‘Mortal creatures mourn those who die. Immortal creatures, like the Vorla, mourn those who are never born.’ Clarissa appeared at her shoulder. ‘It’s quite a sacrifice, let’s hope it was worth it.’
Procession of Gold
It had been weeks since the tree surgeons had come to Brackenheath Park and life was beginning to get a little more normal. Boris had escaped and was on the loose and Belleswater Hospital had called the day after Charlotte’s return from Syluria to inform her of her sister’s improvement. The nurse on the end of the phone sounded so excited and, while Charlotte already knew what she was going to tell her, it was nice to have it confirmed as more than just a Sylurian dream.
The newspapers had been full of their victory for a few days now – then the strange smog came. The smog that swept across England was especially bad in East Anglia according to the news and Charlotte could well believe it. The treetops were hazy and you could taste the dust in the air. Then the reporter said something that made Charlotte’s ears prick up. The smog was made of Saharan sand.
Charlotte sneaked out the kitchen door into the garden. Aunt Clarissa’s VW Beetle was parked by the spring at the side of the house and… covered with yellow sand. She scooped up a handful, willing this to work. Charlotte was beginning to cough already as the smog irritated her throat and she would have to go back inside soon but she was determined to get something.
The heat of the sun and a passing camel were all it revealed at first, but then another memory bubbled through. Shifting sands – her parents… somewhere in the Sahara… alive.
*
The smog had cleared in time for the new Brackenheath Summer Festival, which fell on Charlotte’s birthday. Sitting in the glorious sunshine, amongst a crowd of picnic blankets, Charlotte still couldn’t quite believe that the Nymet tree had survived.
‘It’s not for long,’ Luned warned her and Charlotte was surprised to find her guts felt like squirming ice cubes.
‘Surely they are not going to remove it now? It’s never been so popular, the parish council arranged this fayre in its honour. No one is going to talk about cutting it down now.’
‘Charlotte dear, a fairy’s idea of “not long” is different to a human’s,’ Clarissa chuckled. ‘We will get to enjoy this beautiful oak for many years yet.’
‘Ha! They’d have to dig it out by the root to get rid of it now.’ Jude was grinning like a Cheshire cat.
Charlotte hadn’t missed Clarissa’s deliberate choice of words. ‘But it won’t be the Nymet, will it?’
Clarissa couldn’t quite hide her look of disappointment. ‘Not as we know it, probably not.’
‘You’ve bought it time but it’s still sick and the withering hasn’t stopped,’ Luned mumbled through one of Clarissa’s rosepetal sandwiches before going on to explain the complex process and countless forms involved in the decommissioning of an interworld gateway.
Charlotte stopped listening at this point. Fey politics was a dry old subject and besides, she couldn’t stop staring at the Nymet. Was it her imagination, or was it surrounded by the same soft, golden glow as when she had first seen it? Without it she would never be able to enter Syluria again, never see Tar’sel again. It seemed this was a year for losing so many special people in her life and she would be happy when it was over.
‘I’m going over to say goodbye,’ she mumbled, more for her own benefit, not expecting or waiting for an answer.
A sea breeze meandered over the park cooling the heat of the sun; it was the perfect day to be outside.
The boating lake had been cleaned and new plants added which had attracted a family of swans, while the bandstand had been transformed with bright paints, the inside decorated with a mural by the local primary school.
In the bandstand a local band played while people with picnics were dotted across the now lush green lawns and the Nymet tree still stood proudly, on its little hill above the scattering of birches, presiding over it all.
The sounds of the crowd were instantly dulled as she entered the tree line and made her way up the small hill. For a moment it felt like hers again but a group coming down the path ahead of her shattered that illusion and she realised the place would never be quite the same again. She smiled politely and was grateful they didn’t want to talk.
The Nymet looked different these days. Olly’s songs of the wishing trees seemed to have captured the imagination because the tree was festooned with colourful ribbons, hanging crystals and corn dolls. This was the first time she had been alone with the Nymet for weeks so she hadn’t noticed it before but, despite the positive buzz in the air, Charlotte could sense a tinge of sadness underneath; and it wasn’t hers.
‘I oooowe you a debt of thaanks, Chaaarlottte.’ The wind sylphs danced through the branches, lending a voice to the Nymet. ‘Yoou haaaave done sooo much moooore than you reealise.’
Charlotte gently stroked the rough bark of the oak. Since Tar’sel had shown her how to weave plants, she could feel the subtle flow of their sap and even hear their song if she was still enough. She had learned patience too living in Brackenheath; and trees always spoke slowly.
‘I have ssomething for yoooou, little one.’ The voice was so low the sudden rustling of leaves made Charlotte start. A catkin unfurled from a branch in front of her and a small flower behind it matured into an acorn before her eyes, before developing a golden sheen.
Charlotte gasped.
‘A gooolden aaaacorn. For you, and you alone, consider it a thank you and a birthday gift. Plant it soooomewhere discrete aaaand prooootect it; thaaaat is important. This gift haaaas the condition thaaaaat you tell no one.’
‘But Tar’sel, Aunt Clar…’
‘Noooooo one.’
‘And Syluria? Will I be able to return?’
‘Thaaat is down to yooooou, little one. Yoooouu haaaave always beeeen the link, I am sssssure you caaan find a waaaaay.’
Charlotte pocketed the acorn. She wanted to stay and speak with the Nymet some more but she could tell it had already retreated. She was about to return to the park when the sound of drums stopped her in her tracks. It seemed to be coming from the other side of the hill, getting louder the closer she got to the wilds of the heathland.
‘There you are, we were wondering when you were going to show your face.’
Tar’sel gave her a reassuring smile as she emerged from the woodland on the opposite side of the hill. His ethereal body shimmered in the midsummer sunshine and he was dressed in his usual simple woven tunic and trousers except they were now coloured gold and his green skin was covered in gold paint.
‘I could say the same about you,’ Charlotte smiled. ‘I’ve been worried sick.’
‘It took Anya and me a week to walk back to the Nellpa Barra.’ Tar’sel pulled a face at the memory. ‘She was interrogating me the whole way.’
‘Sounds like I might have had it easier for a change,’ Charlotte laughed.
Though she hadn’t known Anya very long, she already knew she was a force to be reckoned with.
‘I didn’t think I’d be able to get back,’ she added, her mouth dry and her heart racing at the idea.
‘You’re not back yet,’ Tar’sel said, ‘but this is midsummer, the solstice day. Even the most dilino human could stumble through the veil at this time of year.’
‘Even Giles or Mr Ransell?’ Charlotte shivered at the thought.
‘Afraid so, but they would have to know what they were looking for, so I think we’re safe… besides, things have changed since the withering. The Morrigan herself is performing the incantations to keep the worlds joined for now… not for our benefit of course. Once the Fey have done their thing, the pathway will fade forever.’
Charlotte hung her head; this might be her last chance to speak to him but she didn’t want to be saying goodbye just yet.
‘The Nymet is fading in my world, Tar’sel.’
He seemed to realise what she was telling him and they walked in silence for sometime. On
ly the sound of the drums kept them moving. They were well and truly in Syluria before they spoke again.
‘It’s the festival of Son’kai, our festival of thanksgiving and we have a lot to be grateful for right now.’ Tar’sel beamed at her and Charlotte could feel herself flush.
‘Look there goes the Procession of Gold.’ Tar’sel gestured towards the train of people making their way across the valley towards the river delta.
Each one of them was covered head to foot in gold just like Tar’sel – gold jewellery, gold clothing, gold skin and hair. Even the drums were painted gold. In fact, the only thing that wasn’t, was a statue of a beautiful woman with pale skin and long verdigris hair that was wrapped around her body.
‘It’s Mother River, we are taking her to bathe in the Nellpa to let her know we remember her and are grateful for her gift of life.’
‘Don’t you think she looks familiar?’ Charlotte smiled.
‘Mother River has many sisters,’ Tar’sel replied cryptically. ‘Come and join us, I know the elders would love to meet you, you are the guest of honour after all and the feast is to…’ Tar’sel paused as Charlotte waved at her opaque body. ‘Oh; well, just come for the dancing.’ He smiled, charging down the bank as Charlotte floated after him.
Unnoticed, in a small field of lotus grain, a grey vortex opened up and red lightning flickered through its centre. At the edge of the field a hedgerow filled with wild roses withered and died.
*
Charlotte was famished on returning to Brackenheath Park. Tar’sel had made sure she hadn’t missed too much of the fayre, in fact she was just in time for the show.
Govinder’s family were already on the bandstand dancing a traditional Indian stick dance as Charlotte made her way back to the picnic. Edessa would have been in heaven right now, trying to find a way to join in. Charlotte giggled to herself at the thought. The sting of remembering her sister was less painful these days and she felt closer somehow since their adventures in Syluria.
Aunt Clarissa had prepared a delicious spread for them all from her garden and Charlotte and Luned had helped her. There was a salad of lettuce, tiny tomatoes and cucumber cubes with a creamy cheese made from Obadiah’s milk, all topped with summer flowers.
Charlotte remembered with a smile her indignation the first time Clarissa had fed her flowers; how much she had changed since then. She was particularly impressed by the homemade potato and rosemary rolls she’d helped Aunt Clarissa to make, with their basil-flavoured olive oil oozing out of the centres.
No one seemed to register the extra, empty place Aunt Clarissa had laid out, and certainly didn’t see the cheerful little Undine, happily munching away and enjoying the strange human spectacle. Sang and her father had now taken to the stage to perform a fan dance, while Olly, who was on next, practised his latest song at the side of the stage. Isla and her family were there too of course, simply relaxing and watching the show complete with camping table and a wicker basket of goodies. They were not ones for roughing it.
‘You’re back then?’ Clarissa quizzed her. ‘They will be celebrating Son’kai I suppose; it will be a particularly special one this year with the excitement of recent months.’
‘Do you think I’ll ever be able to go back?’
‘Already planning your next adventure, eh?’ Clarissa fixed her with an intense stare, much like the one at the train station when they first met. ‘Why don’t you enjoy the moment, Charlotte, and let the future take care of itself for a while.’
Charlotte knew there was no point asking any more questions; Clarissa had said all she was going to say on the matter. For now, Charlotte poured herself a glass of elderflower cordial, which was fast becoming her favourite drink. It reminded her of the first day she’d arrived at Brackenheath.
Sang, Olly and Govinder joined Charlotte’s birthday feast as their head teacher made his way onto the stage flanked by a girl Charlotte hadn’t seen before.
‘And now ladies and gentlemen, we have a special treat,’ Mr Thomlinson announced. ‘This is a last minute addition to the programme from a very talented young lady who will be joining Wykenhall High in the autumn. Please put your hands together and give a warm welcome to Bonnie Fonteyn performing a sequence from the Russian ballet, “The Firebird”.’
Charlotte’s skin prickled with goosebumps. She had forgotten all about the Benu egg in the race to save the Nymet but now she recalled the Rani’s interest. She wondered how the egg of a firebird was linked to Syluria and the Vorla.
Even Charlotte was mesmerised as Bonnie pirouetted across the stage at lightning speed in her sparkling red tutu, her curly blonde hair trailing behind her like a comet’s tail. Her performance gained a standing ovation. She bounded across the grass, beaming and chatting to her new fans before heading towards a blanket next to Charlotte.
‘That was awesome, I reckon you could give my sister a run for her money; she loves ballet too,’ Charlotte said, introducing herself.
‘Bonnie Fonteyn.’ Bonnie shook Charlotte’s hand enthusiastically.
‘Why don’t you join us for dessert?’ Clarissa offered, throwing Charlotte a knowing smile. ‘We’ve got strawberries with vanilla cream and a Victoria sponge birthday cake!’
Charlotte finally followed her aunt’s advice, enjoying the moment as she chatted and laughed with her new friends while the sun went down over Brackenheath-on-Sea.
The Shriven
A fire burned on the banks of the silver lake that flowed through the vaulted banquet hall. Heavy tapestries hung from the walls, their metal threads twinkling in the flickering light, but they did nothing to insulate the place from the cold of the mountains.
‘Next time we meet in Agrimony,’ Dijin grumbled as he shivered, despite being sat on a pile of hot coals.
Luned and Malik nodded in agreement, their fingers blue in spite of the mittens they wore.
‘Why have you called us here, sister?’ Morrigan demanded, pacing the room swaddled in furs and a number of woollen tunics as Rani Johari sat deathly still as always, Durga at her side.
‘There are urgent matters we need to discuss,’ Durga replied to Morrigan’s question. ‘Certain information has come to light, so to speak.’
‘The tree has been saved and is to be removed from the hands of the destructive humans. The gateway can be closed. What more is there to discuss?’
‘Do you really think it is a good idea to withdraw Albion’s last defence?’ Durga laughed. ‘Always so short sighted, sister.’
‘I could easily rip out that diamond heart of yours, you know,’ Morrigan growled. ‘It would make a lovely addition to my mantle.’
‘I think not,’ Durga said, totally unfazed by The Morrigan’s outburst. ‘In any case, I am only speaking the words of my mistress.’
‘How do you know I’m not talking to her?’
‘It’s all in the eyes.’ Durga’s fangs glinted in the harsh blue light of the crystal fires as her mouth curled into a smile. ‘Would you like me to look further into your soul, dear Morrigan?’
‘In the name of the creation, be civil. We need to be united.’ Satvari, Queen of the Slyphs, floated between them. ‘Trouble is brewing, the zephyrs whisper stories of the covenant breaking and the Nivasi are growing restless. There are even disturbing rumours of a plot to kidnap a member of the Golden Root.’
‘You do not scare me, Durga,’ Morrigan roared, ignoring the sylph. ‘I am the mistress of death and I govern ALL life… including you…’
‘You steal life; there is a difference… besides, we are immortal, you have no sway over us.’
A loud clicking echoed around the hall, interrupting their sparring. The human male, who had till now sat silently outside the glow of the fires, walked towards the Shriven Council. Shadows fell menacingly across Etienne’s face.
‘Enough with the small talk. Don’t you think it’s time we talked about the girl?…’
Charlotte Stone and the Albion Gate
Some say Syluria ro
se from the sea… and the Nivasi didn’t like it
The seas are restless as Charlotte Stone returns to Syluria. There have been disturbing rumors surfacing that the House of Mer intends to destroy all Dry territories throughout the Triverse unless the ‘Vorla Lamp’ is returned to their keeping.
Ancient bloodlines reveal hidden alliances and reluctant loyalties threaten to rip apart the tight-knit community of Brackenheath-on-sea as friend is forced to betray friend.
Meanwhile, the destruction that lurks in the Dreamtime continues to silently ripple through the Nymet.
Charlotte Stone and the Albion Gate is book two of the Nymet Chronicles.
Due for release 2016
For more information on pre-ordering, special giveaways and competitions, as well as to learn more about Charlotte and the world of the Nymet, sign up to the official Nymet newsletter at www.NymetChronicles.com
About the Author
Í
Tasha O’Neill was born July 1975 in the city of Cambridge and grew up in Suffolk. Over the years she has lived in various parts of the UK but always ends up being drawn back to her East Anglian roots. Currently she lives near Woodbridge with two black cats.
Charlotte Stone and the Children of the Nymet Page 24
