Gullstruck Island by Hardinge Frances

Author:Hardinge, Frances [Hardinge, Frances]
Language: eng
Format: mobi, epub
ISBN: 9780230739482
Publisher: Macmillan Publishers UK
Published: 2009-09-01T04:00:00+00:00

On the third night, Hathin’s group found themselves in one of the smaller camps, with a big gang of men travelling together. They spoke Nundestruth with a Mistleman’s Blunder accent, and it became clear that they were new arrivals and had already clashed with a gang of bounty hunters from Jealousy. ‘Poach,’ one of them kept saying. ‘Like steal rabbit.’ He seemed to find this very funny. ‘They say if rabbit run on to land belong-them, then rabbit belong-them. Call we penny-pirate, poacher.’

‘What rabbit you hunt?’ asked Jaze.

‘Lace,’ answered the man, ending the word with a grinning hiss. Hathin’s heart lurched. ‘Take Lace Mistleman’s Blunder way, dead or live, no matter. Jealousy gang over-there –’ he nodded towards the lights of a larger camp a little way distant – ‘look Lace for takem Superior. But no find Lace, we find all Lace first.’ He laughed again, but there was a touch of uneasiness in his eye as he looked out towards the other camp.

‘Why Superior want Lace?’ asked Therrot, his hand tense in Hathin’s. The ‘Superior’ was the title of Jealousy’s governor.

‘Nocansay. Superior want Lace alive. Nocansay.’

For all their apparent mirth, the men in this group were undeniably jumpy. The general feeling seemed to be that the local bounty hunters had lost their sense of humour about the scarcity of Lace. A tiny sound from the direction of the other camp set half their camp clutching at their knife hilts as they leaned forward to listen.

Into this stillness Arilou dropped a small wandering wail.

‘Bad dream,’ Jaze said quickly, cradling her shoulders. Arilou’s mouth and eyes were both wide open, as if with fear or effort.

‘Ath . . .’ she said.

Therrot placed a restraining hand on Hathin’s arm, and she realized she’d started to rise from her seat. But she wants something, she’s upset, she needs something . . .

‘Athm,’ said Arilou. ‘Ath . . . Athern . . .’

And it was not a bubble in a stream of sound, it was a word that Arilou was trying to force her wayward tongue to shape. It was a word so familiar to Hathin that she did not recognize it at first, any more than she would have recognized the taste of air. And then she understood, and for a moment forgot how to breathe.

Hathin.

‘Haathh . . .’ Shrill. Urgent. Hathin leaped to her feet. She couldn’t help it. And in that moment, the wind changed.

Suddenly the smoke from the campfire was no longer in Hathin’s nose. Instead there was a strange damp smell of long-dead fires, and an acrid stench mixed with a reek like rotting meat.

Time came off its axle for a moment, giving the revengers time to see each others’ eyes become great moons of realization. Then just as quickly the world recovered from its shock and everything happened at once.

A crossbow bolt hit the log where Hathin had been sitting.

Jaze sprang up, hefting Arilou on to his shoulder.

Tomki flung a cloak over the fire, plunging the area into darkness.

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