THREE LONG SHAPES, low to the ground, scurried over the rowan platform with remarkable speed. Sharp fingers clawed the soil as they dragged their legless, serpentine bodies behind them, black tails undulating like eels through water. The first Shriek Reaver reared up, and Rye saw that its head was elongated like a stag’s, its skinless skull charred the colour of soot. Two jagged, multi-pronged antlers jutted menacingly from its head.
The Hollow echoed with the sound of clacking bone. Dozens of oversized teeth chattered not from cold, but purposefully – with hunger.
Like a cornered badger, Mr Nettle lurched forward and buried his own teeth into the nearest Fork-Tongued Charmer’s shoulder. The Charmer growled in pain, but before he could move to strike Mr Nettle, a Shriek Reaver’s whip-like tendril slashed the Charmer’s arm and sent his lantern flying.
“Climb, Miss Riley! Go!” Mr Nettle called out again, and she saw him dart across the Hollow, a hand on his head to keep his skullcap from flying.
Rye tore back into the tree house and grabbed Lottie by the hand. Lottie’s eyes were wide as Rye dragged her through the main room, to the opposite landing at the top of the spiral staircase. She looked at the enormous oak ascending above them as far as her eye could see.
“Lottie,” she whispered, crouching down to face her and placing her hands on Lottie’s shoulders, “you love to climb trees, right? But Mama won’t always let you?”
Lottie nodded suspiciously.
“Well now’s your chance. We get to climb the tallest tree of them all. I promise not to tell.”
Lottie gave her an uncertain smile.
“Really. Go ahead. I’ll follow you.”
Lottie’s eyes drifted down the staircase to the base of the oak. The Hollow was filled with the pained shouts of the Fork-Tongued Charmers as they called to one another; the hacking sound of metal into what sounded like damp, rotting wood; and the relentless gut-churning clack of bony teeth.
Rye put a finger on her sister’s chin and gently lifted it so she was looking into Rye’s eyes once again. “No looking down, Lottie. And don’t worry, I’ll be right behind you.”
Rye saw Lottie swallow hard. She knew Lottie must be as frightened as she was, but the little girl was doing a remarkable job of hiding it. Rye gave her a boost on to the tree-house roof, from which the thick trunk of the oak towered upwards like an endless chimney. Lottie clung to the moss-riddled shingles on her hands and knees, and Rye moved to join her.
“Mona?” Lottie asked, peeking down over the edge at Rye.
“What?” Rye asked, and her eyes darted to the inside of the tree house. The pink polka-dot hobgoblin lay on the floor where Lottie had dropped her.
Rye checked the spiral stairs. She saw a dark shape scuttle over the oak’s roots and disappear out of sight, the sounds of the calamity below still loud in their ears. She thought better of it, but dashed into the tree house anyway, snatching up Mona Monster. She returned, showing the doll to Lottie before stashing it safely in the folds of her own coat.
“Now get to the trunk,” Rye said, shooing Lottie on.
Lottie disappeared from the edge and Rye took hold of the roof, digging her fingers into the shingles and pulling herself up. She steadied herself and climbed to her feet, balancing on the sloped pitch. She gasped in alarm as she looked down, where the Fork-Tongued Charmer named Gibbet met her gaze. He was just below her, on the tree-house landing.
But behind him was something even more terrifying.
A Shriek Reaver was deftly climbing the spiral stairs on two long tendrils that looked more like knotted roots than arms. This close, Rye now saw its teeth: grotesquely oversized for its jaw, their edges chipped from their relentless clacking and grinding.
Rye opened her mouth to scream but found her throat dry. Gibbet must have read her look of alarm and pivoted on his heels.
The slithering creature pressed itself up on its long, spidery arms as it reached the top of the platform, extending its torso so that it stood as tall as Gibbet. It cocked its hairless, antlered skull and warbled something deep in its mouth, like the stub of a tongue flicking against the back of its throat.
Before Gibbet could attack the monster with his sword, the hideous creature lashed forward, pinning Gibbet’s arms to his side with its own. Its long body coiled through the Charmer’s legs, round his chest, and finally gripped his neck. They fell backwards together, tumbling in a heap down the stairs even as Gibbet gasped for breath and struggled to free himself.
Rye didn’t wait to see the outcome. She scurried towards Lottie, hurrying her up and on to the oak’s trunk. She was thankful that they’d both spent so many days scaling trees together in Drowning, and fortunately the oak’s branches were twisted and knotty – perfect for climbing. Rye followed her own most important rule whenever being chased: Don’t look back. Or in this case, down.
Rye felt bark under her fingernails and scratches on her face, but she was otherwise unscathed by the time they reached a fork in the trunk where they could sit side by side. She put an arm round Lottie to be sure her sister was steady. Rye risked a quick glance down. Her head swam – they were higher than even the tallest rooftops of Drowning.
Only the faint flickering of scattered lanterns lit the Hollow far below, but in the shadows of the tree house, she could see the three black shapes weaving in and out of doors and windows, turning over every corner and cranny in search of some sign of life. One slid through a window only to emerge moments later from the crumbling stone chimney.
Rye heard nothing more from the Fork-Tongued Charmers … nor Mr Nettle. She didn’t know if the horrible Shriek Reavers would search the oak itself, and wasn’t inclined to wait and find out. That presented a problem. They could keep climbing, but eventually the only way left to go would be down.
“Bingle-black!” Lottie huffed in a coarse whisper.
Rye looked in the direction Lottie pointed. Two saucer-like eyes stared at her a healthy distance away from the tree trunk, as if hovering in midair. Rye looked more closely. It was a brindleback on a branch – several branches intertwined together – where the limbs of the oak had mingled with a neighbouring ash tree that grew outside the Hollow.
The brindleback blinked, then turned and scampered away along the branches, his long, ringed tail trailing behind him. That’s the answer, Rye thought. She was suddenly relieved that Mr Nettle was so fond of procrastinating his chores.
“This way, Lottie,” Rye whispered, and on hands and knees they shimmied across the branches. Rye cried out as they bowed under their weight, but their bridge held true, and she watched the Hollow and Rill pass far below them as they reached the other side. Climbing down the neighbouring tree was more difficult, and they both fell from a higher distance than they would have liked, Rye cushioning Lottie’s fall.
She pulled Lottie tight in her arms and leaned back against the base of the ash tree. Only now, with her sister’s small warm body pressed against her, did Rye feel her own heart pounding like a desperate fist inside her chest.
But Rye’s sense of relief didn’t last long. She carefully craned her neck and peered around the ash tree. The Hollow and the oak were not far away and she could still hear the chattering teeth of the stag-skulled monsters as they destroyed what was left of the tree house. Once finished, they would surely head back this way.
Rye put her hands on Lottie’s shoulders. “Lottie, you stay here. Don’t move, understand?”
Lottie looked at her in disbelief. Rye reached into her