There was a smile behind the mask and it curdled with pleasure.
‘Moll.’
The word rolled over Skull’s tongue, then buried itself deep inside his mouth.
It was the dead of night and it was raining heavily. Leafless trees craned over the clearing where Skull and his gang squatted and lichens trailed from the branches like burnt hair – long, tangled and grey. The only light came from a lantern set down in the centre of the gang’s circle.
Rain smeared down Skull’s mask. ‘Moll. Moll Pecksniff . . . We’ve got her good and tight now we know her name. She won’t get away from the Dream Snatch this time.’ The mask tilted towards Gobbler. ‘Polish the ceremonial table. Bring out the drums. It won’t be long before she’s back.’
Gobbler’s hunched back swelled with anticipation. ‘The time’s come, hasn’t it, Skull? For what we’ve all been waiting for.’
Skull’s mask dipped. The boys stiffened.
‘It’s time to summon the Master of the Soul Splinter,’ Skull growled.
One of the boys moved the lantern closer.
Brunt shoved him. ‘You’d better toughen up all right.’
Gobbler curled his tongue over his teeth, sucking in the rain. ‘This is how the Shadowmasks’ll kill Moll Pecksniff and her wildcat after the Dream Snatch brings them in.’ He jabbed a sharpened stick into the ground, centimetres from the boy’s hand, and then he smiled. ‘An untraceable kill . . .’
‘What about the amulets? Do they have a chance of finding them in time?’ Brunt asked.
Skull’s voice gnawed at the inside of his mask. ‘We need to know why they went to Mellantha. Did the traitorous hag know something about the amulets after all?’
Brunt sat forward. ‘With Mellantha dead, can’t we ask our little friend Alfie?’
Gobbler’s running eye blinked several times, then he sniggered. ‘The hounds took a liking to him – a strong liking. He’s not in a state to talk yet.’
Skull spat. ‘I told you to hold the hounds back. We need to get the boy to speak.’
Gobbler lowered his voice. ‘He won’t be speaking for some time, Skull . . .’
Skull’s lifeless eyes blinked once. The lantern the boy was cradling shivered and went out.
‘I don’t care what state he’s in. Until we have the girl, Alfie’s the only one who has the answers we need,’ Skull replied.
‘But he’s a stubborn one – with a will of iron,’ one of the boys ventured.
The rain slid down Skull’s mask in snaking lines. ‘Then beat his cob. Beat it in front of him. That’ll get him to speak.’
All around them the night was a black abyss, filled with the sounds of rain.
At the other end of the clearing, set back within the trees, there was a choked whimper. Breath ripped out of Alfie’s body, dragging him back into consciousness. Shooting pains burned through his legs, pounding upwards into his body. He tugged against the ropes that bound him to the tree, but they held him fast. Alfie winced. Even his hands, now throbbing at the wrists, had been bound behind his back.
What had happened? Mellantha, the bone reading, Moll, and then the hounds . . . They had been pounding through the undergrowth towards them – a terror of teeth and claws. Then Moll had disappeared. Oak had come for her and she had escaped and left him for dead.
He flinched as he straightened himself up. The tree he had been tied to jutted into his back, grating on his spine. Again shooting pains coursed through his body. His shorts had been shredded around the knees and his skin torn by cuts and scratches. Grimacing, he rolled his ankle over. Two rows of teeth marks were gouged into his flesh, rupturing his leg into a mangled wound.
A spasm gripped his body and Alfie retched. Fighting back the tears, he bit down on his lip. A gust of wind rustled the dead leaves and tugged his ripped shirt open. Bloodied scratches marred his chest. Still the rain beat on. Alfie wanted to cry out into it, but the pain swallowed his strength.
From the trees nearby, Alfie heard Raven whinny. And this time the boy couldn’t fight the tears. They fell from his eyes freely until sobs shook his body. Raven stepped forward, as far as his tethering rope would allow. He craned his neck towards Alfie, breathing gently through his nostrils. But, however far he stretched, he couldn’t reach the boy.
And that’s when it came to Alfie: a small tatter of hope. He looked at Raven through misted eyes.
‘You’re after my rings,’ he said to his cob in a cracked voice. ‘My – my rings . . .’
Each word wrung his body with pain. But now he had a plan. Though it might take hours, there was a chance he could cut his way free of the rope with the spikes on his gypsy fighting rings. He looked at the clearing with desperate eyes. Where would they go? And on a night like this? He shook the thought from his mind. That could wait; the most important thing was escaping Skull’s clutches once and for all.
Hours drifted by and still the boys remained with Skull and Gobbler in the clearing. Their voices twisted through the rain to Alfie – strange words loaded with terror: they were planning to summon something. He strained to hear what they were saying – something about a Soul Splinter to use on Moll and her wildcat. Alfie stiffened; the word was somehow familiar, as if he’d heard it many years before. He shook his head, turning back to the ropes. Facing his past was a task for another night. Now he needed to focus on getting free.
Alfie’s rings cut into the rope, bit by bit, a soft scuffing amid the rain-filled night.
‘It isn’t working, Raven,’ Alfie groaned, his voice cracked with pain.
But just at that moment, when he felt the last of his strength seep from his body, the rope fell away and Alfie slumped forward. He twisted his neck towards Raven who neighed softly and pawed the ground.
‘Shhhhh, boy.’
Alfie made to get up, but his legs buckled beneath him and he collapsed. Raven turned his back to Alfie.
Alfie winced. ‘Don’t – don’t turn away, boy,’ he whispered. ‘I’m sorry. It’s just – I don’t have the strength . . .’
Raven yanked his neck to one side and then there was a crack as the tethering rope, which had been fastened from a ground peg to his halter, snapped off. Raven stepped gingerly towards Alfie, then lowered his neck and nuzzled the boy’s head. His warmth surged through Alfie and he lifted a shaking hand to his cob’s mane.
‘My boy,’ he whispered, closing his eyes. ‘My boy.’
He sank his head into Raven’s mane and then watched, his mouth wide in disbelief, as Raven lowered himself to his knees.
Alfie shot a look at the clearing, but Skull and his gang were still deep in conversation. Summoning all his strength, Alfie clung to Raven’s mane. ‘That’s it, boy, that’s it! There’s a chance now . . .’
Flinching in pain with every movement, Alfie hauled himself up on to Raven’s back. His own leg was bloodied and limp, but he felt the power of Raven’s legs as the cob thrust his body upwards to a standing position.
Alfie was silent for a few seconds, then he let his head fall down on Raven’s mane. ‘I don’t know, Raven. I don’t know where to go.’
Rain poured down on to Alfie’s face making his teeth chatter, but Raven didn’t hang around. He picked his way away from the clearing into the heart of the Deepwood. As soon as the camp was out of earshot, Raven quickened his pace. Trotting. Through the deadened glade. Then faster. Cantering. Through the crowd of beech trees. Until, at last, they were racing away from Skull, through the sodden forest.
Alfie clung on. ‘Don’t let me fall, Raven. I can’t go back to Skull. Don’t let me fall . . .’
His body slumped on Raven’s back and waves of pain washed over him, dragging him back into unconsciousness. The trees around him fell away, and with it the raw aching in his leg. Still the black cob raced on.
Alfie’s eyes fluttered open as they slowed by the river. But the pain was rolling over him again and, lulled by the pattering of the rain, he felt himself falling away once more into nothingness. He was numb to everything around him: numb to the splash of water as he fell from Raven into the river; numb even to the strong, firm hands that hauled him to the bank.