Sarah Driver - Storm

I gulp for breath, heart skittering. I slip on the thick yellow sweat pooled in the stog’s palm, clawing at the ridges of his skin. ‘Leo!’ I yell, but my voice bounces back into my own ears, stabbing painfully into my head.

I’m running out of air. My eyes scan the roof of flesh above my head – there are thin gaps between the fingers. The stog’s grip tightens so I push through one of the gaps, kicking, clawing, scratching, wriggling . . .

Finally I squeeze through and leap out of his hand, grabbing hold of a thick brown vine sprouting from his ear – but the vine is slippery, and I can’t hold on.

Lunda zooms towards me, one foot planted on her draggle’s back, the other on mine. Two sets of reins are bunched in her hands. She hovers as near to me as she can get. ‘Jump, fool child!’

The giant roars, thrashing his head around.

I swing myself across the space, miss my own draggle and land with a thump behind Lunda. I grab her waist as I regain my balance. ‘Bleeding blood cockles,’ I whisper, eyes watering with shame. My palms are coated in stinking, gloopy ear wax.

‘Fly on!’ calls Leo, and we wing away from the giant.

I wipe my hands on my breeches as we tear away through the sky.

Jealousy nags me. Wish I could be as skilful riding one of these beasts as Lunda is. ‘You should stay behind with the other youngsters from now on!’ she hisses, holding the reins while I scramble back onto my own draggle. Her hard blue eyes graze my face.

I glare at her while my lungs suck shallow breaths. The stog’s distant howls of fury rattle through my chest and make my teeth throb.

In spite of everything, excitement bubbles in my belly when I think about the Tribe-Meet, where my Tribe traded jet and amber for songs, stories for furs and fish. Sometimes Da and Bear traded sailcloth or silver for songs alone , and even though magyk could be spun from them, Grandma weren’t never too impressed. The last Meet I went to – for Dread’s Eve – feels so long ago. And it weren’t exactly a normal meet, with Da missing and me almost getting swallowed by a gulper. It’s where I lost Sparrow, too, when Stag had him snaffled by wreckers.

The Tribe-Meet for Wakening’s Dawn is all about drumming Spring up from her grave. There’ll be market stalls and music-makers and acrobats with flaming torches, bakers whose spices dance in the air, traders with bundles of brightly dyed cloth and sword-sharpeners, tanners and tricksters.

‘I can’t wait to show you your old Sky-Tribe path and gateway stones!’ I call to Leo, to gift her good cheer.

She nods. ‘I am keen to see these things,’ she says. ‘But nervous, also. Many suns and moons have risen since any Sky-Tribe attended. How do we know the etiquette, here?’

Lunda’s draggle drops closer as the Spearsister tries to listen. Maybe her nerves are tightening, too.

‘You approach the circle along your Great-Tribe’s path – that’s the Sky Path, which you get to through the gateway stones shaped like eagle heads. There’s no weapons allowed, so we’ll have to leave our spears outside.’

The old rider called Coati, who angered Pike in the long-hall, laughs, face fury-flayed. ‘Leave our weapons and we are sitting targets, mark my breath.’ He twirls his spear.

Leo rolls her eyes at me, the tension melting off her face. But when we can see the tips of the circle of stones piercing the drifting fog, I sense my draggle wants to bolt.

‘This place is eerie,’ hisses a rider, a man with two long black braids hanging over his shoulders.

I struggle to steady my draggle, stroking her head, but she hisses.

‘They’re spooking!’ I call. My hands are sweaty on the reins as I jostle to get my balance. The draggles’ voices rise in panic.

Suddenly, a young terrodyl flickers up and out of the fog, wings lashing inches from our flock. Black blood drips, fizzing, from a wound in its flank.

‘Pull back!’ shouts Leo, and the draggles bare their teeth at the terrodyl.

Gold gleams like shattering stars as the riders level their spears as one. But Leo warns them not to shoot. ‘You’ll burn whoever’s down there with black rain!’

Black rain – the weapon wielded by Stag, extracted from the veins of terrodyls, that burns warped, bubbled pits in the flesh. My belly writhes at the thought that he’s twisted a beast’s own life-blood into a weapon.

The riders hold fire, their spears shining in the depths of the terrodyl’s eyes.

Dead things! Ice! the beast screams, wheeling away. Sad-hearts rotted!

What’s down there, beast? I chatter. What’re you fleeing?

The terrodyl’s panic mingles with the draggles’ fright-pangs, gifting me a sore, woozy head. TroubletroubletroubleHIDEflyflyhideinnest!

What trouble? I ask, but she’s pulling further away and thudding out of sight. Wait, you’re hurt!

‘What is that child doing?’ Coati asks Leo, watching me with hard eyes.

What trouble? I call again, threading my beast-chatter through the air to touch the creature’s hair-prickled hide.

The terrodyl jerks in the air and her wings carve the sky as she twists around and soars towards me.

‘She’s brought it back upon us,’ gasps Lunda.

‘Spears!’ declares Leo, flashing me a frighted look.

‘No, just trust me for a beat!’ I beg.

Lung-stink! snaps the terrodyl, fixing me with her great lantern eyes. Blood-stink! Spine-shudder bad-taste bled. Life fled, bled, BLED!

My breath comes quick and tattered. Life fled? Bloodshed? That can’t be what she’s saying . . .

Uuuuuughhhhh tongue-tang rot-shadow-HOME! She bolts.

My head fizzes with her fading beast-chatter. No, you must be wrong! I chatter after her desperately. There’s never bloodshed at the Stone Circle! It’s forbidden!

The draggles pop up and down in the air. Mine bucks underneath me, half crazed from fright.

Gods. Blood at the Tribe-Meet ? Grandma must be writhing in her sea-grave!

Leo watches the terrodyl vanish from sight before guiding the flock closer to the Stone Circle.

‘Wait!’ I shout.

‘What is it now, Mouse?’ calls Leo, impatience sharpening her tone.

‘We can’t land,’ I plead. ‘A proper bad thing’s happened.’

Coati gruffs a laugh of steam and bitterness. ‘Why does a child ride among us? Someone get her back to the mountain!’

Leo turns away from me, leading the draggles lower.

‘Protector!’ My urgent use of her title makes Leopard jerk around in her saddle to look at me. I force my voice steady. ‘There’s bloodshed.’ I wipe my palms on my cloak and stare around at the riders. ‘At the Stone Circle.’ Shock guts my words even as I spill them. Gods swim close.

Our flock pauses, beating the air. Leopard’s eyes are large and fixed on my face.

Then everything erupts into a tumble of loud babblemaking.

‘That’s impossible!’

‘It’s the Fangtooths, isn’t it? They’re terrorising again!’

‘What if there is? Bloodshed does not faze warriors!’

‘Mouse, are you certain?’ asks Leo. As the words steam from her mouth, a great black talon of smoke stabs the sky in the distant west.

‘I’m heart-certain,’ I pant, thumping my fist to my chest.

A tide of disappointment floods Leo’s face. ‘We’ve come all this way,’ she says, through clenched teeth.

‘How do you know?’ challenges a narrow-eyed Spearbrother.

‘The terrodyl told me.’

Coati watches me darkly. ‘You are sheltering a chatterer ?’ He flicks his eyes to Leo.

‘ Enough , Coati,’ warns Leo.