by Liz Williams
So. She looked at the glimmering path. She knew where it would lead, into the cold country, and that scared the shit out of her, but she felt, deep in her gut, that this was something that she had to do. Sam and Serena would be worried, she knew. She had left a note, explaining as best she could, but she hoped she would be back by morning, that Sam would not waken and find her gone. Yet if it was a question of on, on until starlight, she would just have to continue.
“Are you up for it, Moth?” she said to the dog. He looked at her and wagged his spindly tail.
“All right,” said Luna. “Let’s go.”
Stella
Stella did not waste time hammering on the door of the chapel. Of the people outside, one was in no fit state to intervene and the other had locked her in there in the first place. She did her best to open the door, but there were no bolts on the inside and Tam had firmly locked it. She did a quick circuit of the place, but the back regions, which Tam had been so diligently investigating, held neither door nor window. In fact, they didn’t hold anything at all, only dust. She tried scraping her foot along the floor to see if it was all flags, or if there was any sign of the trapdoor, but she could barely see now. There was a faint light from the window in the main part of the chapel but no other source of illumination now that the little spark had gone. She went back along the side of the chapel. The shells still lay scattered on the stone floor and her foot crunched on one of them.
That left the window. Crap, thought Stella. She dragged the pew, with some difficulty, closer to the sill and hauled herself up. She thought she could just about squeeze through the window if she could open it, yet she hesitated, trying to remember what lay on the other side. There was obviously a drop, of about eight feet, but was there more than that? She couldn’t recall how wide the strip of land between the chapel wall and the edge of the headland had been. It wasn’t very high, not an actual cliff, but she didn’t fancy bouncing off it, anyway.
Well. At least she ought to be able to take a look. Assuming Tam Stare wasn’t standing on the other bloody side of it, but if he had been intent on whacking her over the head, she thought that he would have done so by now. Locking her in suggested that he was trying to keep her out of the way, not dispatch her.
And anyway, this wasn’t the first time she’d had to do this. Years ago, in Liverpool, she had gone back with a man to his flat in the upper part of a Victorian house. She had not, in fact, spent the night in his bed, because they had both got a bit past that point, but on the sofa. In the morning, however, she had woken up to find that he had gone out and locked her in. Her phone had run out of charge and her charger was back at her friend’s place. There was no sign of a landline. Stella knew that this was stupid behaviour and it would really have been better not to do this sort of thing at all, but there you were, it had happened and now she had to get herself out of it. And anyway, what kind of arsehole locks a stranger in their gaff? The kitchen window had proved amenable – if he was a serial rapist, he wasn’t a very good planner – and Stella, acrobatic despite a thumping hangover, had gone out headfirst and managed not to fall the twenty feet into the back garden. Mainly by luck, she had dropped onto the roof of next door’s shed instead, climbed over a couple of fences, and marched away down the road until she found a bus stop.
Same sort of thing here, except lack of bus.
By leaning perilously forward, she was able to wrench the window open. Stage one. She stood back, balancing on the edge of the pew to catch her breath before the final assault, and as she did so, something moved in the back of the chapel. Stella froze.
It was a scraping sound, like someone dragging a body. Fucking hell, thought Stella. Where had it come from? She’d just been in the back of the chapel and it had seemed and felt empty. She wasn’t going to stick around and find out what this was. She reached out, grabbed the sill, and pulled her head through. A quick glance out at the racing sky and there at last was the moon riding low over the waves, although it seemed both smaller and brighter than it should. Stella took a big breath, uncomfortably conscious of her legs still sticking into the chapel, ready to be grabbed by whatever the fuck that was, and that thought impelled her onward. She scraped through the opening and, trying to cover her head and roll, dropped onto the wet turf.
It had occurred to her before that perhaps some martial arts training might be a good idea but she’d never got around to it, and this was the result. She hit the ground awkwardly, which knocked the breath out of her, but she didn’t think anything was broken. An impressive display of bruises would no doubt appear upon the morrow. She rolled onto her hands and knees, with the prospect of the thing in the chapel following her out of the window or Tam Stare waiting to shove her over the edge of the low cliffs, and hauled herself to her feet. Then she set off down the headland. She did not dare look back and, besides, it was beginning to seriously rain.
Bee
The Hind was plunging. Bee had made up her own mind and gone below deck, more because she didn’t want Dark fretting about her in the middle of a crisis. After going backwards down the ladder, she threaded her way through a maze of barrels and crates, and into a long room filled with pallets and hammocks. A single lamp swung to and fro. Bee found a pallet and sat down on it. This ship must have seen numerous storms, it had sailed the world’s seas and survived, they knew what they were doing. And besides, they were dead: you could not die twice. Or could you? She did not know how worried about Dark she should be and it was unsettling. Bee herself was strangely untired and anyway, too wired up to sleep. She sat on the pallet with her back to the wooden hull and tried to listen to the wind. But she was not there for very long.
The wind was rising. She could hear it howling against the caulked boards, seeking ingress, and the sea battered the sides of the Hind. In a way it would be easier to sit here in the dark: the wildly swinging lamp made her feel queasy in a way that the roaring waves did not. She was glad when there were bootsteps on the stair and Dark appeared in the doorway, bracing himself against the lintel.
“Captain needs you on deck!”
“Needs me?” Bee scrambled to her feet, trying not to go flying. “I should think a landlubber like me would be about as much use as a chocolate teapot up there.”
Dark smiled, though she wasn’t sure if he understood the metaphor. “Says he’s ready for you now.”
What did that mean? More than a little unsure, Bee followed him out into the passage and scrambled up the steps.
On deck, it was a watery version of Hell. Huge thunderheads gathered above the horizon. Bee covered her hand with her mouth as the Hind began to list, slowly, slowly and a wave broke over the bow. Dark seized her and slung a rope around her waist.
“I don’t want to tether you like a dog but if you did go in…”
“Fine!” Once he had secured the end to a stanchion, he took her by the hand and they slithered up the deck to the prow. Drake was by the wheel, shouting instructions, but he turned when they approached and she saw his eyes glitter.
“Mistress Fallow. I need some advice!”
“Good luck with that!”
She could see that he didn’t understand. He said, taking her completely by surprise, “Ned here tells me that your sister fell into these waters when you were children.”
“What?” She gathered her wits. “Yes, Stella. My sister.”
“But she did not drown?”
“No, she was fine,” Bee shouted above the gale. “Why on Earth do you want to know this?”
“We are close by to that place. Tell me about that day.”
Bee, hanging onto the railing and braced against her rope, gave him a potted version of events.
“And when you say: she fell overboard, did you snatch her up at once from the sea’s jaws?”
“Well, no, not quite,” Bee yelled. “The current took her and it carried her quite a way from the boat. The captain had to turn it about and go and get her. She wasn’t in for very long. We could see her – sh
e was in a white top and shorts. He threw her a lifebelt when we came close enough and reeled her in.”
Drake nodded. “Very good. I have my answer, Mistress Fallow. Thank you.”
“Glad it was useful,” Bee said faintly.
“Set her at anchor,” Drake cried. There was a slippery crash as the anchor was cast overboard. “The small boat, Ned.”
“What?” Bee said as he went past. “You’re not setting out into that?”
But Dark was already disappearing along the deck.
Bee turned back to Drake and she saw that the helmsman had stepped away from the wheel. Drake placed his hands on the wheel and he spun it, whipping it around like a child’s top. But the Hind did not move and the whirling wheel mesmerised Bee, catching her attention so that she felt suddenly sticky and weighed down. She felt her wet skirts begin to grow lighter, her hair spring back from its recent drenching. The wheel seemed to be sucking the storm into itself; she saw an arch of seafoam curving through the air towards her face and she flung up a hand, but when it pattered down around her feet she looked down and saw that it was the petals of meadowsweet. A humming bumble bee, weighted with its freight of pollen, soared past her and the sun was hot and welcome on her skin.
“Captain, what’s happening?” Drake still stood in shadow but then it fled away, leaving the Hind quite calm in a pool of light.
“Your magic and mine, mistress. Quite the thing, isn’t it?” He looked around, smiling a wolf’s smile. She would find it easy to be afraid of Drake, she thought.
“How long will this last?” Bee asked. Now that they were out of the storm, she felt paradoxically shaky. She leaned against the warm wood of the railing.
“A good question. It should hold for a time. Now, shall we go for a smaller voyage?”
Luna
Luna trod the lych path with Moth padding at her side. She was glad he’d come along, wondering if she would have had the guts to go alone. She was not sure that she would. It led across the road from the lych gate, shimmering as it reached the high hedge that stood opposite the churchyard. This was some way from the Mooncote fields: these belonged to a neighbouring farmer, and Luna hoped that she would not be found trespassing, for there had been difficulties over the field boundary in Alys’ day. The hedge was high and forbidding but as Luna walked towards it, the branches of beech shivered and parted, crawling back to let the travellers through. Luna did not like to wait, but hastened through the gap and Moth leaped behind her. The lych path led down the sloping field, which was bare now of everything except stubble; Luna thought that it had borne sweetcorn for feed that year and would have been harvested some weeks ago. The remaining stalks of corn, sticking out of the earth like the ribs of an animal, also did not care to carry the lych path, it seemed, for they shrunk away to let Luna stride through.
She was expecting the cold country. But no ice formed on the rain puddles between the cornstalks, and the breeze on her face was damp rather than chill. Moth’s tail was up: he was having a dog adventure. Nothing moved in the lee of the hedges. Yet as Luna marched on, she saw that the land was changing, after all. The distant ridge of hills was becoming blurred and she did not think it was rain. The clouds had crept back as though they, too, feared the glimmering road and Orion the Hunter strode over the land with the blue star at his heels.
“Look,” Luna said to Moth, to hearten herself. “He’s got his dog with him, too.”
The lych path was growing brighter. It began to sparkle like frost and all the air was abruptly sucked out of Luna’s lungs. She gasped and in the fractional moment between one breath and the next, she was somewhere else.
She instinctively reached down for Moth but the dog had come with her. She touched the rough hair on his neck and the reassuring hardness of his leather collar. She stood in a grove of beech, bare of leaves, on the side of a hill. Beech mast crunched under her feet. Orion still bestrode the curve of the hill but Luna knew where she was, now: on the chalk. The lych path still shone over the earth, littered with white stone, but this land was familiar. She remembered something Sam had said about not needing the written word to speak to his grandmother – was this what he had meant? Over the last couple of months, ever since she had become pregnant, the world around her had seemed to become a great deal more fluid, allowing Luna – and her sisters, and perhaps other people, too – to slip in and out of its interstices. Flitting through the gaps like bats in a leaky barn, not a bad image of the world, maybe. Rather as she and Sam tried to keep under the radar, slip through the cracks of modern capitalist Britain. Better make the most of it while it lasts, just in case it doesn’t.
“Come on, Moth,” Luna said. “Let’s go and see Sam’s gran.”
She headed off down the hill. It was of course possible that Ver March had moved: unlike her grandson, she had a car with which to tow the little trailer. But somehow Luna did not think this was likely. She had faith in Sam’s gran. She hoped Sam himself wouldn’t be too pissed off that she’d set off to see Ver without him, but that hadn’t been her original intention, had it? And still home before morning. Hopefully. She did not, however, realise that she had been holding her breath until she glimpsed the little white trailer through the alders and saw the candle burning in its window. The lych path, running straight, bordered the caravan at a distance of some five feet. Wondering whether it would allow her to get off, Luna went quickly down the hill and when she reached the van, took a careful step to the left. Moth followed. The lych path ran on and Luna gave a tentative knock on the door, worrying about waking Ver up.
She need not have been worried. The door was flung open and there was Sam’s grandmother.
“Luna! It’s you. I was expecting someone, you know. I stuck the kettle on. But I thought it might be Sam. Or one of his cousins.”
“I hope this is okay,” Luna said.
“Come on in. And the doggy.”
When Luna got inside, she realised why the candle had been subconsciously bothering her. The black paper that had covered the windows was gone.
“Sorted my sight out,” Ver March said. “Took a while, but we got there in the end.”
“I think you’d better know,” Luna told her, “That I didn’t come by road.”
The old woman gave her a beady look.
“I know.”
“Oh. Right.”
“It’s not my preferred way of travelling, though I do use the old ways from time to time, because there are some odd things on those lych paths that you might not necessarily want to meet.” She said this casually, as someone might comment on traffic levels on the A303. “But I’ll give ’em that, they’re very quick, all told. How long did it take you to get here?”
“I don’t really know. Orion moved a bit but I’m not sure…”
“Quicker than a car, anyway.”
“Yes. Much.”
“And you left Sam behind?”
“Yes. You see, I’m looking for my mum.” The two statements did not really fit together but Ver seemed to understand, for she nodded.
“And I don’t think I’ve got time for a cup of tea, though it’s very kind of you.”
“No. If that’s the case, you’ll need to get on before morning. The path will fade when the sun rises. It’s a bit chilly out there, isn’t it? I’d better find my coat.”
Stella
Fucking rain. It didn’t matter where you went in Britain, whether real Britain or alternative Britain or what, it still rained all the bloody time. Stella was following the shore, well away from the chapel. As far as she knew, nothing was following her but she wasn’t counting on it. She had managed to find footprints, a few, and they looked like modern ones. Tam had been wearing Nike but she couldn’t identify trainer prints exactly. She was not, she told herself, bloody Sherlock Holmes. They had seemed to point eastwards so that was where Stella was going, but even given the amount of time that escaping from the chapel had taken, she had not caught up with Tam or the star. What the hell had he done wit
h her, in that case? He must have taken her another way, but how? The star had seemed in no condition to stand up, let alone be dragged along by a presumably human man of slight build. Stella could testify as to the star’s weight. Maybe it was like super-dense matter, not flesh at all. Maybe star spirits could increase their weight, like cats on the bed... The path led through dense reeds. Their tawny tassels would have been taller than Stella, but were bowed down with rain. Stella herself had gone from feeling cold, to too hot, perhaps as a result of exertion. She came out onto a muddy shore and there, again, was a footprint. This time, it was bare.
She tried to remember if the star had been shod but the voluminous skirts had hidden the star’s feet. Stella spat out a sudden mouthful of rain, tucked her hair back into the too-big hood, and carried on.
But not, it seemed, for much longer.
The river was wide and it shone in the flickering light of the moon through the stormclouds. Stella came slowly out onto the muddy shore. There was no way she’d be able to cross that without a boat. There might be a path which followed the river but it looked, as far as she could tell in the rainy dark, to head into a patch of woodland. Don’t go into the forest alone, little girl. But the only other way was back, towards whatever might have got out of the chapel by now. Stella swore under her breath. She walked up the beach, trying to skirt the sea grass and keep out of the worst of the mud, but the river was widening as it reached the sea. Stella climbed a small bluff and tried to get her bearings. Then, down on the seashore, she saw a light.
