to buzz around the lads like flies. A big yellow gnome, Neb’s favourite, grabbed his hand and tugged.
Clae saw none of this, because he was pawing through the grass. Finally he picked out a bit of stick and began chewing on it.
‘Get that out of your mouth,’ Neb said. ‘And come on, we’re going to have a look at the waterfall after all.’
Clae grinned and tossed the stick into the river. An undine caught it, bowed, and disappeared into foam.
In a crowd of Wildfolk the two boys headed upstream, following a grassy path beside the noisy river. Now and then Clae seemed to feel the presence of the gnomes. When one of them brushed against him, he would look down, then shrug as if dismissing the sensation. For as long as he could remember Neb had seen the Wildfolk, but no one else in his family had the gift of the Sight. He’d learned early to keep his gifts to himself. Any mention of Wildfolk had exasperated his literal-minded mother and made the other children in town mock and tease him.
The two boys followed the river to the white water churning around fallen boulders. They panted up the steep path that zigzagged along the cliff face, then turned to look back. Under a black plume the distant village was burning. Neb stared, unable to comprehend, unable to scream, merely stared as the bright flower of flame poured black smoke into the sky. Little people, the size of red ants from their vantage point, scurried around and waved their arms. Larger ants chased them and waved things that winked metallic in the sun. A cluster of horses, the size of flies, stood on the far side of the village bridge. The farm – it too burned, a blossom of deadly gold among the green meadows. Two horses and riders circled the earthen wall.
‘Raiders!’ Clae’s voice was a breathy sob. ‘Oh Neb! Horsekin!’
Overhead a raven shrieked, as if answering him. The two riders suddenly turned their horses away from the farmstead. They broke into a gallop and headed upstream for the waterfall.
‘Into the forest!’ Neb said. ‘We’ve got to hide!’
They raced across the grassy cliff top, plunged into the forest, and ran panting and crashing through the underbrush among the pines and brambles. Twigs and thorns caught and tore his shirt and brigga, but Neb drove his brother before him like a frightened sheep until at last they could run no more. They burrowed into a thick patch of shrubs and clung together. If the slavers caught them, they would geld Clae like a steer. And they’d kill me, Neb thought. I’m old enough to cause trouble.
Neb could see nothing in the tangled mass of forest. He could hear only the waterfall, plunging down over rock. Had they run far enough? Voices – Neb thought he heard voices, deep ones, muttering in what sounded like anger, then a crash and a jingle, very faint, as if someone had dropped something metallic on to a rock. He heard a shout that turned to a scream. Clae stiffened and opened his mouth. Neb clapped a hand over it before he could speak.
Whether voices or not, the sounds died away, leaving only the chatter of the waterfall to disturb the silence. Slowly the normal noises of a forest picked up, the distant rustles of small animals, the chirping of birds. The yellow gnome appeared to perch in a nearby bush and grin. It patted its stomach as if pleased with itself, then disappeared. Slowly, too, the grey twilight deepened into a velvety night. They were safe for now, but on the morrow in the sunlight the Horsekin might return to search the woods. Neb realized that he and Clae had best be gone as soon as it was light enough to see.
Eventually Clae squirmed into his brother’s lap like a child half his size and fell asleep. Neb drowsed, but every snap of a twig, cry of an owl, or rustle of wind woke him in startled terror. When at last the grey dawn came, he felt as stiff and cold as an old man. Clae woke in tears, crying out at his memories.
‘Hush, hush,’ Neb said, but he felt like weeping himself. ‘Now we have to think. We don’t have a cursed bite to eat, and we’d best find something.’
‘We can’t go down to the river. If the Horsekin are still there, they’ll smell us out.’
‘They’ll what?’
‘Smell us out. They can do that.’
‘How do you know?’
Clae started to answer, then looked away, visibly puzzled. ‘Someone must have told me,’ he said at last.
‘Well, we’ve heard plenty of tales about the Horsekin, sure enough. Speaking of noses, wipe yours on your sleeve, will you?’
Clae obliged. ‘I never thought I’d miss Uncle Brwn,’ he said, then began to weep in a silent trickle of tears. Our uncle’s dead, Neb thought. The last person who would take us in, even if he was a sot.
‘We’re going to walk east,’ Neb said. ‘We’ll follow the rising sun so we won’t get lost. On the other side of the forest, we’ll find a village. It’s a long way, so you’ll have to be brave.’
‘But Neb?’ Clae said. ‘What will we eat?’
‘Oh, berries and birds’ eggs and herbs.’ Neb made his voice as strong and cheery as he could. ‘There’s always lots to eat in summer.’
He was, of course, being ridiculously optimistic. The birds’ eggs had long since hatched; few berry bushes grew in forest shade. At every step the forest itself blocked their way with ferns and shrubs, tangled between the trees. They had to push their way through, creeping uphill and hurrying down as they searched for the few herbs that would feed, not poison them. Water at least they had; they came across a good many rivulets trickling down to join the Melyn. By sundown, Clae could not make himself stop weeping. They made a nest among low-growing shrubs, where Neb rocked him to sleep like a baby.
As he watched the shadows darken around them, Neb realized that they were going to die. He had no idea of how far the forest stretched. Were they going straight east? Trying to follow the sun among trees might have them wandering around in circles. You can’t give up, he told himself. He’d promised his dying mother that he’d keep Clae safe. The one concern he could allow himself now was keeping them both alive. He fell asleep to dream of sitting at his mother’s table and watching her pile bread and beef onto the trencher he shared with Clae.
In the morning, Neb woke with a start. A gaggle of gnomes stood around them as if they were standing guard, while sprites floated overhead. The yellow gnome materialized and stood pointing to its stomach.
‘Do you know where there’s food?’ Neb whispered.
The gnome nodded and pointed off into the forest.
‘Can you show me where it is?’
Again the gnome nodded. When Neb shook him, Clae woke with a howl and a scatter of tears. He slid off Neb’s lap and screwed his fists into his eyes.
‘Time to get on the road,’ Neb said with as much cheer as he could muster. ‘I’ve got the feeling we’re going to be lucky today.’
‘My feet hurt. I can’t walk any more.’ Clae lowered his hands. ‘I’ll just die here.’
‘You won’t do any such thing. Here, stick out your legs. One at a time! I’ll wrap the swaddling for you.’
With the rags bound tight against his feet, Clae managed to keep walking. As they beat their way through fern and thistle, the Wildfolk led the boys straight into the forest, dodging around the black-barked pines and
