Celandine (44 page)

Corben dashed the Stone from Micas’s open hand, then shoved him away. His breathing was heavy as he swayed before Micas, wings spread, eyes narrowed as though he would bore through that innocent expression on the old Tinkler’s face to discover the truth beyond.

The Touchstone lay disregarded upon the turf.
Finally
Corben nodded. He had apparently come to a decision.

Calmer now, his mouth set hard and vengeful, the Ickri king looked towards the gathering of Tinklers and Troggles. ‘Very well. Let us see an end to this – and to all such
parley
. I’ll no more of it. Guard! Bring me . . .’ he raised his arm, ‘ . . . bring me her. Aye, she with a head like a teasel.’ Corben was pointing straight at Elina.

Dunch and Faro stepped over to the group of cave-dwellers and pulled Elina from their midst.

‘Hold her against the beech,’ said Corben, ‘Archers – to your bows. And Tuz – give me yours.’

Dunch and Faro forced the helpless Elina back towards the beech tree, grasping an arm apiece and pinning her against the broad trunk. The rest of the archers raised their weapons, some trained upon Micas, some sweeping the crowd. All were ready to bring down any that might dare to interfere.

‘I give thee no more chance but this.’ Corben spoke to Micas. He drew back the bow that Tuz had given him and immediately fired at Elina – so quickly that the arrow was quivering in the bark beside Elina’s cheek before any had realized what was happening. Elina gasped with shock and the two archers struggled to keep her upright.

Corben fitted another arrow to his bow. ‘Now,’ he said. ‘Where be the Orbis?’

Micas looked towards Elina, horrified, and his voice was no longer steady. ’Twere in the box’n, but yesternight! I give ’ee my vow. And today ’tis gone – stolen, as I now see.’

‘Stolen? Dost mock me again, old fool? Who knew that the Orbis were hidden there?’

‘I and but one other,’ said Micas. ‘And on this too, I give ’ee my true vow, maister. Why’n would I think to give ’ee an old piney-cone, as would surely bring us all to this? What could be my gain from such a notion? The Orbis were in the box’n. I saw it yesternight, when I were stood here wi’ . . . another. I were frit – for I thought the rowdy-dow might o’ harmed the Orbis. Us . . . us did climb up to see.’

Corben slowly drew back his bow. ‘Who were the other that were with thee?
Who?
’

Micas took a deep breath. ‘’Twere the giant. The Gorji maid – Celandine. ’Tis
she
who have taken this thing, I be sure of it, for there can be none other as were knowen where ’twere hid. Now I see her for what she be – a Gorji like all other Gorji.’

‘A
Gorji
? Wast so foolish as to show this thing to a
Gorji
?’ Corben was furious. He swung the bow around so that it pointed at Micas. ‘Where be this ogre? In the caves?’

‘She’m gone from here. Gone, and ’ll come no more. We sent her back to her own, this very day, though ’twere against her liking. And now she have stolen the Orbis from us in her spite – and us’ll see no more o’ that neither. Aye, foolish we have been as to ever show friendship and trust to an ogre. We should have known her for what she were – a thief. Shelter we did give her . . . and food . . . and now see what she have brought us to.’

‘Us did warn ’ee, Micas, that no good’d come of
it!
’ Rufus of the Naiad shouted up, and other voices quickly joined in.

‘Aye – ’twere thee and thy kind as did put this upon us, Micas! Thee should ha’ drownded her when thee could.’

‘She were never wanted here – why did ’ee let her stay?’

But then some of the cave-dwellers began to retaliate.

‘No! ’Twas the Naiad! ’Twas the Naiad as fust brung her here – not we!’

‘Aye, that young zawney o’ thine, Pato! His be the blame! That Fin . . .’

Corben’s voice rose above all of them. ‘
Hold!
’ he roared. ‘
Hold before I skewer the lot of ’ee!
’

He waited until the last of the muttering died away.

‘If this be true,’ he said, his voice now low, and dark with menace, ‘then all our chance be over and done. We be trapped among the Gorji for ever, and I shall hold thee
all
for the blame of it. If the Orbis be gone from here . . . put into the hands of thieving giants by
fools
such as thee . . . then the Stone may lie there upon the ground, and stay there, for all the good it shall bring to us. But I tell ye this – there shall be some broken heads to lie there beside it this night, and keep it company . . .’

As Corben paused to take breath, the dull crack of a snapping branch echoed across the clearing – together with a cry of pain and alarm. Hundreds of startled eyes turned to look . . .

Celandine’s right leg had gone quite numb. She hadn’t known it, so horrified was she by the terrible blow that had been dealt her . . . the utter betrayal by those she had thought were her friends. As she leaned further forward, unable to believe what was being said – desperate to cry out her innocence – the branch that she was standing on cracked and gave way.

She tumbled down through the laurel bush and fell to her knees on the black earth below. Immediately she pulled herself upright, hanging on to the waving branches for support – and glimpsed the faces beyond, all looking her way. For the briefest moment it actually occurred to her to emerge from the bushes . . . to enter the clearing . . . to explain . . .

But then, through a gap in the crowd, she saw Corben – leaning forward, peering at the laurel bushes – and she knew that neither he nor anyone else had yet quite grasped what had happened. It was almost dark, and they hadn’t yet seen her properly. She still had a chance to run. Run! And yet she hesitated . . .

‘Guards!’ Corben’s voice. Celandine tried to peep out between the leaves. A pause, a few hastily muttered words, and then Corben again. ‘Micas – be
that
her?’

‘Aye, that be she. Let me to my staff, and I s’ll crack her head wi’ it!’

‘No! Hold! Let none move!’

Corben raised his bow towards her in slow deliberation, and in that moment Celandine knew that there was no escape. He had seen her – and could see her now. She was fixed to the spot, mesmerized by
the
slight weaving motion of the arrow-tip . . . up, down . . . side to side . . . as though it were delivering the sign of the cross to her. But then Micas’s head bobbed into her vision as he hurriedly rose from a stooping position, and the staff that he bore accidentally jostled against Corben’s arm. The arrow zipped from the bow . . . and rattled harmlessly through the branches above her.

She heard Corben’s loud curse, the rising hubbub of many angry voices – and at last she was jolted into action. Run!

Skidding and tumbling down through the tangled bushes, ducking beneath the treacherous branches of hawthorn and holly, her right leg in an agony of pins and needles, Celandine blindly fled the cries of her pursuers. Black waves of panic swamped over her, choking her breath, drowning all reason. She clutched wildly at whatever instinct bobbed to the surface.

The caves! No – not the caves. Not safe there any more. Where, then?
Think
 . . .

The wicker tunnel. Yes.

Take the long way, the least obvious. And keep thinking . . . do the least obvious thing. Don’t stop. Don’t give up. Keep moving . . . quickly, quietly, through all the dark and difficult places . . . the briars and the nettles . . . not along the usual pathways . . .

‘To the caves! Follow on to the caves!’ Celandine heard the shout – quite distant. Was that Micas’s voice?

They had guessed wrong, then. They were headed off in another direction – some of them. But surely
not
all? Surely some would think to make for the tunnel? Of course they would. The tunnel was the only way out of the forest. It would be guarded by now.

Celandine stopped for a few moments, holding her hand to her pounding throat, trying not to gulp so loudly, trying to think. Trying to think
properly
 . . .

Where would they
not
be looking for her? Little Clearing? But when they failed to find her in the woods, then to Little Clearing they would eventually return.

Great Clearing, then . . .?

Could she hide in Great Clearing? She had no better idea.

Her wrists and forearms were stinging from where she had brushed through the tall nettles, and her face and neck had been badly scratched on the holly bushes – but there was little time to think about it. She had to try and ignore the pain until she had found somewhere to hide.

Celandine began to climb once more, fearfully making her way through the dark and silent trees, doubling back towards Great Clearing . . .

She lay shivering upon the roughly broken earth, with her head upon her arm, and cried as quietly as she could. The wigwam construction of the bean-sticks rose about her, sheltering her from the night like a leafy tent, and at last she had time to nurse her injuries. Everything hurt – her arms, her legs, her head . . . and her heart. What had she ever done to deserve such treatment, and such unhappiness? All
she
had tried to bring to this place was good. And now they would hunt her down – kill her perhaps, if they found her. Why? She had stolen
nothing
. Why would Micas think that she had? And why would he turn everyone against her? What on earth did he suppose she would want with their stupid bits of magic? Stupid, that was what they were – all of them. Just as stupid as the people outside, with their lying and their bullying, and their silly prejudices, and their fighting over nothing. And if she ever got out of here she would show them just how stupid they were.

If she ever got out of here . . .

She knew that the Naiad would come to work in the clearing at first light. She would have to think of a plan before then, for once the dawn arrived she was sure to be discovered. No, she couldn’t stay here for long . . .

Perhaps she had fallen asleep for a few minutes. There was a strange sound that hadn’t been there before. Insects? No . . . it was something tapping. She sat up and listened. Yes, a faint tapping sound – coming from the far end of the clearing. Celandine cautiously pushed her head between the entwined leaves of the runner beans, and looked out into the night. The moon was very high now, appearing intermittently between the heavy clouds, and she stared and stared towards the source of the sound. Could she see some movement down there?

Tap-tap . . . tap-tap-tap
 . . . A creeping dread tightened the skin of her scalp as she realized what the tapping meant. They were beating for her with sticks –
spread
out in a line across the clearing, moving towards her along the vegetable rows to drive her out of hiding . . .
tap-tap . . . tap-tap
 . . .

‘
Uhh!
’ Celandine gulped in horror as something touched her shoulder. She fell forward, shielding her face with her arm – they’d got her! They’d got her!

‘
No . . . don’t!
’ She could hear her own voice, a mouse-squeak of terror, barely there.

Then a familiar sound –
ah-ah-ah
– and the rushing flood of relief. Fin. It was only Fin. He had found her, somehow. The breath hissed out through her teeth.

Celandine grabbed him by the tunic, dizzy with shock, and put her finger to her lips. Shh. Fin kept quite still, and she could see his wide fearful eyes in the patchy moonlight as together they listened.
Tap . . . tap . . . tap
 . . . a steady rattle of sound, closer now.

‘Is . . . is . . .
get
you,’ he whispered.

The tunnel. Whether it was guarded or not, it was the only way out. She
had
to try and get through the wicker tunnel. Celandine moved forward, and as she did so the little pecking bag that the cave-dwellers had given her got caught among the ivy-like creepers. She yanked it free. If there had been time to untie the straps she would have left it behind. Stupid thing.

‘Come on.’

Together they scuttled between the bean-rows, keeping low, and at every pounding heartbeat Celandine expected to hear the shout of triumph that meant they had been seen. She was horribly aware that her white shirt and trousers were the worst
things
that she could be wearing for trying to stay hidden at night.

But they reached the end of Great Clearing with no alarm being raised and began to creep down among the grove of spreading cedars towards the tunnel stream. There were bramble patches dotted along the banks of the stream and they dodged between these, from one to the other, until at last they could see the tunnel entrance.

There was no one in sight. The dark mouth of the tunnel was just a few yards away, sideways on, and from behind the covering of a blackberry bush they crouched, and looked, and listened.

Fin was being so good.
So
good. He was as silent and watchful as she – aware, it seemed, of the danger she was in, and the need to be quiet.

How easy it would be for her to slip forward from her hiding place, to jump across those rocks and enter the tunnel. Celandine tried to pluck up the courage to do it, but the fear of what might be lurking in there held her back.

What if Fin went first and had a look? He was in no real danger. It wasn’t him that they were after. Perhaps he could tell her if the tunnel was clear.

She looked down at him – saw the way that his straight dark hair fell across his wondering eyes, the way that he sucked in his top lip, how his thin shoulders just begged to have an arm about them. How lovely, and perfect and wonderful he was.

Could she make him understand what it was that she wanted him to do?

‘Fin . . .’ she bent closer, and whispered to him as quietly as she could.

His big solemn eyes turned towards her, and he put his finger to his pursed lips. For a terrifying moment she thought that he was going to perform his loud hissing trick – but instead he gave a tiny whisper – ‘I . . . is look. I is see. I.’

She clutched him to her, couldn’t help it, though she squeezed the very breath out of him. The tears sprang to her eyes at the sudden conviction that this was it – that if she once let him part from her, she would never see him again. She felt the tiny pat of his hand on her shoulder, a brief touch of understanding, and then he was writhing in her embrace, trying to break free. He pushed himself back from her, and she could see the whiteness of his broad grin. ‘I all right.
I
all right . . .’