Snowbone (4 page)

Oh, yes. They would make perfect slaves. Snowbone could see that now, and it troubled her.

As for Black Sand Bay … well! Snowbone had fallen completely under its spell. It probably wasn't the most beautiful place in the world, she realized, but it was wild and wonderful and she loved it. Here the sea met the sky, and the wind met the water, and they all danced together, rising and falling to the rhythm of the seasons.

And though the winter was coming and they might be safer moving into the forest, Snowbone wanted to stay on the beach, where she could see her beloved ocean. Here she felt free. Nobody's slave.

At Black Sand Bay, the tiddlins would weather the storms together, and grow taller, stronger, wiser. In time, they would move on. She didn't know when. She didn't know why. But she did know one thing. When that time came, they would be ready.

he year turned. First it was winter and the land was lost, hidden beneath a mantle of snow. Then came spring and the forest edge was peppered with primroses. Then came summer and dolphins sang in the bay. And then came autumn and the birds flew south, ahead of the winter winds.

Snowbone had grown and so had the members of her gang. Blackeye and Two Teeth were as tall as ten-year-old humans. Fudge was a head taller. Tigermane was the biggest girl; Mouse was the smallest. Snowbone was middling, like most of the others. All were healthy and strong, with boundless energy. Together they made a formidable team.

Snowbone was feeling restless. She might be strong, but she was ignorant. She knew nothing of the Ashenpeakers and her body was a mystery. She knew that fire was dangerous, but other than that, nothing. How long would she live? Would she grow any taller?

Her head was full of questions and she was determined to find answers. The tiddlins had explored some way into the forest, but it was immense. They had found no sign of habitation.
Yet Snowbone was sure there were people out there. If she wanted to find them, they would have to widen the search. And so one crisp, windy day, she sent for Blackeye.

He ran to her instantly, at full speed. “What?”

“You're going away for a few days,” said Snowbone. “Into the forest.”

“Yes!”
cried Blackeye, punching the air. “Why?”

“There must be someone out there,” said Snowbone. “We're just not going far enough. I want you to stay out until you find something.”

“OK.”

“I want three of you to go. Who do you want?”

Blackeye thought for a second. “Two Teeth, 'cause he makes me laugh, and Fudge.”

“Not Mouse?”

“No!”

“I thought you were friends,” said Snowbone mischievously.

“Not 'specially.” Blackeye couldn't blush, but he was definitely glowing.

“Your decision,” said Snowbone.

And so the three boys shouldered their backpacks, filled their water flasks and were off, slipping between the trees like deer.

Snowbone watched them go. She had every confidence in Blackeye. He was a good captain and a born adventurer. She knew he wouldn't return until he had found something.

And she was right. He didn't.

lackeye, Fudge and Two Teeth walked on through the forest, fighting the urge to fool around. It wasn't easy.

There were branches to swing from and pinecones to shove down shirts. Pools to splash in and mud to squelch through. This was their second day of walking and they hadn't found anything. They needed some amusement. But they were also farther into the forest than they had ever been before. They needed to look and listen.

“Snowbone's right,” said Blackeye. “There must be people somewhere. Even if we have to walk right out of the forest, we must—”

“
Shh
” Fudge stopped, a finger to his lips and a hand in the air. “Listen.”

Dura.
A dull thud, somewhere to their right. And more: a low shushing sound. And a voice, calling.

The boys nodded at one another. Cautiously, silently, they moved toward the sounds. The light was failing; a mist was rising, curling round their feet like serpents. The forest suddenly seemed strange, otherworldly. And then, through the mist,
they saw shadows. Shapes. Men, moving silently. Working with axes and saws.

“Woodcutters,” whispered Blackeye.

They crept as close as they dared, then hid themselves behind a tangle of brambles. For some reason, they didn't feel like introducing themselves. Not yet. Better to watch awhile.

There were a dozen men, working in teams of two. A constant, savage ripping of timber cut through the forest. One after another, trees fell sighing to the ground.

Then the boys heard a shout: “Tarn! There's one here with a face and fingers. What do you want us to do?”

“Hold on,” came the reply. “I'm coming.” Peaty footsteps thudded on the forest floor and a woman appeared through the veils of mist. “Where are you, Kilim?”

“Over here.”

The boys crouched lower. The woodcutter who'd shouted—a tall man with sleek black hair—was close by. Suddenly the woman was heading right for them. But thankfully she stopped before she saw anything.

“He's still moving on,” said the man, pointing at a tree.

“Take him anyway,” said Tarn. “He's in the way of the wagon.”

“You're the boss.” The black-haired man picked up his ax and swung it at the tree.
Thuud.
The blade sliced into the wood.

Thuud.
A second ax was swung, by a muscular lad with striking blue eyes. The blade landed square on the wound, opening it further.
Thuud.
The man swung again, setting up an easy rhythm.

Blackeye turned to his friends and silently pointed over his shoulder. Two Teeth shook his head and held up his hand. No. Wait. It's not safe.

They were on the other side of the tree now—the black-haired man and the blue-eyed lad—opening a second wound with a crosscut saw. Splinters flew through the air and littered the forest floor. The tree was starting to topple. The men stood back, breathing heavily. The tree fell. And as the trunk crashed down, a shimmering blue light, no bigger than a plum, came out of the earth. It burrowed out of the soil like a mole, hovered briefly over the fallen tree, then darted away into the mist.

The boys' eyes nearly fell out of their heads.
What was that?
They turned to one another, slack-jawed, dying to say something. Then Fudge glanced back at the woodcutters and a look of complete bafflement came over his face.
What now?
The others turned to see.

The black-haired man had a hand drill with an enormously long metal bit. He crouched down and inserted it into the cut end of the tree. He turned the handle and the drill bit screwed its way in. Deeper and deeper it went, the metal tunneling like a silver worm, until a strange, white sap began to ooze out. Then the man pulled out the drill and inserted a long rubber tube. He pushed it into the hole as far as it would go and then sucked on the free end, starting the siphon. As the sap began to flow down the tube, he put the free end into a limp leather flagon. He held it there until every last drop of sap had been drained from the tree and the flagon was fat and full. Then he stuck a bung into the flagon and pulled out the tube, coiling it in his hands like a snake.

“Stand back,” said the blue-eyed lad suddenly. “Wagon's coming.”

From out of the mist came a team of five-horned oxen, their long blue tongues licking the air as they dragged the
wagon behind them. In it sat the rest of the men, a rough-looking lot. The black-haired man climbed up onto the wagon as it passed and threw his flagon into a crate. The blue-eyed lad clambered up behind him.

“Well done, lads,” said Tarn, who was riding up front. “That was a good day's work.”

The men grunted. They were too tired for compliments.

With the crack of a whip, the oxen lumbered off deeper into the forest. The mist closed in behind, wrapping itself around the fallen trees like a shroud. And soon nothing could be heard except the cry of a returning bird and the drip-drip-dripping of the leaves.

“They weren't woodcutters,” said Two Teeth, finally daring to speak. “They didn't take any wood.”

“No, just that sappy stuff,” said Blackeye.

“What was that blue thing?” said Fudge.

“I've no idea!” said Blackeye. “But eh, lads—haven't we got a tale to tell!”

he boys spent a restless night curled up together on a bed of leaves, tight as mice. They had left the logging site well behind, walking through the darkness for another hour until they felt safe enough to rest. But even then they couldn't sleep. They were listening for the rumble of a returning wagon, the thud of an ax, the slash of a saw. Those woodcutters weren't to be trusted—they were sure of that.

And so, the next morning, it was a tired and grumpy bunch that marched through the forest. They were taking a different route home. That seemed sensible. But the forest looked the same as it ever did: silent, endless, friendless.

Toward midday, they noticed the trees were thinning ahead, and Fudge's sharp ears heard the sound of whistling on the wind. For a second time, they crept forward—and found a house. A strange little place, with a tin roof and a chimney and dozens of pots and pans dangling from the eaves.

The boys crept closer and hid themselves behind a holly bush. They peered over cautiously. It was a charming scene, quiet and peaceful.

Suddenly the door to the house opened and a man came out carrying a knife and a bucket. He sat down on the porch, reached into the bucket and pulled out a potato. He started to peel it. When he'd finished, he pulled out another and then another. That was it. Nothing exciting, but nothing scary either.

And Blackeye was just wondering whether he should show himself or say something when, beside him, Two Teeth started to fidget. He rubbed his eye. He rubbed the other. Then he put his hand to his nose and stared panic-stricken at Blackeye as he felt the first tickle of a sneeze. He pinched his nostrils together. His eyes grew bigger and rounder and whiter till they bulged like baby mushrooms. His shoulders started to heave, his lungs filled to bursting and
a—chooooo!