Soul Splinter Read online

  Then the creature drew back, cradling the soles in its bony hands. ‘Shadowmasks’ dark magic grows stronger.’ The words came in a gurgled spew, as if the creature’s throat was choked by mud and water. ‘Creatures like me claw through thresholds to find you; protection spells won’t hold darkness back . . .’

  Moll scrambled backwards, grasping at the reeds to help her, but, as Alfie, Siddy, Scrap and Gryff gathered close, the creature dropped to its knees, melted into the water and was gone.

  Moll was breathing fast, her heart fluttering inside her. For a while, she said nothing at all, then she wiped the mud from her face and turned her feet over; her soles were pink and ordinary again. ‘I don’t know what that was but it took my soles. We’re on our own now; there’s nothing left to protect us.’ Shaking the water from her coat, she glanced at Gryff who was stamping on the reeds and snarling at the place where the creature had disappeared. Moll sighed. ‘At least Gryff’s not in pain any more.’

  Alfie rummaged in his rucksack for Moll’s boots, then he gazed around the marshland. ‘The Shadowmasks could be anywhere; that creature might tell them where we are.’ A snipe cried overhead, startled by the commotion on the marsh. ‘We need to take cover in the forest.’

  Cautious now, they hastened towards the trees behind Scrap. The wind rose, hauling dark clouds across the sky, blocking out any chance of stars or moonlight. And when, finally, they approached the forest, it was almost completely shrouded in darkness. Tall trunks closed in around them and Moll shivered inside her damp coat and stretched out a hand for the bark: rough, thick and cracked. Pine trees. They would be tightly packed together; hard to steer through, but good for getting lost in. Without Cinderella Bull’s soles to protect them, perhaps that was exactly what they needed.

  They edged further into the forest, feeling a way between the trees. The wind whistled through the trunks and Moll tried to listen to its spirit, as Mooshie had taught her in Tanglefern Forest. But it was whining in a way Moll hadn’t learnt, as if its breath was full of dread.

  Now and again the children’s clothes snagged on branches and, although none of them said anything, each one could tell that this forest had been brushed by the Shadowmasks’ magic. The branches of the pine trees had lost their needles and were now just stumps and, as Moll breathed in, she noticed that their sharp scent had changed to something stale and rotted. Moll stooped, picked up a stone and slotted it inside the pouch of her catapult. Just in case.

  Gryff prowled in front of her, his whiskers twitching. Then he stopped suddenly.

  ‘What is it?’ Moll whispered.

  Gryff’s ears cocked towards the sound, a scratching in the undergrowth, then he grunted, and Moll glimpsed a deer bounding further into the trees.

  They walked on and the deeper into the forest they went, the faster Moll’s heart began to beat. She knew the smells, barks and leaves of all the trees in Tanglefern Forest, but this woodland made her skin crawl. After a while, the trees thinned and they walked into a small clearing. But the hush that had fallen around them seemed unnatural; not a single woodland animal stirred.

  Then they heard a noise that made their stomachs twist.

  A creaking sound, like an unoiled door opening. And the sound of knives sharpening.

  ‘The owls!’ Siddy gasped.

  The children clung to one another, hardly daring to breathe. Only Gryff moved, prowling round them, hissing.

  The sound of the blades slicing came closer, but in the darkness no one could see where they were coming from.

  ‘Which way do we run?’ Moll cried. ‘If we split up, we’ll never find each other!’

  But there wasn’t time for anyone to answer. Dozens of yellow eyes gleamed in the distant darkness around them and the sound of blades grinding filled their ears from all directions.

  Moll raised her catapult and fired into the forest, fear searing through her. But without an obvious place to aim it was useless, and the owls screeched and loomed closer. Beside her, Alfie and Siddy clutched their knives and Scrap shoved her whistle into her mouth. She blew it as hard as she could and, as the sound blared into the darkness, the owls shrieked and wheeled backwards. Scrap blew again and again, but in moments the owls saw through the threat and advanced, their wings beating to the sound of grating metal, their yellow eyes slits in the darkness.

  The children cowered together, waiting for the inevitable, for the whirring blades to slice down on them.

  But then a silvery glow, not unlike moonlight, sifted through the pine trees and settled on those surrounding the children. A second later, as the owl wings beat just metres from the clearing, the shimmering trunks of the pines began to swell. With a loud crunch, huge, gnarled branches burst from the bark, groaning and creaking as they plaited together before arching over the group, enclosing them in a shining woodland cage.

  The owls clawed the trunks with desperate screeches, but the gaps were too narrow and their blades couldn’t penetrate the mysterious barrier.

  They all crouched together, sheltered beneath the glowing trees. The sound of serrated wings and talons thrashing against the bark rang through the forest as the birds desperately tried to prise a way in. But the trees stayed firm.

  ‘The forest!’ Moll whispered. ‘It’s . . . it’s helping us.’

  A yellow eye filled a crack between the branches and blinked at them slowly.

  Alfie shifted closer to Moll, then he pointed to the gnarled trunks around them. ‘Look at the bark!’

  Carved into each trunk was a symbol, lit up by the silvery glow. On one, a star inside a circle; on another, a dash surrounded by dots; on another, a triangle balanced on an arrow.

  ‘It’s Oracle Bone script,’ Moll murmured.

  ‘Does that mean it’s the old magic fighting back?’ Siddy asked.

  Scrap stood up and walked towards a crack in the trees. She craned her neck against the bark, then blew hard into her whistle.

  Moll scrambled to her feet and pulled her back. ‘Careful, Scrap. Those owls are dangerous; we can’t take any chances.’

  Scrap stuck out her bottom lip and pointed towards the crack in the branches. Moll took a step closer, then screwed up her eyes and peered through the gap. She gasped, squeezed her eyes tight, then opened them again, just to be sure that what she was seeing was real.

  Something silvery white was gliding between the trees. It was moving too fast for Moll to understand what it was, but, as it swooped and soared, they could see its glow swell round the owls, snatching them from the air and thrashing them to the ground. Siddy and Alfie huddled behind Moll, stretching their necks to see more. The owls that had been hurled to the floor were croaking and shuddering and then, one by one, their bodies crumpled until all that was left were scattered heaps of feathers and blades.

  They all watched, open-mouthed, until just one owl remained. It dived towards the crack the children had gathered at and they leapt backwards. But once again the glow intervened, blocking the owl’s path. Moll blinked at its brightness. The bird crashed to the ground and the light faded to a wisp and was gone. The forest was dark once more; only the trees around the children were left glowing.

  Suddenly the owl on the ground hauled itself upright and screeched with such bite the sound juddered inside Moll’s bones. It wasn’t dead, but it seemed weakened by the fight and, dragging its bladed wings behind it, the bird hobbled away, lost in the darkness of the forest.

  There was silence once again and the children looked at one another.

  ‘What on earth was that light?’ Siddy asked. ‘Was it part of the old magic?’

  Moll shook her head. ‘I’ve no idea.’ She peeked out of the crack in the trees. ‘Do you think that last owl will be back?’

  Alfie fiddled with his earring. ‘It’s hurt so it’s not going anywhere fast. But if it manages to leave the forest it won’t be long before—’

  ‘—the Shadowmasks are back,’ Moll finished.

  She looked at the enormous trunks around t
hem, their branches knotted tight. The bark had ridges so knobbly and rough they could have been centuries old and yet these trees had grown up in front of their eyes. Moll’s gaze followed the trunks upwards to where the branches swept over their heads.

  ‘Leaves!’ she cried.

  The green foliage covered the roof of the woodland cage, shining with life in the silvery glow.

  ‘These are the only trees living in the forest,’ Siddy said. ‘They’re untouched by the Shadowmasks’ magic.’

  Alfie squinted upwards. ‘Dark green leaves with blunt lobes. These are oak trees.’

  ‘Just like the Sacred Oaks in Tanglefern Forest.’ A smile spread across Moll’s face; it felt like someone had sent them a message telling them not to give up. She looked at the others in turn. ‘We can rest a while in here, but with that owl out there we’ll need to set off for the Blinking Eye soon.’

  ‘If we can get out,’ Siddy said quietly.

  No one said anything. The thought hadn’t even crossed Moll’s mind. Leaves above them rustled and a pigeon appeared. Swift as light, Gryff darted up the tree and leapt into the canopy. The pigeon didn’t reappear, but they could hear the wildcat’s jaws working amid the leaves. He leapt down and hung back by the trunks, watching through the cracks for danger.

  Siddy shuffled away from Gryff, then looked at Moll. ‘If he eats Hermit, I’m expelling you both from the Tribe.’

  Before anyone could reply, the glowing trees around them seemed to dim and the darkness grew.

  Moll moved closer to the trunks and felt for Gryff.

  And then, one by one, tiny lights appeared in the canopy above them and dozens of fireflies lit up the night like candles.

  ‘It looks like whatever helped us out with those owls is still watching out for us,’ Alfie said.

  Moll nodded and somehow she didn’t feel afraid.

  They talked together long into the night – discussing ways to escape from the trees and reach the Blinking Eye before the Shadowmasks found them – but eventually their eyes couldn’t fight the tiredness and they lifted the blankets from the rucksack and lay down to sleep.

  When Moll woke, the fireflies were no longer visible. Instead, sunshine seeped through the gaps in the oak trees, falling in rays of sparkling dust. From somewhere nearby a woodlark called and in the canopy above them Moll spotted a squirrel scavenging for acorns.

  She sat up. Her muscles were stiff from a night on hard ground, but there was something familiar and right about waking in a forest; she’d missed the comfort of branches and bark. She blinked. It had to be mid-morning at least; they should have been up, working on a way to get out of the trees. Gryff opened one eye beside her, then, realising how close he was to the rest of the children, crept off to the far side of the cage. Moll shook the others awake.

  Almost immediately, Scrap shoved her whistle into her mouth and blew hard.

  ‘Shhhhh!’ Moll hissed.

  Then she looked to where Scrap was pointing. Half a dozen scoops of bark were laid out on the ground before the trunks opposite them, and each piece was laden with foods from the forest: blackberries, chanterelle mushrooms, garlic leaves, elderflower, chestnuts, hazelnuts, walnuts. There were deeper scoops holding crystal-clear water too.

  Alfie had been right: someone – or something – really was watching over them.

  Gryff crept over towards the food and narrowed his eyes.

  ‘Might be poisonous,’ Alfie whispered.

  Gryff sniffed the items, one by one, then his ears pricked and he grunted. Taking this as a good sign, Siddy scrambled forward and picked up a blackberry, then he turned it over in his fingers and popped it into his mouth. The others watched.

  ‘Well?’ Moll said.

  He helped himself to some hazelnuts, then grabbed a mushroom and some garlic leaves. ‘Hard to tell,’ he mumbled. ‘I should try some more.’

  Alfie grinned. ‘Liar!’

  They snatched at the food ravenously.

  ‘Who do you think left it all?’ Siddy asked, chewing on a mushroom.

  Moll shrugged. ‘I don’t know, but it tastes good. Enjoy it while it lasts, Sid; the Shadowmasks can’t be far away, not if that owl found them . . .’

  There was a rustling from the canopy above them. The children froze. Something white was emerging through the leaves. They all edged backwards until they were pressed up against the tree trunks. Then their jaws dropped open as a woman leapt from the branches, her white dress billowing around her as she fell. Moll gasped. The woman was unlike anyone she had ever seen.

  Her skin was pale and sparkling, like freshly-fallen snow beneath sunlight, and her hair was so silver it looked as if it might have been spun from moonbeams. It stretched down to her feet in a shining plait, but the strangest thing about the woman was her face: it told of magic, of a creature not born of this world. Blue swishes of colour arched from her cheekbones right up over her brow, and pale green dots curved beneath her eyes.

  ‘My name is Willow.’ The woman’s voice was rich and strong, like notes played on a cello.

  Moll fumbled for her catapult, but, when it was in her palm, she felt suddenly small and silly. She held it by her side, cautious still, untrusting.

  Scrap stepped forward and blew her whistle.

  ‘Shhhhhh, Scrap!’ Alfie hissed.

  The woman looked at Alfie, not through him, not around him, but at him. Whoever she was, she could see Alfie all right.

  ‘Thank you, child,’ she said to him.

  ‘You can see me?’ he gasped.

  Willow nodded.

  ‘But – but . . .’ He took a small step backwards and Moll fumbled in her pocket for a pebble, then raised her catapult to her chin.

  ‘Only the Shadowmasks can see me outside Tanglefern Forest,’ Alfie said quietly.

  ‘I’m not a Shadowmask, Alfie.’

  The boy flinched at his name. How had this strange woman known it?

  ‘You can trust me,’ she said.

  Moll pulled back on her catapult. ‘We don’t trust anyone outside of Tanglefern Forest and Little Hollows. Who are you?’

  The woman smiled, making the blue and green markings curve round her eyes. Then she took a step towards them. ‘I’m the old magic, Moll.’

  Moll stiffened. Willow had called her by her name – as if she knew her – and the recognition stirred something deep within Moll’s soul.

  ‘And I know all about each one of you. Your friend Siddy from Tanglefern Forest, little Scrap who ran away from the Dreads.’

  Moll’s eyes darted about the cage. ‘You – you don’t know him,’ she muttered, nodding towards Gryff.

  Then, to her surprise, the wildcat slunk forward, stopped before Willow and dipped his head. Willow bent down and ran a hand over Gryff’s back. Moll wanted to leap forward, to pull Gryff away, but something about their connection made Moll still and watchful.

  Siddy shook his head in disbelief. ‘It was you last night, wasn’t it? You helped protect us from the owls. But . . . where did you come from?’

  Willow smiled and Moll realised that she knew, even without being told. ‘Are you from the Otherworld? The one Cinderella Bull told me about?’ Moll blinked at the strangeness of it all.

  Willow nodded. ‘I am. There are many like me there. But when the Shadowmasks began tearing open the thresholds I was sent to help you.’ She looked from Moll to Gryff. ‘We would do more, but the Bone Murmur has foretold that it will be the gypsy girl and the beast who force the Shadowmasks back. If too many of us break through thresholds from the Otherworld, the power of the Bone Murmur will be weakened and there’s no telling whether the old magic will triumph.’ She paused. ‘But we’re all behind you. And, if you listen very carefully on a still, quiet day, you can hear the Otherworld breathing.’

  ‘How can you see me when so many other people can’t?’ Alfie asked.

  ‘Because you’re real, Alfie,’ Willow said softly. The dots beneath her eyes sparkled.

  ‘No, I’m not
. At least, not according to anyone outside of Oak’s camp – and the Shadowmasks.’

  An idea was taking shape inside Moll’s head and she looked Willow straight in the eye. ‘Can you make Alfie real? Properly real, so that everyone can see him?’

  Willow sighed and a sadness seemed to settle in her eyes. For a while, she said nothing, but Moll could feel untold truths whirring just out of her reach. ‘Alfie is real,’ Willow said to them eventually. ‘What the Shadowmasks may have done to him doesn’t change that.’

  Alfie leant forward. ‘So it was the Shadowmasks? What did they do to me?’

  ‘I’m sorry, Alfie. But it would go against the old magic to reveal things to you before you’re ready to find out for yourself.’ She paused. ‘Know that you are more real than you realise, child. And you’ll understand more soon.’

  Siddy nodded towards the oak boughs twisting up around them. ‘Can you let us out of here?’ he asked. ‘One of the owls survived the attack last night and we’re worried it’ll call the Shadowmasks.’

  Willow nodded. ‘I can guide you through the forest unharmed, but the rest – finding the amulet and destroying the Soul Splinter – that must be done by you.’ She looked at Moll. ‘There are things I need to show you before we leave here, though.’

  Willow blew through her lips – gently at first, then stronger, like the first breath of a faraway wind. And, as she did so, the great oak boughs surrounding them creaked and groaned before slowly untangling themselves and opening up a way back into the forest.

  Some distance away, beyond the dead pine trees and the woodland cage, still further along the coast, Ashtongue and Darkebite stood before a cauldron, on a beach scattered with bones. Candles flickered green on ledges of rock inside the Crooked Cave, but everything else was still.

  ‘One of the owls I sent to the forest beyond the marsh returned,’ Darkebite muttered, her charcoaled mask dipped low. ‘The children and the wildcat are alive, protected by a spirit from the Otherworld.’

  Ashtongue put a snakeskin hand on the lip of the cauldron; the green liquid inside was still like glass. ‘We can’t approach while the Otherworld guards them. But we are close now; we know exactly where they are.’ His mask glistened. ‘It’s time to conjure wilder beasts.’