The Dreamsnatcher (9 page)

M
oll squirmed beneath the iron grip of the hand that trapped her mouth, but it held her fast, forcing her to look ahead. She recoiled in horror;
the cloaked man who now stood before her seemed neither young nor old; he was barely even
human
.

One eye was stitched closed, the other half open and running. A vein throbbed in his forehead, amid strands of limp hair, and his skin was shrivelled, like a crumpled balloon. But it was the
lump that frightened Moll the most. His back was hunched and it rose up in a deformed bulge as if the body of a shrunken child had been moulded to it.

Moll forced her body round, twisting her neck as far as it would go. The figure holding her had pale eyes and a mop of light hair: the boy with the cob called Raven. She tried to dig a hand into
the pocket of her dress, but the larger man was too quick. He yanked out her catapult and hurled it into the undergrowth. Moll wanted to hiss and scream, but the boy’s hold was firm and he
muffled her cries. She struggled against him, slamming her legs into his, jabbing with her elbows, but he gripped her tight. Eyes wide, panting hard, Moll looked back towards the camp.

Shadows danced round the campfire and music flared. With all the celebrations, no one could hear her; no one was even looking her way.

The man with the shrivelled skin jerked his head towards the trees and the river. Moll knew where they were going to take her and she struggled harder.

‘We’ll gag her,’ the man hissed. ‘We haven’t got time for this; Skull’s waiting.’ His voice was thick like glue and when he spoke his hunched back
bulged.

Moll’s heart hammered within her chest as the man tugged a cloth from his pocket and bound it over her mouth. She could feel his stale breath crawling up her nose and she retched –
suffocated by the gag, choked by fear. The man drew out a rope and jerked it round Moll’s ankles. She fell to the ground, writhing and twisting, as the man bound her wrists.

Where are you, Gryff? Where are you? Come back . . .

Towering above her, she saw Raven and, behind him, a mare. The man with the shrivelled skin turned towards the boy.

‘Take Raven. I’ll hoist the girl up to you,’ he growled. ‘Then make for camp – as fast as you can.’

The boy threw the man a defiant look. ‘I know, Gobbler; I was there when Skull briefed us. Remember?’

Gobbler scoffed. ‘You lost the palomino, Alfie.’ He jerked his head towards Moll. ‘
And
you didn’t get a hold of her first time round. No wonder they don’t
respect you back at camp. Skull only feeds you and gives you shelter because he needs someone to tend the cobs and wash the dishes . . . Now get a move on! It’s time you made up for losing
the girl last time.’

Alfie flashed Gobbler a look, his eyes wild and fierce.

Moll trembled as she felt the blood race through her body and a sickening taste fix in her throat.

Gobbler seized Moll by the hair and yanked her up. She squirmed and wriggled, but she could feel the Dream Snatch within her already, making her fight weak. Alfie leapt on to Raven’s back
and Gobbler shoved Moll up to him. Gripping her hard, Alfie spurred Raven on through the trees.

Up until just the day before, a surge of curiosity had brewed inside Moll every time she thought of Skull’s camp, but now that she was being dragged helplessly towards it, every fibre in
her body wished it had never existed.

Eyes wide, Moll watched the Ancientwood flash by, scouring it for any signs of Gryff. Raven bounded over fallen branches and tore round gnarled trees, galloping faster and faster towards the
Deepwood. Before long, the river was in front of them, shining silver beneath the moon. Moll yanked her body away, tearing herself back from the boundary, but Alfie rode Raven on, wading into the
water. Gobbler charged in behind them, clattering over slippery pebbles.

Without warning, the reeds on the far side of the riverbank burst open and Gryff was there, leaping towards the cobs, his claws splayed, his teeth bared. The cobs shied, rearing up in shock,
hurling their riders into the river. Arms flailed and hands grappled, but Moll was wriggling her legs free. The cobs thrashed in the water, reins tangling Alfie’s leg, a hoof clipping the
back of Gobbler’s head.

‘They’re—’ water choked Alfie’s words, ‘they’re getting away!’

Moll kicked and kicked, feeling the Dream Snatch weaken inside her now Gryff was near. She launched her bound arms into the current. Alfie tried to grab her feet, but the reins of his struggling
cob were pulling him back; Moll booted him hard, then swam on, tearing at the ropes with her teeth. Water gushed into her mouth, but it was softening the ropes and she wriggled her hands free.
Seconds later, Gryff was beside her and they were careering downstream in a tangle of limbs, round a bend – away from Gobbler and Alfie.

Moll yanked the gag from her mouth and her breath sawed through her. ‘Keep us safe,’ she panted to the water spirits.

The current quickened, carrying Moll and Gryff further and further downstream until Gobbler’s and Alfie’s yells were little more than faraway echoes. Gryff paddled beside Moll as
they raced round rocks and bumped down rapids. Stones skinned Moll’s knees, but she let the current take her until at last the water slowed and the river widened.

It was Gryff who started back-paddling first. The river was propelling them towards a lip where the water was black and shining. Moll’s eyes widened in terror: she knew what came
after.

The roar began, rumbling and fierce.

Moll turned against the current, clutching at rocks and weeds, grappling for overhanging branches. But the river beat on, dragging her and Gryff towards the waterfall. Moll closed her eyes.

She felt her belly shoot up as they tumbled off the edge, then they plummeted down, down, down, plunging into the foamy churn. Blood roared in Moll’s ears as the fall sucked them deeper
and deeper into its seething sway. Then they burst up into the misty spray while the torrent crashed down behind them. Kicking hard against the current, they swam towards the riverbank.

They hauled themselves up, coughing and spluttering, then flopped down into the reeds. The river rolled on beside them, smudging the silence of the forest.

‘Thank you, Gryff,’ Moll panted.

Gryff stood up and shook the water from his fur.

‘I would’ve been mushed if you hadn’t turned up.’ Moll wrung her dress. ‘I—’

Gryff’s ears twitched and Moll fell silent.

Hooves – thundering through the trees towards them.

A bead of cold sweat trickled down Moll’s forehead and Gryff’s fur tightened in panic. But neither Gobbler nor Alfie burst out of the trees.

Moll’s mouth dropped open. It was Siddy. And he was charging towards them on Jinx.

Moll rushed forward. ‘Sid! How did you find us?’

Siddy slowed Jinx, then slipped from her back. ‘When I saw you’d gone, I tracked Gryff,’ he said simply. ‘Pa’s been teaching me animal prints and I’ve been
getting good. I followed him to the river—’

‘Skull’s gang were trying to drag me across it!’ Moll muttered. ‘Did you see them back by the boundary?’

Siddy shook his head.

Gobbler’s head wound, the cobs crazed with fear . . .

‘They’ll have gone back to the Deepwood then,’ Moll said. ‘They won’t be back tonight.’

Moll and Siddy sat on the banks of the river while Gryff tucked himself beneath the overhang where he could rest, hidden by the reeds and ferns.

‘The banks by the boundary were scuffed by cob hooves,’ Siddy said, ‘so I knew there’d been a struggle. I figured you must have swum downstream, only,’ he pointed
to the waterfall, ‘you didn’t go over that, did you?’

Moll nodded. ‘Didn’t plan to though.’

Siddy straightened his flat cap. ‘Well, it’s a good job one of us has been planning.’ He opened his fist and grinned. Because there, lying in the palm of his hand, were three
small fragments of animal bone, their surfaces covered with tiny black markings, like the pictures of an ancient code.

Moll’s eyes widened. ‘My pa’s bone reading. But how?’ she stammered. ‘You were at the feast!’

Siddy shook his head. ‘I saw Gryff touch you! When I was standing by the fire . . . He’s wild, Moll, but somehow he trusts you. And, when I saw him actually nuzzling against you, I
figured there were things to be done more important than drinking wood-sorrel fizz.’ He paused. ‘It all happened pretty fast actually. Cinderella Bull was reading Ma’s fortune so
I crept into her wagon. After that salt circle you said she did round you this morning, she must have gone back to the bone readings to get your pa’s one ready for you. The key for the chest
was out on her chest of drawers!’ Siddy blushed. ‘Didn’t see it at first though so I might have turned the whole wagon upside down. But that’s not the point; we can answer
for that another time. I found a rusty tin inside the chest which said “Ferry” on it, and even I could work that bit out.’ He tipped the bones into Moll’s hands.

Moll grinned. ‘Well done, Sid!’

The grooves had been carved by a knife, then filled with charcoal and there were dashes, circles with lines through, triangles upside down or drawn on top of squares and wispy markings like the
veins of leaves. Moll held one fragment of bone up; the symbol on it looked like an eye resting on top of a three-pronged stick. She traced the bone script with her finger, then her heart sank.

‘I should’ve listened more when Cinderella Bull taught us the alphabet. We were too busy burping it through while gargling river water. I can’t read this.’

‘Course you can’t,’ Siddy said. ‘It’s Oracle Bone script – I overheard Cinderella Bull talking about it to Hard-Times Bob at the feast. You have to practise
for years to learn that stuff.’ He flicked each fragment over in Moll’s hands. ‘Lucky for us, it looks like your pa carved a translation into the back of each bone.’

Moll gasped. The words were faded and cracked, but they were there, three of them, as if her pa had carved them just for her:

DEW HILL MAIDEN

Siddy plucked at the reeds. ‘I mean, your pa could’ve translated the bone reading into something a
bit
easier. But still.’

Moll’s shoulders hunched up. ‘Dew Hill Maiden . . . The stories Hard-Times Bob tells us round the campfire – about the maiden who lives out on the heath beyond the Deepwood! He
says she munches the bones of children who wander her way, then boils their eyeballs for breakfast!’ Moll’s eyes widened. ‘Do you think the bone reading’s talking about
her
?’

‘They were just stories, Moll. You know how much Hard-Times Bob likes a gory fireside tale.’

But Moll noticed Siddy’s body had stiffened. She chewed her bottom lip. ‘Or were his stories a warning because there really is a dangerous maiden out there?’ She paused.
‘But why would the bones send us straight into danger?’

‘Hard-Times Bob always talks about a maiden on the heath,’ Siddy said, ‘and our bone reading talks about one on a hill. Might not be the same thing at all . . .’

Moll’s eyes lit up. ‘There are hills on the farm – up where the cows graze. Maybe the maiden’s a milkmaid from the dairy up there and she knows where the amulets
are.’ Moll flicked the hollow fists of her talisman open and slipped the bone fragments inside. ‘At least it’s the opposite direction to the Deepwood and the heath, away from
Gobbler and Alfie – the devils who tried to kidnap me just now.’

‘Oak’s banned us from the farm though.’

She and Siddy had dropped by a few months ago as part of a two-day tempest of rule-breaking, a hobby both of them indulged in on a regular basis to mark their place in The Tribe, a secret club
comprised of Moll, Siddy and when he was around, Gryff. Needless to say, the farmer hadn’t appreciated their visit. It wasn’t their fault he had interpreted their sun dance as a
bewitching curse on the cows’ milk. The farm folk could be so jittery.

‘Which is why we can’t go back to the camp tonight,’ Moll replied. ‘We’ll go straight to the farm from here.’ The darkness seemed to grow around them and Moll
shifted among the reeds. ‘At dawn though, when there’s more light.’

‘But Oak and Mooshie will realise we’re gone soon. You could’ve died back there under the waterfall. Shouldn’t we at least go back to camp and tell them about Gobbler and
Alfie?’

Moll looked out over the river. ‘I don’t want to see Oak and Mooshie. Not yet.’

And Siddy knew that no amount of talking sense would change Moll’s mind.

They talked and talked about the bone reading until their eyelids were heavy with sleep. And the last thing Moll remembered before drifting off was Sid’s round face sleeping in front of
hers.

Not long afterwards, the nightmare came for Moll, stealing into her dreams, grappling for her mind. She felt herself falling under its power, sensed the desire to get up and follow Skull’s
drumbeats into the Deepwood. But then from somewhere deeper inside her came the memory of the Bone Murmur and her pa’s clue. Hope stirred within her and the Dream Snatch faded to the swishing
of the river and an owl hooting in the distance. She opened her eyes to the night.

Moll’s belly tightened.

Staring back at her was a face. But it didn’t belong to Siddy.