Hearing the Forest

By Sally Startup

How can the Forest Rats fight the harvest? And can Willow and her companions truly help, after they have aided the captured Green? Anyone with talent hears the cry of the Forest, but not everyone responds the same way. Who can tell what the Forest really wants, for itself?
The final book in the Tree Speaker trilogy is a longer, more wide-ranging environmental fantasy with many parallels to our own world.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Bees Nest Books
• Release date: May 16, 2019
• ISBN: 9780463079416

Sally Startup

Sally Startup lives in Hampshire, England. She writes books for children and young adults and has a PhD in writing for children from the University of Winchester, UK. She used to work as a medical herbalist and is interested in plants, nature and green issues.

Book preview

It was a very strange looking plant. Every part of it curled. Twisting roots, twirled trunk, spiralling branches. Twigs wound around themselves. Even the leaves appeared to kink into spirals. The uprooted tree completely filled one harvest wagon.

Rock sat astride one of the Wanderers’ horses and had a good view of the harvest run. All the Wanderers had left the Great Forest Road in order to wait for the Harvesters to pass by.

There only looked to be around forty or fifty Harvesters, with just six harvest wagons. Rock estimated the number of adult Wanderers to be somewhere close to a hundred and fifty. They had ten large wagons between them, as well as numerous other carts. Also, many horses, goats, chickens, and two friendly crows. Nevertheless, the whole lot of them had moved aside. The harvest run was obviously returning from the Forest to the Spice City. The Wanderers needed to go in the opposite direction without attracting any more attention than necessary.

Willow! Rock called out. Look at that tree.

I think it must be a crewel tree, she answered. Is its trunk curled, too? I can only see leaves and twigs from down here.

From his seat above her, Rock noticed how Willow’s brown hair showed hints of gold in the sunlight. She wore a green-dyed linen skirt and blouse. Raising her chin to look at him, she chewed her bottom lip, frowning.

It is, Rock confirmed. And we’re safe. Don’t worry. Those Harvesters don’t know who we are. And we’re hidden in the middle of all these Wanderers.

I can smell the harvest from here, Willow complained, not really sounding convinced by his reassurances. Our horses must be terrified by it.

Rock did not contradict her. He could tell she was right. And he also knew the animals were aware of those other horses out on the road, who pulled six wagons filled with huge baskets of uprooted plants and slaughtered creatures.

Three of the Wanderer horses were in Rock’s care that day. The one he was riding, and the pair who were hitched to a small wagon belonging to the healer, Innamarrit.

A sound came from the wagon, causing him to look back towards it. The healer was busy elsewhere, but Willow’s friend, Wildcat, was supposed to be sleeping inside. Wildcat now climbed out to the driving seat. She tried to reach forward and touch one of the horses in front of her. It gave a forceful shake of its head, making her lean back suddenly.

Rock smiled. He and Wildcat were both animal talkers. The horse had just told her off sharply for not resting her wounded shoulder. She was recovering from a stab wound that might easily have killed her.

Returning his attention to Willow, he said, Why don’t you get up next to Wildcat? There’s a better view and you can make her rest properly.

As Willow climbed up to the wagon seat, he caught sight of her expression and thought she must now be listening to the captured tree.

The fibres inside crewel trees start in their roots and go all the way out to the twigs, she said just then, proving him correct. That would be why those Harvesters haven’t chopped it up. They’ll have to soak the whole tree in a river for moons after it’s dead to rot the fibres out whole.

Rock was having to twist round uncomfortably in order to face her.

If we could take that tree to the Forest and replant it, we might save it, she continued, but I don’t think it would survive anywhere near here. It needs the company of all kinds of other tiny plants and animals that only live in forest soil.

We’ve got the Green to take back, he reminded her. We can’t rescue the whole harvest, as well. Rescuing the Green was likely to be difficult enough on its own.

The tree did puzzle him, though. Getting it out of the ground with some of its roots intact must surely have been very slow and careful work. The harvest of the Forest was usually done as fast as possible. Straightening to face forwards again, he watched the Harvesters.

The six harvest wagons on the road were being pulled by teams of the big, heavy-legged horses normally used for hauling machinery. Rock knew a full harvest run would have at least twenty wagons, including some so large they needed teams of bullocks to pull them. On a full run, timber-workers would cut up felled trees for transporting as great heavy planks. The coin those planks were worth in the city justified all the effort, but the wagons required to carry them were enormous.

Rock suspected the six smaller wagons ahead belonged to a clean-up team. If that was so, then the rest of their run could already be back in the city. These Harvesters would have stayed behind in the Forest, gathering up the final leavings. Yet, something as valuable as a crewel tree would normally be taken up right at the start of a harvest and carried home with the main run.

The lead harvest wagon had now come right alongside the place where the Wanderers had stopped. As Rock studied the harvest workers walking behind it, he continued trying to imagine how a clean-up team might get hold of a crewel tree.

He was suddenly distracted by loud shouting, coming from somewhere at back of the line of harvest wagons. It sounded like some of the workers were calling for those ahead of them to stop.

For one sickening instant, Rock feared the Harvesters might somehow know about the twenty-three Green hidden inside the Wanderers’ own largest wagon. His mount shuddered and lifted its ears in sympathy. Rock’s skin felt suddenly cold and his fingers tightened against the reins in his hands.

The Green had once been stolen from their forest homes by Harvesters. Rock’s own father, Capability Reader, had been involved in their capture. Rock was now helping to take the Green to the Forest before Capability decided to try and get them back again.

The Harvesters out on the Great Forest Road were returning from a run that would have lasted at least a half moon, probably much longer. They could not possibly know about recent events in the Spice City. There was no way they could have recognised the significance of the group of Wanderers who had stopped to let them go by.

So far, neither Willow nor Wildcat appeared to be scared by the commotion on the road. They were both watching it with interest.

The whole line of harvest wagons came to a halt. Then Rock was able to see that it was the crewel tree causing the hold-up. Not anything to do with the Wanderers at all. He let out a long, slow breath.

The tree had obviously begun to slide dangerously sideways, tilting the bed of its wagon. Several harvest workers ran forward to try and right the unbalanced load. They did not seem able to prevent the tree from slipping further. Baskets of other harvest that had been packed around it had shifted, too. One lay on its side on the ground, spilling out stones and wilted plants.

Rock tried to reach out to the crewel tree using his own limited tree speaking talent. He was too far away to find out much. Even Willow found tree speaking difficult when she was not in physical contact with the plant she was talking to.

He thought the crewel tree might have let its bark contract sharply and allowed some of its roots to uncurl. The subtle movement could have been just enough to cause the trunk to start sliding off the wagon. Rock wondered if the tree was attempting to escape the Harvesters and join the Green.

Bull’s balls! he said out loud. I think the Green encouraged it. Don’t they understand we’re supposed to be getting away before the city elders come after us?

That tree’s in just as much trouble as the Green, Willow replied quietly, from behind him. So’s all the rest of the harvest in those wagons.

We can’t take all of it back to the Forest, Willow, you know that.

Yes, I do know that. She continued to speak softly, probably still in contact with the tree at the same time. It’s all still suffering, though. Plants don’t feel afraid in the same way people do, but they know this damage is too big for the normal sort of healing. The tree can’t help wanting to go back.

Let the Harvesters reload their wagon and move on, Wildcat interrupted. Her voice sounded sharp and hard compared to Willow’s.

Rock agreed with Wildcat, yet he was surprised at her coldness. I thought you’d be on the side of the Green, he said, turning to look at her.

The Green will understand. She tilted her head back and closed her eyes.

Out of the three of them, Wildcat was best at communicating with the Green, even though anyone with a talent could hear them to some extent.

Sometimes, though, Rock wished she would stop making it sound like she was the only one the Green ever talked with. It was true she had risked her life to protect them. However, Rock and Willow had risked almost as much, and would do the same again if necessary.

I don’t think they really know why the tree is here, Wildcat added, more thoughtfully. She had opened her eyes again and was now watching the road. I’ll explain the danger to them. Letting Harvesters catch the Green again isn’t going to save the tree.

Just then, a loud bang shook the ground, rattling all the pots and tools and decorations hanging from the Wanderers’ carts and wagons. Afterwards, Rock could hear Wanderers exclaiming in surprise, and a great deal of loud swearing from the Harvesters on the road. It was hard to see exactly what had happened, but the harvest wagon was clearly broken.

Fizzing mud holes! Wildcat swore. Now those dung-lickers are stuck right in our way.

Rock understood her impatience. The area where the Wanderers had been forced to stop provided no grazing for their animals. It was obvious that many travellers had already camped there, so that no plants at all grew underfoot. The ground was dirt and dust for quite some distance. It was important to move on to somewhere greener as soon as possible.

Yes, fizzing, fizzing mud holes! a cheerful voice suddenly repeated.

A Wanderer girl had come to stand beside Innamarrit’s wagon. She was tall, and pale skinned. A blue design like a feather decorated one side of her neck. She wore a furred short cloak over an embroidered blouse. A string of glass beads and tiny metal bells was looped through the fastening of the cloak. Rock knew the girl as Flight, although that was only a translation of the word that was her name in the Wanderers’ own language.

Some older Wanderers used their untranslated names in the presence of non-Wanderers. Innamarrit’s name meant ‘ice river’, and yet no one bothered calling her that for the benefit of strangers. Younger Wanderers were different. They always chose to translate their names for non-Wanderers. When Rock had asked why, he had been told it helped them make new friends more easily.

Flight had already become particularly friendly with Wildcat. She came near Innamarrit’s wagon often. The Wanderer girl seemed especially keen to learn new curses. And Wildcat seemed very happy to pass on her best ones.

Stupid bog maggots. Slime-pissers, Flight said now, pointing toward the Harvesters. Tree not packed right.

Looking up at Rock, she winked at him. Wildcat, Flight added, grow your arm better soon. Then you can pair-ring dance with Ear Music.

Ear Music was a Wanderer boy, whom Flight claimed was in love with Wildcat. Having teased Wildcat about this, Flight immediately ran off again, laughing as she went. Within moments she was hidden beyond several other parked-up carts and wagons.

Wildcat said nothing, and Rock had no idea if she was offended or embarrassed. She had seemed to enjoy talking to Ear Music, but that had been before she was stabbed.

Turning his attention back to the Harvesters, Rock saw that many of them now appeared to be looking in the Wanderers’ direction.

They’re going to come over, observed Wildcat. Do you think they’ll ask nicely for help? I want to hear what they say. Let’s go nearer the road.

No. Rock twisted back round to face her. You have to rest. You can’t go sneaking closer to the road. But if you promise me you’ll stay here with Willow, I’ll go and listen, then I’ll come back and tell you everything, word for word. As his eyes met Willow’s, he added, I won’t let the Harvesters see me.

Willow gave him a faint smile. Go on then, she said. Wildcat, you know I can’t manage the horses on my own when they’re worried. I need you to stay here with me.

Although Wildcat sighed, she did not argue with them out loud.

So Rock dismounted. Before leaving, he requested the horse to stay beside the wagon and listen to Wildcat. Then he made his way through more parked wagons and carts until he reached the edge of the road. There were a considerable number of Wanderers already gathered there, quietly watching the Harvesters.

Rock caught sight of Young Timber, bare chested as usual, except for his necklaces of beads and tokens. Young Timber’s two-horse team and wagon were nearby. The Wanderer man acknowledged Rock with a friendly nod and pointed to the horses.

Understanding at once, Rock went to stand beside the two animals. He was now hidden from anyone on the road, but could easily see what went on.

Young Timber then walked out towards the Harvesters.

Hey! one of them called out, on catching sight of him. Are you in charge? We need a new wagon.

Rock guessed this Harvester was probably the work leader, paid just a bit more than the common harvest workers. His clothes were as rough and dirty as those of all the others, but his stance was different. And the other harvest workers watched him, even those standing some distance away.

Work leaders and harvest workers generally travelled on foot and lived outdoors. Only the top Harvesters, who actually owned harvest wagons, lived and travelled inside of one. Harvest workers all needed to be tough. And not even the work leader would get paid until all of the harvest was unloaded into one of the city spice warehouses. Any loss on the road could mean disaster for them all.

The harvest workers would do anything necessary to get all of this clean-up run back to the city. Rock knew they would be perfectly happy to use force. He also knew that Wanderers only ever fought in self-defence. And, rather than get into a fight, they would give the Harvesters one of their own wagons to replace the broken one. He was not surprised to hear Young Timber answer the Harvester politely.

Please wait, the Wanderer said. Please care for your horses. Wanderers will help. If your wagon cannot be mended we will give another one to you.

When Young Timber stepped onto the road, going towards the broken wagon, a small group of Wanderer men and women followed him.

No! shouted the work leader. You get off the road. Not one Wanderer on this road until we’re gone. Understand? Harvesters built this road. You keep off it when we’re using it. And don’t you go anywhere near those harvest wagons. Wanderers are as bad as Rats. You’ll damage our wagons and steal our harvest. I know what you’re like.

Rock almost smiled. If the man thought Wanderers were as dangerous as Rats, he had no idea what either kind of people were really like. For one thing, Wanderers were easy to spot, wearing embroidered clothing and strings of beads obtained in distant places, and carrying their possessions with them wherever they went. Rats, on the other hand, could look like anyone at all.

As the Wanderers obediently retreated, several harvest workers unsheathed large fighting knives. Then, while those on the road kept guard over the harvest, the work leader and several others came among the Wanderers. Ignoring Young Timber, this small group of Harvesters began making a show of checking over some of the Wanderers’ carts and wagons.

Young Timber’s horses grew increasingly nervous. Hitched up, they were unable to flee, or even to kick out in self-defence. Rock tried to encourage them to relax, but they could sense his own discomfort. The Harvesters passed close by, but they barely glanced at Young Timber’s wagon, which was only a small one. The harvest workers gave off a sickening smell of old sweat, meat and blood.

Rock lost sight of them for some time. After a tense wait, he eventually watched them return. They must have walked a complete circuit of all the wagons and carts. Meanwhile, Young Timber had been waiting just off the edge of the road. Rock had not seen him move once. At last, the work leader arrived and began speaking to Young Timber. They appeared to argue, and the work leader seemed to get more and more angry.

Straining to listen, Rock thought Young Timber said, No. Not that wagon. We give you a better one.

The horses beside Rock shivered in response to his own fear. The wagon now housing the Green was the Wanderers’ newest and largest. In their greed, these Harvesters had obviously decided they would take the best wagon, even though it was not the one most suited to their needs.

Suddenly, Young Timber raised his voice. Speaking loudly enough to reach everyone within a hundred paces of the road, he said, That wagon has sides and roof made of wood. You have whole tree to carry! You need wagon with no sides. A stronger floor.

Rock understood this to be an urgent warning to the other Wanderers, who would know to get ready to protect the Green’s wagon.

We’ll take the one we’ve chosen, insisted the work leader, shouting out in reply. Whatever it is you’re carrying in there, take it out right now and clear the way so we can haul the wagon onto the road. Do it quick or we’ll do it for you.

You will not, came a new voice. One that Rock immediately recognised.

The speaker’s name was Old Timber. Not only was he Young Timber’s father, he was also the most respected elder of this group of Wanderers. He walked out from behind a cart, briefly resting a hand on the worried horse tethered next to it.

Like his son, Old Timber wore plain trousers without a shirt. Only a collection of necklaces covered his chest. Even the smallest movement of the old man’s glinting eyes carried dignity and authority. He came to a stop several paces short of the small group of Harvesters. Young Timber stepped across to join him.

The two horses beside Rock shifted their feet restlessly. Their thoughts were pulling on his own. He noticed that, elsewhere, Wanderers had begun quietly unhitching their animals from carts and wagons.

Many times, he had visited the Wanderers at their summer camp just outside the Spice City. But he had never travelled along with them before. It seemed to him that the silent unhitching of all the horses was a practised routine that everyone else was used to. He hurried to copy those Wanderers he could see.

When he had finished, the horses thanked him. By listening, he soon understood that some Wanderer animal talkers were calling them to a spot further away, where they would feel safer in a herd.

By the time Rock looked around for the Harvesters, all of them had climbed back onto the road. Many of them were now shouting at one another, yet he did not think they were arguing. It sounded more like they were preparing for a fight.

It took him several moments to spot Young Timber and Old Timber. They were heading towards the wagon containing the Green. The backs of the two men came briefly into view as they passed the chickens’ cart. Rock soon lost sight of them again. But as he watched, more Wanderers also hurried towards the Green’s wagon from all directions.

Dropping his hand to his belt knife, Rock hesitated before drawing it out. He no longer thought of himself as a Harvester, so he had no reservations about fighting against them. He was a Rat now. But he was a Rat who had been accepted into a company of Wanderers. No Wanderer would ever use a knife as a weapon. Not even in self-defence.

TWO – WILLOW

It was difficult for Willow to unhitch the horses from Innamarrit’s wagon, although she could animal talk a little bit. With some advice from the horses and a lot more from Wildcat, she understood what to do. It was her sore arm that slowed her down. Like Wildcat, she wore a bandage, although her own injury was far less dangerous than her friend’s stab wound.

Back in the Spice City, Willow’s arm had been branded. The burn should have been well on the way to healing by now. Except that Willow had recently chosen to transform it with a skin dance piercing. For that reason, she would not complain about the pain it gave her. Anything was better than remaining marked with Capability Reader’s brand.

Once the two horses were released at last, they set off towards an area further from the road. Willow could see other horses going the same way. She also noticed that many of the Wanderers were heading in the opposite direction, towards the Green.

Slime-pissing Harvesters, Wildcat grumbled. She had remained on the wagon seat, where there was a better view. What are they after? They didn’t go inside the Green’s wagon, the Green would have told me. Do you think they just want that wagon? It’s the biggest one. Are they trying to steal it? Someone’s got to stop them. I know none of the Wanderers fight with knives, Rock told me. I will do though. I’ve still got one good arm.

Willow made herself breathe slowly, trying to calm her speeding heartbeat.

Four days ago, Harvesters had very nearly recaptured the Green by force. She remembered her conversation with Old Timber shortly afterwards.

What would you have done if the Harvesters hadn’t listened to argument? she had asked him. What can you do against people who attack with knives?

We can die, had been Old Timber’s unsmiling reply.

Thinking of this, Willow now spoke urgently to her friend. Listen to me Wildcat. You can’t help. Do you understand? You can’t fight today. Stay where you are. Please?

I can always fight, Wildcat replied.

I know you were the best hunter in the marsh villages. But, as far as I know, you’re not an experienced knife fighter. Those harvest workers are, Willow pleaded.

The anger that sparked in Wildcat’s eyes in response to those words was unmistakable. But Willow needed to win this argument in order to protect her friend. Also, she continued, the Wanderers are peaceful and you’d be insulting them by knife-fighting now. They’ve taken a lot of risks letting us travel with them.

I’m not a Wanderer. They know that.

Do the Green want you to fight? Willow knew they did not. And Wildcat was really in no state for anything except quiet resting.

"Are you going to stay here? You’re not, are you? Wildcat gave a small sigh. This wagon’s full of Innamarrit’s things. What if those Harvesters decide to steal this one too? I suppose I’d better guard it. At least I’m not too much of an invalid to manage that."

Willow understood that was as close as Wildcat could go to giving in. So she did not say any more about her friend’s need to rest and recover her strength. Quietly, before Wildcat could decide to change her mind, Willow set off alone through the Wanderers’ parked vehicles.

Once she was closer to the wagon that housed the Green, she found Innamarrit. The older woman immediately looked towards Willow’s bandaged arm. Pain? she asked.

Willow shook her head, although Innamarrit probably knew she was lying.

What’s happening? she asked the healer. I unhitched your horses and Wildcat stayed with your wagon.

Everywhere, Wanderers stood ready in the gaps between all the wagons and carts. Those whose faces Willow could see all looked angry. Yet their voices were not raised. They were talking to one another in their own language.

Stupid Harvesters want to steal best wagon. Not any other one, Innamarrit explained in reply to Willow’s question. That one for Green, they want. Shaking her head, she rattled the beads that were threaded into small braids in her hair.

Willow could not see the Green’s wagon from where she stood, although she knew its exact position. The straightest route towards it was past a smaller wagon, and through a gap between several high-sided carts containing packed tents and equipment. The way was now thoroughly blocked by many Wanderers. Willow had no doubt that all other routes to the Green’s wagon were also being protected.

As far as she could tell, not one of the Wanderers carried a weapon of any kind. Willow no longer even carried a belt knife. It had been left behind in the Spice City, along with all of her other possessions. Even the clothes she now wore had been provided by the Wanderers. Only her boots were her own. Trembling with both fear and anger, she looked around for Rock, but there was no sign of him.

Soon, some of the harvest workers came into view. Willow stayed close to Innamarrit, at the outermost edge of a rough circle of wagons, carts and people that surrounded the Green’s large wagon. These Harvesters would find no clear route to their goal.

It was Willow’s first ever face-to-face encounter with actual harvest workers, though she had heard enough stories to know what to expect. Only those at the front of the group were easily visible, at first. Their rough, thick clothing was heavily soiled. The many holes in their boots were plugged with rags and dead grasses.

A rank smell came from the whole lot of them. The faces and arms of those she could see showed a lot of scars and some unhealed wounds. Many also appeared to have illnesses or irritations affecting their eyes and skin.

They halted at the sight of all the Wanderers in their way. Only one man continued to walk forward. Willow guessed he must be the work leader, although he was dressed just as roughly as the others. There was a long, puffy, red scar on his neck, under one ear. It looked to be festering and was probably very painful. He came to a stop just a few paces from where she stood.

We want that wagon! he shouted. Get out of the way!

None of the Wanderers spoke or moved. They were not closely packed together. Innamarrit stood more than an arm’s reach from a group of three elders. To Willow’s other side were two Wanderer men, one of whom was leaning with his back against a cart. Slowly, this man straightened up, slipping into a more alert stance.

Then Willow sensed something happening behind her, closer to the Green. Turning to look, she saw that Old Timber was making his way outwards. Other Wanderers moved to pat his shoulders or grasp his hands as he walked past them. Turning back to face the Harvesters again, she was relieved to see they were waiting, though looking increasingly impatient. Finally, Old Timber came to stand directly in front of the Harvester who had shouted.

No, Old Timber’s voice was quiet, but firm. I give you better wagon for carrying tree.

Swallow it! replied the work leader.

Willow deliberately forced her knees to relax, getting ready to run forward, or away, if Old Timber gave the word.

She saw the work leader turn to one side and then the other. He shouted, addressing the harvest workers. I want that wagon on the road by noon. Do it!

The harvest workers were greatly outnumbered. There must have been at least three times as many Wanderers as Harvesters, even including those still on the road. However, the Harvesters were armed. Each of them was openly carrying a knife. Some had two.

Several harvest workers stepped around Old Timber, and Willow lost sight of him. Her throat seemed to close up. Her breath came out in little gasps. There were two Harvesters now approaching the Wanderers to one side of her. Two more were trying to break through on her other side, nearer to Innamarrit.

There was barely time to register what was happening before a Harvester woman shoved past Innamarrit. The Harvester was shorter and stouter than the healer. Waving her knife above her head, she used her chest and shoulders to push Innamarrit out of her way.

Innamarrit fell against Willow, nearly knocking her over. As Willow staggered, she caught a glimpse of another harvest worker pushing his way closer to the Green. The Harvester man casually punched an elderly Wanderer man on the side of his head, as though knocking an overhanging tree branch from his path.

All of a sudden, Willow was furious. Hey!, she shouted after both of the Harvesters.

It was pointless. They had no interest in hearing her, and were already waving their knives and shouting at a line of four Wanderers standing five steps closer to the place where the Green’s wagon was parked.

Not angry. Wait. Not be like them. Innamarrit took hold of Willow’s elbow, steering her in the direction of the old man who had been punched. We help him, she said.

The woman’s gentle voice brought her back to her senses. Willow and Innamarrit were both healers. Of course they must see to the man who was hurt. Also, it would not be a good idea to do anything that might cause the Harvesters to remember Willow’s face. The city elders were supposed to think she was heading for the hills, not the Forest.

The old man sat on the muddy ground looking dazed. Two elderly women were bending over him. Willow immediately went and sat down beside him, ignoring the feeling of cold water soaking into her skirt. She took hold of the man’s hands, covering his cold, shocked skin with her own, offering warmth and strength. Meanwhile, Innamarrit examined his battered head.

The older women said a few words Willow did not understand and then moved away, returning to their places in the protective ring around the Green. The Harvesters might be getting closer to their goal, but it was obvious the Wanderers had not yet given in. Presumably, they were still positioned in every available space between the parked up carts and wagons. The harvest workers would need to get back through them in order to return to the road. Willow could not imagine how they thought they could take a large wagon with them.

The injured man then said something in the Wanderers’ own language.

Innamarrit replied to him and then turned to Willow. Old Sanki is ashamed, pushed aside like dead wood. Wants to be with young’uns.

Puzzled, Willow looked around. She had not noticed before that there was no one of her own age nearby. And yet she heard young voices giving angry shouts from somewhere up ahead. The young’uns must all be gathered together, closest to the Green.

Letting go of the old man’s hands, Willow got to her feet. He chuckled, reaching out to pat her boot.

I should be with them, she said.

All of a sudden, it no longer seemed so important to hide her face from the Harvesters. After all, it was partly her fault the Wanderers had ended up rescuing the Green in the first place.

Old Sanki smiled at her, obviously feeling better. He began to get up, using Willow’s shoulder to lean on.

Innamarrit seemed to be looking at Willow closely.

Understand, said the healer, as both Willow and Sanki straightened up to face her. Many people try and take from Wanderers, knowing we not fight with knives. All Wanderers know pattern.

Willow saw the older woman exchange a look with Old Sanki before continuing. Young’uns’ anger is... sharpest, Innamarrit explained. Young’uns want to fight most, so go where fighting is most needed. Others – us – we look many. Do you understand?

Yet that strategy had only slowed the Harvesters down. A genuine fight now seemed inevitable. Wildcat would not have hesitated to rush in to the thick of the fighting, even though she was also a healer. Rock was quite likely to be there already, however much he favoured the Wanderers’ dislike of violence.

Old Sanki used Willow’s shoulder as a prop for a few more moments, then let go. He winked at her, as if he could read her troubled thoughts. Taking Innamarrit by the arm, he spoke again in the Wanderers’ language.

Willow left them there, hoping Sanki was speaking up for her. She began to make her way closer to the Green.

Eventually, she caught up with some Harvester men and women. They were easy to spot among the cleaner, smarter Wanderers. Willow could now see some young’uns, who ran between the harvest workers. Yelling, they ran around in front of the Harvesters, only to rush behind them again moments later. The Harvesters shouted, waved knives and sometimes stabbed with them. As Willow got closer, she thought she saw fresh blood staining some of those knives.

At last, Willow could also see the Green’s wagon. Young Wanderers had climbed on to it, covering it with a shield made from their own bodies. The Harvesters could be in no doubt about how important this particular wagon was to the Wanderers. Yet not one of the harvest workers showed any sign of changing course.

Willow was closest to a Harvester man whose hair hung in a plait down the back of his filthy shirt. Facing him at that moment was Wildcat’s friend, whose name translated as Ear Music. The Wanderer boy had yellow hair. He wore a sleeveless jacket and loose trousers. He was pacing backwards, easily keeping just out of the Harvester’s reach. Willow knew that Ear Music had a recent skin dance wound in his chest, but it did not seem to be hindering him at all.

Knife hand outstretched, the Harvester made a sudden lunge toward Ear Music. Without thought, Willow jumped towards the man. Grabbing onto his swinging plait of dirty hair, she pulled it as hard as she could. It felt greasy against her skin.

The Harvester turned, snarling, swinging his knife hand around. As he did so, Ear Music slipped quickly out of his range. Then the Harvester’s stinking breath caught Willow full in the face and she looked right into his bloodshot, yellow-rimmed eyes. She stumbled backwards, finally letting go of the end of his braid as he flung himself towards her.

The man was about to slice into her face with his knife. Willow staggered, trying to grab his arm and stop him. Before she could touch him, the man’s arm wavered. Suddenly, he was no longer thrusting the knife towards her. Instead he was swiping it sideways. Yet there was no one beside him.

The Harvester went down on one knee. Only then could Willow see Ear Music, crouching just behind him. The boy was already sliding back out of the man’s reach, but it was apparent he had just extended one leg and kicked him. Taking her chance, Willow also ran around behind the man before he could regain his balance.

Without pause, Ear Music darted away. Willow got no chance to thank him. He ran towards another Harvester, a woman who had managed to get closer to the Green’s wagon than the man with the greasy plait.

Looking back towards the man with the braid, Willow saw him get up. He set off at a run towards a gap in between two carts. Before Willow could follow, three young Wanderers all leapt into his path.

Willow had barely done anything yet, but she now found herself shaking all over. Her legs felt as though they would give way beneath her at any moment. Moving to a quiet spot in the shadow of a cart, she paused to catch her breath and recover. It was obvious she was not going to be able to fight like a young Wanderer for more than a few moments at a time.

She could still see some of the other young’uns dodging around the Harvesters. The Wanderers were not exactly fighting, but making the Harvesters think they were. Even so, pace by pace, the Harvesters were getting closer to the Green’s wagon. The Wanderers lying on it, and under it, waved their fists and shouted.

Unable to think how best to help, Willow began listening to the Green using her tree speaking talent. She could tell they were all huddled together, just as they had been when Capability Reader had tried to recapture them, back at the city’s edge.

However, the Green were now very much stronger than they had been in the city. The Wanderers and the city Rats had found plenty of food for them. Willow had visited them several times over the previous few days. She knew that the cuts and bruises on their green and brown skin were mostly healed. The green hair of their heads and bodies was now glossy and clean. Inside their loaned wagon, there was enough space for adults to exercise and for children to play.

Through her talent, she could tell that the Green were very well aware of what was happening outside. No doubt, they were already in communication with some of the Wanderers, as well as herself. Surprisingly, they also seemed to be animal talking. They seemed to be indicating to Willow that she should listen with her ears if she wanted to know about other ways to fight.

Returning her attention to her immediate surroundings, Willow could hear several Harvesters yelling. Looking ahead, she could see some of them, even further forward than before. Then, to her astonishment, she heard the unmistakable voices of many goats.

Bewildered, Willow stepped backwards, pressing closely against the edge of the handcart behind her. Suddenly, the goats came running past, going purposefully towards the hidden Green.

As the last few goats brushed against her, Willow used her small animal talking talent. They seemed to be intending to rush straight past the surprised harvest workers and surround the Green’s wagon. Then any Harvester who approached too closely would be fiercely nipped and nibbled. The goats seemed excited, and not at all afraid.

On harvest runs, harvest workers regularly slaughtered all kinds of animals, probably using the same knives they held right now. Willow did not pass on that thought to the goats. Instead, she listened to the Green again.

Even as she worried about the goats’ safety, Willow thought the Green were already talking to the Wanderers’ horses. Then she realised that some of the Green were also singing. Not with sounds that reached her ears, but inside her head.

The song felt directed towards a particular area, a little to the side of the hand cart where Willow now stood. It was a place where a larger cart was parked. Since there seemed to be nothing she could to do to help protect the Green’s wagon, Willow decided to investigate the focus of their singing, instead.

On the far side of the larger cart, she came to a group of young Wanderers gathered around someone on the ground. Hurrying towards them, she almost tripped over a trampled basket of ribbons and a smashed box of treasure bark. Then the Green’s singing in her head stopped abruptly.

Ignoring the angry cries of Harvesters still attempting to attack goats, Willow looked over the shoulders of the Wanderers in front of her. She let out a gasp of shock. It was Flight who lay there on the muddy ground. Flight, who had been laughing and practising her curses with Wildcat only a short time ago. Blood soaked the Wanderer girl’s clothing from her waist to her feet. Her eyes were open, but she was not moving.

Kneeling beside Flight was Ear Music. He was stroking his friend’s head with his fingertips, over and over again. Willow recognised the man crouched beside Ear Music as a Wanderer healer whose name she had not yet learned. The healer was about her own age.

How can I help? Willow asked at once.

No one answered. Willow could see that the healer had ripped aside the cloth of Flight’s trousers to get at the wound. It took several long moments to take in the realisation that Flight was already beyond help. Her thigh had been sliced through. The cut ended in an even deeper wound on the inside of her leg. Willow knew that such wounds sometimes severed a large blood channel. Flight had evidently bled to death before anyone was able to stop the flow.

Even the Green’s song had not been able to slow the bleeding. The healer’s clothes were drenched in Flight’s blood, as were those of some of the other young Wanderers now standing over her body.

Growing up in a Healers’ Cottage in her home village, Willow had seen a great many wounds and plenty of shed blood. Only once before, right after Wildcat was stabbed, had she ever felt so horrified at what she saw.

How can I help? she repeated softly.

Ear Music gestured ahead. She did not know if he meant for her to join the youngsters working to protect the Green, or the healers working with other injured. Either way, it was clear that there was no help she could give to him or Flight’s other companions.

Other Wanderers were looking towards the sad group of youngsters. Willow stared about her, seeing grief and concern in the eyes of every one of them. Yet they continued to stand ready to guard the Green’s wagon, or to prevent the Harvesters from taking it away.

Willow’s cheeks burned and her eyes felt as if they must be flashing sparks. She was aware of her living blood energising every part of her so fast she almost wanted to explode. For a few moments, she marched in the direction of the Green’s wagon. Then she swung around and headed in the opposite direction.

There were cool tears running down her cheeks as she tried to work out where it would be best to go. In truth, she had absolutely no idea what she could usefully do. She was no good as a fighter, and in any case, the fight could surely only end one way. However much anyone managed to delay these Harvesters, it seemed they were bound to get what they wanted in the end. Opposing them would only get more Wanderers killed.

Willow! There you are.

Rock’s voice caught her attention. As she turned to look at him, he laid a hand on her arm. He smelled of horses and not blood.

The horses... she started to say.

Shh... Don’t spoil the surprise for the Harvesters. What are you doing here? I was just going back to Innamarrit’s wagon for you. The animals are only going to slow this fight down, not stop it. But I’ve been watching the Harvesters on the road and I’ve thought of a way we could...

Rock, the Harvesters killed Flight. She bled to death... I... no one could... I feel so useless.

Oh, no. The urgency dropped from his voice as he paused to take this in. Are you all right?

She wanted to explain that it had been the Wanderer healer, not herself, who had tended Flight. And that he and Ear Music deserved more of Rock’s concern than she did. Yet the shock of what she had just seen was too raw. It was suddenly too difficult to put any words together at all.

When Rock spoke again, he no longer sounded excited, only determined. I think I know a way to make this stop. Maybe. It might not work, but we could try. You and me.

She found her voice again. Anything. Tell me what to do.

We know how to behave like city young’uns, don’t we? He was still staring at her face, as if to study her reaction. I thought we might be able to get through to the owners of this harvest run. They’re the ones in charge, but I’m sure they’re just sitting inside one of the harvest wagons doing nothing. They’ve probably got no idea what their work leader’s up to. We’ve got to make them stop this fight.

But...

"They’ll remember us when they get back to the city and they’ll find out Capability Reader and Stern Greylight want us brought back. And they’ll be able to tell them exactly when and where we were spotted so they can send Caul Driver after us. I know all that. But we might be able to stop these Harvesters from discovering the Green, right now. I’ll go on my own if I have to. I just wanted to give you the choice to help. This time, I won’t mess things up by thinking I know what’s best for you."

His look was one of apology. They both knew how his attempts to protect her in the Spice City had ended up putting her in greater danger.

Of course I’m going with you, she replied. I have to do something. Anything. Right now.

Willow was very afraid of the city Harvesters. But not so much that she was prepared to let them get their hands on the Green again. And if she could prevent those Harvesters who had just killed Flight from murdering anyone else, then any amount of risk seemed worthwhile.

She held Rock’s hand as they set off towards the road. They soon left almost all of the Wanderers behind them. Only a few had remained at the outer edges of the camp to watch over fires or care for small children.

Willow hoped she and Rock were out of sight of Innamarrit’s wagon. She did not want to think about the size of the argument they might have with Wildcat, if the marsh girl found out where they were going.

Maybe things in the city are still going wrong for the Harvesters and they never will come after us, Rock said as they walked on. Or maybe Caul Driver’s already on his way and we’re doomed anyway.

It doesn’t matter, she answered. I’ll risk it. But what can we tell these Harvesters that’ll make them call off the fight and leave the Wanderers alone?

Ah.

They were now right beside the road. Rock stood still, forcing Willow to stop as well. He was staring closely at her face.

You see, I’ve been trying to think more like a Rat, he began. A peaceful Rat... a Wanderer Rat, not the kind who think they have to fight with weapons and set fire to things to stop the harvest.

Like at the Bees’ Nest? Willow tried to encourage him, although she was impatient for him to get to the point.

Yes, like Syme and Sparkle. Maybe even like Yenna might have been if she’d ever been a Rat.

So?

So I thought we could ask them nicely.

What? Flight...

Then she caught the look of misery on his face, and understood that he knew full well the significance of what he was asking her to do. With one fingertip, she reached up to stroke the edge of his chin where his young beard had begun to sharpen its roundness.

Yes, she agreed. Let’s go. Quick, before anyone else dies.

THREE – ROCK

The owners’ section of the harvest wagon was a wooden box not much bigger than a city carriage. It formed the back half of the next-to-last wagon in the line of six stopped on the road. As he climbed inside, Rock thought he could smell dusk. Then the scent was gone, hidden by stronger odours of lamp oil, grain alcohol and unwashed people. A stink of animal carcasses and the rest of the harvest was also flowing in from the open door behind him.

Standing beside Willow on a thin carpet, Rock looked down and caught sight of her boots. They were coated with mud and splashed with something dark that could be blood. Hillish boots, not like anything a city worker might wear. Nevertheless, Willow had already convinced the harvest workers outside on the road that she belonged in the Spice City.

She had greatly surprised Rock by telling a long story about wanting to ask after a friend she thought was related to one of the owners. Rock had never before heard her tell a convincing lie. Hiding his astonishment, he had remained silent, pretending boredom. Willow had named Stern Greylight, and even Stern’s twin daughters, Semeley and Hinton, giving the impression she knew them personally. It was unlikely the Harvesters had believed that part, but it must have got them interested. Rock and Willow had been allowed inside the owners’ wagon, anyway.

Rock prepared himself to tell them what their slime-pissing work leader had been up to. He barely glanced back when the door banged loudly shut behind him.

The three owners remained seated. On a small table between them were an open bottle and three drinking mugs. Rolled sleeping furs were bundled against the wall under the unshuttered window.

These Harvesters were all men. Their clothes were grubby and torn in places, but still a lot finer than those of the workers outside. The owners had better skin, too, with fewer boils and bruises. As well as living inside a wagon, owners were known to eat well, even when their workers went hungry. The workers would not openly complain about it. If an owner failed to return to the city, no one on that team ever got paid.

Who are you? asked the oldest looking one of the three.

The man was small, with a large belly and skinny legs. His legs stuck out across the carpet. The ridiculous embroidered slippers covering his feet were full of holes, showing black-grimed skin underneath.

Are you travelling with those Wanderers? added the stouter man beside him. Whatever for? This one had sagging, yellowish cheeks and a very red nose.

We already told those stupid people outside, Willow replied, sounding just as impatient as Rock felt. "Look, have you got any idea