Nettle Blackthorn and the Three Wicked Sisters (28 page)

“
I suppose not,” agreed Bram. He frowned a little. “Where are
you going?”

She grinned
coldly. “I’m going to give someone a piece of my mind.”

CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN

The
Summit of Olde Town

Nettle
sprinted up the cobblestone path to catch up with the spiteful boy.
She dodged tourists and town-folk busily going about their day
until she spotted the blond head. He was moving swiftly, his
messenger bag bouncing on his hip. She’d almost caught up with him
when a large family with noisy children blocked the path so that he
got a good lead on her again. When she’d finally found a hole
through the rambunctious kids, she’d lost sight of him. She
continued climbing the worn steps until the last of Olde Town’s
businesses were behind her and the path opened up to a large
enclosed area with a tall wooden sign stating
View-Point.

A tall
hedge of rosemary grew behind the stone wall where the hill
continued upward, and its spiky bushes perfumed the area with an
intense woody pungency. Tables and seats were arranged around the
enclosure, where one could sit or kneel upon to overlook the
amazing landscape of the Forgotten Wilds stretching out below.
Families were gathered around the tables enjoying picnic fare,
while couples took photographs or video footage of the landscape. A
loud chatter and clicks of cameras and laughter filled the air,
while a group of minstrels with their woollen cloaks strummed lutes
and citterns, plucking harps, singing of chivalry and
love.

Nettle couldn’t see the boy anywhere. Her stomach lurched
with disappointment. How he could have vanished so quickly was
baffling and infuriating.
Damn it!

Nettle stomped
around the grounds, scuffing the ground with her boots, thoroughly
annoyed at being thwarted. She was lost in thought, wondering where
he had gotten to and imagining witty and cutting remarks, when she
very nearly missed the gap in the wall.

Nettle stopped and stared hard at the wall in front of her.
It looked solid enough. But when she rocked slightly to the right
and over to the left, to her amazement through a trick of illusion,
the wall actually had an opening in it.
How clever.
The boy had to have gone through
here, it was the only explanation. A touch of guilt made her glance
over at the minstrels and reassured they weren’t looking her way,
Nettle slid through the gap in the wall and darted around the
rosemary. Beyond the hedge was woodland and a wide dirt path that
led straight into its thick leafy foliage. Several ominous
signposts stated in large red capitals – KEEP OUT! PRIVATE
PROPERTY! And TRESPASSERS WILL BE PROSECUTED!

Nettle briefly hesitated,
should I, shouldn’t I?
But the pull to discover what
was hidden within the woodland was far too tantalising.
And besides,
she bolstered
herself,
that boy needs to be put in his place.

Excitement and apprehension had her nerves tingling and
every one of her senses was attuned to the sounds emanating within
the woodland: a solitary
pit-pit-pit-pit
of a quail; creaking brunches in a balmy
breeze; chirping of crickets; and the soft sound of something
squirreling around in the undergrowth. She kept close to the tree
line, crouching low and silently scuttling ahead, pausing every so
often to listen for approaching footsteps. She did not want to be
caught up here.

The
path, its dirt surface scuffed with fresh footfall, wove deep
within the woodland on a slight rise. Dead leaves, curled and
skeletal, and dried fragmented twigs crunched under foot. Frothy
green moss edged the path in the more damp areas clumped with fern
and salix, its yellow foliage reminding Nettle of fluffy pom-poms.
The canopy of the forest was choked so thick it allowed very little
light to filter through and it was sometime before she realized she
was nearing the summit of Olde Town.

An
overpowering stench of wet dog, musty clothing and rotten food
washed over her before Nettle even saw the man. She pressed a hand
to her nose to stem the smell, her stomach clenching with
revulsion. She ducked off the path, then very slowly and quietly
slunk along until the trail broke into a clearing bathed in
sunlight. She hid behind a crop of tussock. Right across the
clearing was an opening to a cave, where a massive man stood within
its yawning shadow alongside a enormous white dog sitting on its
haunches with sinister red eyes. Its long tongue lolled and drool
dripped from its mouth to splatter the earth and its giant paws.
Nettle knew instantly they weren’t loitering around, they were
guarding the entrance.

Maybe this
wasn’t such a good idea after all.

He was a strange looking man with thinning black hair and a
puckered scar that ran down from the bottom of his left eye to a
wide mouth in a blunt face, a sharp yellowing
tooth poking out between
chapped lips. He didn’t look friendly. He was chewing on a leg of
something, too big to be chicken.
Maybe a ham hock,
Nettle pondered, but it was the wrong
shape.

The boy
with the violet eyes was talking to the man, making casual gestures
with his hands, and the dog was happy to see him, his heavy tail
thwacking heavily upon the ground as the boy dug into a pocket and
tossed a small morsel at its feet. The dog greedily snapped up the
tit-bit and settled back down contentedly beside his master. Nettle
couldn’t quite make out what transpired between the man and the
boy, the man scowling and eyeing the boy suspiciously with black
eyes squinting above a stub that barely passed as a nose, but soon
enough the boy opened his messenger bag and handed over a small
parcel wrapped in brown paper and tied with simple twine. The man
tossed away the bone and before the bone could arc at its zenith,
the dog leapt up, snatching it mid-air, and crunched it down in two
bites. The man wiped his greasy hands on his leather trousers and
took the parcel from the boy.

Nettle was intrigued,
what’s in that parcel?
She moved just slightly for a better
vantage point and her foot snapped a twig. Her heart lurched as the
sound reverberated around her.

The dog leapt
to its feet. Its hackles springing up in a spiky ridge down its
long back. A growl rumbled in its chest as it bared a mouthful of
vicious teeth and stalked from the gaping mouth of the cave toward
where Nettle hid.

Nettle froze.
Her heart exploded into a deafening erratic beat. Her skin grew
clammy and her tongue thickly swollen in a mouth that was quickly
losing moisture. Every inch of her body wanted to run screaming
through the woodland, but instead, she remained paralysed with
fear.

While
the boy lingered near the mouth of the cave, the brute of a man
trailed behind his dog, edging around the clearing keeping to the
shade of the woodland. He would have reached her faster if he
crossed the clearing directly; he was either reluctant to enter the
bright sunlight, or was trying to be sneaky. He drew out a weapon
from inside his patchy jacket. A stunted sword, its blade
thoroughly nicked, gleamed dangerously.

The dog caught her scent, snarled, and sprung forward,
barking ferociously. Thick strands of saliva whipped from its
fangs, intense red eyes solely focused on hunting its prey.
Nettle’s heart near imploded, her breath was loud and quick. She
scuttled back and lost her balance, falling back awkwardly, hitting
her head against a twisted root. Her head now stinging she dug her
hands into the soft earth, trying to push herself back up, but she
was trembling too much and had lost the ability to move.
Oh, what can I do?
What can I do?! I have to get out of here. Move legs!
MOVE!!

The dog ripped
across the clearing. It was almost upon her, so near she could see
its coat was matted with dried blood and tangled with burrs. It
leapt through the fringe of the woodland.

Nettle
couldn’t even scream.

The dog
slid to a halt, barely a foot away from her. Its intent was to hold
her there until its master arrived. The only thing between her and
it, was the fronds of a pig-fern. She could smell its rank rotten
breath. Its thin black lips rolled back to bare a line of vicious
teeth. It barked, snarled and snapped. Spittle flew as it whipped
its head about in a frenzied rage, and its taut body rippled with
sinew and muscle barely held in check. It wanted to kill her. No -
it wanted to kill her, then devour her, bones and all. It was just
waiting for permission.

She
threw up an arm to protect her face as she frantically sought
something to use to defend herself. Her fingers clenched around a
broken branch. She swiped a the dog, snapping it across the snout.
It yelped, drawing back, only to twist itself in preparation to
leap at her.

Suddenly, a
crashing commotion of snapping branches erupted a good distance
away, as if someone or something was blundering around in the
woodland, running away from the clearing.

The brutish
man’s attention spun away. He called off his dog, his voice was
like rocks sliding down a quarry, and began to lumber away.

The dog was
furious to be called off, and was torn between defying his master
or shredding her to pieces. Its taut body quivered with rage and
its pitiless blood-red eyes bored through her as it panted heavily.
Nettle had never faced such an all consuming ferocious hatred. She
held tightly onto the branch which shook in her trembling hands.
She bit back a sad whimpering noise, absolutely terrified of being
torn apart.

The man
bellowed again, the dog hesitated, gave one last sharp snarl at
Nettle, then bounded away, ripping up chunks of dirt with its paws
as it charged away from her and into the bush.

Still, even then, with the danger diverted, Nettle found
she couldn’t move. She silently screamed at herself,
get up, run, do
something, anything!
Yet directing her limbs was beyond her, she was
trembling uncontrollably and cold with fear.

Utterly
terrified, she almost screamed with fright when the boy with the
odd violet eyes and broken nose appeared silently by her side. He
pressed a finger to his lips commanding silence. He scowled,
seemingly annoyed at having to help her.

He uncurled
her fingers from the branch and took her hand. His touch was velvet
soft, yet there was strength in the curl of his fingers around her
own. “Follow me,” he mouthed.

She didn’t know how she managed it but she followed. She
crept as quietly as she could through the thick forest floor
littered with dead leaves, that sounded to her own ears with every
footstep she was shouting out -
HERE I AM!
Nettle could hear the man and the dog
crashing about, getting further away from them.
How did that happen? What
distracted them from me?
With their distance she found her heart stopped
clamouring as the constriction in her chest eased, and warmth began
to return to her body. A few minutes later the boy guided her back
through the rosemary hedge and into the safety of Olde Town. He let
go of her hand then, as if her touch burnt him.

Nettle’s legs
felt like jelly. She crumpled onto a seat and held her head in her
hands. “Thank you,” she breathed, her voice muffled between her
fingers. “I thought I was going to be dog food.”

“
Have you lost your mind?”

Nettle’s head
jerked up at the caustic tone he used. “Huh?”

He was looking at her, his mouth curled with distaste, as
if she was the most dim-witted person he’d ever had the misfortune
to meet. “Are you utterly obtuse, huh... What were you doing in
there?
Trying
to get yourself killed?”

Nettle was
dumbfounded. “I… no, of course not. I was just…” How was she
supposed to explain she was following him? “Curious,” she finished
lamely.

He dusted off his midnight blue jacket from the few leaves
that had caught on his shoulders and adjusted his scarf, and gave
her a contemptuous look. His violet eyes had darkened to the shade
of a black-Doris plum. “Didn’t those signs spell it out enough for
you? Besides, how on earth did you get past-” He stopped, mid
sentence and she saw confusion cloud his angry expression.
“How
did
you get past those signs?”

She shrugged,
caught off-guard by his question. “I don’t know, I just walked
past. Same as you.”

He gave her a
long considering look and ran a hand through his hair smoothing it
down, but as soon as his fingers passed through the locks sprung
back up, wild and tousled. He walked toward her, his gait
predatory. “You just walked on by?”

She nodded,
wondering where this was going.

He slung his messenger bag off his shoulder and gently
placed it on the ground beside the park-chair and Nettle briefly
wondered if whatever it contained was fragile. And then the boy sat
down beside her, so close their shoulders were touching and Nettle
took in his smell. He
smelt the way pine did after a misting of morning
rain, crisp and fresh. He
reached a hand toward her, his fingers were long
and tapered and his nails neatly trimmed.

Nettle
flinched. “What are you doing?”

He just gave her an exasperated
oh-do-be-quiet
look and wound her long hair
around his hand so that he could lift it out of the way. He leaned
in and breathed in the scent of her neck, his eyes closing
momentarily. His warm breath tickled her skin and its wake left
little goose bumps.
To her chagrin she blushed. This was the closest she’d ever
been to a boy before, her family not counting, and it was odd to
suddenly be so incredibly aware of another person’s
proximity.