Myths and Magic

by Kevin Partner

  “Although how Jessie will ever get over this, I just don’t know. Things’ll never be the same again, that’s for sure.”

  No-one had moved by the time Bill returned. He walked into the farm yard and gave the bucket to Mother Hemlock, who nodded.

  “Thanks, lad,” she sighed, “now it’s really important you don’t go doin’ anything stupid. This ain’t the time for heroics, it’s the time for rescuin’ somethin’ out of a bad lot.”

  A confused Bill backed away and went to stand with Gramma and Velicity.

  “Here,” Mother Hemlock said, holding out the bucket to Odius. “Take it and release my daughter, though why you want to destroy the vessels is beyond me.”

  “What makes you think I want to destroy them? No, Mother Hemlock, before you hand it to me, you will empty your power into it.”

  Velicity and Gramma let out an audible gasp. Mother Hemlock’s jaw dropped open, and she shook her head slowly.

  “You can’t have my gift, you fool, it’d kill you,” she said.

  “Indeed, I cannot have the gift, as I am not of this world. But therefore, the vessel cannot harm me once your power is inside. Now, do it,” he edged the knife nearer Brianna’s neck.

  “But, what about them,” Mother Hemlock said, pointing at Velicity and Gramma. “You didn’t take their gifts.”

  Odius nodded.

  “Thank you for reminding me.” Carefully, while still holding the knife to Brianna’s throat, he reached down to a cloth bag at his feet. He drew out a copper mirror and a copper clock.

  “What the bloody hell?” Gramma cried. “That’s my clock, that is, but it were broken, I saw it with my own eyes!”

  The vagrant leader was now shaking with laughter. “You fell for it! How delicious! The fragments were fakes. Very good fakes, I must say, but counterfeit nonetheless. Now, if you please, ladies, I will have your power or the girl dies.”

  Brianna let out a shriek as the knife sliced into her skin and drew blood.

  “Let her be!” cried Mother Hemlock and, without another word, she closed her eyes. The bucket glowed with a green light before returning to its normal form. Mother Hemlock fell to her knees and sobbed as Odius grabbed the bucket from her.

  “If I ever get my ‘ands on Stinky Willy, he’ll be nothin’ more than plain Stinky by the time I’ve finished with ‘im,” Gramma growled.

  But she, too, sunk to the ground as the power was taken from her and sat there, just a small old woman.

  Velicity tried to retain her composure, but she was shaking as she took the mirror from Odius. The copper mirror glowed, and she was just a pretty girl, looking lost.

  Bill had been fighting to hold back his temper and he felt the heat rising, but he happened to be watching Mother Hemlock as she looked up at him and shook her head.

  “Let her go,” Bill said.

  Odius chuckled. “And why should I do that?”

  He brought his knife to bear on Brianna’s throat and cut. Blood spurted from her as she fell, and their enemy leapt away with his prizes.

  Bill caught her.

  “No!” He shouted as his clothes became spattered in crimson.

  Velicity was the first of the women to recover.

  “Heat! Cauterise her.”

  And then the mob was upon them, dragging the three ex-witches away. One of the vagrants rushed up to Bill, as if to attack him, but, instead, knelt beside him. Despite the fear and panic, Bill was almost overcome by the stench.

  “They’re bein’ taken to the lockup in Crapplecreek. Make sure Gramma knows that I was truly sorry, I didn’t know what I was gettin’ into.”

  The stink left, and Bill looked down at Brianna.

  He was her last hope, there was no other way of staunching the blood. Her father had come running up from the farmhouse door when he saw her fall, and now he held her. “Do somethin’ lad, quick!”

  Bill closed his eyes and imagined his arms filling with fire. But he wasn’t calm enough, his emotions were overwhelming him. Focus, he said to himself. And then he saw Brianna’s face and his mind’s eye moved down her chin to her neck, to the place where she’d been cut.

  With his eyes still closed, he pressed fingers to the slash and felt warm blood flowing over them. He felt a wave of emotion and the fire came, sweeping down his arms and into his hands. He directed it to the thumb and finger of his right hand and let it go. Brianna screamed and writhed under him, then the air was full of the smell of burning skin and flesh. He let her go and opened his eyes.

  On her neck was a raw patch of pink skin and surrounding her was blood, but no blood came now from her neck. She was unconscious, and she might have been scarred for life, but she was breathing and not bleeding.

  Bill sank back and looked to see the torches of the mob disappearing onto the lane. “We should go after them,” he said to Flem.

  “No, lad. Brianna needs us to tend her, and we can’t take on that mob.”

  “I could,” Bill said, anger fuelling him now.

  Flem shook his head. “No. Jessie and the others kept your secret. You’ll have cause to use your power when the time’s right but, for now, we must make sure my daughter survives. She lost a lot of blood. Help me get her inside.”

  Bill grabbed Brianna’s legs and, together, they carried her to the bedroom he’d been occupying. As he carried her, and despite being exhausted and devastated, Bill couldn’t help remembering the emotion, he’d felt when he conjured heat to save Brianna. He’d never felt it before, and yet he knew exactly what it was.

  Chapter 19

  The Faerie King danced with delight.

  “He has done it, Bently! Finally, he has redeemed himself. We have the vessels!”

  Bently watched his master with concern. It certainly made a nice change for him to be happy rather than incandescent, but Bently knew that his master’s mood was fragile.

  “What of the final vessel, master?” he said, bowing so low that his hands scraped the floor, thus presenting a smaller target.

  “Oh, fear not, dear Bently!” Humunculus said, pausing from his dance. “The fire vessel was destroyed - in a fire! How delightful.”

  Bently nodded, which, in his current posture, meant his head connected with the marble floor-tiles.

  “But can we be certain, my lord?” he simpered.

  “Bently, Bently, Bently. My dear, faithful, servant,” said the king, causing waves of fear to ripple through the crouching figure. “I am confident that my source is reliable in this, if nothing else. And, in any case, it took all four vessels to defeat me last time.”

  Bently was true to a fault and so, risking his own skin, he completed his point. “But the staff: that hasn’t been recovered, Lord.”

  “You are quite ruining my mood, Bently,” the King said. Oddly, this relaxed his servant as he was used to dealing with a surly master, it was a happy lord he struggled with. “But even if the staff did still exist, it needs the power of a vessel to function and a wielder with the gift of magic. General Odius has ensured that no such wielders breathe anymore. Now, really, Bently, relax and enjoy our victory. All we await now is the arrival of our lady’s two sons to release us. And if they don’t come of their own accord, I shall send the General after them now that he has returned to the fold. All is well, my dear Bently.”

  The old servant straightened up with the air of a reprieved man. “Very good, master. Shall I fetch some refreshments?”

  “Indeed! Nectar and Honey Syrup, if you please!” cried Humunculus, resuming his dancing.

  Bently bowed and reversed out of the room. He didn’t feel like dancing, even if he’d been capable. For some reason, he was still troubled.

  It wasn’t until the evening of the day after the attack on the farm that Brianna woke up. She was groggy at first, and Flem hadn’t allowed Bill to talk to her. In fact, the farmer had remained by her bedside throughout, stubbornly refusing Bill’s repeated offers to relieve him. But, when she finally woke up, it was Bill she wanted to s
peak to, and the farmer relented.

  “Don’t tire her out, mind,” he said. Bill rather suspected that Flem blamed him, at least in part, for the sequence of events that had led to his daughter nearly being killed. It wasn’t fair, but Bill couldn’t be cross with him as he felt guilty enough himself.

  “Thank you,” Brianna said. “Dad told me what you did, though I don’t remember any of it, really. I was just hiding in the barn, like mum had told me, and then I woke up here. Dad’s told me enough about what happened, but I want to hear it from you now, you have more understanding of what you saw than he would.”

  Bill sat beside her bed and recounted the events of the previous night, as well as he remembered them. Brianna gasped when he told her of the walking oak that was now firmly rooted in the middle of the farmyard. But then she sobbed when he described the humiliation of Mother Hemlock, Gramma and Velicity.

  “They’ve been taken to the lockups in Crapplecreek, or so I was told by a particularly fragrant vagrant.”

  “They’re just normal people, now,” Brianna sobbed. “Except worse cos they know how it feels to have power and now they’ve lost it. And, so have I - I’ll never inherit the gift now. I know that sounds petty.”

  Bill smiled. “Not at all. But why do you think they wanted the vessels and to take power from the three of them?”

  Brianna pulled herself up so she was sitting with her back to the headboard.

  “It’s hard to say,” she said, miserably. “Maybe someone wants to use it for their own ends. I guess the magic would sell for a pretty price. Whoever touches each vessel will receive the gift, but how they’ll know whether the receiver is compatible, I can't imagine. And if they’re not, well, it’ll be a world of a mess, and I wouldn’t like to be nearby.”

  “What would happen?” Bill asked.

  “At worst, they’d die instantly as the magic courses through their bodies - imagine if the fire you felt was really capable of burning you from the inside,” she said, perking up somewhat. “At best, they’d go insane, and you’d have some pretty dangerous mad wizards and witches running around with no drawers on.”

  “And then what would happen to the magic?”

  Brianna shrugged. “I don’t know. Perhaps it would flow back into the vessel, if it was nearby. Perhaps it would be lost, just as if a gift bearer died without a vessel nearby or someone to receive it.”

  They sat silently, each mulling over the events before Bill finally said. “Sorry about your neck, the burn must hurt.”

  Brianna smiled. “Don’t be stupid. Sure, it hurts, but at least I’m alive to feel the pain. Beats the alternative. You did the right thing.”

  “It was Velicity who told me to cauterise the wound, I’m not sure I’d have thought of it otherwise.”

  “Really? Well, perhaps she’s right that I jump to judgements too easily. It seems I owe her thanks too.”

  Bill got up. “But, for now, you need rest. I’ll get you some soup - your dad’s made it but it tastes alright. Get better and then we can decide what we’re going to do.”

  Brianna pulled herself back down the bed.

  “What can we do? The magic’s gone, and my mum and the others are locked up in gaol. You have power, but you can’t control it. And if you reveal it they’ll steal it from you too. Anyway, even if you were a master like Vokes, you couldn’t take on the entire garrison at Crapplecreek.”

  “For now, you can recover a bit. I’ll know when you’re on the mend when you stop feeling sorry for yourself and start working on ways to get revenge on those who stole from us,” Bill said.

  He got up and walked to the door, turning just as he was leaving to see Brianna lying in bed, her eyes closed. An odd warmth surged from his stomach and, for a moment, he feared he might “go off” but it wasn’t the heat of fire that he felt, it was something else entirely. Something that, if anything, frightened him even more.

  “Come, there is something I want you to see,” the Faerie King said, black silk flying as he gestured.

  The woman, Astria, had just been led into the chamber. She was dressed in the finest clothes made by the most skilled tailors in the realm and, at a glance, she was beautiful again. But a moment’s inspection revealed a different truth - her face was drawn, her skin translucent and her hair, though tidier than it had been, was unnaturally short.

  With her was a man who was much older than her. He was also dressed in fine robes of scarlet but, if anything, he was in even worse shape than her. His once luxuriant white beard was now thinning, and his eyes betrayed his utter loss of hope.

  Humunculus beckoned them over to a balcony. They were in a high tower of the castle built where the Brightworld and theirs connected.

  The old man and the woman looked out. The balcony gave a view onto a vast plain, curtained by mountain ranges that stomped across the horizon. It was somewhere around midday, but the sun never shone in the Darkworld, its light was filtered by the permanent cover of dark clouds. But there was no mistaking what was gathering on the plain.

  “Now that my plans are coming to final fruition, it is fitting that you should see what you have helped to make happen,” said the king, sweeping his arm across the plain. “Behold, the Host of Fairie.”

  The woman gripped the hand of the old man as they gazed down. Rank upon rank, file upon file, of black and grey clad figures stood glimmering in the gloom like an army of ghosts.

  Humunculus watched their expressions with delight.

  “I must thank you both for your aid, without which I should never have succeeded. You, my dear, I thank for providing the means of my escape. My spies tell me that the boy is being most determined in his search and will be here soon to release me,” he said, before turning to the old man. “And you, I thank for providing me with the information needed to ensure that, once I am free to travel between worlds, no power exists to ever prevent me again. Without the precise locations of each vessel and knowledge of its powers, I could not possibly have been so secure.”

  “You did what?” shrieked the woman, suddenly becoming animated. “Why father?”

  The old man shook his head. “I had no choice. He would have killed you if I hadn’t acquiesced.”

  “Then you should have let me die!” the woman said, her voice echoing around the chamber.

  “I cannot lose you!” sobbed the old man. “I have lost everyone else dear to me.”

  “And you have lost me also, for he will not let us survive.”

  Humunculus chuckled. “Oh, I wouldn’t be so sure of that. I like my pets, and it’s always good to put on a show. Now, wave at my army, unless you want to endure a most uncomfortable night.”

  The old man and his daughter waved listlessly at the multitude, which roared its approval back at them.

  “Soon, now, my soldiers. The door will be open, and we will sweep through to bring the Brightworld under our dominion and destroy all those that oppose us.”

  Gramma's voice echoed in the dark. “If I ever get my ‘ands on that Stinky Willy, e’ll get the leatherin’ of ‘is life!”

  “Jessie,” said another voice, younger but also sadder.

  There was a shuffling as a body rolled over. “What?”

  “What are we going to do? We can’t just sit here.”

  “Seems to me we has no choice. Our time has passed.”

  “I say, if I ever get my ‘ands on that Stinky Willy, oh the leatherin’ ‘e’ll get,” repeated Gramma for the umpteenth time.

  The younger voice said. “Oh, come on now, Jessie, that’s not like you. Where’s your spunk? Where’s the Mother Hemlock we all know and…” there was a moment’s hesitation, “...love.”

  “Mother Hemlock’s gone into that vessel, I’m just plain Mrs Hemlock, farmer’s wife. That’s if Flem’ll ever look at me again.”

  “What d’you mean?” asked the younger voice.

  In the gloom, Jessie Hemlock’s body could be seen hauling itself upright and leaning against the damp stone wall of their c
ell.

  “Our daughter’s dead, more than likely,” she said.

  There was an impression of hair flying back and forth. “Not necessarily. I told William to cauterise it. He might have succeeded.”

  “He’s got a good heart, that lad, but he can’t control the fire yet. The best we can hope for is that he ended it quick for her.”

  The owner of the younger voice moved closer. “You underestimate him. Yes, he is unpredictable when he fuels his flame with anger or fear but, unless I’m very much mistaken, another emotion was at play when he was tending to Brianna.”

  “Well, you go on hopin’ then, cos I’ve got none left.”

  “That Stinky Willy, if I catch ‘im, there’ll be ‘ell to pay. That’s all I’m sayin’.”

  “What’s your alternative to hope, then, Jessie?” the younger voice said, with a touch of anger. “Just to sit here and wither away while Bill is left to face that blasted pale man and his master?”

  There was a perceptible shrug. “That’s about the size of it. I ain’t got nothing left to give.”

  Gramma somehow managed to poke them both. “Oh, stop your scrikin’, Jessie Hemlock. That Stinky Willy is due a bloody good ‘iding magic or no magic, and I intend to give it ‘im. Now, I’ve got the brains of a rockin’ ‘orse so it’s up to you two to faggle a way out of ‘ere, so get to fagglin’!”

  Silence fell like a piano, except for the occasional drip and the scurrying of rodents. Not far away, a smelly old man woke out of a nightmare, his ears burning, and panic in his heart.

  Chapter 20

  Brianna had awoken that morning with a little more of her customary spirit and, as if to prove it, had instructed her father that she was getting up whether he liked it or not. Bill had seen the relief on Flem Hemlock’s face as he was berated. His daughter was recovering and, equally importantly, he was being told what to do. Some approximation of the natural order of things had reasserted itself.