by Tim Tilley
Papa Herne tips his hat. “After breakfast, I thought we could go down to the South-East Quarter. See how the pine martens are doing.”
“Great,” I say, keeping a light tone in my voice. “But first I need to speak with Nissa.”
Just then, Mama Herne comes running from the unfinished twig house with a folded piece of birch-paper that’s nearly half her size. “Papa Herne! Quick!”
“What’s wrong?” says Papa Herne.
“Nissa – she’s gone.”
Papa Herne’s eyes widen with panic. “Gone where?”
“I found this on her bed.” Mama Herne unfolds the birch-paper. There’s a message written in blackberry ink.
Papa Herne reads the scrawled handwriting and covers his mouth. “No, no, no…”
I glance down at the note:
Nox fixes me with his eyes. “Guess she were there last night.” Then he glances at Papa Herne. “I told Wick everything; he knows. He followed me to the graveyard.”
“What! We said we weren’t gonna—” Papa Herne cuts himself off as the weight of Nissa’s words sink in. “We got to go after her – NOW.”
My heart pounds. My mouth is dry. “How long has she been gone?”
“I don’t know. She could be half-a-way across the forest by now.”
I have a horrible sinking feeling. What if Nissa has already found the Monster? A tiny spear won’t do anything. She doesn’t stand a chance.
When we reach the bird hangar, Papa Herne and Nox jump off my hand and climb onto their blackbirds. They launch into the air and hover by my shoulder. I run from the clearing to where Half Crown waits and climb up onto his back. Then I cluck my tongue and dig my heels into his sides. “Come on, Half Crown.”
I try to push bad thoughts away – try to focus on hope, and finding Nissa alright – but they crowd round me.
We race away through the trees. Branches whip past as I cling, tight-knuckled, to Half Crown’s bark mane. The blackbird riders fly overhead.
There’s a familiar knot in my stomach. It’s my fault. If Papa Herne had trained Nissa instead of me, this wouldn’t be happening. How does Nissa think she can fight it? What if she’s dead? I feel cold, as if I’m back in the Hob graveyard.
Papa Herne and Nox scour the forest ahead in silence.
At the edge of the forest, we pass a place called Grey Lake, which has high cliffs on three sides and is squared by a beach. Beyond this is Wayland Heath with its patches of woodland and heather and open spaces.
It takes nearly half an hour to reach Lightning Rock – a huge grey-black outcrop with a jagged split through the middle. Somewhere beyond here is where the Monster roams. I dig my heels into Half Crown’s flanks and tug on his mane. As he slows to a trot, Papa Herne’s and Nox’s blackbirds swoop through the gap in the rock. It’s like a canyon to the Hobs, but still wide enough for a tree-stag.
“Nissa!” cries Papa Herne.
“WAIT!” roars Nox. “It’s dangerous – the Monster could be anywhere.”
I push Half Crown forward through the canyon. Ahead is another blackbird in flight, a rider between its wings. They hold tight to what looks like a tiny spear.
It’s Nissa. We made it in time. She hadn’t been gone for long.
I want to let out a wild cry of relief.
But Nissa isn’t stopping. Her blackbird races through the air, weaving over and under branches. As Papa Herne and Nox close in, Nissa’s blackbird drops, corkscrewing in a steep dive into the hollow trunk of a huge fallen oak.
There’s no way Half Crown can follow, so I steer him round the hollow oak and break into a gallop. I catch a glimpse of Nissa’s blackbird through a broken section of trunk, then push on, faster. We leap over a tangle of fallen branches. At the other end of the trunk, I pull the tree-stag to a halt, then jump off.
I wait by the tree hollow.
There’s a flash of brown-grey. Nissa drops the Hawthorn spear as her blackbird crashes into me. Then Nissa flips and somersaults through the air—
I dive and catch her before she hits the ground, cupping her in my hands like a fragile egg.
“What are you doing?” she cries, as I place her carefully on the ground. Her face is pinched in annoyance. “You could have killed me! And look what you did to my bird! Sometimes I wish you’d never come to the forest!”
The words bite, but I say nothing. Nissa’s blackbird lies on the ground nearby, unconscious.
“I don’t need yer help!” she yells, picking up the spear again. “I can do this on my own! I’m gonna stab this into the Monster’s foot. Then it’ll stop attacking as it’ll be in too much pain. Then we can take the thorn out again and it’ll be friendly, like what happened with the stag.”
I can’t see this ending well. “But the thorn might make the Monster attack even more.”
“You don’t know that!” she fires back.
Papa Herne’s and Nox’s blackbirds drop from the air and land as Nissa storms off.
“Nissa – wait!” cries Papa Herne. “I’m sorry for not telling you about the Monster.”
Nissa stops in her tracks and turns around. “You should have told me. I’m not a child, I’m old enough to know. And why didn’t you take me to see the wood sprites? You took Wick!”
“I did take you,” says Papa Herne. “When you were still in the acorn-cradle. The sprites saw yer future. They told me you would be a Forest Keeper – one of the greatest. You would follow the Forest Law an’ protect it.” His voice falters. “But they said there would be a monster that would come twice. An’ when it came a second time, you would find out an’ go after it, an’ you’d be…”
Nissa stares at Papa Herne, thunderstruck. “You should have told me what the sprites said,” she says in a wounded voice. “I would have understood. Even though I…” Her shoulders slump.
She drops her hawthorn spear.
My heart tightens as Papa Herne walks towards her. “I wanted to keep you safe, that’s why yer a Home Keeper.”
Tears trickle down Nissa’s cheeks. “Oh, Papa.”
Papa Herne pulls Nissa into an embrace. “I’ll begin yer training next solstice, if that’s what you want.”
“What’s the point?” she says in a clotted voice. “How are we gonna protect the forest if we don’t fight the Monster?”
Papa Herne blinks as she buries her face in his shoulder.
Nox drops his head.
“I’m sorry, Wick,” says Papa Herne. “I should have told you about the Monster too… I should have told everyone in Oakhome. I thought I could protect you from the truth. It were a mistake.”
Nissa peers up at me. “Thanks for coming after me. An’ I didn’t mean what I said about—”
“I know,” I cut in.
A heavy, low thudding sounds in the distance.
Nissa’s eyes grow wide. “Is that the Monster?”
“Yeah.” Nox stares down the canyon in terror.
None of us can see anything but trees.
“What are we gonna do?” says Nissa.
The thudding grows louder. Nearer.
“Leave it be,” replies Papa Herne. “We can’t fight it. An’ if it comes anywhere near Oakhome, we’ll move everyone south.”
Nissa’s blackbird comes round, hops to its feet and shivers its wings. Nissa looks defeated. She doesn’t pick up the thorn spear again. All her strength and fight has gone.
The Hobs climb onto their birds and flee into the air. Papa Herne’s bird swoops close to me. “Wick, come on, we got to get out of here!” Then he turns south and heads back towards Lightning Rock.
I tense as the ground trembles.
How big is this Monster?
I’m in two minds. Part of me wants to escape with the others. But I need to see what killed the Hobs, what threatens their home. I need to see if there’s anything I can do to protect them and make the forest safe for both them and for the orphans – if I’m ever going to rescue Petal and the others.
I climb easily onto
Half Crown’s back. We hide behind a tree.
A bestial roar pierces the air, loud and close. It sounds metallic, as if the dragon has swallowed all the knights that came to battle it and has a bellyful of armour.
Three shapes burst through the trees. I freeze, but it’s only a trio of deer racing away in panic. Half Crown lifts his head and watches the flash of their white tails.
“Not yet, Half Crown,” I say.
The tree shakes as the footfalls of the Monster grow closer. An old bird nest trembles, then falls from a branch above us and drops to the ground.
I get a glimpse of the Monster through the trees. Nox wasn’t wrong about the size. Half as high as a tree, stout legs thicker than a trunk. As it lumbers towards us, I catch sight of something that looks like a humpback… No, it’s a driver’s cabin.
I gasp. The Monster isn’t real. It’s a machine…
But not like anything I’ve seen in newspaper pictures.
There’s the faint shape of the driver sitting in the driving seat. The Monster reaches out with thick metal arms. An iron pincer-claw grabs hold of a tree. A spinning saw blade settles against the trunk, high up.
There’s a whining sound, a turkey tail of sawdust.
The crown of the tree falls to the ground. The saw blade moves away and comes back lower, whirring through the base of the trunk. Then the topped-and-tailed tree is raised up into the air and lowered into a cradle on the Monster’s back.
Then it hits me. The Monster – it’s harvesting the trees.
With that tree gone, I get a clearer view. The Monster looks like something between a steam tractor, a lorry and one of Old Ma Bogey’s mechanical beetles. Ferocious teeth form a painted snarl on the front.
The mechanical beetles aren’t toys, they’re models.
Behind the Monster is a wasteland. The forest is gone. All that’s left are tree stumps, scrub and sawdust, and the long scars made by iron wheels. I know now why Papa Herne and Nox wanted to keep this a secret from the others. The horror would be too much.
Half Crown skitters nervously as the Monster passes by us.
Then I see it. Stamped metal letters on the side of the Monster:
There’s smaller lettering underneath. I squint to read it.
My heart sinks. I feel sick.
Old Ma Bogey’s matchwood.
I clap my hand over my mouth.
All of the trees she uses are from these woods and forests. The homes of Hobs, animals and birds, brought to Harklights to be cut, little by little, into matches. Packed into matchboxes by orphans who have no home.
I don’t know why I never thought of this before, but now it’s clear.
I see the truth. And I can’t unsee it.
Half Crown and I race away.
When we reach Lightning Rock, the three bird-riders are waiting with horrified faces.
Papa Herne breathes a sigh of relief. “Thank the forest we all got away in one piece.”
In the distance, the rhythmic footfalls of the Monster continue. But knowing it’s a machine somehow makes it seem less of a threat.
“Did you see it?” says Papa Herne.
“Yes,” I reply. “But it’s not what you think.”
“What d’you mean?”
“It’s a machine. It needs someone to operate it. Do you remember when we first met? Old Ma Bogey tried to shoot you.”
Papa Herne nods. “I remember.”
“The Monster belongs to her.”
“I’m going back,” I say.
“But the Monster…” breathes Papa Herne. “It can’t be stopped. I’ve tried.”
I glance down at the carpet of leaves on the forest floor. I remember what Papa Herne said about stepping on hidden rabbit holes. It sparks an idea. “I know how we can stop it.”
“How?” says Papa Herne.
“Tell us!” demands Nissa.
Half Crown raises his head in the direction of the Monster. His bark ears are pricked forwards. I pat his broad neck. “Leaves. We’re going to need lots and lots of leaves. And your bird friends.”
The Hobs look at me with confusion. I quickly tell them my idea and watch as it catches alight in their minds, igniting smiles, which spread to their eyes.
Then I race north with Half Crown to begin the battle. We hide in a thicket at the edge of the heath. I go over the plan again and again. My part is to lure the Monster. The sky is overcast, so I can’t tell the time with tree shadows as Papa Herne taught me.
After a while, I climb up and perch in the branches of an oak, leaving Half Crown hidden behind the trunk below. I count the forest animals and birds fleeing the Monster’s destruction as I remember the countless matches that have passed through my fingers.
As soon as I see Papa Herne’s signal – a pair of rooks wheeling overhead – I climb down through the branches onto Half Crown’s back.
We race out of the thicket and go looking for the Monster. It doesn’t take long to find it. I can hear it coming – a mechanical death, trampling all in its path.
I stop right in front of it, a hundred yards away. I can’t see the driver behind the windscreen, but they must see me. The Monster responds angrily: engine roaring, whistle making an ear-splitting screech, dirty fumes flaring from the smokestack.
Then it stamps forward.
“Come on,” I say through gritted teeth, “come on.”
Old Ma Bogey must have told them who I am, to look out for the boy with the tree-stag.
As the Monster lumbers towards us, Half Crown and I turn on the spot. We gallop ahead, then swerve south in the direction I need the Monster to go.
But when I look back, the stomper has stopped in its tracks. I wonder if there’s something wrong. Maybe it needs more coal.
Half Crown and I lope towards the Monster, closer than before. It’s only when we’re six feet away that it takes another lumbering step.
I realize now what the driver is doing – they want a better chance at catching me. For a heart-wrenching moment, I imagine it’s Old Ma Bogey. But as we pull alongside the cabin, the driver leans out from the open side window and I see who it is.
Padlock.
I’m surprised, scared and relieved at the same time. Padlock always loved it when orphans got punished. Nothing would make him happier than catching me and bringing me to Old Ma Bogey.
Padlock scowls then smiles as if he’s been thinking the same thing.
This is great.
“Come on, Half Crown,” I whisper. “Let’s go.”
We lead the way and swerve onto the path we need to take.
The Monster comes after us – slow, lumbering, trailing like an out-of-step shadow.
It’s working.
Half Crown and I easily stay just ahead. But then the Monster’s iron pincer-claw lashes out, trying to grab me. I duck and it misses me by inches. I steer Half Crown away and glance round in horror. This time the Monster’s tree-cutting blade reaches out on a long iron arm…
Facing forwards, I aim Half Crown between two Scots pines growing next to each other.
A moment later, the Monster’s blade slices through the trunks. The trees tip towards us—
I push Half Crown faster—
We’re not fast enough—
The two trunks crash to the ground either side of us, trapping us in a corridor that ends in a bristly mess of pine branches. I brace myself as we hurtle towards the dead end. The scaly trunks are so close that Half Crown nearly grazes against them…but at the last second, with a huge bound, he springs up and leaps over one of them.
Relief rushes through me as we race free and the Monster tramples the fallen pines.
I lean close to Half Crown’s ear and press my hand against his bark side. “You did it!”
Once we’ve put a good distance between us and the Monster, we wait for it to catch up. Then we duck and weave just out of its reach.
We move forward like this – getting too close, escaping away – edging closer and closer to the trap t
he Hobs have prepared.
When Padlock tries to pincer us between claw and cutting blade, I pull on Half Crown’s bark mane and we drop back. The cutting blade misses us and shears off the Monster’s claw instead.
The Monster stops and sighs, hissing as steam blasts from its valves.
I circle back, ready to taunt Padlock again. But something is happening with the underside of the Monster. Hatches open. Its load of tree trunks drops to the ground. Then four spoked iron wheels descend.
“This can’t be good,” I whisper.
I don’t wait to find out. I squeeze Half Crown’s sides with my legs. “Go! Go!”
As we gallop away, the Monster comes after us, faster now. The distance between us shrinks alarmingly. A moment later, the snarl-painted nose of the Monster bumps against Half Crown’s hindquarters. It’s as if the painted teeth are trying to eat us.
I crouch forward, clutch on tighter. “Half Crown, can you go any faster?”
Half Crown puts on a fresh burst of speed.
The Monster matches it, engine roaring louder, bumping us again.
I jolt as the whistle shrieks and hunch my shoulders. I’m scared we might fall under the crushing wheels. As I glance back at the front of the Monster, I realize I could climb it, clamber over the steam dome to the driver’s cabin.
No, focus on the plan.
I grit my teeth, turn and read the forest ahead. Hazel. Oak. Pine. Elder. Almost there.
A minute later, there’s the marker, a deadwood tree. Beyond it is a wide space, a vast clearing edged with grey rock. It’s covered in leaves – lots of leaves.
As we bear down on the deadwood tree, I swerve Half Crown out of the Monster’s path, then pull up alongside its spinning wheels. I draw to a halt as the Monster speeds into the clearing.
For a split second, I wonder if it really is the right place. But then the front of the Monster lurches forward and drops through the leaf-covered surface.
There’s an explosion of water and leaves.
I smile as the Monster hits the water, hissing with fury as its firebox floods.