by Vance Huxley
Though Ferryl didn’t just have fun, she reported that the side and rear boundaries seemed intact and as strong as they had ever been. Once Abel could help, she would strengthen the deterrence to knock out anyone who still came inside. Despite finding evidence that small magical creatures had tried to approach the barrier, several times, Abel still refused to let her make the spell lethal. He didn’t want anything killed accidentally. He encouraged her to kill the larger creatures they saw in the village, such as globhoblins, as well as the types he’d seen in the food at home. They had to be careful because according to Ferryl, non-magical humans could see the killing. The raw magical gloop when one died became visible until it evaporated.
When he wasn’t staring at his hand Abel jogged around the property and did his best at sit-ups, but begged off heaving small logs like a pathetic rip-off of a Rocky movie. Ferryl insisted the physical training would help, but agreed his left hand should heal first. Abel started lifting increasingly heavy bits of wood with his right hand as the bruising faded, to build up the muscles for casting stronger glyphs. Since they were only smoke that made no sense, but even if he wasn’t totally convinced Abel could see a benefit in being fitter. He’d be able to run away faster and further.
Keeping quiet about what he did half the day bugged Abel, but he wasn’t involving Kelis or Rob until he knew this could be done. He didn’t want his friends seeing all those critturs and not being able to do anything about them. He met the pair of them for a few hours each day and most evenings at his house or Rob’s, usually to work on the game since without his left hand Abel couldn’t play computer games. At least Henry and Tyson didn’t show up, though a couple of people commented on the state of Henry’s face and asked if Abel really did that.
Abel came home clean each day so he didn’t get any earache from Mum. Mrs. Tabitha allegedly purred reports, or from what Ferryl said bragged how many nasty little intruders she had nobbled. Meanwhile, the wards seemed to be keeping critturs out of the house. Abel still couldn’t figure out how to surreptitiously ward Rob’s house or Kelis’s but his resident cat-lady found a partial solution. After Abel kept complaining Ferryl had a purring session with the cat next door to Kelis, and the young ginger and white cat called Rusty who lived at Rob’s. Ferryl also placed glyphs on Rob’s house when they had a few moments waiting for someone to answer the door, but would never get near Kelis’s home.
Abel had never been through the electronically locked gates to Kelis’s house, let alone up to the door. Despite it being a huge, almost new two story residence with extensive gardens, nobody local ever visited. Mr. Ventner, Kelis’s dad, never spoke to his neighbours. His job, something big in the city, kept him away during the week and he only appeared occasionally at weekends to cut the grass on a big sit-on mower. A cleaner came from the town twice a week, and a gardener periodically trimmed bushes and trees and replanted flower beds. The Ventners never employed locals and Mrs. Ventner never socialised, even having the milk left in the big mail box. Kelis absolutely and definitely wasn’t allowed to bring friends home, but spent as much time as possible with Rob and Abel.
While Abel took breaks from training to eat, or just clear his head, Ferryl answered questions. Sometimes she asked them. “I still do not understand why some items bear hexes, and some do not. Some of the hexes are very weak, and need replenishing so who does that?”
“You mean like Stan’s old Land Rover logo? I suppose it’s worn out and nobody renews anything magical because we’ve got no witch. I’ve sort of figured out how it all works. Mr. Ventner’s BMW is new and you said it has a strong hex so the logos must be magicked, hexed, when they’re made. Some of the older and especially the cheaper cars have no working hexes. I reckon the reason is price. The ones with hexes are mostly brand names known to be reliable, and also expensive, so the hexing costs.” Abel wondered just how BMW or Land Rover put that on the tax returns, unless HM Inspector of Taxes accepted Hexing as a justifiable expense. He also wondered briefly about his sanity, but he did that every day. “Now you can explain why some houses have no creatures on them, or very few.”
“Those villagers are true believers, and have sworn themselves to their God. Their personal marks provide protection and are renewed each time they go to church and worship. As a result their houses are uncomfortable for any magical being to live in, especially if they have tokens of the God in there, such as crosses.”
Abel thought about that. “True. Most of those families drive to the church in Stourton every Sunday. There’s at least two that don’t go, so what about them?”
“They must be sworn to a different God, but hiding to prevent persecution.”
“We don’t do that in England.” Abel hesitated. “Not really persecute but yes, sometimes people don’t like different religions.”
“They would not live here if your church still had a cross and priest. I still do not understand that and it worries me.”
* * *
Ferryl returned to that worry time after time until Abel went to see Stan, leaning on his front fence as usual and watching the world go by. Nobody knew his age exactly, but the pensioner had supposedly lived in the village all his life. “Hi Stan. Is Cooch still leaving Bugsy alone?”
“I haven’t seen that animal in the village since it got hurt. Good riddance. Why aren’t you locked in a bedroom staring at a computer?” Stan grinned. “You’ll get a suntan at this rate and none of the other kids will talk to you.”
Abel laughed, because Stan always reckoned modern youth didn’t get enough sun and fresh air. “I’m doing a sort of project on the history of Brinsford. Why is the church closed?”
Stan looked along the main street towards the small village church, surrounded by a stone wall enclosing an overgrown graveyard. “Economy I reckon. There weren’t enough of the faithful putting their hard-earned cash in the collection plate to pay for a vicar.” He frowned, thinking a bit harder. “Probably something like that. The vicar who lived here moved out, and we had one coming every three weeks for services but then it stopped and the windows were boarded up.” He smirked and waved a hand to encompass most of the village. “Us heathens finally scared them off.”
“That may be right, in a way. I understand now, I believe.”
“Thanks Stan, though I reckon saying the heathen drove the priest out might not get a very good grade at school.” Abel almost reached down to pat Bugsy, then remembered the wagging tail didn’t mean the little git wouldn’t nip him. “Now I’ve got to work out when the ford turned into a bridge.”
“Before my time. Before planning permission as well so good luck with that.” Stan laughed, tapping his chest. “Let me know if you find out, or I’ll lose my reputation as the local know-it-all.” As Abel walked away Ferryl explained what she’d realised. An occupied and well supported church would have spread its protection to cover most of the original village, directing the prayers of the faithful through their mark, the cross. Without enough worshippers, the priest would be unable to protect the whole village. The unbelievers didn’t drive the church out, but they didn’t pay for protection.
Abel thought he’d got it. “A church powers a barrier with faith.”
“Yes, any active church protects the surrounding area.” Ferryl’s tone turned humorous. “Though that doesn’t work for Castle House. Nobody worships sorcerers. That barrier is deliberately constructed with magic, not faith. All the mature trees in Castle House garden are tied into either gathering magic to store in the stone slab, or to power the boundary spell.”
“So how much magic in a tree?” Abel stopped walking as he rethought, “No, first, how come a tree has magic?”
“As I told you, all living things collect magic, but are usually unable to use it. Animals, fish, birds and even insects move around and absorb more but leak some, while plants absorb less but store all of it. Nettles, grass and even small bushes only collect a negligible amount, and even a young tree can’t store enough magic to feed a section of a
village boundary.” Abel listened but the next bit really grabbed his attention. “The Castle House trees are particularly good suppliers because they don’t have guardians, dryads.”
“Dryads? I haven’t seen any trees looking like women, so are they half-person, half-deer?”
Laughter echoed in his head, until Ferryl spoke again. “Dryads are only barely attractive to their own kind, as gnarled as their homes, suspicious, rude, and fiercely protective of the stored power in their tree.”
“So which trees have one? When can I see one? Will a barrier drive them out?”
“Every mature tree has a dryad, a guardian, so we can’t use it to power a barrier. A dryad can live inside a village barrier, but will use all the magic in the tree to avoid being driven out.” Ferryl laughed again. “I doubt you will enjoy it if you meet one.”
“Please?” Abel kept pestering until Ferryl agreed he could meet a dryad socially.
* * *
Ferryl warned Abel not to expect dryads to give him any magic to protect the village, but the creature might fill in some of what happened in Brinsford while Ferryl languished. After parting with some of his meagre savings to buy a little pot of honey Abel sat down on the village green, facing the trunk of a big old horse chestnut. “Greetings, tree and guardian.” Abel resisted a glance around to see who might be watching. “May I speak to you, please? I bring a gift.”
The tree bark didn’t move, but a creaky, impatient voice came from somewhere in there. “Manners at least. What do you want? What is that under your shirt?”
“It already knows but lift your shirt sleeve so it can see me clearly.” Abel rolled up the short sleeve and glanced down to find his tattoo looking towards the tree. It didn’t even seem weird any more and he turned slightly to give her, and the tree, a better view.
“Braith Huntian. The excitement must have been you breaking free.” Two bright eyes opened in the bark facing Abel, chestnut brown eyes which seemed appropriate even if eyes in trees brought back some bad memories. “Who is your new host?”
“Not a host. I am bound, by my true-name.” Ferryl sighed and this time the grass nearby swayed in a very local breeze. “Not truly bound, a bargain in exchange for my freedom. I am Ferryl Shayde now.”
The dryad’s eyes shifted back to Abel. “Take care, young human. Riches, eternity and females are not always what you expect.”
Abel laughed, and Ferryl joined in. “No riches, no women, but I want to learn magic.”
“Strange. Most human students run away from magic these days. Why do you want to learn?” As it moved, just slightly, Abel could see that the eyes weren’t in the tree at all. A stout, wrinkled creature stood between him and the trunk but marked and coloured to match perfectly. He glanced down and where its feet should be, roots spread out and dived into the soil.
“Because now I know magic exists, and don’t fancy trying to outrun another Bound Shade or Guardian.” Abel remembered his lines, and used the plastic spoon to scoop out some honey. “I am willing to pay for answers.”
“I prefer honeycomb.” A jagged rent near the top of the creature opened briefly. “Or I do when I can persuade bees to nest. Since it has been such a long time that will suffice.”
“An answer for each spoonful?”
“Miser. Agreed.”
“What happened to the witch in Brinsford?”
“She died.” A small shoot grew outwards and waved gently, but Abel hesitated. “One answer. Pay.” Abel glanced around. The brown eyes moved to the sides and back to him. “You did not veil to hide us? Why? Your passenger should know better.”
“Since this is your ground, I thought it would be rude to work a glyph.” Even if Abel only heard her in his head, the dryad heard Ferryl perfectly well.
“Rude? When did you learn some manners? You had none when you arrived.”
“I spent a long time in a hole.” Ferryl laughed. “This human is very polite, so maybe living in here is having an effect.”
“It won’t last, not with you.” The brown eyes moved from the tattoo to the human. “Since we are all being polite, I will provide the veil.” The dryad paused briefly and a slight chill swept over Abel. “It is done, only magical creatures can see us, and not all of them. My honey, now!” The last bit wasn’t even close to polite and Abel quickly held out the spoon. The very supple shoot grew further and sucked every scrap of honey from the spoon. “A very small spoonful.”
Abel glanced round but the two kids kicking a football across the grass weren’t paying attention. “A small spoonful for a very short answer. A bigger spoonful for bigger answers.” He grinned. “I could try a different tree.”
“I am the friendly one. Though for honey, who knows? Very well, bigger answers.”
The next question didn’t take much thinking about. “Why isn’t there another witch?”
“None came.” With a sigh Abel scraped the spoon as it came out of the jar, leaving very little honey on it. “Very well. Her apprentice ran away, because she did not want to be a witch. No others have turned up since then. Enough?”
“Definitely, thank you.” Abel heaped the spoon and held it out, waiting as the supple shoot neatly absorbed the lot. “How long has there been no witch, and why did the apprentice run off?”
“Two questions.” The brown eyes dropped to the jar. “One big spoonful?” Abel nodded. “I lose track of time passed, but she died some years after the sorcerer disappeared. Her apprentice did not want to live as the witch did, eating scraps and living in a hovel. She wanted a decent home such as the rest of the village have, and went to the sea to sell fortunes and charms.”
“Ask no more about that. I understand. Many despise witches, and if belief has faded she would be very poor. Tied to the village and the land, she would not be able to gain more wealth as others do, travelling to town and serving masters there.”
Abel dished out a big spoonful, glancing round as the shoot slurped it up but even though one of the lads with a football looked straight at Abel and the dryad, he didn’t react. Abel looked at the tattoo and tried to subvocalize. “Is that enough? Do I ask about the barrier now?”
A creaky, impatient voice answered. “Yes, ask your questions. How else do I get the honey?”
“Do as it says, but do not pay for that answer. It is rude to eavesdrop.”
Abel looked at the shoot, waving hopefully. “I will not pay for that answer because I didn’t ask you. It is bad manners to listen in to other conversations.” The brown eyes narrowed, definitely annoyed. “I will pay well for the next answers if you don’t try to cheat me or eavesdrop.”
“Dryads eavesdrop on everything, even the rustle of grasses and those never say anything useful. Ask away, sometimes polite human.” Honey seemed to be cheering the dryad up a bit.
“I wish to place a barrier all around the village to keep out unwanted creatures. To do that I will need to use the power of older trees, as the sorcerer did.” Abel stopped and looked up, flinching a little as a couple of branches thrashed briefly and leaves fluttered down. “I do not want to drive out the dryads, as he did.”
“You are not strong enough.”
Ferryl had already told Abel that, so he pushed on. “But one day I might be, or I might be annoyed enough to buy a chainsaw to persuade you. I want to avoid conflict, so how do I persuade dryads to share? Not all the strength of a tree, but enough to help me make a barrier.”
“A dryad will only protect their tree.” A long silence followed and Abel began to scoop a small portion of honey. “I am not giving you a short answer, I am thinking. We think slowly.” The dryad closed its eyes.
“Wait. Dryads do not usually think before answering humans. This might be worth waiting for.” Ferryl sounded curious.
Abel sat for what must have been an hour, shifting a little now and then as he stiffened. When he glanced down Ferryl Shayde or her tattoo had curled up as if asleep, so she didn’t want to disturb the dryad. Abel realised it had to be more than an hour b
y how far the tree’s shadow moved round towards him, startled when the same glance showed he had no shadow at all. At least that reassured him the veil worked.
Ferryl sent a little tingle to warn Abel the dryad had opened its eyes again. “There may be a way. It is difficult for any dryad to find an empty tree, because there are fewer every year. You understand that trees gather power, magic?” Abel nodded. “Until the trees are old enough there is not enough for the dryad to use as a defence. Young dryads take a young tree and hope to survive long enough.” The next bit had a tinge of bitterness. “There are creatures who prey on the weak, and others who imprison or enslave them. If you find a suitable tree and provide protection to the young of a dryad, that dryad might help you with a share of its tree. At least enough to protect an area nearby, and perhaps the area containing the young.”
That didn’t quite answer so Abel asked. “When the young grow, would they help to supply the barrier?”
“Possibly. You could make that a part of the bargain. Though first you must prove you can protect a young tree. It must be strong proof, because there is a long history of sorcerers cheating and enslaving dryads.” This dryad certainly sounded suspicious. “How much honey is that worth?”
Abel smiled. “This question isn’t for you.” He looked down at the tattoo. “Is that enough?”
The tattoo smiled. “Enough to work with. I had not thought of how young dryads find a strong tree. How much honey will you give it?”
Abel grinned at the dryad and put the open jar of honey on the grass. “All of it. Thank you for the answers. How do I break the veil once you have finished?”
