Witch Crag by Kate Cann Page A

their porridge.”
    After a while Kita paused in the queasy task of piling soiled napkins and shifts into separate leather buckets, and stared down at the rows of little ones. Do they realize the drudgery waiting for them? she wondered. Do they dream of more? She was gripped, suddenly, by a fierce desire to rescue them, set them free – create a happier life for them.
    â€œHurry up!” the matron barked. “No dawdling! It’s just you and me today, I can’t have dawdling!”
    The huge crows circled above the bars as Kita washed clothes in the morning, ate her midday meal with the babies, and spent the afternoon leading cheerless obedience drills. She wasn’t let free until all the infants had eaten their last mush and been settled for the night. Then she ran to the food hut, hoping Quainy would be there. She was, but she was already seated, on the adults’ benches, and eating, flanked on either side by a drab looking woman. The three of them were talking quietly together. Kita felt her heart sink. What did it mean? She and Quainy always tried to eat together, they’d hang back until the other one arrived. . .
    Then, with a sick thump to her heart, it hit her, what it meant. Quainy had changed her mind. She’d rejected Kita and her mad plan; regretted her own wild, determined words of last night. She was going to be a good, stoical sheep girl and do what she was told and go to the horsemen to be married.
    For all Kita knew, the two women were discussing her wedding clothes.
    Rage and jealousy and disappointment and hurt boiled up in her – a toxic brew. She stood there, glaring, willing Quainy to look up, but she didn’t. She was on the verge of storming over, shoving one of the sheep-faced women to the floor, slamming down beside Quainy, accusing her, when her neck started to prickle, and she looked round.
    And there was Arc, staring at her. He was sitting at one of the footsoldiers’ tables, with a dozen of his mates. Three of the prettier hill fort girls were sat there too, in among them, flamboyant with excitement. This mixing was allowed, now that spring was near – it was the start of couples pairing off.
    She looked back into Arc’s strangely beautiful grey eyes. He jerked his head, beckoning her over.
    And she went.

“Eat with us, tree rat?” Arc asked.
    â€œNo room,” she said. She didn’t know what she was doing, she was so furious with Quainy.
    â€œBray’ll shift. Won’t you, mate?” He put his hand on the back of Bray’s neck, ready to push him from his seat.
    â€œTell your friend to come over, too,” said Bray, resisting the pressure. “Tell Quainy.”
    â€œOh, get over it, Bray!” snorted Arc. “She’s going . Not like Kita. Kita’s staying.” His eyes never moved from Kita’s as he spoke. Locked together. “Get your food, Kita. Go on. And Bray will shift.”
    She turned, and headed for the serving table. A burst of laughter followed her, like the laughter she’d heard when she’d first got up the courage to speak to Arc. The young footsoldiers were gloating, watching Arc add to his conquests. She had no idea what she was going to do. As she queued for her bowl of mutton porridge she glared over at Quainy, who was still deep in conversation with the two drab women, still refusing to look up.
    Something was spinning and screaming inside her head. She swayed. She’d go over to Arc, she’d let this thing with him run. . .
    But as she walked towards him she found herself sinking down on a bench next to the matron from the pens, then eating fast, with her head down.

    Kita was one of the first into the sleeping hut that night. She went to her usual place by the wall, rolled herself tightly in a sheepskin, and turned to face the bare wood. Before long Quainy lay down beside her. And punched Kita sharply in the back.
    â€œOw!” snarled Kita. “What the