Page 8

Chapter Eight

S tanding at the gaping mouth of the caverns with my pack on my back, I was struck with a swooping sense of vertigo. There were entrances to the cave system spotted throughout the Living Valley, but this was the one I’d stumbled out of months ago, when I’d come looking for Gwinellyn with an apple that would lock her in an enchanted sleep. Now here I was again, on another mission of desperation, once again balancing on the precipice of a confrontation with Draven’s anger. What if he was already waiting for me on the other side?

I surveyed my travelling companions, wondering whether they’d be a help or a hindrance in that situation. Goras would be helpful, with his huge, muscled frame, all covered in those whirling tattoos. But the rest of them? There was altogether too much laughter and light-hearted chitchat as they checked over their bags and prepared to cross a war zone. It was obvious none of them understood what they were getting themselves into by volunteering to come with us.

To Oceatold . Madeia help us.

Goras straightened from where he’d been checking over his pack, smiling broadly at a man and a woman approaching us, both covered in blue tattoos similar to his, though they weren’t scribbled all over their heads like his were. Goras greeted them, and it quickly became clear to me that at least one of them was coming with us. The man walked around speaking quietly to each member of the group, grinning and clapping shoulders, while the woman hung back, her mouth pinched in a tight frown. His easy manner stiffened a little when he reached me, but he did offer a smile.

‘I’m Kelvhan,’ he said, by way of introduction. ‘You can call me Kel.’ He was well-muscled, though a good head shorter than Goras, with sandy-coloured hair pulled back in a low ponytail. Once he’d finished greeting everyone, he returned to the woman and gently took the bag she’d been holding. Her chin trembled as they pressed their foreheads together and he spoke to her in a low murmur. Perhaps he was the only one joining us, then.

‘I’ll take the lead,’ Goras said as he stood with folded arms, waiting as bags were strapped across shoulders and the chitchat petered out. He skewered me with a glare. ‘You, behind me.’

I narrowed my eyes. ‘I’ll walk where I want to walk.’

‘No. You walk where I can keep an eye on you.’

‘That’s not necessary, Goras,’ Mae said, adjusting the scarf she’d wrapped around her hair. ‘She’s coming along of her own free will just like the rest of us.’

‘I don’t trust her,’ he replied, the words as blunt as bricks.

I offered him a pointed smile. ‘Then I hope I can live up to your expectations.’

‘Don’t tease him, Rhi,’ Mae warned, shaking her head. ‘We’ve got a long journey ahead of us. We’re going to have to work together.’

‘Then let’s stop talking about it and start,’ I said, flicking my hands and pacing into the dark of the cave, followed by the flickering light of a wishlight that had been hovering above my head. I earned myself a glower from the rider, but I ignored him, and he quickly marched after me, his long stride easily outpacing me within a few moments. He grunted as he strode by, but I just rolled my eyes. It wasn’t like I hadn’t encountered a fragile male ego before.

The tunnel quickly narrowed down to the slender entrance I remembered pushing through on my first journey here, when I’d chased through to the light on the other side after a long time spent in the dark with nothing but the gifts Baba Yaga had given me to guide my way. There was some struggle for Goras to squeeze through, and a great deal of teasing from Tanathil when the rider found himself wedged in tight for a few moments, but eventually we were all trekking into that dark labyrinth that protected the Living Valley, with caverns branching off in every direction, doubling back on themselves and winding ever deeper into the earth if you took a wrong turn. This time, I had no enchanted stone warning me if I was going the wrong way. I just had to hope my companions knew where they were going.

I didn’t join in with their talk. If I was being honest, I wasn’t sure how to join in. Much like the rest of my time spent in the Living Valley, I felt like an interloper, intruding on their friendship, their easy conversation and way of being around each other as people who had known each other for a long time. Mae did try to draw me out a few times, but my thoughts kept spinning into predicting what we would face on the road ahead instead of engaging with the conversation. Eventually, she gave up and left me to my thoughts.

The wishlights following along behind us kept the mood buoyant for a while, but they eventually abandoned us one by one, taking their eerie violet light with them and leaving us in darkness except for the flame of the torch Elias was carrying. All that lively chatter seemed to fall away once the last wishlight was gone, and I wondered if it had finally struck them that they were leaving their home behind to venture into a world they’d spent their whole lives hiding from.

I was struck then by this ability Gwinellyn had to inspire loyalty in those around her. In all these friends of hers. In me. Here we were, traipsing through the dark and into danger all because we’d put our faith in her. What was it about her that made people love her like that? With a little wisp of jealousy, I realised she could make a better a queen than I had ever been.

‘Look, I can see light up ahead,’ Gwinellyn called from behind us, and when I paid attention I could see what her eyes had already picked out; the glow of sunlight. Before long, we were squeezing through the gap at the end of the tunnel and stepping out on the other side, squinting into the sunlight glinting from the surface of the river flowing past.

‘So, now we follow the river?’ Mae asked, glancing at me.

‘We follow the river,’ I agreed. The river would take us to Baba Yaga’s empty cottage, where we would spend the night before trekking down and out of the Yawn in the morning. And, I hoped, I might look through her things one last time to see if I could find any answers to the questions that had spun round and round my head since she’d gifted me her magic. Why had she given it to me? Who had given it to her? How had she learned to use it? I‘d searched the place before Gwinellyn and I had abandoned it, but I could have been more thorough. I was more motivated now that I knew how difficult magic was going to be to master.

And I harboured a stupid, secret wish that Baba Yaga hadn’t really died after all, that she was beyond and above such a force as mortality and she’d be standing before her door, waiting to scold me and give me answers to all the questions I’d never got to ask. I didn’t know why I longed for that so much. I’d barely known the old witch, and half of what she’d ever said to me had been insulting. It was perhaps the same inexplicable feeling that had driven me to her when I’d been desperate and clutching a dying Gwinellyn. Some sort of instinctive assurance that she had the power to mend problems and offer protection.

‘I’m sad to know she won’t be there too.’

I came back to my surroundings, to the tread of my feet against the ground as we walked along the bank of the river, at this comment from Daethie. I found that she was walking next to me, her fluffy blond hair catching the dappled sunlight in streaks of bright gold as she looked around at the surrounding trees, blinking dreamily. I hadn’t had much to do with the strange, reclusive member of Gwinellyn’s friends. She was rarely out with the others. I had been surprised to learn she would be joining us.

‘Who?’ I asked.

‘Baba Yaga,’ she said, and immediately I tensed up.

‘Did you read me?’ I demanded, stopping short. I hadn’t even felt it. How had I not noticed?

‘I wanted to know if you shared my sorrow. I thought I saw it in your eyes when Mae mentioned her name,’ Daethie replied, slowing her walk.

‘Don’t do it again,’ I snapped. ‘I don’t want any of you reading me, do you understand?’

Daethie cocked her head, but if she was offended by my temper, she didn’t show it. She still wore that same vague smile that made her look a little addled. ‘If you’d prefer to risk being misunderstood.’

‘She meant nothing by it, Rhi,’ Mae said, drawing up to me. ‘She didn’t know how you feel about being read. We’ll all respect your preference.’

I blew out a breath and started walking again, trying to let go of that instinctive revulsion and fear I felt at the idea of anyone having access to my emotions. There was plenty I didn’t want them reading. If they caught me in the wrong moment, who knew what might be revealed.

‘Sorry Daethie,’ I said after a few minutes spent in strained silence. ‘I shouldn’t have snapped at you.’

‘It’s alright,’ she replied easily. ‘I’ve been warned that you’re prickly.’

Prickly . Is that how they all thought of me? Had they been talking about me before we’d set out? I supposed I should have expected as much, but for some reason it stung a little to know it.

We continued to follow the river through the gorge until we found Baba Yaga’s cottage. The little clearing was quiet, the flock of chickens gone. Feathers everywhere. I wondered if they’d gone to roost elsewhere, or if they’d steadily been eaten by the creatures of the Yawn. It felt like we were intruding on the territory of said creatures now, without the witch acting as guardian over this space. It felt like there were eyes watching us from the trees.

‘This is new,’ Daethie’s airy, singsong voice chirped. And there was something, a premonition maybe, that whispered over the skin of my neck.

‘What’s new?’ I asked, turning towards her. She was examining a tree several strides away, her head tilted. Goras joined her with a frown.

‘I found another over there,’ he said, pointing.

‘What is it?’ I demanded, approaching them. When I was standing beside them, I answered the question myself.

There was something carved into the tree. Two jagged slashes deep into the bark, at odds with each other. It looked like the number seven.

‘Look,’ Daethie said, pointing to another tree, where the number eight was haphazardly slashed into the bark, all straight edges and crude shapes. Then I took in the rest of the clearing, my heart beginning to pound. I followed the clearing edge, the trail of damaged trees. Nine, ten, eleven, twelve… The numbers went on, each sending another jolt of panic racing through me, quickening my steps until I was almost running. I found the number nineteen in the tree closest to the path that lead to the front door, before finally fixing on the door itself, dread rising, filling me with a cold shudder. I could see something scratched into the wood, but I was almost at the door before I could make it out.

Twenty.

‘What does it mean?’ Gwinellyn asked, coming up behind me. I couldn’t respond. It felt like my throat had closed over. If I opened my mouth, my voice would be a squeak. So instead, I just shook my head. She stepped past me, but I lurched towards her, snatching her arm.

‘Don’t go in there!’

She froze in her tracks, fixing baffled eyes on me, before frowning back at the door. ‘What do you think we’ll find?’

I had no idea. But I could hazard a guess that I wouldn’t like it. ‘Just let me go in first.’

She stepped back and I approached the door with a pounding heart, turned the handle and swung it open slowly, bracing myself.

Nothing happened.

Nothing jumped out to attack me. There were no bodies swinging from the ceiling. The room beyond was still and dim, the air musty with the stagnant smell of an uninhabited house, a place that served no purpose without the witch who had called it home. The surfaces were dusty and a clutter of dried leaves were scattered across the floor. They crunched beneath my feet as I crept into the room, still on high alert. Someone had definitely been here since Gwinellyn and I had left it. There was something in the slight rearrangement of the jars around the stone kitchen bench, in the way the dust was disturbed along the shelves. A shiver raced along my spine as I approached the fireplace and caught sight of what looked like finger tracks trawled along the mantlepiece, leading to a folded piece of paper propped up between the pots. I felt almost dizzy as I reached for it, unfolding it to find just one line scrawled across the page in pointed, spidery letters I instantly recognised.

‘Have you found anything?’ Gwin asked, walking into the room, and with a jolt I crushed the note in my hand.

‘Someone’s been here,’ I said.

‘Who?’ she asked, looking around as Daethi passed through the door behind her.

‘I’m not sure,’ I lied. ‘Maybe snatchers, now that Baba Yaga isn’t here to catch them stealing swoon plants and mount their heads on spikes.’ Surreptitiously, I slipped the ball of paper into the bag slung over my shoulder, my hands trembling slightly as I did.

‘At least they’re gone now.’

Daethie clearly had no care for whoever might have been in the cottage, as she was already heading for the kitchen, unbuckling the pack strung over her shoulder, ready to pocket whatever of Baba Yaga’s collection of crushed herbs and anything else was in those jars she deemed useful. I had little interest in Baba Yaga’s kitchen, though. I headed for the tiny bedroom, the only other room in the house, taking the opportunity of being out of sight to steady myself with a hand against the wall and a few slow breaths. I pulled the ball of crumpled paper back out of my pack, smoothing it out with my fingers as I stared at that line of black ink.

Come out, come out, wherever you are.

What I felt looking at those letters was too tangled, too overwhelming, to give name to. It swept through me in a rush of flushed skin and gooseflesh and racing pulse and I traced the letters with my fingers as I imagined him standing in this very room shaping them. What if he had eyes on the place? A part of me relished in the idea of him finding me here, of finally getting the chance to unleash my rage, to fling lightning from my palms and bring him to his knees.

The rational part of me knew I wasn’t ready for that. Spending the night here was out of the question. We needed to get out of the Yawn as quickly as possible.

I rounded the lumpy old bed with the patched quilt to wrench open the drawer of the side table. A necklace lay curled atop a collection of notepaper. It was a warm, gleaming gold, and set with half a dozen fat, blood-red stones. Well, they were all red except for two. Two had turned grey, and the gold around them was black with corrosion. I hadn’t attempted to use the blood stones Dovegni had given me again after I’d tried to use them to see Baba Yaga and managed to glimpse only fog. But even if they hadn’t worked then, they’d been accurate in showing me Gwienllyn when I’d been trying to find out if she was alive. Even if they only worked some of the time, a string full of stones that could offer me a glimpse of another time or place had to be useful.

And with that note smouldering away in my other hand, I couldn’t resist the temptation of trying again.

I didn’t wait to think better of it, or for all that crushing emotion to make it impossible to continue. I remembered the instructions Dovegni had given me along with the necklace, that all I needed to do was think of what I wanted to see. Draven’s face was so easy to conjure, immediately filling my mind the moment I let it. Deep-set grey eyes looking at me, sharp brows, a mocking smirk. I touched one of the red stones before I could wander down a path of memory and connect that expression with a particular moment in time, focusing on wondering where he was now.

My vision went black, and I was swept up in a spin of vertigo that accompanied the sense that I was being yanked out of my body. A moment later, the black cleared, like grey dawn breaking through the dark of night. I looked around, expecting to see something, bracing myself to see him. But my surroundings were grey and fuzzy. I tried to shake myself, to clear away the fog somehow, but it remained. As my frustration peaked, I thought I caught a sense of something. Not something I could see, something I could feel. Like someone was standing very close to me. Breathing down my neck. A few moments later my vision darkened again and then I was slammed back into my body, my stomach lurching as I doubled over and steadied myself against my knees. When the nausea passed I groaned with frustration, flinging the necklace onto the bed.

‘What are you trying to see?’

I froze at the sound of Deathie’s voice. She was standing in the doorway. How long had she been standing in the doorway?

‘What do you mean?’ I asked, taking a step away from the bed, like I could distance myself from the blood stones.

She approached the bed and picked up the necklace, all the serenity washing out of her expression, replaced by a deep, gaping sadness as she stared at the stones. Shame and guilt flopped about in my stomach as I realised she knew what they were, how they were created. Baba Yaga had warned me that being caught with that necklace, with its stones of crystalised blood, would make me unwelcome among the Yoxvese. But Deathie didn’t fly into a rage as I might have expected.

‘You won’t be able to see him,’ she said. My mouth popped open in shock. ‘I have some grasp of sight, which isn’t common even among my kind. One of the other reasons I often came to see Baba Yaga,’ she continued. ‘Though, her sight was far stronger than mine.’ She handed the necklace to me and I took it wordlessly. ‘I’ve never been able to see magic-bonded humans,’ she continued. ‘I couldn’t see Baba Yaga. I can’t see you, either. I hope you’ll forgive me for trying, but I thought I could get a sense of where this journey will take us if I looked. I can grasp brief glimpses, but mostly I only see fog.’

‘Why?’

She shrugged. ‘Maybe because the mix of magic and human blood makes you so unpredictable. Everything bends and shifts around you. So you won’t be able to see him, if that’s what you were trying to do.’

I opened my mouth to deny the assumption, but the words got stuck. I could ask which he she meant, but that would seem so artificial, because who else would she mean when she was talking about magic mixing with human blood? ‘Why would you assume that’s what I was trying to see?’ I finally asked.

‘Well, you’re worried about him finding you, aren’t you?’ she replied so matter-of-factly that I mentally kicked myself for asking such a stupid question. ‘I might as well tell you that you can’t to keep you from wasting the rest of the magic you’re holding. Especially when so many likely died to give it.’ She spoke the last part with no malice, her tone still that same lilting murmur, and for some reason that almost made the shame worse. Then she left me alone again. I quickly stuffed the necklace into my bag, shoving it right down to the bottom, following it with the note. When I rejoined the others, I’d crushed all that emotion down nice and small, burying it in the bag with the things that had spawned it.