And little by little it broke away from the harpy. It left the swamp behind, too, as it surged on north. Into the part of the Bonelands Fox had seen across the water, where the land rose up into foothills covered by dark, brooding trees.
Fox, Heckle and the sloth clung on, hardly daring to believe what was happening. They’d made it past the swamp and, as the trees closed in around them, they lost sight of the vultures, and Fox was sure that even Morg couldn’t find a way through the forest like this panther could. It charged on, leaping over fallen trunks as if they were twigs and swerving left then right round jutting branches as if it could sense a way on with just its whiskers, as if it knew – in this wild nightmare of a forest – exactly where it wanted to go.
From far behind them, Fox heard an anguished screech. Morg realised that she had lost them now and Fox knew it, too, because this panther was bristling with strength and speed. It moved like water through the forest, deeper and deeper as the land rose and fell and they entered the heart of the Bonelands.
At the point where the land climbed upwards again, Fox expected the creature to shoot on up through the trees, but instead it ran, fast, towards the rock face in front of them. Fox held her breath. Surely the panther was going to swerve? Couldn’t it see that the route ahead was a dead end? But the panther carried on towards the rock and, just when Fox felt sure they’d career straight into it, she noticed a small gap. A gap that she imagined anybody else who came this way would have missed.
The panther slid inside and then, finally, it stopped running.
It shook Fox, Heckle and the sloth off its back with a grunt and Fox’s mouth fell open as she took in her surroundings. They were in a cave, but not some poky space dimmed by shadows. This was a vast atrium that spread out before them like an entirely different world from the rest of the Bonelands. One untouched by Morg’s dark magic…
Glow-worms lit the cavern, clinging to the roof like thousands of crystals. Greenery sprouted between the slabs of rock that formed the cave floor, a burst of life amidst a forest of death. And right at the back of the cave, so far away Fox had to squint to see it, there was a waterfall pouring down into a lagoon and slipping away as a stream through some hidden crack.
‘All this,’ Fox murmured, ‘lying hidden in the Bonelands.’
The panther grunted again, then it stalked off deeper into the cave. It moved with less precision now it knew they were safe, dragging its paws and with its tail swinging low. It was tired, Fox realised, and she watched as it slumped down on a shelf of rock that jutted out over the lagoon.
Fox scooped up the sloth, hoisting him onto her back once more, then looked at Heckle, who was cocking her head at a green plant with thousands of intricate swirls on each frond.
‘Heckle is, for once, almost speechless.’ And yet the parrot went on and spoke anyway because she just couldn’t help herself. ‘Heckle thinks we are in Cragheart, the cave that legend says holds every Unmapper’s fingerfern.’ Her eyes brightened. ‘Maybe Iggy’s fern is somewhere in here.’
At the mention of the word ‘fern’, Fox stooped to look at the green plant beside Heckle. Each frond was coated in silver markings that looked exactly like fingerprints.
‘Heckle has heard the stories,’ the parrot went on. ‘When an Unmapper is born, a fingerfern sprouts in Cragheart, but no one has ever reported finding this cave except the legendary explorer, Mildred Amblefar.’
Mildred Amblefar… Fox remembered the book she’d read on the Here and There Express. It was only three days ago and yet so much had happened since then. She looked about the cave and saw that, though at a glance the ferns all looked the same, on closer inspection each one had a distinct pattern. Might the Forever Fern be here, too? Fox wondered. But then surely the Forever Fern would look slightly different from all these fingerferns. Surely its magic would single it out?
She glanced at the panther resting on the rock. This was a Lofty Husk, she was sure of it, because ordinary panthers were black not gold. And yet it hadn’t spoken as Goldpaw had. It hadn’t carried itself with the same authority either. This panther seemed bound by its own rules.
‘That can’t be Spark,’ Fox whispered over her shoulder to her brother. ‘Goldpaw said she was at Fool’s Leap and I definitely saw a Lofty Husk down in the ravine. But what about the other one, the Lofty Husk sent to patrol the Bonelands to find Morg’s stronghold? Maybe that one isn’t dead, as Goldpaw feared?’
Heckle hopped closer to Fox and the sloth. ‘Heckle assumes you are referring to Deepglint. He’s Jungledrop’s only male Lofty Husk left now that Spark has fallen.’
Fox turned to the sloth again. ‘Do you reckon this is Deepglint?’
The sloth watched the panther for a few moments and then he nodded.
‘I think so, too,’ Fox said. She placed a hand on the strap of her satchel to steady her nerves, then glanced at Heckle. ‘Should I just go up to him and start talking? Only he doesn’t seem very interested in us now that we’re away from Morg…’
Fox hadn’t had much experience in making new friends and she wasn’t altogether sure what the protocol was. But it mattered. Greatly. Because the stakes in this particular situation could
