Battlesong--Book Three of the Icebreaker Trilogy Page 3

  “That’s not Poosk, is it?” whispered Petrel.

  Rain shook her head. “It could be one of his guards. But we should not have caught up with them yet. They were two days ahead of us.”

  “They must’ve backtracked,” said Sharkey. “Why would they do that?”

  Petrel nibbled her thumbnail. “D’you think your mam’s in there somewhere, Fin? D’you think they’re trying to trap her?”

  “This is—” Fin stopped, as he often did when his memories of being an Initiate overwhelmed him. “This is what the Devouts do when they are taking boys for Initiates, or girls for servants. They put men outside the village, and when the children”—he swallowed—“when they try to hide, they are caught. It might be nothing to do with Mama.”

  Rain patted his hand. Sharkey said, “It’s a trap of some sort, that’s clear.” He rubbed his forehead, just above his eye patch, and glanced at Petrel. “We could spoil it if we wanted.”

  “Then they’d know we’re here,” said Petrel. “Best wait, I reckon.”

  She wished she could quiz Fin more closely. Could this be your old village? D’you remember the houses? D’you remember those mountains to the north?

  But she knew how much he hated such questions. So she kept quiet.

  Once again, it was Rain who saw the bratlings first. She put her finger to her lips, then pointed.

  A boy was creeping out from behind one of the sagging hovels. After him came a younger boy, then three little girls. They were all horribly thin, and they looked scared half to death, as if they knew they were heading into a trap and couldn’t do a thing about it. Their heads twitched this way and that; their bodies were stiff with fright.

  “Why don’t they run?” whispered Petrel.

  Fin’s voice was flat. “They never run.”

  He was right. When the rough-looking Devout loomed up in front of the village bratlings, the two smallest ones began to cry, but they all stood where they were, shaking so violently that they looked as if they might topple over.

  Rain was shaking too, and Sharkey’s face was bleak and angry.

  The Devout took a cord from inside his robes and looped it around the bratlings’ necks so that they were joined together like an anchor chain. Then he shouted, “I have them, Brother!”

  Almost immediately, two more Devouts came hurrying out of the village, leading a heavily laden mule. A man and three women trailed after them.

  “That’s Poosk,” whispered Sharkey, pointing to the smaller of the two Devouts.

  Petrel was surprised by how ordinary Brother Poosk looked. His robes were old, his expression was cheerful, and his thinning hair curled around his ears.

  Rain was singing under her breath, the way she always did when she was frightened. “Hobgoblins tiptoe through the night…”

  When the villagers saw the captive bratlings, they began to weep. Poosk spoke gently to them—or so it seemed. Petrel wished she could hear what he was saying.

  “I’m gunna try and get closer,” she whispered to her friends.

  The ground around the village was mostly churned-up mud, but there were a few ragged shrubs here and there, and Petrel slipped from one to another until she was close enough to hear the occasional word. The mule rolled a curious eye at her, but the Devouts didn’t even glance in her direction.

  Brother Poosk’s eyes were darting from villager to villager. “… have my promise,” he said. “As soon as you … mumble mumble. We do not want … mumble mumble mumble, now do we?”

  The villagers said nothing. They were still weeping, but it seemed to Petrel that there was something else underneath it. Anger. A slow-burning hatred, so well hidden that she almost missed it.

  Poosk didn’t seem to notice. He pointed this way and that. He patted the cheek of the smaller boy and chuckled. He gestured and cajoled.

  He didn’t make nearly this much fuss in the other villages, thought Petrel, or we would’ve heard about it. Maybe he’s really close to finding Fin’s mam. Which means we must be close too!

  She felt a burst of excitement, which lasted no more than a second or two. Because in its wake came the realization …

  Once Fin gets his mam back, he won’t need me anymore.

  Petrel was surprised that she hadn’t seen it before. Of course Fin wouldn’t need her once he had his mam! The two of them’d be so happy to see each other that no one from the Oyster would matter. There’d be all those lost years to catch up on, and cousins to meet, and maybe even brothers or sisters—

  Petrel chewed her thumbnail and tried to be happy about it. I’ll still have Sharkey and Rain. And Krill and Squid and Dolph and Missus Slink. And if Mister Smoke and the cap’n ever come back, I’ll have them too.

  It wasn’t enough. Fin was the first human friend she’d ever had. He was special, and the thought of losing him brought all the old loneliness rushing back, all those old Nothing Girl feelings that she’d thought were gone forever.

  We shouldn’t’ve come, she thought.

  Except that was just plain wrong. Just as it was wrong to hope, even for the briefest of moments, that they wouldn’t find Fin’s mam after all and that he and Petrel would go on being best friends forever, with no one coming between them.

  She scrubbed the tears from her eyes. “We’re gunna find her,” she whispered. “And I’m gunna be glad about it!”

  A sudden change in tone dragged her attention back to the scene before her. Poosk’s cheerful expression had vanished, and he had drawn himself up to his meager height. “Listen and obey!” he cried. “For the vile machines shall be struck down and trampled beneath the feet of beasts, and the beasts shall be subject to mankind, and all mankind shall be subject to the Devouts!”

  Then he swiveled on his heel, picked up the rope that bound the village bratlings together and marched away with them in tow.

  Petrel’s mouth hung open. That little speech of Poosk’s was the silliest thing she’d ever heard. Except no one was laughing. The bratlings were weeping harder than ever, while their mams and das scrambled along behind, begging for mercy.

  They might not have been there for all the notice Poosk took. He marched through the mud, with his face set and his two guards bringing up the rear with the mule.

  But even as Petrel watched, one of the villagers, a blunt-headed fellow with a withered arm, ran forward. He was weeping almost as hard as the bratlings, and when he stopped in front of Brother Poosk, he gulped several times, then nodded violently.

  Poosk’s cheerful expression was back in an instant. He let go of the rope and rubbed his hands together. “Excellent! I knew you could do it if you put your minds to it.”

  The man said, “mumble mumble … only send word out, gracious sir. Can’t promise it’ll reach … mumble mumble mumble.”

  “Of course it will,” cried Poosk. “Off you go!”

  With a last desperate look at the bratlings, the man set off away from the village, heading toward the Northern Road. As soon as he was out of sight, the Devouts tied their captives to a tree stump and began to unload the mule.

  Looks like they’re settling in, thought Petrel. Waiting for that man to send out word. Wish I knew where he was sending it.…

  And she crept back to her friends, to tell them that she hadn’t learned anything very useful at all.

  CHAPTER 5

  THE MOUNTAINS

  Meanwhile, on the mountain track, the travelers were once again trying to turn Spindle around.

  “We’ve gone far enough,” said Papa. “If there was ever someone after us, they’re not there now. Whoa, beastie. Whoa!”

  Spindle took no notice.

  “It’s the rat,” said Gwin, for what must have been the tenth or eleventh time.

  And for the tenth or eleventh time, Papa sighed, “It can’t be the rat, Gwinith. A rat doesn’t give orders to an ox.”

  He flicked the whip, then cracked it loudly. But Spindle, usually the most amiable of creatures, plodded stubbornly northward with the ta
ttered rodent sprawled between his ears.

  “Maybe it’s not a rat at all,” whispered Hilde. “Look at those silver eyes. Maybe it’s a demon. Maybe it was demons chasing us last night!”

  Nat snorted.

  Hilde said, “Don’t you snort at me, Fetcher boy. You were asleep. You didn’t hear what I heard.”

  “I didn’t hear it either,” said Gwin. “But I saw the rat.”

  “Shhhh!” Hilde put her finger to her lips. “We shouldn’t be talking about it. Demons don’t like that sort of thing.”

  “It’s not a demon,” Papa said wearily. “Someone has tamed it, that’s all. Taught it a few tricks. I should have chased it away last night.”

  He cracked the whip a bare inch above the rat’s head. But instead of diving for cover, it rolled its silver eyes and made that tsk-tsk-tsk sound again.

  With a hiss of exasperation, Papa jumped down from the cart and grabbed Spindle’s halter. “Whoa, you old fool! Whoa!”

  The ox kept going. Papa coaxed and pleaded for all he was worth, and when that didn’t work, he roused himself enough to throw his full strength against Spindle’s shoulder and was nearly trampled for his pains.

  And so they kept going into the mountains, with Spindle refusing to stop or turn, and the rat watching their worried faces with bright curiosity, as if the whole thing was a Fetcher performance put on for its benefit.

  Papa raised his eyebrows occasionally, as if he was about to speak, then sighed and thought better of it. Nat scowled. Hilde chewed her lip until it was raw and kept a fearful eye on the rat whenever it wasn’t looking in her direction.

  As for Gwin, she skinned the rabbit, put the joints in a pot for later and began to scrape the hide clean. And all the while she watched the way ahead for signs of danger.

  It was a dark, cold landscape they traveled through, even though it was spring. Cliffs rose up on either side of the track, and the mountains beyond them were forested and forbidding. Every now and again the cliffs made way for a ruined hamlet, so old that the stone houses were almost unrecognizable, and the only creatures that lived there were ravens, and maybe a fox or two.

  Maybe the wild men have gone, thought Gwin. Maybe the stories are just stories.

  But she didn’t take her eyes off the track.

  By the time Spindle stopped, the rabbit skin was pinned to the side of the cart for drying, and Gwin had been awake for so long that she was dizzy with exhaustion. The track stretched on ahead, and the cliffs were higher than ever. But Spindle was gazing over his shoulder at them, the way he always did at the end of the day, and when no one moved, he lowed mournfully.

  Gwin put her hand over her mouth. “Papa! Look!”

  “A demon,” whispered Hilde. “I said so.”

  “No. No, someone has trained it,” insisted Papa. “Someone has—”

  He stopped. It was impossible to deny what was happening. The rat was unbuckling Spindle’s harness, using its paws like tiny hands. When it saw their stunned faces, it rolled its eyes and pointed upward.

  Gwin followed the direction of its claw, feeling as if she’d fallen into one of Papa’s stories. “There’s a hole halfway up the cliff,” she breathed. “A—a cave.”

  The rat nodded approvingly and turned back to the harness. Spindle stepped out of the shafts and began to forage for bits of greenery around the base of the cliff, as if nothing was at all out of the ordinary. Wretched jumped down from the cart, nose to the ground.

  Apart from a whispered explanation to Nat, no one said anything more about the rat. It was too strange, even for Fetchers. Instead, they turned their attention to the cave above their heads, feeling as if this at least was something they could understand.

  “The top of the hole looks sort of smoky,” murmured Gwin. “Maybe someone lives up there.”

  Hilde pulled a doubtful face. “Who’d live in a hole like that?”

  “Wild mountain men?” As soon as the words were out of Gwin’s mouth, she regretted them. In a story, it’s dangerous to call something by name. Especially when you’re in its territory.…

  “S’empty,” grunted Nat.

  Papa was staring upward, looking almost like his old, endlessly-curious self. “I wonder if someone did live there once.”

  “I could climb up and see,” Gwin said quickly.

  Her father hesitated for the longest moment. But at last he nodded.

  Three months ago, Gwin would’ve asked him to throw her up, and then catch her when she jumped down again. Three months ago, she would have trusted him not to drop her.

  She spat on her hands and eyed the cliff face.

  It wasn’t a hard climb, not for a Fetcher. Gwin’s fingers found knobs and hollows in the rock; her toes dug into cracks and pushed her upward. She could hear Wretched digging somewhere below her, and her own breathing, and Spindle munching on whatever greenery he’d found.

  When she reached the hole, she grabbed its lower rim and hung there for a moment, catching her breath.

  “Are you all right?” cried Hilde.

  Gwin didn’t answer. She probed with her toes until she found a good strong foothold, then she pushed herself up and tumbled into the hole.

  She found herself in a cave cut out of bare rock, with stones from the ceiling scattered over the floor. On one side there was an old hearth, with half-burned logs covered in dust and bird droppings. At the back was a pile of rubble, and right next to Gwin’s feet was a crudely made rope ladder.

  She stuck her head out of the hole. “Doesn’t look as if there’s been anyone here for years. But they left a ladder behind.”

  One of the rungs gave way when she tugged at it, but the others seemed strong enough. She slung the ladder over the rock posts on either side of the sill and tugged again, until she was satisfied.

  “Come up,” she called. “Bring a lamp.”

  Hilde climbed up first, scared but curious. She carried the lamp on her belt and eased her weight onto each rung until she was sure it would hold. Gwin dragged her into the cave, then called down, “Papa, aren’t you coming? Nat?”

  Nat came up slowly, as if he was interested but didn’t want to show it. Papa followed him. Spindle watched them for a while, then went back to his grazing. The rat lay down and closed its eyes, and Wretched started digging another hole.

  Gwin lit the lamp, using the flint she carried in her belt pocket, and inspected the pile of rubble. “There must’ve been a rockfall. But it’s all right now.”

  She liked this odd little cave. If danger approached, she was high enough to see it coming. And rock walls would protect Nat and Papa far better than the cart. “We could sleep up here tonight,” she said. “We could light a fire in the hearth.”

  “Mm,” said Papa.

  Which Gwin decided to take as a yes.

  She climbed down the ladder and came up again with Wretched slung over her shoulders, and the frying pan and kettle tied to her belt. Then she brought up the rabbit and some of the mangels, as well as water, wood and bedding.

  “You shouldn’t have to do all the work,” said Hilde, looking disapprovingly at Nat and Papa. “Here, give me that firewood. I’ll help you.”

  Gwin felt her face redden. She didn’t want help, not unless it came from Papa or Nat. She wanted things to be the way they used to be, with the little family of Fetchers so close and happy and hardworking that they didn’t need anyone else.

  “I don’t mind,” she said. “Really.” And she turned her back on Hilde, set the fire and cut up the mangels for the rabbit stew, with Wretched watching every move she made.

  No one said anything more about the rat, though Nat scowled occasionally, as if it was standing right there in front of him making a nuisance of itself, and Hilde inspected every corner of the cave before she would settle down to eat.

  What if it won’t let us turn around? Gwin thought later, as she wrapped herself in sacking and lay down by the fire. What if it’s brought us here for a reason?

  She tried to sta
y awake just a little bit longer, in case that reason was rushing toward them with disaster clinging to its tail.

  I have to be ready for it. I have to protect Papa and Nat.…

  But she was too tired. With a yawn, she closed her eyes and fell asleep.

  * * *

  Morning came, and to Gwin’s relief there was no sign of the rat. She kindled the fire and reheated what was left of the stew.

  “South again, Papa?” she said, and her father nodded. None of them wanted to stay in the mountains any longer than necessary.

  But when Gwin tried to back Spindle between the shafts, he wouldn’t go. He wouldn’t stand for the harness to be buckled either, but kicked and turned until Gwin threw the straps to the ground in disgust.

  “What’s going on?” she demanded.

  “Maybe he’s tired,” said Hilde.

  Gwin shook her head. “He’s faking. We’ll have to go without him.”

  She didn’t mean it, of course. Without Spindle, they couldn’t take the cart, and there were things hidden in that cart that they must not abandon. Besides, Spindle was a member of the family, just as Wretched was, and they couldn’t leave him behind just because he was being stubborn.

  Gwin tried everything to get him into harness. She begged, she pleaded, she tried to trick him. She grew more and more desperate, but nothing worked. Spindle would not budge.

  And so eventually, with the clouds low and threatening above their heads, they climbed back up the ladder into the cave.

  “What do we do now?” asked Hilde.

  Gwin looked at Papa, hoping he would smile, the way he used to. She wanted him to say that everything would turn out all right because they were Fetchers, and although they fetched trouble, they also fetched luck. And this was just a tiny setback, and maybe they should sing a song or two until they came up with a brilliant plan for getting Spindle to do as he was told.

  But Papa’s moment of being his old self was gone. So Gwin said the words for him. “We should sing.”

  Nat snorted, of course. Hilde said, “Sing? Here? Now?”

  “Please, Papa,” said Gwin.

  “Gwinith—”