‘Now is probably not the best time to be discussing the attributes of the Vorla but yes, they are real.’
‘Have you ever seen one? Are they really evil and dangerous?’
‘So many questions.’ Tar’sel’s father laughed. ‘I doubt anyone has seen them; they are older than time and they keep to themselves. As for evil, that would do them an injustice, it’s too simplistic. Do the Rheadak think us evil because we hunt them?’
‘But that’s survival.’
‘It’s nature,’ Tay’mor corrected. ‘Everything has its place in the Triverse and a right to exist, including the Vorla. Let’s just say though, when it comes to the Vorla, I wouldn’t go out of my way to find one but perhaps I’m too full of fear – they can take your negative emotions and use them against you. Besides, many of the old creatures have faded out of existence, there’s not as much magic in the world as there used to be.’ He sighed. ‘Not since the Fey Nation retreated into the Dreamtime.’
‘Shouldn’t they be here, looking after the Nymet tree?’
Tar’sel stopped short of telling his father his fears. Tay’mor was the guardian of the Nymet after all; if there was anything wrong, he would surely know about it.
‘Don’t worry yourself, Son we have the skills we need to ensure the Nymet remains strong,’ Tay’mor replied, but Tar’sel could swear he heard doubt in his father’s voice.
In the distance another elder signalled to Tay’mor that his presence was required up at the temple.
‘I have to leave you now, there is still work for me to do, Son. Fine dreaming,’ Tay’mor said, then turned and hobbled off towards the Nymet temple.
Corn Pads, Crystals and Dental Floss
Charlotte had been right about the slow pace of life in Brackenheath but she was surprised to find it wasn’t as painful as she had thought. The nearest neighbour was a nosey old woman called Mrs Bunratty but Charlotte wasn’t in need of company and she didn’t miss the noise and bustle of Oxford Street or the numerous museums and shows all that much. Her new suite of rooms now housed her own personal collection, every surface covered with artefacts discovered by her own family, and even a whole wall of Edessa’s artwork.
It was Edessa she pined for most and Charlotte tried to cling to her last words as she busied herself with unpacking and exploring. Knowing there may be a way to talk to her was not the same as having her near.
I wonder how long the novelty of this place will last? she wondered as she walked into the morning room, stopping in her tracks at the sight of Clarissa cross-legged on the floor, incense smoke weaving around her. Yep, no need to worry, there was plenty of novelty factor left.
‘It’s OK, you can come in, dear.’
‘I didn’t mean to disturb you,’ Charlotte whispered.
Clarissa smiled. ‘Being able to meditate isn’t much good if you can only do it in complete silence surrounded by incense and candles, dear, nice as that may be. I’m of a mind that you can only truly meditate if you are able to do it on a crowded, noisy train, and there are many Taoist monks who agree with me.’
‘Fancy putting that to the test some time?’ Charlotte replied.
Clarissa extinguished the candle flames between her fingers.
‘We can go visit Edessa any time you want, dear, you name the day.’ Clarissa got to her feet gracefully and stretched. ‘I have no desire to keep you from your sister, I know you must miss her terribly.’
Quintillian, the portly, long-haired grey Charlotte had met on her first day at Rosemary Heights, purred softly as he weaved around Charlotte’s legs.
‘But for now, I don’t know about you but I’m famished; shall we do breakfast?’ She picked up Quintillian who now had a look of indignation on his face. ‘I know someone else who wants food!’
‘He looks like he always wants food,’ Charlotte laughed.
‘Too true,’ Clarissa nodded sagely and addressed the cat in sombre tones. ‘Time to put you on a diet, old moggy.’ Quintillian snorted and wriggled out of her grip. Landing clumsily on his feet, he straightened his fluffy coat for a moment before shooting off into the garden. If his owner wasn’t going to feed him, he’d just need to look after himself, and a juicy mouse would make a tasty hors d’oeuvre.
Clarissa was laying the table for three in the kitchen just as there was a knock on the back door. ‘How did you know?’ Charlotte asked as she went to open the door; she wasn’t really expecting an answer and Clarissa just smiled enigmatically. This one is very astute, the woman thought to herself.
‘Heellooo, my lovelies, what a fabulous day. How are we all? I’ve bought pastries.’
A woman in Doc Martens, garish summer dress and orange shirt waved a large, oily brown bag, and the various crystal and shell bangles she wore jiggled with her every move.
‘Oh, Clarissa sweetie, you must remind me to tell you all about the Earth Goddess camp I went to last weekend, it was amazing; I feel so alive!’ The woman sing-songed her way through the sentence before bursting into a gush of laughter and kissed the air around Clarissa’s face.
The whirlwind in front of Charlotte made Clarissa look tame and it was a struggle to keep her mouth shut. The woman’s most striking feature was her hair and Charlotte couldn’t help staring at the multicoloured Mohican. It looked like a parrot was perched on the woman’s head.
‘Charlotte, this is my oldest and dearest friend,’ Clarissa announced aloud, while her face made a silent but emphatic request for Charlotte to be polite.
‘Ahhh, you are the infamous Charlotte, such a pleasure to meet you. Clarissa was soo excited to hear you were coming to stay. It was Charlotte this, Charlotte that.’
Charlotte couldn’t suppress laughter. That just didn’t fit her picture of Clarissa at all, but she was amused to finally catch a look of shock fleet across Clarissa’s face before it returned to its normal composed self.
‘Nice to meet you… ?’
‘Jude,’ the parrot-haired woman declared like an actress greeting her adoring public. ‘You can call me Auntie Jude if you like.’ She chuckled, ignoring Charlotte’s outstretched hand and giving her a bear hug.
Why not, Charlotte thought, it’s what I seem to be calling everyone else these days.
*
‘Pastries’ consisted of almond croissants, seeded brown rolls with creamy French butter and pain au chocolat; Clarissa had even made hot chocolate and sweet, milky coffee to accompany them. They reminded Charlotte of the bakery below Morag’s apartment and the many lazy Sunday mornings in the Place du Tertre cafés taking in the views of the city while Edessa bartered with the portrait artists to teach her their techniques. Charlotte found herself fighting tears again at the memories.
‘What do you think then?’
Charlotte was brought out of her daydreams by the question. ‘They’re really good, just like the real thing,’ she replied and Jude looked visibly pleased.
‘I ordered them especially from the bakers in Wykenhall, they are so helpful you know.’ Jude gesticulated to emphasise her point. ‘I heard you are a well travelled soul and I thought it would… well, make you feel more at home if that makes sense?’
Strangely, it did.
‘That’s really kind of you.’ Charlotte was genuinely touched.
‘My Adam sends all sorts of interesting stuff home from his travels in Afghanistan – tree barks and frankincense pearls as big as your finger – he knows how his mother likes her incenses. It’s always nice to get gifts, isn’t it.’
‘He did, my dear,’ Clarissa said gently, touching Jude’s hand.
‘Oh well yes, in this dimension perhaps.’ Jude waved away Clarissa’s hand. ‘But I know my sweet boy still looks out for his mother.’
‘Of course,’ Clarissa replied.
For hours Jude grilled Charlotte on her life and they swapped travel stories. Jude had been up and down the Nile twice, chanting in the king’s chamber of the Great Pyramid, and had even attended a few digs as a volunteer at Karnak. She compared t
he light shows of Giza and Philae, showed Charlotte a piece of rock she had picked up from outside the temple of Hatshepsut and discussed the merits of various hotels and day trips she had been on.
You couldn’t help but like Jude; her enthusiasm was infectious and Charlotte was thrilled to have someone who didn’t look at her blankly when she talked them through her 18th dynasty pottery collection. Best of all, Jude ‘ooohed’ and ‘aaahed’ at all the right places. Clarissa, however, had long since bored of talk of deserts and archaeology and retreated to the garden to feed the chickens, Maude and Maurice. It wasn’t till she came back in with fresh eggs, a pail of goat’s milk from Obadiah and a basket-load of fresh vegetables that Charlotte and Jude even looked up.
‘Oh my, is it that time already?’ Jude gasped. ‘Doesn’t time fly. Shall I start on dinner, Clarissa sweetie?’ she asked, already rolling up the silk sleeves of her orange blouse.
‘That sounds like a wonderful plan, dear. I still have a few things to finish off in the garden. I’m planning to make a batch of mint shaving cream this afternoon.’
‘Orders picking up then?’
‘Thankfully,’ Clarissa nodded. ‘Between you and me I’m rather sick of making nothing but jam and biscuits.’ She laughed before heading back outside to make the most of the rare spring sunshine.
*
Charlotte had left Jude to the cooking and was now watching Clarissa who, having just planted various crystals and sprinkled essential oils amongst the fruit trees, was now relocating a patch of nettles into the herb garden.
‘I know I don’t know anything about gardening,’ she said sarcastically, ‘but isn’t the goal to remove weeds not replant them?’
Aunt Clarissa smiled. ‘You are quite right, dear, you know nothing about gardening.’
Charlotte began to regret she had said anything as Clarissa went on to enthusiastically tell her all about friendly plants, or something like that, as well as detailing the numerous uses for nettles – which, of course, included eating them.
‘Nettles, flowers, tree sap; have you never heard of Sainsbury’s?’ Charlotte said exasperatedly. Clarissa chuckled to herself as Charlotte stomped playfully towards the chapel ruins at the bottom of the garden.
From the chapel, Charlotte could see the river flowing past the end of Clarissa’s garden, weaving under the wooden bridge flanked by two willow trees, and out into the fields of the shallow valley below. Charlotte lost sight of it as it entered the woodland of Brackenheath Park, but at that point something else caught her eye. The tree, her tree, stood alone atop a small hill to the far end of the park and it must have been a trick of the light but… it appeared to be glowing, just like the painting in Charlotte’s room.
‘Does that happen often?’ Charlotte called to her aunt. ‘The oak tree in the valley looks golden in the sun.’
‘That’ll be the famous Evergreen Oak,’ Aunt Clarissa said. ‘Seems there is going to be a fairy ball in Fargale tonight.’
This was not the answer Charlotte had hoped for but she suspected it was the best she was going to get. She decided she would Google ‘weather phenomena’ later for a more satisfying explanation.
‘I thought the Fey lived in the Dreamtime?’ Charlotte asked her aunt.
Clarissa gave her a strange look and Charlotte realised what she had said was clearly not common knowledge. Her aunt did not challenge her though and carried on as if they were having a normal conversation about the weather.
‘Sometimes they come home,’ Clarissa responded matter-of-factly and returned to her gardening. ‘In answer to your question, no, it doesn’t happen often. In fact, the last time was when that picture in your room was painted.’
‘How long ago was that?’
‘You don’t need me to tell you that now, do you?’ Clarissa smiled one of her knowing smiles.
Charlotte gazed at the tree again. The golden haze was gone but she couldn’t shake the feeling that it was happening now for a reason. Maybe the tree was trying to tell her something? Or Edessa?
Charlotte suddenly had an unnerving feeling they were being watched. A flash amongst the raspberry canes, like light on metal, followed by a fizzing sound took Charlotte by surprise. I’ve had too much sun, she thought to herself as she saw the shimmering outline of a tiny human figure for a split second before it popped out of sight.
‘You don’t happen to have CDs amongst those, do you?’ she asked her aunt.
‘No need, the birds know full well which ones they are allowed to eat.’
There was a certain logic to that, Charlotte guessed, though she wondered, not for the first time, if Clarissa was just winding her up.
‘So what would happen if a human went along to one of these balls?’ Charlotte asked, trying to distract herself from what she had seen.
‘You would have to find it first.’
‘But let’s say I did? I do come from a family of explorers after all.’
Clarissa smiled as if to say she doubted it, but humoured her anyway.
‘Fairies don’t take kindly to human gatecrashers.’
‘I could wear a disguise?’
Clarissa laughed at this. ‘A false pair of wings and pointy ears do not a fairy make. They would smell you out in a heartbeat.’
Charlotte said nothing, but was still planning an expedition to the tree and busily devising ways she could pass herself off as a fairy, the flash and ghostly image forgotten.
*
‘There’s a vegetable stew bubbling away nicely on the Aga, should be ready soon,’ Jude said cheerily, as Charlotte strolled into the living room. ‘I’m just taking a moment to do my breathing exercises, helps me with my asthma.’
Jude reached two palm-sized clear crystals out of her oversized handbag. ‘Gives it a little boost.’ She smiled before settling down in front of Clarissa’s meditation altar and started taking deep, noisy breaths.
Charlotte dropped into the plump sofa, propping a sari silk cushion under her head. Cicero landed lightly on her chest and pawed her nose looking for attention.
‘More novelty factor,’ she whispered to the cat but he was totally absorbed in directing Charlotte’s hand to just the right place behind his ear to scratch.
A copy of the Wykenhall Free Press lay on the coffee table with the headline ‘SAVE OUR PARK’ and an image of the same tree on the hill – though it wasn’t glowing.
Charlotte read the article about a proposal for a new housing and industrial estate to be built where Brackenheath Park currently stood. The new site would include facilities such as a cinema, restaurants and bowling alley as well as new housing and community facilities.
Mr Julian Ransell, teacher at Wykenhall High School and resident, is in favour of the proposed development, saying it will be a boon for locals as well as improving the local economy and attracting tourism.
The article finished with a further picture of a bony, hook-nosed man with cold eyes smirking at the camera, his dark hair greased to one side of his head. Below was the mention of a public meeting about the proposed development as well as an online petition, encouraging people to sign it. Charlotte tossed the paper onto the coffee table.
‘This place could do with some livening up, Cicero,’ Charlotte whispered, smiling as the cat simply yawned and curled into a ball on her chest.
There was no contest, a run-down old park or an array of fun facilities, but she couldn’t help wondering if the oak would escape such development. If it was as famous as Etienne said, it would be preserved, surely? Doubt gnawed at her and there was one person she trusted over anyone. Edessa had told her she needed to protect the tree, that something bad was coming. Was this it? Charlotte’s instincts told her it wasn’t that simple – but it was a place to start. ‘It begins and ends with the tree,’ she whispered to herself.
Charlotte was dozing off when Cicero pressed himself tightly against her and mewed, staring intently into thin air. She heard the same fizzing noise she had heard in the garden and saw a shimmering
outline forming at the other end of the room.
A translucent figure appeared and started to slowly make its way across the room. It was a boy about three or four years older than herself with light green skin, wild blond hair scraped roughly into a ponytail and swirling patterns on his arms and face. His nose was his most striking feature, elongated and wider than her own, while his ears were slightly pointed underneath his hair. But it was his eyes that Charlotte was drawn too most, piercing and brooding – and they were looking straight through her.
He was not like the silhouette she had seen in the garden or at the train station, she was sure. For a start he was much bigger. Could this be one of the Fey? He seemed more like a ghost.
The boy was focused on something in the corner by the television, completely oblivious of Charlotte and Jude. Soon, he began striding purposefully through the furniture, stopping about a foot from Jude’s shoulder. He slowly raised a spear to the side of his head before, quick as lightning, he launched it through the air. Charlotte watched as it disappeared through the wall. The boy darted after it before fading behind the TV.
Suddenly, Jude let out a loud moan and a flash of light burst out of each of her palms. Cicero dug his claws into Charlotte’s chest in alarm before shooting across the coffee table, sending Jude’s bag flying.
Makeup, a tub of dental floss, crystals, corn pads and glass vials of flower remedies spilled across the pale rugs and Charlotte watched as a tin of pink blusher rolled across the wooden floor at speed before colliding with the skirting board and exploding in a puff of pink powder. Crystals bounced on the wooden floor and still more stuff poured out of the bag: a wind chime, dowsing rods, mala beads, keys, phone, a virtual avalanche of postcards and pictures, incense sticks and finally, a copy of The Little Book of Calm.
A bottle of tonic had smashed on landing and spilt over some of the pictures which Charlotte noticed seemed to be of a young man in army uniform, his nose sunburnt as he stood in various desert locations smiling, thumbs up at the camera. This must be Adam.
Charlotte Stone and the Children of the Nymet Page 6
