Where the Woods End Page 15

  “Stop it!” Kestrel shouted, horror bubbling in her throat. She tried to scramble away, but the dog threw itself at her back and pinned her to the ground.

  Pippit launched from Kestrel’s pocket like a small tornado, throwing himself at Kestrel’s mother and landing spread-eagled on her face. Her mother cried out, releasing the tooth. Finn fell still as the dog snapped its jaws at Pippit. Kestrel scrambled up, snatched the bundle of wool from the ground and pried it open, rescuing the tooth inside.

  Her mother hurled Pippit to the side and grabbed Kestrel. Kestrel wrenched away and, on a desperate impulse, shoved the tooth in her mouth and swallowed it.

  Her mother paled. Kestrel met her mother’s eye triumphantly, even though she felt a little bit sick.

  “Deal with the weasel,” her mother hissed at the dog, jerking her head toward Pippit on the ground. Kestrel dove for him, but the dog got there first. It snapped Pippit’s tail between its jaws and began to shake him. Pippit twisted around and sank his teeth into the dog’s muzzle.

  The dog bit down, hard, then dropped him. Pippit skittered away, howling. Kestrel, sickened, saw that half of Pippit’s tail was still in the dog’s mouth.

  Kestrel grabbed her spoon from the ground and faced the dog. She readied herself to fight, but the dog was staring at her mother. Kestrel turned. There was blood trickling from her mother’s nose. She took a step back into the house so she could hold on to the door frame. One of the threads from her sleeve had come loose in the struggle, and her clothes were tattered. She looked suddenly exhausted. She slowly put one hand over her face, as though nursing a terrible headache.

  “Don’t you have anything to say?” Kestrel asked, feeling reckless. “Aren’t you even going to set the dog on me?”

  “I should have gotten rid of you a long time ago,” her mother said, her voice strange and low. Her fingers were digging into her cheeks.

  She stumbled back into the house, slamming the door on both her and the dog. It sat down on the doorstep, looking small and alone.

  Kestrel turned and ran over to Finn. She expected him to sit, groaning like Runo had, but he was just a small, limp pile on the floor.

  “Get up,” she said. “It’s safe. Finn. C’mon.”

  He was flopped in the leaves, lying on his side with a glazed look on his face. Kestrel dropped down beside him. She saw something move in the corner of her eye and realized that the other kids had gathered around the side of a cottage to watch. Not a single one of them came to help. “It’s not funny,” she said to Finn, ignoring them. “Come on.”

  Nothing happened. She looked at the other kids. Runo’s mouth was hanging open, and even Hannah looked pale.

  “Why aren’t you doing anything?” she snapped. Briar twitched, but didn’t say anything. Kestrel shook Finn again, but he was as limp as a scarecrow.

  “Get up, you idiot,” she hissed. “I mean it!”

  Finn didn’t answer. She grabbed his shoulders and shouted in his ear.

  “Finn!” she howled.

  Kestrel’s heart collapsed into itself, even though she hadn’t thought it could break any further. She put her head in her hands, wailing. She couldn’t cry. She could only make one long, horrified noise.

  “Shut up,” Finn mumbled. “Head hurts.”

  Kestrel stopped immediately and looked up, astonished. Finn blinked slowly, then sat and rubbed his head.

  Briar was the first to move. She rushed over and dropped down beside Finn.

  “What did that witch do to you?” Briar gasped at him.

  “The same thing she did to me,” Runo said, finding his voice. “And all because of her.”

  The kids all fixed their eyes on Kestrel.

  “I tried to stop her!” Kestrel said, boiling over. “You saw me!”

  “She hurt Finn because you wouldn’t do as you were told.”

  “Are you serious?” Kestrel asked, striding forward. They all scattered backward, like they were scared of her. “She’s the one who tortures people!”

  Briar’s eyes flickered to her mother’s cottage, as though she was afraid Kestrel’s mother might hear.

  “Don’t worry, Finn,” Hannah said, ignoring her. She gave Kestrel a truly hateful look. “We’ll make sure you don’t get hurt again.”

  “He knows it wasn’t my fault,” Kestrel said. She reached out for Finn, but he flinched away. Kestrel stopped short, surprised. “Finn, tell them.” He didn’t respond, only looked at her blearily. “Finn?”

  He shook his head and turned away.

  “Leave me alone,” Finn mumbled, touching the side of his face as though he had a toothache. “I’ve had enough.”

  Hannah and Briar picked him up, putting their shoulders under his arms, and helped carry him away.

  Pippit was watching from behind a stack of wood, but as soon as he saw them go he ran up Kestrel’s sleeve, whimpering. His tail was a tattered stump.

  “Kes,” said Pippit timidly, licking her face.

  Kestrel turned her face away, trying to hide the tears that were threatening to leak from her eyes.

  “Kes,” he said. “Tail. Ow. Hug. Nasty!”

  “Not now,” she said, her voice cracking.

  “Tail! Ow!”

  “Leave me alone!” she burst out. Pippit froze. Sorrow and rage bubbled up together, and she couldn’t stop herself.

  “Tail,” he insisted. “Ow! Help, Kes? Clever Pippit?”

  “I could have stopped her by myself,” Kestrel snapped. “You’re the one who decided to bite her. It’s your own fault your tail’s gone!”

  As soon as she said it, she knew it wasn’t true. But it was too late to take it back.

  Pippit froze, staring at her, his nose twitching as though he couldn’t digest what she was saying. Then he hissed and leaped from Kestrel’s hand, landing in the leaves and skittering away.

  “Wait,” she cried, stepping after him, trying to spot him in the leaves. It was quiet, and loneliness was already settling over her shoulders like a cloak. “Pippit! Come back!”

  He was gone.

  She ran after him, tripping on her skirt. She thought she could see Pippit darting ahead of her, but then he was lost, and she was alone among the black trees. Regret formed a bitter lump in her throat.

  She stopped and slumped against a tree. She was alone. Completely, utterly, and irrevocably alone. Her best friend hated her, and so did Pippit. There was no one to turn to. For a second she wished her dad would come back from a hunting trip; he’d know what to do. Then she remembered he’d never come out of the woods again, no matter how bad things got.

  It felt like all the air had been suddenly sucked out of her lungs. Part of Kestrel wanted to curl up on the forest floor and stay there forever.

  But another part of her was trained to fight. She’d made her dad a promise, and she was going to keep it.

  She dragged herself to her feet, wrapping her fingers around her spoon. Three black crows were sitting in the branches above her, kicking needle leaves at each other, but as soon as they saw her they croaked and flapped away.

  Maybe she looked as dangerous as she felt.

  She would do it all herself. She would find the Marrow Orchard and steal the bloodberries to feed to her mother. She would wrestle her secrets away from her, because now she was sure her cellar was crammed full of them. She would find out the truth about her forgotten memories. And finally, she would find a way out of this forest. And no one—not even her own grabber—was going to stop her.

  “Bloodberries,” she said, rolling the word around her mouth. It sent a shiver down her spine. She closed her eyes and imagined plucking them from the Marrow Orchard, putting them in her pocket, and bringing them home.

  All she needed was a distraction, and the answer was as dreadful as the Briny Witch’s laugh.

  THE BRINY WITCH�
��S EYE

  Kestrel shredded the beetle dress into hundreds of tiny pieces. Off came the tight laces, off came the cruel black buttons. She ripped huge slits in the skirt so she could move again and pulled the laces apart so there was room to breathe without being cut in half. She tore the pins out of her hair and kicked them into the bushes with the scattered beetle wings, and with every piece of the dress that she ripped her determination to win grew.

  Night was already creeping through the trees. Candlelight shone through the shutters in her mother’s house. Kestrel dug a hole at the edge of the forest while she waited for the light to go out, ignoring the tight, nervous feeling in her throat. She pushed the pins and beetle wings and tattered pieces of dress into the hole, then stamped earth down over the top.

  She wasn’t going to leave things behind for her grabber to take.

  Kestrel knew it was close. The back of her neck itched, as though someone—or something—was staring at her very hard, but every time she turned around, the forest was empty. Her brain was screaming at her to run. Every second she spent hiding was a second the grabber could use to build its body. But she knew she didn’t have a chance of escaping if her mother still had the black dog.

  She backed against a tree and closed her fingers around the holey stone in her pocket, feeling like a snail without its shell.

  “She’ll go to sleep soon,” Kestrel said reassuringly, watching her mother’s house. For a moment, she forgot that Pippit wasn’t there. The only thing listening was the cold, hard moon.

  Slowly, the village shut itself up. The kids crept back into their houses in dribs and drabs. Walt threw a last log onto the wolf fire and slipped inside. Before retreating to his house, Ike crept to her mother’s door and left a bowl of soup outside before scuttling away like a frightened rat.

  Finally, the light flickered out in her mother’s house. Kestrel pulled the hood of the wolf-skin cloak over her head and braced herself, sucking in the power in its teeth and claws.

  The door was unlocked. Kestrel left it ajar so there was a small wedge of light to see by, highlighting the long-legged spiders perambulating over the ceiling. The room was cold and filled with scuttling mice.

  “Mother,” Kestrel whispered, fixing her eyes on the dark shape in the middle of the room, so quietly she was only just moving her mouth. “Are you awake?”

  Her mother had her head propped against her hands, her elbows dug into her knees. Her mouth was slightly open and she looked dead but for the thin whistle that came through her nose. As Kestrel had suspected, she was fast asleep. She’d been angrier today than she had in weeks, and it had exhausted her. The black dog was snoring by her side.

  Kestrel crawled toward her mother and the dog, trying to make herself as tiny as possible. Her breath rattled loudly in her ears. As she picked her way toward them her elbow caught on a piece of red thread, and the whole room shivered.

  Her mother grunted. The dog twitched. Kestrel bit her tongue, screaming internally, but they both fell silent again.

  When she was sure they were still asleep, Kestrel swept her hands over the floor around her mother’s skirt, squinting until she could see the piece of black string used to control the dog. It was next to her mother’s right hand, which lay palm-up like another spider.

  She tried to remember exactly what her mother had done with the string when she was tying the dog up. It had looked like a simple knot, but what if there was more to it?

  Well, she didn’t have a choice. As long as she did it slowly.

  She reached out and touched the string. The dog shivered but didn’t wake. Kestrel, with her eyes fixed on the dog, picked up the loose end and began looping it over itself, pulling it through the hole as gently as possible, her tongue sticking out the corner of her mouth.

  “Steady, boy,” she whispered to the dog. “I’m just putting your leash on. . . .”

  The dog’s eyes flicked open, lamp-yellow and accusatory. Without thinking Kestrel grabbed the string in both hands and pulled tight.

  The dog let out a strangled whine and fell to the floor. Its chest was rising and falling, but it was completely, stone-cold unconscious.

  Kestrel pulled the knot tighter and tighter, until it was as small and hard as an apple pip, then knotted it again and again for safety. It wouldn’t take her mother very long to undo it, and she might wake soon. Hopefully it was enough.

  She dropped the string and touched the dog on the head, but it didn’t respond. It suddenly looked a lot smaller, lying on the floor with a look of startled consternation on its face. If it wasn’t so intent on ruining her life she could almost feel sorry for it.

  Almost.

  * * *

  Pale mud bubbled out of the Salt Bog, pushing between huge cracks in the salty crust. Kestrel tried to step as lightly as possible along the paths, but wherever she put her foot down there was a loud crunch. Every time she saw something in the corner of her eye she thought: grabber! and whirled to face it, only to find that it was a frozen mouse or a dead leaf blowing around. Even though she couldn’t see it, she knew it wouldn’t be far away. The thought of it watching made Kestrel quicken her pace, while her nerves shrieked at her to run.

  She hurried toward the place she’d last seen the Briny Witch, gripping the handle of her spoon. Her plan was uncomplicated and nerve-racking. She’d find the drowned man and lure him with the promise of her eyes; then at the last minute, force him to make her invisible at spoon-point.

  But the farther she walked the less clever her plan sounded. No matter how far she stuck her chin in the air or how hard she gripped her spoon, she felt more and more doubtful. What if she couldn’t find him? What if he was stronger than her and pushed her into the bog? What if he had been lying and couldn’t help her anyway? What if her grabber caught up with her and ate her first?

  “Good evening,” whispered the Briny Witch in her ear.

  Kestrel jumped and flung her spoon so hard it stuck between two of the drowned man’s ribs. He was standing right next to her, his hair floating around him in a slimy aura. He looked shocked for a second, and when he opened his mouth to speak the only thing that came out was a small, round bubble of surprise. Then he gathered himself, sighed, and pulled the spoon out of his ribs.

  It was covered in something like jelly. Kestrel snatched it back and the Briny Witch brought his face close to hers, his milky eyes unblinking, the fat fish circling him like slow comets.

  “You know why I’m here,” said Kestrel, trying very hard not to lean away from his fishy breath.

  “I can guess,” said the Briny Witch with his underwater voice. He moved as though he were wading through thick mud, bubbles rising from his nostrils as he spoke. “But maybe you kept me waiting too long. Maybe I changed my mind.”

  They stared at each other, the Briny Witch with his blind eyes that seemed to know exactly where to fix themselves. Both refused to be the first to speak. After a minute the Briny Witch smiled.

  “Very well,” he gurgled, an elegant fish circling his head. “What do you want?”

  “Invisibility,” Kestrel said firmly.

  “For?”

  “My eyes,” she said, tightening her hand on her spoon. The Briny Witch licked his lips.

  “I detect a hint of untruth,” he said.

  The bubbles around his head popped, and he sprang toward her with the speed of a wolf. Kestrel lashed out with her spoon, catching him in the arm, shocked by his sudden rapidity. The blade bounced off, and it was all Kestrel could do not to drop it. The Briny Witch’s hair was no longer floating about his head, and he was dripping water as though he had just stepped out of rainfall. He closed his fingers over the top of her head, holding her still, and chuckled with a noise like knucklebones rattling in a cup.

  Kestrel felt water running down the side of her head and shivered.

  “You’re a stupid little girl,”
the Briny Witch said, his voice no longer wet. He sounded cruel and elegant. “You thought I was slow. You thought you could cut me to pieces and take what you wanted, and I’d simply float around like a slow, fat fish.” He leaned in. “That’s why you shouldn’t trust strangers,” he said.

  “You’ve forgotten something,” Kestrel replied, her stomach churning as his wet fingers pressed into the side of her head.

  “And what’s that?”

  “You shouldn’t trust little girls, either.”

  Kestrel twisted herself out of his grasp and flung herself square into his chest. They both tumbled backward, the Briny Witch’s slimy rags and her toothy cloak tangling together. Kestrel tried to wrestle him to the floor, determined to pin him down and make him give her what she wanted, but he was stronger than she imagined. He fought back, and they tumbled over and over, trying to wrestle each other to the ground. She reached for her spoon but the Briny Witch knocked it away. It hit a frozen badger and stuck there, point out.

  She really, really needed to learn to hold it properly.

  Neither of them realized they’d left the path until they heard the crack. The salt crust split and pulled apart with a long, slow sound, like ice being crushed between teeth. Kestrel felt a jolt of panic, remembering that the Briny Witch had said there was something in the water that had preserved him. It was too late. They fell through and plunged into the water, springing apart just as they were swallowed.

  Kestrel remembered to hold her breath just before the water closed over her head, so cold it felt like she’d been encased in ice. The wolf-skin cloak floated up behind her, still clasped at the neck, twirling in the water as though it were alive.

  Kestrel’s eyes were wide open as she plunged to the bottom. The moonlight shone through cracks and holes in the salt, illuminating the bog in astonishing detail.