The Witches of Merribay (The Seaforth Chronicles)

by B. J. Smash

  “They aren't so much offerings as they are requests.”

  “For people that worship trees?” I asked.

  “No. I don't think the people that put them there worship the tree. They most likely think of the gift of trees and how we build from them and use their wood. Trees are a gift from the divine. And that big yew is a symbol of all trees. But the cloth is meant for something else,” he said.

  “I wonder what their requests were?”

  He shrugged his shoulders and grabbed a little branch and broke it, tossing it for the dogs.

  He gave me a mindful look and then said, “We're almost there.”

  We were silent for the next few minutes as we walked. I was still mystified about my leg. I couldn't help myself from looking at Drumm for the fact that he was an interesting fellow. What made him stand out from other boys were his ears. They had a pointy look to them. They weren't any bigger than other ears, but they just sort of pointed at the top. I liked them. Something about them seemed familiar and warm.

  I had to wonder if that was why he roamed the woods though, which was silly of me. Why would anyone roam the woods because of their ears? But maybe he didn't want anyone else to see them. To me they looked like they'd be lucky ears—something that would give a person good luck.

  As I was lost in my weird thoughts, we entered a path of lime-colored grass. Overhead the tree limbs met, arching and making a circle. Once out of the circle path, we entered a small grassy meadow, and there were patches and patches of little white flowers and then a few patches of tiny purple ones. It gave the word enchanting a new meaning.

  Drumm walked up and knocked on a tree.

  “Why are you knocking on that tree?” I asked.

  “Look up,” he said.

  The sun had started to shine again, and I had to use one of my hands to shield my eyes as I gazed up. “Holy cow! Look at that!” I said.

  Way up in the trees sat the nicest-looking tree house I'd ever seen. It literally was a house in the trees, made of logs. It had windows and a wraparound porch filled with plants and flowers.

  An old woman came to the railing of the porch and said, “Come around to the entrance. I'll be waiting inside.” She had shoulder-length white hair that blew gently in the wind.

  Something about the way she looked at me gave me the creeps, but it could have been the sun in my eyes, distorting her face.

  I followed Drumm as we walked by several trees, to a tree farther back next to a babbling brook. Between the tree and the brook, a circle of mushrooms grew. There were stairs wrapped around the trunk, and we proceeded to climb them. I still had the box of goods, and I would be happy to be rid of them.

  I had no idea how we were to get to the tree house. Zip-lining? When we reached the top of the stairs, there were bridges high up in the treetops, made of planks that went more than one way. There was a maze of them. One bridge led to another tree, and then to another, then to another.

  They were nice and sturdy bridges, meant to last. And looking around, you could see forever. We were up quite high, probably four stories. I could see a deer walking close by. I didn't dare mention it to Drumm while he held onto bow and arrows.

  A few birds were sitting here and there on the railings. I could see why; Izadora had placed bird feeders around. The feeders were made out of natural resources. There were hundreds of plants growing, and ivy wound its way around the railings, cascading down.

  We went from tree to tree on these bridges until finally we were at the house.

  As we arrived, I felt anxious, almost like I could have a panic attack. I'd had a few of those in the past, and they were unwanted. I hated them.

  But the heat rushed to my face, and I felt as though my throat may close. I felt nauseous and far from calm. What did I have to be nervous about? Ian sent me, and Izadora was probably nice, right? Thoughts of my father reading Hansel and Gretel to me as a child swept through my mind.

  I think something in me had snapped. I think I knew at that moment my life was about to change and there was no turning back. And no looking back.

  Oh, Dad. I wish he were here. I pushed the thoughts of him out of my mind as I usually did. I had never expected his disappearance, and I tried to get rid of any thoughts of him possibly starving in the woods. Oftentimes, I would pinch myself just to think about something else besides him. But thoughts of him flooded my mind and tears came to my eyes.

  I could feel something was about to change.

  We entered the porch and stepped up to a wooden door. Ivy trailed down the sides. A golden horseshoe hung above the door. “Is that real gold? It must be heavy.”

  “It is. Izadora likes gold.”

  Drumm opened the door and held it for me to enter. I didn't move.

  “Go on now, she won't bite,” he said.

  I stepped through and mindlessly held out the box of muffins and doughnuts. Drumm stayed out on the porch. Izadora was standing inside, leaning on a walking stick. She wore a long blue sack dress that more resembled a robe. She looked around sixty-five, I'd say. I made myself look at her. Her face was expressionless.

  “Thank you.” She took the box and set it on a counter. I looked around to calm myself. We had entered into her kitchen, and it seemed rather large. The floors were stained wood planks with the occasional Persian rugs spread out in different places. There were many windows, and I felt as though I could jump out one at that moment. The ceilings were vaulted to a peak, leaving the top open. I don't know how she kept the rain out. But I was to find out that Izadora could do many things.

  “Come and sit,” she demanded. She walked to a living room where the tree itself came up through the floor, and several soft, plush armchairs circled it. The thick tree limbs were used to hold items, and hanging from the limbs were glass bottles of many colors; blue and green were the dominant colors. A few canisters were here and there. Some type of an animal’s foot hung from one small branch, and a few scarfs hung from another. A fireplace sat in the back wall, empty of anything but a few small pieces of wood.

  I sat in a lilac purple chair and concentrated on breathing.

  “No need to be afraid of me,” she said as she sat in the chair across from mine. “It is I that needs your help. And in return, I shall help you.”

  Well if that was an icebreaker, it had worked. My ears perked up, and my throat started to open once again. I took in a deep breath, for somehow I knew exactly what she meant without my asking. She was going to help me find my father.

  Chapter Five

  “Do you have something that belongs to me?” Izadora asked.

  I had forgotten about the seashell. Immediately digging into my pocket, I pulled it out and handed it to her. She gladly took it and held the shell up to her left ear.

  After a few moments she said, “Ah, just as I expected. She's back in town.”

  I hadn't said two words yet, and so I cleared my throat and spoke. “Who?”

  I studied her old and wizened face. She had many lines around her mouth, and I hoped the wrinkles came from years of smiling, but I had to doubt it. She had crow’s-feet around her eyes, and she squinted at things up close.

  “My sister. She is always up to no good. I need to get rid of her.” She set the seashell on a side table, folded her hands, and put them in her lap.

  Something about this old woman demanded respect. I couldn't bring myself to ask what she meant, and I sat there waiting for her to speak again.

  “That is where you may be of use to me. You could help me get her out of the way. And it will be to your own benefit—”

  At this point I interrupted. “How can I get her out of the way?” Thoughts of poisoned apples came to my mind, but surely that couldn't be what she meant.

  “As I was saying, it will be to your own benefit. She knows where your father is.” She looked at me gravely, studying my response.

  “Wha—What did you say? She…she knows what?” I couldn't stop from stuttering.

  She continued t
o watch me like I was a naughty child about to explode into a tantrum.

  “She knows who stole your father. He's alive. But first things first. You must help me and then I shall help you. I do not mean to extinguish her life. I need something back—something that she had stolen from me. And that will render her powerless against me, giving me the upper hand.”

  “Phew! I'll…I'll do anything you ask.” My mind was a whirlwind. Could it really be possible? I knew he hadn't died; I could just feel it in my soul. I had been angry when the police had stopped looking for him, and I couldn't imagine why everyone just seemed to give up.

  “Ah…don't commit yourself as such, until you know what I'm asking of you. In order for him to return, you may lose something else that is quite precious to you.”

  I couldn't think of anything more precious than my father, and so I didn't care what she was asking of me.

  “I'll do it. I want him back.” I could tell by her uncertain look that she didn't believe me.

  “Then you must do as I say. And only then can I get him back.”

  A teakettle whistled from the kitchen. Izadora pushed herself up from the chair, walked to the kitchen using her walking stick, and gathered some teacups.

  Drumm popped up immediately, taking the cups and saucers from her to the porch.

  “Let's take our tea out here.” She brought along the box of muffins and doughnuts.

  We sat on wooden stools at a table that had been fashioned from the trunk of a tree. Several natural knots and gouges ran through it. A nice, calm breeze wafted by, carrying the scent of lilacs, and with good reason, given that she had lilac trees on the porch. Many flowers and plants were placed on the porch or hung from the porch railings, encircling the whole house and surrounding walkways. There was an amazing assortment of things, from cherry tomatoes, and potatoes growing in clumps of soil, with nothing to hold it together. It was almost as if they were in an invisible garbage pail. Mint, thyme, rosemary, and dozens of herbs grew throughout, along with some things that I could not identify. And there were hundreds of flowers.

  She wasted no time and poured the tea then continued with the conversation. “My sister lives on a houseboat in town. I need you to go there and retrieve my rolling pin.”

  I snickered. “A rolling pin? Couldn't I go to the store and just buy you a new one?” I couldn't believe she wanted me to get her rolling pin back. If she wanted to make piecrust or something, couldn't she get a new one?

  Drumm cut the tape on the box of muffins and doughnuts and took one out, handing it to Izadora. “Elderberry, just as you like them.” Then he took out a doughnut and started picking at it as though he didn't know what it was.

  “It belonged to our mother, who gave it to me. Not my sister. She could never be trusted with such a thing. I want it back.”

  Evidently, the value of the rolling pin came down to being an antique that belonged to her mother. I could see why she'd want it back. I never knew my mother. She died shortly after I was born. So, I guess I could see the value of such a thing, even if it was just a rolling pin. But the comment about how her sister couldn't be trusted with the rolling pin seemed ridiculous. What could she do with it? Hit someone over the head?

  “Her name is Magella. And she can never leave the water,” said Izadora.

  A thousand thoughts spun through my mind. Magella. The houseboat with the ugly mermaid face painted on the side, the pink note card in the window, the ancient rune stones…and the Tiffany lamp! The nasty old witch lady who had read Zinnia's fortune and mine.

  “I believe I have already met her. She told my sister's fortune. It turned out to be quite accurate.”

  “I know,” said Izadora. “You lost your father.”

  The words stung. “What is going on? I don't mean to be disrespectful, but why can't you just go and get it yourself?”

  There was silence for a few moments. Drum spoke up this time. “Izadora can't go. She can't leave the air.”

  “What do you mean she can't leave the air?” My voice squeaked. This was getting crazier and crazier by the minute.

  “Magella can never leave the water, and so she lives in a houseboat. Izadora can never leave the air, and so she lives in the trees. They are bound to this. Forever,” Drumm explained as he picked at his doughnut. “And if they do—”

  “We shall turn to dust,” Izadora finished. “These are our aforesaid posts.”

  “Why would you turn to dust?” I asked.

  “It's just the way things are,” Izadora said, not offering any more information.

  All I could do was nod. I had a very good feeling that I was in over my head. I couldn't believe what they were telling me. Could this be true? I remembered a story that Great-Grandpa told me as a young girl. It was a story about the extraordinary beings that sometimes interact with humans. Could that story have held some truth in it? It had been just a story, hadn't it?

  They proceeded to explain what I had to do. Drumm couldn't go. He couldn't leave the forests; he had to be on guard. For what, who knows? I would have to do the rest on my own.

  I agreed to do it, but I couldn't believe what Izadora asked me to do next.

  “If you are going to help me, then I must insist you drink this.” She took out a needle from her pocket and pricked the tip of her finger. Placing her finger over my teacup, she squeezed one drop of blood in it.

  “Drink,” she said.

  “Um. I don't think I should do that.”

  “By drinking this, you prove your loyalty to me, and I shall know where you are located. If any harm comes to you, help will be sent as soon as possible. And if you encounter Magella, you may need my help.”

  Wanting to get out of there, I picked up the cup of tea and drank all of its contents. What harm could it do? And if it made the old woman happy, why not? The thought of it disgusted me, but, hey, I'd play this game. One thing I knew for sure, she had better get my dad back after this.

  We left shortly after that, taking the bridges back to the stairs and climbing down to the ground where the two white, red-eared hell hounds awaited us.

  As we walked back by the tree house, Izadora stood on the porch and yelled down to me, “Oh, and Ivy…if you want the purple scarf on the old yew tree, go ahead and take it.”

  My mouth dropped.

  She turned around and walked back inside.

  Chapter Six

  It seemed almost impossible, especially for a worrywart like me, to do such a task. My “orders” were to get into Magella's houseboat and look for the rolling pin.

  Apparently the two sisters had been at odds for years—no, “decades and decades,” according to Drumm, which would mean that Izadora was…old. I had no real evidence to say that she may be some supernatural being, but it was my best guess based on the facts that I had been given today. Who turns to dust when they hit the ground?

  And if that didn't convince me, then this possibly could: Drumm told me that Magella would leave her boat regularly after midnight to swim in the sea. She could supposedly “breathe underwater” and went away for long periods of time, fishing and God only knows what else. I figured that if she could never leave the water, then swimming must be her only exercise. As for the breathing underwater part, I had my doubts. At the very least, these ladies were some sort of witches.

  I would have to wait in town and keep watch for her departure. The only place I could think of to wait would be at Aunt Cora and Aunt Clover's café. Aunt Clover lived above the café, and I would have to spend the night there. I would watch and wait for any signs of Magella exiting the boat, and get in there as soon as possible.

  It would have to happen on Saturday night when she was known to most certainly take a break from the boat. It had to work. If it didn't, well, I didn't even want to think of the consequences.

  Drumm and the dogs walked me back to Ian's gate, but first he insisted that we stop and get the purple scarf from the old yew. I didn't really want to take it, but he said, “If Izadora gives
you a gift, you must take it.”

  “But how is it hers to give? It belongs to the old yew, doesn't it?”

  He just looked at me funny, untied the scarf, and handed it to me.

  We walked back to Ian's gate in silence. When we arrived, Ian was sitting in his wheelchair, playing a hand-held solitaire game. Before Drumm turned to leave he said, “Meet me Saturday afternoon at this gate at maybe three or so, and we'll go for a run. The forest has thirty-two dirt roads, and we can just pick one.”

  “I'll be here,” I said

  He turned and walked away.

  Ian opened the gate, all smiles, and said, “I see you have a new friend.”

  “I suppose. He's okay,” I said and handed him a piece of birch bark. “This is Izadora's message back to you.”

  He accepted the tree bark, grabbed his bag from behind him, and took out a plastic bag with black dust inside. He took a pinch and rubbed it on the bark and held it up to the sunshine.

  “I see. I see. That's excellent news,” he said, and then he took out a lighter and burned the bark, tossing it to the ground. “So, you've agreed to help us then.”

  “What choice do I have? She can get my father back,” I said, “but what do you have to gain from this?”

  He smiled his charming smile and said, “I just want to see things put back to rights.” Then he grabbed something else from his bag and handed it to me. “A check for your two days of service.”

  I took the check. “Fifty dollars! For two days? Thanks!”

  “Now let's get back for high tea before Mrs. Pumbleton strokes out.”

  As we made our way back, I had many questions, but few were answered. The one question that burned me was, “Who or what is Izadora and Magella?”

  This would be the only question he answered, and it was only a partial answer.

  “Izadora and Magella—what a complicated question. I will tell you what I know. Yes, why not? After all, you deserve to know now, don't you?” He wheeled on, avoiding every rut and sinkhole of the path, until we reached the cherry tree lane and I took over for appearance’s sake. Although I knew Mrs. Pumbleton wouldn't be in the garden, we couldn't take the chance of her thinking I was slacking on the job.