Snowbone (8 page)

“Does it hurt?”

“No, it doesn't hurt. You see this feller here?” He slapped the tree beside him. “This is my great-great-great-grandfather Burdock Figgis. One day, more than a hundred years ago, he felt his time had come. And so he came here, to this part of the forest, and slowly, peacefully, he Moved On. And this here”— he touched another vast ashen tree—“is his wife, my great-great-great-grandmother. And this is my grandfather. This is my mother. This is my father. This is my brother, who Moved On at the age of eight.”

“Eight?”
said Snowbone. “Can it happen that young? I
thought you were talking about something that happened to really old people.”

Figgis shrugged. “moving on can happen at any time. My brother didn't have an accident. He wasn't sick or in pain. He just started to feel weak.
Wobbly
was the word he used. And suddenly he knew it was his time to Move On. He said he could feel it deep down inside. So one day he came here, chose a nice spot—next to my parents, see?—and slowly,
very
slowly, he turned into an ashen tree.”

Snowbone was fascinated. There was so much to learn about Ashenpeakers. She had imagined they were like wooden humans; now she knew that wasn't so.

“When will
you
Move On?” she asked.

“Oh, bless your heart, I don't know that!” said Figgis. “I don't think I'd
want
to know. Would you? It could happen next week; I might start to feel wobbly. It could happen tomorrow if I was hit hard enough. An accident, say. But it might not happen for a hundred years. Ashenpeakers can live a
long
time. And yes, I know I look ancient to you, but I'm not. I'm in my prime.”

“I believe you,” said Snowbone, smiling.

“I'm glad to hear that,” said Figgis, “but we're forgetting why I brought you here.”

His face suddenly hardened. “Snowbone, listen to me. Those men that Blackeye saw weren't cutting down trees. They were cutting down people.”

“This one has a face and fingers,”
said Snowbone.

“What?”

“Something the traders said. I've just remembered. Oh! This is outrageous!” Snowbone started to pace up and down angrily. “Why are they doing this?”

“Now
that
I don't know,” admitted Figgis. “Ashen sap is strong stuff, for sure. It has the power to heal. But why they'd want it in any great quantity is beyond me.”

“And what was the blue light?”

“Ah,
that,”
said Figgis. “That was the soul of the Ancestor, leaving the body.”

“Where was it going?”

“I don't know. But I do know this: it won't ever come back.”

And Snowbone looked at Figgis and saw such bleak despair in his face, she shuddered. Despite the sunshine, the day had suddenly turned very, very dark.

ight had fallen by the time Snowbone left Figgis. He had talked all day while she soaked up the words like a sponge. Given the darkness outside, Figgis had suggested she stay the night, but Snowbone had declined the offer. She said she would return the next day and, with that, had disappeared into the shadows, heading for Black Sand Bay.

Now Figgis sat quietly in his house, mending a hole in his work shirt. Except for the occasional creaking of his chair and the wind rustling in the trees outside, there was no sound. Nothing unusual. But Figgis couldn't help feeling there was something wrong.

He put down his mending, eased open the front door and slipped outside. It was too dark to see anything: the moon was tucked up in a blanket of cloud. But the tinker's ears were attuned to the night. To the snuffles and rustles of the forest creatures. And whatever it was, moving out there, it wasn't furred or feathered.

Then he saw a glow: a horn lantern, shining between the trees and
thuud.
The first ax struck home.

And now Figgis was running toward the amber glow. Running, running, running faster than he had in years.
Thuud.
Tearing through brambles, stumbling over roots, hurtling toward the sound of slaughter.
Thuud.
And there they were: the black-haired man and another he hadn't seen before—a towering giant of a man, with hands so monstrously huge, his ax looked like a toy.

Thuud.
Figgis saw his Ancestor standing between them, with a great gaping wound in his trunk. Saw the giant raise his ax a fifth time. Saw the smirk on the face of the black-haired man. And Figgis lunged forward, crashing into the circle of light.

And that was when everything seemed to go into slow motion. As Figgis hurled himself at the giant:

The ax was thrown from the monstrous hand
It flew through the air like a silver owl
Fell at the feet of the black-haired man
Who raised it high and brought it down:
shoooo.

Figgis saw his severed arm
Falling to the sodden ground
And with his remaining hand
Fumbled for his faithful knife.

Then he thrust the silver blade
In the belly of the giant
Blood fell down like ruby rain
And the giant groaned in pain:
ohhh.

The black-haired man, the bleeding giant
Stumbled off in shadow flight
Figgis closed his heavy eyes
Tumbled into darkest night.

nother morning, another march through the forest.

But Snowbone wasn't her usual self. She hadn't slept. Now she was tired and grouchy. Her eyes were fixed on the ground and her shoulders sagged. Knowledge was a heavy burden.

Eventually she reached Figgis's house and found the front door closed.
Strange
, she thought.
On a day like this, Figgis would have it open.
She moved closer, wary now. There was a lantern burning inside.
In the middle of the morning?

Snowbone felt her heart leap in her chest. She crept forward and peered through the window. The room looked empty. She opened the door and went in. No one there.

She went outside again and scanned the trees. Nothing moving. She sniffed the air, momentarily wishing that Mouse was with her. She had a keener nose.

She decided to search the forest fringe. She walked through the trees, looked under bushes, found nothing. Then she saw the knife. Figgis's knife. He had polished it yesterday while he talked. Now its blade was crusty with blood.

A few footsteps farther and she found the sleeve of Figgis's jacket. It was empty.

Next, a leather flagon.

Snowbone inched forward, reading the scene with every sense. She felt no fear, just a calm, controlled thrill.

And suddenly there he was. Lying in a crumpled heap, face down, quite still.

Snowbone touched him with the toe of her boot. Nothing. She rocked him with her foot. Still nothing. She kicked him. Figgis moaned and slowly rolled over.

“I thought you were dead,” said Snowbone.

“So did I, for a minute,” said Figgis. “Storm and thunder, my head is banging like a drum.”

“What happened to your arm?”

“Cut off with an ax.”

“But where is it? I just saw your sleeve. It was empty.”

“Yes, well, it would be. When bits get cut off, they vanish into thin air. Don't ask me why. I don't know.”

“Will your arm grow back?”

“It will,” said Figgis wearily. “But at my age, it takes time. A week. Maybe longer. Will you help me up?”

Snowbone helped the tinker to his feet and supported him as he walked to the house. There he lay on the bed while she made tea.

“Oh!” sighed Figgis as he drank the first of several cups. “I have never needed that more.”

“Tell me,” said Snowbone.

“Yes, m'lady,” said Figgis. He eased himself into a more comfortable position. “They came back last night. One I'd seen before and another—a giant of a man. I felt there was something wrong, you know? So I went outside, and they were
there, with their axes. They were cutting down my brother. Can you believe that? Snowbone, hand on heart, I tell you: I don't know what to do. This is not just another part of the forest. This is a sacred grove. For hundreds of years, my family has been coming here to Move On, and there has always been a Figgis here to watch over them. A guardian, if you like. But they have never needed guarding until now. And I
will
guard them. To the last breath in my body, I will fight for my family. I will not let the slavers have them.”

“The slavers will return,” said Snowbone.

“Aye, they will,” said Figgis, “and they'll be angry. I cut one of them last night. Stuck him like a pig. But he won't be dead. Not a man his size.”

“You can't fight them on your own,” said Snowbone.

“I don't have an alternative.”

“You do,” said Snowbone. “I'll bring my gang. We'll face them together.”

And when Figgis looked in her granite-gray eyes and saw that she meant it, he felt weak with relief.

“I'll be back,” said Snowbone. And with that, she stormed out of the house.

nowbone ran through the forest back to Black Sand Bay. Her mind was awash with thoughts, but one loomed larger than all the others. “Why did I insist on seeing Figgis on my own?” she asked herself over and over again. “If Blackeye was with me, he could fetch the others and I could stand guard.” Because of her pigheadedness, Figgis was alone. “There's no need,” she muttered angrily. “No need at all.”

Snowbone arrived back at camp to find a flurry of activity. Two Teeth had led a successful hunting expedition; now he was skinning a deer. Blackeye and Fudge were building a tree house. Tigermane and Mouse were weaving rush mats. Everywhere Snowbone looked, someone seemed to be mending or building, cleaning or digging. It seemed a shame to leave it all behind. But this day was always going to come. It had just come sooner than any of them had imagined.

Snowbone strode to the meeting circle, picked up the horn and blew it.

“Gather your belongings!” she cried as the tiddlins came
running. “We're leaving. I want everything packed and ready to go within the hour.”

“Leaving?” said Mouse. “Why? Where are we going?”

“South,” said Snowbone. “There's another storm coming.”

Mouse sniffed the air. “I can't smell anything.”

“It's not that kind of storm,” said Snowbone. “Fudge, bring the weapons. Tigermane, food. Blackeye, water. Two Teeth, ropes.”

The captains ran to obey.

“If there is a storm coming,” persisted Mouse, “why are we striking camp? Surely it's better to bed down here? We survived the last one.”

“And we shall survive this.”

“But—”

“If you don't want to come, stay here.”

“No!” said Mouse in a sudden panic. “I was just saying—”

“Well, don't,” said Snowbone. “Just
do.”

Mouse's eyes filled with tears. She bit her lip to stop them falling and hurried away.

Snowbone turned to Manu, who was sitting on one of the meeting stones, looking lost.

“Don't just sit there,” she said, prodding him hard. “Do something. Pack the tarpaulins.”

Manu stared at her. “Am I coming with you?”

“Of course you are,” said Snowbone. “You're one of us.”

Manu beamed at her and sprinted away.