The Dreamsnatcher by Abi Elphinstone (34)

Moll scrambled down the tree, her eyes blinded by tears.

The clearing was a blackened wasteland, the Sacred Oaks charred with ash, but Oak’s gypsies ran back and forth from the river beating down the flames with pails of water.

Oak rushed over to Moll. ‘OK?’

And she knew what that meant: they were going back for Gryff.

She watched as Siddy tended to his father’s wounds, then she scoured the clearing for Alfie, but he was nowhere to be seen. Dread crept in. Perhaps he’d realised they didn’t stand a chance now and the thought of returning to Skull’s camp had thrown up fresh fears.

It was Raven that Moll spotted first, entering the clearing ahead of Alfie as he led Jinx and Oak’s cob towards them.

‘Figured there’s not a chance we’re letting the Shadowmasks take Gryff so I fetched the cobs.’

Moll tried to smile, but an emptiness was growing inside her, filling the space where Gryff had always been, even if she’d not known it until now. They swung themselves up on to the cobs.

‘Wisdom, get the last of the flames out, then see to the wounded with Siddy!’ Oak cried. ‘Ma’ll help you!’

Driving the cobs through the trees, they galloped through the river and raced into the Deepwood. The stars above them seemed to fade, one by one, as the darkness grew. Moll clasped the amulet around her neck tight as they galloped through the beeches, past the dead owl and the pierced rat.

There was no sign of the vapours this time, but somehow the air felt heavy, not with rain, but with something much, much darker.

Alfie’s body was hunched with fear and Oak had cocked his pistol, but Moll didn’t notice. Gryff’s absence burned within her; she’d get him no matter what. They pulled the cobs back to a trot, then picked their way through the last of the trees before Skull’s camp.

A low, almost strangled laugh escaped through the branches towards them. ‘Tie him up on the ceremonial table, Hemlock!’ Skull shrieked with pleasure.

The three of them edged forward and peered into the clearing. Enormous torches lit up a long wooden table. A giant bat had been carved into it, its painted black wings unfurled across the surface. Only then did they notice the trees ringing the clearing. Moll gripped Jinx’s reins tight.

They were unmistakably alive.

Their trunks leered forward, their branches twisted into tendrilled arms, their roots knotted into mangled feet. But the worst thing of all was the faces. Gruesome heads bulged out of the gnarled bark: troll heads with bat wings for ears, goblin faces with wild boar snouts, werewolves with snake tongues, warlock heads with wolf fangs. And they were snarling, growling, licking their lips in gleeful expectation.

Moll seized Oak’s arm. ‘They’re tree ghouls, aren’t they?’

Alfie froze. ‘Tree ghouls?’

Even Oak’s body was rigid with fear. ‘The vapours – Skull must have trapped them inside the trees. And when you trap the broken hearts of witches their curses are said to seep into the vessel that carries them.’ He urged the cobs back several paces and then in a low whisper he said, ‘Stay well away from them.’

‘But . . .’ Moll’s words fell short.

Skull and Hemlock were approaching the table, wrestling with a bundle of rope and fur. Moll watched, her body tearing inside as she remembered what Oak had said about Gryff years ago: ‘Wildcats will fight to the death for their freedom; they are what it means to be really free.’

‘PAAHHHH!’

Gryff was stamping his forelegs and hissing through his teeth. He flung himself against the ropes and the tree ghouls cackled and groaned around him. The ache inside Moll grew, pounding inside her throat. But the tree ghouls moaned on and into their cries Gryff began to yelp.

Hemlock tossed the bundle of wildcat and rope on to the table, then, seizing a hammer, Skull drove several nails into the ropes, fixing Gryff fast. Bound on his stomach, his limbs splayed, Gryff gnashed his teeth and jerked his head from side to side.

And then the chanting started, low and deep, as Skull and Hemlock circled the table, their masks in shadow, their hands held high.

Moll clenched her teeth, ready to fight their Dream Snatch. But it never came. What followed was different, darker.

Somewhere in the night sky far above them something was stirring. The darkness seemed to thicken and the tree ghouls screeched with pleasure.

Alfie turned to Oak. ‘We go – you and me – into the clearing to fight for Gryff!’

‘And leave me here?’ Moll hissed. ‘I’m not sitting by while—’

It happened so quickly they could barely draw breath.

A tree ghoul ripped its roots from the soil and lurched towards them, swiping out with a withered claw. Moll screamed, ducking beneath it. It crunched down, rupturing the soil, and she fell from Jinx. Oak and Alfie spurred their cobs forward, towards the clearing.

‘Use your dagger on Gryff’s ropes!’ Oak yelled to Alfie.

But the tree ghoul lumbered forward, wrenching them from their cobs, stringing them up in the air like puppets.

‘Run, Moll!’ Oak screamed. ‘Get away from here!’

Moll scoured the trees for Jinx, but she was gone. She looked towards the ceremonial table and then she met Gryff’s eyes. He blinked hard at her.

There’s still hope, Moll, he seemed to be saying.

Hope? Moll thought. What hope is there in all of this?

Gryff tried to raise his head, but the ropes held him fast. And all the while Skull and Hemlock muttered round the table. The summoning was almost complete.

Moll cowered in the shadows of an ordinary beech. Just metres from her, a tree ghoul grunted as it overturned the undergrowth in search of her. Alfie and Oak wriggled and slashed at it with their daggers, but it wound them over and over again in its branches, like a spider binding a fly.

And, above the clearing, the darkness was gathering, conjuring a high-pitched screeching of its own.

Bats, thousands of them, swarmed overhead, swelling, growing, bulging into a terrifying shape. A figure was materialising, made entirely from the bats, and it throbbed high above them: Darkebite, the third Shadowmask and the Master of the Soul Splinter, had been summoned.

Tears streamed down Moll’s cheeks. If she ran in to try and save Gryff, the Shadowmasks would kill her and the Bone Murmur would be broken forever. Everything her parents had fought for would have been in vain. She caught Gryff’s eyes and the tears fell faster.

You’re going to be OK, Moll, he was saying. She could almost feel his thoughts.

Silent sobs wracked Moll’s body. Maybe this was how it was meant to end. Gryff’s life for her own . . . He’d saved her once before and now he was doing it again.

The figure of bats was throbbing with screeches – hollow, like a dead man’s call – and it was sinking towards the table.

Moll clutched the three feathers inside her sheath: luck, protection and, she looked up at Alfie and Oak, friendship. She gripped her pa’s dagger tight, then, throwing one last glance at the tree ghoul crashing through the undergrowth metres from her, she darted into the clearing. Another tree ghoul thrust down its claws, but Moll leapt between them, racing on towards Gryff. Hemlock and Skull looked up at her, laughing behind their masks. Above them, the bat figure slid nearer still. Gryff looked at Moll, his yellow-green eyes large and scared.

Embur, a voice inside Moll called, almost so weakly Moll wondered whether she’d heard it at all. Embur, it said again. And somehow Moll knew that this was her pa willing her on. Her mind whirled. And then she remembered the carving above the wildcat’s head in the heart of the forest. She gripped the amulet for all she was worth, rubbing her thumb over and over the jewel. She felt a surge of hope, a hope so strong she could practically taste it.

But the descending figure, still more bat than human, was settling on the ceremonial table. Two enormous leathery wings unfurled over Gryff.

The amulet seemed to tingle inside Moll’s fingers and it was glowing again, as it had done in the heart of the forest, coating the whole clearing in a turquoise veil.

Skull’s eyes locked on to the amulet. ‘Stupid child! You think that’s going to help you now?’

Moll swallowed. What did she expect would happen if she rubbed the amulet?

Hemlock glided towards her, his mask a wall of stone.

Moll stumbled round the clearing, closer and closer to Gryff, gripping the amulet and her pa’s dagger tight. The turquoise light was brightening now, crushing the darkness back. Clinging to a shred of hope, Moll tore the necklace off and held the amulet high.

‘You can’t take Gryff away from me!’ she shouted. ‘Because we’ve got things more powerful than the Shadowmasks ever dreamed of!’ She shook the amulet for the Shadowmasks to see. ‘We’ll never give up on the Bone Murmur – we’ll save the old magic!’ Moll was trembling, but she could feel her pa’s voice inside her, urging her on.

Hemlock ran towards Moll and she rubbed the amulet harder and harder. She looked at Gryff, the longing bursting up inside her. Hemlock advanced still closer.

All at once there was a thunderous crash followed by a tumult of screeching as the winged figure on the table crumbled into thousands of bats that tore off into the shattered sky. Hemlock stopped, his eyes suddenly wide with terror.

The ceremonial table had split in two and Gryff was scrabbling out of the net. Tearing back the ropes, he shot free and bounded over to Moll, flinging himself against her. Moll held him tight and their hearts clamoured together, beating with love and pain.

‘The amulet!’ Oak roared as the tree ghoul that held him bashed him against a branch. ‘Hold it up again, Moll!’

Skull’s and Hemlock’s heads were bent low. Moll raised the amulet high and staggered backwards, her dagger ready. Gryff limped in a circle round her; he was cut and battered, but his teeth were bared. The two Shadowmasks edged forward while muttering their curses and, with every step they advanced, a terrible pain split through Moll. Gryff growled and spat; he could feel it too.

‘You – you won’t win,’ Moll stammered, rubbing the amulet harder. ‘Nothing good can come now you’ve cut away your souls!’

There was another deafening crash, followed by another then another. All around them the tree ghouls were splitting down their centres, smashing forward in crumpled heaps, like giant stacks of bones. Alfie and Oak, finally free, raced towards Moll and Gryff.

The Shadowmasks were centimetres away from Moll and Gryff now, but their bodies couldn’t fight what came next. The blue light from the amulet seemed to thicken into mist and it curled round Skull and Hemlock, tearing at their masks, ripping them away to reveal their faces. And they were the most terrible faces Moll had ever seen. The skin was a sickly grey and it hung in shrivelled folds, writhing with maggots. The mouths and noses were slits, like gashes in rotting skin. Moll recoiled in horror.

Then the turquoise mist began to claw at the Shadowmasks’ necks. Their bodies contorted in vicious spasms, cringing backwards.

Skull clutched at his face, almost tearing the skin from his scalp. ‘Get away from me!’ he howled. ‘Get away!’

‘Darkebite!’ Hemlock cried. ‘Come back to us!’ His body jolted into another spasm.

Moll’s eyes widened. But Darkebite didn’t come. The Shadowmasks’ eyes were bulging whites, rolling within sunken skin. Moll’s stomach churned.

Beetles, large and black, were spilling from the Shadowmasks’ mouths and, as the mist tore at them, their bodies began to shrivel. The mist grew, brightening and thickening, until all that was left of the Shadowmasks were two masks: a skull and a face of slate. And then two rasping voices hissed through the clearing towards Moll:

‘Darkebite will come back for you . . . The Master always does.’

A shooting pain pierced through Moll, sharper than anything she’d felt before. She stumbled to the ground, clutching Gryff and the amulet to her. The voices muttered on, knifing at her skin.

‘You can take our bodies, but you can’t ever take our souls. We’re locked inside the Soul Splinter; we’ll never really die!’

Summoning the last of her strength, Moll crawled forward and stabbed the masks with her pa’s dagger. The voices crumbled into hisses, like thousands of tormented snakes, before dissolving into the dawn.

Pain seared through Moll. The forest around her was fading, Oak’s and Alfie’s cries just voices in the distance. But the clearing – it was changing. The mist was glittering now and – it couldn’t be . . . it was melting into water, settling as a sparkling lake.

Moll could feel herself slipping further away.

The amulet was wriggling inside her palm again. She tried to hold it, but it struggled free. She seized the chain, trying to draw it back, but it tugged against her fingers and, as it did so, Moll heard her pa’s voice somewhere deep, deep inside her, beyond the pain inflicted by the Shadowmasks.

‘My Moll, you’ve done it! You’ve won the first amulet and beaten back Skull and Hemlock!’

The amulet pulled harder and the chain dug into Moll’s fingers.

‘I love you, Moll, and I’ll be with you always.’ The voice was silent for a second. ‘But there’s a time for everything. So long as my soul is down here with you, it’s trapped by the damage the Soul Splinter did to it. You must let me go.’

‘Where – where will you go?’ Moll sobbed.

‘The stars, Moll. Every star is a soul watching over us and I’ll be looking down at you – always.’

Moll felt for her pa’s words and held them close. ‘I love you, Pa,’ she whispered.

‘I’ll never really leave you, Moll.’

‘I know.’

Clinging to the echo of his whisper, Moll let the amulet slip through her fingers. She felt a strange lightness, as if a weight had suddenly been lifted from her. The amulet floated upwards, hanging above the lake like a miniature moon. And then one by one, like falling stars, lilies whiter than snow dropped from the sky on to the sparkling water.

The amulet, dazzling blue, hovered for a few seconds more and then it drifted upwards. Up, up, up into the sky – higher than the forest, higher than the furthest mountain peaks, higher than the moon – until it rested up in the heavens, the brightest of the glinting stars in a gathering blue dawn.

Moll tried to cling on to what she was seeing, but she was falling too fast now, tumbling down into bottomless black . . .