A Witch Come True

by James Nicol

  ‘A what?’ Arianwyn asked.

  ‘Oh,’ Salle groaned. ‘Ice imps!’

  Gɛnara – The Glyph of Discord

  This was the first glyph that I discovered within myself through working with Estar. He says the glyphs we use match closely to the old feyling language. Many of the books destroyed in the demon library in Erraldur contained the written form, but these are now all lost. Estar recognized this one, luckily. He says it links with the feyling phrase for ‘discord’ or ‘upset’ – and once I managed to summon it . . . well, it certainly does seem to amplify any discord already present.

  I’m not sure I can see what use there will be for this glyph . . .

  THE NEW BOOK OF QUIET GLYPHS BY ARIANWYN GRIBBLE

  Chapter 16

  FIRE GAZING

  nithering? Are you sure, dear?’ Miss Delafield asked down the phone. ‘Oh my, oh my!’

  ‘That’s not very reassuring,’ Arianwyn sighed.

  ‘Oh, sorry, dear. It’s just – well, once you’ve got one or two of those little blighters then you’ve usually got a much wider problem.’

  ‘Meaning?’

  ‘It’s unlikely to be an isolated incident, dear. You’ll need to tell everyone to be on the lookout and you need to try and stop the spread sooner rather than later.’

  ‘Oh, I can’t boggin’ believe it,’ Arianwyn groaned. She gazed off down the corridor in the Blue Ox, through the curtained archway that led back into the main room of the inn. The tables had been arranged to form one huge dining table, draped in white tablecloths and already laden with steaming dishes of buttered carrots and bright green peas topped with a sprig of mint. Aunt Grace and Uncle Mat, Salle and Colin were moving about quickly, placing plates and cutlery and glasses on to the table. Music was playing from the wireless that Uncle Mat had moved from their sitting room.

  ‘Are you still there, dear?’ Miss Delafield asked sharply.

  ‘Yes, sorry – what did you say, Miss Delafield?’

  ‘I said there’s a notice you’ll need to put up to help people identify the ice imps; there are three types, and the nitherings are – I’m afraid to say – the worst sort. They won’t leave under any circumstance until the temperature is cold enough outside, usually not until the first snowfall at least . . . and sometimes not even then.’

  ‘SNOW?’ Arianwyn groaned. ‘I don’t think it’s ever going to be cold enough for snow.’

  ‘I know, dear. But look, there should be an example of the notice in the back of the ledger. Take it to the local printers and get them to make it up as soon as possible, dear. This is very important. You’ll need to get notices up around town as soon as you can.’

  ‘OK. And how can you get rid of them then?’

  ‘Well, you can’t actually get rid of them, dear. Sorry,’ Miss Delafield said.

  ‘They’re not spirit creatures?’ Arianwyn asked, her voice nearly a wail.

  ‘Afraid so,’ Miss Delafield said quietly. ‘You’ll just have to wait them out!’

  ‘Wyn, we’re nearly ready!’ Aunt Grace called brightly, hurrying past with a huge pie. A warm wafting pastry aroma drifted behind her.

  ‘Just get the notices up, dear, and we can worry about everything else in due course.’

  ‘All right,’ Arianwyn said, hoping there would be time to resolve the problem before Miss Delafield left or before the nitherings spread any further.

  Dinner was delicious, and everyone was in good cheer. Even Sergeant Gribble’s mood seemed to have improved after his walk and a rest. He joked with everyone and more than once put a comforting arm around Arianwyn, pulling her into a tight hug, once or twice planting a gentle kiss amongst her curls.

  She caught her grandmother watching, a warm smile on her face.

  Talk turned to Yule and various family traditions.

  ‘We all used to sleep downstairs together in front of the fire at Yule,’ Colin said. ‘Of course, that might have been because it was too expensive to heat the whole house, but I still rather liked it.’ He smiled.

  ‘Aunt Grace always makes the biggest Yule cake,’ Salle explained. ‘And everyone has to take a turn to stir the mixture and make a wish. And once or twice the wishes even came true!’ There was a ripple of good-natured laughter and Salle protested, ‘But they did!’

  ‘When I was growing up in Grunnea we had all sorts of different Yule traditions,’ Grandmother said. ‘We would lay a feast out and the food had to remain on the table for three days and three nights to share with any passing spirits.’

  ‘Did anything ever get eaten?’ Colin asked. He held a spoonful of pudding in front of his mouth, gazing at Grandmother in wonder.

  ‘Once!’ Grandmother said quietly, her eyes sparkling. The room erupted into sounds of amazement.

  ‘But the best thing was fire gazing,’ Grandmother added.

  ‘What’s that?’ Salle asked, leaning across the table.

  ‘It’s an old Grunnean tradition,’ Grandmother said. ‘We always used to do this during Yule. But I haven’t done it in years and years.’

  ‘But whatever is it?’ Aunt Grace asked. ‘I’ve never heard of it.’

  ‘It’s seeing into the future!’ Colin said quietly.

  Grandmother laughed. ‘Well, no. Not exactly, Colin,’ she said, trying to play down the buzz of excitement that had zipped around the dinner table like an electric current. ‘Or only occasionally – and then a very short way into the future. Generally, the flames show you something you should be aware of, or something within yourself you need to know. And it doesn’t always work.’

  There were murmurs of disappointment until Colin added, ‘But you do know how to do it, don’t you?’ His eyes were huge.

  Grandmother blushed. ‘Perhaps . . .’

  ‘Oh, please, Madam Stronelli!’ Salle pleaded.

  Grandmother’s bright laugh sang out through the Blue Ox. ‘Very well, who wants to know their future?’

  ‘ME!’ Salle said immediately, her arm shooting into the air like an eager student. ‘Pick me!’

  Moments later, Grandmother and Salle knelt on a small rug before the embers of the dying fire, a few flames flickering into the darkness.

  ‘Take my hand, Salle,’ Grandmother said, and they linked hands. ‘Now close your eyes and try to keep your mind clear.’

  Salle nodded and closed her eyes.

  Everyone else clustered around Salle and Grandmother in a semicircle. Hushed, excited chatter filled the room.

  ‘Quiet, please,’ Grandmother said, raising a hand and the chattering stopped like songbirds scared by a woodhawk. Next, she reached forwards and, using the poker for the fire, sketched Aluna, the glyph best for those skilled in divination, into the ashes that spilt out on to the hearth in front of the fireplace.

  The flames flickered gently at the back of the fire, flashed for a moment, and then returned to their gentle dance, casting shadows about the room.

  Arianwyn shifted so that she could see more closely, trying to guess how the spell worked.

  Grandmother’s eyes were closed but her eyelids flickered like somebody dreaming. And her mouth moved as if she were muttering something, though there were no words.

  ‘How does it work, Wyn?’ Uncle Mat asked quietly.

  ‘I have no idea,’ Arianwyn whispered. ‘I never knew she could do this.’

  After several minutes of this Grandmother let out a small gasp and her eyes flew open. The poker fell to the stones of the fireplace with a loud clang that made everyone gasp and jump before the room filled with nervous laughter.

  ‘Did it work?’ Salle asked. ‘What did you see? Will I be a great actress?’

  Arianwyn moved forwards to help her grandmother back to her feet. She looked suddenly pale and her hands were shaking.

  ‘What is it?’ Arianwyn asked, reaching out towards Grandmother, whose fingers were trembling over her lips. ‘Grandma, what did you see?’

  Grandmother’s eyelids flickered, like someone waking from a dream.
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  ‘Oh, nothing, nothing at all. I’m afraid it didn’t work.’

  Salle’s shoulders drooped and she sighed, ‘Oh, never mind.’

  But something made Arianwyn worry that her grandmother was lying. She had looked terrified just a moment before.

  ‘I think we have all had enough excitement for one evening!’ Aunt Grace said, clapping her hands together. ‘I’m sure it must be bedtime.’

  Arianwyn kissed her father and grandmother goodnight, clinging on to her grandmother’s hands for a while longer, as though that might reveal something of what her grandmother felt or had seen in the fire. ‘Goodnight,’ Grandma said gently. ‘See you in the morning.’

  Arianwyn lingered for a few moments more and then followed Salle to bed. But although she was tired, her mind raced and kept flitting back to the memory of her grandmother’s face as she had peered into the flames. What had she seen there in the flames that had scared her so much?

  ‘Salle? Are you awake?’ Arianwyn asked and waited. But the only reply was Salle’s gentle rhythmic breathing. She was fast asleep.

  Slipping from her bed, Arianwyn padded out of the room and headed back downstairs.

  The fire was nearly out, just the last couple of flames dancing in the embers, the room already cooling a little. Would it be enough? Arianwyn knelt by the hearth, as she had seen her grandmother do.

  She lifted the poker and sketched luna into the ash before her. Then closed her eyes and waited. She had no idea if she was doing the right thing. Even if it was some skill she had inherited from her grandmother, she’d never even attempted this spell before – what were the chances it would work?

  After some time, she sighed and opened her eyes. This was useless. Her knees hurt from kneeling on the cold floor. She lay the poker to one side and started to get back to her feet when she saw something moving in the shadows and light that danced across the bricks at the back of the fireplace.

  ‘What’s that?’ Arianwyn asked the empty room, and leant in closer for a better look.

  Amidst the last flickering flames and the occasional twirls of smoke, she could see what looked like two figures. And she was sure one of them was her grandmother. Peering closer still, feeling the heat from the flames on her cheeks, she could see her grandmother’s familiar yellow scarf caught in a strong gust of wind, flapping in the air around her. The vision shifted and then dark eyes were glaring at Arianwyn, a too-white face and grey twists of hair. It was a look so full of anger that it made her stumble back with fright – and yet there was something familiar in that look. ‘Gimma?’ she breathed.

  The flames flickered again, and now the figures were gone and the yellow scarf fluttered to the ground, which was white with snow.

  As the vision faded, Arianwyn watched the snow-white ground turn back to the grey ash of the fire as the flames died at last. A chill crept in around her at once and she couldn’t shake the feeling of the dark eyes staring at her from the back of the hearth, even though all she could see now was bricks and ash.

  What did it all mean?

  Chapter 17

  TRADITION

  re you OK, Wyn? You’re very quiet this morning,’ Salle said brightly as Uncle Mat handed them both bowls of steaming, creamy porridge.

  Arianwyn glanced over at the fireplace which was ablaze again, Bob stretched out on the rug before it, basking in the warmth. She still felt the chill from the previous night creep about her. She looked at her grandmother who was gently sipping on a cup of tea and reading the newspaper. Had they shared the same vision? Grandma glanced up and smiled across at Arianwyn.

  ‘Wyn?’ Salle prompted, and Arianwyn realized she hadn’t replied.

  ‘I’m fine,’ Arianwyn lied. ‘Just not really looking forward to today’s trip into the Great Wood.’ Today was the trip to gather Yule logs, and Arianwyn was particularly worried about it given the hex infestation. She still had to sort the nithering notices around town too, and make up the rest of the outstanding Yule charms. How was she going to fit it all in?

  But it was the memory of the half-seen vision in the dying flames that weighed on her mind the most.

  Uncle Mat hurried back through from the kitchen carrying a teapot wrapped in a knitted rainbow tea cosy. ‘Best eat your porridge up quickly, Wyn: the Parkinsons have been waiting out in the town square for half an hour already.’ He inclined his head towards the large clock that hung over the mantel. It was after nine.

  ‘Oh, jinxing-jiggery!’ Arianwyn said, scooping another two mouthfuls of steaming porridge into her mouth. It warmed her stomach so thoroughly that for a fleeting moment she forgot the worry of the night before.

  ‘When will you be back?’ her father asked, folding his newspaper and standing slowly from his seat. He tucked the paper under his arm.

  ‘Um, not sure,’ Arianwyn said, pulling on her coat. ‘We’re off for the cutting ceremony, for the Yule logs.’

  ‘In the forest? Is that safe?’

  ‘It’s the Great Wood,’ Arianwyn said slowly. ‘And I’m not sure really but it’s part of my job. I can’t just let the Parkinsons go on their own.’

  ‘Well, I don’t think you should go,’ her father said, quickly and firmly. He slapped the newspaper down on the table.

  ‘Sorry, what?’ Arianwyn asked, wrapping her long red scarf three times around her neck.

  ‘I don’t think it’s reasonable of them to ask you, a young girl, to go and protect them. Can’t your Miss Delafield come over?’

  ‘Dad – Miss Delafield has her own work to do. She can’t do mine for me. And it is my job!’ Arianwyn noticed the sideways looks she was getting from Colin and Salle. She half laughed, hoping her father was joking, teasing her . . . or maybe playing a game? Though it didn’t feel terribly funny.

  He looked cross. ‘Be back before it gets dark then,’ he said gruffly and brought his hand up to brush stray curls from her face.

  ‘I’m really late now!’ Arianwyn said, hurrying outside into the town square as Salle called, ‘But you’ve not finished your breakfast yet . . . Wyn!’

  Across from the Blue Ox, by the steps of the town hall, stood a huge horse and a large wooden cart, painted red with curling yellow letters on the side:

  Parkinsons’ Lumberjacks & Woodworkings, Lull

  She hurried towards the cart, leaping over the ever-expanding puddles, Bob at her side. A cheery-looking couple waited beside the cart, wrapped in slick oilskins. Mrs Parkinson also wore a flowery rain hood. They smiled shyly as Arianwyn approached. Bob edged close to the huge carthorse, making excited yipping sounds before rolling on the cobbles of the town square and showing off a snow-white belly.

  ‘Good morning, Mr Parkinson, Mrs Parkinson. I think Bob likes your horse!’ Arianwyn said, stepping forwards and shaking their hands. Mr Parkinson blushed a little but smiled warmly, while Mrs Parkinson actually started to curtsey.

  ‘Such an honour to meet you at last, miss,’ Mrs Parkinson said.

  Arianwyn blushed. ‘Thank you.’ She smiled quickly. ‘Look, I’m not sure this is a very good idea—’ Arianwyn began to explain, but she was cut short.

  ‘Ahem – now then,’ Mayor Belcher boomed as he came down the town hall steps. He was wearing some cropped trousers in a mustard tweed, bright green wellingtons and his purple rain mac, which was flapping behind him. He was quite a sight. Arianwyn was sure she heard Mr Parkinson gasp, ‘Crikey!’

  Mayor Belcher clapped his hands together as he approached the Parkinsons’ horse and cart. ‘We have a small group of townspeople who have volunteered to accompany you on your trip today.’

  ‘But, Mayor Belcher – that’s really not a good idea—’ Arianwyn protested.

  He held up his striped, mittened hands. ‘I understand your concerns, Miss Gribble, and they are duly noted. But this is tradition! And it is important to the whole town that we are able to retrieve the Yule logs from the Great Wood. I thought this would make the work quicker and would result in less time actually spent in the Great Wo
od. Many hands and all that. Everyone has agreed to follow your instructions at all times. And I will join you also.’ The mayor folded his hands across his ample belly and looked at Arianwyn carefully.

  ‘At the first sign of trouble—’

  ‘Yes, I know. We will return straight away.’ The mayor bowed low. ‘We are at your command, Arianwyn. Ah, and here come our brave volunteers.’ Mayor Belcher gestured to the town square as a group of about ten men and women walked towards them. She recognized a few faces: Mrs Attinger the postmistress, Mr Bandolli from the café, as well as Dr Cadbury and Constable Perkins. And then from the Blue Ox she saw Salle and Colin hurrying across the square with a large picnic basket between them. ‘Wait for us!’ Salle called. ‘We’ve got the lunch.’

  ‘No. No way. You two are not coming,’ Arianwyn said, walking towards them, determined to send them back.

  Colin looked crestfallen. ‘Oh, come on Wyn. I was looking forward to taking part in the cutting.’

  ‘Yes, I’ve told Colin all about it,’ Salle said as they temporarily rested the huge wicker basket on the cobbles of the town square.

  ‘But it’s not . . . safe,’ Arianwyn said quietly. ‘I’ve told the mayor we shouldn’t really be going at all.’

  ‘What’s the hold-up, Miss Gribble?’ Mayor Belcher called impatiently from where they all waited beside the cart. Elouise the carthorse snorted in the wet morning air, clouds of steam rising from her huge nostrils.

  ‘Salle and Colin want to come along.’

  ‘We’ve got a yummy lunch from Aunt Grace!’ Salle called quickly.

  Arianwyn spun round and fixed Salle with what she hoped was a stern look, though Salle didn’t react in any way.

  ‘Well, hurry along then!’ the mayor called as he was heaved into the back of the cart by most of the others who had already climbed aboard.

  Hefting the wicker basket between them, Salle and Colin rushed past Arianwyn towards the waiting horse and cart. Arianwyn sighed. It looked like they were all going, whether she liked it or not.