Backwards Moon Read online

  Nettle nodded.

  “Okay,” said Elizabeth. “Here goes.”

  Nettle hovered outside Elizabeth’s window for what seemed like a long time.

  At last a light came on. Elizabeth slid open the window. Nettle ducked and flew through.

  “My parents’ bedroom is down the hall, so we’ll have to be really, really quiet,” Elizabeth whispered. “Right now they’re still downstairs. They’re not too mad, really. So it’s okay.”

  “That’s good,” whispered Nettle.

  Elizabeth watched admiringly as Nettle stowed her broomstick in her pocket. “Cool! Very cool. So, this is my room.”

  “It’s . . . nice,” said Nettle, blinking.

  Everything seemed to be a very bright color. Pink, purple, yellow, green . . . Heaps of clothing were scattered all over the floor. Books and papers nearly covered the bed.

  “Are you tired?” Elizabeth asked. “You look pretty tired.” She rummaged underneath the bed. “I have a sleeping bag for when friends stay over, but if my mom comes and it looks like someone’s in it and no one’s there, she might start wondering. So if you hear anything, get out quick and shove the sleeping bag under the bed, okay? Do you want some pajamas? Or a nightgown?”

  “I need to keep my dress on, and my hat right near.” Nettle paused. “It’s our dresses and hats that make us invisible.”

  “Okay,” said Elizabeth. “The bathroom’s down the hall. I’ll show you the way, but be really, really quiet. Did you bring a toothbrush?”

  Nettle looked at her blankly.

  The sleeping bag was soft and very comfortable. And the bathroom was a wonder: an amazing invention.

  Elizabeth shoved a cascade of stuff from the bed and climbed in. “Tomorrow is Saturday,” she whispered. “Yes!”

  “Saturday,” said Nettle drowsily, trying to remember what Saturday was. Some kind of human something or other. . . .

  And in another moment, she was asleep.

  chapter eleven

  All day as the sun passed over the aspen grove, Bracken slept uneasily, waking often. Then at last it was night again. She sat up in her hammock.

  She ate some of her journey bread and drank a bottle of blackberry juice, then took a last glance around her. The aspen leaves rustled lightly in the night breeze. Already the grove seemed a sheltered place that a part of her—the tight, afraid part—didn’t want to leave. But she got on her broomstick anyway. “Go,” she told herself and lifted off.

  She flew until the snow-topped mountains that had once encircled her world were only a distant glimmer in the moonlight, low on the horizon.

  Now on the flatlands, human lights appeared, and some of them moved. Roar they went, followed by the silence of the wide night. Then roar, silence, and another roar.

  Sometimes she passed over long rows of tall poles. The wires that ran between them whined faintly.

  Now and then she saw whole clusters of lights, twinkling on the dark plain, and she knew they were human towns.

  After what seemed like many, many hours, the night began to fade. Bracken’s heart tightened in her chest. She scanned the plain for a hiding place. But the only cover anywhere, the only places to hide in this vast, flat land seemed to be a few scattered clusters of trees.

  She flew toward one, slowed, and hovered.

  “Who goes there?” said a voice like a wolf’s. Then it began to bark.

  A dog, Bracken realized. It barked furiously, with mindless hatred. Bracken sped away.

  She tried another grove, but there among the trees sat a human house, its windows staring. Another dog bayed. And every moment, the sky grew lighter! Bracken’s hand crept to the Woodfolk bead necklace. But Toadflax had told her to use it only in direst need.

  Far ahead, a river glittered in the sun’s first rays. Bracken sped toward it, then slowed above the cottonwoods that grew along its banks. She landed in a treetop. She stowed her broom but lingered, watching through the screen of leaves as the red sun rose and the sky filled with light.

  A bank of clouds lay low in the east, and now, gradually, its underside was lit in brilliant pink, then gold, then orange. “Oh!” breathed Bracken. Sunrise in the mountains was only a glow in the sky—never like this. The distant horizon circled all around. The edge of the sky met the earth.

  It seemed, suddenly, that it might be all right to be out in the wide world. Bracken felt brave and strong. She hung her hammock, climbed in and swung gently, hidden by the leaves. She listened to the rush of water and felt the warming sun. She closed her eyes and slept.

  When she woke, the sun had set and night had fallen. She clambered out of her hammock, folded it neatly, and stowed it in her pocket. She had just finished eating and watching the stars come out one by one when she heard the first bark.

  She froze, listening.

  It was not one dog, but many, she realized with a chill. She got to her feet and pulled her broom from her pocket.

  Below her, twigs snapped and a smallish, humpbacked animal came lumbering through the trees. It stood for a moment, its head lolling. Then it staggered to the base of Bracken’s tree and began to climb. It had a black mask and a bushy ringed tail. Bracken crouched, watching, as the creature climbed higher. The raccoon, for so it was, crawled along a branch then hunched down, its back to the tree trunk. “Done for,” it moaned as the barking grew louder and higher in pitch.

  Before Bracken could say anything, a dog bounded through the underbrush, barking in mad excitement. It ran to Bracken’s tree, put its two front paws on the trunk and howled into the darkness.

  Bracken leapt to her broom as dog after dog ringed the trunk, all baying in triumph.

  “Get on!” she cried, hovering in front of the raccoon. His whiskers quivered. Then he jumped. Bracken’s broom dipped—he was surprisingly heavy.

  The dogs howled frantically. A beam of light raked the tree branches. A dull bang, and something rattled through the leaves.

  “Get ’em!” cried a human voice. There was another bang and more rattling. “Get ’em!” the voice cried again.

  “That way!” cried the raccoon, amid more banging and popping. “Yes!” he said gleefully. “My finest escape ever!” More bangs and poppings sounded.

  A sudden, searing pain shot through Bracken’s leg. The broom lurched wildly.

  “That way,” gasped the raccoon.

  Bracken craned around to see him pointing with one trembling finger.

  “There’s a farm that way, an old one,” he cried. “There’s no hunting there.”

  An owl hooted from a grove. Behind it loomed a swaybacked barn, its hayloft door hanging open. They hurtled through and crashed to the floor. Bracken slid from the broom and lay in a heap, clutching her leg. “You’re bleeding,” moaned the raccoon, wringing his little hands.

  From outside came a crunching, rumbling sound and a tumult of barking.

  “It’s a pickup truck,” gasped the raccoon. “They come in pickup trucks.”

  Bracken hobbled to the hayloft door and watched, trembling, as two men with guns—guns!—got out.

  And then a human child—a boy with a gun.

  The men and the boy walked up the farmhouse steps and rapped on the door. A light came on above the porch, and the front door opened. “All right, but be quick about it,” said a man’s voice. The door slammed shut. The dogs barked mindlessly from the pickup truck.

  “It came this way!” said the boy’s clear voice. “It was huge.”

  The humans shone lights into the trees, sweeping them in great arcs through the night. Then the boy and one man walked toward the barn.

  “Fly!” whispered the raccoon. He grabbed Bracken’s broom and shoved it at her, but when she tried it, everything swirled crazily around her.

  “I can’t,” she moaned.

  “This way. Hurry!” said the raccoon, his voice shrill with fear.

  Bracken hobbled after him to a far corner where old, dusty hay lay in drifts. She hid herself as best she could.
Below them came a sliding, creaking sound.

  Two heads emerged through the opening in the hayloft floor and clambered up, guns in hand. “Here,” said the man, handing the boy a light. “You find it.”

  The boy swept the light back and forth along the heavy ceiling beams.

  “I told you it was nothing,” said the man.

  “I saw it,” said the boy. “I swear to God I saw it.”

  The light played around the barn, casting crazy shadows. Then it shone straight into Bracken’s eyes.

  “A witch!” screamed the boy. He stepped closer. “It’s right there! See it?”

  “No,” said the man.

  “Hold the light!” cried the boy. “Shine it right there in the corner.” He took his gun in both hands. He was lifting it to his shoulder when Bracken clutched her necklace and whispered the spell.

  chapter twelve

  The next instant, someone was standing behind the man and the boy. He was an old man, but big and strong-looking.

  “What the hell is all this ruckus?” he asked. He wasn’t carrying a gun.

  “It’s a witch,” cried the boy. “Right there! In the corner! See her?”

  “Stop waving that gun around,” he said, striding toward Bracken. “It’s a little girl,” he said suddenly. He whirled around. “What the hell do you think you two are doing, cornering some little girl?”

  “Little girl?” said the other man.

  “Get off my place, and never come back. Go!” said the old man, dismissing him with a wave of one big arm. “Get out of here or I’ll wrap that gun around your neck.”

  The man yanked the boy toward him. “Come on,” he said, and shoved him toward the trap door. “Move it. This better not be some dumb joke,” came the man’s voice from below.

  “It wasn’t,” said the boy. “I swear. It was a witch.”

  “Yeah, right,” said the man. The voices faded. A door slammed. The pickup truck whined and roared into the night.

  Crickets chimed, filling the silence.

  “Little girl?” said the old man softly. “Are you there?”

  “I’m here,” said Bracken. “My leg . . . I hurt my leg. . . .”

  “I’ll get a light. I’ll be right back,” said the man, hurrying down the ladder.

  “What happened?” asked the raccoon.

  “He’s a Witchfriend,” said Bracken slowly. “This special kind of grownup human who can see witches. I have a magic necklace that called him.”

  “But is he a raccoon friend?” said the raccoon, not moving. “That’s the question.”

  “He won’t hurt you. You can come out,” said Bracken. But the raccoon stayed in the hay.

  A few minutes later the farmer reappeared, a light shining from his hand. He stepped toward her and kneeled down. “Oh my God,” he said, shining the light on her leg. “Can you walk?” He helped her up. “Lean on my shoulder. Can you make it down the ladder?”

  The farmer went first, then helped Bracken. “My broom . . .” she said suddenly, but the farmer just scooped her up in his arms and carried her toward the house.

  “I’ve got it,” called the raccoon. Bracken heard him scurrying behind.

  The farmer pushed the door open with his shoulder and shoved it closed behind him. “Just rest here on the couch. I’ll bring the pickup around,” he said, setting Bracken down. “We’ll get you to the hospital before you know it.”

  “Wait,” said Bracken. A wave of fear swept over her.

  “It will be okay,” said the farmer. “No one likes the hospital, but you’ll be okay.” He walked to a low table, picked up a small box with numbers on it, and began jabbing it with his finger.

  “No!” said Bracken. “Don’t. Please!”

  He paused.

  “I can’t go there. Can’t you see? I’m a witch!”

  “You’re a little girl, wearing a witch costume.”

  “I cast a spell on you,” said Bracken. “That’s how you got there so quickly.”

  “It did seem odd . . . kind of a whoosh, it was.” He put a hand to his chin. “You . . . cast a spell on me?”

  Bracken watched him closely, but he didn’t seem angry or afraid. “Yes,” she said.

  “Am I under a spell now?”

  “I’m not sure,” said Bracken.

  He stood lost in thought. “Huh,” he said. Then he shook his head and looked again at Bracken’s leg. “I’ll get a basin,” he said. “Soap. Bandages.” He hurried into another room, came back, and set things out on a low table next to where Bracken lay. “I was in the army once,” said the farmer, washing away the blood. The space between Bracken’s knee and ankle was punctured by several angry holes. “I’ve seen worse. I can dig these out for you.”

  Bracken swallowed, then nodded.

  “Don’t watch,” said the farmer, and Bracken closed her eyes. “In the army people drink whiskey for pain, but I don’t have any whiskey. Saw enough of the stuff in those days to last me a lifetime, I tell you.” He worked swiftly, talking all the while in a low, steady voice. “You can open your eyes now.”

  “They’re all out,” he said, showing her the little gray balls in the palm of his hand. “Lead shot,” he muttered as he pressed a white square of something to Bracken’s leg. “If I’d known, I would have wrapped that gun around his neck.” He wound more white fabric around her leg. “Poison, lead is. Very bad for waterfowl. You look awful pale—must be bad for witches too.”

  “I couldn’t fly. My broom!” cried Bracken suddenly. “It’s outside!”

  The farmer opened the door, and the raccoon scurried past. “Here,” he said, holding out the broom. He gazed warily at the farmer.

  “Clever animals, raccoons,” said the farmer. “I had one as a pet when I was a kid. Can you ride your broom with that leg of yours?”

  “I don’t think so,” said Bracken miserably.

  “You could rest up here.”

  “I haven’t got much time,” said Bracken. “I have to rescue my cousin. She’s in the City on the Great River.”

  “The City on the Great River,” repeated the farmer.

  “I have a map,” she said. She pulled it from her pocket and spread it out on the floor.

  “Little girl, this is one mighty old map.” The farmer bent over it, chin in hand. “I know what city that is,” he said when she showed him the place. “I could give you a ride if you want.”

  “Would you?”

  “Sure,” he said.

  “This cousin of yours,” said the farmer as the pickup truck rattled and bumped down the road. The raccoon sat between him and Bracken, watching intently out the windows. “Do you have a plan for rescuing her?”

  Bracken swallowed. “No. It’s complicated.” Her leg throbbed. “It’s a long story.”

  “We’ve got time,” said the farmer, whose name turned out to be Ben.

  Bracken told him everything.

  “The Safehouse, even if it’s still there, it’s not going to be easy to find it,” he said when she was done. The road was smoother now, and they were beginning to pass through clusters of human houses. “A real city is way, way bigger than these little farm towns.”

  “These are little towns?” asked Bracken.

  “Compared to a city? The ones out here are nothing,” said Ben.

  “Nothing,” whispered Bracken.

  The dark countryside rolled by. They passed lights and buildings and signs that glowed, and giant hulking towers. “Grain elevators,” said Ben when Bracken asked. He glanced at her. “You don’t seem to know much about the modern world.”

  “Witches don’t live in the modern world.”

  “Oh?” said Ben. “And where do they live?”

  So Bracken told him about the village. The raccoon listened too, adding a question now and then.

  “It almost seems like that raccoon is talking to you sometimes,” said the farmer. So Bracken explained about the Language, and how humans couldn’t hear it, but witches could.

&nbs
p; “Hmm,” he said, looking harder at the raccoon. “Interesting.”

  “It seems strange that you don’t know more about witches,” said Bracken.

  “Why should I know anything about witches?” said the farmer. “I’m just an old corn farmer.”

  “Because, well, you’re a Witchfriend. Witchfriends are this special kind of human grownup who can see witches,” she added quickly. “Most grownup humans can’t see us at all. Only human children and Witchfriends can. So if you can see us, it means you’re our friend.”

  “That’s nice,” said Ben, nodding. “Glad to hear it.” He thought for a minute. “I must have been a Witchfriend all my life without knowing it. Because how would you know, if you never got a chance to see witches, that you were their friend? I mean, you’re all off hidden away.”

  “We didn’t used to be,” said Bracken. “We used to live in the human world, but it was a long time ago.” And she explained about that.

  Ben listened carefully.

  When it was very, very late, the raccoon curled up and went to sleep. The farmer reached forward and touched something. Music and voices filled the dark.

  Outside the window, the moon had risen. It was nearly full, and now as Bracken gazed up at it, it seemed to be following along beside her as they sped through the night. It was the same moon that shone in her sleeping loft window.

  But here it seemed like a strange moon, a different moon.

  chapter thirteen

  Nettle sat up in the sleeping bag. Elizabeth was still asleep, sprawled on her back with the quilt under her armpits. Outside it was gray and starting to rain. For a minute Nettle watched the drops slide down the window glass. Then suddenly she remembered the seeking stone and pulled it from her pocket. She touched the stone’s cold surface and tried to remember a spell that might work.