Читать книгу The Last Reckoning - Paul Durham, Paul Durham - Страница 12

THREE LONG SHAPES, low to the ground, scurried over the rowan platform with remarkable speed. Sharp fingers clawed the soil as they dragged their legless, serpentine bodies behind them, black tails undulating like eels through water. The first Shriek Reaver reared up, and Rye saw that its head was elongated like a stag’s, its skinless skull charred the colour of soot. Two jagged, multi-pronged antlers jutted menacingly from its head.

The Hollow echoed with the sound of clacking bone. Dozens of oversized teeth chattered not from cold, but purposefully – with hunger.

Like a cornered badger, Mr Nettle lurched forward and buried his own teeth into the nearest Fork-Tongued Charmer’s shoulder. The Charmer growled in pain, but before he could move to strike Mr Nettle, a Shriek Reaver’s whip-like tendril slashed the Charmer’s arm and sent his lantern flying.

“Climb, Miss Riley! Go!” Mr Nettle called out again, and she saw him dart across the Hollow, a hand on his head to keep his skullcap from flying.

Rye tore back into the tree house and grabbed Lottie by the hand. Lottie’s eyes were wide as Rye dragged her through the main room, to the opposite landing at the top of the spiral staircase. She looked at the enormous oak ascending above them as far as her eye could see.

“Lottie,” she whispered, crouching down to face her and placing her hands on Lottie’s shoulders, “you love to climb trees, right? But Mama won’t always let you?”

Lottie nodded suspiciously.

“Well now’s your chance. We get to climb the tallest tree of them all. I promise not to tell.”

Lottie gave her an uncertain smile.

“Really. Go ahead. I’ll follow you.”

Lottie’s eyes drifted down the staircase to the base of the oak. The Hollow was filled with the pained shouts of the Fork-Tongued Charmers as they called to one another; the hacking sound of metal into what sounded like damp, rotting wood; and the relentless gut-churning clack of bony teeth.

Rye put a finger on her sister’s chin and gently lifted it so she was looking into Rye’s eyes once again. “No looking down, Lottie. And don’t worry, I’ll be right behind you.”

Rye saw Lottie swallow hard. She knew Lottie must be as frightened as she was, but the little girl was doing a remarkable job of hiding it. Rye gave her a boost on to the tree-house roof, from which the thick trunk of the oak towered upwards like an endless chimney. Lottie clung to the moss-riddled shingles on her hands and knees, and Rye moved to join her.

“Mona?” Lottie asked, peeking down over the edge at Rye.

“What?” Rye asked, and her eyes darted to the inside of the tree house. The pink polka-dot hobgoblin lay on the floor where Lottie had dropped her.

Rye checked the spiral stairs. She saw a dark shape scuttle over the oak’s roots and disappear out of sight, the sounds of the calamity below still loud in their ears. She thought better of it, but dashed into the tree house anyway, snatching up Mona Monster. She returned, showing the doll to Lottie before stashing it safely in the folds of her own coat.

“Now get to the trunk,” Rye said, shooing Lottie on.

Lottie disappeared from the edge and Rye took hold of the roof, digging her fingers into the shingles and pulling herself up. She steadied herself and climbed to her feet, balancing on the sloped pitch. She gasped in alarm as she looked down, where the Fork-Tongued Charmer named Gibbet met her gaze. He was just below her, on the tree-house landing.

But behind him was something even more terrifying.

A Shriek Reaver was deftly climbing the spiral stairs on two long tendrils that looked more like knotted roots than arms. This close, Rye now saw its teeth: grotesquely oversized for its jaw, their edges chipped from their relentless clacking and grinding.

Rye opened her mouth to scream but found her throat dry. Gibbet must have read her look of alarm and pivoted on his heels.

The slithering creature pressed itself up on its long, spidery arms as it reached the top of the platform, extending its torso so that it stood as tall as Gibbet. It cocked its hairless, antlered skull and warbled something deep in its mouth, like the stub of a tongue flicking against the back of its throat.

Before Gibbet could attack the monster with his sword, the hideous creature lashed forward, pinning Gibbet’s arms to his side with its own. Its long body coiled through the Charmer’s legs, round his chest, and finally gripped his neck. They fell backwards together, tumbling in a heap down the stairs even as Gibbet gasped for breath and struggled to free himself.

Rye didn’t wait to see the outcome. She scurried towards Lottie, hurrying her up and on to the oak’s trunk. She was thankful that they’d both spent so many days scaling trees together in Drowning, and fortunately the oak’s branches were twisted and knotty – perfect for climbing. Rye followed her own most important rule whenever being chased: Don’t look back. Or in this case, down.

Rye felt bark under her fingernails and scratches on her face, but she was otherwise unscathed by the time they reached a fork in the trunk where they could sit side by side. She put an arm round Lottie to be sure her sister was steady. Rye risked a quick glance down. Her head swam – they were higher than even the tallest rooftops of Drowning.

Only the faint flickering of scattered lanterns lit the Hollow far below, but in the shadows of the tree house, she could see the three black shapes weaving in and out of doors and windows, turning over every corner and cranny in search of some sign of life. One slid through a window only to emerge moments later from the crumbling stone chimney.

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.