Paul Durham - The Last Reckoning

Rye heard nothing more from the Fork-Tongued Charmers … nor Mr Nettle. She didn’t know if the horrible Shriek Reavers would search the oak itself, and wasn’t inclined to wait and find out. That presented a problem. They could keep climbing, but eventually the only way left to go would be down.

“Bingle-black!” Lottie huffed in a coarse whisper.

Rye looked in the direction Lottie pointed. Two saucer-like eyes stared at her a healthy distance away from the tree trunk, as if hovering in midair. Rye looked more closely. It was a brindleback on a branch – several branches intertwined together – where the limbs of the oak had mingled with a neighbouring ash tree that grew outside the Hollow.

The brindleback blinked, then turned and scampered away along the branches, his long, ringed tail trailing behind him. That’s the answer , Rye thought. She was suddenly relieved that Mr Nettle was so fond of procrastinating his chores.

“This way, Lottie,” Rye whispered, and on hands and knees they shimmied across the branches. Rye cried out as they bowed under their weight, but their bridge held true, and she watched the Hollow and Rill pass far below them as they reached the other side. Climbing down the neighbouring tree was more difficult, and they both fell from a higher distance than they would have liked, Rye cushioning Lottie’s fall.

She pulled Lottie tight in her arms and leaned back against the base of the ash tree. Only now, with her sister’s small warm body pressed against her, did Rye feel her own heart pounding like a desperate fist inside her chest.

But Rye’s sense of relief didn’t last long. She carefully craned her neck and peered around the ash tree. The Hollow and the oak were not far away and she could still hear the chattering teeth of the stag-skulled monsters as they destroyed what was left of the tree house. Once finished, they would surely head back this way.

Rye put her hands on Lottie’s shoulders. “Lottie, you stay here. Don’t move, understand?”

Lottie looked at her in disbelief. Rye reached into her coat and dug out Mona, pressing her into Lottie’s trembling hands.

“I’ll be right back. Be brave for Mona.”

Lottie embraced Mona and nodded. Rye took a deep breath and hurried cautiously towards the Rill. She hoped the Shriek Reavers would still be too busy hunting through the tree house to notice her coming. Her plan seemed to work as she neared the edge of the Rill, but then there was a sharp crack at her feet. She sucked in her breath and looked down. She’d stepped on a fallen branch. Her eyes jumped to the tree house. The Shriek Reavers seemed to hang there for a moment, cocking their eyeless sockets towards her. Then suddenly they sprang to life, weaving their ways down and round the spiral staircase.

Rye considered turning and running but realised it would be hopeless. Her only chance was to beat them to the Rill. She barrelled forward, leaves and pine needles crunching under her boots. The three beasts were on the ground of the Hollow, dragging themselves on their spidery arms at a remarkable speed. Rye headed straight for them and reached the rowan bridge first. With all of her strength she pulled it up in her arms just as the monsters reached the waterline. They flailed their sharp antlers and snapped their teeth a mere arm’s length from her face, the smell of rot and mould on their breath. She fell backwards towards the forest, the platform coming to rest on her chest.

When she pushed it off, she saw the Reavers circling the Rill frantically. Their nubby tongues warbled in their throats. Angry and agitated, they slunk around searching for a way over the water. Like every other non-human inhabitant of Beyond the Shale, they were unable to traverse the tiny streamlet without the rowan bridge.

The Shriek Reavers clacked their teeth in furious protest. They were now prisoners of the Hollow.

Whether or not the Shriek Reavers would find their way up the oak to the overgrown limbs was another matter altogether, and Rye didn’t intend to linger to find out. She hurried back to the ash tree where she’d left Lottie and slumped down to huddle with her sister in the dark. They might be safe from the trapped monsters for the moment, but they now found themselves on the outside of the Hollow looking in, along with all of the other creatures of Beyond the Shale. It seemed that their long-term prospects had not greatly improved.

A nearby rustling of dried leaves startled Rye. She didn’t have time to react before a body threw itself upon them. She shoved away its stocky form and raised her cudgel, but stopped when she felt the curved horns of a goat against her outstretched palm.

“Mr Nettle?” she gasped in relief.

“Children! I was just heading back into the Hollow to find you. I’m not exactly sure what I would have done once I got there, but then I caught the scent of … your feet.” He pushed his horned cap back up over his eyes, glanced at Rye’s boots, then at the dark, sinister shapes circling the interior banks of the Rill. “I’m grateful for my sensitive nose … and your pungent toes,” he added.

“What were those things?” Rye whispered. “You call them Shriek Reavers?”

Mr Nettle nodded grimly. “Ancient guardians of Beyond the Shale. They are extremely rare and normally only stalk the northernmost reaches of the forest. I’ve never seen them this far south.”

“Monsters,” Lottie huffed, and furrowed her brow. “Not nice ones,” she clarified, patting Mona apologetically.

“There’s no easy way to label the Shriek Reavers, Miss Lottie. They are neither good nor evil, just … single-minded,” Mr Nettle explained, chewing his beard. “The forest does not welcome outsiders. Feralings believe that when the balance shifts – when too many human outsiders penetrate the confines of these trees – the Shriek Reavers awaken from their slumber and take up their hunt. They don’t stop until the balance tips back in the forest’s favour.” Mr Nettle seemed to shiver at a memory. “It was a Shriek Reaver that destroyed the other hollow where you found me.”

For a moment, Rye found herself hoping that the Fork-Tongued Charmers had indeed found Harmless. At least that meant a Shriek Reaver hadn’t beaten them to it. As for her mother, Rye could only hope she was well on her way down the Wend.

“What happened to the other men – the Fork-Tongued Charmers?” she asked. “Did they get away too?”

“One clearly did. I heard other footsteps as I ran.” He glanced towards the Hollow. “At least one other surely didn’t.”

Rye had seen all too clearly how quickly the Shriek Reaver seemed to squeeze the breath out of the Fork-Tongued Charmer named Gibbet.

“The Shriek Reavers aren’t the only dangers out here.” Mr Nettle squinted at the shadows around them. “We need to find shelter until morning. Come on.”

Mr Nettle led Rye and Lottie away from the Hollow, carefully searching the gloomy terrain until he found what he was looking for. A fallen tree stretched far into the darkness in front of them. Its enormous root system had been torn from the earth and fanned out like jagged tentacles. Mr Nettle helped Rye and Lottie duck into a gap in the broken limbs. The tree’s knotted roots jutted around them like protective spines, but its pulpy core was soft against Rye’s back.

Tomorrow they would set out at first light in hopes of meeting Abby along the Wend. So for now there was nothing Rye could do but try to rest. She pulled Lottie close against her, and was eventually able to drift to sleep, comfortable in the knowledge that Mr Nettle slept with one watchful eye open.