Storm. Sarah Driver
Suddenly, a young terrodyl flickers up and out of the fog, wings lashing inches from our flock. Black blood drips, fizzing, from a wound in its flank.
‘Pull back!’ shouts Leo, and the draggles bare their teeth at the terrodyl.
Gold gleams like shattering stars as the riders level their spears as one. But Leo warns them not to shoot. ‘You’ll burn whoever’s down there with black rain!’
Black rain – the weapon wielded by Stag, extracted from the veins of terrodyls, that burns warped, bubbled pits in the flesh. My belly writhes at the thought that he’s twisted a beast’s own life-blood into a weapon.
The riders hold fire, their spears shining in the depths of the terrodyl’s eyes.
Dead things! Ice! the beast screams, wheeling away. Sad-hearts rotted!
What’s down there, beast? I chatter. What’re you fleeing?
The terrodyl’s panic mingles with the draggles’ fright-pangs, gifting me a sore, woozy head. TroubletroubletroubleHIDEflyflyhideinnest!
What trouble? I ask, but she’s pulling further away and thudding out of sight. Wait, you’re hurt!
‘What is that child doing?’ Coati asks Leo, watching me with hard eyes.
What trouble? I call again, threading my beast-chatter through the air to touch the creature’s hair-prickled hide.
The terrodyl jerks in the air and her wings carve the sky as she twists around and soars towards me.
‘She’s brought it back upon us,’ gasps Lunda.
‘Spears!’ declares Leo, flashing me a frighted look.
‘No, just trust me for a beat!’ I beg.
Lung-stink! snaps the terrodyl, fixing me with her great lantern eyes. Blood-stink! Spine-shudder bad-taste bled. Life fled, bled, BLED!
My breath comes quick and tattered. Life fled? Bloodshed? That can’t be what she’s saying . . .
Uuuuuughhhhh tongue-tang rot-shadow-HOME! She bolts.
My head fizzes with her fading beast-chatter. No, you must be wrong! I chatter after her desperately. There’s never bloodshed at the Stone Circle! It’s forbidden!
The draggles pop up and down in the air. Mine bucks underneath me, half crazed from fright.
Gods. Blood at the Tribe-Meet ? Grandma must be writhing in her sea-grave!
Leo watches the terrodyl vanish from sight before guiding the flock closer to the Stone Circle.
‘Wait!’ I shout.
‘What is it now, Mouse?’ calls Leo, impatience sharpening her tone.
‘We can’t land,’ I plead. ‘A proper bad thing’s happened.’
Coati gruffs a laugh of steam and bitterness. ‘Why does a child ride among us? Someone get her back to the mountain!’
Leo turns away from me, leading the draggles lower.
‘Protector!’ My urgent use of her title makes Leopard jerk around in her saddle to look at me. I force my voice steady. ‘There’s bloodshed.’ I wipe my palms on my cloak and stare around at the riders. ‘At the Stone Circle.’ Shock guts my words even as I spill them. Gods swim close.
Our flock pauses, beating the air. Leopard’s eyes are large and fixed on my face.
Then everything erupts into a tumble of loud babblemaking.
‘That’s impossible!’
‘It’s the Fangtooths, isn’t it? They’re terrorising again!’
‘What if there is? Bloodshed does not faze warriors!’
‘Mouse, are you certain?’ asks Leo. As the words steam from her mouth, a great black talon of smoke stabs the sky in the distant west.
‘I’m heart-certain,’ I pant, thumping my fist to my chest.
A tide of disappointment floods Leo’s face. ‘We’ve come all this way,’ she says, through clenched teeth.
‘How do you know?’ challenges a narrow-eyed Spearbrother.
‘The terrodyl told me.’
Coati watches me darkly. ‘You are sheltering a chatterer ?’ He flicks his eyes to Leo.
‘Enough, Coati,’ warns Leo.
The old man snorts rudely. Heat creeps up my neck to sting my cheeks. I remember the Wilder-King’s letter. Surrender any chatterers dwelling amongst you. ‘If it wasn’t for me you’d have landed unawares!’ I spit, hurling the old man’s gift of shame back to him.
Coati’s face darkens. But then the draggles begin to scream, borrowing the words of the terrodyl. Life-stink! Lung-stink! Troubletroubletroubleflee!
The chatter is like a punch in the brain. Before I can breathe it smacks into me again.
U h h h h h m u r k w o r l d r e a c h r e a c h S T R E T C H s e i z e c a t c h s l i t h e r g u l p b o n e s s m a s h s m a s h d e p t h s c r aw l i n g c r e e p i n g d a r k d a r k p u s h d a r k a b o v e d a r k b e l o w r e a c h r e a c h STRETCH grabuhhhhhhhh . . .
‘Mouse?’ The Protector’s voice breaks through the chaos as she guides her draggle towards mine and touches my shoulder. As I return from the beast-world I taste blood and realise I’ve clamped my teeth onto my tongue. I gulp a breath, glancing at the faces of the Spearwarriors.
They’re gifting me a look of fear. They’re frighted of what I am.
We’ve drifted closer to the Stone Circle.
While I’m grappling to stay mounted and catch my breath, a sight emerges below that almost makes me plummet to my doom.
Lying across the standing stones is a dead terrodyl.
When the tips of the stones pierce the drifting fog, some are bloodied. Others are dripping with black rain.
A ragged figure darts out from beneath the dead beast’s wing, wielding a longbow. An arrow pierces the fog.
‘Go!’ shrieks Leopard.
As we’re wheeling our draggles around to flee, the sight of the blood-splashed Sea gateway stone clangs into my brain and the chatter of the draggles rises to a storm inside my chest.
The world blinks and melts into a frenzy.
Deathridesclosedrowningredsoakedgetawaypointawaygogogofly strongwingfightridersgogogoBOLTgogogoDODGEgogogoRUN gogogoNO!
Dizziness swarms my head. Faces slip in and out of focus.
Noise. Swelled. Everything. Everywhere. Sick bursts up my throat and blurts from my lips. My foot slips from the stirrup.
‘Tooth-and-bone storms!’ yelps Lunda, pointing.
Great cyclones sweep from gaps in the ice out to sea, packed with shark and whale teeth that tear bites from whatever they touch.
Chatter. Stealing breath. Stealingthoughtsthoughtsthoughts.
Stealingbreathbodymindgrowingcuttingsqueezingweare panickingflutteringbreathingironbloodstinkdeathlurksheregreed squatsherenosafetynohome—
I push away the chatter but it presses close again, suffocating like lungfuls of damp fur.
GETAWAY—
Lash of whips—
‘Is she breathing ?’
Falling backwards