The colour drained from Vokes’ face. He shuddered, and his lips began to move. Bill crouched so that his ears were beside the wizard’s mouth and then the old man moved no more.
And for the second time that day, a horn sounded in the distance.
Chapter 33
What did he say to you? That question was repeated over and over on the way back to Hemlock’s Farm. Bill had been barely conscious of the journey passing, he’d walked in a fugue of exhaustion, grief and simple disbelief at what had happened over the past few days. He’d heard the horns and the cries of “Fitzmichael, Fitzmichael” and felt the tension in the air evaporate. Chortley’s father had arrived, and the forces of the Faerie King were being routed.
Seeing that they were no longer needed and, Bill suspected, keen to disassociate themselves from mad rumours about walking trees, trapped wind and tidal waves, the three witches had accompanied Bill, Brianna, Blackjack and a bound and gagged Odius from the battlefield and back to the farm. Flaxbottom had been found near the bottom of the hill, bruised and bloodied but alive, and she was sitting astride a stray horse. Half way across the downs they were met by a decrepit cart hitched to a donkey. Beside it stood a vaguely familiar figure, smiling nervously.
“Stinky Willy, is that you?” Gramma said, squinting in the gathering dusk.
The figure saluted, and Bill saw that it was, indeed, Stinky Willy Clitheroe. Or, at least, he had been Stinky Willy - this man looked as though he’d spent a morning soaking in the river, his previously filthy clothes now clean to the extent that Bill was prepared to take a guess at their original colour. Willy stood with his hand attached to his clean forehead, his hair plastered across his skull in an outrageous, but well intentioned, comb over and sporting a large white flower in his buttonhole.
“I ain’t smelly no more, Mistress,” said the vagrant formerly known as Stinky, “I saw them trees walkin’, and I knew I needed to be here to give you a ride home if you’ll let me.”
Gramma came to a halt within sniffing distance.
“Aye, you smell like a big bockle of perfume, lad.”
She thought for a moment.
“I s’pose I can’t call you Stinky no more.”
Willy smiled and nodded.
“You’ll ‘ave to settle for bein’ plain old Big Willy for the time bein’,” Gramma continued and the tramp’s smile, if anything, broadened.
And so now they sat in the parlour. Gramma was snoring on the bench that served as her bed while, beside her, Velicity slouched with her head in her hands, flinching at every snort. Brianna and Bill shared one of the armchairs, his arm around her as she dozed. Mother Hemlock’s chair was empty as she was tending to Blackjack who’d been installed in Brianna’s bedroom. Bill had wanted to stay with his father but had been perfunctorily dismissed and had sloped off downstairs to wait.
So, the questions had finally ceased, and those that were conscious were each engrossed in their own thoughts. As Bill watched the ghostly forms in the flames dance and writhe, he thought of his grandfather. Mother Hemlock had said there was always a price to be paid for the gift they’d each received. If Vokes had gained the magic at the cost of his sanity, Bill wondered whether he wanted anything to do with it and, indeed, whether perhaps he was already tainted. After all, the mad often thought they were as sane as he was, sitting here, thinking that very thought.
Bill’s self-destructive reverie was broken as Mother Hemlock returned to the parlour and dropped into her spot by the fire.
“He’ll he okay,” she said, “at least physically. As for the cost to his mind, only time will tell.”
Bill took a deep breath. “Thank you, Mother Hemlock.”
She shook her head. “It’s us what should be thanking you, lad. That was a stroke of genius, givin’ the King the gift. He must have thought he had the power of a god, for a few moments at least. Trouble with Faeries, they got massive eagles.”
“Don’t you mean egos?” Bill asked before he could stop himself.
“I prefers the full form, lad. It’s traditional.”
Bill thought for a moment. But not quite long enough.
“I don’t think that’s where we get the word from.”
Mother Hemlock chuckled. “Have you ever seen anythin’ as proud and sure of itself as an eagle, lad?”
Shrugging, Bill Strike gave up.
“Fair point,” he said. “But how did Odius get hold of dad?”
“Oh, he had ‘im from the beginning,” she said, her face darkening. “Ambushed ‘im before you’d even left. Convinced him, he had you in his power and could reunite the romantic fool with your mother.”
Bill felt his stomach drop.
“Sorry, lad,” Mother Hemlock said, tenderly. “Magical gifts have a cost and maybe what happened to his daughter, your mother, is the price Vokes paid in the end.”
Bill sat back in the chair and drew Brianna closer. “What will it cost me, I wonder?”
Mother Hemlock looked from Bill to the sleeping Brianna. “I can’t say, lad, but you mustn’t let it bother you too much. Life’s much too short for that.”
They sat in silence listening to the quiet crackling of the fire. All seemed at peace - even Gramma’s snoring had stopped. Velicity had fallen into a deep sleep, her mouth open and dribble running prettily down her chin. After a time, Mother Hemlock got up, gave a sigh and left the room. Bill heard the creaking of the stairs as she went to check on Blackjack and Flaxbottom.
Brianna opened an eye and sat up, taking Bill’s hand in hers.
“That’s all very well, Bill Strike,” she said. “But what did Vokes whisper to you? I know you heard something because I saw your face change. Looked like fear to me.”
Bill, who’d drifted into warm dreams of a normal life with a normal girlfriend, looked into Brianna’s eyes and realised he’d have neither. She was spikier than a hedgehog bap, bright as a badger and her range of withering expressions could have come straight from “Petrify your way to the top” by the infamous Zola (a gorgon, also known for her smelly cheese). Being around Brianna was dangerous, and she was precisely the opposite of the sort of nice country girl he imagined he might, one day, marry. If he was very lucky. But he found that he was not, now, the Bill Strike of Dingly Dell, inheritor of the family business of burning wood so it could be burned again by someone else. Now, he was Bill Strike, fire-master, elemental and defeater of the Faerie King.
“Well?” Brianna said, with an expression that suggested if not immediate withering, then certainly a prospect for witheringness in the near future if she wasn’t satisfied.
Bill withered. He had indeed come a long way in a short time. Just not that far. He rather suspected that if he and Brianna had a future together, his journey so far represented the mere foothills into an epic trek that would involve laughter, pain and ridicule. And probably a fiery mountain at some point. And perhaps a ring. A gold one.
“Well?”
He sighed, and his mind replayed those last moments. He’d thought and thought about whether he could have been mistaken. The old man had been barely alive, and Bill had strained to hear. But no, try as he might, there was no doubt in his mind.
“The King is in the staff,” he mumbled.
Brianna’s eyes widened.
“No!” she said.
From under a blanket, in a dark corner of the room, came a whisper.
“Oh, bugger.”
Trolls and Tribulations
So, Bill has survived his encounter with the Faerie King. But, of course, it wouldn’t be much of a trilogy if the story ended in Book 1, so I invite you to dive right in to Trolls and Tribulations.
In Trolls and Tribulations, you’ll meet a tribe of trolls who live in the desert and wear a rather innovative form of sunscreen. You’ll also meet goblins and kobolds and a whole tribe of dwarfs including Slacker, Shirker and Loafer - you get the picture. There’s a mysterious maze, a powerful magician and even mechanical men. And there’s an unplanned trip t
o the Darkworld.
You’ll meet the ghostly members of the cogntive club, and the shield maiden from the steppes: Negstimeaboi.
And there are laughs. Lots and lots of laughs.
Trolls and Tribulations (UK)
Trolls and Tribulations (US)
Trolls and Tribulations (CA)
Trolls and Tribulations (AU)
Thanks for reading this far. Could I also trouble you to leave a review of Myths & Magic? It’s incredibly helpful.
And if you’d like some more Gramma, don’t forget you can get it from http://scrib.me/GrammaTickle
Endnotes
Chapter 1
1 In general, the major religions, and their agents, supported and encouraged education provided that it supported the Status Quo. Thin Lizzy, on the other hand, was considered beyond the pale.
Chapter 5
2 His boots, after all, were not made for walking
Chapter 8
3 Begun when a Varman merchant (deliberately) misheard a proclamation by the Trader Kingdom of Klept declaring a rise in wharf fare
Chapter 15
4 Arthur “Flash” Henry was famous for expanding the boundaries of the lost art of flatulation – in particular for his ability to sustain a lit fart for over a minute. His career came to an end when he gave what turned out to be his final performance the day after an unwise curry of dubious provenance. Rumour has it that he was unable to sit down for six months.
Chapter 20
5 goblins
6 “Mild green” in the language of Faerie
Chapter 21
7 Legend had it that the town had once been called Coppercreek but that this had metamorphosed by unpopular demand into its current, more pertinent, form.
8 Much worse than pear shaped
9 cheeky chappy n Derived from the ancient Djeti word djikidjappi which roughly translates to “insufferable tosser”
Chapter 24
10 They learned this from a public information board which told the full story of Notorious Nora and her infamous nook. Even Gramma blushed.
Chapter 28
11 Orvil, Spit and Nooky. In this universe, they pull the threads of fate that control the lives of men. Kharma ensures that, in another reality, they each spend their existence with a ventriloquist’s arm up their arse.
Myths and Magic Page 24
