The Chronicles of Widget (Phoenix Rising)

by Angela Timms

  I forget that I am so small I can’t be seen over the low wall where the fuchsia grows. Silly me, I forget that human’s eyesight isn’t as good as ours and you don’t have magic to feel that I am there. I probably would have been safe even if I wasn’t so cautious, but caution is always wise as you never know.

  I crossed the wide wooden bridge across the brook. The brook babbled in a brook sort of a way, tumbling over the small waterfall. Rocks in it were polished by the water’s movement and green hair clung to them, feasting on the water and the nutrients it brought them.

  The low rumble of the Troll who I know sleeps below it was rhythmical and loud though impossible to hear with human ears. They didn’t need to know he is there. He sleeps a lot when he isn’t cooking up his meals in the big cook pot he has under there. He has a broken one beside the bridge. He left it for us so that flowers can grow in it. Wild Geraniums hang over its side like they do over most of the front garden. I found it when I was tidying up the plants when we moved the healing circle to create the storytelling circle. Long story but it was a plan to try to bring some money to the place. We thought we would invite people to come and sit in a circle in our magical garden and hear people tell stories.

  lxxvii His story is now part of the history of this place. He had caught and eaten sheep for years. The odd sheep, the odd chicken didn’t get noticed as he always took from those who had quite a few so that they blamed foxes. Then he decided he would treat himself to one of Angel’s goats. He had heard them and he had smelt them and he wanted one to eat. He is old and he doesn’t want to have to work hard now so close to home seemed like a really good idea. He wasn’t living here then. He lived in the small piece of woodland that nobody ever went to next door. They were nearby so he thought she wouldn’t miss one. She was on her own then and the place was in chaos. He thought he would easily get away with it.

  So he snuck out one night when it was very, very dark with his big club. He wandered in the shadows up to the shed in the top field and found the door unlocked and ajar so that the goats could come in and out into their field when they wanted to. We didn’t lock things then as we didn’t realise that we needed to. His gnarled hand opened the door and he stepped inside. His large feet with big toes felt the soft straw under his feet and his big nostrils smelt the fresh smell of hay.

  In the shed were two goat kids sleeping. Their gentle snoring and breathing the only sound in the silence, curled up together, nose to tail. One was white, one was black with a white striped face.

  He grabbed the black one by the neck and lifted it up. Its stripy face horrified, its mouth open and screaming. The white goat looked up and there was a sad look on her face. She did not panic, she clearly said. “Don’t kill my half-brother. He is all I have left. All our goat family are dead, please don’t kill him too.”

  The Troll jumped and dropped the baby goat who ran to the other side of the small shed. The white goat looked up at him. He looked down at her. “Goats don’t talk.”

  She looked up at him and her eyes were still sad. “I am a goat but I’m also a fairy-friend goat. The fairies come at night and we ride to the stars. As a thank you they let me speak to creatures like you. My sadness brought them to me which is why I was chosen. On the

  lxxviii night when my mother died the tear cried by my fairy-friend owner fell on a Frixian’s head. The Frixian had heard her cry and had come to have a look what was happening. It made the Frixian sad and she has looked after us ever since.”

  That was me, I was that Frixian. I had been woken from my sleep in the barn that night by the primal scream let out by Angel when she had realized that her first goat was going to die despite all she had done. The pure fury and hopelessness of that scream had cut through the dimensions and woken me from my slumber. I’m wondering if that was what kick started the process which activated the ship again. This puppet body was just stored in a box in the place. Angel had brought it while in London and it was in the boxes waiting to be unpacked. That was what bound me to her too, that is why she can hear me speak and why she has the gift of being a fairyfriend.

  The Troll looked down at his big club and the sack tucked into his belt. “I was going to eat your half-brother but I won’t now.” The little goat looked a little less worried. “Thank you, for he is all I have left. My mother is dead, my aunty is dead, my brother is dead and my half-sister is dead.”

  The Troll looked sad. “Why are they dead?” The little goat shook her white coat. “We got sick and nobody could help us. The vet came and he didn’t know what was causing it. Nobody did as there was nothing wrong in our field and nothing wrong with what we were given to eat. Only me and my half-brother survived. The others eat things they shouldn’t have. Things which appeared in our field at night and other mysterious things made them sick. So now we are alone. We have each other. And we have our fairy friends. And we have our people. She will fight for us. She isn’t the gentle woman who came from the city anymore. She can stand against the storm and we will stand with her. But we are still sad. I miss my mother. She was wild and stubborn and I didn’t know her very long but Eirlys was beautiful to me.”

  The Troll put his club behind his back as he saw the little one looking at it. A single tear fell from his big eye and ran down his face. “I won’t kill you now little one, or your brother. You are not alone. You will never be alone. You have me as a friend now. I am alone. I have nobody.”

  The little goat snorted. “You are my friend now. I am Symbelmoelle and this is my brother Elrond.” The years passed by and the Troll kept his word. However hungry he got he never again thought about killing a goat. He lived on what the other animals gave him. He boiled eggs and he cooked vegetables and discovered he had a taste for slugs. He loved slugs and he made up recipe upon recipe involving the vegetables and roots he could find. I borrowed Angel’s books and he learnt to cook from them. Then he developed recipes of his own. His recipes were so good that he published a magical book in the Troll world called “Slug it to them”. Now many more Trolls eat slugs. He thought it was a funny title and who was going to disagree with him.

  He never forgot his magical little one. He often visited her as the small kid grew into adult and he now visits her kids too. When the wind blows wild he sometimes goes and sits with her and all the other goats, just so that they know that they are safe. When the big shed they lived in was rickety he would spend all night holding it down in high winds. Just to make sure that they were safe. There was no other reason why that shed lasted so long. Now they have a stone shed so he doesn’t have to look after it anymore. He does sometimes go and help with the Llama shed, he likes the Llama and the Llama’s friend, Sage the Turkey. Of course now turkeys too are off the menu.

  So the Troll doesn’t eat children, animals or anything he shouldn’t now. He lives under the bridge beside the magical garden and is happy with his life. He is very old and what he truly enjoys is sleeping and dreaming of the magical world we can all get to when we sleep. That is the problem. He sleeps now when evil people creep onto the place.

  I can only imagine that they are driven by the whispers and lies of the Goblians so they must go to see what mischief they can do. That

  lxxx mischief has caused more deaths and many sleepless worried nights for the people in the house. Then I suppose that was what it was intended to do. To make sure that their life here wasn’t the wonderful time it could have been and became a constant trial where time and money that should have been spent on the animals was wasted on security systems. One day it will be different though, one day they will live in peace with the land and the troubles will stop happening.

  He was snoring when I stepped across the bridge and my toes touched the soft loamy soil of the secret garden on the other side. Like always. It is a reassuring sound, it is good to know he is there.

  The green grass clings to the sun soaked patches beneath the trees. The low branches of trees swing around in the gentle breeze. It is a peaceful place, a place of stor
y and thought, of magic and contemplation.

  Needles have piled up for generations to make a soft carpet. Ancient fir trees form the walls of the square tree tower. The light filters through the gaps left by their trunks. The leaves of the deciduous bushes and trees were long gone, testament to the season. The ancient Yew tree climbs for the heavens, standing serene at the road end of the clearing. A monkey puzzle tree at the other stunted by the lack of light but still an amazing creation.

  In the middle of the clearing a ring of tree chunks from trees taken down from Angel’s mother’s house make up our storytelling circle. They are somewhat poignant as they symbolize people coming while they wait for the people who will sit on them and the stories that will echo around the tall trees. I have to smile at the hope of future memories of stories told and good friends that will be made and that we hope we have for the year to come. The circle is new, this is a new hope and a new dream. The large chair of the storyteller is a table made by and given to us by a neighbour. One day it will be a magnificent chair. It will stand imposingly at the top of the small hill, so he or she who tells the stories can be seen and heard by all. I think it is based on the idea of a living chair which is grown rather than cut from a dead piece of wood. I can’t see that the seat can be grown, that will have to be the original table which was a gift. We shall also see if anything grows here. There hasn’t been much luck with the many hundreds of trees planted up on the field. But then again, I could be wrong.

  Behind the large tree trunk to the left, beside the wooden bridge, I could just see the edge of the healing circle sparkling in the rays of the sun. It was made up of the blessed and charged crystals from the original circle and stones which have been carefully put there by Angel. She had a group on Facebook and linked healers all around the world to send energy so that those who needed it could draw on it. I don’t know how that works but many people seemed very happy to be able to put their name on the group, saying what they needed and receiving support from those who were also on the group. Then they changed the layout of the groups and the members were lost. To me they are just pretty. That is people magic I suppose. They have been laid out in an oval and catch the light, sparkle and are a stark contrast to the rustic mini woodland around them. I love that collection of gemstones and rocks. I have sat there often looking at the stones and watching them sparkle in the light creeping into the clearing with the dawn. I love the morning, it has so much potential.

  A sound to my right made me jump. A putrid smell filled the air and a loud burp silenced the birds I had not noticed singing. Small birds took to the air and silence rang out infinitely loud.

  I smiled, thinking it must be the troll who had woken up. Then I heard a loud snore coming from underneath the bridge and I realized that it wasn’t him. But it did smell like a troll. The putrid, festering smell of body odour and old socks didn’t fit with the beauty of the glade. These were smells that our troll had long since got rid of when he discovered soap.

  I turned slowly, scared about what I was going to see. I was right to be scared as there he was, a huge ugly troll. He was nearly eight foot tall and this was not our troll, not our friendly troll. This was an evil bone gnawing, Frixian eating, foul smelling, other troll. His warty skin and long pointed nose blocked out the sun.

  I acted fast, I ran. There wasn’t anything else I could do, I am too small and alone I knew I could not fight a troll. It wasn’t cowardice.

  lxxxii

  I’d fight anything I know I can win a fight with. But this was a troll. They are the biggest, nastiest and most evil creature I know about. That there was an unwelcome one in the garden was unthinkable. All I could think was that it could not be there, it should not be there. But it was. My magic is strong. The spell that protects the garden is outrageously strong. It would take serious magic to allow such a creature past the defenses.

  The troll grunted and thought about chasing the small creature which is me but he wasn’t interested in Frixian meat. Frixian was too bony and too little of it. He couldn’t remember what he had been told to do. All he knew was that he could smell goat.

  His big feet stepped effortlessly across the steam and he stepped up the bank without breaking stride. His big feet sunk into the soft earth so he carried on quickly. Foot step after foot step, leaving his distinctive prints every step of the way. He passed the dog kennels and ignored their barking. Dog was too bitey. He could eat them but they would bite him as well and bites can become infected. He wanted easy meat. He could always come back for them if goat meat didn’t fill him up. Travelling by magic always made him hungry and there must have been loads of magic involved to make him appear in the garden as he was very, very hungry.

  He passed the aviaries full of all that caged meat. He didn’t want duck, it was too boney and would only be a crunchy snack. He’d leave them for now. Perhaps later if he wanted a snack later he would come back. No, he wanted goat.

  His big feet squelched in the mud and he could smell the little Frixian who was sneaking up behind him. He knew she was there. He knew she had her magic but he also knew that the magic the Evil Witch had put on him would protect him from the small one. He raised an eyebrow as he thought that the little one was brave to follow him. He wouldn’t eat her yet, perhaps later if he felt like it and she hadn’t run off by then.

  He looked about the field and saw the big stone goat shed. He passed between the goat shed and the disused pig sty and stuck his

  lxxxiii

  head inside the open door of the shed. A creamy white goat looked up in surprise, her long droopy ears hanging either side of an elegantly pointy nose which arched in a very noble way. Her long sleek legs ended in neat hooves. Her body was proportioned, not as fat as he would have hoped for, but fat enough.

  Beside her a brown and black billy goat, also with long floppy ears ran away and the black and white goat with the crazy curved horn stub bleated in a startled fashion. Someone snorted further back into the shed and there was a sound of goats getting as far away from the gates as they could.

  He looked at the three and chose the white one. He reached forwards and ripped the metal gate off of its hooks, throwing it out of the door, narrowly missing the Frixian who was sneaking up behind him. He reached forwards and grabbed at the creamy white goat but she was too fast. She leapt to the back of her pen so his big fist closed on empty air.

  In the next pen a black goat with snowy ears and white spots like stars on his coat cried “No”. He had learnt that as a baby when he had been kept in Angel’s bedroom to warm him up. He’d heard it on the television and used it when she had told him to go to bed. He didn’t want his mother killed so he was going to use it now.

  The troll looked stunned. The black goat leapt out of his pen and stood next to his mother and the two of them faced the troll. The troll laughed. “So you both want to be eaten. Alright, I can manage that, you aren’t too fat for that. Don’t worry the rest of you, I’ll have plenty of room for you too when I’ve done with these two.”

  He reached again for the white goat but as his huge fat hand curled around her elegant neck a bright light blasted him backwards. He flew back out of the goat house and landed on his large backside in the mud. He hit his head on the fence post and as he rubbed it a tall woman elegantly drifted out of the goat house. She floated above the straw. The sun glinted on her gossamer gown as it was floating and glowing in the breeze. He was mesmerized by her impossibly thin wings fluttering to keep her tiny feet away from the mud.

  Beside her, her son walked out of the shed, he was still a goat but now he had black leathery wings. He strode out of the shed and stood beside her, brave and strong. Despite his young age he stood defiant, his horns held proud, his black leathery wings flapping gently as he walked forwards. The woman put a hand on his back to reassure her baby.

  Her baby leapt past the troll and landed next to Widget who climbed onto his back. Together they rounded on the troll and Widget waved her hand. “Thank you Frixie Pfre
nd.”

  The woman bowed her elegant neck, her golden blonde hair silkily soft. Her eyes gentle. “It is a pleasure.” Then she addressed the troll. “Leave this place foul beast. You have no place here. You do not belong here. You will eat no goats in this place.”

  The troll stood up, rubbing his head, sniffed the air, looked around, laughed and leapt into the neighbours’ field where their two small pygmy goats were quietly grazing. One had an old break in her leg and as her friend ran away she struggled to keep up on three legs.

  Widget grabbed hold of the black goat’s neck. “Stormcrow, we must protect our friends.” Stormcrow flapped his leathery wings and took to the air. He flapped and flapped his wings and built up speed just as the troll caught up with the little pygmy goat.

  Widget held on for grim death as Stormcrow put his head down and butted the troll on his backside. The troll was off balance and surprised so he stumbled and fell forwards onto the grass. Widget regained her balance and waved her hand. She uttered the words and the troll was raised up into the air and she held him there, spinning like a top. “Ok Frixie Pfrend, what do I do now?” She shouted as loudly as she could.

  Frixie flew over to where they were, looked down at the spinning

  lxxxv troll and laughed. The sound was like bells ringing and her bleat could be heard across the valley. It was truly a sound that you could not ignore or miss.

  Widget looked at her in desperation. “My arm is aching. I can’t hold the troll in the air forever.” The troll was getting closer and closer to the ground and the little pygmy goat realized that the troll would soon be on the ground again and began to run as fast as her three legs and bent leg would allow her to.