He heard an inhuman cry, like the shriek of a bird of prey, then there were figures, shadowy figures, cloaked in grey and green, emerging from the woods, behind the livid figures of the Terrori. He tried to croak out, ‘Help!’ but his tongue felt thick in his mouth and no sound came out but a strangled choking grunt. One of the Terrori fell on top of him, a knife sticking out from between his shoulder blades. It was Warblay. Hex dragged himself out from under the body, only to see Bulldog charging towards him, his naked blade in his hand. Yanking the knife out of Warblay’s back, he parried the other’s weapon with his stick while thrusting up into his ribs with the bloody knife. The force of his own momentum drove the Terrori forward onto the knife. He shrieked and went down.

Hex pulled the bloody knife free and looked around. The whole thing had happened in moments. There were five people standing and four people down, the Terrori, all dead. Beyond the track, from the trees, came the sound of childish voices.

‘Hex!’ said the nearest figure. ‘Don’t let the girls see this! Keep them back while we rid us of these carrion.’

It was Anver. He was still shedding feathers, he had transformed so fast. Hex stuck the knife into his belt and ran, wiping his blood-stained hands on his clothes as he went.

Just beyond the bend of the path, he found Neve and Efa. They were crouched in the undergrowth, but Neve sprang up as she saw him crying, ‘Hex!’

Efa jumped up too. He gathered them in his arms, they were both so small and light, even though Neve was a year older than Corny.

‘Neve! Efa! Come away from here now. Where’s your father?’ He was leading them away from the fatal path as he spoke, holding one small hand in each of his own.

‘Ma’s behind the hill, with our Cullum,’ said Neve, hanging on to Hex’s hand with all her might. ‘Oh, Hex, we were that affrighted, our hearts failed within us. Thank the gods you were there. When I saw you, I thought my eyes would start from my head! Where is Anver?’

‘He’s alright,’ Hex reassured her. ‘He’s fine and all your companions too. They’re coming on behind. But who are they, Neevy? Are they from Weal?’

Neve shook her head, her eyes large. ‘They’re our friends,’ was all she could say, sounding none too certain. Then, ‘I wish we were back at Weal, Hex, I do. Can’t we go back to Weal now?’

Hex wished he could find some words to make her feel better – she seemed so different from the carefree girl he had last seen just a few weeks ago at Weal. They had come round the curve of a low rise as they were talking and they entered now into a makeshift camp. A woman was stooped over a fire, stirring something in a pot, while a child, little Cullum, clung to her knee. She was shrouded all in grey, her head bent and it was only when she looked up that Hex recognised Anver’s mother, Brede.
Her eyes widened and she looked as if she were about to rise to greet him, but then the light went out of her eyes and she returned to her cooking.

Hex approached her, ignoring the girls who tugged at his arms.

‘Mother Brede?’ he said, dropping to his knees beside her. ‘It’s me. I’m so glad Anver found you. Are you well?’

She did not respond to his voice, nor to his gentle hand on her shoulder. Cullum, who had always loved Hex, was also silent, burying his face in his mother’s lap.

Neve tugged at his sleeve again and said, ‘Come away, Hex. She doesn’t hear ye. Her spirit’s sick. Don’t you worry at her.’

Hex allowed himself to be led away. Anver and the other men – there were five of them, he now saw – returned to the clearing not long after. The strangers, although they looked at him, did not approach, but let Anver come over to speak to Hex alone.

He did not speak until he had taken two proffered bowls from his sister and given one to Hex. Then he said, without any preamble: ‘My father is dead. And our baby Rees too. The baby took a chill one night when they lay on the road out of Weal. Da tried all his lore, but nothing could aid her. Her sweet soul fled to the fields a fortnight since – may the blessed souls of the Folk meet her there and keep her till we come for her.’

His voice sounded hoarse and he fell silent, his bread in one hand, not eating.

Then, as if returning in thought from some distant road, he started to speak again: ‘Toads harried them time and again on the road from Weal – the parting gift of the Master. Or mayhap ‘tis the way the world wags in these times. And one fellow he tries to take them in charge for some so-called wrongdoing – vagrancy, he named it. My Da took it ill, his heart was sick for Rees and he spoke to the man. They had words, words led to blows, and in it all, my Da’s soul parted from his body and flew to join our darling babe.’

He spoke without looking at Hex, but at these last words, a tear rolled down his cheek and fell into his food.

‘They took my Ma and the other bairns, they meant them for the holding pens at Carrock’s Ditch, with many other such poor ones of the Folk that they had swept up on the road for their fancied misdeeds. But the gods be praised, the Partia,’ he nodded towards the men who were clustered round the fire, eating in silence, ‘raided the line on the road, slew the guard and freed their prey. Many fled at once and others stayed with the main body of the Partia who work out of the Wolves Vale, but this party – Cefn and Anraed and Finbar and the rest – was coming south to Norton and Ma went with them to seek her kin in Norton-without-Pale.

‘I tracked them from the fowl of the air, who shared with me their news as I went, and found them on the road. My Ma’s mind is overborne with grief, as you find her now, and I must see her and the bairns to her kin.’

He put down his bowl and turned to face Hex, his hand on his knee. His face was pale. In the few days since Hex had seen him last, something had changed. He no longer seemed like a boy, but a man, grim and determined.

‘Then, my dear friend,’ he said, gripping Hex’s shoulder, ‘once I have seen them safe, I will go with the Partia. I go to seek the Border where the Folk still fight to win their ancient lands. I have heeded the counsel of our wise ones for too long. We cannot stick to the old ways, sue for peace, leave the Stranger to his wars and his gold. If the Folk are to live, we must give battle to the Stranger who have laid us beneath their harrow.’

His eyes were bright and fierce.

‘You’re joining the rebels?’ Hex exclaimed. ‘But there is no quarter for a rebel. If you are caught they will hang you from the nearest tree. The Partia, you, every man here is a dead man. Leave them here, now, and I’ll help you and your family to Norton. We’ll see the Councillor Wallop. He is a great man, Anver. He can help you.’

Anver shook his head. ‘It is too late. Those Terroir back there that we slew, each one is a death sentence for me, and maybe even for you.’

‘I’ll tell them,’ said Hex. ‘I’ll tell them you came to my aid against an unprovoked attack.’

‘And will they take your word for it?’ said Anver. ‘The word of a wanted man? Nay, dear heart, when once we came to your aid, I knew I would cross a line. There is no going back for me now.’

How had it come to this? He had fled Weal to escape a charge of murder and now he was a murderer and he had drawn Anver into mortal danger. ‘Then let me come with you,’ he said. ‘I am lost as well as you. There is no haven for me within the Bounds. I’ll come to the Border with you and the Partia.’

Anver shook his head. ‘And bear arms against your own kind? You know that it cannot be. And if you would do it, yet the Partia would not take you.’ He cast a sideways look at the rough, wild men, in their shabby gear. ‘ I know you. You are my brother. But they hate all Strangers. They would have killed you in that glade along with the Terrori if I had not stayed their hand. Even now, you are in danger from them. We must part, my dear friend, and there is no time for fond farewells.’

‘Anver!’

One of the men, dark-eyed, gaunt-faced, with streaks of silver in his dark beard and hair, gestured towards the skies. Hex saw with a shock that where Mother Brede and the children had been there now stood a wild duck and her three young. The rest of the men were already transforming.

Anver leaned forward and placed a quick kiss on Hex’s forehead. ‘I must be gone. Fare thee well, dear heart.’
He leapt into the air with a shout, transforming as he did so into his bird form. The little clearing filled with birds and in seconds they had lifted high above the woods and were wheeling in the direction of Norton.