Storm. Sarah Driver
when?’
‘Until . . .’ He pauses. Shrugs. ‘It’s safe.’
I snort a messy laugh through my nose. ‘It ent never been safe, and won’t never be, neither!’
‘You know what I mean, Mouse,’ he says wearily. ‘The world’s different, now. Things are – proper crooked.’
I cross my arms. ‘But I’ll be going to the Tribe-Meet.’
‘I don’t think so, Bones.’
Which means ‘no’ in full-grown speak. ‘What? Why?’
He turns to a pouch by his bedside and rummages inside it for his pain medsins. ‘Like I said – it’s too dangerous.’
But I remember the way Leo looked at me. ‘For everyone? Or just me?’
He busies himself with looking around for something. But I know when he’s trying to dodge my gaze. ‘Da!’
He stills. ‘It’s naught to fret about, Mouse. It’s just something to keep you safe.’
But as he hobbles from the room, my chest feels bruised. I touch the dragonfly brooch on my tunic and when I close my eyes I can smell salt-traced air and see the great black shadows of the Huntress ’s sails ghosting across her wooden boards. How can Da force me not to rove when I’m so full of fight?
I’ve got to get my mitts on that letter.
My hand moves to an amulet hanging around my neck, and an idea tingles through me. The amulet is a slim oval of silver, gifted to me by Egret Runesmith and etched with the runes for binding, so I’m safe to dream-dance without having to draw protection runes all the time. My fingers brush my other amulet – the amber Bear gifted me.
Gods, I miss my friends.
I fling myself down on Da’s bed and shut my eyes, imagining climbing out of my skin. I gather all the fright in my chest – about the Withering, and the dying moonsprites, and the way Leo looked at me in the long-hall – and use it to hook onto my spirit. I feel the familiar dragging, and push into it, until my spirit nudges through layers of bone, muscle and skin. I tread the air above my body, blinking slow spirit-eyes. Then I dive through the door and into the corridor outside.
I drift past Pika, who’s kicking draggle dung off his boots at the entrance to the crooked corridor. As I pass, he shudders and glances up, looking through me. Then I startle a warmth-seeking goat that’s got lost in the maze of passageways. I turn in the air and dart along another passageway, past a group of Wilderwitches heading for the stone baths, drying-cloaks hung over their arms.
Leo’s chamber is a small, plain room at the top of a sweep of stairs, set deep in the rock above the long-hall. I slip through the wooden door and fly around the room, searching.
A small collection of books, bound in red, blue, green and gold, is stacked on her night table. A clothes chest stands at the foot of her bed. There’s a set of raindrop armour hanging from a hook, a gathering of stubby candles and a portrait of her and her daughter Kestrel that she had painted before Kes left on her mission to unite the youth of the Tribes. There’s no sign of the letter.
Just then, the door whines open and Leo strides in, tension tightening her face. She paces the floor, breathing fast. Then she draws a length of parchment from inside her cloak and yanks it straight. ‘How dare he?’ she mutters to herself.
I slither through the air and hover behind her shoulder, gulping the black runes burned into the parchment.
‘Consider this your first and final warning.’ My spirit startles, fracturing around the edges – I can almost hear the Wilder-King’s slow purr of a voice. ‘Do not imagine that your fortress protects you against the allies I have won. Allies that could be yours, also, if you heed the war cry echoing through Trianukka. The scarred girl is a hunted child. They will not allow her to further damage their cause. Surrender her, for the sake of your people. And surrender any chatterers dwelling amongst you.’
I raise my hand to trace my scar with my fingers, but my spirit edges just whisper against each other. I’m a hunted child. Small wonder Da tried to keep it from me.
The memory barges close – the night just one full moon ago, when slow, stealthy footsteps creaked through the snow behind me. I half-turned, as a salty hand wrapped around my mouth.
‘Fangtooth!’ boomed Da’s kelp-rich voice, stronger than his weakened body. ‘Release my child.’ The Protector’s spear-warriors surrounded us. Me and my brother were pulled from danger, but not before a blade against my neck nicked a tear in the skin.
Axe-Thrower, Stag’s wretched first mate, had hunted through the shadows of the stronghold, trying to get to me and Sparrow. Now she’s locked in Leopard’s dungeon, a hostage claimed by no one. And as for Da – he’s acting guilt-stung that he weren’t better at protecting me now we’re finally back together. For a while he kept saying sorry that Axe attacked me, like it was his fault.
Now I know the Fangtooth weren’t acting alone. That her attack was ordered by someone else. And that the attack ent really over. I keep my eyes on the letter as I read the runes again and again. Then Leo tenses, crumpling the parchment in her fingers, and twists to stare behind her.
I must’ve drifted too close and touched her – I can see how the skin at the back of her neck’s gone goose-pimpled. Suddenly I remember that she’s a dream-dancer, too.
‘Who’s there?’ she whispers.
I flick towards the door, squeeze through and soar down the stairs, spirit-heart weighing heavy. Most times, I can find a way to get Da on my side. But this time he’s never gonna let me go with the others to the Tribe-Meet. Not in a thousand moons. I stare up at the dark stone roof of the passageway as I fly. I feel like the walls of this stronghold are closing in, and if I ent careful, I’ll be buried alive.
Thunder grumbles, restless as a shark. I sit cross-legged on my bed, breathing the storm-stink that’s trickling in through the stones of Hackles. Thaw-Wielder breathes it with me, her eyes shining with added wildness.
The stink of a storm is the only thing that makes me feel free, these days. It kindles the flame in my blood. Stormlight flutters against the walls and I feel like I’m underwater with electric eels.
Crow sits in a chair, greasing his boots. ‘Could you give it a rest with all the sniffing?’
I tut. He don’t get it, Thaw.
She shuffles her feathers and spits in his direction. Soft-shell two-leg notknownotknowthings! Not REAL winged one.
‘And stop talking about me to Thaw! It ain’t fair.’
I stick out my lower lip. The poor bab don’t think it’s fair!
Thaw chortles.
Crow gifts me his danger-face.
I raise my brows. ‘Alright, don’t scorch your lugholes over it!’
The thunder cracks the sky apart, loud as huge iron drums being thrown around. Crow gasps, but I grin. ‘You should try hearing that when you’re out at sea.’
He scowls. In the attic rooms above, claws begin to scrabble. The rats are spooked.
Boots clank past my chamber door. I leap off my bed and rush to look – riders march along the passageway, heading to the caves to prepare their draggles to fly to the Tribe-Meet. Other preparations have been