
‘When the moon’s full, we take our iron and copper out under it,’ Oak said. ‘And, when we hammer it into coins, jewellery and daggers, the moonbeams sink into the metal and turn it to shining silver. It’s real silver to us, moon silver is.’
Alfie let his dagger glide through the air. Its blade was so sharp that it seemed to slice the sunlight to slivers.
As Moll tucked hers back inside its sheath, she noticed something else. Three feathers: one red, one blue, one brown. ‘Robin, jay, wren . . .’ she murmured.
Oak nodded. ‘Red for luck, blue for protection and brown for friendship. I put them inside each of our sheaths.’
Out of the corner of her eye, Moll watched Alfie turn the brown feather over in his hands and grip it tight.
Oak reached into his pocket and tossed them two chunks of bread. ‘Breakfast. We haven’t got time for more.’ Gryff wrinkled up his nose at the bread but, when no voles or mice appeared from Oak’s pocket, he ate it. ‘And there’s something we need to do first, before we look for the amulets,’ Oak said.
They stood round the Sacred Oak, Gryff’s whiskers twitching at near-silent sounds: a deer stepping among the undergrowth, a hedgehog shuffling in the leaves. Dreamcatchers hung from the lower branches, their beads and feathers fluttering in the breeze. Oak pulled out his dagger and, bending beneath the dreamcatchers, he began cutting into the trunk of the tree.
‘What are you doing?’ Moll asked, her mouth full of bread.
Oak had chipped out several small chunks of bark, leaving an arrow shape within the trunk, pointing towards the clearing. ‘I’m leaving a patteran.’
‘A patteran?’ said Alfie.
‘Gypsy traveller’s sign – sort of like a trademark that gypsies leave to show they’ve been here and settled. You carve your initials next to the arrow – and the number of years you’ve been here.’
Oak began to carve his initials.
Moll beamed, delighted at the prospect of using her pa’s dagger so quickly.
But Alfie wore a very different expression. ‘You don’t think we’ll be coming back, do you, Oak?’ he said quietly.
Moll stiffened. But Oak continued to carve. ‘I want to believe we’ll be coming back, but gypsy traditions die hard and I want to leave my mark. Just in case.’
Alfie stepped forward and raised his dagger to the bark, but Moll pushed him back.
‘No.’
Alfie reddened. ‘Suppose I haven’t got a right to carve your trees.’
Moll shook her head. ‘It’s not that.’ She looked at Oak and then back at Alfie. ‘I don’t want you to carve the tree and I won’t be carving it either because we’re coming back – all three of us.’ She looked at Oak’s initials and scowled. ‘Even if Oak has gone and carved his stupid pattern.’
‘Patteran,’ Oak corrected.
Moll glowered at him. ‘The Ancientwood belongs to us and—’
Gryff was growling. He leapt in front of Moll, baring his fangs as he scanned between the trees. And then he turned back to the clearing, his head cocked to one side. Charging towards them, like a miniature bull, was Siddy.
‘Moll! Moll! You won’t believe what I’ve seen! I’ve found it! I know where the heart of the forest is!’
Mooshie was storming across the clearing behind him, waving her tea towel like a war flag. ‘Siddy! You come back here right now! What would your ma say?’
Siddy ducked beneath the dreamcatchers. ‘You’ve got to believe me, Moll! It’s true! I found it!’
Oak stepped forward. ‘Siddy, you’ve got to stay with the camp this time. We’ll get caught if there are too many of us.’
Mooshie and her tea towel were getting closer.
Siddy shook his head. ‘I was staying in the camp. Then I lost Porridge the Second and I went to search for him—’
Mooshie stooped beneath the dreamcatchers and took a swipe at Siddy.
Siddy sidestepped. ‘—and, when I was looking for Porridge the Second, I found it – the heart of the forest. I’m sure of it!’
Mooshie put her hands on her hips and Moll shook her head. ‘You can’t have done, Sid. Even the Elders don’t know where it is.’
Siddy’s face began to crumple and then it hardened with anger. ‘Just because I’m not an Elder and quick-thinking like some of them back in camp – with their fancy letters and long words – doesn’t mean I haven’t got just as much chance of finding things as they have!’
There was an awkward silence and Moll thought about doing a quick burp to break the tension.
But it was Alfie who spoke. Avoiding their eyes, his hands in his pockets, he said, ‘Maybe we should listen to what Sid’s got to say. You all listened to me back when Moll got sick.’
Mooshie tucked her tea towel into her apron pocket. ‘This had better not be involving those highwaymen chickens, Siddy.’
They followed Siddy across the clearing to the oldest and biggest of the Sacred Oaks, the one Moll and Alfie had hidden in the night before. It was so huge and ancient it looked like the type of tree that might have existed even before time dawned or the earth began to breathe.
Siddy pointed to the stump that jutted out near the bottom of the trunk. Coins had been slotted into knife slits made by Oak’s camp.
‘See those coins? The ones we stick in to ward off evil spirits?’
Everyone nodded.
‘Well, after I found Porridge the Second, I was just slotting in a coin to help frighten off the Shadowmasks and—’
Moll was good and ready to thump Siddy in the head. Did he honestly think that a coin could ward off Skull and Hemlock?
‘And I know you won’t believe me,’ Siddy added, ‘but, when I slotted the coin into the stump here, the tree groaned.’
He paused, waiting for a reaction. No one said anything. In fact the silence was so profoundly awkward that Moll began to hum to distract everyone.
‘It groaned – proper groaned – as if its spirit was alive!’ Siddy exclaimed. ‘And I think it’s something to do with the heart of the forest – what you’ve all been searching for!’
Oak glanced at Mooshie. ‘It can’t be . . . We need to get on, Moosh.’
Mooshie eyed her tea towel.
Gryff stepped closer to the stump. He looked back at Moll, who held his gaze, then he looked at Siddy.
Moll thought about it for a moment. Then she said, ‘I believe you, Sid.’
Alfie threw up his hands. ‘I was all for trusting Siddy, but you really think the tree’s been talking?’
Moll nodded. ‘It’s got a spirit – all the trees have.’ She paused and then under her breath, she said, ‘And I suppose, if they’ve got spirits, there isn’t any reason why they shouldn’t talk.’ She turned back to Siddy. ‘Put your coin back into the slot, Sid.’
He fumbled in his pocket, accidentally bringing out Porridge the Second. Blushing, he pushed the bewildered earthworm back and drew out the coin. Siddy manoeuvred it into the slot he’d carved. Nothing happened. Alfie rolled his eyes and Oak looked anxious to press on.
And then it came. From somewhere deep, deep inside the bark, a low, tired yawn, like a heavy door opening for the first time in a thousand years.
Siddy withdrew the coin and the yawn crumbled into silence again. They looked at one another, speechless, and then Alfie gasped.
‘I – I can see a face,’ he said slowly. Then, more confidently, ‘Yes! A face shaped into the bark. Two eyes – there!’ He pointed to two circular knobs protruding from the trunk, lines like wrinkles surrounding each one. ‘And a nose!’ He pointed to the long ridge of raised bark
beneath the knob-like eyes. ‘And a huge great mouth – see!’ A large domed marking jutted out from the trunk and spilled down to the ground where the roots started.
Siddy’s eyes shone. ‘Only the mouth isn’t just a mouth, I don’t think. Looks like it might be a door!’
Mooshie frowned. ‘Why’s that?’
Siddy pointed to the stump with the coins slotted into it. ‘Because I reckon that there’s the handle . . .’
Moll gasped. ‘Why haven’t we seen this before?’
Oak shook his head in disbelief. ‘Things that are important are mostly invisible to the naked eye until you need them. It’s the ways of the old magic.’
‘Here, take the coin, Moll,’ Siddy suggested. ‘The tree just groans when I try.’
Moll had slotted coins into the bark before, but nothing had ever happened. And so, not expecting much, she took Siddy’s coin and slipped it into the tree.
Once again the tree groaned, its rumble seeming to wake the very roots buried deep within the ground. And then suddenly the bark stirred. The domed shape of the mouth quivered and then it wriggled and very slowly it creaked out towards them.
Moll grinned. The old magic was fighting back now they needed it. The door into the heart of the forest had been unlocked.
It was dark inside, dark and cool. And, as Moll had almost expected, the entire tree was hollow. The grey-brown bark twisted upwards into dizzying heights, but in the very centre of the oak was what Mellantha had promised them.
A well.
Mooshie looked at Oak, her mouth twitching with excitement. ‘I’ll go back and tell the others. You’ll want the whole clearing guarded, Oak.’
He nodded. ‘Make sure everyone’s armed – men and women. We can’t let Skull in now we’re this close.’
Mooshie hurried away, leaving the domed door a fraction ajar. Shavings of light slipped in, illuminating Siddy’s dancing shadow.
The Dreamsnatcher Page 16