The Huntress: Storm by Sarah Driver

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

The Tree-Tribesfolk help us brush the dried tree-blood from our cloaks and hair. I use my fingernail to scrape it from the grooves in Ma’s dragonfly brooch. We learn that Leo escaped from the trader who bought her from Storm-Bringer, and managed to limp into the forest and hide. She recognised the Forest of Nightfall from her maps and hoped to find Kes still camping there.

‘Where is she?’ I ask.

‘In the heart of Nightfall, at the College of Medsin. She and Egret are posing as young men and using false names – Kite and Boar.’

‘And what’s going on here?’ asks Crow, peering around.

‘The Tree-Tribes are gathering allies, ready to resist the forces tightening their control over our world.’

‘What about the other riders, the ones you took with you?’ I ask.

Her mouth tightens. ‘Of the three, only one escaped with me. At the time I left, one remained at the Frozen Wastes; another was borne westwards by the slave-trader. But I will find them.’

We learn about the camp – normally, the Tree-Tribes live amongst the branches, but so many other folk have come to join them that they’ve made a camp on the ground. It’s organised like a village, with tents for storing food and a place to cook it, a tent where healers work and another for a blacksmith. There’s a great stinking pit of a privy, too, that they call a latrine. ‘I’ll be holding it in as long as I can,’ I whisper to Sparrow, and he nods, eyes like platters.

While we’ve been gabbing, tribesfolk have laid furs out over the forest floor and the trees have laced their branches together overhead, keeping out the wind and snow. A fire has been lit, and it crackles in the centre of the clearing. And a feast has appeared.

I press my fingers to my mouth as my eyes gobble the sight of all the pots and bowls. ‘Is it – real?’

A woman with a long, curved nose, dark hair and bright blue eyes nods at me. ‘It’s real. Please, sit with us and eat.’ Concern is carved starkly into her face. She asks us for our names, and tells us hers is Hoshi.

We stagger towards the food. Crow snatches up a dark green leaf-parcel and bites it in half. Meat and onions spill out into his lap and he picks up the chunks and crams them into his mouth. He sees me watching and looks away, eyes flashing.

‘Why you wearing a mystik cloak?’ asks Sparrow rudely, eyeing the red cloth Toadflax is draped in.

She laughs. ‘Because I am a mystik.’

I scramble onto hands and knees and fiddle for an arrow.

‘Don’t panic so, Mouse,’ says Leo. ‘Toadflax is not like the mystiks you have met before!’

Hoshi nods. ‘You may have witnessed mystiks working under forces of evil—’

‘Aye,’ I break in, confusion plucking threads from my mind. ‘Mystiks captured my brother! They possessed Leo . . .’ And made her do proper foulsome things.

‘But true mystiks do not abuse their power,’ says Toadflax gently.

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