Digital Magic

by Philippa Ballantine

  Penherem was a whisper of that which he loved. How he could have never found it before in all the time of his roaming perplexed him. Ronan had walked, he thought, all the roads of the earth, spent at least a night in every hamlet and city, curled asleep against every mountain and ancient tree. This was especially true here in England. So how, then, could he have missed it? Thinking of the strange mask once more, he pondered whose face it had last concealed. Was it too much to hope it had been the face it resembled?

  His little magics worked his bidding and now his four legs ran much faster than two. The world came alive with so many more sounds and scents that it was like moving through a heady soup. Yet he still needed somewhere to rest and get out of the rain.

  The great cat flopped down under a tree heavy with mist and looked out with its yellow eyes across the moor. A quick lick to smooth fur ruffled by wet and wind, and he felt his inner calm return. It felt so much better, in fact, that he was not to be satisfied until he had completely groomed. For a while he was a flurry of activity.

  His head, though, would not be silent, and memory plagued him. My home, my Fey. But cats don’t cry, and his call remained unspoken.

  Ronan waited, certain that something was afoot in the drawing night, but nothing stirred. The hill sloped away under him thick with dew-hung grass and droop headed flowers. In the hedgerows blackbirds and field mice alike hid from the rain. Every living thing was still.

  It was not what he wanted. Ronan had half expected a change, perhaps a flickering of something more, but no… that was impossible! What he wanted was too far away, surely. And yet, and yet, a rogue part of him whispered, it was not to be ruled out.

  The panther's perfect black sides heaved with a heavy very human sounding sigh and he licked dissolutely at his flank, thinking all the while.

  Ronan felt himself stripped bare, so bare he had lost himself. That laughing, foolish creature he had once been was a stranger to him. He was a bright many-faceted jewel worn to something far more base by time and care. He felt dark and dank, and perhaps old as well. Would his dark eyed cousin recognize him now? He doubted it—even his true name was gone. After all this time, Ronan finally knew what it was to be human. And he didn’t like it.

  The mist was rolling in, taking with it the green hills and wrapping the world in its gray shroud. He was wrong, amusing as it had been to imagine there was no more magic in the world. Last night had merely been his wishful thinking. This place only remembered magic—it didn’t have any of its own. The dark patterned hide rippled with an enormous feline sigh as Ronan’s world shrank. I am alone.

  ***

  They said never to go up into the hills, and yet people did. For Aroha and her Nana living on the very downward curve of the beech covered mountains, it was easy enough to turn their backs to the mystery, but for those soldiers there was no choice. And Aroha had yet to get up the courage to tell Nana what she had promised them.

  It wouldn’t be easy. A rescue party was going into the forest: not to the sacred place that was the soldiers' destination, but further east towards the sea. A group of survivalists, just recently converted to that belief by the war, had become lost there. Long Jack, who’d once been a policeman, had seen the bright red flare in the previous night’s sky, and he’d organized a party of four villagers to retrieve them. Right now there was no one else. It said as much, that the only help the government could send was the two young soldiers.

  Just down from Aroha’s home, the men were discussing the best route in, warmly clad in bush shirts and with their packs strapped to their backs. The packs were filled mostly with first aid equipment, as they didn’t expect to be long gone.

  As Nana stood wrapped in her gray shawl and watched the rescue party tramp off, she shook her head.

  “I hope they took their shovels,” she muttered to herself. “Terribly late in the year to bring bodies back.”

  Aroha was curled up on the dilapidated swing that Nana had made last year out of raupo and punga log. She was trying hard not to think of cold bodies lying up amongst the trees. Their eyes would be open; cloud dew would be falling and gathering on cold cheeks. Only the birds would know where they were.

  “Stop that now, Aroha,” Nana’s firm hand gripped her shoulder. “No use pining over lost souls.” Her voice was firm as she squeezed in next to her granddaughter on the seat. It creaked alarmingly, but held.

  She pulled the young girl close, enveloping her in the comforting scent of lavender, and patted her curls reassuringly. “Don’t blame yourself either—we warned them.”

  Aroha swallowed hard on her secret. The bush did indeed hold many dangers besides the Forest People, but now how could she possibly tell Nana about her promise to the soldiers? With those people dead, there was no way she’d let her granddaughter go.

  “Think about life instead, little one,” Nana murmured into her granddaughter’s hair. Aroha already knew what would come next. “Did I tell you about the time that seagull dropped a gift on my head?”

  She had a thousand times before, but Aroha giggled, “No.”

  “Well then,” Nana began. As she told the long and elaborate tale that involved a fine wool dress, a fancy hairstyle, and an angry bird, Aroha sighed in contentment. As always, Nana’s voice drove away the dark thoughts.

  “And then when I ran home to my mother, do you know what happened?” Nana tickled Aroha under the ribs.

  “She said you couldn’t wash it off.”

  “Why?”

  “Because it was good luck!” The very idea of her Nana’s thick dark hair being full of bird droppings was ridiculous.

  Nana slapped her own knee, “But you know what? I think she might have been right. After all—here you are.”

  “I didn’t come from bird poop!” Aroha yelled.

  “No, I imagine not,” Nana’s eyes skittered away across the porch towards the bush, “From somewhere much better.”

  A little lump suddenly boarded up Aroha’s throat. She’d asked about her mother and father many times, but all she ever got was that they had died not long after her birth. She couldn’t even say if her curly mahogany hair was her mother’s or her father’s. Still, she knew better than to ask Nana again—it would only make her sad.

  Her grandmother pulled herself out of the swing and went down the steps to the peeling pump. It groaned and wheezed as she worked the handle, but the water that came out would be icy cold and refreshing.

  It was really difficult sometimes, knowing what to say to Nana. So many puzzles in the world, and not allowed to mention any of them! But then, Aroha had her own store of secrets.

  Looking slyly out of the corner of her eye, she tried to judge if she’d be able to slip away from Nana and get into the undergrowth on the far side of the dirt track. She seemed to always know if any mischief was about to enter Aroha’s head. However there were the odd times when she got that funny look in her eye and went about sighing and looking at the far off hills all the time. Those were the rare moments when Nana was distracted. The question remained; was this one of those times?

  Aroha couldn’t help thinking of those earnest young soldiers. Nana had always said that when you gave a promise you had to stick to it.

  So, really, if she had to be the tiniest bit sneaky, it was still better than breaking a promise. Aroha thought about that for a minute, weighing up Nana’s outrage against the needs of her village. Even knowing how much trouble she was going to be in didn’t change her mind.

  When Nana sat down with a tired sigh, Aroha leapt up to furnish her with a cup of tea. The late afternoon sun helped, keeping them warm and dozy on the front porch.

  You had to be careful with Nana. Any tricks had to very little ones. She’d sense it otherwise, and then there would be nothing but an afternoon of peeling potatoes to look forward to. Aroha was very quiet. Ever so gently she pushed a little—the smallest fraction of a suggestion at her guardian. Nana’s head bobbed and her eyes slid shut.

  Gathering her feet
silently under her, Ella crept out of the sunroom, carefully eased the fly screen door shut behind her, and left Nana snoring softly.

  It wasn’t as if being sneaky was part of her nature, but she perhaps enjoyed the thrill of it more than she should have. Aroha opened up the cavernous crawl space under the house, piled high and smelling faintly of rust. Nana couldn’t bear to throw anything away even if there was no hope of it ever getting repaired. So there were crumbling lawn mowers and rolling piles of almost unidentifiable farm implements under here. Nana simply shoved things under the house and then refused to go near them—it made the perfect hiding place.

  Aroha had already assembled her own backpack and hidden her strong walking boots under here. Jerking these on, she carefully closed the storage area and ran off through the long grass.

  Few paths led into the bush, but Aroha knew them all. Once out of sight of home, there was nothing between her and the Forest People.

  Sally was waiting for her just at the edge of the bush where the scrubby manuka turned into darker green of tree ferns. Her friend was also carrying a thin pack, though a much more torn and abused one. Of the soldiers, though, there was no sign.

  “You got away OK, then?” Sally screwed her eyes up against the sun while emitting a jaw-breaking yawn.

  “Yep—Nana always has a nap before lunch,” Aroha said the lie as blandly as possible.

  “That’s ‘cos she’s getting old.”

  “And you?”

  Sally shrugged, her eyes sliding away. It remained unspoken how easy it was for her to get lost in the crowd of children that always hovered around her mother.

  “So where are the soldiers?” Aroha gazed all around, hopeful that she might be disappointed.

  “Maybe they’re scared,” Sally replied with a giggle. “Or maybe they had such a good breakfast that they couldn’t be bothered going.”

  “No such luck.” The ferns rustled and the two Grey Wolves appeared from the edge of the bush. They had their weapons slung from their shoulders, hands clenched around the ugly muzzles, while their faces were covered with broad stripes of brown and green greasepaint. They looked just like the men in the army brochure some of the village men had been passing around at the last council meeting. Aroha shivered.

  The soldiers moved closer and Daniel laid what was meant to be a reassuring hand on Aroha’s shoulder. “It’s going to be alright.”

  Adults always said that, as if they had more power in the world than a kid. It was a lie. They might have looked old to her, but she knew that they were just shy of being children themselves.

  “How long will it take to reach the falls?” Simon was hanging back a little, trying to seem a bit stauncher than his mate.

  “Nightfall,” Aroha replied. It was not that far, directly, but the guardians of that place did like the formalities to be observed. That was why so many adults ran foul of their trickeries. Grown ups wanted to believe in their own power. They blundered in, expecting everything to be their right, but with the Forest People, that could be a deadly illusion. They had powers to whisk away a person's mind, to pull them about in the streams of time. You approached only with great care and along the appropriate paths.

  Sally nodded too. She had no touch of magic, but in her own way she understood the way things worked. Like all in the village, she’d learnt respect for the falls.

  Daniel’s eyes narrowed. Perhaps he’d heard different, but he was unsure, Aroha could sense that. He spared a look over his shoulder to where Simon was waiting stony faced—there was an odd adult power game going on there.

  “I’ll just call in.” He stepped away behind the swooshing leaves of the toi toi to communicate with command.

  Aroha and Sally shuffled their feet and tried not to stare at his companion.

  Simon grinned, a secret little smile and walked over. “You two haven’t told your folks about this...”

  Aroha had images of being hauled back to Nana, of being labeled merely a child. But she was also slightly disturbed about this soldier reading them so easily.

  “Nope,” Sally retorted. “I mean, would you?”

  A dark shadow passed over Simon’s face, making Aroha think of all the warnings Nana had given her about strange men. The cloud passed though and she could see something softer.

  “Maybe not,” Simon smiled wryly. “We didn’t want to use kids for this, but with most of the men gone… well you don’t need to worry, we’ll protect you.”

  The girls nodded quietly, not knowing what to say to that. It didn’t seem like a lie, but Aroha still didn’t trust it.

  Daniel appeared out of the trees. “Right. Are we all set?”

  Aroha tried to stand up tall like soldiers apparently did, “Yes.”

  The men let the girls lead. “But once we get closer you’ll head back,” Daniel demanded. “Things could get dangerous after that.”

  Aroha knew he meant the bot, but she wasn't afraid of that; what was concerning her was something far more mysterious. As they set off, she began to recite the words she would use to calm the angry hearts of the guardians of the forest.

  5

  Pursuit

  That evening seemed much more promising than her morning at the Hall. Ella did not have anything else to take her attention, and there could be a chance to actually get some writing done.

  She’d fed Qoth and done a middling amount of procrastination-induced cleaning, all before five. Only then did she pull the couch closer to the bay window that overlooked the garden, and fish out her notepad.

  The electronic stylus had just touched the screen when there came another knock. Ella dropped the device on the floor with a snort of anger. Was she going to be interrupted every day by Bakari? Did the man have nothing better to do?

  But the noise was not coming from the hallway but from directly behind her. Someone was knocking on her window.

  Peering over the back of the couch she could see the culprit by the dim street lighting. Penny Two Dolls’ face was plastered against one windowpane while she rattled off a staccato rhythm on the next one with her fingertips. Ella sank lower in the couch and tried to judge if the girl would give up and go away.

  But the little scratching and tapping went on into some version of a half remembered song. Qoth, who had taken up residence in her usual spot on the rug by the fireplace, raised her head and glared in the direction of the window, then gave Ella one of those imperious cat looks as if to say, “Well, do something about that!”

  Ella struggled out of the couch and dragged the window sash up. Denied a place to play, Penny wriggled her fingers in greeting.

  “What is it, Penny?”

  The girl smiled enigmatically.

  “You know I’ve got work to do,” Ella tried to keep her voice hard, “and besides, it’s late.”

  Penny rolled her eyes and poked out her tongue, though if this was directed at work or writer was hard to say.

  “Where’s Alice, then?” Leaning further out of the window, Ella hoped to spot her neighbor nearby. But while her attention was distracted for a moment Penny leapt forward with surprising swiftness.

  Before anything could be done about it she’d snatched the notepad from Ella’s fingers and darted out of sight around the corner of the house.

  Ella jerked upright, smacking her head soundly on the window sash. Eyes watering, she called vainly after Penny.

  “This,” she reminded herself as she flicked off her slippers and replaced them with shoes, “Is why I never had children.”

  The evening was chill, and as Ella ran down the path it began to spit with rain. “Wonderful,” she grumbled, hopeful to catch the girl before she got far. However even though she thought she’d made good time getting out the door, Penny was still nowhere to be seen. Ella stood impotently, fuming and looking up and down the street. Penherem was nearly asleep, only the muted strains of someone playing the piano down the road disturbed the night air. All was quiet. Nothing stirred in the puddles cast by the streetlights
on the damp road. Then Penny peeked her head above the worn brick fence next door. She waved the notebook cheerily at Ella before disappearing once more.

  “Little minx,” Ella muttered before engaging in an ungainly dash up the road. “Come home before you get soaked.”

  It really wasn’t fair. Penny was not only younger, but also she didn’t have a mangled spine marring every step. Ella was sure she would’ve been able to catch the bright-eyed thief if she’d been having a good day, but every step was painful to her now. Though she ran through it as she’d become used to doing, it still slowed her down. By the time she reached the end of Henley Street, she was heartily sick of the chase and beginning to feel quite damp.

  But, obviously, Penny Two Dolls was not. She scampered across the road without a backward glance, her most raggy doll bouncing merrily in her back pocket. Ella nearly swore as the girl ran through the wet grass of the cricket pitch and then across the village green in the direction of the church.

  St. Michael’s was the last place Ella wanted to visit on a chilly, wet evening. Not that she disliked the old church, but it was far too easy to get lost in the cool medieval interiors or wandering amongst the overgrown garden and leaning headstones. It was a place of contemplation, a spot to read ‘Ode to Melancholy’ and indulge in a little writerly sorrow. It was not a place to chase Penny around in the dark and lose her temper. But there was little choice if she wanted her Notepad back.

  Penny was not hiding when Ella did catch up. She was instead standing quietly by the wrought iron gate at the rear of the church, waiting serenely in the shadows. Ella inched closer to her but not close enough to catch hold, before the girl darted through the gate and into the deeper darkness.