by Lari Don
Molly had moved along ten ridged rows of tatties since then, so she’d no idea where the toad was now.
She could see Innes and Beth to her left, both loosening the earth round the tattie shaws then howking up the roots, pulling off the pale tubers and dropping them into the nearest bucket. Innes had suggested they all work close together. He claimed they would work faster if they didn’t get too far apart. And though it was hard work, they were moving across the field at an impressive speed.
Atacama was over to Molly’s right, looking like a large cat scratching in a huge litter tray. He’d offered to loosen the potato plants a row ahead, so those with hands to hold forks had less work to do. Molly said ‘Thanks’ to him every time she moved to a new row, but she didn’t mention the litter tray comparison. Atacama was too dignified, and his claws were too sharp, for that to be a kind or sensible thing to say.
Molly stretched her arms up to ease her aching muscles. She said, “Aren’t scarecrows meant to scare crows?” She pointed at half a dozen ragged black birds perched on the stick arms and turnip head of a scarecrow in the next field.
“The farmer has to move them around and change their clothes regularly for the crows to stay scared of them,” said Beth, picking earth from under her silver-painted nails.
“If we’re going to chat rather than dig, let’s talk about something useful,” said Innes. “Let’s give Molly the beginner’s guide to curses now, so Mrs Sharpe doesn’t have to run through it tonight.”
Molly sighed. “But I’m not cursed…”
“We can’t teach her about curses if she refuses to accept they exist,” said Beth, “so don’t waste your breath on her, Innes. Just keep digging.”
Molly wondered if the best way to deal with Beth’s constant rudeness was to ignore it. She turned her back on Beth and pulled another handful of tatties from the earth. They looked so fresh and crunchy, and it had been a long time since breakfast in Aunt Doreen’s kitchen. Molly often ate raw carrot and raw turnip. Perhaps she could eat raw potato?
“Do we get fed meals here or do we just eat the vegetables we dig up?”
“I think that’s our tea over there,” Beth waved her fork towards a big basket at the other side of the field. Molly didn’t think it had been there when they arrived.
“We shouldn’t eat until we’ve finished the whole field,” said Innes.
“Are you the witch’s factor or foreman or something?” demanded Beth.
“I’m just being practical, giving us an incentive.”
Beth muttered something about teacher’s pets and bent back down to the tatties.
They scratched and dug and howked for another half hour, getting stiffer and muddier and sweatier as they worked their way across the field.
Molly occasionally heard noises from the carpark by the shop. Doors slamming, babies wailing, car engines revving. And the crows on the scarecrow sometimes cawed. But the tattie-diggers worked in silence.
Eventually, Innes stood up straight and dropped his fork on the ground. “Let’s just tell her what we all are, then see if she’ll admit her own curse. Even if it doesn’t work, at least it will pass the time.”
“There are other ways to pass the time,” said Beth, stepping over to a ridge where the toad was loosening a clod of earth. “Atacama could ask us riddles, for example.”
Atacama growled at her, showing teeth as long and sharp as his claws. Molly took a step back, but Beth just laughed.
Then Molly thought about riddles and deserts and cats with human faces, and smiled. She’d read a lot of books; perhaps she wasn’t a complete beginner after all.
Innes rubbed earth off his hands. “Curses are nothing to be ashamed of, Molly. I’m here to lift a curse that was cast on my father, not on me. But it’s a curse that affects my whole family and all the running water in the Spey valley. It’s a curse that stops me and my family hunting underwater in our rivers any time the moon is in the sky, and it’s a curse that will kill us if we aren’t careful.”
Molly stared at him. She had no idea what he was talking about and no idea how she should respond.
Beth laughed. “Unless you tell her what you are, Innes, talking about rivers and hunting won’t have the dramatic impact you’re hoping for!”
Innes shrugged. “If she was any kind of worthwhile human, she’d already have guessed what I am.”
“She hasn’t a clue. Perhaps your family aren’t as famous and recognisable as you think!”
Innes turned to Molly, “Are you one of those humans who’s completely blind to the magic all around you? If you don’t know what I am, or what Beth is, or what Atacama is, then you’re missing out on half the world.”
Beth said, “Give up, Innes. She didn’t know Mrs Sharpe was a witch, and that’s obvious to almost everyone in Craigvenie, so she’s never going to guess what the rest of us are.”
“But I do know what Atacama is,” said Molly. “You’re a sphinx, aren’t you? You’re named after a desert and you’re an expert on riddles, so you’re a sphinx.”
Atacama nodded. “I am a sphinx. But I’m not an expert on riddles any more, because I’ve lost my own riddle.”
“Oh, I’m sorry,” said Molly. “How did you lose it?”
“Like all of us, I’m the victim of a dark spell commonly known as a curse. I was guarding a door, and I refused admission to a being who couldn’t answer my riddle. He cursed me so that I can remember the answer to my riddle, but I can’t remember the question. Until I can remove that magical barrier from my memory, I’m not a true sphinx, so I can’t guard anything. I might as well dig fields.” He looked down and swiped at the earth with one wide paw. The toad jumped out of the way.
Atacama looked so sad that, before she could stop herself, Molly reached out and laid her hand between his pointed black ears. His fur was soft and warm, and as she stroked it gently, Atacama’s long smooth face moved into an awkward smile. “Thank you for your concern.”
Molly patted his head and removed her hand.
Innes said, “So you can recognise a sphinx when you see his face and his wings and someone says ‘riddle’ right in front of you. Well done – you obviously read the right books. What about me and Beth? What are we?”
Molly stared at them, standing side by side, looking as un-magical as any of her friends in Edinburgh. She shrugged.
“Would you like a clue, perhaps?” murmured Atacama.
Molly smiled at the sphinx. “Yes, please.”
Beth shook her head. “That’s cheating. If humans can’t recognise what we are without help, they don’t deserve to know.”
Innes nodded. “Usually I’d agree with you, but I like the idea of clues. It might give Atacama back his riddling confidence and help us work out how ignorant Molly really is.”
“Actually, I do know what you all are,” said Molly. “You’re all rude. Apparently, I don’t deserve to know,” she glared at Beth, “and I’m ignorant,” she glared at Innes. “Is everyone in your world this unfriendly?”
“I’m not trying to be unfriendly, just practical,” said Beth. “So, a clue about each of us, then try to guess what we are. If you guess right, maybe we’ll help you with homework and coursework. If you guess wrong, you’re on your own.”
Innes said, “No, that’s too hard. Let’s allow her to ask three questions as well, with one-word answers. A riddle then three questions, so we can find out what she knows and how she thinks.” He looked at Molly. “Beth is right. This workshop is too important for us to waste our time helping someone with no knowledge of magic. But she’s wrong too. I don’t think abandoning you will do us any good. Mrs Sharpe wants us in the right frame of mind to lift our curses, and I don’t think treading everyone else underfoot is the best way to get there. So we’ll give you a fair chance. If you succeed, it will prove you have a feel for magic, and we’ll make you part of our team. But if you fail, it will prove you have so little sense of our world that you’ll probably never lift your curse anyway, and you might as well si
t in the corner for the week rather than slow us down. Are you up for the challenge?”
Molly remembered her speed as a hare running over the playing fields. “I bet I’m faster than any of you, so I don’t think I will slow you down. But if I have to spend this week doing a workshop about magic I don’t believe in, and digging vegetables I’m not going to eat, then I suppose I’d rather be in a team – even with you lot – than on my own. I’ll try to guess what you are, and if I fail, I won’t expect any help at all.”
Chapter 4
Molly stepped backwards over a ridge of undug tatties and looked at her fellow diggers. The toad was squatting by a discarded fork, Beth and Innes were standing together by a red bucket, Atacama was sitting tidily in front of them.
“I’m ready,” she said.
Atacama spoke, in a formal chanting voice:
Innes shifts shape even faster than he runs,
And when he runs fast on four legs,
Then you should fear him.
Molly gasped. Not because she was meant to fear Innes, but because Innes changed shape, like she did, which meant she had lots of questions she needed to ask him. But she could only ask three questions right now, so she had to choose carefully.
Molly thought about the collections of myths and legends on the magical shelves in the school library, where she’d first read about sphinxes and their riddles. “Innes, I don’t think you’re in the same myth books as Atacama’s family. Would I find you in stories from colder places?”
“That’s right. Colder wetter places.”
“One-word answers only,” snapped Beth. “Don’t help her.”
Molly couldn’t let the purple-haired girl’s antagonism distract her. She kept looking at Innes when she asked, “When you change shape to something four-legged, are you furry or slimy or scaly?”
He frowned. “How do I answer that in one word? Hair. That’s the one word.”
“Hare! You’re a hare?”
“No! Hair, like…” He ran the palm of his hand over his short blond hair. “Hair and mane and tail…”
“One word, Innes.”
“But she has to understand the one word and ‘hair’ is confusing when it’s not written down.”
Molly was smiling now. She thought she knew the answer, but she still had one more question. “Do you keep your hair short so it doesn’t have waterweed tangled in it when you come out of the water onto the land?”
He grinned. “Yes I do! Well done…”
“She still has to say it,” said Beth. “What is he? Exactly?”
“He’s a water-horse, a kelpie, a shapeshifter who can be a horse or human on land, and a monster in the water. Oh sorry, Innes! Maybe monster is the wrong word? Maybe you’re something really gentle and cute underwater?”
“No, monster is just about right. And, yes, I’m a kelpie. Good for you!”
“So have you been cursed to become a kelpie?” asked Molly.
“No…” Innes answered. “My ancestors have always been kelpies. We’re proud to be kelpies. But our curse is nothing to be proud of.”
“Oh, sorry.” Molly remembered another detail from those old Scottish stories: children going missing by lochs. “But… don’t kelpies eat people?”
“Sometimes. There’s a picnic over there, though, so you’re safe until well after tea-time.” He smiled at her, but she didn’t manage to smile back.
Beth said, “Kelpies are easy to guess. Kelpies are show-offs, so everyone knows about kelpies. What am I?”
Molly looked at Beth’s purple hair, pale face and stylish dark clothes. “A rock star?”
Innes laughed. “She might dress like it, but she’s not a fan of rocks. Beth is more botany than geology.”
“Shut up! Don’t give her clues. That’s Atacama’s job.”
Atacama nodded and spoke in his calm deep voice:
If Innes is wet, then Beth is dry,
And while his kind drown and eat yours,
Your kind slice and burn hers.
Molly frowned. “Do we? I only slice bread and cheese. Don’t answer! That wasn’t one of my questions!”
Beth scowled at her, but didn’t answer.
Molly thought about the burning and the black clothes. “Are you a witch?”
“NO! That’s my one-word answer, and my comment is: how dare you think I’m a witch? Witches are humans with a bit of magic. I am not human and I wouldn’t want to be. And I would never want to be a nasty cruel dangerous witch. If your next question is that insulting, I won’t even answer it!”
“Sorry, I didn’t realise it was an insult. Mrs Sharpe seems like a very nice witch.”
“She’s alright, for a witch. But most witches use their spells to cause immense amounts of trouble for everyone and everything around them.”
“If you can’t manage one-word answers, perhaps one sentence is enough,” said Innes, with a grin.
Molly noticed, for the first time, Beth’s long narrow hands and spring-green eyes. And she looked more closely at that messy cloud of purple hair.
She blurted out: “Do you dye your hair purple, or is that colour natural?”
“It’s natural,” said Beth, clipped and short and very uninformative.
Molly only had one question left, and she wasn’t any closer to knowing what Beth was. She definitely wasn’t a witch. And she wasn’t a water creature either, because the riddle said she was dry.
Molly repeated Atacama’s riddle, and Beth winced at the last few words.
So Molly asked, “When my people slice your people – which I’m sorry about, by the way – what do they use? A sword, a carving knife, a lawnmower, an axe, a laser, what?”
Beth whispered, “An axe. Or a saw.”
Molly remembered Innes’s joke about geology and botany. She was fairly sure that botany was the study of plants.
“Oh! You’re a—”
“Careful!” said Innes. “Careful. You have to say the correct word. We’ve given you a lot of leeway, but you have to get this exactly right.”
“But I don’t know how to get it exactly right!” Molly’s head was filling up with words like nymph and naiad and dryad and neried and woodsprite… But she had no idea which one was the perfect word.
Molly didn’t want to get this wrong. However fast she could run, she couldn’t keep up with these people in a classroom, because she knew nothing about magic and spells. If they didn’t help her, she’d be left behind, always chasing after them. Then she’d be stuck with this curse, if that’s what it was, for the rest of her life.
She sighed. “I don’t know. I’m sorry. I don’t know the exact word for what you are, Beth, but I can describe it. Can I do that instead?”
Beth glanced at Innes and Atacama, then nodded.
“You’re the spirit of a tree. I even know which tree. My favourite tree, because it’s such an amazing colour in the winter. With black-and-silver bark, and a cloud of purply brown twigs. I think you’re the spirit of a silver birch tree. Am I right?”
“You’re wrong,” said Innes, slowly. “She’s not the spirit of one silver birch, but all the silver birches in one wood. Not one tree, but many.”
“You’re nearly right. That’s good enough,” said Beth. “Are silver birches really your favourite tree?”
Molly nodded. “Even now I know birches are really rude in person, they’re still the most beautiful trees in the world.”
Beth frowned. “I’m not always rude, just when I’m scared that someone is going to prevent me saving my trees by risking the success of this workshop.”
“So, what is the word, then?” Molly asked. “Is it woodsprite or naiad or—Hold on! Atacama’s riddle said that Innes is wet and you’re dry. Are you a dryad?”
Beth nodded.
“But aren’t you meant to be all floaty and made of pretty flowers and leaves?”
“No, I’m a tree spirit, not a flower fairy. I’m as hard as wood and as strong as a tree trunk.”
“Yeah
, you don’t mess with a dryad,” said Innes. “So now we’re a team, Molly, tell us about your curse.”
Molly picked up her fork and stepped carefully round the toad. She started to loosen the earth round another tattie shaw. “Maybe after we’ve eaten.”
Now Molly knew that her classmates were all properly magical. A shapeshifter. A tree spirit. A mythical riddling sphinx. The toad was probably a prince. Their curses were probably cast by evil wizards with impressive cloaks, because of important magical disagreements.
Molly, however, just changed into a small brown rabbity thing. Even if she could admit she’d been cursed, she knew she couldn’t admit what she’d been arguing about when it happened, or what had been all over her shoe.
Innes sighed. “Ok, keep it to yourself if you want. Everyone else, get digging, while I run through a quick ABC of curses for the girl of mystery here.”
Beth said, “I hope you can talk and dig at the same time. You need to work beside us if we’re going to keep up this speed. You start and I’ll interrupt when you get things wrong…”
Molly smiled. She wasn’t going to learn much from this pair unless they stopped arguing.
Then Atacama said, in his calm formal voice, “There are several ways to find yourself under a curse. You can be cursed as a specific individual like I was, or you can inherit a curse like Beth, or be endangered by someone else’s curse like Innes. Is yours a personal curse or a family one, Molly?”
She muttered, “It’s just me.”
“There are new curses and historical curses. Beth has a very old curse, several centuries old. Innes’s curse is almost a year old, and mine was cast last week. How fresh is your curse, Molly?”
She sighed. “Just a couple of days.”
“There are curses cast by the living, where the curse-caster is still available to negotiate with, and there are dying curses, which can be especially strong. Were you cursed by someone’s last breath?”
Molly wondered if she should just tell the whole story now, rather drip it out in bits and pieces in response to Atacama’s polite questions.
