The Black North (22 page)

‘
Follow them, my daughters! To the ends of the North, to the edge of everything – stop them!
'

Oona arrived at a rim of earth and sank the knife into somewhere above, using it to heave herself free. She emerged into a different dark, and such welcome cold. Stars were starting. What surrounded looked like night. But Oona was beginning to realise that in the Black there could be no firm naming of things like ‘night' or ‘day'. They were in a place of constant gloaming – a ceaseless desire always towards Black.

There was no sight of the Big House or its Rotten Hill. Then Oona heard once more the almighty creak and complaint of Loftborough: across the Black, she saw houses long-legged and lurching in the wind.

‘So what do we do now?' said Merrigutt, almost lost, only two yellow eyes seen hovering near the ground. Beside the jackdaw, Oona saw the severed claw from the Mother of the Briar-Witches. Oona took a step towards and the claw shifted – still the slow opening and closing of its fingers, like an enduring wish to strangle.

‘Would you kindly now release me?' asked the Master of the Big House.

Oona still held two things tight – knife, and the boy's hair. She relieved herself of one but kept hold of the other: the blade went back into her cloak so she could use both hands to clutch the boy and shout, ‘Why did you lead us into that? You should've just told us what was happening and we would've helped!'

But the boy said nothing. Mood? Contrite, humble, whimpering and lamenting, the aged side of his face gathering tight for tears. And this angered Oona all the more, made her shake him and shake him as though he might shed the answers she wanted. But Merrigutt came to Oona's shoulder and said, ‘Just leave him. Not worth bothering with.'

So Oona stopped. She released the boy, letting him slump onto Black.

‘Thank you,' he said. ‘And I offer my humblest apologies for –'

‘Oh, give over!' Merrigutt told him. ‘You're an insufferable dose and spoilt rotten! And don't even think about mustering any more of those hearthside-tale-tears, for you'll get no sympathy from either of us! Treacherous brat.'

‘I deserved that,' he said. He didn't weep. ‘You are quite right and I accept it. I won't be long left in this world anyway, at least not in the form I'm accustomed to.' And he unbuttoned his father's cloak to show: the arm that had been flesh was darkening, being seized by stone, a greyish crust creeping down from the shoulder. Soon he'd be the same as his sister.

Oona felt she should ask Merrigutt, ‘Is there nothing we can do?'

‘No,' said the jackdaw. ‘There's no reversing of it. It's the kind of magic that –'

Then the boy said, ‘Wait! Quiet! Do you hear that?'

Oona listened. The fall of boot and hoof on stone? The call of male voices? She heard, saw: a mass of firelight was marching, on horseback invading. Arriving, just as the Briar-Witches had said.

‘The Invaders,' said the boy. ‘They've come to –'

‘Wait,' said Oona. ‘Quiet. Do you hear that other thing?'

They listened, and heard this sound: the rattle of collected metal. And then hardly a sound at all, like the end of hearing: a deepening hush, a silence like the place after a man's last breath. Oona looked at Merrigutt, and both knew: it was the prompt arrival of a funeral coach; pulled by a silent stallion, driven by a figure of shadow, and summoned by the promise of death.

‘We make haste back to my home,' said the boy of the Big House. ‘And quick – it's the only place safe now.'

But Merrigutt and Oona agreed: ‘Nowhere safe.' The call of an Invader made them all recoil –

‘Search every rickety place in this dump! Don't stop until you find that child!'

Oona thought of the Briar-Witches, their words: ‘prizes' is what they'd spoken of, children being brought to them. Then more orders from the Invader's voice, a shouting of, ‘And make sure she has that object our King described!'

‘They're looking for you,' said the boy of the Big House, and with more than half of him stone he had to limp and drag towards Oona. ‘That Stone – it is what they want. They know that you have it.'

‘If you even think about betraying us again,' said Merrigutt, and she threw herself at the boy, wings batting his face with furious dark. ‘If I even see a hint of a notion coming into your eyes about giving us over to the Invaders then I'll –'

‘I'm not going to do anything of the sort!' said the boy.

‘What now?' Merrigutt asked, back on Oona's shoulder. ‘What are you going to decide?' Oona didn't speak: she was thinking things almost hopeful, things she wasn't ready to say.

‘They'll burn the whole place to cinders,' said the boy. ‘They won't care! They're remaking the North anyway so –'

‘Quiet!' snapped the jackdaw, and she asked again of Oona, ‘Are you going to speak or not? We can't stay here watching. If you want my opinion, we've done all we can and more than enough. You did well – that Mother of the Briar-Witches is likely dead now after losing her claw, so the other ones won't know what to do without being told.'

‘I beg to differ,' said the boy. ‘It won't stop the daughters from attacking. The Briar-Witches may no longer be organised, true, but that doesn't make them peaceful. If anything, I'd venture that makes the more dangerous – they'll be feral now.'

‘No one asked for your opinion,' said Merrigutt. ‘Isn't there a fountain for you to go and stand in?'

And they argued, voices shrunken by that hush – the quiet brought close by the Coach-A-Bower. And at last, Oona decided, but with no need for words – she quickly plucked the claw of the Mother of the Briar-Witches from the ground and added it to her satchel, and then ran back towards Loftborough.

Merrigutt was in the air, flying close to follow, demanding, ‘What the blazes are you doing?'

‘Something,' Oona told her.

‘Well, you might want to slow or himself is going to end up as a fence-post in a field!'

Oona half-glanced back – the boy could only lag, might as well have been dragging a millstone. But Oona didn't slow. Not till she arrived at the long limbs of Loftborough's houses. She crept and kept low. And then she saw her hopeful thoughts made visible –

‘
Children
,' she breathed.

A single carriage was stopped in the street. Only one, though. What about the dozen from Drumbroken? Where was the rest of the procession? Oona examined and saw so much bewilderment in the children's faces trapped inside: their pale peering-out soft, incurious. Just a pair of Invaders on horseback were doing the guarding, the rest elsewhere with their shouts to the women of Loftborough, ‘Drop your ladder down! We are here to search your home in the name of the King!' But no ladder or anything like it came tumbling. There was no light in any of the houses.

‘Maybe they left,' whispered Merrigutt. ‘Saw the Invaders coming and just deserted, like we should be on our way to doing.'

Oona didn't answer – she was examining the carriage, seeking just one face and one set of eyes, certain that she'd recognise them even in such cram and dark. And like it might even bring him into existence, to her attention, Oona murmured, ‘Morris? Morris?'

Merrigutt said, ‘Stay put. I'll go investigate.
Stay
.'

The jackdaw left. She went high to circle then suddenly down, landing lightly on the carriage. One Invader standing close gave the jackdaw a glance, but only that: wasn't bothered.

Oona saw Merrigutt's head dip between bars. What was she asking? Was she getting a response? Oona waited but didn't want to, more anticipation bubbling in her belly than she could bear, her breathing shortened, hands holding tight to the leg of the house.

Then Merrigutt soared, circling so no one would watch or care where she went, then finally down to resettle on Oona's shoulder. She said, ‘Isn't there. They don't know of him.'

‘Might still be in there,' said Oona, needing to believe. ‘Maybe they just don't know his name. Or maybe –'

‘No,' said Merrigutt. ‘Can't be – all the children in that carriage are girls.'

Oona said nothing. She closed her eyes. And there again, indelible – the image like a mockery of Morris whispering,
‘Follow me, Oona. Follow …'

And Oona wouldn't rest, wouldn't relent – she opened her eyes and all energy and agitation she switched to another mission.

‘Right,' she said. ‘I'm still not letting any of these girls be fed to the Briar-Witches. I won't let that happen.'

‘I'm glad to hear it.'

Oona turned.

The landlady of The Loyal Martyr stood close, and around her stood the answer for the lack of light in Loftborough: all women were waiting, all with rifles in hand and looking more than ready.

‘We're here to help,' said one.

‘Time to put an end to this,' said another.

‘I won't let any more young girls be taken,' said the landlady. ‘Not a chance of it.' And every head gave a slow, solemn nod.

‘Good,' said Oona. ‘Then we fight.'

‘Oona,' Merrigutt began, ‘listen to me, I think we –'

‘Don't tell me what to do,' said Oona. ‘It's decided now.'

The jackdaw persisted, her tone hardly troubling with whisper: ‘Oona, these women can't fight. They can't even –'

‘Go then,' said Oona. ‘You don't have to stay. Leave if that's what best for you, but I'm staying to help. I'm helping these girls. Morris might not be with them but I'm not gonna let them be fed to those things underground.'

No more words from the jackdaw. But Oona pictured – perhaps nightmared – Merrigutt lifting once more, not circling or wheeling, and not returning. Making her decision: leaving.

‘We have to do this,' Oona told her. ‘No choice.'

Still no words from Merrigutt.

Oona thought she knew what to say to soften the old bird –

‘Look: it's these women against all those Invaders, all men. We can't leave them to it. You wanted some fight out of them and now we're gonna get it.'

The jackdaw flexed its wings. Twitched and spasmed and Evelyn Merrigutt appeared as an old woman and said, ‘Right, but on one condition: I'm in charge of them. Because if we're going to have any chance at all against Invaders and Funeral-Makers and Briar-Witches, we'll need more than rifles. We'll be needing some strong North magic of our own.'

‘All right, my girl,' said Merrigutt, returning to Oona's shoulder, ‘now the magic's been sown, let's see what shape it takes.'

Oona had watched Merrigutt pinch some scarlet powder from that useful supply in her clothing, enough to bury by the legs of two opposing Loftborough houses – two volunteered by the two most willing of the women, a Mrs Molloy and a Mrs Hanlon.

Then Oona, Merrigutt, the Loftborough women and the beleaguered boy of the Big House all waited. And slowly, things began –

‘Stand back,' said Merrigutt, speaking more to the women of Loftborough than Oona. The long legs of the nearest house began to tremble, Merrigutt's magic making them wake. And then the legs of the other on the opposite side of the street, the same – started to shudder in a way unrelated to any element. The two guarding Invaders were noticing because their horses were noticing – tossing their heads, spooked. So the soldiers began to debate, but stupid against stupid –

‘What's going on there with them houses?'

‘It's nothing! That's the way these houses are, they shift about!'

‘Nah. Something else.'

‘I said it's nothing, so stop your –'

Then they couldn't deny it –

Terrified and excited at the sight, Oona saw the houses tear themselves free: like men fresh out of The Loyal Martyr and full of the drink, they staggered towards each other, windows fracturing, glass as fine as splinter falling, slate slipping from roofs and legs crunching almost buckling –

One Invader cried ‘Look out!' and the other echoed and they both drove heels into their horses to make them fly one way together, abandoning the single carriage of the Coach-A-Bower and captured children –

‘Ready yourself,' Merrigutt told Oona.

And then the collision: Mrs Molloy and Mrs Hanlon's houses slammed into one another, rebounded and – as the Oona and Merrigutt had planned and hoped it – toppled to the street on either side of the carriage.

Oona said it to herself: ‘Now.'

She took the Master of the Big House by the sleeve and led him. Merrigutt stayed, ready with the women to fight, to cast magic on any other house that needed it.

Oona had to scramble over the fallen legs of Mrs Molloy's home, the boy from the Big House doing his best to follow, but doubting: ‘You sure this is the best possible plan?'

‘Yes,' she told him, though really she was thinking, It's all the plan we have! ‘Keep moving – you've got some making up to do so you better do as I say!' Both over and then low.

Oona looked to the dark figure that sat at the front of the carriage – the coachman hadn't moved, his whip remained limp, looking threatless. Oona went slower though. Faces inside the carriage saw her and might've stirred a bit, but not in any way lively. Oona knew it would take a lot to get them moving. Luckily enough, just one large lock kept them in. Locks were easy – Oona had seen plenty and knew the knack. She took her knife from her cloak and slipped it into the keyhole, letting the blade do the work, feeling, and letting those subtle feelings travel into her fingers.

Then a volley of Invaders' shouts –

‘What's happened here!'

‘Keep an eye on them children! That's the most important thing!'

‘Them Witches won't be happy if we don't have any fodder for them!'