The Huntress: Sky by Sarah Driver

Author:Sarah Driver [Driver, Sarah]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Egmont

‘Mouse?’ floats the call again. Icicles scrape the top of my head as I flail to catch up with my friends. Blue owls ping past my face. But at a crossroads between the shelves, I break towards the section Yapok showed us, shutting my ears to Kestrel’s call.

I weave down path after path, heart thrashing as I stare up at the crowded shelves and try to remember where we saw Legend. I stumble on my skates. The paths grow darker and I wish I’d brought Thunderbolt. There’s a pale glow coming from the berg owls and one or two dusty whale-song lamps, though, and that’s enough for me to see the books’ spines if I squint.

I pull out book after book. Some gargle and growl. Others spew clouds of brown dust that make me cough. Through the dust I glimpse stories with faded pictures of strange animals. I can’t believe the Sky-Tribes keep their stories on paper – at least a tusk or a bone can’t be ripped or ruined if it’s dropped in water. But I like the rich smell of the old parchment. My feet are hot and sore. I rest against a shelf and peer inside an owl burrow in the ice between two shelves. A pair of yellow eyes stares back.

Who? chatters the owl at me.  Whoyouwhoyouwhoyou?

Mouse, I answer.

The owl utters a raucous chortle and lifts its foot in some kind of salute.

Heart-thanks, I tell it.  Do you know if there’s a book here about gems like this?

As I bring the Opal from my pocket, there’s a deafening flurry. Owls stream from their burrows over my head and circle around me, making Thaw spit and hiss something rotten – she must’ve followed me.

Wisdomwisdomwisdom, chant the owls.  WissssssDOM. One dives for the Opal and I cower, covering it with my cloak.  Just to peek, it chatters mournfully.  Stone for all things, lifelifelife.

Stone for life? I say It feels alive, that’s for sure. Do you lot know your way around these books? Do you know if there are old, old stories here, legends?

A hoarse shout goes up from somewhere to my left.

‘I think I found something!’ Kestrel calls faintly.

Soon a great tangled knot of owls have gathered, all hooting and making a commotion around a heavy-looking leather book they’ve plucked almost off a shelf.

I dart forwards and catch the book before it splays onto the ice. The front is so covered in dust, and the light’s so dim, I can’t make out the runes. I wipe away the thick dust and tilt the cover towards a nearby whale-song lamp, but it’s too dim. I stretch up and flick the glass to make the strand of song thud about, jangling enough to shed a pool of light.

When the runes emerge from the murk, it’s like a hundred pins have been stuck in my skin.

The Legend of the Storm-Opal Crown.

I skate back into the main cave.

‘There she is!’ Crow lays a book on a table and scowls at me. ‘You

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