Hunter's Moon (5 page)

There was red light creeping under my closed eyelids and a delicious savoury smell in my nostrils. I tried to open my eyes but they were stuck down fast. I tried to move but my bruised body wouldn't obey me. I tried to cry out but my voice stuck in my dry throat. Then a stranger's voice, a woman's voice that was quite close, said, ‘She's awake. Get some water.'

I heard the sound of footsteps, felt a hand on my forehead and shrank back.

‘It's all right,' said the voice. ‘You're safe now.'

I didn't feel safe. I couldn't see. Was I blind? I ached all over. I had no idea where I was, only that I was lying on something soft and that there was the smell of fire. I had no idea how I had arrived here. I could remember clambering into the fork of a tree. I could remember nothing after that – but everything else before it. Much too clearly.

I must have moaned or made some sound then because the voice repeated, ‘It's all right. Don't be afraid. I will
bathe your eyes to get rid of that sticky crust, so you can see. I didn't want to do it while you were asleep in case I woke you.'

In the next moment I felt a warm wet cloth on my eyes, wielded by a gentle hand, and as it worked I could feel my eyelids gradually unsticking. When I opened my eyes, I looked right into the face of an old woman – a face as wrinkled as last year's apples, only not red, but pale – a face which was surmounted by a thatch of white hair. Her eyes were set strangely, with one higher than the other, and the irises of her eyes were green, with a yellow gleam to them.

‘There. Is that better?' asked the stranger.

I nodded, mutely.

‘Grim has gone to get you some water. You'll be thirsty.'

I nodded again, though I had no idea, of course, who Grim might be. I only knew that my throat was so parched that I could not utter a word.

‘There, now,' said the strange woman, as she helped me to sit up with a cushion at my back. She was tall and very thin – almost wispy – and did not look strong at all, but she had a grip like iron and soon had me sitting more or less comfortably. There was a dull throbbing pain in my legs and feet and I felt a little dizzy at first but at least sitting up I could see my surroundings better.

I was lying under a big patchwork quilt on a low bed that had been pulled up close to a big tiled stove. I was not wearing my own clothes. Instead, I was wearing a clean nightgown made of dark-blue flannel. Feeling guilty, I could not help but feel for the jewellery I had been wearing. It was all in a little dish by the side of the bed.

The room I was in looked for all the world like a cave: it was round and without windows, only the walls were not stone but looked like earth – I could even see a small bush growing out of one wall and a pattern of moss on another. A few lamps, throwing golden light and crooked shadows, were placed at intervals around the walls. There was a big table in the centre of the room with chairs and stools of different sizes arranged around it, a bright but shabby rug on the beaten earth floor, bookshelves crammed with untidily arranged volumes, and other shelves crammed with all kinds of things – wooden figures, pine cones, dried flowers and chipped plates and bowls.

The white-haired woman handed me a knitted dressing-gown.

‘Here, put this around your shoulders,' she said. ‘It'll keep you warm.' Her thin pale lips parted into what must have been intended as a reassuring smile, but which disconcertingly displayed a flash of sharp incisors in her mouth. ‘You see, my dear, you're quite safe.'

I swallowed. Where was I? Who was she? But before I could attempt to push the questions past my dry throat, a door at the far end of the room opened and someone came in, carrying a jug and a glass on a tray. This was Grim, I supposed. He was very small – dwarf-like, in fact – and as dark as the woman was pale. He had bright beady eyes and was also very hairy, with a bushy beard and bushy eyebrows and black hairs sprouting out from under his collar. Oddly enough, the only place he didn't have hair was on his round bald head, which had the shine of a billiard ball. As he came closer, I heard a soft tapping and realised he had only one good leg – the other was wooden.

‘Water?' he asked. His voice, unlike the woman's rich tones, was thin, even squeaky.

I nodded and he filled the glass and handed it to me. It was full of sparkling clear liquid.

‘Drink it slowly,' he said, and I tried to do as I was told even though I was so thirsty it was hard not to gulp it down. It was the best water I'd ever tasted – cool, refreshing, with a faint, very pleasant scent – and like medicine it was balm for my sore throat.

‘Thank you,' I croaked.

‘You're welcome,' said the white-haired woman.

‘I … How long have I been here?' It felt as if I had been sleeping for an eternity.

‘Only one night – but most of the morning, too,' she said.

Panic seized me as my father's image leaped into my mind, crowding out the horror of what had happened to me.

‘I must go at once!' I cried. ‘I must go to my father! I must go to Aurisola!'

‘Aurisola! You couldn't even go up top in the state you're in,' said Grim, with a dry chuckle.

The woman shot him a cross glance. In a gentle voice she said to me, ‘My dear, I'm afraid there can be no question of you going anywhere just now. Your legs aren't broken, thank goodness, but they are badly bruised; your right ankle is sprained and your feet are cut to ribbons. We used Grim's strongest salve for them, but it'll take time for them to heal.'

Dimly I thought, so Grim's a healer. He doesn't look like one. But then, what is a healer meant to look like? Had I not just learnt that looks cannot be trusted? I'd looked
into Belladonna's face and seen a kind, loving stepmother. I'd not seen the black heart she hid under those beautiful features.

Swallowing hard, I said, ‘But you don't understand! My father – he's ill – very, very ill … And he doesn't know … He doesn't know what's happened to me.' I felt my chest tighten. ‘They'll tell him I'm dead.'

Grim and the woman looked at each other. She said, ‘Don't you fret, my dear. We'll see what we can do when the others get back.' There were more people living here? She saw my expression. ‘There are seven of us living in this haven. The others are out at work. You'll meet them tonight and then we can talk about it. In the meantime, you will have something to eat and you will rest. Recover a little strength. And then you'll be right.'

I wanted to argue but knew she was right. Only moments ago I had not been able to see. I was in no fit state to travel. Not yet, anyway. So I nodded, trying to keep my voice steady.

‘Thank you … er … Mrs … er …'

‘Just plain “Verakina” will do. And this is Grim,' she said, flashing her sharp-toothed smile. Grim smiled too, showing, in contrast, hardly any teeth at all.

‘My … My name is Bianca,' I said. I hesitated, uncertain whether to give them my surname or not, and Verakina saw it.

‘“Bianca” will do very nicely. Now then, you must be hungry.'

‘Yes,' I said, realising all at once that my belly felt painfully empty, especially with that savoury smell tickling my nostrils. ‘Yes, I am.'

‘Good. There is soup. And bread. I'll bring you a tray.'

‘No – please – can I try to sit at the table? I want to try to walk. If … If you'll help me.'

‘Of course. Grim, get the crutches.'

Grim scuttled away while Verakina lifted the quilt from my legs. I saw then that what she'd told me was true – my legs were covered in purple and green bruises. My right ankle was bandaged and my feet looked swollen and red. I began to think she was right and that I wouldn't be able to walk. But I could not lie here. I had to get up. Whatever it took, I had to walk. I had to heal, and quickly, if I had any chance of getting to Father before he learnt of my supposed death – or died before he heard anything at all. I did not dare to think that I might already be too late.

‘Here, let's get these on,' Verakina said, producing a pair of soft sheepskin slippers and slipping them gently onto my sore feet. As soon as they were on, I felt a little better. ‘They are coated inside with the balm,' she explained, seeing my expression. ‘Another of Grim's inventions.'

Grim came back with the crutches and they both helped me to stand and steadied me on the crutches. I was very glad for their help and for the crutches, too, for though once I was up my feet did not hurt as much as I'd feared, my head was swimming and I felt more than a little unsteady.

Finally seated at the table with a steaming hot bowl of bean soup and a thick slice of fresh bread in front of me, I discovered that at least part of the faintness I had been feeling must have been to do with hunger. I could not stop myself from finishing the soup and bread in a trice and when Verakina proposed I eat more, I did not refuse. It
was only then that I found my manners again, and I said, ‘This is so delicious. Thank you.'

‘Good. I'm glad you like it,' said Verakina, smiling.

I stammered, ‘Thank you so very much, for … for everything. You have been so very kind, taking in a stranger.'

‘If an outcast cannot help another, what are we for?' Verakina replied.

Her words struck me deeply. It would not surprise me to know that this strange pair had experienced harsh cruelties. Their curious appearance would be enough for some people to inflict all kinds of miseries upon them. I could believe that this might be the only place they were able to escape to. What did surprise me was that from her words, I knew that they saw me as an outcast, too. It shouldn't have shocked me, though, for indeed, was I not now an outcast?

‘How did you find me?' I asked.

‘It was the night patrol,' said Grim.

Seeing my puzzled expression, Verakina explained. ‘We have a roster. Each night, two of us are on patrol. Last night it was Carlo and Rasmus.'

‘Oh.' I had no idea who they were.

‘Anyway, they first came across your trail a fair distance from where they finally found you,' said Grim. ‘It took them a while, though. Would've been much different if
he'd
been there, of course.'

Surely Grim wasn't referring to himself in the third person …

Verakina frowned. ‘Well, he wasn't. He can't be everywhere at once!'

Bemused, I asked, ‘Who are you talking about?'

‘The Prince of Outlaws,' said Verakina, in a hushed, admiring tone.

‘Who?'

‘Yes, the Prince of Outlaws himself.'

I stared. ‘But how … How can that be? That was long ago …' The Prince of Outlaws was a legendary hero from an old story harking back to a dark time when Noricia was under the thumb of a warlord named Tadeus Melegant, who treated the land like his personal treasure-house and his people like dogs. That is, until there arose a young forest dweller known only as the Prince of Outlaws. He became the leader of the great rebel army that overthrew Melegant. Once peace was restored to Noricia, and a new parliament proclaimed, the Prince of Outlaws vanished, never to be seen again. That was centuries ago, though.

Grim gave a reedy laugh. ‘Ach, no, little lady, that one – if he were still alive – he'd be hundreds of years old by now! We speak of the nowadays Prince of Outlaws.'

‘But I've never heard of –'

‘And have you heard of everything in this world, little lady?' asked Grim, tartly.

I shook my head, awkwardly, colouring as he went on.

‘And if you have not heard of a thing, does it mean it must not exist?'

‘No,' I said, sadly, for his words had evoked a sudden memory of my conversation with Emilia at the ball. Emilia – and Lucian – whom I might never see again. Oh Lucian, I thought, sadly. We had known each other so briefly. Would he ever think of me? Would he wonder where I had gone? But Belladonna had warned him off, and
unlike with Emilia, I hadn't had a chance to explain. A lump formed in my throat again.

Verakina said gently, ‘We were all like that at first, my dear. It's the shock, you see. The pain. The confusion. The heartbreak.'

I looked at her. ‘You … You … Something happened to you?'

‘To me. To Grim. To all of us, yes. For each of us, the reason we are outcast is different. But for all of us it means loss. Of friends. Of family. Of home. Once, being outcast would have meant a loss of hope, too. A life of loneliness. For me, that's what it was like. For years I wandered alone, chased out of villages, reviled by all …'

‘But why? Why?' I cried.

She fixed her gleaming eyes on me. ‘I am – there is something that – that happens to me, at hunter's moon.' A pause. ‘That is why I was not on night patrol, last night, when you were found. I stay inside, always, every time hunter's moon comes around. And Grim – well, he keeps me company. Though he doesn't need to.'

‘Oh,' I said, uncertainly, as I remembered a story I'd heard once, long ago, from Rafiel and Margy's mother. Hunter's moon didn't just bring luck to hunters. It also triggered the change in shapeshifters such as werewolves. It was the time when the wolf in them was strongest. Was Verakina a werewolf? Looking at those gleaming eyes and sharp incisors, I couldn't help thinking she probably was. Yesterday the thought would have scared me. Today it only made me a little uneasy.

Seeing my expression, Grim cackled. ‘You wonder where you've come, don't you, little lady? Under whose
protection you're living? You wonder if you're safe with us.'

‘No, no,' I said, blushing and stammering. ‘I know I'm safe. I know that you are good and kind. I know that I am very lucky that your friends found me and brought me here. What I do not know is how I can ever repay you …' I bit down on my lip, trying to stop myself from bursting into tears.

‘By keeping our haven
secret
,' said Grim, quite sternly. I had the impression that he didn't altogether approve of my being here.