Soul Splinter (22 page)

Alfie blushed. ‘I’m not sure I did. I was just thinking about something when I fired. Everything around me sort of slipped away, then, when I fired, somehow I knew I wouldn’t miss.’

‘An impossible dream,’ Willow said quietly. ‘To unlock the Oracle Spirit you have to believe in an impossible dream – something you want more than anything in the world, something that you hope for even when you’re not thinking about it.’

Moll looked at the Oracle Bone script engraved on the tip of an arrow and thought of her parents, of Oak lying ill in his hammock, of the lurking Shadowmasks. So many impossibilities.

‘You must never tell anyone else what your impossible dream is,’ Willow said. And then she added, in an even quieter voice, ‘Unless you feel they really need to know.’

Moll slid a glance at Alfie. She didn’t need to ask what he’d been thinking about.

W
illow gathered the group beside the river, a dark ribbon snaking away from the forest through the countryside. Above it, clouds hung in the sky, opening now and again to reveal the moon, strung up like a silver coin.

‘This is where I must leave you,’ Willow said. ‘But I’ll be watching from afar – we all will. Keep heart and have faith, however bleak things seem.’

Moll shuddered. Willow had stayed with them for several hours, helping them practise with their bows and arrows, and while she had been beside them the threat of the Shadowmasks had dimmed; they’d even made a campfire and eaten a rabbit Gryff had killed for them. But as they got ready to leave, a sense of menace brooded in the air.

Willow nodded towards Moll’s quiver. ‘May I?’

Moll shook it from her back and Willow set an arrow to the moonbeam, took aim at a low-hanging branch leaning over the river and fired. The Oracle Spirit billowed out, but, instead of snatching round the branch and hauling it down, it held fast, pinned to the bough where the arrow had jammed, and, like a hammock made from moonlight, the rest of the cape hung down in front of them, swaying slowly in the breeze. They clustered before it on the riverbank, their eyes wide.

Willow handed the bow back to Moll, then stretched out a hand and slipped it inside the cape. ‘Go on, touch it,’ she whispered.

They held out their hands and let their fingers brush against the Oracle Spirit; it was softer than satin, smoother than silk, and yet it felt strong too, as if it would never break.

Willow slipped her body inside a gap in the folds and sat there, her legs dangling out. ‘If you need protection – if you can’t fight any more – think of the Otherworld instead of your impossible dream and the Oracle Spirit will form a cocoon and keep you safe.’ She paused and looked at each one of them in turn. ‘When you’re inside, nothing can harm you, but you can only use your arrows in this way once, so use them wisely.’ She drew her legs in and wrapped the Oracle Spirit round her so that all the children could see was a pale cocoon of silk hanging from the branch.

‘That’s brilliant!’ Siddy cried. ‘We can hide inside them and the Shadowmasks won’t be able to touch us!’

Moll stretched out a hand and pulled the fold of material back.

Willow was gone, as Moll had almost expected, and they were alone again in the forest. Taking a deep breath, Moll scrambled up the tree, using the jutting branches like rungs of a ladder, then pulled hard on the arrow holding the cape and it came away. The second it did so, the Oracle Spirit vanished, locked back inside the arrow, and just a wisp of grey hung in the air.

Moll jumped down from the tree, slipped the arrow into her quiver and swung it on to her back. ‘Let’s get going. Come on, Scrap, lead the way.’

They stepped out of the forest on to the path lining the riverbank. It was almost entirely overgrown by long grasses and wild flowers, but they followed it along the river’s meandering course, south towards the coast. Moll felt for the leather strap of her quiver and held it tight.

After a mile of walking, Scrap stopped and turned to the others, her expression tense. Gryff craned his neck through the reeds towards the river, his tail slung low to the ground, his whiskers twitching. He’d seen something: Moll knew the signs. She reached for her bow and listened.

Something was stepping through the still waters lapping the reeds. The moonlight shivered. Then there was a splash, reeds shook and a large bird burst up from the riverbank and flapped off into the night.

Alfie breathed out slowly. ‘Heron.’

They carried on walking and Moll was suddenly glad of the alder tree ahead, its long, thin trunk a familiar shadow in the night. It reminded her of the alders lining the river back in Tanglefern Forest. She’d spoken to Alfie for the first time up in their branches and she’d fished in the shallows below them for minnows with Siddy every summer for as long as she could remember. Moll tried to hold these memories close, anything to shift her mind from the danger they were facing.

But, as they walked beneath the tree, Gryff began to growl – quietly at first, like a rumbling engine far away, and then louder, as the noise grew in his throat.

‘There!’ Siddy screamed suddenly.

Tucked into the branches of the alder, two yellow eyes blinked at them slowly.

‘The owl that Willow injured!’ Moll yelled.

It shot out from the branch, no longer wounded, its steel blades glinting in the moonlight. Moll ducked and the knives skimmed past her skin. But her reactions were quick, faster than the others, and while they reached for their bows she had already ripped hers from her shoulder and set an arrow to it. She felt the moonbeam in the grooves of her fingers, pulled back until it was taut beneath her chin, then she thought single-mindedly, as Willow had taught them, and fired at the owl.

The arrow jammed into the bird and it reeled, screeching and twisting in the air. But the Oracle Spirit brought it crashing to the ground and, as Moll stood over it, she watched the owl crumple into a stack of knives and feathers. She spat on it, hard, as the Oracle Spirit melted away.

Alfie slung his bow back onto his shoulder and raised an eyebrow. ‘Fast thinking, Moll.’

Moll shrugged. ‘Got a-hold of my thought and didn’t let it go.’

They carried on walking and, after a while, Scrap turned to the group. Alfie approached her slowly and said her name, so she knew he was near.

‘Are you tired?’ he asked her.

Scrap nodded.

Alfie was silent for a moment, then he said, ‘If you hold my quiver, I’ll carry you on my shoulders.’

Scrap let the rucksack she’d been carrying with the blankets inside slip to the ground. Siddy picked it up and Alfie crouched as Scrap felt for his back. She had got used to Alfie now and somehow she was able to find him more easily, as if she could sense where he was, even without being told. She clambered up on to his shoulders.

Siddy grinned. ‘You’ll look like a girl floating in mid-air to strangers!’

They followed the river on, long into the night. It widened and quickened, its sound growing to a roar, and, as they came to a cluster of ash trees with huge boughs leaning over the river, Alfie turned to them.

‘Let’s rest here for a moment,’ he panted, the weight of Scrap’s body finally slowing him. ‘It’s sheltered enough.’

As they stooped beneath the trees, clouds folded over the moon and the night seemed to thicken. Moll glanced back towards the forest, willing herself to be braver than she felt, but, when the clouds slid away from the moon, her stomach plunged.

‘On the path!’ she hissed to the others. ‘Look!’

Dark shapes, seven or eight of them at least, were slinking from the forest towards them. Moll tried to keep calm; she knew these animals, even in the dark. They were foxes. But foxes didn’t hunt in packs.

And then a howl split the night and Moll froze. Foxes didn’t howl either.

These were wolves.

‘
T
he arrows!’ Moll screamed, reaching for her bow. But she was fumbling this time, her fingers damp with sweat.

The wolves bounded towards them, a blur of grey limbs and fur. Their eyes gleamed purple against the night and Moll knew as she saw them that these were more than ordinary wolves: these were creatures conjured by Darkebite.

Alfie pushed Scrap behind him, then slotted an arrow to his bow and pulled. He fired at the same time as Siddy, and both boys’ arrows lodged deep inside the wolves at the head of the pack. The Oracle Spirit ballooned out, snatching round them, and they groaned before slumping down dead. Scrap reached for her catapult and fired at the next wolf. Her stone struck hard and the wolf slowed for a moment, long enough for Alfie and Siddy to reload.

Gryff charged forward, dodging the snarling teeth and lashing out against the wolves with his claws. And, behind him, Moll set an arrow to her bow and fired just as a wolf leapt towards her. The beast crashed down at her feet: its head was enormous, its jaw a cavern of razored teeth, and its claws were long, black and hooked, like the talons of a giant bird of prey. Moll tore herself away and took aim once more with a fresh arrow. Again and again the wolves advanced and the children whirled to face the threat, sending Oracle Spirits into the pack.

Then the wolves were fewer, just a handful bounding towards the children. Their howls shredded the night, then their muzzles bent low, purple eyes burning, and they stalked closer, snarling. Siddy leapt on to a low-hanging branch, drew his bow back and let an arrow fly. One of the wolves spasmed as the Oracle Spirit swelled round it, then it stumbled to the ground, dead. Alfie and Moll fired again until there was just one wolf circling them. All eyes were trained on it, every arrow poised, then a cloud rolled over the moon and the wolf disappeared from sight.

‘Quick! Hide in the reeds!’ Alfie shouted.

There was a scuffling of feet and panting breaths as Moll darted backwards with Gryff to where the reeds were tall and thick. But a heavy, hungry breathing followed them.

Moll saw the eyes first, a glower of purple in the dark, then the moon slipped out and she saw that the wolf was just metres from her and Gryff, its jaw dripping with saliva, rows of teeth gleaming in the moonlight. Too late to raise an arrow to her bow, Moll retreated, her face pressed against the reeds. She waited for the pain, her features twisted with fear. But it didn’t come.

With a snarl, Gryff flew through the air towards the wolf. Claws clashed, but the wolf tossed Gryff aside and made to leap for Moll. In a flash, the wildcat was on his feet again, pouncing on the wolf’s back. The beast howled and staggered backwards. Gryff tore at the wolf’s fur with his claws, then the wolf whipped his drooling jaw round and snapped centimetres from Gryff’s face.

‘No!’ Moll screamed, reaching for her bow. Her thoughts ran in frenzied circles and even when the arrow was in place, she knew she was going to miss. It careered out of the bow and struck a branch above the fight, before dropping uselessly down. Moll’s blood roared. ‘Get back, Gryff!’

But she knew no amount of yelling would help. Gryff’s instinct to protect her outweighed everything else; he’d fight for her life until the bitter end.

Alfie hesitated with his bow. ‘Moll, he’s got to let go. I can’t fire!’ he cried. ‘If my aim’s not perfect, I’ll hit Gryff!’

The wildcat leapt from the wolf’s back for a second and Moll stiffened. Gryff was tossing his head from side to side and as he turned to face the wolf again his growl seemed weaker, smaller. But, in that fleeting moment, Siddy took aim with his bow and released an arrow. It shot through the air, struck the wolf hard and the Oracle Spirit burst out. The creature slumped to the ground, dead, and Gryff staggered backwards.

Moll sprang out from the reeds and threw herself down beside the wildcat. She held him close while the others gathered round. Gryff’s body shuddered inside her arms and suddenly Moll grew very still and her thoughts turned dark and cold. There were no wounds on his body, no blood from any cuts. And yet . . . She pulled back from Gryff and, shakily, the wildcat stood up. In the moonlight, Moll could see that his whiskers had been sliced clean off, and her heart trembled.

‘What is it, Moll?’ Siddy asked.

Moll looked into Gryff’s eyes, but they were glazed and distant, not focusing on her own.