Podkin and the Singing Spear by Kieran Larwood

Author:Kieran Larwood [Larwood, Kieran]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Faber & Faber
Published: 2023-11-15T00:00:00+00:00

With the warriors’ spears and bladed weapons pointing at their backs, they marched on across the bleak moorland, heading closer to the mountains.

They walked until the sky began to darken at the edges, and a chill wind blew crystals of ice that stuck in their fur. The Crowskin didn’t seem to mind this. Even with all that bare skin they barely shivered at all.

Just as Podkin was wondering if they were going to march all night, he spotted a low hill in the distance, which they seemed to be heading to. It was broad, with a flat top, and looked as though it might be rabbit-made.

Drawing closer, Podkin was able to see that it wasn’t an actual hill at all. It was a great mound of slate and flint, piled up in blocks and slabs that fitted snugly together, as strong as any wall. The Crowskins led them on to an earthen road that snaked around it, right up to a wooden gate in the side. Above the doors hung a collection of skulls, bleached white by the fierce mountain winds. Rabbit skulls, each one painted with a blood-red rune on the forehead.

As they approached, a shout went up and the gates creaked open. A group of Crowskins emerged, all of them covered in black feathers and striking patterns of warpaint. They watched Podkin and the others with hard, cold eyes as they were herded into the village. Their paws twitched near their weapons, as if they were itching for a fight.

Stepping through the gates, Podkin realised that the flint mound was actually a circular wall. It was thick enough for sentries to walk around the top and shielded everything inside from the icy mountain winds.

The Crowskin had built many roundhouses inside, with low stone walls and steep cone-shaped roofs of cut turf. Holes in the top acted as chimneys and threads of woodsmoke spiralled up from most of them.

The villagers came to their doors to stare at their visitors. All of them had the same bald skin, but the younger rabbits had fewer feathers pierced through it. Some tiny children had none at all. Speckled pink and black, they looked like newborn kittens, before their fur had begun to grow.

In amongst the houses were many carved poles. Each one showed either a scary-looking warrior woman, a feasting battle crow or both. At the feet of all of them were piles of yet more skulls. The sight made Podkin tremble. He hoped his own head wasn’t going to end up stacked there, picked clean of fur and meat and painted with a bloody rune.

The centre of the village was taken up by a large, triangular longhouse: two steep, rectangular, turf-covered sides meeting at the top. More skulls decorated the doorway, which loomed, dark and foreboding.

‘In there,’ said one of their Crowskin captors. The first time any of them had spoken since meeting them at the Deadstones.

Podkin shared a nervous look with Paz and then they both marched in, followed by the others.

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