The Witch's Guide to Magical Combat

by Lari Don

  Innes yelled, “The gate’s locked, so Beth’s making an escape route.”

  Molly could hear Beth’s voice, calm and singsong, asking the twiggy winter hedge to untangle enough to let a hare through.

  Molly heard the giant dog thudding behind her and the pet dogs barking inside the house. Then she heard Beth’s voice become more demanding.

  On Molly’s next clockwise circuit of the garden, Beth’s voice cracked into a panicky yell. “The hedge is refusing. He’s strengthened it since the last time we were here, overridden the plants’ natural desire to work with a dryad.”

  Molly ducked under a plastic chair and changed direction abruptly to run round the garden anti-clockwise. The dog slid in a clumsy circle, knocking the chair over, and followed her.

  Then Molly heard a different thunder, a more musical rhythmic noise. The sound of hooves on a road.

  As she ran past the saggy sofa cushions for the fourth time, Innes jumped over the hedge. The white stallion whirled round and faced the green dog.

  Molly crouched behind the mouldy furniture and watched Innes and Mr Crottel square up to each other.

  The horse was lower in the shoulders, though his arched neck lifted his head above the dog’s head, so he was slightly taller. But the dog was twice as wide, and had acidic drool, nasty fangs and clawed paws.

  Molly didn’t want to watch Innes get hurt for her.

  The dog leapt for Innes’s long pale throat; Innes lashed out with heavy hooves.

  The dog fell back.

  Beth shouted, “Don’t get distracted. Get her out of there!”

  Molly realised Innes wouldn’t leave without her, so she dashed from her shelter, towards the horse.

  Innes kicked at the dog, to force him further away, then bent his left foreleg. Molly used it as a step, leapt to his withers and crouched there.

  But she had no knees to grip with, no hands to hold the mane. So when Innes took a couple of fast steps, Molly slid off, right under the nose of the sniggering green hound.

  She rolled away from his fangs, only to feel other teeth close around her.

  What had grabbed her? It wasn’t the Crottel-dog, she could see him snarling and snapping, rushing forward at her and whatever held her. It wasn’t one of Mr Crottel’s other dogs either, they were still inside the house.

  Her wide hare vision could see white hair, white legs.

  Innes. She was in Innes’s mouth, held by his long horse teeth and gentle horse lips.

  She was safe.

  But she didn’t feel safe. This was what a hare feared most: to be prey in between jaws, feeling hard teeth and hot breath, knowing a hunter was about to bite down.

  Molly was on the edge of panic. She wanted to jerk free and run straight at the green dog, just to get away from these teeth.

  She fought the desire to writhe and escape. She hung in his mouth, as Innes whirled away from the snapping dog and leapt high over the uncooperative hedge.

  As he crossed the boundary, Molly shifted from light hare to heavy human, and fell suddenly from his mouth.

  She heard her coat rip, rolled when she hit the pavement and leapt to her feet. The green dog followed them over the hedge and landed on his clicking clawed paws on the road.

  “Thanks Innes,” she gasped, as he changed to a boy. Then she faced the green dog. “Mr Crottel,” she said calmly, her hands spread out in front of her. “I’m sorry I didn’t tell you what’s happened to my curse. If you change back, I’ll tell you.”

  The dog grinned, showing dark-green gums above his stained brown teeth. Molly relaxed her shoulders.

  Then the dog growled, and she shifted again.

  Molly realised Mr Crottel wanted to chase her more than he wanted to know what had happened to his curse. But she wasn’t trapped in his garden any more. She had the whole of Craigvenie, the whole of Speyside, the whole of Scotland to run in.

  She ran towards the fields, where her paws were most comfortable and her legs moved fastest.

  Could she outpace this huge beast there?

  She leapt into the first field, crashed to the ground as a girl, and shifted back to a hare as fast as she could. Then she ran again. She felt her paws fly across the hard frosty earth.

  As a hare, Molly was faster than a horse. She’d proved that, to Innes’s embarrassment, in many races over the last few months. She was faster than a dog too, even a greyhound, so long as she kept the dog off-balance by changing direction unpredictably. She was faster than almost anything on four legs.

  But this dog was huge. He wasn’t really a dog – not a pet dog or even a hunting hound. What had Atacama called him? A deephound? He was a magical dog. A monstrous dog.

  A dog who was shaking the earth as he chased her.

  A dog who was keeping up with her.

  Perhaps she could tire him out. It must be exhausting, moving that bulk around, under that thick dog hair. So she ran uphill and downhill. She ran in spirals and circles. She leapt walls and squeezed under fences, shifting back to a hare each time a boundary turned her human.

  The beast’s breath got noisier, and his smell, whenever she doubled back and crossed his path, got sweatier and more pungent. But he still kept up with her.

  Then Molly leapt a wall separating one farm from another. She became a girl again, sprawled on the ground, as the dog cleared the wall easily, just metres to her left.

  Her plan wasn’t working. She would have to leap over houses to tire this thing out…

  Perhaps he would leave her alone if she stayed a girl. Perhaps it was her hare form he wanted to chase, not her human form. She stood up on her denim-clad legs.

  The dog lurched towards her, jaws open wide.

  She stumbled backwards and the dog’s fangs closed on her ankle, on her thick brown winter boot. She felt the painful squeeze of the dog’s jaws and smelt the leather burn as the dog’s drool slid down it.

  The dog opened his mouth to take another bite, higher up her leg, above the protection of her boot. While his jaws were open, Molly shifted into a hare, and ran again.

  So that plan wouldn’t work either. This deephound, this green stinking monster, was happy to eat humans as well as hares.

  She couldn’t let those jaws get so close again.

  Chapter Five

  Molly ran, sprinting and leaping, keeping just ahead of the massive green dog who’d apparently decided to end her curse by ending her life.

  Then, behind the crashing thumps and rattling breath of the beast pursuing her, Molly heard new noises. The sharper, cleaner noise of a horse galloping. And Beth’s voice.

  “Molly!”

  She saw the black-and-purple shape of Beth on the white blur of Innes, edging into her almost-360-degree field of vision. Innes and Beth were chasing after the dog chasing her.

  She didn’t stop, she didn’t turn round. She just kept running.

  “Molly!”

  She wouldn’t lead this monster back towards her friends. She kept running away from them.

  “Molly! Head for my woods. I can protect you there.”

  Molly still didn’t alter her speed or direction. She didn’t want Beth to put herself at risk.

  “I can protect us all there,” Beth yelled, faintly.

  That was useful to know. Somewhere they would all be safe from this beast’s size and teeth and burning dribble.

  If Molly ran directly towards the woods now, her hunter would know where she was going, and might be able to cut her off. So she ran in the other direction.

  “No, Molly!” shouted Beth. “Head for the woods!”

  But Molly was heading for the woods. She was heading there hare-style, going the long way round.

  She ran across clumpy winter earth and scraggly winter grass. The dog ran after her. She jerked and jinked, leapt and dodged, always circling round towards Beth’s woods.

  Then she realised there was a river ahead of her.

  She could swim, as both a hare and a human. But this river was a boundar
y. Changing as she leapt over a wall was bad enough. Changing as she crossed a river would slow her down a lot more.

  It was the only way to get to safety, though.

  She hurtled down to the river’s edge, choosing a route under jaggy brambles, hoping the thorns would slow the deephound. Then she leapt towards the far bank.

  She was only a quarter of the way across when she splashed into the freezing water, soaking her muddy jeans, burnt boots and ripped coat.

  The dog jumped in after her.

  Molly scrambled to her feet. There was no point becoming a hare, because a hare couldn’t move faster than a girl in shallow water on a slimy riverbed.

  She backed away from the dog, her boots slipping and slithering on wobbly stones and slick waterweed.

  The dog lunged at her, his drool hissing as it hit the peaty river. He was snapping and biting, but he wasn’t snarling and growling. Perhaps he’d prefer to bite her as a girl. A girl would make a bigger meal than a hare…

  Molly took another step backwards, out of his reach and out of the river. Now she was on dry land, with firm footing. She could run. But she had no time to shift. The dog leapt forward again, mouth wide open, teeth bared.

  And Molly punched him on the nose. One fast hard whack with her fist, right on his delicate pale-green nostril.

  The dog stopped in surprise. A string of yellow drool swung up and hit Molly on the back of her hand, burning her skin.

  Molly willed herself back to her hare form. She ran from the startled dog, who, after one silent moment, thundered across the ground behind her again.

  Now she could see Beth’s trees, not too far ahead. In a short sprint, no dog could catch her. Not at full speed.

  She didn’t want to run at full speed, because her right forepaw was still stinging from that nasty drool.

  But she didn’t want to be eaten either.

  So Molly ignored the pain and concentrated on the trees ahead, all dressed in their dull dark winter colours.

  She could see two silver birch trees bending towards each other, like they were being pushed by strong winds blowing in opposite directions. The trees curved inwards, their smoky-purple branches mingling and weaving together, creating an arch.

  On the other side of the linked birches, the wood was lit by a brighter warmer light than the rest of the dreich February landscape. The trees that Molly could see through the arch were radiant and shimmering. The birds fluttering round them were shadowy, less vivid. It looked to Molly as if the trees were carefully painted with gleaming enamel and everything else was hastily sketched in dusty chalk – as if the trees were more alive than the birds.

  Behind her, she could hear the dog growling and snarling, snapping and thundering. She ran, as fast as she ever had.

  And the hare reached the trees before the dog reached the hare.

  As Molly crossed into the wood, she shifted and stumbled forward in her human form towards the two linked birch trees. A pale hand appeared from nowhere and dragged her through the arch into another world.

  She was surrounded by bright brown and clean green, with the cool blue sky curving high over her and the damp sustaining earth stretching deep below. She was in a world of height and depth, wind and water.

  This was still Beth’s wood. The same trees, in the same place. The same roots and paths on the ground. But it felt different. The world was steady, and calm, and full of everything she needed. The sky. The air. The earth…

  “Molly!” whispered Beth. “Molly. Concentrate. We’re all here.”

  She looked round. They were all here. Beth. Innes. Atacama. They were really close to her, but she hadn’t noticed them. Beth’s pale skin, purple hair and green eyes were sharp and clear, full of power and energy. But the others were a bit hazy. A bit irrelevant…

  Molly moved her head, gently flexing.

  She saw the beast that wanted to eat her, in the distance, even hazier than her friends. Oh, look, there he was. Running closer. Running straight towards the arch.

  Running straight towards Molly.

  She smiled. She felt a breeze and knew it would soon bring a cloud of delicious rain. Then the cloud would move on, the sun would glow and all would be well.

  The dog ran closer and closer.

  “You’re in the trees’ world,” whispered Beth. “You’re quite safe. Don’t worry.”

  Molly wasn’t worried. There were worms under the roots. All was well.

  “The trees can’t see or hear or smell, so when we’re here, we can’t be seen or heard or smelt. Don’t disturb any branches and you’ll be fine.”

  Molly was fine, as she watched the dog come even closer, sniffling and snuffling. He was still out of focus, not as clear or important or solid as the white water-bearing clouds above the twigs.

  Molly felt a strong itching urge to stretch upwards and downwards, and she pushed her fingers into the welcoming earth.

  Beth grabbed Molly’s wrist and pulled her hand gently out of the earth. “Stop it. You’re not a tree.”

  Molly grinned. Everything was a tree, really, wasn’t it? Everything important.

  “She’s going native,” said Innes. “She wants to be a tree. She’s gone tree-crazy.”

  “The first time we visited Beth’s world,” said Atacama, “you tried to plant your toes.”

  Innes smiled. “I was three. I liked playing in mud.”

  Molly tried to speak, to say that Innes still liked playing in mud. But really, it wasn’t that important. Who needed words, when it was going to rain soon?

  The dog was still sniffling and snuffling. He was taking up too much space in the woods. And he was the wrong kind of green: an artificial, chemical, diseased green. He didn’t fit.

  As the dog bounded hugely and rudely round the trees, hunting for a scent trail he wasn’t going to find, Beth said, “Molly, your hand is hurt!”

  Atacama said, “The deephound’s drool must have burnt her.”

  “Is she bitten as well?” asked Innes.

  Beth gasped. “There are toothmarks on her boot! He might have savaged her. Molly! Are you injured? Snap out of it, Molly. Talk to me. You could be bleeding to death under that red jacket.” Beth started to unzip Molly’s coat.

  Molly said, “No.” Fuzzily, like her tongue was heavy and unnecessary. “No. Just my hand. Not bitten. Just dribbled on. When I punched the silly green dog.”

  Innes laughed quietly. “Well done! He is a silly green dog, isn’t he? A big daft dog who needed punched.”

  “Don’t encourage her,” said Beth. “Molly, give me your hand.”

  Beth wrapped a papery length of pale-green lichen round Molly’s injured hand, then hummed gently.

  “Healing magic,” murmured Innes. “I’d forgotten Beth could heal more strongly in the trees’ world. That’s why trees allow dryads in—”

  “It’s why trees create dryads,” said Atacama. “They’re a link, to stop the trees forgetting… forgetting the wider world, and they’re a conduit for the healing power of the earth. Dryads work for trees, not the other way round.”

  Molly’s hand felt better. Her head became a little clearer. She noticed more than just sky and earth. She could see other beings in the woods: grey forms on the ground, rooting beside plate-like fungi; a yellow shape in the air, fluttering over spiky daffodil shoots. She could sense new growth under the empty patches where a witch’s curse had killed life in these woods for so many years, before it was lifted.

  Beth patted Molly’s injured hand. “Is that better?”

  “Yes. Thanks. But… how did you know… where I would run?” She waved vaguely at the arch Beth had pulled her through.

  “I didn’t know.” Beth gestured all around her, and Molly saw lots of birch trees bent into arches. “I turned every birch pair at the edge of the wood into a door. I’d better close them now.”

  Molly watched Beth release the nearest pair of trees, and sighed as the birches stretched gratefully back up to the sky.

  Then Mo
lly saw something else. A small figure with black and orange fur. No. Black hair and an orange cardigan. A person. A child. Dancing and skipping. Running up behind the green dog.

  Rosalind, Molly thought. She was fairly sure the small girl shouldn’t run up and dance around the green dog. Why? Ah, yes. Because the girl was Beth’s cousin, and because the dog wasn’t friendly.

  Rosalind, Molly said, almost out loud. She should really warn someone.

  Innes was lying down, dozing in the calmness of the trees’ world. Atacama was frowning, as if he was trying to remember something. Beth had her back turned, closing the doors on the far side of the wood. And the little girl was bouncing up and down just behind the monstrous dog.

  “Rosalind,” Molly said, actually out loud this time.

  Beth turned round, Innes sat up and Atacama looked alert again.

  The little girl grabbed the green dog’s ragged tail, waggled it once, giggled, then skipped between two rowans to enter the trees’ world.

  The dog spun round and sniffed the empty ground.

  Rosalind bounced towards Molly, not disturbing a dry leaf or a low branch, but filling the whole space with smiles and giggles.

  “Hello! You’re all in my world! Isn’t it lovely! I feel taller when I’m with my trees. I feel like I could touch the sky.” She reached up and grinned.

  Molly could see the confused dog sniffing the nearest trees.

  “I might be able to touch the sky once I’m five. And I’m five on Monday. Will you come to my party? Molly, Innes and Atacama, will you all come and play hide and seek, and pin the berry on the branch, and find the fungus fairy, and musical toadstools, and what’s the time Mr Fox? Atacama, your little sisters are coming, so you could help me teach them to fly!”

  Rosalind flung her arms out and birled in a circle. Beth pulled her down and gave her a tight hug. “Careful. We don’t want the dog to know where we are.”

  “That big smelly green dog? Are you playing hide and seek with him?”

  “It’s not a game. The dog wants to hurt Molly.”

  “Bad dog!”

  “So let’s wait quietly until he goes away.” Rosalind nodded, then leant over to whisper loudly in Atacama’s ear. “If you come to my party, you have to bring me a present. Because you’re all friends, you can bring the same present. You could go on a quest, like you did last year, to find me a special present!”