by Amy Wilson
‘Look deeper,’ he says, his voice a low, slow rumble that moves like thunder through the trees. ‘Ahead, and to your right, under the elm.’
I can’t tell an elm from a Christmas tree, but I look where he gestures, and deep down in the shadows is something that is nearly a badger. It’s the same size, and it has the same stripes, but there’s a spine of silver spikes down its back, and its coat sparkles like cut glass.
‘What kind of creature is that?’ I whisper, as it shuffles backwards with a high-pitched bark that makes my ears ring. Trees shudder around us, and there’s a sudden silence. Bavar grabs at my arm and pulls me away, and we run, faster and faster, until my head is spinning, my breath burning in my chest.
‘Bavar!’ I wrench myself away, staggering to a stop. ‘Don’t do that! You can’t just . . . you have to at least warn me when—’
‘When what?’ he asks, peering down at me. ‘When I’m pulling you out of danger?’
‘From sparkly badgers?’
He half smiles, shaking his head. He’s breathing nearly as hard as I am, I notice with some satisfaction. Clearly the supersonic thing takes a toll on him too.
‘You have to tell me, first.’
‘OK.’
‘And anyway, it didn’t look dangerous. It was beautiful.’
‘I never said it wasn’t,’ he mutters, trudging on through the undergrowth. I follow him. ‘But it’s not just the badgers. There are lots of creatures in these woods. Bigger than that, more dangerous.’
I stare at his back for a long time, a word winding around inside my head.
‘What?’ he demands, turning.
‘Magical?’
He returns my stare.
‘It’s that kind of place,’ he says. ‘Everything here . . . it’s all affected.’
‘By magic.’
He nods, his shoulders lifting.
‘And that’s why people don’t see you. That’s the thing, that makes you different?’
‘That’s part of it.’
He looks so uncomfortable. It’s almost hard to see him, like he’s getting smaller, disappearing into the shadows.
‘Don’t do that.’
‘What?’
‘You know what you’re doing. It won’t work. I see you. I saw you from the start.’
He frowns. ‘Why? Why did you see me, when everybody else doesn’t?’
‘I told you, I saw stuff. I guess that makes me special now.’
‘Aoife calls you my catalyst.’
‘What does that mean?’
‘I don’t know. We’re connected, somehow.’
‘I don’t know about catalysts . . .’ I mutter. I don’t really know about any of this, actually. Why am I here, in these spooky woods, with a monster-boy who smells of everything I was trying so hard to forget?
Because I can’t forget it. And then there he was, in my face at school. He shakes his head as I stare at him, and then the clouds above us start to glow orange. The black silhouette of something monstrous appears, high up in the sky.
‘We need to get out of here,’ says Bavar.
The sense of power rings stronger than ever in the air around him. My instincts tell me to step back, get away, but I ignore them, my heart beating hard in my ears as the dark shape gets closer.
‘What is that?’
‘Run!’ he hisses, grabbing me by the arm and pulling me with him, charging through the trees to the gate. A shuddering roar fills the air around us and I look up fearfully and realize it’s Bavar. Bats rise with a flurry of panic as the creature gets closer, the flap of its wings bringing back memories I’ve been trying to hold at bay.
‘Bavar!’
‘I see it!’ he shouts, pushing me behind him and stretching up as the monster gets closer. In an instant he is taller, broader. The creature flaps its wings, lowering its head to snap at us with vicious long teeth, and Bavar shouts as he reaches out. There’s a brief, violent scurry, and I don’t know whether it’s the words he uses or just the sheer strength of him, but somehow he beats the monster back, and it peels away into the stormy sky with a screech of fury.
‘What was that thing?’ I ask after a while. My heart is thumping so loud, I’m surprised he can’t hear it. He turns to me, still at full height, his eyes blazing. ‘Has it really gone?’
I refuse to quail.
‘For now,’ he says, taking a deep, shuddering breath. He looks me up and down. ‘But it’ll be back. So thanks for that.’
‘Why is it my fault?’
‘Well, nobody else is running through the woods like a fairy princess!’
I look down at myself, in my muddy leggings and the hoody that I outgrew about a year ago. ‘I think you have the wrong idea about fairy princesses.’
‘And you have the wrong ideas, generally,’ Bavar says, rubbing at his face and seeming somehow to fold in upon himself, until he’s plain, stooped old Bavar again. ‘Why can’t you just stay away?’
‘I’ve told you. Because I can’t. Because it matters.’
‘What do you think you can do about it anyway?’
‘I could fight!’
He shakes his head and starts to walk away, and I can’t stand it, I can’t take any more. I pull at him, and he turns back, his eyes wide with surprise. I guess he doesn’t get pulled around a lot. ‘I would fight,’ I say, my chest tight with it. ‘I will fight.’
‘Why? And what if that’s not the right thing to do? What if it makes a monster of you too?’
‘I don’t know. I guess I wouldn’t care.’
‘No, you wouldn’t.’ His eyes burn. ‘You wouldn’t care about anything. You’d be too far gone, on all your victories. You’d be a monster yourself, full of the fight and the kill and nothing else. No humanity left, you’d just spend your time celebrating, thinking how great you were, and then you’d make mistakes, and everything would go wrong . . .’
‘But at least I’d have tried!’
‘No!’ he shouts. ‘That’s what they did. And then it did all go wrong, and there were consequences . . .’ He shakes his head. ‘There’s a better way. There has to be a better way!’
‘What are you talking about, Bavar? Who made mistakes? What consequences?’ My heart skippers and twists and suddenly I don’t know if I’m ready for this after all.
‘Never mind,’ he says in a heavy voice, staring at me.
‘So what, then?’ I demand. ‘What’s the answer? What’s your better way?’
‘I’m trying to work that out,’ he says.
There’s a rustle in the bushes behind me, something bursts out running, and I yelp, springing forward into him. Caught off guard, he stumbles down the bank and we both end up in a heap in the mud.
‘What’s wrong with you?’ he howls, springing up and brushing off his backside, as a spotted deer bounces off into the darkness.
‘It startled me!’
‘The deer startled you?’ he huffs, making for the iron gate. ‘Monsters you can deal with, but one little deer and you’re all screamy.’
‘I was not screamy,’ I say, following him, my eyes constantly searching the darkness for other things that might pop out. ‘And it might have been some other kind of thing, and I might have just saved your life. So I think you could be a bit grateful.’
He glares back at me, and a strange expression crosses his face. I look down at myself, covered in mud, bits of twig sticking to me. When I look back he’s already marching on, his shoulders shaking.
I think he might be laughing.
‘What on earth happened to you?’ Aoife puts down her pen, her eyes wide. ‘Is there trouble?’
‘Definitely trouble,’ I mutter, heading for the fridge and pulling out the milk as she pushes her crossword aside. She loves crosswords, her spidery handwriting fills dozens of them all stacked on the shelves by the table.
‘You’re getting mud everywhere!’ she complains, standing as I get a glass out of the cupboard. ‘What sort of trouble, Bavar – should I be worried
?’
‘No, it’s fine. It’s just the girl.’
‘Your catalyst!’ says Aoife. ‘What has she been doing?’
‘She came into the woods. Found me there, disturbed a bit of the wildlife, that’s all.’
She was like a beacon in the gloom, as we trampled through the undergrowth, and shadows gathered thick and fast, and she didn’t even see them. She didn’t see the remnants of that other world that gather here, the bats and the half-bats and the lizards with fire on their tongues, she didn’t hear how they called to the raksasa to come, come quick because humanity is here.
Why does she see me so clearly? Why does she want to fight? I believe her when she says it, there’s a spark in her eyes, like she’d be happy just to lose herself in all this madness. But why? Is Aoife right? Is she really somehow connected?
‘And the mud?’ Aoife interrupts my thoughts, gesturing at my clothes.
‘We fell into a boggy bit.’
‘A boggy bit,’ she repeats, her lips twitching. ‘Well, I’m glad you were having fun out there.’
My cheeks get hot.
‘You saw her safely away, though?’ Her face grows serious.
‘No, I left her wandering in the darkness.’
‘Bavar!’
‘Yes, I saw her safely away. She’s fine. Also muddy.’ I finish the milk, put my glass by the sink. ‘I need to get changed.’
‘Bavar?’
‘Yes?’ I turn by the door.
‘What’s her name?’
I was kind of hoping not to have to tell them all. I know they’ll make a song and dance about it.
‘Angel,’ I mutter.
‘I beg your pardon?’
‘Angel.’
Her eyes widen, and the whole house erupts with a chorus of ‘ANGEL, ANGEL! BAVAR HAS FOUND AN ANGEL!’ Every portrait shouts it, all my ancestors bright-eyed with it; they’re insufferable, all the way up the stairs and down the corridor to my bedroom, where, fortunately, there are only paintings of ships.
‘Angel, you have to get up!’
‘It’s Sunday,’ I mutter into my pillow.
It’s Sunday and I’m trying to get nightmares out of my head.
‘And it’s eleven, and so it’s time to get up, young lady.’
There’s a firmness in Mary’s voice that wasn’t there before. Like she knows me better now, since the crumpet-bonding exercise, so she’s allowed to be stern. She’s standing in the doorway, arms folded. She wasn’t that impressed by the state of me when I got in last night; I was lucky to avoid a lecture.
‘Cup of tea?’ I wheedle.
‘Yes, downstairs in five minutes,’ she says, with a glimmer of a smile.
Hmph. I bet Bavar doesn’t have to deal with this kind of thing. I try to imagine what it’s like in that house. If the woods are filled with magical creatures, what sorts of things might live with him there? It’s probably full of strange people: a butler, with horns on his head and hoofs instead of feet; a cook who’s half horse – all of them there at his beck and call . . .
‘Angel!’
No such luck here. I haul myself out of bed, put my jeans and a jumper on, and slither down the stairs. My bones feel exhausted; it’s an effort just to get them to move. Mary hands me a mug of tea.
‘Get some air,’ she says. ‘You look like you need it. Pete’s doing some jobs outside, you can watch him.’ She gives me a sideways look. ‘Or even help . . .’
Too tired to argue, I plonk myself on the doorstep. It’s a bright morning, the air is crisp and it clears my throat, cuts through all the heaviness. Pete nods when he sees me there, with a little smile. He doesn’t say much, does Pete. He’s wearing a hat, to keep the sun off his face, I suppose – though it’s November, so that seems a bit unlikely. He’s painting the fence a brighter shade of white. Maybe he doesn’t want to get the paint on his head. He doesn’t have much in the hair department.
He’s so painstaking. After a while it starts to annoy me a bit. Up, down, neat straight lines, no rush, nothing but white paint, up and down.
‘Want to help?’
I shrug. ‘No?’
He nods and turns back to his work.
Oh for goodness sake.
‘Haven’t got painting clothes.’
‘I have old shirts . . .’
Dad-sized shirts. Oh no. No.
A massive wave, heading in my direction, of Dad. Please no. Not today.
‘Here,’ says Pete, scrambling up and thrusting the brush in my hand. ‘Screw the clothes, just do it.’
I’m too shocked to argue; I just do as I’m told. I paint until my wrist aches, until the cold is biting hard and there’s paint everywhere. On my hands, on my clothes, on the grass, and all over his neat fence, in messy great loops and swirls.
‘So, where did you get to yesterday, on your run?’ Pete breaks in eventually.
I give him a look. He ignores it, keeps on painting.
‘I was in the woods.’
‘The old manor woods?’
‘Yeah.’
‘Strange place. I’m not sure I’d want to go running there alone.’
‘I met a friend there . . . it was OK.’
‘They used to have a lot of parties up there,’ Pete says, halting in his work. ‘I think they were fairly spectacular. Sometimes, when the wind was blowing the right way, you’d hear the music and the chatter, even here. I always wondered what it was like.’
‘You never went?’
‘No! They had people travel in, I don’t know where from. We’d see them occasionally, driving through the High Street in enormous old cars. Very glamorous.’
‘But they don’t do that any more?’
‘Not for a year or so.’ He dips his brush in the paint. ‘It’s good that you have a friend here.’ He hesitates, starts painting again. ‘Don’t forget, you have us too.’
I don’t know what to say to that, so I attack the next fence panel, slapping white paint all over the place, wondering when he’s going to tell me to be careful, or to stop ruining his garden. But he doesn’t. After a while he fetches more tea and biscuits and we sit together on the step. I curl my brittle fingers around the mug and focus on just being here, breathing. Noticing the sky, the birds wheeling overhead. Pete, dunking a biscuit in his tea. Mika, winding around my ankles.
We never had a pet, at home.
‘He likes you.’ Pete smiles.
‘He’s not around much, is he?’
‘He’s a bit feral,’ Pete says. He gives me a meaningful look, as if to say that’s something we have in common.
Well. That’s OK.
I stroke the cat. The cat purrs. And I make a little promise to myself: I’m going to help Bavar. I don’t know what his life is like, in that house. I don’t know why the monsters strike there, or how he’s connected to what happened. I don’t know why he’s so scared of fighting. I just know that he seems more alone than even I am, right now, and so I’m determined. Whether he wants it or not, I’m ready for a fight. I’m ready to face the creatures there who tore my life apart.
Awake. For a moment I don’t know why. I stare into the darkness and listen to silence, and then a screech hits my spine. I scramble out of bed as Sal bursts in.
‘The girl is outside the wall! She’ll come in, Bavar!’
‘The girl?’ I swipe my robe from the chair by the bed, following him into the corridor.
‘Your catalyst! If she gets in, Bavar . . . if it gets a smell of human blood!’
Angel.
‘I’m going,’ I whisper through clenched teeth, racing away from him, down the stairs, adrenaline coursing through me. There’s no time to think, no time to hesitate. She’s not the sort of girl to stay outside the wall if she’s decided to come in.
The raksasa screeches as I fling open the front door and run down the steps. It flurries over my head, its enormous wings rustling. I duck my head as it dives down, a red-skinned, furious creature that has stalked my nightmares and my night-t
ime reality for as long as I can remember now. It fills the night sky, striving to break through the barrier to reach the girl outside the wall. I realize I can smell her blood. Her fear. I run towards the gate as she starts to scale the wall next to it, and by the time I get there she’s pulled herself to sit on top of it.
The creature flies at her just as I reach the gate.
‘Get down!’
The look on her face as I climb through brambles and reach up for her. She’s just watching the raksasa, her eyes shining. Like she’s daring it to come faster, come harder, because it’s just what she was waiting for.
I pull at her arm and brace myself as she falls into me. The raksasa screeches and hurls itself at us, and I’m holding on to the gate with one hand, Angel with the other. I bend forward to shield us both with my back, and she slips through my fingers, landing lightly on her feet below me as the creature thrusts its claws into my robe, its wings beating either side of my face. I tear the robe away and the raksasa wheels up into the sky, screeching.
It’s not done yet. I steady myself, turning on Angel.
‘Go. Run!’
She steps up to me, her eyes flicking between me and the raksasa.
‘No.’
‘You’re making it harder!’
She puts her hand on my chest.
‘You have to fight!’
‘No,’ I push her away, towards the gate. ‘Run!’
She staggers, falls. Looks up into the amber eyes of the raksasa, and howls.
The monster flies right at me. Oh, I know it’s madness. I’ve flipped. Lost it. But I couldn’t hear that sound in my dreams another night and do nothing. It’s like I’ve been sleeping for a year, and now I’m awake, and it’s electrifying. Bavar steps over me just as the thing gets within striking distance and puts his arm up to thrust it away. He seems to grow as he does it, as broad and long as the monster itself, shouting as he throws it on to the ground. Its wings beat against him and he bows his head, stretches up to the creature’s neck. Something roars, I can’t tell whether it’s Bavar or the monster, the air sparks around them and then there’s a massive crack and a new, absolute silence. An absolute stillness. The air rings with it.
