Raging Star

Lugh an Tommo walk their horses towards me, wavin that we need to go. They’re in their Tonton gear, lookin smart. Black knee robes, polished boots an kit. Webb follows behind on a pony. With him along, I figgered on travellin to Edenhome the roundabout ways. Far safer. But I didn’t figger we’d be so late to set off. An cross country will be rough goin in this rain. Do we dare try our luck on the roads agin?

In that silent way of hers, Auriel appears by my side. A patchwork parasol keeps the rain off. In such murk, she don’t need her eyeshield. Her pale eyes flare like ice in the gloom. I came to wish you luck, she says.

I’m sure I’ll need it, I says.

I got every confidence in you. She hesitates a moment, then she says, I don’t think you know this. We wouldn’t of made it in time if it warn’t fer Emmi.

Emmi, I says.

The starfall told us to come, says Auriel, but when I started gittin her messages, we hurried here quick as we could.

What messages? I says.

They came through the light, she says. But they started in the earth.

Speak plain, I says. I ain’t got time fer this.

Yer sister’s had the call, she says. Emmi’s a shaman, Saba. She’s an earth speaker. An I’d say a powerful one if this is how she starts off, without no teacher to guide her.

I stare at her, speechless. Emmi, a shaman.

Saba, calls Lugh. We need to go.

Don’t worry an don’t dwell on it, says Auriel. It’s a wonderful thing. I’ll see her right. D’you have all you need fer now?

Fer the first time, I notice the clothes she’s got on. The same long black tunic she wore yesterday. I’m that much taller’n her, it would hang on me like a robe. A black Tonton robe.

There is one thing I could do with, I says.

So far an no further. The first four checkpoints went easy. Lugh shouted out the password as we drew alongside an after a second shout, sometimes a third, the lowliest grunt would run from the guard hut. He’d splash through the chill rain an mud to lift the barrier. Then, wait, wetly sullen, fer us to pass through. Three Tonton with our prisoner, Webb, chained at the wrists. We hardly even got glanced at.

Now it seems we’re outta luck. Our fifth checkpoint. The start of the Sector Eight Eastway. The guy that comes runnin is keen-eyed an bright. What right away attracts the notice of them keen eyes is me. An, in particular, my boots.

They’re knee high, like the ones Tommo an Lugh wear. An we’re all of us muddy an wet through. But my boots is brown an scuffed. Not like theirs, black with a high shine. Which is how Tonton boots oughta be. None of us gave a thought to it. I damn myself fer a hasty fool. Danger bristles my spine as his gaze takes me in, head to toe. My hands tighten on the reins. Both my gear an Hermes’ kit is well offa the Tonton mark.

I’m ridin at the rear. He ignores Webb, on a pony in front of me. Goes directly to Lugh an Tommo, ridin side by side at the front. Careful, boys, take care, we cain’t fail now. I can see the tension in their backs, in their shoulders, as the guy circles, givin them an their horses a good look. He takes his time. Not bothered that rain drips from his chin. That his hair’s plastered to his head. He pauses beside Lugh. Says somethin to him. Lugh says somethin back. Then he goes to Tommo an checks him over. Says somethin to him. Tommo nods.

I’ve had to let the boys wear weapons. They wouldn’t pass fer Tonton if they didn’t. Shooters, knives, ammo belts, the works. I don’t want we should hafta use ’em, but—

Then I sag with relief. He’s liftin the barrier an wavin us on. I nod as I pass by him, but he don’t look my way. Whatever the boys said, it’s turned his notice. From my dodgy gear to the comferts of a stove. His eyes is fixed on the guard hut. Maybe a sly tot to warm his blood.

We’re through. Now, no stoppin till Edenhome.

His body was trembling as they rode on. He’d done it. He could hardly believe his luck. The moment she said they’d go by road, he’d known this would be his best and probably his only chance to get the message to DeMalo in time. After they’d been waved through the first four checkpoints, he’d started to fear that he wouldn’t manage it. That the whole thing would fall apart. And he dreaded the moment of being stopped, of making his move. So much could go wrong. What if DeMalo hadn’t set it up like he said he would?

But he had. It worked just as they’d discussed.

He’d moved, just a little. Shifted so the Tonton could see what he needed to. The grunt’s eyes widened. He knew who he was. Then, as they rode on, he let the little roll of oilskin drop to the ground. The grunt would look for it, find it when they were out of sight. Then the message would be rushed to DeMalo.

And Jack would be gone from their lives forever.

We’re back where we was three nights ago. In the shelter of the woods lookin through the fencewire at Edenhome. We left our horses in the same mossy dell. We was three that night-time. This day-time, with Webb, we’re four. The rain’s stopped at last. The sun cooks the world to a close, damp warmth. Steam rises from the trees an our clothes as the water melts to the air. About the only place that ain’t heavy with wet is the woodland floor beneath our feet.

The same cain’t be said of Edenhome. The open ground between the buildins is a lake of mud. A straggly trail of ankle-deep bootprints runs to the half-raised junkbarn. There a handful of older boys work with a man who ain’t a Tonton. We can see a few kids an a couple of women walkin on boards between the beast sheds. The ducks quackle complaints as Nero teases ’em from his perch on their house. It appears everybody else is keepin indoors. The sound of kids’ voices raised in song spills from a open window. Saws an hammers racket in a workshop. There’s movement inside the two bunkhouses. There ain’t no fence patrols, no sign of the armoured boarhounds. They’re fer night watch only, it seems.

Beside me, Webb’s got a death grip on the looker. He scans it back an forth, twitchy with hope that his daughter might be here. The door of the right hand bunkhouse stands open. A girl with a bucket appears there. She empties it in a slow stream onto the muddy ground below. After her, there’s a little parade of girls. To an fro, they come an go. Ditchin dirty water, emptyin dustpans, shakin rags. They’re on cleanup duty. Four girls in all. But no sign of copper-top Nell.

Nero caws insults. The ducks quack their fury.

We’re wastin time, says Webb. He lowers the looker, shakin his head. Let’s check out them sheds an barns.

Hang on, I says. A girl with blaze-red hair’s jest appeared in the doorway of the bunkhouse.

Webb whips the looker onto her. Yes! he hisses. It’s her!

She flings out the dirt from her dustpan. With a glance at the duckpond commotion she’s gone in a swish of long red plait.

Webb grabs my arm, his face fired with joy. That’s my Nell! It’s her! She’s here!

Emmi! Nell laughed. You should see this crow! It’s out there drivin the ducks crazy.

The other four girls carried on with their chores. Wiping down the bunks, scrubbing the floor on their hands and knees. Emmi stared at Nell, her heart pounding. A crow. Could it be? She dropped her broom with a clatter and ran to the door. Yes! It was. It was Nero. Circling above the ducks, teasing them. She had to stop herself yelling his name.

She stepped barefoot into the mud and stared at the woods the other side of the fence. Was Saba in there? The trees grew too thick and it was too far to see. But she had other ways of knowing. She crouched briefly, her eyes closed, and pressed her hands through the mud to solid ground. She was already used to the earthsong of this place. A low sad murmur. Always the same, day and night. Now her hands and feet brought another song to her. The same one she’d followed from Starlight Lanes. They were here. Saba and Lugh and Tommo. The song was coming from the woods.