Night Witches (5 page)

‘
Y
ou’re not going,’ says Mama for the hundredth time, the morning I’m meant to leave. ‘I lost you once, I won’t lose you again.’

‘I wasn’t lost, I was just at Air Cadets for training, like Aura said.’

‘I don’t mean that! I mean
before
, back when you were just a baby. You were too young to remember . . .’

‘Never mind all that,’ says Papi quickly. ‘I just don’t understand why Rain would be any use for Victory work at an airbase. Still, we have to let her go if that’s what Aura says is best.’

Mama wails, ‘Why can’t she stay safe in Sea-Ways, making guns?’

‘We’ll be safe in Loren,’ I interrupt timidly. ‘It’s hundreds of klicks from the front line.’

‘And how long will it stay safe when those Crux barbarians just keep on coming whatever we do to try and stop them? It’ll be over before it’s begun, that’s what everyone said – and now we’re told it’ll be Victory by Long Night, but—’

There’s a knock at the door.

Mama goes grey. For a moment we all think,
Is it a Scrutiner, listening in on Mama’s negative talk?

It’s only Pedla Rue, with a sweetly sour smile.

‘Heard you’re leaving today,’ she says. ‘You should be careful. Loren’s a long way off, near strange parts – Lim lands and worse. Take this with you. It was my husband’s. I hid it when he had to go away. You never know when you might need it.’

She holds out a small bracelet with bells like the one that Steen tried to give me.

Mama practically explodes. ‘What are you doing with
bane-metal
in the building? You know charms are illegal. Destroy it, quickly!’

‘Shan’t!’ says Pedla, with her chin jutting out. ‘It keeps witches away.’

Papi snatches the thing from Pedla and tells her to shut up before he sicks a Scrutiner on her.

‘You wouldn’t! Not after what they did to my poor husband, and me just an old lady, no harm to anyone, and your neighbour all these years . . .’

Papi pushes past her. ‘Come on, Rain. We’ll go and collect Cousin Zoya and head to the station.’

I get away without Mama kissing me and pretend it doesn’t cut me up to see her crying. She’s working extra shifts at the factory and can’t see me off. Her last words to me are ‘
Be a good girl, Rain.
’

When am I not?

Pedla won’t keep her distance. She reaches out to tweak my cheek just as we get to the stairwell and I have to pretend I’m stumbling on the stairs when I get
slammed
with a vision of her, flat in a street with a gunshot wound right where her babbling mouth used to be. These visions have got to
stop
. I dip my face into my coat collar and hide my hands in Reef’s gloves.

It’s crazy at the station, with bundles of refugees staggering off the trains and ranks of soldiers marching on to them. We’ve got two seats booked on the big double-deck Transnation service that used to go right to the border and beyond. Now we don’t even know where the border is any more, because maps are no longer accessible to anyone outside the military.

While Zoya says
goodbye-and-go-well
to Uncle Mentira, Papi pulls me away for a moment, down the side wall of a snack bar. I’m not really paying attention to him because I’m listening to Zoya saying she’ll be homesick, while Uncle Mentira lectures, ‘Loyalty to the Nation comes first. Aura will tell you that any time of the day or night, any time . . .’

‘Before you leave . . .’ Papi begins.

‘Papi, the train’s already here.’

‘I know, but listen. Your mother, she’s worried about you. That’s why she gets so . . . emotional.’

‘She shouldn’t worry. It’s just some Victory work. I’ll be fine.’

‘Your eyes – how are your eyes? Still sensitive to strong light?’

I look down quickly. ‘They’re totally normal, Papi.’

‘Good. Good. But . . .’ I’ve never noticed how many more grey hairs Papi has these days. He’s always been old, of course, but now he really looks it. It must be the war. He waits while a random Scrutiner goes past. ‘Here,’ he whispers. ‘Take this.’

‘That’s Pedla’s charm! It’s illegal. Why . . . ?’

‘Just take it. Don’t tell your mama I gave it to you. Don’t tell anyone. Listen, Rain, we all know there’s no such thing as witches – no, don’t roll your eyes at me, you’re too young to remember things – but if you do see any,
stay away from them
.’

‘Papi!’

His words tumble out, bashing against each other in more bad logic. ‘Long Night isn’t so far off, and they like the dark, these monsters, so stay out of the shadows. Another thing, Rain – are you listening? – whatever you do,
don’t look at the lights
!’

How can he be talking like this? It’s worse than Pedla’s ramblings. And
what
am I too young to remember? As soon as he’s gone I drop the bane-metal charm on to the tracks so the train will crush it. Nasty Old Nation nonsense.

He stands on the platform as we pull away, messaging
be good, be safe
 . . .

Loren is a long journey north-west of Sea-Ways. The Transnation train route would be more direct if it weren’t for the Morass, which swallows up uncounted klicks of land. Is that why we saw Crux traptions and troops after we crashed? Have they braved the forest to come sneaking past Rodina’s front-line defences? I shouldn’t worry about military tactics, that’s Aura’s job, but I can’t help it. I’m thinking of Steen Verdessica saying he was hunting god in the forest. Then I think of Reef Starzak, hunting witches.

The train rushes through Lim foodlands, one vast field after another. At Loren Station an Air Force truck picks us up and speeds us through a light snowfall to the airbase, a few klicks away from the actual city. It’s painfully exciting to arrive.

Monumental bomber planes roar off the runways while super-slick fighter planes tear through the sky, all off to crush Crux forces. Hundreds of men and women march in neat formation on parade squares surrounded by block after block of bioweave buildings.

‘It’s like we’re actually in one of the Victory reports that everyone sees, isn’t it?’ Zoya says.

It takes ages to drive round the airfield, where hangars big enough to hold whole streets of houses are set in rows. We go past the end of a runway marked with strips of different-coloured lights. Snow begins to cover our tracks. Just when it seems we’ll drive so far out we’ll hit the perimeter fence, the truck stops. We’ve reached a long, low hut squatting at the side of a shabby-looking hangar, well away from the main action. The driver jerks her head towards it. We clamber down with our kit bags. The truck can’t quit us quickly enough.

‘Want me to help you with that, Pipsqueak?’ Zoya asks. As soon as she opens her mouth snowflakes fly in.

I hoist my bag higher over one shoulder. ‘I can manage, thanks.’

‘My father said I should look after you. Keep an eye on you. It was nice of him to see me off at the station, don’t you think? He doesn’t normally get the chance to do stuff like that. Too busy with work, I guess. He’s been pretty nice since I got back from – from you know where.’ She sniffs a couple of times.

‘Are you crying?’

‘No! My eyes are cold. Shall we go inside, instead of standing here freezing to death? I hope they feed us; I’m starving. Don’t look so scared. Whatever we’re here for, it’s for the Nation. For Victory!’

I nod vigorously, but I’ve just noticed one stark feature of the hangar – there’s a large black bird standing sentinel on the roof. Surely that can’t be a corvil, this far from the Morass?

Zoya pushes through the double doors of the hut and I follow.

It’s barely warmer inside than out. The bioweave of the building is a drab browny-grey, long past its proper regeneration date. A rather flickery screen is streaming the latest Victory updates on one wall. Patchy blinds cover all windows. The lights are harsh and unshaded.

A roomful of people turn to look at us. A round-faced girl with a cloud of white-blonde hair uncurls from a battered armchair.

‘More new recruits!’ she calls out. ‘Hi, I’m Mossalka – Mossie to my friends. Welcome to the crew-room. Dump your bags with ours and make yourselves comfy.’

‘On
these
chairs?’ mocks an older, browner girl, fiddling with an unsmoked choke. ‘Fat chance of that – they were probably ancient in Old Nation days.’

‘Don’t mind her, it’s choke withdrawal symptoms,’ says Mossie. ‘She’s Lida. Her family are big in aviation engineering.’

‘There’s no smoking in the crew-room,’ cuts in a strong, loud voice. It’s a bulky girl with dark eyes and spot-speckled cheeks. Her boldness makes me smile inside. I’ve never been like that. ‘And by the way, my brother
owns
a plane.’

‘That’s Ang,’ explains Mossie. ‘She tells us she’s won the Glissom Gunner’s Firing Range Trophy.’

‘
Twice
, remember?’

‘Er, twice.’

Ang looks us over. ‘It’s sweet you’re both wearing your Air Cadet uniforms. I was in the Cadets, ages ago.’

Lida yawns and mimes flicking choke ash on the floor. ‘I’m way too old for that yash Cadet stuff.’

‘No older than me!’ objects Ang.

‘I probably taught you how to fly.’

‘How forgettable that would have been!’

‘Because your head was so far stuffed up your—’

‘I found cookies!’ shouts someone with a muffled voice, halfway inside a cupboard.

Lida forgets her quarrel. ‘Chuck them over.’

‘I’ll have a couple,’ says Ang.

The person in the cupboard bangs her head and slowly unfolds to stand taller than anyone else in the room.

‘Hi,’ says Zoya. ‘What sort of cookies are they? I’m Zoya Mentira. This is Pip.’

‘My name’s not Pip, it’s—’

‘Help yourself, Zoya.’ The packet of cookies comes flying our way. ‘I’m Petra. I got here first, so that makes me an expert on where everything is and how to work the kettle. Want a brew?’

A chorus of voices calls out for drinks.

Zoya messages me
is petra a boy or a girl?

don’t know – girl? does it matter? I like her hair, short and spiky

it’d suit you, instead of those old-fashioned plaits you won’t ever cut

I look around the crew-room and realise I’m the only person with really long hair. I guess I don’t look like I fit in. If I ever do trim my hair, I find myself gathering all the clippings up carefully so none of them are left lying around. Mama says my hair’s a disgrace but she’s given up trying to get scissors to it.

‘After the journey we’ve had, I’ll drink anything hot,’ Zoya tells Petra. ‘Is there anything else to eat? I’m starving!’

‘I’ll see what we can rustle up,’ says Petra.

Before I can draw back, Mossie links her arm through mine and points around the room. I flinch, thinking
Please, please don’t let her touch my skin.
She doesn’t. She introduces a ton of older kids I can hardly remember then ends with a couple who look different from the others. Sadder.

‘Those two over there are brother and sister, called Henke and Rill, from Hardhills.’

Henke is humming a popular balika song, and his fingers faintly move, as if plucking imaginary balika strings. Rill is obviously lost in connection.

Mossie lowers her voice to a whisper. ‘You heard what happened to Hardhills when the Crux bombed it? Both their parents were killed – bodies never found. Henke and Rill are lucky to be alive.’

Ang barges in. ‘I’ve been to Hardhills
loads
of times before the war. It was a bit of a dead-end town.’

‘What about the guy doing pull-ups?’ Zoya is mesmerised by a lad with a chest-hugging tunic who’s got his fingers cramped on a door frame at the far end of the room, heaving himself up to a sweaty count –
forty-one, forty-two, forty-three, forty-four . . .

He drops down, wipes his hands on his trousers and grins at her. ‘I’m Yeldon.’

Zoya pulls a face. ‘You obviously live in a gym.’

‘That’s not strictly true,’ says a girl with a thin face, who is lining up mugs by the kettle so their handles all point the same way. ‘Hello, Zoya. Hello, Pip – is that your real name? I’m Dee. Mossie forgot to mention me. For your information, Zoya, people don’t actually live in gyms. They just exercise there a lot.’

‘That’s me, kid,’ brags Yeldon. ‘See these?’ He pulls his tunic neck open to show a sculptured shoulder. ‘I’ve got triple-heads on my deltoids.’

Zoya winces but has a good look anyway. ‘Sounds painful.’

‘It’s a muscle thing,’ Mossie explains. ‘Yeldon here is a perfect specimen. Of what, I don’t like to speculate.’

‘If I ever worked out I’d be pretty fit,’ says Ang.

Yeldon is asking, ‘Is there a mirror round here, do you think?’ when suddenly Rill, the quiet girl from Hardhills, pipes up.

‘Did you hear about the man who invented the rear-view mirror? He never looked back . . .’

Her brother Henke punches her, but he’s got a little smile twisting the corner of his mouth. Everyone else laughs – it’s such a bad joke – except the straight-faced girl, Dee, who says, ‘Actually, it was a woman who invented the rear-view mirror and she didn’t even earn a lot of money for it, so . . .’