39 
As they flew out over the trees, Ottilie did her best not to think about warding. She couldn’t deny that the sick feeling and heavy-headedness were increasing.
A lone vorrigle beat its featherless wings, rising up from a webwood grove. Ottilie’s head thumped, her stomach churning.
Leo shot it down and looked over at her. ‘You can do better than that!’ he barked, but she knew there was real concern behind it.
She looked back at Maeve, following behind. Should she have let Leo and Maeve handle this alone? Maybe she was just a burden. She might get them all killed … and now she’d dragged Gully into it, too.
In the midst of her worry, something occurred to her. Ottilie turned and called over the wind. ‘Leo –’ It came out with such purpose, but she wasn’t sure how to say what she wanted to – how to get it across to him. Finally, she chose the only words that made sense to her. ‘You’re my brother.’
Leo scanned her face as if seeking signs the sickness had turned her mind. ‘You know something I don’t?’
She was determined that he hear it. ‘You’re a brother to me.’
‘All right, Ott, calm down.’
‘I mean it, Leo!’
To her surprise, Leo’s face clouded. ‘Stop it,’ he snapped.
‘Stop what?’
‘Saying goodbye! You can ward. Just pull yourself together and believe it!’ He glared at her. ‘And I do – you too – I mean – me … you know what I mean!’
Gully shot down a flare that was circling below. The lizard-like beast splintered in a shower of sparks, shards of scale and bone scattering across the canopy. ‘You two should really start paying attention!’ he said, looking around for the others – flares almost always travelled in threes.
Ottilie felt a smile creep onto her face. The flare hadn’t affected her. She didn’t feel sick. She hadn’t even noticed it.
‘He’s right, you just have to believe you can do it,’ said Gully, in her ear. ‘That’s the trick. There has to be no doubt in your mind that you won’t get sick – don’t even think about it.’
‘I don’t know if I can do no doubt,’ said Ottilie, her confidence already fading. No wonder Gully was so good at warding. He was the sort of kid who wanted to climb a tree in a thunderstorm. He didn’t think things through. But she had to master it – there was no choice. If she couldn’t ward, she would tumble off Nox into the blackened forest they had just begun to cover. She might not be good at dealing with doubt, but she was good at being strong-willed and determined. That had to help, surely?
The second and third flares were nowhere to be seen, which wasn’t particularly comforting. In fact, they didn’t encounter any more dredretches at all. Ottilie thought she knew why. There were no dredretches in the area because they were on their way to Fiory.
They had left Montie and Alba in the infirmary. Perhaps they should have put them somewhere more secure. And what of Bill? He wasn’t human, so the dredretches shouldn’t be interested in him. But a bloodbeast could be. She only hoped his hiding skills had improved.
Ottilie fixed her mind to the present as they approached the heart of the Withering Wood. There was no point in trying to sneak up on Whistler. After all, they had come to speak with her. It was eerie, this peaceful approach. Ottilie drew an arrow as Nox circled lower, but no attack came.
A figure became visible between the deadened branches: Whistler, all alone, watching them drift in, as softly and silently as smugglers mooring at midnight.
Nox and Maestro touched down by the philowood tree.
Whistler met Ottilie’s eye, a look of surprised amusement on her face. ‘I don’t remember inviting you.’ She glanced upwards, as if trying to remember something. ‘Shouldn’t you be flavouring a batch of tomb soup?’
‘We got out,’ said Ottilie, gripping her bow and arrow tighter.
‘Bravo,’ said Whistler. ‘But shuffle off, would you? I’ve got an appointment.’
Ottilie risked taking her eyes off Whistler to scan the area. An appointment? With who? The king? But he was locked safely in Fiory.
That was when she spotted it. Set inside an old stump, a small copper cauldron was gently simmering, with faint spirals of violet steam trailing in the wrong direction – down rather than up.
Whistler liked answering questions. It seemed the safest way to begin.
‘How did you make everyone sleep?’ said Ottilie. She sensed movement behind Nox, and glanced back to see Maeve landing in a tree high above.
‘Neat little trick, wasn’t it?’ said Whistler, leaning back against a branch of the philowood tree. ‘You remember the pipe? Ordinary folk couldn’t wield something so evil without a bit of protection.’ She seemed to force a smile, and Ottilie wondered why. Even now, after everything Whistler had done, Ottilie couldn’t believe that she truly looked down on people for not being able to enact evil. She was sure that smile was to cover something else. Something deep down … Could it be regret? Everyone wants to be good, don’t they? Maeve had said that. It seemed Whistler had chosen a dark path and walked so far down it that she couldn’t find the way back.
Whistler’s eyes met hers. For a moment, Ottilie worried that she could read her thoughts – that she’d angered her. But she simply continued, ‘Clever Seika had the pipe bound with the metal from a warding ring she’d forged herself – a device her coven had been experimenting with to protect people from the fendevil. It was the only way she could use the pipe without getting sick.’
Ottilie felt the weight of her own ring in her pocket.
‘Afterwards, the witches made hundreds and hundreds of rings, using the same protective charm,’ said Whistler, quite conversationally. ‘They made as many as they could, wanting to safeguard as many people as possible if another fendevil ever emerged.
‘The rings are all connected,’ she went on. ‘Kin, if you will. Made from the same metal, charmed by the same witches. That’s how I was able to send my message to those who had displeased me. Change one, change them all – or most of them.’ Her mouth twitched into a smile. ‘I’m sure you noticed, I left you off that list. I’d have changed it after the business in the tomb, but I’ve been rather busy … and of course I thought I’d already dealt with you.’
It made sense now that the rings had been marked with a line from the lightning song. More clues from those ancient witches about the whereabouts of the pipe.
‘Why does everyone think you made the rings if you didn’t?’ said Leo.
She smiled a cat’s smile. ‘White lie. I needed to make myself invaluable to the Hunt, so they would keep me around and let me do as I pleased.
‘It’s still thanks to me that they have them. The rings were hidden in the canyon caves – buried deep during the witch purge. I sought them out – studied the ancient texts and deciphered the clues. It was no easy task. Besides, they would never have used the rings if they knew they were made by witches.’
‘How did you convince them you were just a mystic?’ said Ottilie. ‘Everyone knows mystics can’t really do anything. How could they believe those rings weren’t from witch magic?’
‘It’s amazing what people will believe when it’s convenient for them,’ said Whistler, her eyes falling on Leo.
‘What has this got to do with making everyone sleep?’ said Leo.
‘Long story short: the rings are all linked, and the very first one was embedded in the pipe, in order to cancel out the toxicity of the sleepless witch’s bones. That way, a good person could wield the pipe without getting poisoned,’ said Whistler.
‘So you made them sleep using the pipe?’ said Ottilie.
‘Clever, wasn’t it?’ said Whistler. ‘Turns out it’s not just the dredretches you can control with this thing.’ She pulled the pipe from her pocket and clutched it in her sleeve. ‘Bit of a design flaw, really.’
‘Why make everyone sleep, then?’ said Leo. ‘Why didn’t you just kill them all and be done with it?’
‘My, my, such a violent mind for one so young!’ She slowed her speech, as if she thought him dim-witted. ‘The rings are linked by a protective charm, you half-grown thug. I can’t do any harm with it.’
Leo seemed to have heard enough. Aiming an arrow, he said, ‘Wake them up.’
Whistler didn’t respond. There was a rustling all around. Ottilie’s skin prickled. She would not get sick. She would not!
Maeve swooped lower, her eyes set ahead.
In a moment, Ottilie saw what the owl’s eyes had caught first. Through the wilted trees, wylers prowled; a mass of fiery fur. Just behind them, Gracie was riding the white wyler, leading a lumbering shape with a rope.