‘You are not one of us,’ spat the Marsh Dweller, emerging from the mist.

Squat and pot-bellied, he wore a tunic of grimy fishskin, and his stumpy limbs were smeared with green mud that stank of swamp. Beneath a fishskin head-binding, his pudgy face was a muddy green. His bulging eyes reminded Pirra of a frog’s.

With his fishing spear, he jabbed at the Egyptian amulet on Hylas’ chest. ‘No Outsider has such a thing. No Outsider would fall in a trap as you did. No Outsider would bring the yellow monster who eats our fish. You are not one of us!’

‘I’m from Mount Lykas,’ Hylas said quietly. ‘But I am an Out–’

‘And you!’ The Marsh Dweller jabbed at Pirra. ‘You are no Outsider!’

‘I’m Keftian,’ she said proudly. ‘The Crows are my enemies.’

More Marsh Dwellers appeared, some short and squat, others taller and more slender, but all clad in fishskin and smeared with mud. More spears edged closer.

‘Keftians are strangers,’ said one in the same guttural accent. ‘We only allow Outsiders in our marshes.’

‘Pirra’s with me,’ said Hylas. ‘Where I go, she goes.’

Havoc chose that moment to appear among the reeds.

The Marsh Dwellers muttered, some bowing to the lioness as if in awe. They parted to let her through, but when Havoc stood beside Hylas, the ring of spears closed in again.

Hylas put his hand on Havoc’s head, willing her to keep calm. ‘Don’t hurt her,’ he warned the Marsh Dwellers.

‘Why would we do that?’ retorted an old man. ‘The yellow monster is why you’re still alive!’

‘Fin, feather and fur,’ said another mysteriously. ‘You will come with us!’

The Marsh Dwellers didn’t seem to have a leader, and Pirra found it hard to tell them apart. All wore fishskin tunics and were smeared in smelly green mud, the women with a reddish strip of wovengrass around their head-bindings, the men with sludgy brown. All regarded her with the same hostile, frog-like stare.

There was something frog-like, too, in their clammy touch as they stripped her and Hylas of weapons and hustled them onto rafts. Pirra tried not to shudder as fingers probed the crescent-moon scar on her cheek.

Echo was nowhere to be seen and, surprisingly, Havoc had gone off again: didn’t she perceive the Marsh Dwellers as a threat?

Skilfully, they punted through the marshes until they reached a platform of woven reeds, cunningly concealed among willows and dimly lit by rushlights. Hylas and Pirra were made to sit in the middle, and their captors squatted around them with their fishing spears beside them, pointing inwards.

Baskets of sludgy green stew appeared. Most of the Marsh Dwellers fell on it, scooping it up with their hands and clicking their sharp grey teeth, while darting baleful glances at their captives. A few sat listlessly, shivering and ignoring the food; Pirra wondered if they were sick.

A basket of stew was plonked in front of her and Hylas. She wrinkled her nose at its fishy stink. ‘What’s in it?’ she breathed.

‘Don’t ask,’ muttered Hylas, ‘just eat.’

The stew contained some kind of meat, but it smelt awful. Hylas forced down a little. Pirra dipped in a finger, and gagged.

The Marsh Dwellers muttered angrily in their harsh tongue, and Pirra’s thoughts flew to the Crow helmet on the spear, with its bloody dangling scalp. She imagined clammy hands seizing her by the hair. She wondered what was in the stew.

The platform lurched, and on leapt Havoc, shaking the wet from her fur. But instead of seizing their spears, the Marsh Dwellers respectfully shuffled aside to make way for her.

The lioness ambled past them and rubbed against Hylas in greeting, touched noses with Pirra, then gave a cavernous yawn. A woman brought a basket of fish and set it before her with a bow, but Havoc merely sat down and started licking the mud off her paws. From her swollen belly, Pirra guessed that she’d already had all the fish she could eat. Had the Marsh Dwellers been feeding her?

This gave Pirra an idea. ‘Fin, feather and fur,’ she said to the Marsh Dwellers. ‘What did you mean by that?’

Frog-like eyes blinked in muddy faces. ‘We know what is “fin”,’ said a woman.

‘We saw the great fish frighten off the Crows,’ said a man.

‘This yellow monster is “fur”. We don’t know what is “feather”.’

Pirra licked her lips. ‘I think I do.’ Raising her arm, she whistled for Echo.

The Marsh Dwellers grabbed their spears. Havoc briefly lifted her head, then went back to licking her paws.

Pirra whistled again.

To her relief, Echo swooped out of the darkness, right over the heads of the Marsh Dwellers, and settled on the leather cuff on her forearm. Unlike Havoc, the falcon was wary of the strangers, hissing and half-spreading her wings, ready to fly off at any moment. She caused much muttering, but Pirra couldn’t tell if she’d made things better or worse.

An old man spoke to Hylas. ‘You say your mother was Marsh Dweller. What was her name?’

‘I don’t know,’ he replied. ‘I never knew her.’

More muttering: they didn’t like that at all.

‘I never knew my father either,’ he added defiantly. ‘I only know that he was Mountain Clan, and brought shame on his kin by refusing to fight the Crows.’ A muscle tightened in his jaw. ‘I’m not like him. Pirra and I have spent two summers fighting them. We came to Messenia to – to get something from them, and to find my sister.’ His face worked. ‘I saw something in the marshes, something that told me she’s here –’

‘The Crows rule everywhere,’ another man cut in. ‘They fought the rebels in the north and won. They always win. They have their sacred dagger. They can’t be beaten.’

Hylas and Pirra exchanged glances. So these people knew about the dagger. ‘Where is it now?’ said Pirra.

Vaguely, a girl waved a muddy hand. ‘The young Crow lord, he is fighting the last of the rebels in the north.’

Pirra didn’t look at Hylas. The ‘young Crow lord’ had to be Telamon.

The Marsh Dwellers were all talking at once.

‘His father Thestor is dead …’

‘Killed in the battle in the north …’

‘Pharax is in Lykonia, crushing the rebels …’

‘The old one Koronos has taken over Thestor’s stronghold at Lapithos …’

‘They have the dagger and the favour of the Angry Ones …’

Many shuddered and cast fearful glances at the night sky.

A woman spoke in hushed tones. ‘In the dark of the Moon, Koronos summoned Them. On the red peak of Mount Lykas, in the grove of black poplars, he killed black bulls and burnt them. Thus he gained the favour of the Angry Ones …’

‘Since then,’ said another, ‘we hear terrible cries on the wind. We see cloudshadow where there are no clouds. Dread hangs over the reeds like mist, and our people fall victim to the marsh fever …’

‘Fin, feather and fur,’ said a woman. ‘This is a charm to protect us from the Angry Ones. You are part of this charm. You will stay with us. You will keep us safe.’

Echo had flown off to perch in a nearby willow. Havoc stood beside Hylas, her great golden eyes intent on the fishing spear pointed at his chest.

Pirra laid a restraining hand on his arm, but Hylas shook it off. ‘Keeping us here by force,’ he said hotly, ‘is no way to beat the Crows, or get rid of the Angry Ones!’

‘How do you know?’ said a Marsh Dweller stonily.

‘You wouldn’t survive beyond the marshes,’ said another. ‘No one would help you. The Crows will pay well for the hearts of the Outsider with the yellow hair, and the Keftian girl with the scar.’

Pirra swallowed. ‘So they know we’re coming?’

‘Beyond the marshes,’ said a man, ‘you could trust no one! You will stay with us.’

‘We can’t,’ said Hylas between his teeth. ‘We’re looking for my sister! She’s here in the marshes, she must be!’

Muddy faces stared at him blankly.

‘She was nine summers old when she went missing,’ he said with a catch in his voice. ‘She’d be nearly twelve now. Fair hair, like me –’

‘When the Crows came,’ an old man said, ‘a few Outsiders fled here from the mountains.’ He held up four stumpy fingers. ‘Four boys. No girls.’

Hylas continued as if he hadn’t spoken. ‘She’s very noisy, always talking, singing, arguing. And always making friends with wild creatures … Her favourites are frogs.’ His voice cracked. ‘Once, I carved one on the hilt of her knife.’

Pirra felt desperately sorry for him. He wanted so much to believe that Issi was still alive.

But the old man was shaking his head. ‘All boys,’ he insisted. ‘No girls.’

‘She’s not dead!’ Hylas burst out. ‘I’d know it if she was, I’d have seen her ghost!’

This horrified them, and their spears drew closer.

Hylas glared at them defiantly. Havoc set back her ears and bared her fangs in a snarl.

‘Fin, feather and fur,’ Pirra put in quickly. ‘You said it’s some kind of charm. How do you know?’

The Marsh Dwellers glanced at each other, as if unsure who should speak. They lowered their spears.

‘Last summer,’ a man began, ‘when the black ash darkened the marshes, a wisewoman came.’

‘She cured many who had the marsh fever,’ said a woman. ‘Those who get it often die, but she showed us how to make medicine.’

‘We begged her to stay,’ said another. ‘To protect us from the Angry Ones. She refused. We dared not keep her by force. But before she left, she gave us a charm against Them.’ He touched a grimy little pouch at his neck. Pirra noticed that all the others wore one, too.

‘The wisewoman did a spirit reading,’ a woman put in. ‘She said: They will come with fin, feather and fur. They will fight the Evil Ones.’

Pirra nudged Hylas with her elbow, but he didn’t respond. He sat with his head down, clenching and unclenching his fists, still brooding about his sister.

‘Where is this wisewoman now?’ Pirra demanded.

A woman waved her hand. ‘She sought some shrine in the mountains to the east. We know she reached it because the Crows thereabouts are plagued by a shadow thief. We think this is a spell of the wisewoman’s.’

‘A shadow thief?’ said Pirra with a frown.

‘Small as a child, very cunning. It slashes the Crows’ waterskins, it spoils their meat. As a sign, it leaves behind a little clay frog.’

Hylas’ head jerked up. ‘What? Where?’

‘With the wisewoman. The shrine they call Dentra.’

‘What if it’s Issi?’ cried Hylas. ‘What if the shadow thief is Issi?’

‘But Hylas,’ Pirra said gently. ‘Just because Issi loved frogs, that doesn’t mean it’s her. Besides, they say it’s some kind of spell …’ Privately, she wondered whether Issi might be dead, and this wisewoman was making use of her spirit.

‘Issi used to make clay frogs,’ insisted Hylas. ‘It was the only creature she could do!’ Then to the Marsh Dwellers: ‘I have to find this shadow thief, you’ve got to let us go!’

‘No! You will stay with us!’

‘You are part of the charm!’

‘You protect us from the Angry Ones!’

‘Nothing can protect you from the Angry Ones!’ he roared.

Echo flew off with a shriek, and Havoc snarled and kneaded the platform with her claws. Pirra put a restraining hand on the lioness’ scruff, and shot Hylas a quelling glance.

‘This wisewoman,’ she said to the Marsh Dwellers. ‘What was her name? Where did she come from?’

‘What’s that to you?’ spat an old woman.

Pirra drew herself up. ‘I am the daughter of the High Priestess of Keftiu, I’ve had dealings with wisewomen. Tell me!’

‘She came from some island,’ the woman said sullenly. ‘The one that blew up and sent the black ash. She said the Crows destroyed it, so now she lives to destroy them.’

Pirra’s heart was pounding. ‘Did she have a streak of white here?’ She touched the hair at her temple.

The Marsh Dwellers went very still.

‘Her name is Hekabi,’ Pirra declared. ‘We knew her on Thalakrea. We helped save her people when it blew up.’

More muttering.

‘Hekabi,’ added Hylas, ‘is an extremely powerful wisewoman.’

‘You wouldn’t want to cross her,’ said Pirra. ‘She would definitely want you to let us go.’

The Marsh Dwellers squatted at a respectful distance, watching Havoc whiffle in her sleep. The lioness lay sprawled on her back, with Echo perched on her belly, pecking ticks out of her fur.

Hylas and Pirra had withdrawn to a corner of the platform where they could talk without being overheard. The night song of the crickets was changing, and some of the marsh birds were waking up: soon it would be dawn.

The Marsh Dwellers had at last agreed to guide them out of the marshes. But which way should they go?

‘If what they say is right,’ Pirra said in an undertone, ‘the dagger’s in the north, with Telamon. And if you’re right, and the shadow thief really is Issi – if – then she’s in the mountains to the east.’ She looked at Hylas. ‘We can’t go after them both.’

He sat cross-legged, scowling and digging at the platform with his thumbnail. Pirra sensed the warring impulses within him. Must he give up the first potential lead he’d had on his sister in two years, to seek the dagger?

‘Maybe we could look for Issi first,’ she suggested. ‘And then go after the dagger …’

‘How could we do that?’ he muttered without raising his head. ‘If we missed our chance at the dagger, how many more rebels would die? And it’s my fault the Crows got it back! My fault!’

‘It’s mine too.’

‘No it’s not. I was the one who gave it back.’

Pirra’s thoughts flew to the battle on the Great River of Egypt. She remembered the knife at her throat, and Telamon yelling at Hylas: Throw me the dagger, or she dies!

‘Do you regret that?’ she said quietly.

‘Of course not! But because of what I did, the Crows are rampaging through all Akea, slaughtering rebels.’ He blew out a long breath. Then he sat up and squared his shoulders. ‘I’ve made up my mind. I’ve got to go after the dagger.’

Pirra stiffened. ‘Don’t you mean “we”?’

He met her eyes. ‘Pirra … I think we need to split up.’

She went cold. ‘I don’t understand.’

‘The Marsh Dwellers will take you east into the mountains, to the peak shrine at Dentra. If you’re lucky, you’ll find Hekabi there and – and maybe – maybe Issi, too. While you’re doing that, they’ll guide me north. I’ll go after the dagger.’

‘Oh you will, will you?’ she said angrily. ‘A while ago, you said that where you go, I go. What happened to that?’

‘Pirra – you know this makes sense.’

‘No I don’t! What I do know is that there’s more to this than you’re letting on! It’s your visions, isn’t it? That’s what’s behind this. You told me in Egypt they’ve been getting stronger, and now you’re worried that they’ll be so strong that you won’t be able to protect me!’

‘And what’s wrong with that?’ he cried.

‘Hylas, I can protect myself, I don’t need you to do it for me!’

‘Fine! But we’re sticking to my plan, whether you like it or not!’

Pirra felt sick with anger and fear and desolation. She couldn’t bear the thought of heading off alone with these inscrutable people, into mountains she’d never seen, seeking some child she’d never met, in an alien country, far from her homeland of Keftiu. And all without Hylas.

How can you be so calm? she wanted to yell at him. Don’t you realise that if we split up now, we might never see each other again?

But she was too proud to argue, or to beg. ‘Fine,’ she said shakily. ‘I’ll look for Issi. You head after the dagger.’