Soul Splinter (23 page)

‘No,’ Moll breathed, her throat closing tight. She wrapped her arms round Gryff and buried herself in his fur as all the hope she’d mustered drained from her heart. ‘Not this!’ she sobbed.

Siddy shook his head. ‘I don’t understand.’

Moll looked up, her voice almost swallowed by the tears. ‘He’s – he’s blind!’

‘But how?’ Alfie asked. ‘Did the wolf scratch his eyes? There’s no blood . . .’

Moll ran desperate hands over Gryff’s head. ‘It’s his whiskers. The wolf sliced them off! I knew that they were part of his strength – so did Willow somehow – but I didn’t know what would happen, only that Gryff would be weaker without them.’ Tears rolled down her cheeks and she held the wildcat’s head in her shaking hands. ‘It’s not meant to happen this way; he’s done nothing except protect us.’ Moll’s voice broke apart as outrage slipped into despair.

Siddy fumbled in the rucksack for the ointment they’d used on Gryff’s paws, but, when Moll held it over the wildcat’s eyes, he didn’t even blink. This was a dark damage no simple herb could fix.

Scrap flung her arms round Moll and Gryff and wept, and Alfie and Siddy sat beside them, their heads hung low. Neither could think of words that would make anything better.

Eventually Moll looked up from Gryff. She felt for her quiver on the path beside her, then stood up and set an arrow against the moonbeam.

Alfie started forward; he could tell what Moll was going to do. ‘Moll, Willow warned us we can only use the cocoons once. Shouldn’t we save it for when we can’t fight any longer?’

Moll pulled the arrow until the moonbeam was taut beneath her chin, then she looked at Alfie, her eyes brimming with tears. ‘My fight’s over without Gryff.’ She turned back to the tree, thought hard of a land where the night didn’t shatter into dark magic and animals like Gryff weren’t stripped of their strength. She willed this world on, begged it to come close, then fired her arrow. A shining cape hung down from the alder branch and, without a word, Moll gathered Gryff up in her arms. Though his weight almost crushed her, Moll heaved him into the cape with Siddy’s help, then she slipped between the silken fabric with him and folded them both into a place where they couldn’t be hurt.

S
everal hours later, Alfie woke inside the reeds. After keeping watch for a while, he’d smoothed down a resting place for him and Scrap and left Siddy on guard. But it was early morning now and the sky was pale blue over the autumn trees. Alfie stood up to see Siddy sitting on the path, his bow resting across his lap. He nudged Scrap awake.

‘We should get going,’ he said quietly.

He glanced at Moll’s Oracle Spirit hanging from the alder branch like a large white chrysalis. Below it two mallards wove in and out of the rushes. Alfie leant out and touched the cocoon gently, then a moment later Moll slipped out with Gryff. She pulled the arrow from the bark so that the cocoon vanished, then she cupped her hands into the river and drank. The others did the same and though they didn’t say anything they could tell from Moll’s swollen eyes that she’d been crying. Even the way Gryff stood beside Moll was different now. Before, his eyes would be scanning his surroundings, his ears pricking towards near-silent sounds. But now his shoulders hunched forward as he stared ahead with unseeing eyes.

‘Is the Blinking Eye far, Scrap?’ Siddy asked.

She shook her head.

Alfie squeezed his talisman, the knot of Raven’s hair inside his leather pouch, and turned to Moll. ‘Your fight’s not over without Gryff. You’ve got us, Moll. And we’re going to help you fix this.’

Moll sniffed. ‘How? Everything seems to be falling apart.’

Alfie was silent for a moment. ‘I don’t know how we’ll fix it, but you promised to undo whatever curse the Shadowmasks have put on me, and I’m telling you the same goes for Gryff. He’s looked after us every single day since the day I met him in Tanglefern Forest; now it’s our turn to look after him.’

Moll sniffed again and scuffed her boot against the grass, afraid to speak in case her voice should break.

‘You’ve got to believe we’ll help you, Moll,’ Siddy said. ‘Remember what Willow told us – together we’ve got a chance of beating the Shadowmasks’ dark magic. You can’t do this alone.’

Moll nodded, a flicker of hope kindling inside her at Alfie’s and Siddy’s words. They walked down the path and she trailed a hand across Gryff’s back so that he could follow her, on towards the Blinking Eye. His steps were hesitant, as they had been when his soles were cut, but he followed Moll’s every stride, never doubting her for an instant.

After a while, the river widened and fields patched together either side of them, some cut to stubble and filled with bales, others ploughed into trenches. Then sycamore trees with bright orange leaves curved up either side of the river and, further ahead still, two narrowboats, their hulls painted red and blue with green and yellow swirls, had been moored. The children hung back beneath a sycamore some way from the boats and Moll couldn’t help thinking about her brightly-painted wagon tucked safely in Tanglefern Forest. How she wished she could curl up in her box bed with Gryff now.

Alfie pointed to the boats. ‘We walk past as if nothing’s wrong, OK? Nice and normal-looking.’

Moll raised her eyebrows. ‘We’ve got quivers on our backs – and a wildcat. It’s hardly like they’re going to think we don’t mean trouble.’

Alfie looked down at Gryff, then lowered his voice. ‘Right now Gryff doesn’t seem as wild as he normally does, and if we just walk on past it may look like we’re kids out hunting pigeons.’ He shrugged. ‘You never know, the folk inside might be all right.’

They walked towards the narrowboats and Siddy began to hum.

‘What are you doing?’ Alfie hissed.

‘Trying to sound casual.’

Alfie threw up his hands. ‘That’s not casual, Sid; that’s just odd!’

Siddy shoved a hand into his pocket to commiserate about the situation with Hermit.

Then a door at the back of the first boat opened and a man came out, holding a mug of tea. He narrowed his eyes at the children as they passed, but said nothing. They walked on by the second boat in silence, their heads down, and Moll tried to ignore the smell of freshly-baked bread that came from it and the sound of her growling stomach. A woman was up early, wringing out clothes from a bucket in the stern of the boat. She looked up at the children, her eyes flitting over their dark features and dirty clothing.

She scowled at them. ‘Hey! You’re those dratted gypsies the village down the coast was talking of a few days ago, aren’t you? We travelled by there and heard about the trouble you’d caused – bewitching crops and making them die.’ She spat into the river. ‘I suggest you stop snooping round our boats and get out of my sight before I set my husband on you.’

Moll glowered at the woman, but Siddy clutched her wrist. ‘Please don’t start a fight before breakfast. We need to keep moving and not draw attention.’

They carried on walking, but, as they reached the end of the narrowboat, Alfie leapt from the path into its bow. Moll’s eyes widened, but beside her Scrap only giggled.

Of course
, Moll remembered.
Alfie’s invisible to them!

While the woman’s back was turned, he snatched up the loaf of bread set out on a tea towel, then jumped off the boat to rejoin the others.

He turned to Moll. ‘There have got to be some advantages to being like this.’ He paused. ‘And anyway she seemed like a rotten sort.’

Moll nodded. ‘Proper spudmuckers.’

They ate the bread as they walked, afraid of lingering any longer than they had to, and, when it had been eaten, Scrap quickened her pace, every now and again blowing her whistle until Alfie managed to grab it from her lips. It seemed they were getting close to the Blinking Eye now – whatever it might be – and Scrap’s excitement was growing.

They followed her over a wooden bridge, leaving the river behind, then they raced across a stubble field, in between the rounded bales. Moll’s hand never strayed from Gryff’s back and he went with her, wherever she led him. Moments later, the sea came into view again. It looked cool and grey under the morning sky, but the familiar cries of seagulls once more filled the air and a warmth spread out inside Moll; this place felt safer than the marsh and the blighted forest – and it reminded her of Little Hollows and everyone inside it. She thought of Oak lying in his hammock – had Willow been to see him yet or was Mooshie still tending his wounds?

Scrap’s dreadlocks bounced up and down against her back as she hurdled the gate at the far side of the field and thumped down on to softer ground. Moll helped Gryff over, then looked around. Sand dunes rose and dipped amid gorse bushes before spreading out into bracken towards towering white cliffs. And in the distance, some way to their left, the river rushed out to the sea.

Moll breathed deeply. The Shadowmasks hadn’t been here; the land was too rich and fresh. They were going to beat them to the Blinking Eye and perhaps everything would be OK. She bent low next to Gryff and stroked his head. His eyes, usually so bright, were dull and glazed and Moll felt the wildcat’s sadness deep inside her. She clenched her fists. The Shadowmasks would pay for what they’d done.

Scrap stared through the bracken until her eyes rested on a sheep track wiggling towards the coast. She ran down it, the others at her heels, and it was then that Moll realised where Scrap was heading.

The track wound through the bracken a little way down the cliff, out on to a peninsula of land jutting into the sea, and there, on the furthest point, rising up at the cliff edge like an old, forgotten tower, was a lighthouse. Its circular base, once painted white, was now chipped and battered from stormy weather, and a rusted ladder climbed its length on one side. But, at the top of it, a light blinked out over the sea, roving over the waters.

The sun rose up from behind the horizon and its dazzling brightness drowned out the lighthouse beam.

But Moll finally understood. Scrap had kept her part of the bargain. Because this wasn’t just a lighthouse: it was what the smuggler child had promised them all along.

This
was the Blinking Eye.

S
crap shoved the whistle in her mouth and blew hard. A handful of seagulls squawked back at her from above, but Scrap didn’t care. She blew the whistle again, even harder, and the others laughed with relief.

‘You did it!’ Alfie cried, the wind ruffling his hair over his eyes.

Scrap cartwheeled down the path and Moll and Siddy hurried to keep up with her.

‘Thank you, Scrap,’ Moll said.

Siddy nodded. ‘We never would’ve found this without you!’

Scrap twizzled her dreadlocks in delight and Siddy lifted Hermit out of his pocket.

‘Look, Hermit – the sea!’ Two shaking pincers reached imploringly from their shell towards the coast. Then a set of eyes appeared, caught sight of the lighthouse and glazed over with dread.

Moll bent down to Gryff. ‘We’ve found it,’ she whispered. ‘We’re closer to the amulet now and it’s going to help you, I know it.’ She stroked the fur beneath his chin and Gryff purred back, leaning helplessly into Moll’s body.

The track skirted round the edge of the cliff amid the bracken and Moll swallowed as she took in the sheer white face of rock plunging down to the sea. Waves crashed against boulders and Moll craned her neck closer – because mingling with the rush of the sea there was a roar – constant and fierce. But there was no waterfall in sight, as Moll had expected from such a sound, so she kept on walking with the others.

Eventually the bracken petered out into grass and sea thrift and the children stopped a few metres from the lighthouse. Moll could just make out a lamp inside a glass dome at the top of the tower. It was turning slowly, sunlight glinting off it, but, other than that, there was no movement inside. Curtains were drawn either side of a latticed window halfway down and even the stone outbuilding to the left of the lighthouse, its whitewashed walls chipped and cracked, looked abandoned.

‘Don’t these things usually have keepers?’ Siddy said. ‘Someone to check the lamp keeps turning?’

Alfie shrugged. ‘Doesn’t look like there’s anyone about.’