by Amy Wilson
‘It was a dream I had,’ Jack sighs, sitting next to me. ‘Of the woman; of a life I could only ever look in on. I was always on the outside, in your world. Watching families snuggle in their homes, away from my games. It was never something I could have. I am not human. I cannot be a father!’
‘But you are,’ I say numbly, still watching Alberic. ‘The Earl sent my mother to you, she was as real as I am now.’
He fixes his eyes on me.
‘It was real?’
I nod, my throat too tight for words, noticing all the other strangely homely touches in the room: a snowglobe of London on the mantelpiece, a bone white china mug on the small table by the fire, a thick-pile rug before it. The staircase is ornate, the spindles carved to look like the trunks of trees. For all his otherness, all his refusal to care about life, he has made a home here.
‘But it can’t have been,’ Jack breathes. ‘It isn’t possible. It isn’t in the natural order of things . . .’ He stands and begins to pace up and down, running his hands through his hair. ‘She was real,’ he mutters. ‘The wolves said she did not belong. I thought . . . I thought it was a dream. I never let myself consider . . .’ He shakes his head. ‘How can this be?’
‘The Earl had something to do with the spell she used.’
‘The Earl has always detested me,’ he says. ‘He has done all this, used you, to be rid of me!’
‘Now you know the truth you can tell them!’ I say, tears gathering in my eyes. ‘They’ll have to pardon you, and you can come back. I can’t do it, Jack. All this –’ I gesture at Alberic – ‘all this is my fault. I got lost in it. I can’t do it the way you do!’
‘I’m not coming back,’ he says quietly, watching while I swipe ice from my cheeks. ‘Why should I? People don’t know who I am, what I do for them! And I will not go before those who accused me and beg for justice. The Earl may have manipulated this but it is not all his doing. The court is swayed by these notions of power. It has been corrupted by humanity’s flaws . . .’
‘People do know your name,’ I tell him, my head aching. ‘People know what you do. There are legends about you; there have been for hundreds of years. There’s poetry, films, children’s stories, legends in old books . . .’
‘About me?’ His eyes brighten with sudden delight. I remember the time I saw him play-fighting with the North Wind. He is different in his own world, but only by degrees. He’s still fickle, playful. He’ll never be who I wanted him to be, all those years I was imagining my father. He swings from despair to glee in an instant. He’s a child. What did I expect? How’s he going to help anything?
‘Yes,’ I sigh. ‘They know what you do for them.’
‘They believe in me? If I walked among them they would know who I am?’
‘Well . . .’ I hesitate. ‘I mean, they believe in you deep down. They see what you do, and they admire it.’
‘And you have been doing my work all this time?’
‘I tried to,’ I say. ‘Alberic says I was consumed . . . He said I would become a wraith.’
Jack looks uneasily at Alberic. I realize I can see the lines of the settee through him and my heart sinks. ‘But you are not.’
‘No,’ I reply. ‘He said I needed you back, to teach me . . .’
‘It’s not easy to straddle two worlds,’ Jack says, sitting beside me, staring into the fireplace. ‘I am sorry for you, little Owl, but I won’t return. I shall stay here.’
‘Don’t you care about what happens to me at all?’
‘I have already intervened for you,’ he says. ‘I knew you were here the moment you arrived; I let you make your way. I let you stand against the wolves, I saw that you are as much of this world as the other.’ He grimaces. ‘I did see that. And you tell me the Earl intervened all those years ago, that the woman . . . your mother . . . was real!’ He raises his hands in a gesture of defeat. ‘I see you, little Owl. Isn’t that enough? It’s all I have. I am an elemental, made for one thing only. Not to be a father. Go back, go back to your human life. The Earl will not hurt you; it is forbidden for him to interfere in humanity.’
‘He already did it once!’
‘He will not hurt you.’ Jack shakes his head. ‘And I will be back, by and by, I expect. I will call in on you. Will that be nice? A visit from your . . . from . . .’ His glib tone falters, he cannot even say the word. He still doesn’t really believe it, I realize, as his troubled eyes look me up and down. Perhaps he thinks it’s all some trick; that I’m just here to get him into further trouble.
‘It doesn’t matter,’ I whisper to myself, looking at Alberic. I’ve done all I can here. I have to get him home. And I’ve decided – Jack’s coming too, whether he likes it or not. The court needs to know what the Earl did. I need my life back before I ruin it entirely.
‘What is it, little Owl?’ he asks, following me as I slide down from the bench on to the rug. I reach for Alberic, grabbing his cold hand, and look back at Jack, not speaking, waiting until he’s close enough . . . Then I grab his arm, ignoring a howl of protest, and close my eyes, digging down deep to where the cold comes from – where the magic comes from – knowing I’m risking everything. If I use too much I’ll become a wraith, forever stuck between two worlds and unable to communicate with either, but Alberic’s already halfway there because of me, and Jack is never going to come willingly. There’s nothing else I can do. I close my eyes, see the page of the book in my mind and will us all back to Mallory.
We’re not in the flat.
Before I’ve even opened my eyes, I know I’m outside. A bitter wind howls through the darkness, and over my head is a thick pattern of interweaving branches. Beneath me the ground is soft, mossy. Alberic is curled up beside me, motionless. Somebody’s covered us both in bracken. I reach out and touch his cheek: his skin is cold. Deep shadows are scored beneath his eyes and my heart clatters in my chest; he’s still far too pale.
‘Alberic?’ My voice is sharp against the silence. He doesn’t stir. I put my hand on his chest and feel the steady rise and fall. He’s alive – barely. Because of me. I could just bury myself right here and sleep for a year. I don’t know how I’ll face him. I don’t know how I’ll face anyone. Suddenly there’s a scuffling behind us and then a figure looms over me, a shadow against the night sky, a hand reaching down to me. I shuffle back, letting out a whimper of fear.
‘Shh, Owl, it’s just me,’ says Mallory in a whisper, pulling me up out of the shadows. She grabs me in a tight hug. ‘Thank God you’re back.’
‘Mallory! What happened? Where are we? Where’s Jack?’
‘Jack?’
‘I grabbed him, to bring him back.’
In the darkness it’s difficult to make out much, but it’s clear that Jack isn’t here. Mallory has pulled me out to a stretch of level ground, covered in thick, coarse grass. Stunted, tangled trees rise in a mass behind us, blackened limbs twisting and reaching out in all directions. Before us and to either side I can just make out ripples of water, catching the silver light of the waning moon. A mist rolls over the top of everything, adding to the chill. I huddle close to Mallory as she shakes her head, her eyes a little wild.
‘I haven’t seen Jack,’ she says.
‘What happened, Mall? Why are we here?’
‘They came for you,’ she says. ‘They wanted you, but you weren’t there . . . They took me instead. I guess they knew you’d find me—’
‘They grabbed you? Are you all right? Who was it?’
‘I think it was the Earl’s men,’ she whispers. ‘He was furious when they came back without you. The Lady made them bring me here to keep me away from him. We’re on an island in the middle of the lake.’
Her eyes go to the far shore, where the Old Druid Wood begins. The mist shifts in a sigh of wind and reveals monstrous figures gathered there, shadowy silhouettes among the trees, some of them tall, others scuttling between, their movements too fast to be anything human, all of them lit by moon-pale globes nestled into
the ground.
‘But how . . . how did they grab you, Mall? What about Mum, is she OK?’
‘They came in through the window,’ she says with a shudder. ‘Never seen anything like it, the way they move, so fast and silent. I didn’t have time to shout or anything. Your mum was up in the studio; she can’t have heard them. I hardly heard them myself.’
‘It sounds awful – I’m so sorry, Mallory. I’m so sorry for everything. I don’t know what I was doing. I went too far . . . I’ve nearly killed Alberic, and I still don’t know what I’m going to do.’ I look around, feeling utterly hopeless. ‘How did you get through the barrier, anyway?’ I ask. ‘I thought humans couldn’t get here . . .’
‘It’s their spell.’ She shrugs. ‘I guess they can turn it off, if they want to . . . Don’t look so panicked, we’ll work it out.’ But her smile is thin and her eyes are full of fear. It must have been terrifying for her to be grabbed like that. I’ve never seen her look so lost; usually it’s she who has all the answers.
Mallory and I used to fight, when we first met. We were four. We liked the same games, but we didn’t want to play them in the same way. She’s always been a stickler for order and rules; I just ran around like a wild thing, infuriating her when occasionally it went right purely by accident.
‘This is the way you do it,’ she’d say, trying to be patient.
‘Why?’ I’d demand, drawing extra squares on the hopscotch pitch so that we could do more ‘danceyish sorts of things’.
She’d stick her chin out, and give me a withering look. She was good at those, even at four. ‘Because that’s the way you do it!’
‘Well, I’m not doing it that way,’ I’d say, thrusting my own chin out.
And then she’d go and tell on me, or I’d go and tell on her. And the teacher – Mrs Perrin – would have to explain again the importance of compromise and patience, and playing fairly, and we’d listen and nod seriously and then carry on just as before.
She’ll always do the right thing, Mallory. There’s no way in the world she’d be in this mess if it weren’t for me. She’d never have let herself get involved, if it was for anyone but me. But we’ve spent our lives talking about my need for answers about my father, and that’s why she came along for the ride. She’s here, in spite of everything.
‘It’ll be all right,’ I say, drawing closer to her. ‘They won’t hurt us.’
‘Won’t they?’ she asks, her voice wobbling. ‘I don’t know what happened while you were with Jack, but the Earl is furious. And he’s terrifying, Owl.’
We stare out across the lake together, watching as the mist starts to clear and the crowd on the other shore grows.
‘Why are you here?’ asks a voice behind us. It’s a woman’s voice, but it sounds like nothing I’ve heard before. There isn’t just one tone to it, it’s both deep and high, melodious and stern. My skin flares with shock as we turn to see a small figure break free from the undergrowth, her features hidden beneath a vast, sweeping cloak. She stoops to Alberic and gives a tut of disapproval.
‘Come, wake, boy,’ she says. ‘You’re in the land of the living now, better act like it!’ She reaches out with a small, wrinkled hand and gives him a sound smack across the face.
Alberic coughs and begins to stir, and the woman nods, satisfied, as I breathe a sigh of relief. I want to rush over to him, tell him I’m sorry, see the fire back in his eyes, but there’s no chance. The woman turns to Mallory and me, her golden eyes glittering as she takes us in. ‘What are you two doing here? What is going on in this place? Can I not leave it for a moment without everything falling apart? Frozen boys and frightened little girls . . . What is it? What has happened? I cannot be everywhere at once, goodness! Why is it so dark?’ She glares around at the island and little star-like pinpricks of golden light break out over the ground around us, spreading over the island and up the trees like a veil, bathing us all in a warm glow.
‘That’s better,’ she says, looking satisfied. The tiny lights glimmer in response, almost as if they’re alive, and Mallory clutches at me in amazement, her fingers gripping tight.
‘Who are you?’ I ask, trying to keep my voice steady.
‘A good question. The very best sort of question,’ the woman says, stooping to sit opposite us, raising a hand to lower her hood. ‘Who am I? Could you tell me who you are so easily? Do you even yet know?’
I gawp speechlessly as she grins at us, and I’m fairly sure Mallory is doing the same next to me, which seems to amuse the woman even more. She’s tiny and ancient, her skin wrinkled, and yet her presence makes my eyes ache; it’s as though the air around her is vibrating. Alberic shuffles further back into the undergrowth as if he’s trying to disappear; his eyes wide with warning.
‘What is it?’ I mouth at him.
‘Alberic, come and join your friends,’ says the woman without turning. He flinches and starts to move towards us, his footsteps dragging. ‘Leave your shame behind,’ she says, shaking her head as he edges around her, coming finally to sit next to me. ‘It’s quite ridiculous and has no place here.’ She glances across to the woodland across the water and her expression tightens. ‘What are they doing now?’ she asks in a whisper. ‘What can they be thinking of?’
‘They’re trying to work out what to do with the “human stain”,’ Mallory says in a clear voice. ‘That’s to say, me and Alberic, and Owl too.’
Alberic starts to splutter beside me. I can’t tell whether he’s outraged or just surprised. I wonder if he’s feeling as muddled as I am. Mallory seems to have no inhibitions but the woman before us has taken my voice, almost my breath, with her presence.
‘And so the Earl condemns his own son,’ she says heavily.
‘He would have to, if he wanted to be rid of Owl,’ Mallory says. ‘They’re the same, aren’t they? Half . . . fay, half human?’
‘And they say that is a curse . . .’
‘He says it’s forbidden,’ Mallory says, her voice hushed. ‘He says it’s all gone too far, and now I have consorted with them, I know all their secrets—’
‘He says it is forbidden by whom?’ cuts in the woman, steel in her voice as she watches Mallory closely.
‘By Mother Earth.’
The woman flinches as if she’s been struck, her aura expanding around her until I can feel it in the air, a warp that stings with fury. ‘And so they would do this in my name. Destroy life, claim souls, in my name?’
‘I don’t know, I . . . maybe I was wrong . . .’ Mallory stutters.
‘No,’ says the woman, shaking her head as she stares at the gathering on the bank of the lake. ‘I expect you’re right.’ Her voice is still tight with anger but the warp in the air begins to ease as she watches. ‘I suppose I should have seen where this was heading. I did not think they would go so far. There are troubles in other parts of the world; troubles these idiots have no notion of. I was busy, while they continued this ridiculous war with each other. Now this.’ Her eyes snap back to me. ‘And you are at the heart of it all . . .’
‘Who are you?’ I whisper. Because it can’t really be her, can it?
‘I have many names,’ she says. ‘Alberic knows them all, I expect?’
I look at Alberic. He’s completely transfixed by the figure before us, his eyes like saucers as he gazes at her. He nods, but doesn’t speak, which makes her crooked smile widen.
‘Mother Earth, they call me here,’ she says, standing. She seems to grow as she rises, until she towers above us all, her long white hair catching the moonlight. ‘Now. It’s time to sort all of this out. Where is your father, Owl? Did you not bring him with you?’
‘I tried to,’ I stammer. ‘I don’t think it worked.’
‘I wonder,’ she murmurs. ‘Come on, up with you all. You’ve had some fine adventures, I’m sure, and that’s all very well, but now it’s time to fix this. Make us a path, Owl, we must cross. And there’s no need to look so sheepish. Any complaint they have about humans and fay mixing
is not mine. The world turns, and things change. If there is any constant, it is that. If you weren’t so addle-headed with teenage nonsense I might even be quite proud of you.’
FABLES & EARTH SPIRITS
Mother Earth
It was everything, and nothing. The world spread out before her, vast and unending. She saw starlight and moonlight there, shadows spread across the land, and then the sun broke over the horizon, the fiery dawn of a new day. And she stood at the edge of it all, bare feet upon desert sand, untethered. Lost.
‘You are a brave one,’ came a woman’s voice. A woman’s voice, but no woman there. Instead a swoop of white wings before the orange sun, a flurry of feathers and golden eyes that seemed to see straight to the very heart of her.
‘Who are you?’ the girl whispered to the owl, as it settled before her. ‘What is this place?’
The powerful wings lifted and spread, and a new brightness shone there for just an instant. When it cleared there stood before her an ancient woman, her golden eyes unblinking.
‘This is the dawn,’ said the woman. ‘And you may call me Mother Earth.’
My knees tremble as I step out on to the lake and, for a moment, I’m absolutely convinced I’m just going to sink and they’ll have to pull me out like a half-drowned rat. But then I look down and see that my bare feet aren’t sinking. They’re glittering in the light of the globes, ice stretching out around them.
‘Very nice,’ says Mother Earth. ‘Now keep it good and strong, Owl, your companions aren’t so well-equipped for water-walking.’
I hold my breath and take another step forward on to a frozen pathway that creaks as it gathers before us. I risk a look back and see Alberic pushing Mallory on to the ice, Mother Earth behind them. Mallory looks absolutely petrified and I reach for her hand. ‘It’ll be fine,’ I whisper, grabbing her and pulling her into line with my footsteps. ‘Trust me.’
‘It’s not that I don’t trust you,’ she hisses, slithering in my wake. ‘It’s just that I’m starting to wonder if I’ve gone completely stark raving mad and actually I’m in some sort of asylum and you’re all figments of my imagination!’
