Read Online The Dreamsnatcher by Abi Elphinstone - Free Book Online
Authors: Abi Elphinstone
Ads: Link
drum. She gripped her talisman hard. ‘I – I can feel Skull chanting for me,’ she whispered. ‘He must be stronger now he knows who
I am. He’s reaching me while I’m awake!’
The forest around them fell silent until all that remained were Moll and Siddy’s fluttering breaths.
Siddy clutched his talisman, a circular pebble with a hole in the middle which brought him more bad luck than good (he’d got his finger stuck in the hole when tree climbing a few days
earlier and it’d snagged on a fence while he and Moll fled from the farmer the month before) but he’d grown attached to the thing and he gripped it until his fingers were white. Then he
plunged his hand inside an old sack, brought out a handful of oats and scattered them over the floor. ‘Keep us safe, tree spirits,’ he whispered. ‘Keep us safe.’
But the oats weren’t strong enough to force Skull back and Moll felt his call, urging her to give up, to hand herself over to his gang. She turned to Siddy. ‘Tell me something good,
Sid, something that’ll close my mind right off to Skull.’
Sid bit his lip and then he said, ‘Olive. That was your ma’s name. And your pa, he was called Ferry.’
And just like that something inside Moll stirred – something stronger and bigger than Skull’s Dream Snatch. His curses dissolved into silence and Moll clenched her fists. She thought
of her parents visiting Skull’s clearing all those years ago. She thought of Gryff’s touch, so warm and strong.
‘I’ll find out how Skull killed my parents,’ she muttered. ‘He may have owned their minds, but he’s not owning me.’ She paused. ‘
No one
owns
me.’
T hat night a figure entered the forest and passed by Skull’s camp unseen. On it crept, through the deadened glade and in between the sallow
beeches, wearing the night like a cloak. It paused briefly by the river boundary, then lowered itself into the water and waded across. With silent stealth, it edged closer to Oak’s camp.
Perched like a china ornament, an owl hooted from a branch. The figure stopped, brushing its long grey hair back from its face. There was music further ahead – a pan flute, a fiddle, an
accordion. The camp were celebrating something. But this was no time for a party.
The figure continued on, creeping up to the first of the Sacred Oaks. It stretched out a blackened hand, the fingers burned to stumps, and placed a roll of leather into a hollow in the tree. The
initials on the leather gleamed in the moonlight: MP. And then the figure slipped from the trees, back into the night.
The camp was buzzing with excitement: the Jumping of the Broomstick ceremony had arrived. The stars were out and Oak and Mooshie were sitting round the fire on stools carved
from beech wood, drinking bog-myrtle beer and feeding titbits to the camp’s two greyhounds. Beside them, wearing so much purple she was almost blue, Patti was sprinkling herbs into her
husband’s soup. ‘It’s lovage, Jesse,’ she whispered. ‘It’ll increase your love for me – and ensure faithfulness at all times.’ Jesse rolled his eyes,
but drank the concoction nonetheless. To his right Cinderella Bull held a sparkling fortune-telling ball before Hard-Times Bob and the children gathered round the fire, sipping wood-sorrel fizzes
– delicious, bubbly drinks Mooshie made from green-leafed plants that grew along the forest floor.
Moll watched from the edge of the clearing with Siddy.
‘You sure you don’t want to muck in for a bit?’ Siddy said. ‘You could stand by me when Ivy jumps the broomstick . . .’
Moll threw him a withering look so Siddy didn’t push it further. It had been bad enough bumping into Oak and Mooshie on their way back to Moll’s wagon earlier. When they’d
tried to talk to Moll, she had been as uncommunicative as Porridge the Second and Siddy had found the whole thing so profoundly awkward his ears had burned red and began to twitch. And it was
obvious the children
I am. He’s reaching me while I’m awake!’
The forest around them fell silent until all that remained were Moll and Siddy’s fluttering breaths.
Siddy clutched his talisman, a circular pebble with a hole in the middle which brought him more bad luck than good (he’d got his finger stuck in the hole when tree climbing a few days
earlier and it’d snagged on a fence while he and Moll fled from the farmer the month before) but he’d grown attached to the thing and he gripped it until his fingers were white. Then he
plunged his hand inside an old sack, brought out a handful of oats and scattered them over the floor. ‘Keep us safe, tree spirits,’ he whispered. ‘Keep us safe.’
But the oats weren’t strong enough to force Skull back and Moll felt his call, urging her to give up, to hand herself over to his gang. She turned to Siddy. ‘Tell me something good,
Sid, something that’ll close my mind right off to Skull.’
Sid bit his lip and then he said, ‘Olive. That was your ma’s name. And your pa, he was called Ferry.’
And just like that something inside Moll stirred – something stronger and bigger than Skull’s Dream Snatch. His curses dissolved into silence and Moll clenched her fists. She thought
of her parents visiting Skull’s clearing all those years ago. She thought of Gryff’s touch, so warm and strong.
‘I’ll find out how Skull killed my parents,’ she muttered. ‘He may have owned their minds, but he’s not owning me.’ She paused. ‘
No one
owns
me.’
T hat night a figure entered the forest and passed by Skull’s camp unseen. On it crept, through the deadened glade and in between the sallow
beeches, wearing the night like a cloak. It paused briefly by the river boundary, then lowered itself into the water and waded across. With silent stealth, it edged closer to Oak’s camp.
Perched like a china ornament, an owl hooted from a branch. The figure stopped, brushing its long grey hair back from its face. There was music further ahead – a pan flute, a fiddle, an
accordion. The camp were celebrating something. But this was no time for a party.
The figure continued on, creeping up to the first of the Sacred Oaks. It stretched out a blackened hand, the fingers burned to stumps, and placed a roll of leather into a hollow in the tree. The
initials on the leather gleamed in the moonlight: MP. And then the figure slipped from the trees, back into the night.
The camp was buzzing with excitement: the Jumping of the Broomstick ceremony had arrived. The stars were out and Oak and Mooshie were sitting round the fire on stools carved
from beech wood, drinking bog-myrtle beer and feeding titbits to the camp’s two greyhounds. Beside them, wearing so much purple she was almost blue, Patti was sprinkling herbs into her
husband’s soup. ‘It’s lovage, Jesse,’ she whispered. ‘It’ll increase your love for me – and ensure faithfulness at all times.’ Jesse rolled his eyes,
but drank the concoction nonetheless. To his right Cinderella Bull held a sparkling fortune-telling ball before Hard-Times Bob and the children gathered round the fire, sipping wood-sorrel fizzes
– delicious, bubbly drinks Mooshie made from green-leafed plants that grew along the forest floor.
Moll watched from the edge of the clearing with Siddy.
‘You sure you don’t want to muck in for a bit?’ Siddy said. ‘You could stand by me when Ivy jumps the broomstick . . .’
Moll threw him a withering look so Siddy didn’t push it further. It had been bad enough bumping into Oak and Mooshie on their way back to Moll’s wagon earlier. When they’d
tried to talk to Moll, she had been as uncommunicative as Porridge the Second and Siddy had found the whole thing so profoundly awkward his ears had burned red and began to twitch. And it was
obvious the children
Similar Books
