Fetcher’s Song: The Hidden Series 3

by Lian Tanner

  ‘Fetchers never come here,’ growled one of the men.

  Another said, ‘If you be Fetchers, ’oo was your first?’

  Papa leaned forward, white-lipped. ‘Our first? Y-you mean Ariel? We played her song.’

  The man grunted. ‘And ’oo was her friend?’

  Papa hesitated. ‘I— I’m not sure what you mean.’

  There was little patience in the reply. ‘’Oo was her friend?’

  ‘There are many stories,’ Papa said quickly, ‘but none of them mentions a friend. Except perhaps the blue ox.’

  The wild men looked at one another. ‘Don’t mean they be wrong ’uns,’ said the one called Hob.

  ‘But it might,’ growled one of the others. And that air of danger was back again.

  It was then that Gwin had the inspiration. ‘Show them the heirloom, Papa.’

  Papa went very still. He never showed the heirloom to anyone outside the family. It was supposed to have once belonged to the great Ariel herself, and was the sort of thing that could get a person hanged, even if they weren’t a Fetcher.

  ‘Why?’ whispered Papa.

  Gwin wasn’t sure if she could explain. It was something to do with Ariel’s song, which was about laughter and joy and all the other things that couldn’t be measured. The heirloom, in contrast, ticked off the hours and minutes in a precise way that didn’t sound at all like the first Fetcher.

  ‘It’s just – worth a try,’ she whispered.

  Papa slid shaky fingers into his coat pocket, took out the heirloom and opened its cover.

  It ticked quietly in his palm, a device from a long-lost world. The wild men leaned towards it as if pulled by strings.

  Hob whistled. ‘It be Coe’s watch. Rab, Bony, it be!’ His beard parted, and surprisingly white teeth shone in an unmistakable grin. Then, before any of the Fetchers could stop him, he wrapped them, one after the other, in a stinking embrace.

  Gwin tried to duck. Nat flinched. But Papa managed an uncomfortable smile, Hilde let out a gasp of relief and Wretched’s tail, poking out from behind Nat, thumped twice.

  ‘You – ah – recognise it?’ croaked Papa, brushing bits of bracken and filth from his shoulders.

  The third man, Bony, scrubbed his hand across his face. He was grinning too. ‘Aye, we do. Property of Serran Coe hisself. Only mountain man ’oo ever went to university. They say he used to come home every holiday and bring liddle inventions with he. Last village you passed on way here? Nothing left but stones? That were Coe’s village.’

  As he chatted away, telling them about Serran Coe, Hob whispered to Rab, then strolled across to the pile of rubble.

  ‘Fetchers, you be called,’ he said, interrupting Bony, ‘cos you fetch things back from long past. Well, so do we.’ And he reached down between the rocks.

  Gwin thought she heard a snicking sound. Something groaned. Something else rattled.

  ‘Hain’t bin used much lately,’ said Rab, from the front of the cave.

  No one so much as looked at him. They were staring at the pile of rubble, which was shaking violently, as if the rockfall that had caused it was starting up again. But then the shaking stopped and with a rumbling sound the pile rolled sideways, all in one piece, leaving a gaping hole.

  THE BRING BACK

  Gwin backed away from the hole and bumped into Nat.

  ‘What was that?’ he whispered. ‘What happened?’

  ‘The rocks,’ hissed Gwin. ‘They’ve gone!’

  Hob shouted into the hole, ‘They be Fetchers!’

  For a moment, nothing happened. There was just an echo, and a sense of waiting. Then an enormous shadow fell across the opening. Papa drew in a sharp breath.

  The shadow wavered and broke into pieces. And through the hole came a dozen children.

  There was something strange about them, but Gwin didn’t have time to work out what it was. The children fell on her and Nat, all chattering at once.

  ‘Be you Fetchers, truly? You come to sing? Tell tales?’

  ‘Big old cow, he with you? We heard he this morn, all snorty, but Hob wouldn’t let we go see.’

  ‘That dog hiding under there – what name he?’

  One of the children, a bandy-legged girl with a scar across her forehead, said, ‘You been to Lower Thumb lately? Out west?’

  ‘Here, let me ask. You visit Scoffle, Fetchers?’

  ‘How about Dimbler? Big place, I bet you been there.’

  A woman stepped through the hole, holding her side and panting. ‘Sorry, Hob. Got away from we, they did. No problem, though?’

  ‘No problem,’ replied Hob.

  The woman sagged with relief. Hob put two fingers in his mouth and whistled, loud and sharp. The children fell silent.

  ‘Be this any way to treat visitors?’ asked Hob, in his deep voice. ‘Gert, lead ’em through, nice and proper. No racing about, no questions, not till they settled.’

  The girl with the scar on her forehead grabbed Gwin’s hand and said, with an air of great importance, ‘Welcome to mountains, Fetchers. Come with we.’

  She led them towards the hole, pointing to the row of rocks that still ran along the cave floor. ‘Mind toes. That bit be fixed in place.’

  Gwin took her hand back, and stepped carefully over the rocks.

  Nat sniffed the air. ‘Cooking oil?’

  The girl nodded. ‘Got to keep wheels oiled. That be my job, every morn. Never miss it, me.’

  ‘Wheels?’ asked Gwin, and the girl pointed to one side.

  Hilde squeaked. Papa stopped dead, and Wretched bumped into him. Close to the rock wall, on the other side of the hole, were two great metal wheels with notched edges. They looked like something straight out of the Forbidden Lands, only scraped clean of rust and age, and gleaming with oil.

  Nat took a step towards them, following his nose. For the moment at least, he seemed to have forgotten how much he hated the world. But Gwin didn’t trust it to last. She didn’t trust the goodwill of the mountain men either. If there was treachery hidden under Hob’s apparent friendliness, she’d be ready for it.

  ‘This moves the rockfall?’ asked Nat, laying his hand on the metal.

  ‘It do,’ said Bony, from somewhere behind them. ‘Or at least, two of ’em together.’

  ‘But how—’

  ‘Weights and counterweights. Pull one liddle lever and whole door moves. Hob’s great-grandpa built it.’

  ‘Your great-grandfather?’ said Papa, turning to Hob. ‘But the secrets of such things have been lost for generations.’

  ‘Not here.’ Hob grinned. ‘You wouldn’t believe things we’ve got hid in these mountains, Fetcher. Great wonders, some of ’em, not seen in flatlands for three hundred years—’

  Gert tugged at the hem of Gwin’s jacket. ‘Come on. Others be waiting.’

  Gwin followed the girl cautiously, still watching out for trouble. And there were plenty of directions it could come from. To her amazement, there was a whole village tucked away inside that cliff. Every cave opened into two or three others, with fireplaces and stoves, and chimneys disappearing up into the rock. There were floors that shone in the lamplight, and woven rugs, and beds piled high with animal skins.

  Gwin saw faces peering around corners, and heard children giggling, but Gert hurried her on, saying, ‘They be waiting.’

  And then, suddenly, they stepped out into daylight and found themselves right on the edge of another cliff. It was such a shock that Gwin almost kept walking, and was only saved by the other girl’s arm stretched across in front of her.

  ‘Easy now,’ said Gert.

  Gwin gasped. So did Papa and Hilde. Wretched dived behind them with his tail between his legs, and Nat turned this way and that, trying to work out what he was hearing.

  ‘It’s—’ Gwin wanted to describe it to him, but couldn’t find the words.

  ‘It be our town,’ said Hob proudly.

  It was like nothing Gwin had ever seen before. The cliff face curved around on bot
h sides, like a giant arena. There were staircases cut into it, going up, down and across, and leading to so many doorways and windows that she couldn’t count them.

  The whole thing was so unexpected that it was a moment before she looked down. But when she did, she gasped again. Below them, on the floor of the arena, were several hundred people, all gazing up at them.

  ‘How can this be?’ asked Papa in a strangled voice. ‘The mountains were emptied out during the Great Cleansing. There was no one left alive. All those ruined villages we saw . . .’

  Hob’s face grew serious. ‘They was bad times, Fetcher. You got your stories, we got ours, full of blood and sorrow. You’ll hear ’em, right enough. But first, you’ve got folk to meet.’

  And he led them down one of the stone staircases.

  Gert chattered all the way, skipping from one subject to another without pause. ‘Mind that step, there be great hole in it. There now, you missed it. See my cousin down there? With pidgie bird on shoulder? Wave to her, if ’n you don’t mind. You got songs ready for big feast tonight? There’s good timing, you turning up at Bring Back. That dog of yours, he always so scaredy? Look, that be my foster ma smiling—’

  It was then that Gwin realised what was so strange about these people.

  They smiled. With no music playing to soften their harsh lives, they smiled, as if there were things in the world to be happy about. What’s more, they didn’t cower like the villagers Gwin knew. Their faces were proud, their arms were strong.

  They looked like the people in the old stories.

  Maybe their friendliness is real, she thought. But she didn’t lower her guard, just in case.

  In front of her, Papa was still asking questions. ‘Where did all the children come from? Are they yours?’

  Hob laughed. ‘All of ’em? Not likely. Flatland villages smuggle ’em up here to stop Devouts taking ’em. Saves ’em from starving to death, too. Started couple of years ago.’

  Hilde made a sound in her throat. When Hob looked at her, she mumbled, ‘Too late for some.’

  ‘Aye, missus.’ Hob nodded sympathetically. ‘We’d’ve started long before, but Flatlanders was scared of own shadows. Wouldn’t even talk to we. That’s changed, which is something. There be anger in some villages that weren’t there when I were boy. Only spark, mind, and easily snuffed, but it be better’n nothing.’ He grinned and waved his hand at the children. ‘Hain’t worked out what we do when they grow up yet. Chuck ’em back or keep ’em.’

  Papa shook his head in amazement. ‘Surely I would’ve heard of such a thing.’

  ‘Villagers can be close-mouthed when it suits ’em,’ said Hob. ‘Now, come and meet folk. They awful keen to hear from Fetchers.’

  The feast called Bring Back took place in the arena. All day, people poured in from higher in the mountains – most of them as ferocious-looking as Hob. Somehow, they’d already heard about the visitors, and welcomed them gladly.

  ‘You got treats ahead, Fetchers,’ they said. ‘Hain’t no one but mountain folk told Bring Back for three hundred years. You got new stories coming.’

  Before long, Gwin’s face ached from keeping up that Fetcher smile, and it was a relief when Gert suggested they go and move Spindle and the cart off the mountain track.

  To Gwin’s surprise, the old ox backed between the shafts as if he had never had a stubborn, difficult thought in his head. ‘Why wouldn’t he do that this morning?’ she asked, as Gert led the way to a well-hidden stone corral, where a dozen cows munched on a pile of hay and a flock of pigeons circled overhead. ‘Did you people do something to him?’

  ‘Not likely,’ said Gert. ‘Us thunk you lot wanted to stay. That be why Hob, Rab and Bony went in all hairy-man, trying to scare you. And if you didn’t scare, well then, they was ready to murder, to keep mountain folk safe.’

  Gwin shivered, realising just how close they had come to disaster. As for Spindle’s stubbornness:‘It must have been the rat,’ she said.

  ‘Rat?’

  ‘You know. The big one. The clever one. He brought us here.’

  Gert laughed, as if Gwin had made a joke. ‘Lots of rats in mountains, but none of ’em clever.’ She tossed a fistful of grain to the pigeons, and said, ‘Come on, reckon bonfire be ready.’

  The fire was set in the middle of the arena. It was huge, with what looked like a whole dead tree dragged on top of it, and as night fell and the cold air closed in, everyone took it in turns to sit close to the flames, wrapped in rabbit furs and holding their hands out to the warmth.

  Gwin sat between Nat and Papa, with a respectful space around them. Nearby, Hilde was laughing and chatting with a group of mountain women as if she’d known them all her life, and Wretched lay on his back while the mountain children took it in turns to scratch his tummy.

  The celebrations began with Hob standing up to welcome everyone. ‘This be Bring Back number three hundred. Exact number, no more, no less. And I guess it be lucky, cos who come to join we, but Fetchers!’

  Everyone cheered, and the people nearest to Gwin and Nat leaned towards them, saying, ‘Stand up and let’s see you.’

  The two children and Papa scrambled to their feet, and Gwin smiled her widest Fetcher smile. Another cheer rang around the arena.

  ‘And look what they brung with ’em.’ Hob had asked to borrow the heirloom, and now he held it high, so that the light of the fire reflected off its silver case. ‘It be Coe’s watch!’

  When they heard that, the crowd erupted. ‘Coe!’ they roared. ‘Coe, Coe!’

  Hob raised his other hand for silence, then opened the heirloom and tapped the glass. ‘It be just like old stories, too. Minutes, hours in big circle here. Aspect o’ moon here. And liddle circle here be sun and moon together, when middle of day goes dark as night. What great-greats called eclipse. Hain’t been one in West Norn for two hundred and seventy years, but see, there be one coming soon!’

  ‘Eclipse,’ murmured the crowd.

  ‘Day gets colder,’ said Hob, ‘and birds go to bed. Flatlanders fall on their faces with terror, but not we. We know all about eclipse, thanks to great-greats. And to Coe.’

  Papa leaned towards Gwin, looking more animated than he had for weeks. ‘I always wondered what that third circle was for. Eclipse, eh? I’ve never heard of such a thing. I wonder—’

  But the rest of what he said was lost as, all around them, the cry of ‘Coe! Coe!’ rose up again. A group on the other side of the fire burst into song. A woman leapt to her feet, shrieking, ‘Eclipse be sign! Change be coming!’

  Hob watched with an expression of satisfaction on his face. And when things quietened down at last, he said, ‘No one can smell change like mountain folk. It be sign, all right. I tell you, this be Bring Back like no other.’

  He snapped the heirloom shut, handed it back to Papa and sat down with a thump. The Fetchers sat down too. The crowd fell silent, gazing upwards.

  On the cliff above them, a giant appeared.

  The mountain people had obviously been expecting it, but still they gasped. So did Gwin.

  ‘What?’ whispered Nat.

  ‘Where we stood this morning,’ breathed Gwin. ‘There’s someone up there. He’s huge.’

  The giant was bearded, like all the mountain men, and he wore a long coat edged with fur. The shadows danced across him, making him seem bigger than ever. He raised one massive arm.

  ‘I. Be. Coe.’ he boomed, in a voice that echoed from one side of the arena to the other.

  ‘Coe,’ whispered the crowd. ‘He come back.’

  ‘I be Coe,’ cried the giant again. ‘Hark to my remembering.’

  ‘Hark, hark,’ whispered the crowd.

  Nat elbowed Gwin. ‘Sounds like Bony.’

  ‘No, he’s way too big for Bony. It can’t be—’ Gwin stopped, realising how caught up she’d been in the performance. Shadows, darkness, a few tricks – that was all it took. When Papa took stones from children’s ears, they thought he was a witch. This was the sa
me.

  She made herself look at the giant with Fetcher eyes. Then she leaned closer to Nat and whispered, ‘Might be stilts.’

  All the hair made it hard to see the giant’s features, even without the shadows. But then the flames crackled up again, just as the giant roared, ‘I got rememberings of airships.’

  ‘Airships!’ groaned the crowd. Wretched howled in chorus.

  ‘And horseless carriages.’

  ‘Carriages!’

  ‘And thousand moons lighting up night so it be bright as day.’

  ‘Moons!’

  Gwin watched the giant closely. And before long, she thought she could see the trick. ‘I think there are two of them,’ she whispered to Nat. ‘A child sitting on a man’s shoulders, and both of them covered by the coat. That’s why he looks so tall. It’s the man who’s speaking – Bony, like you said. The child’s just mouthing the words, and every now and then he gets it wrong. But the sound—’

  ‘A speaking trumpet under the coat,’ whispered Nat, ‘to make Bony’s voice bigger. We should try something like that.’

  He sounded almost like he used to, working things out and looking for new ways of telling stories. Papa looked happier too, as if the shock of discovering this extraordinary place had jolted him back to life.

  As for the mountain people, their welcome seemed completely genuine. What’s more, they had a connection with Ariel, through Serran Coe. And like the Fetchers, they were the keepers of secrets, which separated them from everyone else in West Norn.

  Gwin still didn’t know where the too-clever rat had come from, or why it had brought them here. But perhaps it wasn’t as important as she’d thought. Papa was happier, and Nat was talking to her again, and that was what mattered.

  With a sigh of relief, she settled back to listen to the giant’s stories.

  They were well worth the attention. The giant described the world before the Great Cleansing as a place of such marvels that even the Fetchers were impressed. He told the audience that one day it would all come back, and they must be ready. He warned them about the treachery of the Devouts.

  And then, in a flurry of sparks, he disappeared.