Sea. Sarah Driver

      Another shakes her head. ‘Sparrow is too close to the beast, what if we strike him?’

      Grandma’s words are chipped by fury. ‘Stag, what are you—’

      He thumps the rail. ‘The moon is behind cloud. If we—’

      ‘Are you captain? Close your blowhole, now, or—’

      Filthy sea-slug child, kill, kill, kill! the polar dog growls, full of hate and hunger, gums foaming, bared fangs gleaming. Thaw’s feathers brush my ear as she flits away into the rigging.

      If the full-growns won’t loose their arrows I’ll have to do it myself, even after all the trouble that terrodyl brought me. I unhook my bow and slide an arrow from the quiver at my belt. My mouth feels dry.

      Crack small one’s bones, gobble-slurp marrow! keens the polar dog.

      I nock the arrow to my bow. The moon appears from behind the clouds, casting me in a pool of light.

      ‘Mouse, get back! I told you not to leave the cabin!’ Grandma hurls her voice like a spear. ‘Sparrow, run!’

      ‘It’s saying it’s gonna slurp my brother’s marrow, Grandma!’ I shout.

      ‘Well for the gods’ sake don’t let it slurp yours as well! Black-cloaks, you good-for-nothing lot of eel-brained—’

      I close my ears and creep closer to the rail. ‘Sparrow,’ I call, but he won’t move. The polar dog snaps its amber eyes onto my face. Its growls change as it watches me, distracted from Sparrow. Bigger. Juicy. Kill, kill, kill. Hungrrry.

      When it growls kill my bones shudder and I want to run, but I won’t leave Sparrow. I move forward, legs jellyfish-weak.

      Frighted girl-child! it rasps gleefully.

      As I pass Sparrow I shove him out of harm’s way but I keep my eyes on the creature. I put my heart-strength behind my longbow and draw my bowstring taut. I ent frighted, stupid beast. Stop your chatterings and get ready to die.

      It laughs. I clamp my fear behind my teeth and scowl.

      Behind me comes a scuffling. Probably Sparrow and Vole making for cover. Distant shouts reach my ears. ‘Black-cloaks, listen to me. As your captain: take aim, draw—’

      Too late, Grandma.

      When the polar dog’s muscles tense I let my arrow sail, a battle-howl ripping from my throat. Another heartbeat and the creature leaps.

      My arrow punctures its chest. Four deadweight-heavy paws land on me. I fall backwards onto the wooden boards, the breath punched from my lungs.

      Warm breath rattles in my ear but there’s no beast-chatter. I lie still as the grave. This is it, my bones scream. Got by a wretched polar hound.

      Muffled shouts hail down around me. Grandma’s voice comes closest. ‘Hold your arrows else you’ll strike the child! Draw daggers, now!’

      Suddenly the hound’s body falls limp. A beat later the dead weight’s lifted and Grandma hauls me to my feet. I’m in her arms as sheets of tears wash down my cheeks. Stupid warm salty tears.

      ‘What you bawling for, kid?’ She looks straight into me as usual, so there’s naught I can hide. ‘You saved your brother’s life.’ The little crinkles round her eyes dance as she hugs me again. ‘Mouse Arrow-Swift, they’ll be calling you afore break of day.’

      Battle-Shrieker peers down at me with bright gold eyes from her perch on Grandma’s shoulder. Arrow-Swift, she chirrups, beak stuffed with fishtails.

      Grandma points. The polar dog lies sprawled on the deck, its dirty white fur already nipped with icicles. But the shock and the shaking still won’t let me smile.

      Grandma’s smiling enough for the both of us, though. ‘That’ll make you a fine cloak, dearheart.’ She presses her forehead and nose to mine in a Tribe-kiss.

      I pull away from Grandma, to look into her eyes. ‘So I’m not in trouble this time?’

      ‘Trouble?’ Grandma’s good eye glints. ‘Not half so much as my rotten crew are. But you, Little-Bones? You took action when all the full-growns were dithering like guppies. You kept the promise you made to your ma, to keep your brother safe.’

      A deep voice severs Grandma’s warmth. ‘That’s as may be, Wren. But what will keep the rest of us safe from the Fangtooths, now that she’s shot one of their prized polar dogs?’ Stag asks. I turn to face him and his unblinking eyes pin me to the spot. ‘We still have half the Wildersea to cross.’

      ‘You can call me Captain.’ Grandma glares at Stag, full of fury. ‘My grandson still draws breath, no heart-thanks to you. If you’re fearful of a few land-lurkers, then perhaps I’ve been too quick to judge you True-Tribe. Get yourself below decks. Mouse is more than ready to take your place.’

      Stag’s face darkens. He turns and stalks into the gloom, then a door crashes in the distance.

      Grandma gifts me a wink with the eye that works. ‘I ent nearly finished with him,’ she growls. ‘Now rest your bones – you’ll be skinning that beast the best part of the morrow. I won’t keep you from my side at times of danger again – you’ve proven your thirteen moons this night.’

      Heart-pride fills me as she strides away, giving orders. ‘Secure the nets! Send for Bear and his oarsmen!’ Her voice dwindles as she moves further away from me. ‘There may be others – so help me, if the Fangtooth scum sent that creature—’

      Sparrow slams through the shadows and almost knocks me off my feet, burying his face in my cloak. I press my forehead to his. Thunderbolt zips from his pocket and streaks up my neck, across my cheek and onto Sparrow’s shoulder, leaving a sparkle-cold feeling on my skin and covering us in a trail of silver footprints.

      Thunderbolt thanks her for saving sweet Tangle-Hair’s life! she chitters.

      He’s my brother, stupid. I swallow the lump in my throat. Course I flaming saved him.

      Thunderbolt blows a moon-dusted raspberry. So much for her thanks.

      ‘What’s she saying?’ Sparrow asks, stroking the moonsprite gently.

      ‘Just the usual bilge-warblings.’ Then a thought drifts into my head. ‘That song you were singing. Did Da tell you what the words mean?’

      Sparrow shrugs and wipes his nose on his wrist. ‘Dunno,’ he says through a yawn. ‘Lessgo inside now – I’m freezing!’

      Vole limps along the deck towards us. Gods. Not even a swipe from a polar dog can get her off my back. ‘I know you two are tired,’ she says, running a hand through her hair. ‘But we need Sparrow to sing for the whales more than ever now. And Mouse, could you fetch me a poultice and some goldenseal from the medsin-lab? I’ve a few cuts need tending. Sparrow, come with me.’ She takes my brother’s hand and leads him off.

      I pull my most gruesome faces after her. Thaw-Wielder thuds onto my shoulder. Just cos Vole’s chief prentice, don’t mean she’s the boss of me, I tell her, stooping to grab the polar dog carcass. It drags heavily along the icy deck, a trail of blood slugging from the arrow-wound. Above me, crew scuttle like spiders in the rigging, unfurling a huge net to keep enemies from boarding.

      My hawk rubs her feathers under my chin. Leave chores, play! Fly!

      I chuckle and stroke her black wing tips. But if I don’t do Vole’s bleeding bidding she’ll spill, and I like being in Grandma’s good