Mythfits

by Heide Goody

  Tiw bounded to the passenger side and let himself in. “Take me for a ride. I’ll fill you in on all the gossip!”

  Freya sighed. “We’ll see you both in little while. Come on Woden, let’s get the mead ready.”

  Woden hesitated. “Can’t I go in Loki’s chariot too?”

  Freya’s lips thinned. “Fine.”

  *

  They drove along with Tiw whooping at the speed and sticking his head into the wind.

  “Woden wants to go travelling,” he said to Loki. “He was thinking of taking Sleipnir, his daft old nag. Tell him Loki: he should get a car like this.”

  “Don’t you talk about my noble steed like that.” Woden shouted from the back seat.

  “It so happens that I was planning a trip myself,” said Loki. “You could come too, if you want to share the adventure.”

  Tiw bounced in his seat. “Oh yeah! Let’s go with Loki. Come on Woden, it’ll be great!”

  “Where are you going?” Woden asked.

  “Wisbech. I need to collect something I left there a while ago. It’ll probably take a few days, so we won’t be going in the Ferrari.”

  Woden and Tiw slumped with a chorus of subdued moaning.

  “I’ve got a motorhome for trips like that,” Loki continued.

  They brightened at this. “Cooool!”

  They went back to tell Freya about their plans. She raised an eyebrow but said nothing.

  “You can come if you want to,” ventured Tiw.

  “In a motorhome with three men? I don’t think so. I’ll be fine here for a few days, I’ve got plenty to do.”

  “Who’ll make our dinner?” Tiw stage whispered to Woden.

  “We’ll go to a pub for food,” said Loki.

  Tiw grinned and rushed to pack his bag. Woden smiled at Freya.

  “Well why don’t you all get ready while I make the last decent meal you’ll have for a while,” she said.

  “I’ll go and swap the Ferrari for the motorhome,” Loki said. “Am I invited too?”

  “Yes.” Freya flared her nostrils. “Sure.” She went to the kitchen.

  *

  After eating, they all piled out to explore the boys’ home for the next few days.

  “Wow, it’s enormous,” gasped Woden.

  ‘Enormous’ hardly did it justice. It seemed to have been converted from a bus, all resemblances to a standard vehicle long gone. It was carpeted throughout with a plush blue carpet that extended up the walls. The beds were on a raised platform in the rear, but most of the space was given over to chairs and a huge entertainment system.

  “You know I thought it would be one of those little VW things,” said Tiw, “I reckon that TV is bigger than most VW vans.”

  Freya opened a cupboard. “Well you’re all right for mead I think,” she said tartly, surveying rows of bottles.

  *

  A little later Freya waved them off. They drove away in high spirits.

  “How far is it to Wisbech?” Tiw asked.

  “Only a couple of hours,” said Loki. “We’ll be there before it’s dark, to give us a chance to look round.”

  When they pulled up, it was approaching twilight.

  “Aren’t we staying at a camp site?” Woden asked as he got out to look round the desolate flatlands.

  “No. We’ve got everything we need in the van. If I put a small enchantment on it, we won’t be troubled by the police while we’re here.”

  “But why here?” asked Tiw. “It’s in the middle of nowhere.”

  “I’ll show you,” answered Loki.

  They walked a little way along the side of a river bank before Loki turned off and led them into a damp meadow.

  “See, this is what we’ve come for,” said Loki, indicating an area of ground.

  “What? I can’t see anything,” grumbled Woden.

  “Well it’s underground. Will you help me dig?” Loki threw them shovels, “I just need to get something out of the van.”

  Woden and Tiw glanced at each other. They leaned on the shovels as Loki walked back to the motorhome. A moment later a flap in the rear hinged open and an engine started. A mini-digger reversed out of the tiny, on-board garage, with Loki at the wheel. He grinned as he drove it up to them.

  “We need to go down a few feet,” he said. “Might be a bit more. That’s why I thought we’d need some help.”

  Each had a go with the digger. It soon became clear that Woden had no idea which control did what after he’d slammed the bucket into the ground for the umpteenth time. Tiw and Loki took turns and after a few hours they had a sizeable hole.

  “Full moon,” said Woden. “Clear as day. Do you know it’s past midnight, Loki?”

  “Oh yes,” said Loki, “but I want to finish this before tomorrow.”

  Tiw yelled from the controls of the digger. “There’s something down there!” He waggled the bucket over the hole, trying to point.

  Grabbing a shovel, Loki leaped into the hole and gestured at Tiw to reverse the digger. All three of them scraped with the shovels; after a few minutes something circular was exposed.

  “It looks like a wheel,” said Woden. “A really old one.”

  Tiw frowned. “Yeah. Looks like a wagon, on its side.”

  “That’s exactly what it is.” Loki grinned. “It’s part of the baggage train lost by King John in 1216.”

  Woden and Tiw stopped digging and stared at him. “The one with the crown jewels?” whispered Tiw.

  Loki winked. “Yup.”

  “Rubbish,” said Woden “Every schoolboy knows that King John’s baggage train was lost in the Wash. We must be miles from there.”

  “We are,” agreed Loki, “but a great deal of land has been recovered from the sea since then. Take it from me: I was driving the wagon.”

  “You were driving the wagon?” Woden bellowed. Then he calmed, cocked his head and considered. “Of course you were driving the wagon. It’s just the sort of thing you would do. You deprived King John of his entire fortune.”

  “The man was a worthless worm. It’s my job to shake things up when they need it, and so I did. He died a few days later, although I can’t claim credit for that. Anyway, it’s time we got some of those treasures back into circulation. There’s a recession on, and we need to eat.”

  Woden and Tiw cheered and scrambled to release the wagon from the wet, black mud slurping at their ankles. Eventually they uncovered a large oak chest, black and slimy with age, and hauled it up out of the hole.

  Loki produced a crowbar and levered off the lid as the first rays of dawn glowed in the east. They all held their breath as the lid creaked open, and leaned forward to peer inside. They leaned forward a little more, in case they’d missed something. No, the chest was empty.

  “I don’t understand.” Loki said flatly.

  “There’s something carved on the inside of the lid,” said Tiw.

  They scraped away the black gunge and traced the lettering with their fingers.

  Treasure needs a careful housekeeper,

  and King John should take care who serves him mead.

  There was a sketch of a cat to sign the message.

  They all looked at each other. “Freya.” said Woden, recognising her cat signature.

  “She was the one who poisoned King John.” Tiw added.

  “And she TOOK MY TREASURE!” Loki spat, stamping his feet in rage.

  *

  Freya ignored the endlessly ringing phone, carefully polishing some of her favourite pieces.

  She ran a soft duster over a coronet which sparkled with rubies, and smiled at it lovingly. With a sigh of pleasure she took a sip of mead from her favourite golden goblet; the same one which King John had used all those years ago.

  WITCH GAMES

  This year Matilda was hosting the Games. It was eight years since she’d last been host and she knew it was an opportunity to show how things should be done. Wise women from across Warwickshire and the neighbouring counties would be coming
together to demonstrate their skills.

  It was important to keep things discreet. Wouldn’t do to attract undue attention to the Games, where witches paraded their skills and generally let their hair down. Everyone attending was well-practised in the fine art of disguising witchcraft as traditional country lore. The tents had been erected and furnished with rugs, chairs and tables. There were braziers to warm the interiors against the frosty December air. Everything was covered by a protective ward, so that non-magical folk would walk straight past if they strayed into this particular part of Aston Hall’s extensive grounds.

  Matilda checked things over one last time and waited at the entrance of the main tent for the others to arrive. Prompt arrival at the Games was expected; they should be here at any moment.

  Shona was first to arrive. Her advanced years did nothing to dim the red of her hair. She always swore that she didn’t use henna to keep it bright, but Matilda wasn’t sure.

  “Welcome Shona! It’s good to see you,” said Matilda.

  “Can’t believe it’s been a year,” said Shona.

  “Need a hand unloading?”

  “And have you looking at my best and most secret treasures? No chance. You’ll see everything during the course of the Games.”

  “As you wish.”

  “Want a snack? I brought some really good griddle cakes.”

  “Nice try Shona, nice try. Food will be prepared by someone local who isn’t participating. We don’t want another 1628, do we? The privy at Tutbury is still boarded up.”

  Shona chuckled gently and went to attend to her train of broomsticks: wild unruly things that only she could manage. In sharp contrast, the next arrival pulled up with a small team of sleek, polished thoroughbreds. The largest of them was expertly guided in by a blonde woman whose elegant, patrician appearance was unruffled by the ride.

  “Elizabeth: welcome! Have you replaced your broomsticks again?” Matilda ran an envious hand over the smooth, unpocked grain.

  “Brand new. Aren’t they gorgeous?” said Elizabeth with a smile. “I donated the old ones to the Sanctuary, so my conscience is clear.”

  Matilda nodded with approval. The Sanctuary was a place that took in young girls who’d been rejected by their families and communities. Some were pregnant with no support, some troubled by madness, and others simply too outspoken. The Sanctuary turned no girl away and a surprising number turned out to be witches. It was in everyone’s interest to keep it well provided with help and equipment.

  “Is The Sanctuary sending a team this year?” asked Shona as she passed by, unloading boxes into the tent.

  “I believe so,” said Elizabeth. “You’ll hear them before you see them.”

  Shona gave Elizabeth a questioning look as she ushered her broomsticks away to relax. “What do you mean?”

  “When Turnip started selling muffins, she put a music charm on her broomstick so her customers can hear her coming. She says it works wonders for her sales, but she never bothers turning it off. You know what she’s like.”

  Matilda and Shona both nodded. Turnip O’Malley was held in the highest regard, but she was eccentric. Even by other witches’ standards.

  “Does it play Greensleeves?” asked Matilda, whose hearing was very keen. Elizabeth nodded. “They’re just coming.”

  Moments later, they were shouting a greeting to Turnip and her retinue of junior witches. The broomstick’s rendition of Greensleeves was so loud the usually gentle strumming was distorted into ear-splitting booms. They were all relieved when Turnip released her broomsticks into the pasture with the others.

  Matilda went into the tent, now buzzing with activity. Everyone was busy, except for Turnip, who relaxed on a stool while her young helpers ran around, arranging their boxes behind one of the tables which would be used for displays.

  “Can I have your attention?” called Matilda. “I have laid on some modest refreshments in the tent next door. Afterwards we will carry out the judging on the first event of the Games: the herb show. Please put your herbs on display now so that we can see all the entries on our return.”

  The refreshment tent was smaller, with chairs so that the witches could sit and chat. They settled down with some candied fruits and elderflower cordial.

  “Turnip, would you introduce your team to us?” asked Matilda, indicating the three younger women standing by Turnip’s chair.

  “Delighted,” said Turnip, nibbling a quince slice. She counted the girls off with her free hand. “Sally here has been with us for nearly a year. She’s a marvel with plants and animals.”

  A blonde with an open, smiley face gave a neat curtsey to the group.

  Turnip turned to a dark haired girl. “Alison here communes with her dead grandmother a great deal. She could probably find out anything you like, but granny’s quite playful. Often gives poor advice, just to make things interesting.”

  Alison glared sullenly at the group. Turnip gave her a gentle nudge, prompting her to force out a smile.

  “Last but not least, we’ve got Mo,” said Turnip. “There are plenty of people who should be ashamed of the way that they treated her before she came to us. She doesn’t say a lot, but I think Mo’s going to surprise us all one day soon, aren’t you love?”

  Mo looked up through dark curls with a shy smile.

  Turnip settled back in her chair and introduced the older witches to her charges. “Now girls, here is Matilda of Aston, our host. Elizabeth of Gloucester who has some very wealthy patrons and was kind enough to let us have those splendid broomsticks that you’re using. And finally, Shona of Derby, who tells everyone that she’s descended from Queen Boudicca. Maybe she is. She does have a knack of getting her own way. Pay attention to these ladies and you might learn something.”

  Elizabeth leaned forward. “Thank you Turnip. These girls are a credit to you.”

  Turnip gave a small nod of thanks.

  “Tell us, Matilda,” said Elizabeth. “With all the skirmishes going on, haven’t you been tempted to go somewhere a bit quieter? A lot of people are avoiding the company of anyone with political connections.”

  Matilda shrugged. “The way I see it, a witch will be needed to patch up the poor souls when they’ve finished knocking bits off each other. All we have to do is keep out of the way, and make sure we’re well stocked with poultices.”

  The witches all nodded and sipped their drinks.

  A few minutes later they returned to the main tent for the herb judging. As judge for the day, Matilda headed up the line. Each entrant was required to pick a selection of herbs and then arrange them in a ball of clay. They stopped first at Elizabeth’s table.

  “Nice work,” said Matilda. “The bay leaves are very glossy. I like that background you’ve formed with them. I see you found some rosemary still in flower. It forms a delightful counterpoint to the fennel, which is quite, quite dead.”

  “It wasn’t dead when we left this tent,” said Elizabeth with a frown. “It was green and it still had its flowers.”

  “Don’t be defensive, Elizabeth. We can all make mistakes. Let’s move on and look at Shona’s, shall we? Oh—”

  Matilda stopped in front of Shona’s table. There was a ball of clay bristling with bald sticks, like a hedgehog with a bad hair day. Caterpillars dropped from some of the sticks, and crawled across the table.

  “Not acceptable!” yelled Shona. “Someone’s put a pestilence curse on this! Which one of you did this?”

  Matilda held up a hand for silence. “Now, Shona. We mustn’t let emotions get the better of us. Let’s move on to Turnip’s display and then we’ll consider what might be happening here.”

  They walked to Turnip’s table where a healthy spray of herbs fanned artfully out of the base. The colours of the flowers ranged from light blue through to a warm purple. Matilda sniffed appreciatively. Turnip’s display enveloped them all with a delicate fragrance.

  “Stunning work, Turnip. I think the herb round goes to you.”

  “Tha
t’s not fair!” hollered Shona. “Look at the others: they’ve clearly been cursed.”

  Matilda returned to Shona’s display. “I think the cluster of ragwort behind your table might have hosted that colony of caterpillars. You’re duty bound to ensure that the environment is to your satisfaction, so I’m afraid the blame lies with you for not checking. As for Elizabeth’s fennel being a little drier than she recalled, I hardly think that’s the stuff of curses. Now shall we all calm down a little and move on to the summoning round?”

  There was a low pitched grumbling from Elizabeth and Shona, but the witches busied themselves preparing for the next event. Matilda was relieved. Cheating was a big part of the Games, but a wise host tried to keep things calm. Especially in the early rounds.

  “Ladies: you will each summon an entity of your choice. You will be scored on the summoning, and on the interaction your entity has with the audience. Shona, you may go first.”

  Shona stepped forward, closed her eyes, and made a series of gestures. It looked as though she was patting a small, invisible pony. Everyone remained silent: a summoning required absolute concentration. A woman’s shape came into focus, shimmering in the air before Shona.

  “Behold, I present Boudicca, warrior queen!” bellowed Shona.

  The manifestation grew more solid and stood tall, looking her audience in the eye. Her manner of dress was old fashioned, but there was no doubting her self-assurance.

  “Interesting,” said Boudicca, inspecting the group. “I expect a council of kings or high ranking politicians would perhaps have call to disturb my rest. This audience appears somewhat … informal. Tell me your reason for bringing me here.”

  Elizabeth spoke. “Your most revered majesty. We are your humble servants, and beg that you share your wisdom with us. We have some questions for you.”

  “Go ahead,” said Boudicca. “I expect you will want my thoughts on the current conflict, and the military tactics being employed. I have strong opinions on both the quality of soldiers and the nature of their leaders. Battles have been lost that might easily have been won. It’s clear that someone of my experience might change the course of things entirely—”