by Julie Hunt
‘Now we wait,’ she said, taking out her bone pipe. ‘I must warn you, the aunties will try to win you with gifts – but you mustn’t be swayed.’ She stuffed the pipe with tobacco. ‘And when the Great Aunt asks you to give your speech, you must say that you belong to me.’
‘But I don’t belong to you . . .’ I began.
‘You don’t now, but you will once I begin training you, and I’m going to start immediately.’
She dug into her coat and pulled out a little leather pouch. ‘I have collected the things in this bag over many, many years. They are small, but they are powerful.’ She gave me a steady look. ‘Lesson one, Peat – always open and close your stories. If you don’t, the characters can come out into the world. I hope you’re paying attention.’
‘What is this training?’ I asked. ‘What are you training me for?’
‘For the stories. You’re going to be my apprentice.’ She put her fingers in the pouch and drew out a bent nail.
‘What’s this?’ she demanded, holding it up. Flames leapt from the fire, and the shadow of the nail fell on her face. ‘It’s a weapon,’ she said. ‘A sword.’
She turned the nail around so that she was holding the point and not the head. ‘Now it’s a club. Can you see that?’
I nodded.
‘Good,’ she said. ‘Now the story can begin.’
THE BARGAIN
‘Once, long ago and far from here, there lived a warrior. His name was Pike, and he was afraid of nothing. He slept with a battleaxe tucked in his belt. Every night he dreamed of fighting, and every morning he woke with the battle light shining in his eyes.’
Eadie’s face gleamed in the firelight, and she stared into the flames as if something was there.
‘Pike lived in a rough stone fort at the top of some cliffs, and his enemy, a giant called Scabbard, lived in a sea cave at the bottom. Each day they met on the path and fought. You’d think one would have killed the other, but the two were equally matched. Every day when the sun reached its peak overhead they stopped fighting, and each went home to sharpen his weapons and polish his shield.
‘Are you listening carefully, Peat? I’m going to ask you to repeat this story.’
I nodded, pulling a pile of reeds up behind me so I could lean back and get more comfortable.
‘One night Pike dreamed he lost the endless battle,’ she continued. ‘He dreamed Scabbard speared him straight through his heart and he fell from the cliffs into the swirling sea. This frightened the fearless warrior. He was so afraid for his life he decided to seek advice.
‘There was a wayfarer who came to the coast every year – an age-old man known as the Siltman. He came to pan for tin and to trade the silver trinkets he made. He would set up camp at the river mouth and people would visit him there. They believed he understood the language of fish and birds and had supernatural powers. Pike decided he would take his dream to the Siltman.’
Eadie turned to me and frowned. ‘Lesson two, Peat. See the story in your mind, and the audience will see it, too.’ She took a deep breath.
‘The Siltman had always been old, and he never grew any older. He arrived each year in winter just after the waders and barnacle geese had left for warmer shores. His footprints and those of his dog would appear on the beach three weeks before he did. Pike found him sifting silt at the river mouth.’
Eadie’s face grew thin and pale. Her eyes were deep hollows. She lifted one hand and her fingers looked bony. Is it a trick of light from the fire or is she actually changing? I asked myself.
‘Shhh,’ she said, and her voice was dry and wispy.
‘The Siltman listened to Pike’s dream. You will certainly die, he said. Unless I save you.
‘The warrior was afraid of the Siltman. The old man’s voice was like wind blowing through the rushes, and his eyes looked clear through to the next world.
‘Save me? asked Pike. How can you save me?
‘I can split your spirit from your body and put it away for safekeeping. Then you can never be killed.’
Is this a true story? I wondered.
‘Of course it’s true,’ Eadie snapped. ‘Do you think I’m a liar?’
I didn’t know.
‘Just listen,’ she said, and she went on with the story.
‘Do it, said Pike. Split my spirit from my body.
‘There’s a price, said the Siltman.
‘Name it, said Pike, who had a strongroom full of gold back at the fort.
‘I don’t want gold, the old man whispered. I want something more valuable than gold.’
Eadie whistled through her teeth and a tremor of fear ran through me. She leaned close.
‘Do you know what he wanted?’ she asked.
‘No,’ I breathed.
She was quiet for a while, then when she spoke again it was in the voice of the Siltman. ‘Give me a child, he said. Your child.
‘It’s a deal, said Pike quickly, because he had no wife and he had no child.
‘The Siltman reached up and put his hand on Pike’s chest.’ I watched the firelight flicker through Eadie’s outstretched fingers. ‘He took Pike’s spirit from his body and put it in a bag at his feet.
‘The Siltman’s dog had recently given birth to a litter of puppies. They were in that bag. The spirit went straight into the nearest puppy, then the old man drew out the little pup and gave it to Pike.
‘Keep him safe, he said. And you will live forever.’
Eadie’s brow creased, and she stopped talking.
‘Go on,’ I said. ‘Did he live forever?’
She pointed to the water and put her finger to her lips. Our island was surrounded by lilies, glowing in the darkness. I hadn’t noticed them before. Eadie leaned towards me.
‘Spies,’ she hissed. ‘The Listening Lilies.’
Immediately the lilies closed up and sank beneath the surface.
‘Blast them!’ Eadie cried. ‘I should have been more careful.’
‘Do they belong to Lily?’ I asked.
‘Lily, Flo, Olive. Any of the marsh aunties could have sent them.’ Eadie spat the words out.
‘Does it matter what they hear?’
She sucked on her pipe and blew smoke from her nostrils. Her coat seemed to be swelling, and bits of fur were sticking up in tufts.
‘Those aunties raise my blood pressure and my hackles,’ she snorted. ‘But they won’t stop me. Where was I?’
‘The Siltman put the spirit of Pike into a puppy.’
‘That’s right,’ she said. ‘Pike slipped that puppy inside his cloak and went home. He called him Shadow, and the pup followed him everywhere.
‘Shadow grew up into a giant wolfhound. He was fierce and fearless, like his owner. He guarded the fort when Pike went out into battle. And Pike fought as never before. Do you know what happened?’
She looked hard into my eyes. I shook my head.
‘Spears passed through him and went out the other side without leaving a scratch. Deathblow after deathblow glanced off him. The giant Scabbard could not kill him.’
Eadie fell silent and stared into the fire. She was silent for so long that I thought the story had ended. I could hear waves lapping at the shores of our small island and faint voices across the water.
‘I think they’re coming,’ I said.
‘Typical,’ Eadie replied. ‘The aunties always arrive at the wrong time.’
She began speaking quickly, trying to finish the story before the others reached the island.
‘Years went by. Pike married and had a son. Shadow loved the child with all his being. He taught him to walk by standing close and letting the boy pull himself up with handfuls of wiry hair. When the boy was big enough to climb onto Shadow’s back, the dog took him riding, and together they explored the country beyond the cliffs.
‘Pike gave no thought to the bargain he had made with the Siltman. He didn’t tell his wife about the deal and, in time, he forgot about it completely. One day, Pike’s wife went away
to visit her family, and while she was gone the Siltman returned. For the second time in his life, Pike was afraid.
‘The boy’s not here, he told the Siltman. He’s out riding his dog. When he comes back I’ll bring him to your camp at the river mouth.
‘The Siltman turned and walked away without saying a word. Pike had no intention of honouring his promise. When the boy returned his father hugged him tight then, leaving Shadow to guard the fort, he picked up his son and ran.’
The voices on the water were getting nearer. I could hear shouts and a wailing sort of song. I wished they would go away, because I wanted Eadie to finish the story.
‘Later.’ Eadie held up the nail. ‘The tale isn’t over,’ she said. ‘But I will close it anyway.’
She put the nail back in the little bag and tied up the string. Then she heaped more wood on the fire and the flames leapt high.
THE WELCOMING
I couldn’t see the aunties in the darkness, but I could hear them. Someone yelled words I couldn’t understand, and there were howls of laughter.
‘Don’t speak Marsh. The waif won’t know what you’re talking about!’
There was arguing and cursing and singing – a strange song that had no tune. One voice rose higher and higher until it became a scream, while someone else made a low honking sound.
‘That’s Olive,’ Eadie said. ‘She’s got a beak on her like a barnacle goose and a laugh to match.’
I couldn’t believe there were only half-a-dozen marsh aunties. It sounded like many more.
The island rocked about as the aunties clambered up. They were carrying heavy bundles and their faces were flushed with excitement. Lily rushed to me and kissed me on both cheeks.
‘I’ve got you a present, Peat,’ she whispered, slipping a little bottle of perfume into my pocket. ‘I’ve perfected the Swoon.’
She sat very close, as if she was claiming me. Another auntie put herself between me and Eadie.
‘I’m Myriad,’ she said. ‘How is your leg? Eadie’s not the only one who can cure, you know.’
Myriad’s hair was gold and it fanned out around her head like a halo.
‘Welcome to the marsh,’ she said.
‘I will do the Welcoming!’ came a booming voice.
The Great Aunt took her place by the fire. She was an enormous woman, and she seemed to be trailing a long shawl, but when I looked closer I saw that it was mist – a white mist that reminded me of the one in Drip Cave. When she sat down, the mist slipped from her shoulders and gathered in her lap. Her eyes were green and seemed too large for her face.
‘Sisters, Marsh Aunties and Women of the Wetlands.’ She spread her arms wide. ‘We are gathered here to welcome the swamp waif Peat!’
There were murmurs of agreement.
‘It has been many years since we’ve had a swamp waif in our midst.’
‘Thirty,’ said Myriad. ‘I was the last.’
‘Thirty years!’ the Great Aunt cried. ‘And now at last we have some new blood.’
New blood. I don’t like the sound of that, I thought. What do they need the blood for? I remembered what the Last children had said.
Eadie leaned across Myriad and spoke in my ear. ‘Parents tell children all sorts of stories to stop them wandering into the marshes and getting lost. You are quite safe.’
‘We are lucky to have a swamp waif,’ continued the Great Aunt. ‘She will stay with us and live in the marshes forever, and when we die she will take our place.’
Forever? I thought.
‘Shhh.’ Eadie silenced me.
‘Is there any marsh business to declare before we proceed with the Welcoming?’ the Great Aunt asked.
Lily stood up. ‘I’d like to declare that the Green Mist was marvellous,’ she said in her breathy voice. ‘There were so many strands, so many layers. It was just . . .’ She was searching for the word. ‘. . . tantalising!’
The Great Aunt nodded. ‘Thank you, Lily.’
‘It was one of the best mists you’ve ever raised, Hazel,’ Lily added.
Eadie leaned in front of Myriad again. ‘She’s trying to flatter the Great Aunt. She wants Hazel to give you to her. But it’s not up to Hazel.’
‘I have a declaration.’ Another auntie stood up. She had a large nose and was wearing a tunic made of bags and feathers. ‘I would like to declare the Far Reaches out of bounds. The Churn is particularly active at the moment, and we wouldn’t want the waif to get lost in it.’
‘Declared,’ said the Great Aunt. ‘Thank you, Olive. Next?’
Ebb jumped up. ‘I wish to declare that I’ve changed my name to Nettie.’
Ebb – or Nettie – gave me a tight little smile.
‘She’s decided she wants you,’ Eadie whispered. ‘If you go with her she’ll work you to the bone and you’ll be making fishnets to the end of your days.’
‘Declared,’ said the Great Aunt. ‘Is everyone here?’
‘Flo is missing,’ said Lily.
‘She’s always late,’ the Great Aunt muttered. ‘We will start without her. I will deliver the Rules and proceed with the Welcoming.’
The Great Aunt rose to her feet, and the island lurched. She glared at me with her huge green eyes. ‘These are the Rules of the marshes,’ she said. ‘They will become the rules of your life.
‘Rule One: No marsh auntie or swamp waif may leave the marsh without the permission of the Great Aunt.
‘Rule Two: The Great Aunt will rule until the night of the Eclipse.
‘Rule Three: All new swamp waifs will be apprenticed to the marsh auntie of their choice.
‘Rule Four: That marsh auntie will care for the swamp waif and protect her from danger.
‘Rule Five: After the Welcoming, the marsh auntie will teach the waif her special skill.
‘Rule Six: The marsh auntie will own the swamp waif until the day of her death.’
Whose death? I wondered. I didn’t know if I liked these rules, but when the Great Aunt asked me if I understood, I nodded and said nothing.
‘Each auntie will show you her special skill in turn. Afterwards you will make your choice and give your speech. Are there any aunties you don’t know?’
I didn’t feel that I knew any of them, but I pointed to Olive.
‘Olive makes clothes,’ said the Great Aunt. ‘She would teach you the arts of dying, weaving and sewing. When she opens her bundle you’ll see an array of fabrics and threads.’
Olive smiled at me and nodded.
I pointed to Myriad.
‘Myriad makes pots and pipes. She has hands that can shape clay.’
‘What do you make, Great Aunt?’ I asked, although I knew I wouldn’t choose the Great Aunt Hazel because something in her voice reminded me of Alban Bane.
‘I make the mists,’ she said. ‘If you come with me, I will teach you the art of weathermaking. You will learn how to make mists and rain and winds and storms. Now we will start. Let the aunties prepare themselves.’
The Great Aunt sat down and the island sank a little then bounced back up. The other aunties began unpacking their bundles.
Olive rushed over to me and pressed some cloth into my hands. ‘For you, little waif,’ she said. ‘A beautiful dress.’
The dress was my size and it was made of fine brown linen with feathers over the breast. My own dress was ragged, and there were holes in my vest, but I could never give up the clothes made by my own mother.
Nettie handed me a fish. It had rainbow scales and its tail was bright orange.
‘It’s called a Golden Galaxia,’ she said. ‘They’re very rare. When you are my apprentice, I will show you how to make a net so fine it can catch anything you want.’
I don’t want to be caught in your net, I thought.
The marsh aunties were all over me. They were hungry for me. It was good to be wanted, but they wanted me too much.
‘You’re crowding her,’ Myriad cried. She picked me up and stepped away from the fire.
; ‘Don’t go with Eadie,’ she whispered. ‘Eadie is not to be trusted.’
‘Bring her back!’ the others yelled. ‘You’re stealing her.’
‘Order!’ yelled the Great Aunt.
Myriad set me back down on my bundle of rushes.
‘Swamp waif, is there anything you want to say before the aunties begin?’ the Great Aunt asked.
‘Yes.’
I didn’t know if I should stand to address Hazel, but I had something important to say, so I put my hands on the shoulders of the aunties next to me and, keeping my leg straight, I got to my feet.
‘Great Aunt, I don’t know if I want to stay in the marshes forever and follow your rules. And I don’t think I want to belong to anyone.’
The Great Aunt gasped, and there was a general grumbling among the others. Someone clicked her tongue and hissed, ‘Ungrateful waif!’
The Great Aunt stared at me with a face like thunder. ‘You haven’t got a choice,’ she said. ‘If we let you go, you will wander into the Far Reaches and be lost. You might be swallowed by the Churn. What else have you got to say?’
‘I would like to thank Eadie for fixing my leg,’ I said hesitantly.
‘But she broke it!’ Lily cried.
‘Enough!’ said the Great Aunt. ‘Eadie, you may go first.’
‘That’s hardly fair,’ I heard Lily whisper under her breath.
Eadie pulled out her story bag and moved closer to the fire. She picked out a glass bead, let it glint in the firelight, and put it back. Then she took out a leaf.
‘Tell the one about the herb queen,’ someone suggested.
‘No. Tell The Bad Wish.’
‘How about the story of the very first swamp waif?’ Myriad asked. ‘I love that tale. It always makes me cry.’
‘Everything makes you cry,’ Olive said. ‘What about The Fickle Thread?’
All the aunties were talking at once. Eadie returned the leaf to the pouch and produced a wishbone.
‘No, not The Bad Wish,’ Ebb cried. ‘Tell The Tale of Lucky Fish—’
‘Silence!’ The Great Aunt stared around the circle. ‘Let the storyteller choose the story.’
Eadie dropped the wishbone back in the pouch and took out the nail. She gave me a wink that said she had known all along which story she would tell.
