Backwards Moon (2 page)

So maybe it was just something Rose or Scabiosa had
decided and the rest went along with, as often happened. But in any case, it came out to the same thing: it was no use asking.

“I think we should ask the wolves,” said Bracken. “They've been through the pass lots of times. They must know about humans.”

“Yes,” said Nettle, sitting up.

And at that very moment, a wolf howled.

Far away in the night, a second wolf answered. A chorus of yips and barks rose, then faded away.

“See?” said Bracken. “It's an omen.”

And maybe it was, though not the way they thought.

Neither Nettle nor Bracken had ever actually talked to a wolf, and even spotting one was never easy. Bracken thought they would be easiest to find in the meadows, but she and Nettle had flown all day and not seen one. Wolves were clever that way.

Nettle thought they'd be on the bare rock slopes below the peaks, but Bracken said they weren't there, obviously. Did she see any?

“What would be so wrong with just flying up closer?” said Nettle.

“It's late,” said Bracken, in that annoying I Am Older voice she sometimes used. “We have to get home.”

“We do not,” said Nettle. “Aunt Iris won't even remember we're gone. And besides, we wasted all day looking where they weren't. Now let's go where
I
wanted to go.”

“Oh, all right,” said Bracken. So they flew higher.

“See?” said Bracken finally. “Now let's go home.” She turned around and skimmed toward the village.

Nettle took one last look at the slopes. Then she stopped, hovering.

“Bracken, wait!” she called.

Bracken made a graceful swoop around.

“Look
there!
” said Nettle, pointing. Two tiny, distant shapes were making their way, very slowly, down the slope.

“Those aren't wolves,” said Bracken, staring. “They're walking on two legs. And they're wearing trousers!”

Nettle caught her breath. “Bracken! Do you think they might be . . . ?
”
She glanced at her cousin, hardly daring to hope.

Bracken shook her head. “They're not Woodfolk. They can't be! Look at the way they move, so slow and heavy. Nobody magic would move like that.”

“Oh,” said Nettle dully. She felt sick with disappointment.

“I would know Woodfolk if I saw them,” said Bracken quietly. “I would know them
instantly
.”

Nettle squeezed her eyes tightly shut and rubbed them with her sleeve. Then she stared, again, at the slope.

The tiny figures plodded steadily lower, picking their way around boulders and edging across falls of broken, loose stone. A rock dislodged by their feet clattered down the mountainside, the sound echoing across the vast landscape.

“Nettle, those are
humans
!” said Bracken. “They can only be humans.”

Nettle turned to stare at her. “But . . . how could one get in?”

“Something must have gone wrong with the Veil.”

“But how . . . ?”

“I don't
know
,” said Bracken fiercely. They hovered, staring. “Maybe we should go back and tell the others.”

“I want to see one,” said Nettle. “They can't see us. What's the harm? Come on,” she said, and flew toward them.

“
Nettle,”
said Bracken, but she followed.

A shrill cry sounded above them.
Kree! Kree! Kree!
A hawk circled high in the sky, peering down at the humans.

They were men, both of them. They had big, heavy-looking bundles on their backs and wore odd little caps with brims like ducks' bills. And their feet were not bare, like witches' feet. Their toes were trapped in . . . in . . . what?
Boots
, Nettle thought they were called.

Nettle leaned down. “Humans?” she called.

The walkers stopped. Their eyes—which were a strange pale blue, not the deep violet-blue of witches' eyes—looked toward the sound, unseeing.

“Did you hear that?” cried one. His hair was the color of sand.

The two humans peered upward nearsightedly, like moles.

“Yes,” said the other, bigger one.

“Did it sound like . . . a voice?' ” asked the sandy-haired one. “Sort of a high voice. A girl's voice.”

“They
can't
see us!” whispered Nettle. “They really can't!” It was amazing, being invisible. She liked it.

“Listen!” said Sandyhair, stopping. “It's like . . . like ghosts,” he muttered.

“That's ridiculous,” said Big One, but now they walked faster, glancing all around.

“Humans?” said Nettle again, but this time she had switched to the Language: the silent way of talking, like thoughts traveling, that you used when you talked with animals. “Oh, humans?” she called again in the Language, but they only hurried forward.

“Hello?” said Nettle in the Language.

Her skin prickled. It was odd, not being seen
or
heard.

“Check the GPS again,” said the first human suddenly.

Big One pulled out a little flat box.

“What's that thing he's holding?” said Nettle in the Language. She hovered nearer, trying to see.

“It must be one of their inventions!” replied Bracken in the Language.

With his thumb, Big One jabbed at the box. “This makes no sense,” he said. “It's like this valley isn't even on the map. There's still only this blank, blurry space.”

“Really?” said Sandyhair. “Could it be out of satellite range?”

“I don't see how.” Big One jabbed the box again, then stuck it in his pocket before Nettle had time to see.

“Drat,” she muttered.

“There's something creepy about this valley,” said Sandyhair. “I think we should turn back.”

“But . . . it's so
beautiful
,” said Big One softly. He gazed out over the vast sweep of forest and meadow, to distant waterfalls that hung like white threads against the cliffs.

“I've hiked all over the world,” he said slowly. “And I've never seen wilderness like this. Never.”

The hawk's high, shrill call sounded again. It swooped lower, hovered near Nettle and Bracken, and glared at them with its fierce yellow-ringed eyes. “What's wrong with you two? What are you waiting for? Get rid of them!”

“Get
rid
of them?” said Nettle, gaping.

The hawk nodded grimly.

“You mean
kill
them?” gasped Nettle.

“Witches don't just . . . kill things,” said Bracken slowly.

“Stun
them, then,” snapped the hawk. “Get them out of here.” He jerked his sharp, curved beak at the humans. “Use those finger sparks of yours.” He soared higher and circled around, his wings beating the air.

Nettle and Bracken stared at each other.

“I stunned a rabbit I was mad at, once,” said Nettle slowly.

“You did?” said Bracken, startled.

“He was
fine
. Well, later he was.”

Bracken furrowed her forehead.

“
I'll
do it,” said Nettle. She swooped down, aimed her index finger at Sandyhair, and shot out a long silver spark. He fell to a sitting position, toppled sidewise, and slid to a stop on the sloping ground.

Big One stared down at him, goggle-eyed.

Nettle shot another spark. Big One sank, slid, and came to
rest with his bundle underneath him. He looked like a turtle turned upside down.

“Are they breathing?” gasped Bracken, landing.

“They're . . . fine,” said Nettle nervously. And they really did seem to be.

The hawk dived down, his sharp talons reaching toward the limp and helpless humans. Then he veered away. Next to the humans' bulk, he looked like a delicate bundle of feathers and bones, Nettle noticed with a shock. His eyes were like dark glass.

“Truss them up!” he shrieked. “Get them out of here!”

“It's all right,” said Nettle gently.

“Go back to the village!” Bracken told him. “Go tell the others.”

The hawk gave them a glassy stare, then lifted off with a shrill cry.

“We need a way to carry them.” Nettle rummaged for her hammock.

“Here.” Bracken pulled hers from her well-ordered pocket. Like all witches' pockets, it hung smooth, without a bulge, and weighed nothing no matter what you put in it.

“Humans look bigger up close than they do from the air,” said Nettle. They also looked heavier.

“Maybe you should have thought of that before you stunned them,” said Bracken.

“Me!” said Nettle. “The hawk said to stun them, so I did. Give me the hammock.” Nettle spread it next to the smaller human, Sandyhair. “Careful, now.” They rolled him onto the netting.

“Now the other,” said Nettle. But Big One, in his upside-down-turtle position, was harder. After much grunting, futile heaving, and arguing, Nettle thought of using their broomsticks as levers, which did the trick.

“We should tie them in. We don't want them to fall,” said Bracken. She reached in her pocket.

“Look here.” Nettle pulled at an end trailing from Big One's bundle.

It turned out to be a whole coil of rope. It was not rough brown like all the rope they'd ever seen, but white—thin and smooth and light.

“I wonder what this is made of,” said Bracken, fingering it.

“I bet they have other things in their bundles,” said Nettle.

“We don't have time to rummage through their bundles,” said Bracken. “Besides, it doesn't seem right.”

They roped the humans securely into the hammock, then each cousin fastened one end of it to her broomstick with a swift, well-tied knot.

“They're so
helpless
,” said Nettle. “How can everyone be afraid of them? That's what I don't understand.”

“It does seem odd,” admitted Bracken.

The humans swung gently as Nettle and Bracken soared, rather heavily, toward the pass. It was a deep cleft between two familiar peaks, Gaia's Summit and Badger's Nose.

“Does the pass look different to you?” asked Nettle.

Bracken nodded slowly. “It's because the Veil is broken.”

It was as though some sadness hung in the air, like something you couldn't quite remember. A scent, or a tune, or a way you'd once felt.

They flew higher. Night began to fall and the air grew colder. Wisps of mist drifted past. Now, below them, patches of snow lay in the shelter of giant boulders. Nettle leaned down.

“Look! Their tracks,” she said to Bracken, pointing to a smudgy line in the snow. “Their boot tracks.”

They glided toward the cleft. Walls of rock loomed on
either side. A damp, cold smell filled their noses. And then, just like that, they were on the other side! The gray rock slopes now led down instead of up.

In the distance lay another valley. It was deeply wooded, just like the one they'd come from. Like their own valley, this one was ringed by mountains, though these had unfamiliar outlines and no names that they knew.

Above them the first stars pricked out. They flew through the growing dark, looking for a place to set the humans down.

“Is this far enough, do you think?” asked Nettle.

“I guess so,” said Bracken.

They landed and lowered the hammock to the stony ground.

“I think we should do a forgetting spell on them, so they don't tell other humans,” said Bracken.

“You do it,” said Nettle. Bracken was good at spells. Better than Nettle would ever be.

Bracken put her fingers to her cheeks and closed her eyes. “ ‘Misting spell, misting spell,' ” she muttered to herself, and Nettle knew she was trying to remember the words of one of the harder forgetting spells, a tricky one that Nettle had read but not bothered to learn.

One of the humans stirred and groaned.

“They're waking up!” said Nettle. The humans opened their eyes. “Cast the spell!” she cried, forgetting to use the Language. The humans stiffened with terror.