by Liz Williams
Above their heads, the biggest bell of the tower rang once, a singing note that shook the church and the world beyond, as though the little flute had struck an echoing note. The stars bowed again and then they began to fade, one by one, as stars do fade when morning comes. The Pleiades went first, then Arcturus, winking out, then Capella and her sisters. Algol vanished when all but one had gone. The star Nephele, clad now in seagreen silk and a necklace of lapis, stood with her hands folded together. She looked gravely from face to face, passing over Ward and Dark, but lingering on the sisters and Bella and their mother. Then she nodded once and was no longer there. In the eastern window, coloured like all the stars, there was a fire in the sky behind as the sun at last came up.
Serena
There were footprints all along the muddy lane. Small pattering feet, small claws. And others – not footprints, thought Serena, but hoofprints, cloven. Some of these were very large, others not so big, but they wove in and out of one another in a braided dance that went all the way up the lane and into the drive, to where a pale doe was grazing on the lawn. Her head went up when she smelled the humans and the dog and she immediately pranced away, leaping the low beech hedge and disappearing into the orchard.
“I hope she’s not been after your carrots,” Ward said to Bee.
“I’m not growing carrots. Anyway, it’s November. Do you know nothing about vegetables?
“I sometimes eat them in quality restaurants.”
There was nothing more to do, Serena felt, than put the kettle on. Luna went upstairs for a rest, taking faithful Moth with her. Sam and Dark went out, to do man stuff in the yard, Sam said with a grin. Ward sat down at the table again, looking shell-shocked.
“I suppose we ought to do brunch. Or breakfast. I feel like I’ve been up for hours.”
“You possibly have.”
“I’m definitely going to the pub tonight,” Stella said. “Just so you know.”
“Did someone mention the pub?” Nell came into the kitchen, fresh from the shower and wearing a silk robe. Her long fair hair, unbraided, was damp. “Bit early, isn’t it?”
Stella stared at her. “It’s never too early to go to the pub. Have you just woken up?”
“Oh, no,” Nell said. “I’ve been up for a while.” There were dark circles under her eyes. She yawned and smiled. Her eyes met Serena’s with the faintest hint of a challenge. “Had some funny dreams, though,” Nell Fallow said.
Alys
Night. The house was quiet, though Alys thought she had heard the moonhorse rocking against the boards. She walked quickly down the landing, making no sound. You learn how to do that, in certain places. Here in the old house, it was hardly a matter of life and death, but she didn’t want to wake anyone up. Partly because they’d had a challenging few days and she thought, maternally, they needed sleep whether they were her kids or not, and partly because Alys didn’t want to field awkward questions.
Such as “Where are you going at two o’clock in the morning, Mum?”
It had been a good day. She had spent most of it in the kitchen, over endless cups of tea, as family members came and went. She had spoken, in turn, to all her daughters. There had been enough questions.
What are you going to do about Ben, if all this was the fault of that girl? What about Ward?
Are you going back to Ibiza? What are your plans, now?
Are you sure, really, that you want a life with someone few other people can see? Although he is rather good looking, I must say.
When is the baby due, darling? Are you going to stay here? Or will you be back on the road before long?
And enough answers.
I don’t know, Mum. Maybe Dana didn’t use a whole lot of magic when it came to Ben. Maybe it really does take two to tango. And Ward’s going to be in town for the winter.
If you and Bee are okay with it, I might stay put for a bit. I’ll pay my way. I’ve got some gigs in Bristol coming up. London, too. And I was going to do a bit of exploring myself if I’m going to be in the South West for any length of time. Maybe some wild swimming. Might go down to Cornwall and learn to surf.
Dark’s part of the house, Mother. If he stays, I’ll stay. Is that okay, with you? It’s your house, after all – what? Oh, that’s a nice thing to say. Thank you. And Dark understands things. He told me about the Stares. He said they were – I’m not to say the name? All right. Maybe that’s wise. But they’re not the only ones out there. He says they’re drawn to magic, like moths to flames, that they steal it just as they steal everything else from the world of men, that the world they come from is very old and they want it back again, but they’re not quite strong enough on their own. So I feel as though we’re guardians, somehow. That we’re here to stop this happening.
I think I’d like a roof over my head for the winter, Mum. Is that all right? Do you mind Sam being here? Maybe until the baby comes. I don’t think Sam would want to stay living in a house forever but there are some things I’d like to do. There are some courses in woodland management that he was talking about…
Enough answers that Alys was reassured that her children, all long since grown anyway, had plans. That they did not need her, although they might think they did. A year and more without her, however inadvertent, had proved to them that they could manage on their own and so could the house, under Bee’s sterling management. Life had gone on without Alys, maybe not perfectly smooth (but nothing ever was) and would go on without her again.
She had reached the end of the landing and the door of the spare room. She listened for a moment, but there was no movement from Nell within. Their cousin would be flying back to the States at the weekend.
Bee – and all the girls – really have been fantastic, putting up with me for so long. But I promised the folks I’d be back home in time for Thanksgiving.
And did you get all your work done, Nell?
Their eyes, so similar, locking in mutual understanding. Nell’s hand straying to her stomach, a protective gesture, very familiar to Alys.
Yeah, I think I got everything done that I came here to do.
Nell had not asked where Alys had been all that time, and Alys had not told her.
She did not think she needed to.
Alys went down the stairs and reached the kitchen without anyone stirring. The spaniels were upstairs, sleeping illegally on someone’s bed. The black cat, Sable, gave her an indifferent look.
“Still not speaking to me, eh?”
She sat down by the warm range to put her boots on. Honestly, heading out to battle otherworldy forces in a fucking kaftan… For this trip, she’d dug out thermals and an Arran sweater. Heavy cords. Taking no chances. The kitchen really was cosy: it would be so easy to stay, but Alys had done easy for a lot of her life and she knew now that it wasn’t always the answer.
This time, however, she would leave a note in plain sight on the damn table. She wrote out about a page, with clear instructions, and weighted it down with a bowl of Bee’s still-dormant hyacinth bulbs.
I will, the note ended, be back for Christmas.
No one could surely have a problem with coming home at Christmas. People did it all the time.
She fished in the collar of her heavy sweater and took out a locket, spinning on a golden chain. That needed to stay here, too. She should have left it in the gemstone box. One last look. She flicked the catch and once more marvelled at the tiny miniature within: a young man in a ruff, a little bit like Ned Dark but with fair hair, standing in a meadow full of flowers. William Fallow, his likeness. At his side was a young woman, very beautiful, in a dress the colour of the sea. And, though the light was low, Alys could see that her lovely and familiar face had the faintest trace of blue.
She snapped the locket shut and put it on top of the note. Then she took a last quick look around the kitchen and opened the back door. It had started to rain. Alys grinned and stepped out into the wild and the wet.
Some time later, she stood alone with the antlered st
aff in her hand, looking out over the empty land. Without the thorns in her flesh, she felt as light as a leaf on the wind. She’d let herself be trapped but she wouldn’t be doing that again, wouldn’t make that mistake a second time. It wouldn’t be fair on anyone.
She had a thief to catch, after all.
So don’t fuck this up.
The land was dark and in the distance was the silver of the sea. There was salt on the wind, cutting through the cold. Time to start walking. She wondered where the old roads would take her this time, now that the gate to the Winter Kingdom had been shut: White Horse Country again, or the realm of the hollow hills, perhaps. That might not be a bad starting place, if dangerous. The lych path was faintly visible even though the light had nearly gone, glimmering green. Alys looked up and saw unfamiliar stars. Some day, she would know their names.
About the Author
Liz Williams is a science fiction and fantasy writer living in Glastonbury, England, where she is co-director of a witchcraft supply business. She has been published by Bantam Spectra (US) and Tor Macmillan (UK), also Night Shade Press, and appears regularly in Asimov’s and other magazines. She has been involved with the Milford SF Writers’ Workshop for 20 years, and also teaches creative writing at a local college for Further Education.
Her previous novels are:: The Ghost Sister (Bantam Spectra), Empire Of Bones, The Poison Master, Nine Layers Of Sky, Banner Of Souls (Bantam Spectra – US, Tor Macmillan – UK), Darkland, Bloodmind (Tor Macmillan UK), Snake Agent, The Demon And The City, Precious Dragon, The Shadow Pavilion (Night Shade Press) Winterstrike (Tor Macmillan), The Iron Khan (Morrigan Press) and Worldsoul (Prime). The Chen series is currently being published by Open Road.
Blackthorn Winter, the sequel to Comet Weather, is forthcoming from NewCon Press, and a non-fiction book on the history of British paganism, Miracles Of Our Own Making, will be published by Reaktion Books in 2020.
Her first short story collection The Banquet Of The Lords Of Night was also published by Night Shade Press, and her second and third, A Glass Of Shadow and The Light Warden, are published by New Con Press as is her recent novella, Phosphorus.
The Diaries if a Witchcraft Shop (volumes 1 and 2) are also published by New Con Press.
Her novel Banner Of Souls was shortlisted for the Philip K Dick Memorial Award, as were three previous novels, and the Arthur C Clarke Award.
