We Who Hunt the Hollow, page 4
For a moment I consider telling her everything, that bitterlins are kind of appearing around me somehow, but I bite my tongue. I shouldn’t drag Cheryl into this. She creates enough drama on her own without getting caught up in mine.
‘Okay.’ I wipe my nose and head back down the stairs – and stand there on the steps in the dark, waiting and listening for her and Dingo to go up to the fourth floor, where she has a bedroom alongside mine and Geema’s. I only wait a few seconds, then creep up after her. If she catches me going into the attic, I’m screwed. But she doesn’t, and I quickly shove the wrapped-up ball of dead bitterlin through the attic door, then lock it. Wiping my hands down my thighs, I head to Cheryl’s room at the far end of the hall.
She’s sitting cross-legged on her bed. Stuff is strewn around the room, as if seventeen suitcases simultaneously exploded. I clamber onto the bed to sit opposite her. She is thinner, weathered, with new freckles across her face and deeper lines beside her eyes. Cheryl’s never been soft, but there is something even leaner about her, as if some protective covering has been stripped away. A gold-and-diamond stud glitters on her nose, and when she smiles I notice two gold teeth. My sister’s gone pirate after three years hunting kraken on the high seas.
‘Tell me what it was like.’ I wish I could see what she’s seen.
‘Brilliant. Wild,’ she whispers. ‘Here, I got you a souvenir.’ She hands me something wrapped in soft chamois. I flip it open, revealing a shell-shaped disc of lustrous green. Light skids over its pearlescent surface as I angle it in my hand.
‘A mermaid scale,’ Cheryl says.
‘You saw mermaids?’ Hollow creatures that abandoned their evil world to settle in the watery depths of ours, they’re notoriously secretive. Mermaids aren’t intent on destroying us, but they’re not at all friendly towards humans, unlike imps.
‘Uh-huh. This was given to me freely. I was told it would give clarity and insight to whoever carries it.’
I hold the scale up to my face as if I can breathe in the cold, ferocious tang of saltwater from it. ‘It’s beautiful.’
‘Keep it safe,’ she says. ‘Now get outta here, kiddo. I’m beat and need to crash. I’ll show you photos tomorrow.’
She scoops me close to kiss my forehead, then shoos me out of her bedroom. I stand in the hallway with the mermaid scale in my hands. Its Hollow energy tickles the back of my mind and I wonder what insights it might bring me.
Mama, Lydia and Geema aren’t home by the time I go to bed. I leave my bedroom door open a crack and lie awake, listening, until I hear footsteps and hushed laughter coming up from the stairs, the clink of glasses. Then I roll over and go to sleep, which is thankfully free of bitterlin-infested nightmares.
For breakfast the next day I prepare fat slices of hot raisin toast with curls of cold butter, and mugs of coffee. Mama, Lydia and Geema tell Cheryl and me about the civilian call-in that came in yesterday afternoon, for a vapour spirit. Geema couldn’t resist going along for the ride even though she’s retired. Oh. I hunch over the dart of hurt as I realise they went without me.
They talk over each other and finish each other’s sentences, sometimes laughing too much to even do that. Afterwards, Cheryl shares photos of her expedition in the Drowned Islands, to a running commentary of questions. A pang of longing hits me when I see those pictures – the endless arcs of blue-green Pacific Ocean, the grinning wind-lashed faces of salty warriors, the giant limp tentacles of the kraken they finally caught. Cheryl might be our family miscreant, but she’s still a powerful warrior. She’s been on a real adventure.
I hope I can be a good enough warrior, one day, to go on an adventure like that.
My handset vibrates in my pocket and I tug it out, glad for the distraction. It’s a message from Onyeka. I couldn’t bring myself to delete her from my list of contacts, and seeing that tiny circle of a photo – her round brown cheeks and bright smile – makes me melt.
Hey there’s a bakery in Brunswick I can recommend – good cakes, certified sugar dealers – if you’re still looking.
That’s Onyeka for I’m glad we bumped into each other.
Before I lose my nerve I swipe out a reply. Thanks for the tip – appreciated.
That’s Priscilla for I’m glad too.
I wonder what she feels when she sees my photo come up.
I tuck my handset back away, feeling strangely better. Onyeka’s always done that for me – made me feel like things will turn out all right.
Cheryl is switching off the projector feed from her own handset. As she does so, the base’s security network chimes with a series of descending tones: another civilian call-in.
Mama gets up to check the screen on the wall. ‘Over east, near the coast,’ she says. ‘Two fatalities, the town’s gone into lockdown. From the description it sounds like a direkin.’
‘I’ll go,’ my sister says. Dingo lifts her head, ears perked, like a normal dog whose owner has said let’s go for a walk. Cheryl looks at me, her gold teeth flashing. ‘C’mon, kiddo. Must be our turn to team up.’
A balloon lifts inside me. ‘Really?’ I glance at my mothers. A direkin is a big threat. It’s not the kind of monster students normally go into the field for, let alone – let’s face it – a mediocre student like myself.
‘That’s a grade four savage.’ Mama seems hesitant.
Cheryl scoffs. ‘It’s nothing. We’ll deal. I’ll look after Priscilla. It’ll be good for her training.’
At least my sister wants me out there with her. She tugs me to my feet.
‘Well ... be careful,’ Mama calls after us as we head upstairs to pull on our hunting gear.
‘We’re always careful!’ Cheryl and I both yell back.
We get changed, then meet in the command centre downstairs, grabbing weapons and armour from the closet. Cheryl straps a harness onto Dingo as I put on my headset and do up the buckles on my favourite armoured vest, the one with the special protective pocket for Mouse on the front. Anticipatory adrenalin fizzes down my limbs as I flip the switch to charge up an electric-tipped bo staff. Current snaps and pops in the air.
Mouse ducks into her pocket. She’s as eager as Dingo. It’s about time!
‘Amen, beastie,’ I say.
I just hope I can handle it.
Cheryl collects the call-in information from the imps, and we clamber into the big floater. The engines thud as she lifts it into the rain-soaked day. We ascend to the upper streams, accelerating into misted clouds. The city disappears in the haze beneath us. Cheryl switches the autopilot on and leans back, dropping a hand to idly scratch Dingo’s head.
‘What are you going to do now the safari is done?’ I ask. I want to know how long I’ll get to have with her this time, before it’s back to messages and video calls.
‘I don’t know.’ She pauses. ‘I thought maybe I would stay here for a while.’
My sister, born with itchy feet, claiming she’ll stay put? I narrow my eyes. What did those mermaids say to her? ‘For real?’
‘Look. I don’t know, okay? I’m thinking about things.’
I prop my feet up on the dashboard. ‘You seem kinda different.’
‘I guess we all have to face up to who we are, at some point,’ she says. ‘And figure out ... who we might want to be instead.’
I turn my head to look out at the grey surrounding us. Face up to who we are. Maybe for Cheryl that means not running away anymore. Maybe for me that means admitting I’ll never be a Hollow Warrior like the rest of my family.
I squeeze my eyes shut. No, that isn’t the future I want. I will not face it. I can’t face it. I have to be a good warrior, somehow, some day.
We’re quiet for the rest of the ride, the floater buffeted with wind as we descend to the co-ordinates. The call-in has come from a small town clinging to life behind a giant seawall. The tempestuous sea rages behind the huge swathe of pitted concrete.
Everything is quiet. The locals are in hiding, following civilian guidelines for monster attacks. Streetlights glow orange in the gloomy drizzle. We land on the main street near the remains of an old building, where creeping purple vines twist over tumbled bricks.
‘Can you pinpoint our monster?’ Cheryl says as she jumps out, boots thudding onto the wet concrete.
Ah, crap. I hadn’t thought of that. Last time I accessed my power a bitterlin appeared. If it happens again now, Cheryl will see – along with anyone watching the footage from my headset cam.
Maybe it won’t happen, though. If I use my power as I ought to, as I always have – and definitely do not think about bitterlins – then everything might be okay. No bitterlins. No problem.
I take a deep breath. I can already feel the tickle in the back of my mind. I carefully focus my other sense. Hollow energy swirls through me and Cheryl and our familiars, and there’s also another burst nearby. It’s on the other side of the ruins.
Wordlessly I point in that direction, while hope flares inside me. We’re bitterlin free. Maybe the problem fixed itself.
Cheryl swings out her scimitars. Dingo bares her teeth. I grip the humming bo staff firmly and follow my sister along the silent street.
All I hear is my heartbeat thudding in my ears and the distant booming of the ocean.
The direkin is crouched in the middle of a disused carpark, bony knees by its heavy jaws, knuckles resting on the tarmac. Beside it are two human bodies, blank eyes open to the uncaring clouds. I’ve seen casualties before – you can’t avoid it as a monster hunter – but I don’t know if I’ll ever get used to seeing that utterly distressing stillness. Two people died today beneath the claws of the Hollow. Preventing any more deaths is why we are here. I force myself not to look at the dead and focus instead on the monster. Its tail sweeps against the ground, the rattle at the end echoing through the vacant space.
It hasn’t seen us yet.
My stomach twists with nerves, palms getting damp inside my gloves. I can smell the tang of poison on its claws and I’m suddenly very aware of how close it is. I’ve never seen a direkin in real life, although I’ve seen footage of warriors in battle with them during my lessons. They’re as tall as a person, with mucousy grey skin and brawny legs. I remember one particular edusys training sheet that said to be watchful for a direkin’s leap. They can jump right over you, slashing with those poisoned talons from behind.
Death by direkin is painful, it warned.
Once I saw a video of a warrior fighting two at the same time. The beasts had teamed up –
The back of my mind itches. My other sense tastes a flare of Hollow energy. And then another direkin is hopping through the carpark towards us. It barks, alerting the first one.
Both direkins see us.
I freeze.
There are two direkins now and they’re both coming in fast, muscles bunching in their powerful legs, claws scorching the tarmac. Mouse squeaks but I barely hear her. I can’t move. I did this. Summoned another monster, and now there’s two, like in that video. They’re only a few paces away and I am totally petrified by what I’ve done, and –
A whoosh and snick. Two direkin heads go rolling, spinning cobalt-coloured blood, and their bodies slump to the ground. Cheryl materialises with blue-bloodied scimitars in her hands, Dingo at her feet. I hadn’t even noticed she’d activated her power of shadow cloaking.
‘Shit, Priscilla,’ she says. ‘Why didn’t you attack?’
Hot monster blood speckles my face. I look down at the staff in my hands, at my white knuckles gripping the pole. I start shaking, and jam it over my shoulder into the holster on my back. ‘I – I don’t know. I’m sorry.’
‘Are you okay?’ She steps closer, concern knitting her brows.
‘I’m fine. I’m sorry,’ I repeat, unable to look my sister in the eye. A fearful embarrassment burns inside me. Why didn’t I move? What’s wrong with me? Why can’t I do anything right?
‘Hey, kiddo,’ she says softly. ‘Don’t worry about it. You’re still learning. Freezing up happens to all of us at some point. Why don’t you go get the floater and bring it over here so we can load these carcasses and get back home. I’ll update the system and call the medics.’
I head off to do as she suggests. I can’t stop reliving the moment I felt the Hollow energy change, when the second monster appeared. What if I had pictured a different creature, something even more deadly? I endangered my sister. I could have killed us both. I feel sick with guilt.
I shouldn’t have come on this job. I shouldn’t be on any job.
Not until I truly can control what I’m doing ...
Summoning monsters.
CHAPTER FOUR
I clamber into the floater, tossing my weapon into the back, and flip the vehicle on, noticing sprays of blue blood speckled across my trembling hands. Mouse eases out of her pocket and crawls onto my shoulder. The tickle of her whiskers is comforting against my neck.
We’ll figure this out, she assures me. It’s all right. Everybody is okay.
‘But it might not have been all right,’ I say, lifting the floater across the road and circling around into the carpark, where Cheryl waits beside the two dead monsters and two dead people. ‘I can’t let this happen again.’
You don’t know how it’s happening yet.
‘I’m a disaster. A complete disaster. My family’s going to disown me. The guild’s going to take my power away and excommunicate me and they’re going to put me in the handbook as the worst ever example of screwing up and I’ll never –’
Calm down, Mouse interrupts. You’re being a tiny bit irrational.
‘Mouse, didn’t you see –’
Yes, I did see. But don’t go jumping to far-fetched conclusions in an emotional crisis. Do some research when we get back. Actually try to find out how this is happening. See if there is a precedent. There could be a simple answer, a simple fix.
‘Okay, okay. Yeah. You’re right. That’s a sound idea. Research,’ I say, trying not to let panic get the better of me.
I know. Mouse sounds prim. She loves being right.
Cheryl and I pull on disposable gloves and load the monsters into the plastic-lined rear storage section of the floater. She logs the kills into the floater’s system, which will broadcast the update to the locals’ handsets and let them know it’s safe to emerge. As we rise back into the sky, an ambulance is already descending in our stead, red lights flashing. Coming to collect the dead.
Two bitterlins and now a direkin. There’s no avoiding it: I definitely brought them into our world. Is it possible I did trigger a secondary power in the attic – to summon Hollow monsters? Because holy hell, I can’t be a warrior if that’s the case. Summoning monsters instead of slaying them. There’s no way the guild would allow it, just as it doesn’t allow any challenge to its authority. No matter what Mouse says, that isn’t a far-fetched conclusion.
If I can’t control this, can’t fix this, what will I do? If the guild finds out, it will remove my abilities. A senior warrior like Geema will make me give up my oath of power, and then they’ll take ... take away Mouse. That’s how it’s done. They’ll take my familiar far enough away from me that the connection between us breaks, and she unravels, returning her energy to the Hollow – and taking my power with her. Our familiars are our anchors, our conductors. If they go, so does our power.
We don’t know why we get familiars when we receive our abilities. The guild researchers think it might be because that’s how our world has always responded to unusual power in humans – that there’s truth in the old-world folklore about animal familiars keeping witches’ secrets.
I brush Mouse’s velvet-soft head. All I know is I can’t lose this constant spirit of mine. She’s been with me since I was thirteen. A tiny bundle of honesty and reassurance, love and exasperation. Nobody truly knows me like Mouse. And only Mouse knows how deeply I fear not living up to the Daalman legacy. Without her? I’d just be a norm. It’s bad enough thinking I won’t be a decent warrior, but I can’t even entertain the idea of being a norm. There’s never been a norm born into the Daalman line before.
Mouse is right. I need to do some research so I know how to deal with this, before the guild can find out. In the meantime, I absolutely cannot use my power. I can’t even be tuned in enough for the awareness of Hollow energy to tickle the back of my mind.
I have to ignore it completely.
It’s late afternoon by the time we get back. Silently I help Cheryl stuff the limp and clammy carcasses into the Hollow waste incinerator, and clean out the floater. She doesn’t pressure me to talk, probably thinking I’m embarrassed.
I am. Cheryl’s a dark sheep but she’s still powerful and competent. She still belongs.
We shove our equipment into the returns crate in the weapons closet. Cheryl goes upstairs while I scoot a chair up to one of the cubicles along the side of the briefing room – one that isn’t within view of the imps at the monitoring station.
I log in to the Hollow Warrior information database and navigate to the section on superpowers, where all the different abilities are listed. When I was younger I used to browse this section, looking up the powers for all the generations of Daalmans and bookmarking my favourites, wondering which one I would end up with. I’ve never seen anything about summoning monsters before, but there are hundreds of powers. Every unique variation has its own article.
I click in the search field and then stop, my fingers hovering above the keyboard. What if they’re keeping track of people’s searches? Somebody might notice there’s a student in the Oceania Division searching for information about a horrifying power to summon monsters, and figure out that Priscilla Daalman has a Really Big Problem.
I log off straight away, as if that hypothetical somebody has already looked in my direction.
Message boards, Mouse advises.
‘Yes. Good idea.’ I open up the universal-access message boards and make up an anonymous username to post my question. You don’t need an official Hollow Warrior login to use the message boards. Nobody has to know it’s me doing the asking.
