Snowbone (7 page)

“He has those already,” said Blackeye, looking at the thin body sprawled on the sand. He reached into his pocket, took out a knife and began to cut the silver cords.

“He's so tall,” said Tigermane. “How did they get him in there?”

No one answered. They were too busy wondering
why
he was in there.

Once the ropes were cut, the boy tried to stretch out his legs. But he had been in the chest so long, his muscles had completely seized up. He groaned and his face puckered with pain.

“This is going to take some time,” said Snowbone. “We'll
carry him up to the shelters. Tigermane, run to the store cave and fetch some blankets. Blackeye, take his legs. Two Teeth, take his body.”

And so they carried the boy up the beach to the shelters. There he was laid upon a bed and given water. He drank deeply, then wet his hands and wiped them over his face. He whispered his thanks and smiled weakly. Then he closed his eyes and slept—a deep, safe sleep—while the tiddlins watched and waited and wondered. Who? What? Why?

The sun was setting by the time the strange boy awoke. He was feeling much better. His limbs ached but he could move them. He was ravenously hungry and readily devoured three bowls of soup. Mouse was thrilled—she had spent the whole afternoon making it. The boy didn't know how honored he was; Mouse had never made soup before. The pirate wives had taught her how, but the tiddlins were so wary of fire, they still ate everything raw.

But the boy was human. Mouse had realized that when night came, he would be cold. He would need warm clothing and nourishing food. So she had rummaged in the store cave for a bundle of clothes, and gathered armfuls of vegetables. Tigermane had collected wood and together, very carefully, they had built a fire in the middle of the meeting circle. And that evening, as the boy sat by the fire, snug in his woolen jacket and britches, his fingers cradling another bowl of soup, the tiddlins gathered round and he told his story.

“I am Manu, High Prince of Balaa,” he said proudly. “I am fourteen years old, and right now, I should be sitting in a palace—”

“You should be dead,” said Snowbone.

Manu stared at her, completely taken by surprise. Then he smiled. “You're right,” he said. “You saved my life. I couldn't have lasted much longer.”

“Why were you in the chest?” said Snowbone.

“It's a long story,” said Manu.

“Shorten it,” said Snowbone.

“Yes, Your Majesty,” said Manu, clearly amused. He finished his soup and settled himself. “My story begins on the island of Balaa, where I was born. My father was Meru, king of Balaa. My mother was Arcana, his queen. I was their only child and they doted on me—especially my mother, I believe. But she died when I was one year old, and my father chose to remarry.

“His new wife was beautiful but ambitious. In the beginning, she tolerated me. But when I was eight years old, she gave birth to a boy, Jobi, and things began to change. My father was growing old, and my stepmother wanted Jobi to be king after him. But I was the heir to the throne. I was the firstborn. If Jobi were to be king, she would have to kill me first.”

“No!” gasped Mouse.

“Yes!” said Manu. “She had a servant, Enkola—a spiteful man—who had served her faithfully for years. He would do anything for her.
Anything.
So she told him to kill me. She didn't care how he did it. He could cut my throat, drown me in the river—anything, as long as I was out of the way.”

“No!” said Mouse again.

Snowbone dug her in the ribs. “Shut up!” she hissed. “We'll be here all night.”

“Enkola was a superstitious man,” said Manu, picking up the thread of the tale. “A very clever man. He studied the stars. He believed in omens. He believed in the eternal power of kings and he believed in destiny. And when Enkola looked
to the stars for guidance that night, he saw a red moon. And he decided, there and then, that it was wrong to kill me. I was a prince. He had no right to determine my fate.

“And so he chose both to obey and to disobey the queen. In the dead of night, he stole into my bedchamber, as she had commanded, and put a wet cloth against my face. I awoke. I struggled and fought, kicked like a rabbit, but the cloth made me drowsy. Enkola carried me down to the beach. But he didn't kill me.

“He bound my hands and feet with cords and put me into the chest. All the while he gabbled on about omens and moons till I was quite dizzy. Then he slammed down the lid, fastened the padlocks and left me to my destiny. The tide carried me away … I drifted on the waves. For how long, I do not know. And then the storm carried me here.”

“You're making this up,” said Snowbone. “Kings. Wicked stepmothers. How stupid do you think we are? This is a fairy tale.”

“No,” said Manu. “It's true. I swear on my father's life.”

“Prove it,” said Snowbone.

Manu stared at her. “Why should I? I know it to be true.”

“So you have no proof?”

“I have this chain,” said Manu. He showed her a fine golden chain round his neck.

“Give it here,” said Snowbone.

“I can't,” said Manu.

“What do you mean, you can't?” said Snowbone. “Take it off and give it here.”

“I can't,” said Manu. “That's the whole point.”

He leaned toward her, too close for her liking. She felt his breath on her face and squirmed.

“Look,” said Manu, holding up the necklace. “There's no fastening.”

Snowbone looked closer and found it was true. She slid the slender chain through her fingers. It was exquisite. But there was no clasp—just a single, unbroken length of gold. “How did you get it on?” she said.

“I was born wearing it,” said Manu. “Only a prince of Balaa would be born with such a gift. This is my proof. Whether you choose to believe it or not is entirely up to you.”

Snowbone said no more.

“Have you ever tried to cut it?” said Blackeye.

“Enkola tried, before he put me in the box,” said Manu. “He had wire cutters, but they wouldn't cut through.”

“But it's so delicate!” said Mouse. “There's nothing to it!”

“I know,” said Manu proudly.

“Manu,” said Tigermane, “there's something I don't understand. Where does the
Tamberlory
fit in?”

Manu shook his head. “Now
I
don't understand!” he laughed. “What is the
Tamberlory
?”

“It's a ship,” said Mouse. “It went down last night in the storm and the wreckage was washed up on the beach. We thought you were part of that.”

“No,” said Manu. “I was never aboard a ship! I was on my own out there, believe me.”

The tiddlins fell silent, imagining how that would feel. To be trapped in a box … with miles of ocean all around … night falling … a storm brewing … and no one coming to save you.

“Scary,” said Mouse with a shudder.

Manu smiled. “Terrifying,” he said. “Absolutely terrifying!”

arly the next morning, while the tiddlins were still fussing over Manu like a new puppy, Snowbone slipped out of camp unnoticed. She strolled through the forest, enjoying the silence and the glorious day Sunlight was filtering through the leaf canopy, strewing her path with golden pennies of light. She felt rich indeed.

Then, out of the corner of her eye, she noticed something. A fluffy gray bundle, plumped on the ground at the foot of a tree. Snowbone started to creep closer, wondering what it could be. Suddenly the bundle shook itself and sneezed. A pair of silver eyes opened, looked up at her and blinked.

“Oh!” cooed Snowbone. “It's a baby owl!”

She carefully picked up the owlet and stroked its soft, warm feathers. “Are you hurt, baby one?” she said. “Are you lost?”

Snowbone looked around, trying to find the owlet's mother. There was no sign of her—but there
was
a hole in the tree trunk above.

“Did you fall out of there?” said Snowbone, peering up. “Well, I can't put you back. I can't reach that high. And I can't
leave you on the ground. A wolf will get you. No, I'll have to take you with me.”

Snowbone slipped the owlet inside her shirt and started to grin. She had an owl! How fantastic was that? She couldn't wait to see the faces of the other tiddlins when she showed it to them. They would be so envious! But they couldn't have one, oh, no! She was the leader. She was allowed to have special things, wasn't she? That's what being a leader was all about.

Snowbone walked on. But she hadn't taken more than ten steps when a deafening screech ripped through the forest and a furious owl attacked her from behind. It swooped down so low, she felt its talons drag through her hair. Then it landed on a branch in front and screeched full in her face.

“It's all right!” said Snowbone, pulling the owlet out from under her shirt. “It's all right! I wasn't
stealing
it—I was trying to look after it. You should be more careful with the poor little thing! You can't leave it lying on the ground like an old apple, you know. Forests are dangerous places.”

Reluctantly, Snowbone put the owlet back where she had found it and gave it one more stroke.

“I wish I could keep you,” she whispered, “but I can't.” And with a deep sigh, she turned and walked away, deeper into the forest.

When she reached the glade, Snowbone saw Figgis digging in the vegetable patch. As she approached, he spun round, holding the spade like a weapon. But when he saw who it was, the anger and fear fell away from his face and he lowered it.

“Who were you expecting?” said Snowbone.

“No one,” said Figgis wearily. He scanned the forest. “Are you on your own again?”

Snowbone nodded.

“You want to be careful,” said Figgis.

“I'm not afraid,” said Snowbone.

“I can see that,” said Figgis. Snowbone stood no taller than his middle, but she gazed fixedly at him, her hands on her hips, completely assured. He smiled. “Let's go in. I'll fix us something to eat.”

“I didn't believe you, you know,” said Snowbone as she followed him. “When you said you weren't expecting anyone. You looked scared.”

“I had visitors yesterday. Slave traders.”

“Really? How do you know they were traders?”

Figgis shrugged. “They were human. A bit rough. Mean-looking.”

“Yes, but the sap-collectors look like that.”

“Sap-collectors?” said Figgis. “Who are they?”

“I don't really know,” said Snowbone. “Blackeye saw them. There was a gang of them, cutting down trees. But it was a bit strange, because they didn't take the timber. They had these long siphon things and they drilled into the wood. Then they drained off some white stuff into a flagon. They had hundreds of flagons, in crates. Oh, and there was this blue thing that came out of the earth and whizzed— Figgis, are you all right?”

The tinker looked as if he were going to be sick. He swayed on his feet, then gripped the back of a chair for support.

“Figgis?”

“They're not trees,” he said heavily. “They're Ancestors.”

“Sit down,” said Snowbone in confusion. “I'll put the kettle on.”

“Snowbone, you have no idea what you've just told me! It's unbelievable. A nightmare.”

“I don't understand.”

“No, you wouldn't, because I hadn't got round to telling you. Forget the kettle—I want to show you something. Come on.”

Figgis took her outside, across the glade and into the forest. There he stopped beside an enormous tree with a trunk so massive Snowbone couldn't walk round it in fewer than twenty steps.

“Now
this,”
said Figgis, “might look like a normal tree, but it's not. It's an ashen tree. It didn't grow from a seed, like an oak or a sycamore. This was once a man. A living, breathing Ashenpeaker.”

Snowbone stared at him.
“What?”

“This is what I was planning to tell you today. You wanted to know how Ashenpeakers die? Well, we don't die. Not like humans. When our time comes, we Move On. It's a strange process. It takes several weeks, but basically we turn into trees. Ashen trees.”

Snowbone was still staring—shocked, horrified, but desperately wanting to know more.

“I know it's hard to take in,” said Figgis with a smile. “But it's true.”