by James Nicol
‘Oh, what now?’ she groaned, spinning round to see what was wrong.
He sat in his same spot, but her notebook was now open in his lap. His brow creased as a slender blue hand rested on the pages, all marked with her sketches of the new glyph.
‘This glyph, I’ve just realized what it is.’
‘And?’ Arianwyn asked.
‘That symbol is gɛnara.’
‘And precisely what does that mean?’ the mayor sighed.
‘It means discord, mischief, disharmony.’ Estar’s brows arched.
‘You mean this glyph is what is making us quarrel? Now you tell me!’ Arianwyn complained, realizing with some relief that it was the spell that was causing the ill feeling between her and Estar.
‘Well, can you undo it, Miss Gribble, or not?’ The mayor gestured to the small yellow cloud. It even looked mean, now that Arianwyn thought about it. Mean little cloud!
Arianwyn took a deep breath and tried to draw the glyph backwards, the easiest and quickest way to undo a spell, usually.
‘I don’t think that’s going to work,’ Estar said carefully.
‘Well, how about suggesting something that will!’ Arianwyn snapped. Then added, ‘Sorry – it’s the spell.’
Estar nodded. ‘The glyph hasn’t presented itself the same way twice, so it won’t undo like that, I don’t think. It would be wise for us all to move away from the clearing as soon as possible.’
‘You can’t just leave it like that, surely?’ Mayor Belcher grumbled. ‘Does it pose any threat to the town? This is very irresponsible of you, Miss Gribble!’
‘It will go, eventually,’ Estar replied, glancing at Arianwyn. The edge was back in his voice as well.
He clearly thought this was Arianwyn’s fault too, and now he wasn’t being subtle about it.
‘But what if it drifts towards town?’ the mayor asked Estar.
‘I don’t think it will.’
‘But you’re not sure?’
‘Of course there is a risk—’
‘That’s simply not good enou—’
‘Wait – stop it!’ Arianwyn said, striding between the mayor and Estar, her hands held out as though she had to keep them apart. ‘Don’t you see – it’s the glyph,’ she said. ‘We should move away from the cloud.’
‘Well really, Miss Gribble, you don’t need to snap!’ the mayor huffed and, turning on his heels, hurried away from the clearing. He cast one quick and rather hurt glance over his shoulder at Arianwyn and Estar.
Arianwyn sighed and started gathering up her things as quickly as she could and moved away from the little cloud too. She had only gone about a metre when she turned back to see where Estar was.
He was facing the other way, off into the woods.
‘Are you coming?’ Arianwyn asked. ‘I’m getting wet.’
Estar was quiet for a moment and then shook his head. ‘No, I think I’m going to go back to Edda.’
‘What? Estar, why? I didn’t mean to snap – it was just the spell.’ Arianwyn tried to laugh it off, but she felt suddenly uncomfortable.
Estar sighed. ‘I don’t think it was all down to the spell,’ he said quietly, without looking at her.
The thought that it wasn’t stabbed Arianwyn through the heart. ‘I’m sorry,’ she mumbled. But it seemed inadequate.
‘It’s not just you. But you are distracted. And so am I. I can’t stop thinking about the others back in Edda. I feel bad having to leave them all the time.’ He gave a half-smile. ‘It’s not easy rebuilding a whole town somewhere new, you know. So, I shall leave you to focus on your Yule preparations, go home for a few days and we can resume our work later,’ Estar finished quietly. He didn’t look up at Arianwyn, only pulled the flowery blanket closer about himself and turned to face into the depths of the wood. The yellow cloud was as still as stone, floating in the air where it had formed.
Arianwyn hadn’t even considered that Estar must feel as torn as she did. She had only been thinking about her own work and the demands on her time – but Estar had other duties too. She knew he was important to the feylings and their founding of the new settlement.
‘Well . . . bye then, I guess,’ Arianwyn said, at last.
Without turning back, Estar started to walk away. ‘Goodbye, Arianwyn,’ he said quietly as the trees of the Great Wood swallowed him up.
Chapter 13
WINTERTHORN & MISELBERRIES
need my Yule charm, Miss Gribble, and Mayor Belcher said that you would have it all under control.’ Mrs Myddleton loomed across the counter and glared at Arianwyn.
‘I, er . . .’ she stammered. She had no idea what a Yule charm actually involved.
‘I’ve come for mine as well, please. I need three: one for the farmhouse and the others for the barns.’ Mrs Caulls from Low Gate Farm puffed up to the counter. She was bundled up with several ratty-looking scarves and a woollen hat that Arianwyn was certain had once been a tea cosy.
‘Perhaps you could call back tomorrow? I’ll see if I can get them ready for you then,’ Arianwyn said.
There were concerned mutterings from the customers assembled in the shop.
‘Erm, have you all come for Yule charms?’ Arianwyn asked, already afraid of the answer.
There was lots of collective nodding.
‘Well, not me; I wanted a charm as a Yule gift for my wife.’ A gentleman who Arianwyn thought worked in the library twisted his cap in his hands.
Arianwyn scratched at her curls and sighed. She looked briefly at Bob who was busy nosing a dustball across the floor and offered no help at all.
‘Look, can’t you just reactivate this old one at least?’ Mrs Caulls said, slapping a bedraggled collection of sticks and leaves down on to the counter.
Arianwyn stared at it for a few seconds, unsure exactly what it was she was looking at . . . Was it a bird’s nest or a flower arrangement? Or something between the two?
‘Oh, that’s the charm?’
‘Well, what did you think it was?’ Mrs Caulls laughed. ‘A flower bouquet?’ There was an eruption of giggles from some of the waiting queue that still snaked out of the door and partway along Kettle Lane despite the continuously falling rain. Arianwyn had worked solidly since opening time, but there seemed to be more customers than ever – and now they were asking for Yule charms.
Arianwyn could feel her cheeks flush. Charms were her thing, her speciality. But she’d never encountered a charm like this before.
As she lifted the jumble of whatever-it-was up, a few leaves cascaded to the counter. It looked like a simple wreath. ‘Ah-ha!’ Arianwyn smiled.
‘Have you worked it out?’ Mrs Caulls asked.
‘These are old charms, ancient in fact,’ Arianwyn explained. ‘Before the glass orbs and containers were introduced, all the charms witches made would have been woven like this from plants or scraps of fabric, a bit like my door charm.’ She gestured to the bell charm that hung on the door of the Spellorium, an old Grunnean heirloom that had been in her grandmother’s family for hundreds of years.
She looked back at the wreath charm before her. She carefully started to pull some of the components from it. ‘What are you doing that for?’ Mrs Myddleton asked.
‘I need to see exactly how it’s made so I can copy it.’ Arianwyn lifted the pieces of the wreath and studied them carefully.
There were definitely winterthorn leaves woven in, and sprigs of miselberries too. There were also some dried canvor flowers and the rest didn’t look too complicated or out of the ordinary. She had a stock of the bright green deja stone that was also part of the charm but she wasn’t sure she would have enough if everyone suddenly decided they wanted one . . . which it looked like they did.
Would she be able to get everything she needed from the Great Wood? And was it safe? She needed time to figure it all out. ‘OK, I can probably sort out a few for tomorrow but the rest of you will have to come back again if you want a wreath charm.’
There were groans of disple
asure. ‘I’m sorry,’ Arianwyn mumbled as half the customers in the Spellorium filed back out on to Kettle Lane. She could hear the pop of umbrellas being put up against the rain.
‘Can I keep hold of this?’ she asked Mrs Caulls.
‘Well, what do you think I’m going to do with it?’ Mrs Caulls sniffed, grabbed her bag and stormed towards the door. ‘Wear it?’
An hour later, Arianwyn was making her way back to Lull from the Great Wood, Bob hopping at her side. She carried two large baskets, one full of winterthorn leaves and the other with miselberries – enough to make the promised few charm wreaths ready for the next day and plenty more besides. She had depleted most of the bushes and trees on the edge of the Great Wood.
She’d also checked the place where she had practised with Estar the day before, wondering about the little yellow cloud, but to her relief it had finally disappeared.
She felt a small pang of regret when she thought about her feyling friend. She wished she’d managed to be as patient with him as he’d been with her.
Her hands were full so she couldn’t carry an umbrella and she was completely soaked through – mostly from the falling rain but also from wading out through the flooded meadow. This was her last dry uniform, as well. The others were all hung over the bath back at the Spellorium. She hoped they might be dry soon or she’d have to go to work in her pyjamas!
She turned to check where Bob had got to, realizing that the moon hare was no longer at her side. In the middle of the flooded meadow the moon hare sat staring into the dark line of trees, seemingly oblivious to the rain.
‘Are you coming, Bob?’ she called, but Bob didn’t move. Its long white ears were alert, its nose twitching. The moon hare stretched forwards as though searching for something in the ferns and brambles at the edge of the Great Wood.
‘Bob?’ Arianwyn called again and the moon hare turned to look at her with a quizzical expression on its face.
‘Are you coming? I’m soaked through!’
Bob looked back to the Great Wood once more and then turned slowly and moved to catch up with Arianwyn, but she noticed that it kept turning to glance back. What had Bob seen? she wondered. She hoped it wasn’t anything dangerous. There was no hint of dark magic nearby, no stench of hex. The mean little cloud had vanished. That was good. But something had caught the moon hare’s attention, that much was sure.
The small bridge by the South Gate was now partly underwater, the flooded meadow merging with the small pond it usually spanned. Arianwyn leapt over the deeper parts of water, splashing as she landed. And as she glanced up she saw Aunt Grace coming through the gate, huddled under her umbrella, wearing a sturdy pair of wellington boots. She waved and hurried forwards. ‘I’ve just had a telephone call from Salle,’ she called with excitement. ‘They’re all coming home the day after tomorrow.’ Aunt Grace beamed and the news filled Arianwyn with a burst of excitement and hope.
‘That’s great news!’
‘I’ll make up rooms for your grandmother and father at the Blue Ox as well, for you won’t all be able to squeeze into the Spellorium, I don’t suppose.’ Aunt Grace smiled.
‘Thank you,’ Arianwyn said as they turned and walked back into Lull, Bob still trailing slowly at her side and looking back to the wood every now and again.
‘You’re welcome to stay with us as well,’ Aunt Grace said, covering her with the brolly and wrapping an arm around Arianwyn’s wet shoulders. ‘No sense you being alone. I’m sure we can squeeze an extra bed into Salle’s room.’
‘That would be lovely,’ Arianwyn said, her mind already full of how wonderful Yule would be this year with all her new friends and her father home.
She could feel a huge smile spreading across her face, a feeling of love and contentment warming her from within.
Chapter 14
STEAM & SMOKE
r Thorn pulled Beryl into a wide loop in front of Flaxsham train station. Beryl’s windscreen wipers swished back and forth, sending the icy rain flowing across the window. ‘Rotten weather,’ Mr Thorn sighed. ‘Not seen rain like this for years.’
Arianwyn and Aunt Grace pitched forwards in their seats as Mr Thorn slammed on the brakes. A terrific screech filled the air as Beryl skidded a little too close to several parked taxis. Aunt Grace gave a small cry of alarm and looked at Arianwyn. They both knew Mr Thorn was the the clumsiest driver in the world, though he somehow never actually managed to have an accident, thankfully.
The bus came to a safe stop, just.
Passengers hurried towards the station, carrying cases and travelling bags – heading to other places to spend the Yule holidays. Arianwyn grabbed her umbrella and jumped out of the bus and straight into a huge puddle. The water splashed a gentleman hurrying past with a gleaming leather suitcase and fine wool coat. He cast Arianwyn an unimpressed look as he strode away whilst Arianwyn called ‘Sorry!’ to his back.
Aunt Grace followed more carefully, sidestepping the puddle as she pulled up her umbrella. Mr Thorn waved and called, ‘I’ll be back in five minutes, just have to go and pick up the order from the market.’
Arianwyn and Aunt Grace linked arms and hurried towards the station, excited to be reunited with their loved ones. They zigzagged through the people coming and going, leaping over more icy puddles and trying not to splash anyone else or be splashed. Huddled near the door were a small group of people singing Yule songs: ‘Winter, winter, frost and snow!’ they sang.
If only! thought Arianwyn. At the moment it was more like winter, winter, rain and rain.
As they reached the high arched door of the station another tide of people surged forwards and hurried to the waiting cars and taxis. The train had arrived! Couples embraced, children rushed into the waiting arms of grandparents or aunts and uncles. For a moment Arianwyn and Aunt Grace were held frozen between the two tides of people.
And then suddenly someone barrelled into Arianwyn, nearly knocking her down the steps. ‘WYN! AUNT GRACE!’
It was Salle.
As Arianwyn half stumbled down the steps, she felt herself being pulled into a tight hug along with Aunt Grace.
‘Oh, it’s so lovely to see you!’ Aunt Grace said and promptly burst into tears. ‘I’ve missed you so much!’
‘It’s only been six weeks!’ Salle laughed as Aunt Grace wiped at her eyes with a clean handkerchief and laughed as well. ‘I know, but still.’ She squeezed her into a tight hug. ‘My girl! I missed you every second of every day.’
Arianwyn waited until they pulled apart from each other. ‘Where’s everyone else?’ she asked, peering into the oncoming crowd.
‘They’re all still on the platform waiting for the luggage or something, come on!’ And Salle grabbed Arianwyn’s hand and Arianwyn grabbed Aunt Grace’s and they started to move slowly through the mob of people and into the busy station.
‘I’m so pleased you’re back, Salle. I need your help,’ Arianwyn said as they passed the ticket office with its maroon wooden panels and bright brass grilles at the ticket windows.
‘Oh, how come?’ Salle asked.
‘It’s all these Yule traditions. I’m not used to how you celebrate in Lull – it’s a bit different to how my grandmother always does it and not as elaborate as things in Kingsport . . . and you’ll have to tell me all about the . . . frost festival—’
‘The frost fair!’ Aunt Grace corrected. ‘My mother used to tell me they had one every year in Lull. But now we only have one if it’s cold enough for the river to freeze over.’
‘I remember one from when I was about eight or nine,’ Salle said. ‘It was so much fun, skating and games on the ice.’ Her eyes lit up with excitement and expectation.
‘Well, don’t get your hopes up, I don’t think it’s ever going to stop raining!’ Arianwyn said sadly. ‘Oh, and apparently Mayor Belcher wants me to summon an ice phoenix or something but I can’t find out anything about, well, anything. Will you help?’ she asked as they emerged at last on to the platform which seemed to have
even more people on it. It was crammed from the waiting room, with its cheery fire, right up to the platform edge where a huge train waited, occasionally shrouding everything in clouds of steam and smoke. Arianwyn had never seen the station so busy.
‘Yes, of course, there’s bound to be something in the library or town archives.’
‘Thanks, Salle!’ Arianwyn felt relieved to have Salle back at last. And then, as the crowd shifted ahead of them, Arianwyn saw her grandmother. The tall elegant woman cast her gaze this way and that across the packed platform, her favourite yellow scarf draped over her shoulders. Her eyes, fixed on Arianwyn’s, lit up and the broadest smile spread across her face. She raised a hand as Salle, Arianwyn and Aunt Grace battled towards her through the crowd.
In a few moments they were all huddled together on the platform: Arianwyn, Salle, Aunt Grace, Grandmother, Sergeant Gribble and Colin. Occasional gusts of rain-filled wind swirled across the platform mixed with the steam and smoke from the train engine.
There were hugs all round. Arianwyn threw herself into her grandmother’s waiting arms first and then turned to hug her father. His bandages were gone, though he still looked pale and tired. He stood stiffly and said, ‘Steady on, old girl, it’s only been a week!’
Arianwyn felt a little bruised by his comment and didn’t know how to look at anyone for a moment. Salle quickly introduced Aunt Grace to Arianwyn’s father. ‘Well, shall we get back?’ Aunt Grace asked. ‘You must all be tired from the long trip, and Mr Thorn should be back from his errands by now.’
‘Of course, but where on earth has our luggage got to, do you suppose?’ Grandma asked.
‘Perhaps you should go and have a look, Twine?’ Sergeant Gribble said suddenly, his voice gruff and a little dismissive.
Colin blushed. ‘Er – yes, of course, Mr Gribble . . . sir!’ he mumbled and hurried off into the crowd.
‘Dad! Don’t bark at Colin like that!’ Arianwyn said quickly.
Another passenger bumped into her father and he winced. He was clearly in pain. Perhaps that was why he was so grumpy.
