White Hart

by Sarah Dalton

  “Stay safe,” I whisper. “Don’t go far. I don’t want to have to come find you again.”

  Anta nickers in response.

  When I let go, Anta trots into the trees with Gwen following. Cas has tears in his eyes. He looks away and rubs them with the sleeve of his tunic.

  “Do you remember your names?” Sasha asks.

  “Mim,” I say.

  “Olef,” Cas says.

  “And your story?”

  “We’re beggars from Fordrencan. We ran away from our master and got lost in the woods,” I repeat.

  “Good,” Sasha says with a firm nod. “Remember, answer questions as vaguely as you can. Don’t socialise or invite conversation. You’re traumatised youngsters.”

  She examines each of us in turn. Dissatisfied with Cas, she ruffles his hair, smears more mud on his cheeks and rips his trousers to the ankles.

  “There,” she says. “You can hardly tell he’s a prince.”

  Cas grins, but beneath the grime I can see how pale and afraid he is. We all are. I’m all too aware of the dagger hidden in my boot. I haven’t told anyone about it. If someone finds it, the consequences could be dire. But I can’t go in there without something. I can’t face my father’s killer without some sort of weapon.

  We retrace our steps back to the road and begin walking towards the settlement. The torches burn bright behind the windows, like beacons directing us forward. Before I entered the Waerg Woods, I never realised that people lived inside the forest. Now I know that it is home to so many, whether they are natives, Wanderers, or a completely different species. Now I know what hides in the shadows. I know the secrets of the woods. It isn’t just magic that haunts the forest; it is humans, and they are the worst of all.

  “Halt!” a rough voice shouts through one of the windows. “Not one step closer. Who are you?”

  “It’s Sasha,” she calls out. She places her hands out in front of her with the palms up to show she is unarmed. Cas and I do the same. “Let us in, Kaz. We need help.”

  “Who are they?” the voice continues.

  “Two beggars from Fordrencan. They have been lost in the words and are starving. I came across them after the Nix took my mother. They saved my life.”

  The voice is silent for a few seconds, as though contemplating Sasha’s response. Then the torch moves away from the window, and I hear a scraping as the gate is unbolted. It drags along the forest floor as Kaz opens it.

  “You may enter,” he says. “As long as you vouch for the two beggars.”

  “I vouch for them,” Sasha says.

  Kaz—who has dark features and tan skin—holds Sasha’s gaze. His mouth is fixed in a serious straight line. “You understand what that entails?”

  A flicker of doubt crosses Sasha’s eyes in the moonlight. Her pause suggests that vouching for us entails a consequence that she has chosen not to inform us about. “I understand.”

  “Then welcome, sister.” Kaz’s face breaks into a smile, and he opens his arms out wide. I cannot make out much about his clothes in the dark, but he does wear a cape, which billows out as he steps towards Sasha. The two of them embrace, and he squeezes her tight, like someone greeting a long-lost friend or family member. “I thought we had lost you.”

  Sasha pulls away, and her face changes. A crease appears between her eyebrows. “No one stopped for us.”

  “I looked for you,” Kaz says. “Allerton stopped and looked for you, too. But we had to move on.”

  Sasha narrows her eyes in suspicion. Kaz keeps one hand on her arm. His gaze hardly settles on us at all. He is quite taken with Sasha, and he is young, too, perhaps a couple of years older than us. I wonder if the two of them have a history.

  “Come,” he says. “You must be hungry. What have you been living on in the forest?”

  “Rabbit meat and berries,” Sasha replies unenthusiastically. “What I would give for a cup of spiced wine.”

  Kaz ushers us through the gate and then bolts it shut. “I’m sure we can manage that.” He calls over to a hefty man with broad shoulders. Handing him the torch, he says, “Tosar, can you cover me? Sasha is back and needs assistance.”

  The man grunts and wrenches the torch from Kaz, who doesn’t even flinch. My eyes follow Tosar as he stomps towards the window. I wouldn’t like to get into a fight with him. Then a stone sinks in my guts. Is he the one who killed my father? I turn to Kaz, who is still smiling at Sasha. Or is it him?

  As we walk through the camp, my skin tingles, and my stomach squirms. It’s almost impossible to play the part of a rescued beggar when all I can think about is the fact that one of these people killed the person I loved most in the world. I force myself to concentrate on the camp, forcing myself to search for any trace of Ellen.

  Most of the people sit around a campfire where a pig is being rotated over the flames. There are many children sitting cross-legged by their parents. The Borgans have wooden huts with thatched roofs, which reminds me of Halts-Walden and causes my heart to twist. It’s a noisy camp, with the sound of voices in the air: from hushed whispers to raucous conversations to sensual singing. Over the top of voices comes the crack of the fire, and the smoky scent of cooked pig wafting to our nostrils. Kaz leads us towards the heat of the fire, and I am careful not to make eye contact with anyone. Someone could have seen me in the woods the night Father died. They might know who I am.

  Kaz cuts generous chunks of meat from the boar and passes us each a plate. He stuffs his own face before licking his fingers with relish. My stomach growls at the sight of the food, but my guts writhe because of where I am. I can’t look out of character, so I tuck into the meat.

  “I will have to take your friends to Allerton,” Kaz says, his mouth still full of pig. Some of the juice escapes and dribbles down his chin.

  “So soon?” Sasha coos. “I was hoping we could catch up.”

  She is flirting with him. It reminds me of Ellen and how she used to puff up her chest around the boys in Halts-Walden. She always angled her head down and looked up through the rim of lashes, fluttering them prettily. It’s a side to Sasha I haven’t seen before, and I can’t help but envy her for being able to do it.

  Kaz grins. He wipes his mouth before fiddling with his dark hair. “We could get some of that spiced wine you’ve missed.”

  “Sure,” Sasha says with a shrug. She plays with the sleeves of her dress whilst maintaining his eye contact.

  “What about your friends?” he asks.

  “Oh, they’ll stay out of trouble,” she says. “I’ll find them a place to sleep and meet you in your hut.”

  He nods and backs away, moving so fast he almost trips over his feet. One of the Borgans shoos him out of her path as he hurries through the people.

  “What are you doing?” I hiss at Sasha.

  “This gives you some freedom to find Ellen,” she explains, “and avoids us meeting Allerton. If there is something fishy going on, he will sniff it out. It’ll be easier to fool everyone in the camp except him, trust me.”

  Cas steps forward and puts a hand on her arm. “Be careful.”

  It takes me a moment to realise what is happening. Sasha won’t be coming back with us. She’ll be staying with the Borgans when we escape with Ellen.

  “But how are we going to get out?” I say.

  Sasha fixes her sapphire eyes on me. Her red hair is haloed by the orange flames of the fire. Despite the heat, I shiver, because her eyes burn with the same intensity as that fire. “You know how.”

  I don’t need to ask to know she means my craft. When the words sink in, I realise that I will have to finally use my powers in front of Cas.

  Sasha turns to leave, but Cas stops her. “Wait. What did Kaz mean when he asked if you would vouch for us? What happens if we do something to jeopardise the camp?”

  She folds her arms, and I see the lump in her throat. A worried expression darts across her face. She composes herself. “Nothing I can’t handle.”

  Her words make t
he pig meat in my stomach feel like water. Whatever happens, it puts her life in danger.

  Her eyes widen. “I can handle Kaz. Mae, maybe you can make it look like you got in here unaided.”

  “How is she supposed to—”

  “I’ll do my best,” I say, interrupting Cas.

  Sasha pulls me into a hug, which takes me by surprise and almost knocks me off my feet. Her bony arms wrap around me and squeeze hard.

  “I always knew you didn’t mean it,” she whispers in my ear. “You can’t kill, Mae. You don’t have it in you. You’re a good person. You need to forgive and let it go. Let it all go. Do you understand?”

  I nod instead of talking, because if I talk, my emotions will erupt from beneath the surface. I struggle to blink back tears, focussing on the task ahead. It seems ridiculous to feel like this about a girl who stumbled into our lives just days ago. But then, so did Cas. I may have lost my family in Halts-Walden, but I had found real friends in the Waerg Woods, something I never thought I would have.

  When I pull away from the hug, Cas wraps his arms around her. “Stay safe,” he says.

  “Look after Mae,” Sasha replies. “Always.” Her expression is so stern that it pulls at my heart. I misjudged Sasha, and I wish I could go back and treat her differently. “Now find your friend and get out of here.”

  We back away, aware of the eyes around us, watching the faces of people they don’t recognise. We are attracting too much attention near the fire, we need to move away and find a part of the camp more isolated, even though I hate to turn my back on Sasha.

  Cas takes my hand and leads us through the rows of the wooden huts until we come to a part of the camp that is quiet. There, we crouch down and examine the place before us.

  “Do you see a cage?” he asks.

  “Nothing. But there is a tent in the far corner which is suspiciously grand. There are guards outside, see?” I point through the dim light. “They have swords. Why would they have armed guards, unless there is something to protect?”

  We stay where we are and watch people enter and exit the tent. A tall, bulky man with a bald head and a long black robe with wide sleeves enters the tent with a following of four men. I watch as the followers lift the front of the tent to let him in. It only lasts for a moment, but I catch a glimpse of a light on inside. I think I see the edge of a desk.

  “I think it’s some sort of control room,” I say. “It must be for the leader.”

  “Do you think they would keep prisoners in the same place as the leader?”

  “No, but Ellen isn’t a usual prisoner. She’s the craft-born.” I think back to what Sasha told me about the Borgans and how they hope to tutor the craft-born. That means the most powerful person in the camp would want to be near the craft-born at all times. I don’t know why, but I know in my gut that Ellen is inside that tent. “We need to get closer.”

  Most of the Borgans wear capes, and we manage to find two inside an empty tent. My father would not be pleased with me stealing, but the capes provide good cover and allow us to move through the campsite without attracting attention. I pull the hood over my face, and Cas does the same. In my boot, I am all too aware of the sharp metal resting against my leg. I still have the dagger. But can I use it?

  As we move closer to the control tent, we find two glasses and pretend to be drinking and talking near the campfire. The extra light means we get a better view, but the entrance is obscured by the closed tent flaps. We have to wait until someone leaves or enters before we can see inside.

  Suddenly, the flap opens, and the bald man strides out. He is even taller than I realised, and he holds his clasped hands out in front of him like Norton always used to in Halts-Walden. His shoulders are thrown back, and his chin is lifted high so that when he looks at those around him, he looks down on them. His skin is so pale it is almost white, and the firelight shimmers against it. I’m so distracted by him that I almost forget to check the tent.

  Cas gasps, alerting me that he has seen something.

  “What is it?” I ask. My voice is so whispery it is like a breeze on a cold day.

  “Ellen. She’s inside the control tent. But Sasha was right about the cage. I don’t know how we’re going to get her out, Mae. We can’t take on the guards and we can’t break into a cage. How are we going to do it?”

  “Maybe we need a distraction,” I suggest.

  “A distraction would get us in the tent. But how could we get Ellen out?”

  I open my mouth to answer, but the words remain frozen in my throat. The bald man stops walking, and his head begins to turn towards me. My eyes are drawn to him, and a small smile plays on his lips. It’s as if he has heard something no one else has. When he stops suddenly, one of his guards walks straight into his back. The man does not seem concerned in the slightest. Instead, he turns his head to stare straight at me. When he does, something like lightening shoots up and down my spine, and I realise that I’m standing as straight as a fence post.

  A chill spreads over my skin when I see his eyes. They are pure gold, unlike anything I have ever seen. They cannot be human eyes. The rest of his face is almost flat. There are no eyebrows on his head, and his nose is straight and long. His face is wide and flabby. With his dark robes, it gives the impression of a spherical floating head, which could have been comic, had it not been for those fierce, cat-like eyes.

  He turns on his heel. It’s a sharp and deliberate motion, and before I know it, he’s approaching us both. I want to sink back into my hood away from him. My head tells me to run away, but some sick curiosity forces me to stay. I feel Cas go very still behind me and am only just aware of him clenching his fists in my peripheral vision.

  “That man is coming straight towards us,” he says in a breathy voice.

  “Just stick to the story. If we run away now, it will seem more suspicious,” I say.

  I suck in a deep breath and try to stop myself fiddling nervously with the edge of the cape. A Borgan wouldn’t do that. And now I am one of them.

  Up close, those eyes burn out of his face like fire. He moves noiselessly along the ground, like a ghost. His guards remain glued to his side.

  “Forgive me, young ones. I do not recognise you. Could you give me your names?” he asks.

  “We joined a few days ago,” I say, unsure whether I should add ‘your majesty’ or ‘sir’ or something else on the end of that sentence. “We were beggars from Fordrencan. I am Mim, and this is Olef, my friend. Our master beat us, so we ran away into the woods. That’s where we joined you.”

  He looks us both up and down. My heart sinks when I notice him examine Cas’s jacket carefully. You can still make out the embroidery beneath the mud. “I see. How interesting. If you have been here only a few days, then you may not know me by name yet.” He places his hands under his chin like a steeple and his forehead creases as though he is lifting his eyebrows. However, he moves only skin.

  “Of course I do, sir,” I say. “Everyone knows who you are.”

  “Come now,” he says with a small wave of his hand. “There is no need to call me sir. Allerton will do.”

  The risk paid off. My heart thumps against my chest, and I allow myself to let out a little breath in relief.

  “Come,” he says, waving us closer. “You must dine with me.”

  It’s only as we approach the tent that the cold realisation hits me. If this is Allerton, then he is the man who organised Ellen’s kidnapping. He is the man who killed my father.

  Chapter Twenty – The Captured Cat

  My first thought when I see Ellen caged is of a travelling circus that once stopped in Halts-Walden. They had a big cat with sleek black fur living in a cage. When you got too close, it growled and bared its fangs. Ellen sees me first, and she runs to the bars, gripping them so hard her knuckles whiten. I have to quickly turn my head and place a finger to my lips, avoiding the gaze of Allerton and his guards.

  A flicker of understanding crosses her face, and she gives an almost
imperceptible nod in my direction.

  The tent is far more luxurious inside than it is outside. Candlelit lanterns with ornate engravings hang from the tent poles, and the ground is coated in thick carpets with colourful patterns. Silk drapes ripple down from the ceiling. There is a generous wooden desk filed with papers. On the desk, a quill lays next to an inkwell, its nib blackened by fresh ink.

  Ellen’s prison is located on the far left of the tent, the entrance comes in nearer the right, and between them there is a long table filled with plates of food and fruit. My mouth waters as I survey the delicious delights. I don’t recognise half the goods, like a green fruit cut open to reveal tender purple flesh. There are grilled roots in a bright scarlet and tiny yellow berries.

  “Not a lot of people realise how much treasure is hidden in the Waerg Woods,” Allerton says, taking a seat at the head of the table. He gestures for Cas and me to sit next to him. “Of course, most people are too afraid to enter the woods, and rightly so. There is a lot to fear.” He bites on a red root and then grins. The bright red juice has coated his teeth, making it appear that he has bloody saliva. The sight is so gruesome, it makes the hair on my neck stand on end. “I’m sure you’ve had your fair share of troubles in the forest.”

  Cas and I exchange a glance, one that wonders who should answer his indirect question. I’m having trouble containing myself around the leader of the Borgans. My palms are sweaty, and more than once I have to wipe them on my trousers underneath the table. My mind keeps buzzing with thoughts. Did he kill my father? Or did he order his guards to do it? Was he even there? The blood thuds in my ears, pounding so hard I almost don’t hear Cas’s reply.

  “We came across a strange flock of birds,” he says.

  I inwardly cringe. We can make Cas look like an urchin, but he still sounds like a prince. We never thought about that before we entered the camp.