‘We did it, Gryff!’ she whispered. ‘We found the first amulet and we set my pa’s soul free!’ She tickled the wildcat’s ear. ‘And somewhere out there is my ma,’ she said. Her heart beat excitedly at the thought. Then she sat upright in her bed and gasped.
‘Oh, all that?’ said Oak, who was sitting on a chair before a collection of strange objects strewn across the end of Moll’s bed. ‘Lucky charms from the camp – to make sure you woke up in good health. The stones with holes in them are from Hard-Times Bob. He thinks they’ll be lucky.’ He pointed to the largest stone, one that would have taken hours to haul inside the wagon. ‘The daft old man thought he could squeeze his body through this one, but he got it stuck round his ribcage and he’s had the hiccups ever since.’
Moll giggled.
Oak picked up a jam jar full of minnows. ‘Siddy’s lucky charm – except no one in the camp agrees it is a lucky charm. He wanted to chuck it in your face to bring you round, but Patti warned him that was one step too far.’ Oak held up a cluster of red berries. ‘Holly berries from Mooshie, I’m afraid; she hoped if a fertility charm was the first thing you saw on coming round you might start acting more like a lady in the future.’
Moll squeezed out the air from inside her cheeks and it made an unladylike squelch. ‘And that?’ she asked, pointing to a black plaited bracelet which looked as if it might have been made from animal hair.
‘That’s from Alfie,’ Oak replied. ‘Said he didn’t believe in lucky charms so he made you a bracelet from Raven’s tail. He said if Raven carried him away safe from the Deepwood, maybe he could help bring you back too.’
Moll didn’t need to ask what Oak had given her. Her wagon was as good as new and it was clear he hadn’t left her side since the Deepwood – and that kind of loyalty was more important than any present or charm.
‘How long have I been sleeping?’ Moll asked.
‘Four days. The Dream Snatch – it almost sucked the life right out of you.’
‘I’ve never slept that good and long!’ She paused, her eyes widening. ‘Does that mean it’s stopped coming for me? The Dream Snatch won’t twist my dreams to nightmares any more?’
Oak smiled. ‘You and Gryff broke the Dream Snatch. You shattered it to pieces once and for all when you lifted that amulet up.’
Moll leant into Gryff. ‘I don’t understand though. What happened back in Skull’s clearing?’ she asked. ‘Why did the amulet release all its power then? Why not when the Shadowmasks came to our camp?’
Oak’s eyes sparkled. ‘I’m not sure, but the old magic first stirred when time dawned. So magic’s at its strongest when light changes: when daylight drops to dusk or night drifts into dawn.’
‘You’re just saying words that begin with d.’
Oak shuffled on to the bed and ruffled Moll’s hair. ‘I’m not lying, Moll. Magic’s at its strongest when light changes. So I think when dawn came to Skull’s clearing the amulet was at its most powerful.’
‘But didn’t the Shadowmasks have curses and chants to break the amulet’s power?’
‘There’s nothing stronger than the powers locked inside the Amulets of Truth. Your pa said the first amulet stood for bravery, so when you raced to help Gryff you gave it even more power. The Shadowmasks may’ve brewed curses dark enough to splinter souls, but they were broken in the face of your courage.’ Oak smiled. ‘The amulets are part of a deeper magic still and, so long as we find them all, the Shadowmasks can’t touch our souls.’
‘The last four Shadowmasks’ll come for me though, won’t they?’ Moll said quietly. ‘They haven’t gone for good.’
Oak shook his head. ‘I don’t think so. Not gone. Weakened maybe – forced back for a while – but they’ll come again.’ He paused. ‘Which is why, in a few days, we’ll be leaving the Ancientwood.’
Moll shook her head. ‘Leaving? But—’
‘It’s no longer safe, Moll. Darkebite knows where you and Gryff are.’
‘But – but where will we go? This has always been home.’
Oak squeezed Moll’s arm. ‘We’ll live as outlaws down by the sea.’
Moll’s eyes grew big. ‘By that big puddle of water leading out to the edge of the world?’ She shivered then looked around her wagon. ‘We’d have to leave all this. . .’ She paused. ‘And what if Gryff doesn’t like the sea?’
Oak smiled. ‘I’ve been over the heath and down to a cove by the seashore, Moll, while you’ve been resting.’ He paused. ‘And if you thought living in a wagon was good wait until you see the cave I’ve found.’
A ripple of excitement flickered inside Moll. She nodded to Gryff. ‘We might quite like caves, actually.’
‘You’re the Guardian of the Oracle Bones now, Moll,’ Oak said. ‘Soon you must throw the bones and then we’ll follow the bone reading to find the second amulet. With it, we’ll destroy the Soul Splinter.’
Moll’s body tingled. ‘But Skull and Hemlock – they said their souls’re locked inside the Soul Splinter and they’re never going to die. How can we kill someone who can’t die?’
Oak shook his head. ‘We just have to hope that, if the first amulet destroyed Skull and Hemlock like that, the last two will have the power to destroy the Soul Splinter. Then the Shadowmasks’ souls will die and the Bone Murmur and all it stands for will be restored for good.’
Moll groaned. ‘That’s heavy that talk. I was better with the jar of minnows –maybe even Mooshie’s holly berries.’
Oak wrapped her up in a bear hug. ‘Come and see everyone; they’ve missed you. Siddy said that even Porridge the Second’s taken your absence hard.’
Once Oak had left, Moll bounced out of bed, filled with an energy she’d almost forgotten she’d ever had. She pushed Alfie’s bracelet over her wrist, then threw on a dress.
And then she remembered. The clearing, the Sacred Oaks, the blazing flames. She edged out of her wagon with Gryff.
Her mouth fell open. ‘But – but . . .’
Oak smiled. ‘Turns out that amulet of yours had a healing power – same as the water in the well. Cinderella Bull said the Sacred Oaks twisted up stronger, bigger and greener than ever before when we were fighting Skull and Hemlock in the Deepwood. We think it was your pa’s way of saying thank you.’
Moll’s gaze dropped to the centre of the clearing where a haphazard jumble of spotted neckerchiefs, ruffled skirts, brightly-coloured waistcoats and glittering rings were assembled. Every member of Oak’s camp was there – with Siddy and Alfie in the middle waving an enormous banner which only included one word spelt correctly:
WELLKUM BAK MOLL!
They’d drawn a picture of Moll and Gryff next to the writing, but it was hard to tell which one was Gryff and which one was Moll. Both were a mass of cross-looking squiggles with lots of fur and hair.
Hard-Times Bob struck up on his accordion and in moments everyone was cheering and shouting and even Cinderella Bull was shaking her shawl in an excited dance. Moll jumped off her wagon steps and, for a reason that was too difficult to explain, she shuffled over to Florence and hugged her tight. Florence smiled and Moll knew that somewhere her pa would be watching. Mooshie bustled over, sobbing loudly and embracing Moll with her favourite tea towel, then Wisdom hoisted Moll up on to his shoulders. In a single leap, Gryff sprang up on to Moll’s wagon roof to watch while Siddy clambered on to Alfie’s back and they charged about the clearing, trying to wrestle Moll down. The cheering grew louder, the beats faster and the dancing and wrestling wilder.
‘Mind you don’t make those wrestling towers any higher, Moll!’ Mooshie shouted. ‘The skies’re full of strange birds, including great eagles that’d snatch you up and eat you whole!’
Moll looked over at Gryff and laughed. ‘Snatch me? Not likely.’ She glanced back at the fire and suddenly noticed what Mooshie and Patti were preparing. ‘Doci baci balls!’ she screamed, swerving Wisdom to the left.
Beside the fire, Mooshie and Patti had laid up two rows of stools, logs and fallen b
ranches and down the middle, on tree stumps and upturned boxes, were bowls of one of Moll’s favourite foods: small balls of crisped-up bacon, wrapped in roasted dock leaves sprinkled with vinegar.
Before long, the entire camp was scoffing down doci baci balls and raising toasts of forest fruits tea in the summer sun.
Moll sat with Siddy and Alfie, while Gryff nestled beneath one of the boxes they ate off, gulping down the food that Moll tossed to the ground for him.
Moll turned to Alfie. ‘So you’re a member of Oak’s camp now and you’ll learn our ways and superstitions soon enough.’
‘Like you must never wash a blanket in May because you’ll be washing away your family,’ Siddy added excitedly.
Alfie shrugged. ‘Haven’t got a family.’
Siddy tried again. ‘If you’re pregnant, you mustn’t wear shoes because it’s like putting your baby in a coffin before it’s even born.’
Alfie raised his eyebrows. ‘Not likely to have a baby either, Sid.’
Moll threw her hands up. ‘We’ll go through the superstitions another time. What’s more important than all that is the Tribe. That’s something you want to get into if you’re in Oak’s camp.’
Alfie took a swig of his tea. ‘Who’s in the Tribe then?’
Moll and Siddy drew themselves up very tall.
‘Us two. We’re the Tribe.’ Moll paused. ‘And I may ask Florence in a few days – if she promises not to make me go hawking with her.’
From Moll’s feet, there came a growl.
‘Oh, and Gryff. He’s in the Tribe too.’
‘What does the Tribe do?’ Alfie asked.
Siddy lowered his voice. ‘Breaks rules mainly. Avoids chores—’
‘—tells lies on Tuesdays and Thursdays,’ Moll said.
‘And does brave things like rescuing trapped otters and mending owls’ wings.’
Alfie considered. Moll leant forward so that only he could hear. ‘I’d do it, Alfie, because you’ve got to remember that I’m not buying into Skull’s stories about your past and I know you don’t believe them either. I reckon there’s stuff you’re still not telling us – like why you thought the amulets could help you . . .’
Alfie leant back on his stool and then, to Moll’s surprise, he winked.
So there were secrets he was holding back.
Alfie held Moll’s gaze. ‘I’m in.’
Siddy jumped up, sending Porridge the Second flying into a nearby cup. ‘I’ve got to tell you, Alfie, there are a number of tests you have to do before you’re allowed in.’
Alfie raised his eyebrows. ‘Like what?’
Moll lowered the last of her doci baci balls down to Gryff. ‘For a start, you’ll be monkey-barring across the river using the alder branches.’
‘Then you’ll be gurgling the rudest song you know to Mooshie and Ma with your mouth full of river water!’ Siddy said.
‘And after that there’s the midnight dance to the tree spirits on top of Hard-Times Bob’s wagon!’ Moll grinned. ‘Oh, and you’ve got to take a bath in the mud swamp beyond the glade – then roll in the clean washing!’
Alfie’s eyes were wide. ‘You two did all of that to get into the Tribe?’
Moll’s eyes sparkled. ‘Course.’ Then she slipped off her stool and buried her head in Gryff’s fur to hide her smirk.
The camp celebrated all through the day and long into the night, and, with Skull and Hemlock gone from the Deepwood, no one thought to keep watch.
But set back from the clearing, tucked into the knotted branches of a yew tree, a figure squatted. Two enormous leathery wings forked up out of its back, folded for now, like giant hands in a darkened prayer. Jet-black eyes shone through the mask of burnt wood, following every move that the girl and the wildcat made down below.
The eyes blinked once and then, like some huge insect, the figure crawled higher up the tree, right through the canopy, until it was looking out over the forest. It waited for several minutes and then it took off into the velvety darkness, shredding the night with each thrust of its wings.
Down in the clearing, Moll glanced up and frowned. The stars glittered back at her as they always did, a puzzle of shimmering lights.
But somewhere not so far away, inside a house lit only by candles, a snakeskin mask looked up. Its owner crossed the room to the window and looked out at the night. And then it smiled darkly as the leathery wings beat closer.
For a long time I feared that my greatest life achievement might end up being the junior long-jump record at school or playing Trixie Martin in Daisy Pulls It Off when I was twelve. And then The Dreamsnatcher happened. But it wouldn’t have been a book at all if it hadn’t been for some very wonderful people . . .
Thank you to my brilliant agent, Hannah Sheppard, for seeing potential in the book when it was still rough round the edges. You kick-started everything and your editorial advice has been invaluable. One day I promise I will write you a pug. A huge thank you to everyone at Simon & Schuster – to my über-talented editor, Jane Griffiths, for making the book so much better with her editorial comments. You helped bring Moll and Gryff to life and you gave the story structure where it was wobbly. Liz Binks, you nudged the title in the right direction and together with Elisa Offord, you guys are the most enthusiastic and impressive Marketing & PR team I could ask for. Thank you also to other S&S superstars: Elv Moody, Laura Hough, Sam Webster, Tracy Phillips, Stephanie Purcell, and to Jenny Richards for such an awesome cover and Jane Tait for a pretty epic copy edit.
I am so grateful to all the wonderful children I’ve taught over the years who constantly inspire characters, conversations and plot lines. Thank you to the dazzling Sara Getter for playing Moll so brilliantly in the film trailer for the book, to Annika Arora for advice on the cover and to May Stanton for following Moll and Gryff from the very start. And I owe a massive thank you to my friends, to everyone who kept on believing I’d get there despite the setbacks. Thank you to Thomas Webb for never doubting; to Cat Graham for reading and editing early drafts; to Harriet Agnew for loving Lyra and Pantalaiman with me all through school; to Hana Geissendorfer and Vic Glendinning for inspiring me to work as hard as they do; to Heather Holden-Brown for wise advice throughout the process and to the Angus Girls (Georgie Majcher, Lucy Walton-Rees & Eleanor Howse) for all the memories that inspired Moll’s life in the wild – camping up the glen, swimming in the rivers, walking over the moors. Thank you also to the incredible Salvesen Clan for all their ongoing love and support – to Vesen, Lica, Hal, Emily and, of course, the totally wonderful Steph.
To Pete Ingram, my Romany pal and author of Wagtail Tale, thank you for talking to me about the Romany ways – for carving chrysanthemums, dancing wooden puppets and chatting gypsy recipes. And thank you so much to Dave Peacock, from Chas and Dave, for letting us film the trailer for the book in such an incredible setting. Sitting in your Romany wagon and riding your gypsy cob bareback through the forest was nothing short of magical.
But the book would never have happened had it not been for my parents who gave me a childhood filled with adventure and wonder, and let me grow up as wild as Moll. Thank you to my father for roaming the hills with me in search of eagles’ eyries, for setting up ridiculously competitive obstacle races in the garden and for building tree houses perilously high up in the branches. And a monumental thank you to my wonderful mother, who read and edited countless early drafts, and who is the reason I love reading and writing as much as I do. Thank you for teaching me to dream – and to dream big – and for telling me never to give up. Thank you to my brothers, Will and Tom, for finally admitting I’m funny, for endless teasing (Moll is as punchy as she is because you taught me to be tough!) and for your love and support. Thank you to my little sister, Charis, for sending me anything remotely magical you get your hands on (you have Moll’s eyes) and thank you Tron for offering me the most shrewd business advice I’ve ever heard from a thirteen-year-old.
Last of all, thank you to my husband, Edo, for telling
me to write in the first place, for being overly enthusiastic about early drafts (when I see now that they were a bit pants), for giving me a Roald Dahl writer’s shed at the bottom of the garden and for being as patient, loyal and loving as Gryff. You made me write the book I did.
Abi Elphinstone grew up in Scotland where she spent most of her childhood running wild across the moors, hiding in tree houses and building dens in the woods. After being coaxed out of her tree house, Abi studied English at Bristol University and then worked as an English teacher in Africa, Berkshire and London. The Dreamsnatcher is her first book and a sequel will be published in 2016. Abi’s favourite book is Northern Lights by Philip Pullman and if she had a daemon it would be a wildcat with attitude.
Website: www.abielphinstone.com and www.moontrug.com
Facebook: www.facebook.com/abielphinstone
Twitter: @moontrug
Instagram: @moontrugger
The Dreamsnatcher Page 20