A Witch Come True

by James Nicol

  ‘Now now, dear, I’m sure all will be well. We’ll keep in touch and you can always give me a call on the phone. And I expect you to come and visit as well. And I’m sure I’ll be back . . . occasionally.’ Though she sounded far from certain. ‘Well. I’ll be on my way, dear. Take care of yourself, Arianwyn.’ She sniffed then and swiped at the tears that glistened high on her cheeks. Then with a loud ‘Cheerio, dear!’ she marched past Arianwyn and through the East Gate, swept into the crowd of townspeople, and was gone.

  The town square was full of light and music and laughter. The snow had stopped falling and lay in soft drifts around the square, the rooftops covered in a thick white blanket. Long tables all covered in tablecloths filled the space between the buildings. Lanterns and candles sat amidst huge steaming bowls and plates of food. Arianwyn couldn’t remember when she had last seen such a feast. A raised wooden platform stood before the town hall. The town band had relocated here and were already playing lively tunes as people rushed here and there finding seats at the tables.

  Salle and Colin sat on the platform in two massive seats that were normally in the council chamber of the town hall. These ‘thrones’ were covered in swags of greenery and more of the mayor’s favoured purple material as well as twists of bright green and red. They each held a large branch, again wrapped with more winterthorn and miselberries whilst a steady queue of people moved towards them. As each person stood before Salle or Colin they were gently whacked with the branch. It was surely the oddest custom Arianwyn had ever seen. She hoped the ‘wands’ would last, as Salle seemed to be doing it with slightly more enthusiasm than Colin, who just timidly tapped people on the head or shoulder.

  ‘Merry Yule, Miss Gribble!’ people called as they hurried this way and that across the square, some with armfuls of gifts, or more plates full of food for the feast. Arianwyn could see Aunt Grace and Uncle Mat overseeing everything like conductors of an orchestra.

  Arianwyn felt a tug on her coat and turned to see Mr Curry smiling at her. ‘Merry Yule, Miss Gribble.’

  ‘Hello, Mr Curry. How are you?’

  ‘I’m looking forward to getting back to my house. Hoping now the temperature has dropped those nitherings will be on the run.’

  ‘I do hope so,’ Arianwyn answered, a little distracted as she watched the mayor.

  He had a very satisfied smile on his face, watching everything. Meanwhile, Miss Prynce skittered about shouting orders at people, which they roundly ignored. And then the mayor’s secretary spotted Arianwyn and charged over, brandishing her clipboard. ‘Miss Gribble, what on earth are you doing here? Aren’t you supposed to be attending to the kiln of wishes and sorrows?’

  ‘Am I?’ Arianwyn asked. ‘I thought I just had to do the song and that—’

  ‘No. Look, it says here, “Kiln – Arianwyn”. I’m sure I told you about it the other day.’

  Arianwyn shrugged. ‘I’m sorry, Miss Prynce. I don’t remember you mentioning it.’

  ‘Well, you’d best hurry along then, hadn’t you?’

  ‘Now? But what about the feast?’

  She pursed her lips. ‘Oh, very well, but you promise me you’ll go straight there after you’ve eaten – it’s all set up on the bridge.’

  ‘Yes, of course,’ Arianwyn agreed. Though if she was stuck out by the bridge again, she was going to miss the best bits of the party, surely?

  Salle and Colin came laughing towards her, swinging their Yule wands this way and that. ‘That was fun, wasn’t it?’ Salle smiled to Colin as they reached Arianwyn.

  ‘Well, you certainly looked like you were enjoying yourselves,’ Arianwyn said, but it came out snappish and Salle and Colin both looked up at her, uncertainty clouding their faces. ‘Sorry,’ Arianwyn said quickly. ‘Miss Prynce seems to think I’m manning the kiln right after the feast. I had no idea. Shall we just go and find a seat?’

  ‘Well, we can come and help you afterwards, can’t we?’ Colin asked, looking at Salle who nodded enthusiastically. Arianwyn felt a flutter of hope.

  Grandmother had already secured seats at the end of one of the tables, and Aunt Grace and Uncle Mat were there along with Arianwyn’s father. Mr Turvy, Mrs Myddleton and most of her children were also at the table a few seats along. ‘Merry Yule, Miss Witch,’ Cyril Myddleton called from down the table. Arianwyn waved.

  It took a while but soon everyone was seated. Occasional light flurries of snow swirled around them as the sun started to set. The braziers dotted between the tables kept everyone warm and the lights and lanterns and little electric strings of lights illuminated the town square until it looked quite magical.

  Soon food was being passed around the table: huge bowls filled with creamy mashed potatoes and peas and carrots that gleamed like bright jewels; slices of chicken and beef; three differentYule pies and jugs full of steaming gravy made their way around until everyone’s plates were groaning under piles of food. A huge wheel of Flaxsham cheese sat proudly in the middle of the table.

  As the meal came to an end, Mayor Belcher stood on the platform where Salle and Colin had sat before. He turned on the microphone, his voice booming out across the town square, startling everyone. ‘Yule blessings on you all, and now we shall invite the Winterthorn Queen and the Yule Lord to hand out theYule gifts. And you can take your wishes and sorrow slips to the kiln out on the East Gate Bridge – Miss Gribble will be on hand there.’

  ‘I guess that’s my cue, see you later,’ Arianwyn said as she got up from the table – but her friends didn’t reply. Colin’s offer of help was obviously forgotten as he and Salle were ushered once more to the heart of the party, and Arianwyn traipsed off alone. She made her way across the town square through the snow. The music was starting up again, people were dancing, children chasing each other in and out of the tables and snowballs were being thrown . . . but only the snowflakes swirled and drifted around Arianwyn as she moved from the bright warmth and cheer of the town square and back out to the East Gate.

  The kiln was sat on the edge of the bridge just where it dipped down to the meadow. She hadn’t noticed it earlier because of the crowds. She felt suddenly annoyed at all these strange country traditions that took her away from the fun. This wasn’t how Yule was supposed to be. She suddenly longed for her grandmother’s cosy apartment, decorated from top to bottom, candles everywhere, the radio burbling away as they sat and read together or planned their next walk through the snowy parks in Kingsport.

  As Arianwyn crossed the bridge she could see that the snow was starting to fall heavier than before. She rubbed her hands together, wishing she had thought to go and fetch her gloves from the Blue Ox. Still, the kiln would keep her warm, wouldn’t it?

  ‘Except no one has lit it, of course,’ she grumbled as she approached the stone-cold kiln.

  It wasn’t really a kiln at all. Instead, it was a large, shallow earthenware dish, as round and big as a dining table. A collection of branches and twigs had been dumped in but were now covered in snow.

  ‘Are you ready yet, miss?’

  Arianwyn turned to see a family standing on the bridge, all holding slips of paper in their hands.

  ‘Just a sec!’ Arianwyn said and turned back to the kiln. She sketched Årdra in the air over the damp kindling, and after a couple of attempts the twigs burst into flames, spitting and hissing. She gave it a few minutes before she beckoned the family on. ‘There you go.’ She smiled.

  The little girl stepped up first and held her hand out above the flames, then she dropped the slip of paper which fell in amongst the fire and immediately started to curl. The paper turned from brown to black and vanished up into the air with sparks and smoke. ‘Take my wishes and sorrows away this Yuletide night,’ she said quietly, then glanced at Arianwyn and smiled.

  ‘Merry Yule.’ Arianwyn smiled back.

  Chapter 22

  GIFTS FROM THE WINTERTHORN QUEEN

  rianwyn felt as though she had been standing beside the kiln for hours. Her fingers were numb. Her toes were
solid lumps of ice. The kiln flames flickered up into the night sky, but just didn’t shed enough warmth to take away the chill. The snow continued to fall, but now a stronger wind was buffeting it across the bridge.

  Arianwyn had already relit the kiln with Årdra twice. It had been ages since anyone had been along to make an offering and all she could hear was the merry music coming from the town square. Arianwyn longed to be at the party again. How long did she have to wait here, anyway?

  ‘Feeling lonely?’ a bright voice asked from behind. She turned to see Grandmother, snowflakes dusting her hair like flower petals, her coat and bright yellow scarf pulled tightly around her shoulders.

  ‘A little,’ Arianwyn replied, smiling.

  ‘Gosh, it’s cold out here,’ Grandmother said, moving quickly towards the kiln. Arianwyn noticed her drop a slip of paper into the flames. ‘Take my wishes and sorrows away this Yuletide night.’ Then she turned and smiled. ‘Merry Yule, Arianwyn.’ And she pulled her into a tight hug.

  ‘Merry Yule,’ Arianwyn replied.

  ‘Why don’t you go back to the party for a bit?’ Grandmother offered, pulling her coat straight and wrapping Arianwyn’s own scarf more tightly. ‘Everyone is having so much fun. I can look after this.’ Grandmother gestured to the kiln. ‘Hurry back and get your Yule gift.’

  Arianwyn kicked at the snow that was piling up now. ‘Oh, it’s only a daft apple, Grandma, and a sprig of something.’

  ‘Rosemary,’ Grandma said, taking a sniff of her own rosemary sprig and smiling. ‘Makes me think of my grandmother’s kitchen back in San Nevasto. She was always cooking something. Go on, run along, see your friends. I’ll be fine here for a while.’

  ‘You’re sure?’ Arianwyn felt suddenly light-headed at the prospect of returning to the party.

  ‘Of course,’ Grandmother replied.

  ‘Thank you, Grandma!’ Arianwyn beamed, turned and raced back over the bridge, dodging a few people making their way to the kiln.

  She was back at the town square in less than five minutes. Bob bounded across from the food tables, where the moon hare had no doubt been lurking in hope of a stray piece of cheese or pie, and ran in tight circles around her feet.

  The crowd around Salle and Colin had died down a little and Arianwyn walked over slowly and watched as they handed out the apples and sprigs of rosemary. It was soon Arianwyn’s turn and she stood before their thrones. ‘Merry Yule!’ she said as she approached them and held out her hand ready for her gift. She closed her eyes, and when she felt the weight of something in her palm she opened her eyes again.

  But instead of the apple and sprig of rosemary she stared down at a small bundle of bright tissue paper and an envelope that had been decorated with drawings of stars and berries and snowflakes. Upon it ‘ARIANWYN’ was written in large letters in Salle’s familiar handwriting. ‘What’s this?’ Arianwyn asked.

  ‘Gifts for you from the Winterthorn Queen, of course.’ Colin smiled. ‘And that one’s from me.’ He pointed at the small bundle.

  ‘Oh, I . . .’ Arianwyn stammered.

  ‘Well, aren’t you going to open them?’ Salle asked, beaming at her.

  Arianwyn carefully started to unwrap the small tissue paper bundle first. As the paper unfurled like a blooming flower, she saw a small white object nestled in the middle. She carefully lifted it up and turned it over in her hand. It was a small carving of a moon hare. ‘Oh, Colin. Where on earth did you get this?’ Arianwyn asked. She looked up at him, saw his cheeks turn bright red as he coughed and looked away shyly.

  ‘He carved it himself,’ Salle said. ‘He’s so clever.’

  ‘Look, Bob.’ Arianwyn turned and showed the carving to the real moon hare. Bob sniffed at it twice and then gave a loud sneeze.

  Salle laughed. ‘I don’t think Bob is that impressed with your handiwork, Colin.’

  ‘Well, I think it’s wonderful. Thank you, Colin,’ Arianwyn said quietly. She could feel her own cheeks warming. She quickly turned to the envelope, tucking her moon hare figure safely in her pocket. ‘And what’s this?’ she asked, looking at Salle.

  She pulled the envelope open and tipped it up, catching the contents in her hand. It was a photograph of Arianwyn’s mother in her uniform. Most of the photographs Arianwyn had were of her mother and father together. Or of them all when Arianwyn was just a baby. This was her mother as a recently qualified witch, her long curly hair falling about her shoulders, her broad grin shining out of the picture like a beacon.

  Arianwyn could almost hear her mother’s laughter as she looked at the picture. Her mother was always laughing.

  ‘Thank you, Salle,’ Arianwyn said, a lump in her throat.

  ‘Colin helped me find it in the archives at the C.W.A. and then we tracked down the photographer who took the portraits for that year’s graduates and he gave us a copy.’

  ‘Has my grandmother seen this?’ Arianwyn asked, a lump in her throat.

  ‘No, not yet.’

  Arianwyn wanted to show her straight away – wanted to show her both of these amazing gifts from her amazing friends. How could she have thought Salle and Colin would purposely try to be unkind? She felt bad now just thinking it.

  ‘Thank you,’ she said, reaching forwards and pulling them both into a tight hug. ‘Merry Yule.’

  And before she could pull away she felt herself being swung around by Colin and Salle, and they were all suddenly in the middle of a dance. Arianwyn tried to work out what was going on, but the steps didn’t seem to ever repeat themselves and she gave in to being swept along by her friends, their laughter filling the air along with music, singing and snowflakes.

  They twirled and skipped and stamped their way around the town square at least six times, the music growing faster and faster until it all ended and everyone collapsed into the snow with gasps and giggles.

  It was the best feeling in the world. Bob, who had chased them around, raced over and gave them all a good wash as they lay laughing in the snowdrift beside the Blue Ox.

  In the relative quiet the church bells sounded midnight.

  ‘Oh, I’ve left Grandma with the kiln too long. I’ll have to go,’ Arianwyn sighed, getting to her feet and dusting off the light powdery snow. ‘See you later, though.’

  She waved as she hurried back across the town square and to the East Gate bridge. As she walked along Wood Lane towards the gate she could see a couple standing by the kiln, which had gone out again. But there was no sign of her grandmother. Maybe she’d gone back for an extra scarf or a hat, or to fetch a warm drink?

  ‘Miss Gribble – we wanted to make our offerings,’ the man said. He sounded rather disappointed.

  ‘Sorry, I just went off for a dance,’ Arianwyn apologized, and quickly relit the kiln with a spell.

  The couple dropped their slips into the flames, muttered Yule blessings to Arianwyn and then hurried off back into town, the snow gathering in deeper drifts outside the town walls, the wind howling across the frozen meadow.

  Arianwyn shivered and turned, wondering where her grandmother could have gone. And that was when she saw it. Just the other side of the bridge, already partly covered in snow, lay her grandmother’s brilliant yellow scarf. Just as it had looked in the fire gazing. She darted forwards, her mind racing almost as much as her heart. She bent down to pick up the scarf, which already felt stiff with frost. She turned and looked along the river edge in both directions. But there was no sign of her grandmother anywhere.

  Chapter 23

  The SEARCH

  rianwyn pulled the scarf to herself tightly and raced back over the bridge. A few more people had wandered towards the kiln, slips of paper in hand, but she rushed past them, ignoring their questions. She had to find her father. He would know what to do.

  Sergeant Gribble was sitting beside the roaring fire in the Blue Ox with Uncle Mat and Aunt Grace. They were all hugging mugs of hot tea and chatting cheerfully about the evening’s festivities.

  ‘Hello, Wyn,’ he called.
‘Come and have a seat.’ He patted the chair beside him.

  ‘Where’s Grandma?’ Arianwyn asked, and Aunt Grace must have read the panic in her voice as she got out of her seat, abandoning her mug, and moved towards Arianwyn quickly.

  ‘I don’t know. Why, what’s the matter?’ she asked.

  Arianwyn felt as though she needed to move – to get out of the Blue Ox – but she didn’t know where to go. ‘I can’t find Grandma,’ she said, a sob bubbling up with her words.

  Aunt Grace looked quickly at Uncle Mat – some unspoken message passing between them. He hurried away as Aunt Grace wrapped an arm around Arianwyn. ‘She’s probably just out dancing somewhere, don’t you think?’

  ‘No.’ Arianwyn shook her head. ‘I found this near the kiln, on the far side of the bridge. It’s her favourite scarf in the world. She wouldn’t have lost it.’

  Aunt Grace’s eyes widened. ‘Um, OK, so you sit down there for a second and have some tea to warm you up and let’s see what Mat says when he comes back.’

  Arianwyn didn’t want to wait. Even so she let Aunt Grace guide her into a chair.

  ‘It’ll be OK, love,’ Sergeant Gribble said. ‘She probably doesn’t realize she dropped the scarf.’

  Arianwyn glared at him. ‘She got it travelling in Dannis; I remember her telling me there were weavers there so skilled that they could even weave memories.’ A small sob escaped. ‘She wouldn’t have left this lying on the ground. Something bad has happened, I know it.’ And it’s my fault for leaving her there, doing my job, she thought.

  Her dad squeezed her shoulder. ‘Stay calm, Arianwyn. She’ll turn up.’

  She shook her head. He had no idea. He barely knew either of them any more. But she didn’t want to argue so she kept quiet and waited.

  After five long minutes of staring at the clock over the fireplace, Uncle Mat appeared with Mayor Belcher and Constable Perkins. They were all covered in snow. The mayor and constable both looked merry, bright-cheeked, and at the same time slightly annoyed to have been disturbed during the party. ‘Now when did you last see your grandmother?’ Constable Perkins asked.