by S J Howland
Chapter Three
As it turned out, Xander didn’t have the chance to ask about his unfriendly rescuer or pass on the message, since Flint did not turn up the next morning. There were plenty of other things to distract him, however. He woke up from a sound sleep to someone prodding at his arm and opened his eyes to see his new room-mate hanging over him, with a friendly grin on his face and a halo of wildly dishevelled hair.
‘Morning,’ said Ollie as Xander scrubbed at his eyes. ‘Breakfast-time.’
Sitting up, Xander realised that while he had slept in his t-shirt, someone had taken off his shoes, jeans and jumper and they were now lying in a neat pile on the table next to his bed. He dressed, wondering what he would do about clothes since he couldn’t keep wearing the same things. As Ollie led him downstairs, Xander could hear the faint sounds of people moving about the house, washing and getting ready for the day. There was no sign of the family when they reached the big kitchen, although he noticed that someone had already laid the table for breakfast.
‘What d’you want to drink?’ asked Ollie hospitably.
Xander did not answer. His attention had been caught by two tiny figures, barely knee-high, edging along the skirting board at the far side of the room. They moved with exaggerated care, their huge black eyes transfixed on something by Xander’s feet. Intrigued, Xander turned his head to take a closer look and at once both of the figures froze, one of them blinking worriedly, while the other stared at the ceiling. Before he could do anything else, he felt a sharp nudge and Ollie leaned in close.
‘Don’t look at them,’ he hissed.
Xander turned away and out of the corner of his eye he saw both of the odd little figures heave sighs of relief.
‘What are they?’ he murmured to Ollie.
Ollie leaned even closer, so he could speak into Xander’s ear.
‘They’re brownies and they’re invisible.’
‘No, they aren’t,’ blurted Xander in a louder voice. ‘They’re right –’
His words were cut off as Ollie’s hand covered his mouth.
‘Do not say it unless you want to be the one to explain to Gran why they’ve left.’ His expression was serious and Xander nodded to show he had understood. Ollie let his hand drop, leaning forward again to whisper in his ear. ‘They like to visit people and help around the house, cleaning and stuff, but you have to pretend not to see them because they believe they’re invisible.’
‘But you can actually see them?’ Xander whispered back.
‘Course,’ replied Ollie promptly, with an amused look. ‘These two are called Brolly and Spike, and they’ve been coming for years. Gran just says it’s important to respect their culture.’
Xander turned this over in his mind, while covertly watching the two little figures as they continued their stealthy progress across the room, using chairs and handy table legs as cover. He frowned as a flaw in this logic occurred to him.
‘If they believe they’re invisible, why are they tip-toeing and hiding?’ he asked, as the brownies made a break from the thick wooden leg of a side-table to the relative security of the big squashy couch sitting against the kitchen wall. They ducked underneath the trailing ends of a long blue throw and paused for a moment, the material bunched up around them and their small brown shoes poking out.
Ollie looked surprised, as if the answer was obvious.
‘Just because they’re invisible doesn’t mean you couldn’t hear them. They don’t want to draw attention to themselves.’
Both boys watched the conspicuous bulges inch their way along the base of the couch, until they were only a few feet from where Xander was standing. There was a second’s hesitation, and then two heads emerged from under the throw. Xander stood very still, trying to look in the other direction whilst peeping at the brownies. Both of the little figures had thick brown hair – one with wild curls while the other had spiky tufts sticking out in every direction – through which the tips of sharply pointed ears were clearly visible. Xander noticed that one of them was clutching a bulging leather bag in its hand and that both of them appeared absolutely transfixed by something –
‘Why are they staring at my shoes?’ Xander whispered anxiously to Ollie.
‘They like fixing all sorts of things but they have a bit of a – a thing about shoes,’ Ollie explained. ‘They’ve probably never seen any like that before and, no offence, but they’re sort of a mess. Usually they do wait until the shoes aren’t occupied though.’
The little creatures had edged their way behind Xander’s feet and he could no longer see them, but he felt a tentative finger poke at the back of his tatty old trainers and heard a low murmuring in tones of wonder. There was a faint clinking noise as the bag dropped onto the floor and then the sound of rummaging; a moment later, Xander could feel a gentle tugging and prodding as the two brownies set to work.
Of all the weird things that had happened to him since his arrival in Haven, Xander was fairly certain that pretending not to notice as two little figures sewed diligently at his trainers was the oddest.
*
Breakfast was a chaotic affair. Unlike Xander’s own home, where meals were often a solitary occupation, this house was bursting with people and activity. Racks of golden toast, without a hint of charring, appeared in front of Xander along with rich yellow butter and creamy scrambled eggs, which Mr Stanton conjured up in large quantities as he stood at the big stove, laughing at his daughter’s attempts to avoid having her hair plaited by his exasperated wife. Len was leaning over a small screen in the corner, eating an apple with one hand while furiously typing with the other and Ollie was trying to persuade his grandmother that since he had a guest to entertain (‘seriously, Gran, he’ll get really bored on his own’), he should have the day off.
On top of all this, the brownies were hard at work in the kitchen and, as a consequence, were seriously underfoot. Twice, Xander had to choke back laughter when first Katie and then Mrs Stanton tripped over them, and then carefully pretended they had no idea what could have caused their stumbles. Finally, Mrs Stanton gave up the unequal struggle to manoeuvre herself around the brownies while feigning selective blindness and sank into a chair with a sigh.
‘No, Ollie,’ she said firmly. ‘You already missed the extra coaching yesterday so you are going this morning. Xander will still be here when you get back and I’m sure we’ll find something to amuse him.’
‘But Gran,’ began Ollie, but the fast-scrolling monitor screen had caught Mrs Stanton’s attention.
‘Len Stanton,’ she said sharply. ‘Please tell me you’re not hacking into the academy system again.’
Len glanced up and took another bite of her apple.
‘Of course not,’ she said, deadpan. ‘That would be wrong.’ With a few more keystrokes, the screen went blank again. ‘I was just updating my schedule.’
Mrs Stanton looked unconvinced but as she opened her mouth, there was a quick tap and Ari’s cheerful face appeared around the kitchen door.
‘Morning,’ she said brightly to the room at large, before turning to Xander. ‘I thought you might like some company, since I assume the others have class?’ Her eyes took in Ollie’s disgruntled expression with quick amusement.
‘Perfect,’ said Mrs Stanton in satisfaction, before directing a firm look at Ollie and Len. ‘You two will be late if you don’t get moving.’
Ollie heaved a long-suffering sigh and stood up. Len was already halfway out of the door when she was brought up short.
‘Haven’t you forgotten something?’ Mrs Stanton asked, holding out a narrow grey band set with a pale yellow stone. Len’s nose wrinkled in disgust.
‘I told you, it makes me itch,’ she grumped. ‘And it’s not like I can even use it.’
‘It was made especially for you,’ said Mrs Stanton firmly. ‘And your teacher told me just the other day that he thinks you’re on the verge of a breakthrough and you only need to apply yourself a little – and actually wear it.’
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Len’s face twisted into a furious scowl. She reached out and grabbed the band with extremely bad grace. ‘I think you’ll find what I’m actually on the verge of is a nervous breakdown,’ she growled as she slapped the band around her wrist, and ostentatiously scratched beneath it.
Mrs Stanton just rolled her eyes, patently unimpressed with Len’s dramatics.
‘You finished?’ Ari asked Xander, as she grabbed a piece of toast.
‘Yes,’ said Xander, standing up and adding, ‘thanks very much for breakfast.’ He reached out to clear some plates from the table but was waved away by Mrs Stanton.
‘Don’t worry about that right now,’ she said, her eyes still resting on the balefully scowling Len. ‘It’s all under control.’
Xander grimaced sympathetically at Ollie, who was wearing an expression more appropriate to a condemned man than someone just leaving for school, and ducked out of the back door after Ari.
Bright morning sunlight bathed the garden, and the old stone terrace outside the kitchen was already warm underfoot, while its border of delicate lavender plants filled the air with their sweet scent and the faint hum of bees moving busily between flowers. Just in front of Xander, two broad stone steps led down onto a wide expanse of grass, while to his left he could see a small orchard where the trees were covered in blossoms. Everything seemed entirely normal.
Xander looked around at Ari, who was watching him with that quirky little smile on her face.
‘Shall we head out?’ she asked, offering him her arm. The stone on her wrist glittered in the sunlight, ice pale. Xander reached out cautiously; he was not sure he would ever get used to this mode of transport. This time, the lurch was much sharper than when Flint had taken them, and Ari wrinkled her nose apologetically as Xander staggered forward when they arrived.
‘Sorry,’ she said, grabbing his arm to steady him. ‘I’ve never been very good with passengers.’
‘S’okay,’ replied Xander, although he still felt a little wobbly. Looking around, he realised that they were now standing in light woodland on a narrow track, hardly visible from lack of use, which wound ahead of them up a steep incline.
‘Where are we?’ asked Xander, in what he felt was becoming an all too frequent refrain.
‘Not far,’ replied Ari, leading the way up the track with her usual jaunty stride. She glanced back and smiled. ‘I just thought you might want to sit and chat for a while.’ She said no more until they had reached the top of the hill and the path, such as it was, had petered out entirely. There was nothing there save a few bare outcroppings of rock surrounded by scrubby grass, and a view which went on for miles.
‘I used to like coming here when I was younger and wanted to think or have some space to myself,’ said Ari. She hitched herself up to a comfortable perch on top of one of the taller rocks and leant back, her legs dangling down. Xander clambered up with slightly more effort and found a space for himself.
‘Did you live near here?’ he asked.
Ari shrugged. ‘For a while. It’s hard to keep track.’ She glanced sideways at him, with a little grin. ‘Travellers, right? It’s not just a name.’
‘So you never settle anywhere?’
Ari shook her head. ‘Never. We belong everywhere and nowhere.’ Her voice had taken on an odd lilt and Xander had the sense she was repeating some kind of creed.
‘So, where do you live, if you’re always moving?’ he asked.
‘I’ll show you later,’ replied Ari, turning her face up to the sun and closing her eyes. The freckles on her nose stood out in sharp relief in the bright light. Xander stared at her, wondering how much ‘later’ he would stay in this strange place.
‘How does all this even exist?’ he blurted out, as he had wanted to ever since he had found himself transported to an unfamiliar room, one finger pressed against an unreadable symbol on an old stone. ‘The stuff here is only meant to be in fairytales – how can it be real?’
Ari didn’t open her eyes, but her lips twitched in amusement and sympathy.
‘Haven’t you ever thought it was just a little bit odd that those old fairytales – the myths and the legends – are so similar, your world over? They may use different names but, fundamentally, the stories are all the same.’ She turned her head and looked at Xander, one eyebrow raised.
Xander frowned. ‘But that’s because, well, people moved about and spread the stories, and made up fantastical creatures to explain stuff, you know, before science.’ Even to Xander’s own ears, this explanation seemed a bit lacking.
‘Maybe,’ allowed Ari softly. ‘Or maybe it’s because all those fairytales are true and always have been. Maybe the old stories and legends had a purpose, to pass on information and guidelines and warnings.’
‘So it’s all real then?’ demanded Xander, a little shake in his voice. His entire worldview had been systematically stood on its head over the past couple of days and he wasn’t sure yet how he felt about it.
‘Mostly,’ said Ari, and then she grinned mischievously. ‘Not vampires, though. They’re definitely the product of overwrought imaginations.’
Xander thought for a moment. ‘So how come no one sees anything these days? You’d think that if all these weird things were roaming around the countryside, somebody might notice. They’d have got a picture or some proof by now.’
He turned to look at Ari, having made what he considered to be a good point, but found her eyeing him with no trace of her usual humour.
‘What?’ he asked, uncertain what he had done to bring such a disapproving expression to her face.
‘Each of those races has a history, a culture that goes back just as far as yours,’ Ari said quietly. ‘They are thinking, feeling beings. They’re not ‘things’.’
‘I didn’t mean it like that,’ Xander protested, surprised by how serious Ari’s face could look when not wreathed in secret amusement.
‘Words are powerful, Xander; they frame your thoughts. When you name someone as less than they are, before you know it you start to think they are less.’ She glanced at Xander and he was relieved to see her mouth quirk into that familiar smile, taking the bite out of her lecture. ‘Our worlds are not really so different, more like two sides of the same coin. There have always been places where the borders are thin, and the old races could slip between. It was only the people who are fixed on one side or the other – for the most part, anyway; we Travellers have always been able to pass over.’
‘Using the Stones,’ Xander confirmed.
‘Exactly.’
‘You said the other th-, I mean the old races,’ Xander corrected himself mid-thought and saw Ari’s quick smile of approval. ‘You said they could come across. Do they still?’
‘Even if they could, I think they choose not to,’ replied Ari thoughtfully, poking her chin idly with the tip of one slender finger. ‘They have learnt to be wary of your people. Your world is growing smaller all the time – there are so few solitary places left, where your technology cannot reach.’
She stopped speaking, apparently lost in thought, and Xander hesitated before asking his most important question.
‘What am I doing here?’
Ari turned and eyed him. ‘Yes, that’s the real question, isn’t it? Honestly, I have no idea.’ Her words hung in the air for a moment before she jumped down from her perch and brushed off her trousers. ‘Come on,’ she said.
‘Where?’ asked Xander, lowering himself to the ground rather more cautiously.
‘You wanted to see where we stayed,’ replied Ari, as she headed back down the faint stony track. The trail led sharply downwards into the trees, past where they had arrived, and onwards through the thickening woodland. Finally, it levelled out, and they stood on the edge of a wide open glade, surrounded by close-growing trees and filled with thick, scrubby undergrowth. On the far side was a slight, rocky incline covered with brambles and old leaves. Xander looked about in confusion, wondering why they had stopped here, and then caught sight of
Ari, watching him intently.
‘Okay,’ he said. ‘Why are we here? Did you used to camp here?’
Ari did not answer directly but instead just gestured to the clearing. ‘First, tell me what you see,’ she said.
Xander looked around again. ‘Open space, trees, scrub, thorns. What I am supposed to be seeing?’
Disconcertingly, even as these words left his mouth, Xander was aware of an odd haziness in his peripheral vision, a blurring that reminded him of the hostile boy’s face on the day he had arrived in Haven. It was annoying, and he shook his head slightly, as if to dispel it. Ari was watching him closely, and she smiled at this.
‘Close your eyes,’ she said, that secret amusement lilting in her voice again. ‘Concentrate on seeing what is really here. You have to look past what your mind is trying to tell you.’
Xander shut his eyes and took a deep breath. He had always thought that if he could see something, that must mean that it was real. This place seemed to prove just the opposite. He focussed hard on wanting to see what was really there and then opened his eyes.
The scrubby undergrowth had vanished, revealing a broad swath of soft green grass starred with little flowers. Where the bramble-strewn slope had been there now stood a long, low-beamed building with rustic-looking windows, hanging lanterns and a large door, green-painted and standing ajar. Xander stared around, amazed at what had been concealed.
‘Welcome to Mistleberry Lodge,’ said Ari, her eyes sparkling. ‘I knew you’d be able to see through the wards. Most people can’t, you know. They’re so convinced by what they believe must be true that they go blindly through their entire lives, with the truth literally under their noses.’
