Please don’t hurt them, Aroha asked them. They are my friends.
Annoyed, yes they were very annoyed. But, restrained by her care for the men, they did not move down from the high places they occupied. Their silver eyes watched from the trees for any signs of broken protocol.
Dimly, Aroha heard Sally’s heavy sigh, but there was nothing either of them could do but wait. Buried in magic she let herself settle into the pulse of the bush; the ebb and flow of the trees in the wind, the tide of the birdcall, and the raw smell of the leaves.
The quiet of the forest was broken by the wooden thwack of bullets among the trees and the sudden smell of smoke. Aroha’s chest constricted as around her the Forest People awoke fully to rage. No remote pleas for calm would do anything now.
The birds of the bush erupted from the direction of the waterfall, fleeing past Sally and Aroha and making the girls duck for cover in the flurry of their flight. No calls from them now, only the need to escape. Nor were they the only ones to feel it. Both girls were also pressed with the need to flee, but when Aroha looked across at her friend, there was also the heady brew of curiosity in her eyes.
Sally would cause more trouble down there among magic she could not see, and yet she would follow. Aroha pushed her back down when she tried to rise in the wake of the birds and bound her with a little geis to hold her to this part of the earth. It was not what her Nana had taught her; any fumbling attempt she’d ever made to make people obey her had always met with a sharp reprimand. But then, Nana was not here.
Sally’s eyes glazed over a little but she hugged the ground silently, pressing her ear to the earth, listening to the calming song of the earth mother Papatuanuku.
Now confident that she wouldn’t be followed, Aroha raced across the moist slope towards the valley floor and the sounds of conflict. It was not something that she would have done in the village, but the forest gave her power—made her something more than just a child. And it was she who had brought these two men into a domain they could never understand. She had to bargain for their lives, make excuses for their mistakes and bring them out alive as she’d been unable to do with others.
The sound of bullets thunking into wet tree-trunks stuttered to a stop. The forest descended into complete silence. Aroha used different senses now, pushing forward with her awareness. She found the tangled outrage of the Forest Folk, the horrified men, and the steel shaped deadness in the bush.
Wrapping a cloak of quiet around her shoulders, she pressed forward through the ferns and undergrowth. The mist of the waterfall gathered on her face as she drew closer. Wiping the moistness out of her eyes, she raised her head slowly out of cover to see what her mortal senses would tell her.
The mud next to the waterfall had been trampled by large soldier boots. Shrubs and bushes had been broken in haste. Such things the Folk did not tolerate and hence it was the first concern to draw her attention. Then Daniel threw up his laser shield, flooding the forest with the blue-white light. He was holding the metal strut and curved sparking shield above Simon who was lying stunned on the ground in front of him.
Not far off, a man-sized drum hovered in the air, its surface painted camouflage green. Twin turrets were aimed in the soldiers' direction while its own shield encased it in an impenetrable field.
It was obvious that this wasn’t a dumb bot as the men had hoped. It might well contain any number of deadly viral agents as well as its own impressive armory. In the beginning of the conflict, bots had been dropped to cause panic among civilians—which they’d certainly done. Now that the country was lost to the enemy, would they have been told to instead seek retribution?
Daniel was shooting worried questions over his shoulder to his groggy companion, but all the time holding the shield high. It was an emergency shield, similar to the ones a few of the villagers had. It could offer only a few minutes protection from enemy fire. Nana had told Aroha how to use one, but had warned her that you shouldn’t stick around thinking you were safe. The power sources on them were very unreliable and could burn out quickly.
The bot’s shield was internally generated and probably able to outlast theirs. Daniel tried several times to hoist Simon over his shoulder, but the necessity of keeping the shield up made it almost impossible for them to move.
Aroha didn’t know what to do. She was used to little decisions; what to eat for breakfast, when to really go to bed after Nana told her to. Not things like this.
A sharp coolness appeared at her shoulder but she did not turn. The only way to really see the Folk was not to look. Aroha inclined her head, letting her vision blur a little, and caught the glimpse of the pale hand on her skin. It had no weight, but carried thoughts clearly.
These ones intrude. These ones bring metal.
Aroha attempted not to think about time or danger—neither of which the Folk had any concept of. She showed instead images of the pain and suffering these men were trying to stop.
The scent of jasmine billowed around her nostrils and the world slowed. They destroy. The hint of anger.
The Folk could not discern the difference between the men and their enemy. The bot was something utterly unknown and they merely assumed the soldiers had bought it with them.
No. Aroha pushed forward images of the enemy sending it, of what it would do to the villagers.
Why should we care? The Folk’s reply was like a blast from the Antarctic, a howling southerly that cared nothing for mortals and their petty concerns.
Aroha couldn’t think of a quick answer. They rarely touched humanity’s world, only skimming the surface of the physical realm and only in places people rarely ventured. Still, she knew one strange thing about the Folk; she was important to them. Why it was, she had not yet worked out, but she used it now.
She let them see what the village and Nana and even the two foolish soldiers meant to her. How much it would hurt to live in a broken world without other humans, even with all the mistakes they made. Do not let me be alone, she pleaded.
The Folk shifted and Aroha was suddenly enmeshed in a brightness, the air felt warm and thick in her throat. Love.
It lasted only for a moment, then the golden haze lifted and she was once more able to see the human world. Such a glimpse made her want to cry.
You understand there must be a price.
Nana had told her the rules, all unknown, tucked in her bed, murmuring fairy stories into her young ear. There were always going to be consequences for asking the Folk for aid—even to those they loved.
Yes, Aroha replied, not even voicing the consent.
But even then, the Folk were hesitant. They had not been really present in the human world for such a long time, before even Nana's birth. They did not want to take that step.
So Aroha gave them a little push, she knew the rules. Help them.
A slight buzz raced across the surface of her skin. The Folk stirred reluctantly.
Help them, she demanded, testing the limits of her power over them.
The air in the glade solidified, concentrating around Aroha's small tense form. And they waited…
For the third and final, magical time. Help them!
They could not disobey. It was one of the rules laid down between their place and the human world. And because they loved her, they played none of the games as their kind was known for. They did as bid.
The air flashed white-hot, burning itself into the back of Aroha's eyes with its power. And in that moment between breaths, when the world itself disappeared, the bot was crushed. It happened in an instant only Aroha could see. The Folk did not like metal and took this chance to vent that anger.
“Aroha!” Sally's very solid arms wrapped around her in panic, flinging her to the ground as the pieces of bot sprayed around them. Where had her friend come from? Aroha was filled with sudden love for her; she had risked it all and followed her into danger.
It was gone. She had an impression of Daniel coming towards them, startled but glad. His confusion was easy
enough to read, but as always the human mind found a way to keep its world intact. It would have been the power systems overloading. He was satisfied with that.
Aroha was, however, thinking of something else: of all the Rapunzels and Hansels who had made similar bargains. What would the Folk demand of her for such intervention? Her memory danced through all the terrible prices those fairytale princesses had paid. It was a victory right now, but later would it still be?
Walking back through the rising mist, Ella couldn’t stop rubbing the place on her arm where Ronan had touched her. It tingled like she’d banged her elbow against something; impossible, since he’d barely made contact with her at all. Shaking her arm brusquely, she increased her pace, walking up Church Street and then across to Henley, which ran parallel to it.
He’d looked utterly at home when she had opened the back door of Bakari’s house; such economic grace when doing something as normal as making toast. And then there was the strange fact that he’d already had a second teacup out.
Before Bakari arrived, Ronan had also said something strange, something about her needing to watch her back. He knew nothing about her or that she was in that habit anyway.
Alice Thorn was struggling with some weeds in her front garden, her bright curly hair held back with a grimy bandana and her thick woolen gloves somewhat incongruous for the heat of the day. Penny Two Dolls was nowhere to be seen. Alice waved cheerfully, pushing her hair out of her eyes. She could talk for hours about her always-in-crisis herbs and vegetables. She was one of those who believed in getting back to the earth—it was a sad indictment on this century that Penherem was the best she could do.
Ella leaned across the wall and told her the news about Hamish. Alice shook her head, her face pinching in on itself. “Thought I’d got away from all that.”
It was the first hint of Alice’s past she’d let slip. She was no different to the majority of Little Penherem then, fleeing an unhappy past.
“Come over for a cup of tea.” It was what everyone said, a platitude and a ritual at the same time. Above all, Ella wanted to give her a reassuring hug like Bakari had, but the younger woman was already moving.
Alice began swiftly clearing up her gardening tools, not looking in her direction. “Thanks Ella, but I'd better go find Penny. I need to explain it to her—if I can…..”
As always with Alice, there was a line you didn’t cross, a moment where the blinds came down. Beyond that point only Penny mattered.
She should have gone after her, Ella thought, even as her neighbor’s door banged and she was left staring sadly over the wall, but she was feeling decidedly odd, herself. Scuffing her boots amongst the gravel of the path, she went up the stairs and safely inside. Was this the measure of the village, then, that everyone retreated to their own concerns in crisis? She’d thought differently.
For a moment Ella just rested there, back to the door, eyes closed, waiting for the world to get itself together. The tingle had traveled up her arm, and now her whole body was vibrating, including her eyesight. Nausea blocked her throat and she dropped to her knees, contorted with such pain that it momentarily eclipsed any her back might have given her. Her hands fluttered automatically to the spinebridge but it was still in place.
Ella half crawled to her couch, feeling along the carpet with her eyes closed. God, that Ronan couldn’t have palmed her some sort of pill in her tea…
She hadn’t turned on her rather rudimentary HouseTalk on the way out this morning and unless she could find the console and log in manually, the ambulance wouldn’t reach her. Her blind fingers skittered over delicate china and the stack of books next to the couch. A startled squawk from Qoth said she'd managed to upset some perch or other. Cats very seldom made exceptions for illness.
But just as she was beginning to panic the world seemed to right itself. Ella leaned back against the sofa gasping with relief. Her arm was only warm now, like it had been held next to a fire.
Perhaps after this, Adjustment wouldn’t look so bad. Perhaps she could even get some advice from Tania. Whatever it meant, she couldn’t stay here. She needed company.
Leaving Qoth to settle back and forgive her, Ella scooped up a warmer jacket and let the door bang behind her. For a moment she stood, arms wrapped around herself in the chill morning, looking up and down the street with indecision. It was early May, and it could still be cold until the sun came up properly.
The thought made her start, her head suddenly turning towards the Green and where young Hamish would be lying—cold. It was not an image she wanted to have in her head, and yet she was drawn to it. Ella’s feet found their own way down Henley and onto High Street.
The Green was shedding its misty wrappings and the police could be seen, all intent and studious crawling all over Hamish’s death scene. She stood locked on the scene, hearing her heart beat in her ears, bile growing hot in the back of her throat.
“Not a pretty sight, is it?” Ned Aldridge was holding the dark brown door of the Green Man open as if he had been expecting her. His blocky shape was almost indistinguishable against the dim recesses of the pub. “But I’ll say this much, I’ve never had a better crowd for a Monday morning.”
Ella’s mouth twitched, uncertain if he was making a joke or being serious. One thing Ned was keen on was pulling a good crowd to his pub.
“Come in, little ‘un,” he stepped aside, “You’re practically the only villager not here.”
Once inside the Green Man, Ella could see he was right; the pub was bulging to capacity, every nook and barstool taken. Bev Aldridge could barely be seen over a steaming pile of bacon and eggs as she wielded an enormous serving spoon with admirable vigor. She managed a brief wave. Only Ari, Alice and Penny Two Dolls were missing. Poor Rob Claremont, the brother of the unfortunate Hamish, had his head bent in sorrow and his fingers were white around the obligatory pint. He was surrounded by quiet-voiced villagers, some with their hands on his arm.
And then, over by the bar, was Ronan. Ella tried not to let the idea that he was following creep into her head—but it already had. He too had a pint, but was enjoying it with what was almost unseemly zest. Leaning precariously on the two rear most legs of the bar stool, he was chatting amiably to Bev, as if unaware that she was fighting a losing battle with the bacon. Ella sighed in something that might have been irritation, and he chose that moment to look over. He grinned.
But another voice broke her concentration. “Ella, just in the nick of time.” Mrs. Winslow, Penherem’s oldest resident, patted a seat next to her in a vaguely commanding manner. Never one to consider Treatment, her wrinkled old face was the first one that all the tourists saw as they came into the town. She sold all the tickets from behind her battered little desk in the corner shop. Though it might take longer than Lining one from home—they liked the authenticity of it.
And authentic, Ella thought to herself as she slid gratefully into the nook, was what Mrs. Winslow was all about.
“Quite the excitement, ain’t it?” The older lady took a tiny sip of the port in front of her, “Mind you, not the kind the village needs.”
Ella’s fingers knitted themselves together.
She was aware how the old lady’s eyes dropped to her gesture; old eyes picked up everything. Mrs. Winslow took another little mouthful of port before letting fall her pearls of wisdom, “You should get out more, Ella. That cottage of yours is all very nice, but it’s not the whole world.”
“I do get out,” Ella sounded pathetic even to herself. “All the time…” She was getting the opinion that everyone in the village gossiped about her.
“A beautiful May day like today calls for celebration. Most especially when there is so much death lurking about. Believe me, enjoy while you can.” She looked up as the tall shape of Ronan appeared to the half circle of the nook. “Now, I’m sure you know what May is for.”
The man’s deep chuckle stirred the air around the women and tickled Ella’s ears. “Is that an offer, Eve?” Just how he
’d learnt the old lady’s first name was yet another mystery. He slid into the rather cramped space next to Ella, but leaned across to take the older woman’s hand, raising it to his lips.
“Goodness, no.” She seemed delighted, even at the impertinent use of her first name. “These old bones are not up to that—all too much time later to lie on the earth.”
“It’s all a cycle.” Ella was speaking before she knew it. “Even Spring has death in it, too.”
Mrs. Winslow’s hooded eyes popped wide with surprise. “Whatever are you talking about, girl?”
Caught out, she decided to clam up, especially when Ronan focused his attention on her.
“It’s a strange little village you have here, ladies.” He didn’t sound at all concerned, though; in fact, quite the opposite.
A silence prevailed for a second, until Ella realized Mrs. Winslow had receded into one of her moods and wasn't going to reply. She’d slumped back into her spot and was staring morosely into her diminished glass of port.
Ella could feel her face reddening, and the more she thought about it the hotter it became. “How so?” she finally managed to blurt out.
He was looking at her askance. “Well, it seems pretty much like a tourist trap—until you dig a little deeper.”
“And then?”
“Why, then,” he leaned forward so that the warm hot scent of him was washing over her, “you realize there is something going on.”
The air had gone so rigid that Ella thought her lungs had frozen. His words had done it, made her dreams and experiences of the last few days real. If she did not break the spell, she might not be able to take another breath.
“It’s a murder, you idiot.” God, had she spoken that or yelled it? Suddenly the whole pub had gone quiet and all eyes turned in her direction. Ella quavered under the attention.
Then Mrs. Winslow, who had by this stage fallen into a proper sleep, let out a booming snore. Suddenly, the spell was broken and the village enveloped Ella. They pressed around the nook, touching her shoulder, clasping her hand, telling her that it was all right. One of Bev Aldridge’s tears fell on her hand, and before she could protest Rob had scooped her up in a rough hug.
Digital Magic (The Chronicles of Art Book 2) Page 9
