Witch Crag (6 page)

The hill fort was asleep. Kita (heart pounding so hard she thought all the girls in the sleeping hut would hear it and wake) nudged Quainy. Both girls got silently to their feet and pulled a sheepskin on their backs, woolly side inside so the dark skin would hide them in the dark. They tied them round their necks like cloaks with Raff's wool rope, looping it through holes they'd made in the skin, and Kita slung the food bag over one shoulder. Then they crept outside and scurried towards the rock face.

Raff was already there, in the black shadows at its base. “Let's go,” hissed Kita. “Raff, you follow me and make sure Quainy can see where you put your feet. It looks sheer but there are footholds. Just put your hand exactly where I've put my foot, then follow that with your foot. If you think you're falling, lie flat against the rock, hug it. Understand?”

They nodded.

“All right, let's
go
.” She set off. There was a dim light from the cloud-covered moon, but she could have made her way in the pitch dark, she knew the route so well. She went slowly, leaving each foot in place until she was sure Raff had marked it. She had to trust he was doing the same to Quainy.

Slowly, they ascended. Up, up, until the bare rock gave way to welcome scrub at the top, scrub that could be got hold of. Before long Kita was hauling herself on to the familiar flat near the gorse and brambles, and Raff was right behind her, then he too hauled himself up.

But Quainy was clinging to the steep bare rock below, motionless. “I'm sorry!” she whimpered.

“She's frozen!” gasped Raff.

“Quainy,
please
,” hissed Kita, “you have to move!”

“I'm sorry!” Quainy croaked, again.

Kita felt panic rising in her, rising like a storm – then the panic seemed to solidify inside her, dark, strong and powerful. She lay flat and wriggled her shoulders over the edge of the rock. She could see that Quainy was gripping a jut of rock very tightly with her left hand. “Sit on my legs!” she barked at Raff.

“
Kita
—”

“Sit right up high, the top of my legs. Hold me, and hold the gorse.
Do it!
”

He obeyed, sitting on her thighs, holding on to her shoulders with one hand, a thick gorse branch with the other. Then Kita stretched down, and down a bit further, stomach muscles hard and straining. She focused all her energy on her friend, linking with her, willing her courage. Then she said, firmly, “Quainy, reach up with your right hand. I'm here. You don't have to let go of that rock. Just your right hand.”

After what seemed an age, Quainy's hand, shaking badly, came creeping up the rock face towards Kita, who stretched some more, then seized it with both her hands, and said, “OK, I've got you. We've both got you.” Kita felt her hands grow warm; she felt as though she was sending strength into Quainy. “Open your eyes, dearling,” she ordered. “See that rough bit of rock, just above your left hand. Let go, and get hold of it.
Now!
”

Another terrible, dragging, shaking age.

“
Quainy! Now!
” cried Kita, putting all her force into the words. And Quainy lurched, and Kita, tugged violently, thought for a horrible moment that they'd both hurtle down, then she breathed again as she felt Raff steady her, secure her. Anxiously, she peered past Quainy, down at the central yard. It was still cloaked in darkness; no one was moving; there was no sound.

“Now your left foot on that jutting bit, where your left hand was,” she said. “Nice and steady. . . Up, up. . .
Yes
. . . now I can. . .
Pull,
Raff!”

A sudden desperate scramble from Quainy, a huge, muscle-tearing tug from Kita and Raff, and Quainy was collapsing safe beside them, trembling all over.

“Oh,
thank you
,” she croaked. “
Thank
you. Oh, Kita. . . I'm sorry, I can't do this, I'm
so
sorry, you go on, go without me—”

“
Shut up!
” crooned Kita, as she hugged her close. “Just shut up, you've
done
it, you idiot, you've done it! Well done, Quainy!”

“Well done
you two
. . . Oh, I was a mess . . . a terrified mess!”

“But you overcame it! Now let the panic die down and then, trust me, a very good feeling will come in. I remember that from the first time I climbed up here.”

Raff was crouched on the edge, scanning the hill fort below. “No movement,” he whispered. “No sound. We've got away with it.”

“Hear that, Quainy? No one heard us. No one saw us creeping up the rock face like sheep turned inside out.”

Quainy giggled, and Kita gently let go of her, and said, “We're fine. Really fine.” She grabbed the food she'd hidden in the brambles and crammed it into the woollen bag on top of the other provisions. “How you feeling, heroine? Look at all this food you've got us!”

“Better,” croaked Quainy, and she sat up.

“Take it slowly. Raff, you grab the knife – see it?”

They all saw it, sharp in the weak moonlight. Raff stowed it in his belt.

“Right, next stage, if you're ready, Quainy,” said Kita. “And I promise this is easier. Follow me.”

The three of them crawled through the tunnel of briars and brambles, and came out on the flint ledge. “Your high place,” breathed Quainy.

“Endless space,” gasped Raff, gazing out.

“Here – look down,” said Kita, standing right on the edge. “We're going down in that channel, where the rock butts up against the wooden barricade. Just slither down, brace yourself against the wood as you go, stop when the rock drops away.”

Then before anyone could argue, she set off, sliding and scrambling down the narrow channel. The rock face was sheer, almost vertical, but the wooden wall abutting it at an angle gave something to wedge herself against and a feeling of security. She could hear her friends following her. When she reached the section where the rock fell back, she braced her legs against the wood, and halted. She could just see the bramble bushes underneath her in the dark, a dense mass a long drop below. They'd be painful to fall on, but they might save her bones from smashing. Carefully, she untied the wool rope round her neck, held out the sheepskin, and let it drop to the brambles below where it shone palely like a stranded sheep.

Quainy had arrived just above her. Panting hard, she too wedged herself against the wood. “Hand me your cloak,” Kita whispered. Trembling, Quainy untied her sheepskin and handed it down to Kita, who dropped it to land just overlapping the other one.

“Here's Raff's,” hissed Quainy. Kita took it and dropped it on top of the other two.

Then came the moment Kita had truly dreaded. She'd lain awake admitting to herself that she had no way of knowing what lay beneath the brambles. It could be a great hole – it could be rocks, sharp as spears. She could vanish – or be mutilated, blinded, killed. She'd got past this hideous thought by telling herself that if she died or disappeared, the other two could shout and be rescued and taken back into the fort.

It was with that bleak consolation that she smiled up at Quainy, turned – and jumped, arcing into the night, the white woolly skins rushing to meet her. . .

. . . and landed. A great crunching and cracking filled her ears, a thorn tore into her neck. . . Then she was motionless and winded . . . but still alive. She stretched her arms, they still worked, she scrambled to her feet, legs unbroken. . .

Still alive.

She fought her way out of the bushes, on to the grass. Then she reached out and arranged the sheepskins back over the brambles and, waving furiously, called softly up to Quainy, “
Jump!
”

 

Kita, Quainy and Raff ran fast and silent down the dark, sloping grasslands. No one had been hurt in the jump; a few scratches, that was all. They'd tied the sheepskins back round their necks and they felt the itchy heat of them as they raced along. But the discomfort didn't matter. The clouds had cleared; the huge night blared above them, full of the noise of wind and sight of countless stars. They'd never experienced such space before. No bars, no walls, no barricades. It was intoxicating.

“Goodbye, sheep!” Kita called, softly.

“We're not going to miss you!” giggled Quainy.

“Oh, I love this,” panted Raff. “Just . . .
running
!”

On they pounded, as freedom filled their veins and the hill fort drew back behind them and their muscles, accustomed only to grinding hard work, discovered the joy and power of speed. Kita led them in as wide an angle as she dared, eastwards towards the forest. As it loomed up ahead of them, they all slowed, instinctively. They were barely jogging as they reached the first trees and slipped into the shadows.

“I'm exhausted,” gasped Quainy. “But that was amazing. We were running so fast.”

“We were,” panted Kita. “And no one saw, I'm sure – no one's followed us.”

They paused, awed into silence, absorbing the absolute strangeness of it all. The wild night rushed in at them. Then, some distance away, a group of trees began threshing and flailing, as if a wild, invisible spirit was stirring them; then, terrifyingly, it came towards them, bending and stirring the trees in its path, rushing towards them—

Kita let out a laugh, exhilarated. “The wind,” she breathed, “a zephyr of wind!”

“Oh, lord,” muttered Quainy. “That was spooky. That
scared
me.”

“Me too,” murmured Raff. “We're out in untamed nature now all right. We're
here
.” Then he turned and looked straight at Kita and said, “Mad one, I salute you. This is all down to you. You . . . you
dared to think
this. To think the unthinkable. And then you planned our escape, and led us out.”

Kita's cheeks glowed with pride and pleasure. Raff's good opinion meant so much to her. And now Quainy was throwing her arms round her, saying, “Yes,
thank you
, dearling! You're so brave, so clever! And whatever happens – I'll be glad I came with you.”

“Me too,” said Raff.

Kita couldn't speak. Raff nudged her jokily. “OK, leader. What's the plan?”

“Go into the trees a fair bit further,” she mumbled. “Find somewhere to rest until dawn. Then go on when we can see where we're going.”

“Let's have a little breather here,” said Quainy. “My mouth's so
dry
. . .”

There was a horrible pause then, as they all looked at each other, ashen faced.

They'd forgotten to bring water.

“Oh, I'm an
idiot
,” wailed Kita, the pride and pleasure evaporating. “I didn't even think—”

“Kita,
don't
,” begged Quainy. “It's not your fault –
I
should have thought. I was the one getting supplies – I could've stolen some kind of container. . .”

“What, like a bucket? It would have knackered us carrying it,” soothed Raff. “Look – don't panic. We'll find water. The dogs and the birds survive – there must be water. Maybe it'll rain tonight. We'll be OK. Shall we eat something now, get a bit of energy up?”

Kita took the woollen supplies bag off her shoulder and pulled it open. They peered inside. The stodgy grain cake, the fatty meat . . . it would only make them thirstier. In the end they each nibbled a bit of honeycomb and, fortified by its sweetness, they started to walk through the dark trees heading away, always away, from the hill fort.

It was very dark in the forest. The stars and moon couldn't be seen now. Overhead great branches sprouting new leaf creaked and sawed against each other. Twigs cracked underfoot; the undergrowth rustled and stirred. Raff led the way, his hands out to hold back brambles and branches; Quainy followed, and Kita, eyes constantly over her shoulder, brought up the rear.

“What's that?” hissed Quainy. “Over there – something slithering.”

“Keep walking,” urged Raff. “Keep close, and keep walking, and keep your eyes peeled for water.”

The wind had got stronger. It moaned in the trees above their heads, whisked dead leaves round their ankles. There was a sudden low, violent commotion in the undergrowth nearby. They stopped, hearts pounding; heard a snatching and snarling, a shrill shriek as some small creature died as food. “Come on,” said Raff, and they trudged nervously on.

After a while, Kita said, “Look, I know we're parched, but I think we should stop soon. I'm getting disoriented. . . I need the sun to be sure of the direction we take. We're going too deep into the forest – we could be going round in circles.”

“You're right,” agreed Quainy. “I don't think we'll find water tonight.”

But none of them wanted to stop with the creaking darkness all about them. In the far distance, a thin, eerie howling started up; wild dogs, gathering. It felt safer to be on the move; they walked on.

Kita's head was spinning with tiredness, thirst and adrenaline. After a while, the ground sloped up, and the trees seemed to thin; they could see the moon and a scattering of stars above them. “We really need to stop,” she said. “We could be way off course.”

Raff halted, and pointed. Ahead of them was a little clearing, with three great trees seeming to stand guard over it. Their thick trunks would give shelter; somehow, the place had a feeling of safety about it. “Here,” said Quainy, thankfully. “Let's rest here.”

They settled down around the base of the largest tree, laying the sheepskins on the ground and curling up on them. No one mentioned how thirsty they were; how if they didn't find water soon, their lives would be seriously at risk. What mattered now was to rest. As Kita stretched out her legs on the soft sheepskin, her longing for cool water was so fierce she thought she'd never fall asleep. But soon exhaustion overcame her and sleep began to claim her. She dimly heard Raff say, “Shouldn't someone keep watch?” – then she was gone.

In her dream, she was still in the forest, but it was bright morning. She was alone, wrapped in her sheepskin against the chill air, walking, her throat burning with thirst. A shaft of sunlight filtered down through the trees, lighting up leaves and bark, dancing on motes in the air. She smiled and walked into it, held out her hands and admired the sun sparkling on her fingernails.

A twig cracked ahead of her and, startled, she looked up. Her blood froze. A girl in a red cloak was floating towards her through the trees. The witch, the witch Drell had slit. Terrified, Kita turned and started to run, blundering, low branches tearing at her, when a voice called, “Don't you know me, Kita?”

She realized she did know the voice – knew its kindness. She turned, and there was Nada, her old nurse, standing there in the shaft of sun, smiling at her. Only Nada wasn't an old woman any more, she was ageless somehow, strong, and beautiful in her red cloak.

“You've done so well, my little one,” Nada said. “So clever, so brave.”

“Are you . . . are you a ghost?” Kita asked.

Nada laughed. “You're dreaming me, dearling. Because you know I'm proud of you. You've done it, you've escaped, you're all set to make a new life for yourself.”

Kita hung her head. “I'm afraid,” she said. “So much could go wrong. We're just at the start.”

“Yes. It's the
start
. A whole night of freedom. Add a day to that, then another night . . . go slowly, Kita! You always did rush ahead, even as a little girl.”

“But I've messed up already,” said Kita. She longed to run to Nada, to throw herself into her arms, but a fear that she might disappear stopped her. “I forgot to bring water.”

Nada smiled. “You're thirsty now, aren't you? I always knew when you were thirsty. You'd lick your lips just like that.”

Kita sniffed, and two tears slid from her eyes. Nada's kindness – it was almost unbearable.

“Come on,” said Nada. “Follow me.” Then Nada turned, stepped nimbly over a fallen tree trunk all covered in glistening ivy, and set off down a little track beyond it, not looking to see if Kita was following. Kita scrambled over the tree trunk too, and hurried after her.

Soon, they were in a clearing. The air smelt fecund, alive, and the earth beneath Kita's feet was rich and moist. Ahead of them, shining in the morning light, was a great swathe of flowers, cool green-white flutes growing low on their dark green leaves.

“Dew lilies,” said Nada. “They collect the dew each morning and absorb it. Now watch.”

She picked one of the lilies, pinching its base together, then she came over to Kita and said, “Open wide.”

Kita opened her mouth automatically, obeying just as she'd done as a child. Nada held the flower to her lips and tipped it up. A cold liquid trickled into Kita's parched mouth. It was sweet, fresh, soothing. She savoured it, deliciously – it tasted of nectar. Then she swallowed greedily, crying, “More!”

“More
please
!” laughed Nada, and Kita laughed too, and they each picked a lily, Nada handing hers to Kita, and Kita drank those, then another two, then she cried, “I'm so selfish! I must tell Raff and Quainy, they must drink too before the dew disappears. . .”

*

Then she woke up, on her sheepskin rug. Dawn was breaking, filtering through the dense trees, and it was very cold. Her dream was still vividly with her – she even felt a little less thirsty. She scrambled to her feet, clambered to the top of the tree they'd slept beneath, and looked around. To her horror, the hill fort was still very close. Her instinct last night had been true, they'd been going round in circles through the dark trees. They still hadn't got beyond the grasslands.

It would be all right now, though, she thought – now she had the sun to guide her. If they walked fast, rested late and rose early, they'd reach the outskirts of the ruined city in two days, maybe three. . .

The thought of drawing close to the old city terrified her. All she knew of it was nightmare tales of depraved cannibals, people too decadent to have made a new start after the Great Havoc, living in wreck and decay, preying on the weak to survive. . . But it was still safer to stay under cover of the forest and skirt the city than cross the wasteland's plains. She remembered Nada telling her to take it a day, a night, at a time, and felt comforted. Her friends were depending on her to lead them. They'd deal with the old city when they needed to.

“Kita?” murmured Quainy, drowsily, from her bed on the ground. “How long have you been awake?”

“Not long.”

“Did you sleep?”

“Yes. I feel better. Do you?”

“Yes, except. . .” Quainy broke off, before she could mention water.

“Raff,” Kita called, prodding him with her foot. “Raff – wake up!”

Raff stirred, and got slowly to his feet, yawning and stretching. Kita explained what she'd seen from the treetop, and laid out her plan before them.

“Could be worse,” muttered Raff. “At least the sun is bright to guide us.”

Quainy opened the woollen bag and pulled out some grain cake. “Let's have a couple of mouthfuls before we set off,” she said.

They ate it standing up, stamping their feet to get their circulation going. The cake was made with sheep fat so it tasted rank, but the grease made it easier to swallow.

“We'll find a stream,” said Raff, in a low voice. “We're bound to.”

“Bound to,” echoed Quainy. “If there's no water, how do the dogs survive?”

“Drinking blood?”

“Shut up. Lord, their howling really scared me last night. Did you hear it start up again as we went off to sleep?”

“No. Too knackered.”

“They were a long way away, thankfully, but they still sounded terrifying.”

“Come on,” said Kita. “We'd better make a move.”

She set off, the others following. The sun broke through the trees and made walking easier than last night, but their longing for water was agonizing. “Listen hard,” said Raff, “listen for trickling noises. And keep your eyes peeled. If the vegetation suddenly looks more green. . .”

He broke off, because Kita, right in front of him, had stopped abruptly. She was staring at a fallen tree trunk covered in vibrant ivy. Without saying a word, she stepped over it. Raff and Quainy followed her as she sped along the little track on the other side. Then she came to a halt in a clearing, gripping her hands in front of her, breathing fast.

“What is it?” asked Quainy. “Kita, what is it? You've gone all pale.”

Wordlessly, Kita pointed to a swathe of flowers, little green-white flutes growing low on their leaves. “I. . . I dreamed this,” she said, then she stooped and picked one, squeezing it together where she'd plucked it, and lifted it to her mouth.