‘Leave that to me, we have a thing called “media”. They would certainly be interested in reporting such a thing.’
‘Me… diee… aa.’ Tar’sel rolled the word around in his mouth. He had no idea what it meant but it sounded good.
Tar’sel did a circuit of the tree, inspecting every branch and twig, sucking in a breath at the sight of the charred remains of the heartwood.
‘She’s pretty sick, we’ll need to do some healing first, there’s still a lot of pain there.’
‘How do you know?’
‘Can’t you feel it?’
Tar’sel still couldn’t get used to how backward these Albion people were but he tried to keep his tone neutral. He didn’t want to insult Charlotte.
‘You have to tune in. Sense it here,’ Tar’sel motioned to his stomach.
He showed her how to control her breathing and focus her attention on hearing the Nymet song. Charlotte found it surprisingly easy; the techniques were similar to those Mr Lei taught her in her karate lessons.
‘Someone has been doing healing already,’ Tar’sel looked confused. ‘I can’t quite work out the signature but there’s definitely been some deliberate work done here.’
‘Perhaps it’s The Morrigan…’ Charlotte’s sentence trailed off as Tar’sel shook his head.
‘I can’t see that, there would be dire consequences if a member of the Shriven intervened – only happens in real emergencies, and when they do… it isn’t pretty.’
Tar’sel didn’t need to say any more.
Coming to a stop at the place where he started, Tar’sel closed his eyes and stood stock still for what seemed like forever.
‘What are you doing now?’
‘Sssh, concentrate. You have to break through the silence to get to the song,’ Tar’sel chided her.
This was not the awkward young boy unsure of himself and his surroundings; this was an experienced and confident healer – a proper Nymet Draoi, unlike her. She did as she was told, but it was hard. She had so many questions.
She watched as Tar’sel began to chant a neutral, even tone, eventually knitting in other notes. When he started singing a rose song, flowers began to bud all over the lower branches, quickly uncurling their petals into full bloom.
Pleased with his work, Tar’sel stopped chanting and admired his handiwork but in moments the roses began to die and fall to the ground.
‘What’s happening, why isn’t it working?’ Charlotte asked with alarm. The scene was uncomfortably close to her vision.
‘I don’t know,’ Tar’sel replied.
He didn’t want to admit he had had difficulty drowning out the cacophony of sound that was plaguing Albion, besides, he was positive that wasn’t the problem. The song of the roses had been true.
‘It should have worked in theory. Maybe the roses just aren’t compatible with the Nymet, or maybe she’s still too sick.’
‘Perhaps I have to do it,’ Charlotte suggested, ‘being as I am from this side of the Dreamtime.’
Tar’sel agreed, guiding her through the process. ‘Once you start to chant, you have to keep going till the process is complete,’ he told her. ‘If you don’t you’ll damage the plant. You can’t go too far either though or the new growth won’t have energy left to sustain itself.’
After hours of practice they were still no further forward and the sun was setting.
‘Maybe I need more practice.’
‘It wouldn’t hurt, I guess.’ Tar’sel felt the tell-tale tug at his chest. He smiled apologetically at Charlotte as he began to fade.
‘I can’t work on the Nymet alone. When will you be back?’ There was an edge of panic in her voice.
‘Hard to say. You know all you need though, trust your instincts and go with your gut. You shouldn’t overthink weaving if you want it to work – for a beginner you’ve done well.’ He smiled encouragingly. ‘Practise if it makes you feel better.’
*
Charlotte barely said a word to Clarissa as she came in the kitchen door and went up to her room. Her head was still with the Nymet. Sitting at her desk, she absentmindedly played with the picture of her grandparents under the Brackenheath Oak.
She had hoped this time would be different; that she wouldn’t feel the sense of pain and loss that emanated from it, a contradiction of the happy smiling faces. She willed it to tell her more but she got nothing.
‘It doesn’t work so well when it’s family.’ Clarissa stood behind her with a cup of hot chocolate and a roasted vegetable and hummus roll. ‘You need to eat something.’
Charlotte realised then just how hungry she was.
‘How’s the project coming on?’ Clarissa admired all the various books and pieces of paper that covered Charlotte’s desk.
‘I have a load of information on similar circumstances… I’m trying to find a legal precedent to support our campaign.’
‘That all sounds very impressive and informative but people don’t generally care for facts and figures, Charlotte. They are more interested in people and stories.’
‘Well, I’m out of those.’ Charlotte sighed tiredly through a mouthful of food. ‘Olly is much better at that sort of thing.’
Clarissa leant over the desk and picked up the picture of Charlotte’s grandparents. ‘You have one right here.’
‘I don’t know the story,’ Charlotte replied blankly.
‘Would you like to?’ Clarissa smiled.
*
Luned found herself summoned to the ‘Hanging Gardens of Fargale’ once again. She seemed to spend more time underground these days than she did when she lived in Agrimony. Malik and Davlin were deep in discussion in the meeting room of the comms room when she arrived.
‘If the worst happened, could you keep the comms room going?’ Malik frowned as he scrutinised pages and pages of print-outs.
‘I’m downloading as much as I can onto the section of the web that is still undamaged,’ Davlin replied, tapping away at a nearby terminal, ‘but without somewhere to send it, the information is highly vulnerable.’
‘You’re telling me there is not a single living tree in the Sylurian forest?’
‘There’s no trace of a bluprint for the Nymet oak.’ Davlin looked apologetic. ‘I’ve searched through every note of the subsonic code across the whole Triverse. Fargale is not a copy.’
An alarm sounded, diverting their attention from the matter in hand and Davlin sprang into action.
‘This is not a drill people, we have an unauthorised breach.’ He broadcasted a warning on the tannoy before leading Malik and Luned into the Tap Room.
Davlin worked with dexterity and Luned was surprised at such speed in a dwarf. He had soon located the problem.
‘Someone is weaving!’
‘In Albion?’ Malik gasped.
‘But that hasn’t been possible for nearly a millennia,’ Luned added.
‘Don’t believe it; where do you think the humans got their little legend of the “Evergreen Oak”? That was someone messing where they shouldn’t have been messing.’ Davlin didn’t look up; he was still madly tapping away on a nearby terminal.
‘Boris?!’ Malik gasped.
Davlin shook his head. ‘It’s the girl.’
‘What!’ Malik’s face was now purple and his hands in fists. ‘Luned, sort out that dilino human child once and for all – ASAP!’ he roared.
‘On it, Sir.’
Luned stepped into the sap flow for a quick getaway.
*
Charlotte woke early, surprisingly refreshed. Tar’sel had said that could happen. Connecting with the Nymet song was connecting to the song of creation, or something like that. Charlotte, however, put it down to the hot chocolate.
‘No time like the present,’ she yawned at Cicero as they both stretched out the kinks of a night’s sleep.
The sun was just breaching the horizon as Charlotte entered the garden. The air was fresh and salty from the sea, while the dew looked like a handful of jewels
scattered over the lawn and vegetable patch. Charlotte stretched as she looked around for a victim. Clarissa would not be happy if she messed with the produce, it was her livelihood.
Walking down the side of the building, she found herself outside the impressive main door. The natural spring bubbled up from the bottom of the little pool and Charlotte wondered if she might see her parents if she stared into it for long enough. All she saw, however, was a reflection of the recently pruned winter jasmine that climbed the wall by the stained glass window.
Perfect.
Chanting a neutral tone as Tar’sel had taught her, she listened for the jasmine’s song. She was surprised and thrilled when she heard a high tinkling melody. She was really getting the hang of this.
Charlotte eagerly started weaving in the tones she heard Tar’sel make, the sounds of the rose song. One by one, tiny rosebuds appeared on the stems of the jasmine. She remembered Tar’sel’s advice not to stop till the process was complete, so she kept singing till the roses bloomed.
The song of the rose and jasmine tumbled over and over each other and became so quick she didn’t know where one started and the other ended so she continued to sing; she didn’t know when to stop. As she sang, the jasmine grew to accommodate more roses and before she knew it, the whole side of the house was covered, the main door buried under the mass of rose-covered jasmine. It wasn’t till she felt Clarissa’s voice joining the song that she dared stop.
Clarissa quickly and skilfully brought the song to an end and the jasmine rose stopped growing.
‘Nice try for a first attempt, but next time, could you stick to house plants, it’ll give the neighbours less to talk about,’ Aunt Clarissa said, making for the back door.
‘DARRRLINGS!’
There was no mistaking Jude’s voice and even Aunt Clarissa visibly shuddered.
‘Oh! Well, I say. What on earth has happened here, Clarissa?’ Aunt Jude eyed the new greenery with wide-eyed wonder. ‘It looks like someone has set off a miracle-gro bomb on your front doorstep.’
Mrs Bunratty’s begonias twitched as Aunt Jude continued to extol the ‘wonders of nature’ and declared how they were ‘truly blessed by the fairy folk’.
‘Blessed by fairy folk, my fanny-adams,’ Clarissa hissed sternly at Charlotte while trying, but failing, to maintain her steely glare.
‘Tea anyone?’ Clarissa finally said to distract Jude from her monologue. ‘We’ll just have to use the backdoor for the time being.’
‘Why don’t you just trim it?’ Charlotte asked.
‘This is your doing. Why should I punish the jasmine?’
Charlotte couldn’t help grinning; it was a typical Aunt Clarissa response.
*
Tea in their house meant peppermint, sage, jasmine and the like made from the carefully dried leaves and flowers from Aunt Clarissa’s garden, but Charlotte had her usual hot chocolate. It went perfectly with yet another continental breakfast courtesy of Jude.
As they tucked into a breakfast of jam and pastries, a loud pop filled the kitchen and an angry Luned appeared on the kitchen table.
Jude squealed with excitement and Luned looked at her as if she thought the woman must be ill – the suggestion in her expression was that she thought it might be a mental problem.
‘A fairy, an actual real-life fairy,’ Jude cooed, in awe.
‘Madam, I am an Undine; quite different,’ Luned barked, her pointy ears twitching in indignation.
The Undine turned and strode purposefully across the kitchen table, her sea-green robes floating around her, before lifting a slender finger at Charlotte.
‘Are you Charlotte Seshat Stone?’ she demanded.
It was a procedural requirement in accordance with the P.O.D charter. Having the offender state their name of their own freewill added power to the binding spell that would be cast later on.
‘Er, you know I am – we’ve already met, remember?’ Charlotte replied, ignorant of the charter requirements.
Luned rolled her eyes and sighed; it was always such hard work dealing with humans.
‘Who are you?’ Clarissa asked calmly.
‘I am Luned, Charlotte’s fairylore caseworker and under the authority of sub-section 492 of the P.O.D charter, I hereby summons her to appear before the Seelie and Unseelie Courts for the unauthorised use by an Albion human of Sonic Adjustment Therapy.’
‘Sonic what? Do you mean weaving?’ Charlotte asked.
‘Well, yes… in very basic layman’s terms.’ Luned was not used to being questioned by an offender.
‘Oooh, sounds fabulous. Where can one experience Sonic Adjustment Therapy, is there a training course I could apply for? How long does it…’ Jude fell into silence at not just Luned’s glare but Clarissa’s.
‘If we might focus for a moment,’ Clarissa addressed the Undine. ‘If you are Charlotte’s caseworker that means you’ve had her under surveillance for some time?’ She was eager to get to the bottom of this intrusion into her home.
‘We have.’
‘The reason for this, please.’
‘She came to our attention almost the moment she arrived in Brackenheath and has exhibited behaviour that we have found not only disturbing but threatening. Just yesterday, she tried to modify Fargale – the tree also known as the Evergreen Oak or the Nymet.’ Luned handed Clarissa a thick file.
It was hard to know what Clarissa was thinking as she read the file but when she had finished, she fixed Charlotte with one of her trademark stares.
‘There is nothing I can do for you, Charlotte, you’ve broken Fey law. You’re going to have to attend. The court date is tomorrow.’
The Seelie Courts
Sang sprang bolt upright, her breathing heavy and sweat dripping down her face. The wind was high outside and rain fell hard against her window. Hunkering down under her bedclothes, she squirmed to get comfortable. She figured the rain must have woken her and everything seemed normal and ordinary but she couldn’t shake the feeling of foreboding.
The darkness pouring into her had seemed so real as had the scream from the red-haired girl that looked so much like Charlotte. Even now, wide-awake in the familiar surrounds of her room, Sang could still hear the word repeating in her head. Echo, echo, echo…
The dream was rapidly evaporating so Sang hopped out of bed and quickly made notes before it disappeared. She had no idea what it meant but she knew she had to find Charlotte.
*
‘A hearty breakfast, very good.’ Jude nodded to Charlotte with approval over the kitchen table. ‘You need to be able to concentrate and focus today. Fairies can be rather tricksy and will try to catch you out. It’s revealed in all the classic fairytales.’
‘Actually, the court will be very fair.’ Clarissa poured them both a steaming cup of coffee. ‘But the best thing you can do is just stay quiet and… well, not antagonise them.’
Charlotte knew it wasn’t worth protesting; Clarissa had got to know her pretty well, so she just smiled mischievously.
Luned soon appeared on the kitchen table in the same official-looking robes she had worn the previous day.
‘Are we ready?’ she asked.
The usual underground courtroom was far too small to accommodate Charlotte so the hearing was to take place under the boughs of the large weeping willow on the riverbank, Luned explained as she led Charlotte inside. The inner leaves had been curled upwards and sewn together with gossamer to create temporary bowers which hung the full circle of the willow canopy from top to bottom.
Charlotte started to feel nervous as she realised the bowers were already occupied by the scores of Fey that made up the Seelie and Unseelie Courts.
One half of the canopy was awash with the blinding light of the ‘Shining Ones’ of the Seelie Court. Only when they moved could Charlotte see the features of these perfect creatures as they glided about in an orderly fashion, occasionally turning to look at her and whisper behind their hands. ‘The True Fey,’ Luned had whispered discretely a
nd Charlotte agreed they certainly looked like the traditional fairies that filled the fairytales Jude had mentioned.
On the other side sat the unruly members of the Unseelie Court who laughed raucously and threw bits of food at the Seelie members while chanting obscenities at them. Their ranks were made up of sinister gargoyles, deformed goblins with gaping mouths and boggled eyes and strange women with purple hair, twigs growing from their limbs and forked tongues that tasted the air around Charlotte. Despite their gruesome appearances and behaviour, Charlotte suspected she would get a much more favourable ear from this group of chaotic Fey.
They were not the ones passing judgment, however. Charlotte was acutely aware of the shrouded elfin warriors, bows at the ready, who stood stock still in a semicircle between her and the courts. A dozen pairs of hidden eyes looked at her from underneath their hoods, like wolves eyeing up an injured lamb. Luned had explained this was the Elfin Jury and it was they that would ultimately decide her fate.
A cough from the court clerk brought her back to the purpose of the gathering.
‘All stand for Judge Dijin,’ he squeaked.
On this announcement, a stern-looking Fey marched sombrely into the courtroom, reminding Charlotte a little of Mr Ransell. She had to stifle a giggle as Judge Dijin sat at his podium with a flourish of his fiery robes.
‘Lords and Ladies of the Seelie Courts and Elfin Jury,’ the clerk began, reading from a large scroll. ‘The accused stands trial today for the misuse of weaving, which is banned from use in this Verse.’
A ripple of disapproval went round the Seelie half of the court and they all looked very serious. The Elfin Jury, however, didn’t move – and the Unseelie Court were too busy comparing navel fluff to even notice the clerk had spoken.
A fairy in chains was led in front of the gathered Fey. Charlotte recognised Boris in a flash. He stood shaking with fear as Dijin, without giving him so much as a glance, waved a hand at the clerk and pondered some paperwork handed to him.
‘Intelligence has come to light that it was you, Boris, who brought Miss Stone to our home and assisted her in entering our realm.’ Dijin spoke for the first time, his booming voice filling the courtroom.
Charlotte Stone and the Children of the Nymet Page 16
