Witch Crag (5 page)

She looked back into Arc's strangely beautiful grey eyes. He jerked his head, beckoning her over.

And she went.

“Eat with us, tree rat?” Arc asked.

“No room,” she said. She didn't know what she was doing, she was so furious with Quainy.

“Bray'll shift. Won't you, mate?” He put his hand on the back of Bray's neck, ready to push him from his seat.

“Tell your friend to come over, too,” said Bray, resisting the pressure. “Tell Quainy.”

“Oh, get
over
it, Bray!” snorted Arc. “She's
going
. Not like Kita. Kita's staying.” His eyes never moved from Kita's as he spoke. Locked together. “Get your food, Kita. Go on. And Bray will shift.”

She turned, and headed for the serving table. A burst of laughter followed her, like the laughter she'd heard when she'd first got up the courage to speak to Arc. The young footsoldiers were gloating, watching Arc add to his conquests. She had no idea what she was going to do. As she queued for her bowl of mutton porridge she glared over at Quainy, who was still deep in conversation with the two drab women, still refusing to look up.

Something was spinning and screaming inside her head. She swayed. She'd go over to Arc, she'd let this thing with him run. . .

But as she walked towards him she found herself sinking down on a bench next to the matron from the pens, then eating fast, with her head down.

Kita was one of the first into the sleeping hut that night. She went to her usual place by the wall, rolled herself tightly in a sheepskin, and turned to face the bare wood. Before long Quainy lay down beside her. And punched Kita sharply in the back.

“Ow!” snarled Kita. “What the
hell—
”

“Shut up!” Quainy snarled back. “Wait till the others are asleep.”

It didn't take long. Sheep people were always exhausted; soon the hut was full of slow breathing. Quainy jabbed Kita again. “What's up with you?” she hissed. “Ignoring me, not sitting with me.”

“Why would I sit with you when you were with those
trolls
?” Kita hissed back.

“Kita, don't be so
childish
! Those
trolls
both work full time in the kitchen now. Marth is in charge of
supplies
. The dried food, the stored food, all kept in those huge boxes at the back of the kitchen. Guess where this is going?”

“No,” said Kita, sulkily, but she felt as though she'd come back to herself again. The terrible, frightening feelings that had possessed her ebbed away.

“We'll need supplies, won't we? That hard grain cake they make with sheep fat . . . dried berries . . . whatever we can get. I did a real weepy on Marth today, saying how scared I was about going as trade. She's taken me under her wing, teaching me how to cook breakfast because I'll need to as a wife. She'll make sure I'm in the kitchens until I go. And I'll be helping her get things from the supplies boxes.
Look
.” Quainy pulled a little dead-leaf package out of her pocket, and unrolled it. It contained a precious slab of wild bees' honeycomb, used to sweeten the sheep milk. “This'll keep us healthy. It's magic stuff. I snatched it when Marth's back was turned. I'll get more stuff tomorrow. Here, hide it under your bedding, that far corner, no one'll look there, they know you bite.”

Silently, Kita did as she was told. Then she said, “Quainy, I'm ashamed.”

“So you should be.”

“I doubted you. I felt – it was horrible. I thought you'd decided not to go.”

“The opposite.”

“I know. You were stealing honey and plotting to steal more . . . you're brilliant. I didn't so much as thieve a bit of old wool rope. It didn't cross my mind. You're way ahead of me.”

“Yes, Kita, because the moon's halfway to being full. We must go
soon
.”

“I know, I know. Look – we'll know tomorrow if Raff is with us.”

“What about going the night after that?”

“Will it give you time to get enough supplies?”

“Yes. We can't carry much, after all.”

“Good,” said Kita, “the night after next it is.” And she suddenly felt full of the most wonderful, confident, exhilarating energy. “I can hide what you get up on my ledge, we can pick it up when we go.”

“What route do we take, Kita? Only I was thinking – if we go straight towards the crag, across the grasslands and the wastelands beyond, we'll be seen. Clear as an ant on a bone.”

“We won't go that way. We'll go roundabout, under cover of the forest. Disappear into the trees from the east and head south. Get to the crag from the other side.”

“That'll take a lot longer. And it means going near. . .”

“The old city. I know. It's a huge risk, but only a risk, and crossing the open plains we'll be caught for sure.”

“All right. Maybe we'll make it. What about dogs, though? And crows?”

“Make ourselves big and noisy to scare them off.”

“And shout to the cannibals that we're here!”

“Look,” said Kita eagerly, “we can't plan all that, we don't know what's out there. But we'll deal with it! We'll deal with things as they come at us.”

“Let's just hope they don't come at us too hard,” said Quainy.

*

Kita woke the next morning determined to make amends for the day before. She was in the infants' pens again, and that was a blow as she'd hoped to be with the sheep, unsupervised, so she could leave easily and meet with Raff in the dung tunnel.

But she'd find a way round it, she'd think of something, she knew she would.

The matron almost smiled as she let her through the cage door. “Here again, Kita!” she said. “I asked for you again today. Well, we get on, you and I, don't we?”

Kita made herself smile back.
She thinks we get on. Just because I sat down beside her at the meal table
.
What desolate lives we lead here
.

“
And you've a way with the little ones,” the matron went on. “They cry less when you're here. Keep on as you are, and you'll be here all the time, and then you could be my successor, you know.”

A bigger smile was called for now, although the prospect horrified Kita. She forced herself to bare her teeth, muttered “thank you”, as if overwhelmed, then hurried off to help the infants get dressed.

The solution to getting out to meet Raff hit her almost immediately. The infants used a row of little clay potties at the far end of the shed; they were tipped into a large malodorous bucket which was emptied at the end of the day. When the matron wasn't nearby, Kita scooped up sandy earth from the ground, flung it hastily into the bucket, then tipped a brimming potty on top of it.

By the time she'd done this three times, the bucket was full. After the midday meal had been eaten, she drew the matron's reluctant attention to this. “H'm – upset stomachs again,” the matron sniffed. “That broth they sent over wasn't all it should be. . .”

“I'll empty it now,” said Kita, piously.

“Oh, you're a good girl. Thank you.”

Kita staggered lopsidedly along the narrow, steep-sided dung passage towards the outer barricade, carrying the heavy, reeking bucket. It was some time after the midday meal by now, but Raff wasn't in the passage waiting for her. The guard let her through the gate at the end; Raff wasn't by the dung heap. She emptied the bucket, then went back through the gate and lingered in the passage, wondering how long she could afford to wait, what possible excuse she could make to the matron about why she'd taken so long. . .

I'll have to go in a minute
, she thought.
And if Raff doesn't come – well, that's told me his decision
.

Slowly, resignedly, she began to walk towards the entranceway. Someone appeared in it, and for a moment, the light from above blanked out who it was, it was just a shape coming towards her. . . She held her breath in hope.

It was Raff, a bucket in either hand. “
Back up!
” he breathed, and she spun round and headed for the middle of the passage once more.

“Well?” she demanded, as he came to a halt beside her.

“Well, you're mad,” he said, putting down his buckets. “You're mad to even let that crazed Witch Crag idea enter your skull. And—”

“
And?
”

“
And if we don't die getting there I'll almost certainly get killed on sight because I'm a boy.”

“
And?!
”

“
And I'm coming with you.”

“Oh,
Raff
!” she cried, joyfully, dropping her bucket, flinging out her arms to get hold of him. Quick as a flash, he caught her by both wrists, mouthing,
Shhhh!

“When do we go?” he whispered.

“Tomorrow night.”

“Good. It'll be cloudy still, if this weather holds. Hide us from the moon.”

“Quainy's getting food supplies. I'll take them to my ledge, and tomorrow night we can talk after the end-of-day meal, make last-minute plans – and meet at the rock base when everyone's asleep.”

“Good,” Raff repeated, then he fumbled in his waistband and held something out to her. “Here. You hide this.”

Kita found herself taking hold of a knife. It was old, forged in the days before the Great Havoc, but still strong and sharp. She turned it over on her palm. “Only footsoldiers have these!” she breathed.

“I know.” He grinned. “And some footsoldiers like to take off their weapon belts when they take a dump. I stole it. It's the only good thing that's ever come from working endlessly in the latrine pits.”

“But
Raff. . .
” Kita's mind spun. Footsoldier knives were precious, brought with the sheepmen when they first travelled to the hill fort, and handed down from old to young. “If they suspect you . . . if they
search
you. . .”

“If they search me, they won't find it, 'cos you'll have it, won't you?”

“But – that might not keep you safe from a beating. If the one you stole it from works out where it went missing. . .”

“Too bad. I'll deny all knowledge and act dumb. Anyway, I think I'm safe. This particular footsoldier is pretty stupid. Now – we must go!”

“Who was it?” she asked, softly.

“Drell,” he mouthed back, then he picked up his buckets and hurried on down the passage.

Heart pounding, Kita tucked the knife into her shift sleeve, gripping it, concealing it, not knowing how she could bear to touch it.

Drell's knife – the knife that had slit the witch. She saw again the piercing look the young witch had given her as blood gushed from her throat.

Then she picked up her bucket and hurried out of the dung passage, and through the storage huts and work shacks. When she reached the central yard, it was deserted. She knew she had to hide the knife. It had a murderous past but it had sparked into life her plans to escape, and it might save their lives in the future. And her friends, her true friends, not only did they trust her crazy plan enough to risk their lives, they'd stolen stuff, wonderful stuff. . . Suddenly she was racing for the rock barricade. She hid the bucket behind a thorn bush at its base, then scrambled up her steep, secret route to the top. She tucked the knife into a hollow in the rock by the thick bramble bushes, then crawled through to her thin flint ledge.

And crouched there, looking out at the grasslands and the wasteland and forests beyond.

Looking out at freedom. They'd be out there the day after tomorrow.

She stared at Witch Crag, tiny in the distance. It seemed to her like a black, cracked finger beckoning.

“What took you so long?” demanded the matron, as Kita slipped back through the cage door to the pens.

“I'm sorry. . .” Kita began.

“Oh, sorry be damned. I know what you've been up to!”

Kita's mind skidded in horror. Had she seen her? Did she
know
?

The matron's face puckered up unpleasantly; then, shockingly, she winked. “I'm not so old that I don't remember spring,” she said, archly. “Who is it then? Is it Arc? I've heard the gossip.”

Eyes wide, throat dry, Kita nodded. “Don't tell!” she begged.

“Flirting with a footsoldier when you should be tending the babies!” the matron tutted. “Go on, put that bucket back where it should go, and get on with something useful!”

Kita whirled into the shed and out again. Drawn by her energy, the little ones gathered about her, and she started the drills, making them into a game, clapping and using a sing-song voice. Soon the infants were marching in time, up and down the cages, and clapping too. The matron appeared, frowning, then she shook her head, smiling, muttered, “Springtime!” – and left them to it.

Kita was smiling, too. She'd spotted a sturdy woollen bag, used for storing napkins, lying in the corner of the shed. If she could smuggle it out, it would be perfect for carrying their supplies in. . .

That night, when everyone was safely asleep, Quainy unpacked from her pockets and sleeves an impressive haul of food. Grain cake made with sheep fat, more honeycomb, dried berries, and a slab of cold mutton. Kita was delighted with it all, and Quainy was delighted with the woollen bag, and especially delighted that Raff had agreed to come. And she was pleased and terrified in equal measure when she heard about the knife.

Together, they packed all the food into the bag, then Kita slipped out into the cloudy night to climb up to her ledge with it. She was surefooted, steady, even in the dark. She looked out for possible pitfalls, places where she'd need to guide her friends, and noted them for tomorrow night.

The knife was still there in its hollow at the top of the rock face, glinting dangerously. She left the food in the brambles near it, taking the bag back with her. Quainy had another day in the kitchen; there would be more food to carry.

*

“I can't sleep,” Quainy whispered, as Kita snuggled back down next to her. “I'm scared.
Excited
. It's suddenly all so real. That we're going, I mean.”

“I know,” murmured Kita. “But you must sleep, dearling. You need to stock up on sleep for tomorrow night. I doubt we'll get much rest then.”

But Kita couldn't sleep, either. She lay awake staring at the drab wooden walls, thinking of all the things that could go wrong.

The next evening, Kita and Quainy, sitting some way away from Raff, ate what they hoped would be their last hill-fort meal. Then they left the food hut and Raff led the girls to a quiet spot by the sheep pens, where they wouldn't be seen in the damp dusk.

“Quainy got loads more food,” Kita said. “I hope it'll all fit in the bag.”

“I got these,” Raff said, holding up two sticks, one curved like a little bow with notches at either end and a skein of wool tied in the notches. “And this.” In his other hand he held up a stone with a hollow in it.

“Adorable,” said Kita, sarcastically, fondly. “What are they?”

“My fire-making kit. I'll show you, it works. We'll catch rabbits, if we're lucky, and cook 'em.”

“Was there any fuss about the knife?”

“Not so far. Although I did see Drell searching all along the fort walls today, looking like he wanted to throw up. . .”

“He'll get into real trouble,” murmured Quainy.

“Oh, do you
care
?” demanded Kita. “He used that knife to murder a girl.”

“A witch. And he was following orders.”

“So you feel
sorry
for him?” erupted Raff. “You think I shouldn't have taken it?”

“Did I say that?” squawked Quainy.

“Stop it!” hissed Kita. “Stop it,
please
. We can't afford to fall out.”

“We're not,” breathed Raff. “We're just jumpy. Quainy – think. When we can't be found tomorrow, he'll blame us – or the witches – for the loss of his knife. He won't cop it too hard.”

“OK,” whispered Quainy. “Sorry.”

“Let's focus on the practical,” said Kita. “When we go, take a sheepskin each. To drop on, and for warmth, later. Tie it round your neck, like a cloak.”

“I've got some wool rope we can use,” said Raff, rifling in his pocket – then he froze. They all did.

Suddenly, like a dog springing out from nowhere, Arc was among them. Eyes glaring; fists clenched. The air shook with violence.

Arc grabbed Raff's shoulder and shoved him backwards, but Raff stayed on his feet, facing him.

“What're you doing talking to Kita, you runt?” Arc snarled.

“She's my friend,” said Raff. He was white with terror, standing his ground.

“
Friend!
” Arc spat. “You're coming on to her! You think she'll take you off to the huts, don't you?”

“We're just talking,” said Kita, desperately, “it means nothing. . .”

“It means something to
him
!” exploded Arc, and he shoved Raff again, much harder this time, and this time Raff fell, he sprawled on the ground, and Kita knew the next movement would be Arc's boot in his back, on his head, and she acted swiftly, before her mind knew what she was doing.

She flung her arms round Arc's neck. “Are you
insane
?” she cried. His mouth was just above hers. “You don't really think I'd sleep with
him
, do you? When
you
said to me that we'd make a good baby. . .”

“You ran off when I said that.”

“I was shocked.”

“And you wouldn't eat with me.”

“I was shy.
Then
. Now I'm not. You were right. It was why I came over to you, why I spoke to you, both times, I just didn't know it at the time.”

Arc laughed, and put his hands on her waist. “And you know it now?” he asked.

“Yes. I do.”

“Then let's do it now.”

“No,” she croaked. “Too near sleep time. Tomorrow. After the end-of-day meal.”

He ran his hands up her body, on to her breasts. “All right, tomorrow,” he said. Then he dipped his head, and kissed her.

And Kita responded. She told herself she had to, because he had to be convinced she was sincere, she told herself she hated it. But her tongue moved with his, and she held his head as they kissed.

“We've got time, tree rat,” he breathed. “
Now
.”

“
No.
Tomorrow.”

“All right. But you kiss like that and then you – you're cruel.”

She smiled, and disentangled herself. “See you tomorrow, Arc.”

“Yes. And may the time run fast.” Then, amazingly, he pulled Raff to his feet, and said, “Sorry. Just stay away from her, all right?” Then he strolled off.

A kind of humming silence followed his leaving.

“Oh . . . my . . .
lord
,” breathed Quainy, at last.

“He was jealous,” Raff said, shaking his head in amazement. “He was jealous – of
me
.”

“That was . . .
almost
. . . romantic,” said Quainy, sarcastically. “
May the time run fast
.”

“He apologized,” said Raff. “He apologized to
me
.”

“He's got it bad, Kita,” said Quainy. “Are you sure you can bear to leave him?”

“All right, stop it,” exploded Kita, red faced. “I had to do that or he'd've laid into Raff. It was all I could think of.”

“And my
lord
did it work,” said Quainy. “He was
totally
convinced you wanted him.”

“One more word,” railed Kita, “I swear, Quainy, one more word, and you'll end up on the ground like Raff did!”

There was a shocked silence, then they all burst out laughing and
shhhhing
each other. “They have
so
much in common,” murmured Raff. “Really – they're
so
alike!”