by Helen Slavin
“No… it’s alright, Winn. Above all, it is alright to be scared… being scared makes us run faster, think quicker.”
Winn nodded, understanding.
“I am going to give you something, something to keep with you, something that will protect you even when you are not in Havoc Wood.” She reached for some secateurs that were sitting on the little table, and she waved her little finger at Winn. “This is my magic finger, Winn, and I am giving it to you.” Winn watched, silent, as Mrs Way set the jaws of the secateurs around her left hand’s little finger and snipped, hard. There was a brief, bright crunch of bone, and blood oozed. Quickly, Mrs Way snapped her fingers and a small bright flame sparked up, glowed blue, yellow hot, white hot. With this she cauterised the wound and the end of the finger. Then she curled the finger over and popped it into a small leather pouch.
“Keep this with you. It’s my marker, Winn. No one… not anyone… not the wood woman… not anyone, at all, ever… will touch you while you have this.” She pulled the top of the pouch closed with its plaited string and handed it to Winn. Winn did not reach for it. She was wide-eyed, her ears replaying the small clicking bone sound, seeing the blood ooze.
“Winn, take it.” Mrs Way spoke her name carefully and with authority. Winn looked at the small pouch, understood that it was a significant gift and that she must not be afraid. Mrs Way was not someone to be afraid of.
Unless you were the white-haired woman in the wood.
* * *
In town on market day with Mrs Walters, Winn saw the woman from the wood — in her red dress it was hard not to. Mrs Walters gave her a hard stare and the woman in the wood just gave a sour grin, to which Mrs Walters pulled Winn tight and almost squeezed her hand flat.
“She better not cross me…” Mrs Walters muttered under her breath. Winn felt the small pouch in her pocket, the finger curled within like a sleeping snail.
Nuala Whitemain wandered through the market wondering about the unfairness of everything. It was alright, was it, for Hettie Way, lording it over everyone as Gamekeeper, to use dark magic? It was alright then, was it? Using dark magic to help other people? What a waste. Ha. Not very dark then really, was it?
She wandered a little more, rather bored with herself, and she considered that there were other people here she could use for bone magic. Not as powerful as the child, but still. There was that stupid grinning oaf of a butcher for a start. Look at the forearm on that? As she thought of marrow and shards and the power, she felt a tweak of fear, of what vengeance Hettie Way might take should Nuala approach the butcher and break his bones. At once she understood that Hettie Way had to be got at, had to be taken down. A small black spike of Strength radiated towards her from that dratted child’s pocket.
Yes. Hettie Way needed to be dealt with.
Not today. No. But someday.
2
Home Comforts
Vanessa Way’s new house was almost finished, and since the old place, Way Towers as they had affectionately termed it, had been sold, Vanessa decided that she could rough it for a while in the new space.
She had moved all the old furniture in, and now, as it sat in the sleek, contemporary, if half-finished setting, she realised that she didn’t want all this old stuff. She resolved, as she and youngest daughter, Emz, sank into the geriatric blue sofa and clapped out armchair, that times were changing.
Her daughters had been upset at the move, but only a little. This evening they were grouped around the kitchen, the visit prompted by the installation of the massive foldback windows.
“I always liked the view from the attic at Way Towers…” Anna was the least happy with the move it seemed, the one with the most homesick laments. “Out over the gardens, all patchworked…”
“That row of old garages at the end of the back lane, where the foxes went to earth?” Emz recalled, her gaze drifting out of the windows and away in the direction of their former home. Vanessa was unfazed. She knew the move was right.
“You mean where the rats had their hideout?” Charlie brought them down to earth. Vanessa tried not to smile.
“I can’t help missing the old place.” Anna was a little spiky and hurt.
“Doesn’t bother me.” Charlie shrugged. “I’ve got my new place.” She was renting a flat on Market Place, brought about by her new job at the Drawbridge Brewery on the edge of town.
“But…” Anna had begun.
“Butt out,” Charlie warned her sister.
“No, let her have her say.” Vanessa was even-handed despite the decision having been made.
“Oh… but nothing. Charlie’s right. It’s just sentimental isn’t it? I’m not at home any more, and people move all the time.”
“Half-Built House is nearer to Prickles,” Emz said. Anna laughed.
“What did you call it?”
“She called it Half-Built House,” Charlie said.
“I’ll get a sign made,” Vanessa laughed.
The build had gone well, without any major mishaps, and now it was just a matter of fitting the kitchen and the bathroom suites and a few odd carpentry jobs.
“It is a lovely view from up here. You can see all of Woodcastle,” Anna said. She had been helping her mother and Emz unpack, and they were enjoying a mug of tea outside on the terrace.
“Well, it will be a terrace when you’ve got some plants.”
“And some topsoil,” Vanessa added. They surveyed the mud.
* * *
Later, when Anna had gone to work and Emz had headed to a fox emergency at Prickles, Vanessa stood alone on the soon-to-be terrace. This house was a new beginning for her, more isolated from the town and away from prying neighbours. The nearest here, at Rook Hill, were the Hirsts, just over half a mile eastward. And, as Anna had so rightly pointed out, it was a beautiful vista. Vanessa had chosen it for different reasons. She and her mother had pored over the maps, their fingers tracing the lines and contours, the boundaries and edges. Here. This was a good move.
The doorbell chimed. Vanessa was delighted. She had not heard it until now, and the acoustics in the hallway were good, the sound rising up the stairwell. Vanessa was not expecting anyone, however, so she was careful to check through the side window of the study before opening the door.
“Calum,” she greeted Anna’s partner. He was carrying a present, wrapped in paper so beautiful that Vanessa knew she would fold it away and keep it.
“Housewarming gift.” He smiled. Calum Atwood, Vanessa thought, had the best smile she had ever seen, warm, genuine, sincere. Vanessa had a soft spot for Calum. He was serious, but he had a good sense of humour. He was kind, and, most important of all, he loved Anna.
The gift was the high-end coffee grinder that she had admired in the cookshop in Castlebury some weeks before.
“I know you like gadgets,” Calum said. “And, of course, you love your coffee, so logic prevailed.” He had, Vanessa thought, a kind of gift, a knack with people. It was probably what made him so successful and liked as a teacher.
They tried the gadget out at once, Calum plugging the new kettle into the socket by the door where the old table from Way Towers held the rather basic kitchen facilities. The sink was not plumbed in yet, so water was from a vast gallon bottle.
“I assume Bear Grylls designed your kitchen,” Calum joked, and they moved outside to the not-quite-a-terrace.
They chatted easily for a while about weather and the local geography, most of which could be seen from Vanessa’s new house.
“Do you know why I’m really here?” Calum asked at last looking very nervous indeed. His usually confident face had slightly wobblier edges to it.
“I think so, but I’m going to make you say it out loud.” Vanessa smiled. Calum relaxed a little.
“You know I love her,” he said, his tense breath letting out in one brisk sigh. “You do, I hope, know just how much I love her.” He was laughing, edgy, his hands resting at his hips now trying to look strong and purposeful, but Vanessa coul
d see him shaking. She found she couldn’t speak, so she nodded. As she did so, one of her tears escaped and sploshed into her coffee. Calum, looking out across Woodcastle for inspiration, did not witness this. He turned back to her.
“Mrs Way…” Calum began, formal and serious. Vanessa was not Mrs Way, had never been such, but it was simpler not to correct people. “Mrs Way, I love your daughter, Anna, and I would very much appreciate…” He halted, altered course a little, “…like… very much hope…” He was losing it, she could see. “I want to request…” He gathered himself in, drew up straighter and held up a visibly trembling hand. “I’m getting there… trust me… got to do this right.” He cleared his throat.
“Mrs Way, would you grant to me the boon of your daughter’s hand in marriage?”
Vanessa looked at him, at the words he had chosen, at the task he had set himself. He could not be more perfect a match for her serious daughter.
“I surely will grant you that boon, kind sir.” And she offered her hand for him to shake. They shook hands for several seconds too long.
“Just got to go and ask her now.” Calum sweated.
* * *
From her vast, wide windows, Vanessa could watch Calum’s progress back into town, his headlights winking over the hedges on Battlefield Road before sliding down past the Georgian elegance of New Town. Then he was trundling along Dark Gate Street and, at the last, turning in at the little car park by the castle, the lights finally going out.
An owl hooted. Whilst Vanessa’s scientific mind tried to make nothing more of it than a biological sound, her Havoc Wood heart knew better.
* * *
It had been a busy evening at the Castle Inn. There had been a retirement dinner for twelve in the function room, and an unexpected party of thirty in the main dining room, refugees from a tourist bus that had been caught in traffic just outside Castlebury.
“An elephant escaped from the zoo,” the tour guide had told Lella. “We’ve missed our dinner reservations. Is there any way you could…?” And, with a moving of tables and an unstacking of chairs, the flapping of cloths and the chinkle of cutlery, a feast was organised.
So Anna was a little late knocking off, but Calum had allowed for such possibilities in his plan and was reading a book in the bar. At least, he had been, until he was roped in by Lella to serve some drinks.
“He is so lovely,” Lella said to Anna. “You should definitely keep him.” She sighed deeply. “Please tell me he has a brother.”
Anna tried to picture Lella with Hamish. Interesting.
“I will see what I can do,” Anna promised, and dragged Calum out from behind the bar where he was buffing pint glasses with a linen cloth.
“I actually think Hamish would like her. What do you think?” she asked Calum as they headed to his car.
“Probably. Except he’ll be in Oslo, remember? The new job? Two-year contract,” Calum reminded her, and Anna was disappointed.
They did not turn out of the car park towards Top Lane and Old Castle Road; instead Calum turned right. Anna said nothing: perhaps he wanted to take the scenic route, though it was dark, and she was tired. They drove down Dark Gate Street, and then Calum turned in at the castle car park.
“Where are we going?” Anna asked.
“Castle.” Calum looked odd and nervous as a rabbit, which suited him because it made him boyishly charming. By rights, the car park should have been closed, the wooden gate pulled to, but it was open.
She saw the flaming torches as they were part way up Barbican Steep. The flames, brightly umber, whipped and flapped in the light night breeze.
The castle yard was lit by more torches, casting shadows that fluttered as much as Anna’s heart. She held tighter to Calum’s hand as they walked into the greensward, towers and stone around them, stars above them.
They stood in the middle of the greensward. He did not drop down to one knee; instead he took both her hands in his, faced her.
“Fair Anna of Woodcastle…” Calum began. She could feel him shaking. She looked into his eyes, as velvet-bronze brown as a hare’s.
“Will you marry me?”
Anna could not speak for a moment, the firelight, his eyes, the castle ghosts all crowded her. For a moment.
* * *
Calum Atwood was horribly aware of what an honour was being bestowed upon him. Aron had been going out with Charlie off and on since they were seventeen, and he had never been introduced to Grandma Hettie Way, asked to set one foot in Havoc Wood, or cross the threshold of Cob Cottage. Calum, therefore, felt the full, heavy weight of this honour and thought long and hard about what gifts he should bring.
In the end, history, as always, helped him. He bought a fresh loaf from the Castle Bakery, their Portcullis loaf, which was baked to an ancient recipe and involved a great many man-hours and wood-fired heat. He travelled out to the Magpie Vineyard at Knightstone for red wine. As a last thought, he bought a roundel of cheese at the Wednesday Makers Market, a tasty number called ‘Hartfield Hard’.
“It was my gran’s recipe,” the woman on the stall informed him, as she handed over a sliver for him to try. Her stall had appealed because it looked different. Nothing was wrapped in plastic, but rather swaddled in nettle leaves and nestled in hay. The rinds were moulded in umber and black, orange and furry blue-grey. Hartfield Hard, with its deep, creamy colour, looked, to Calum, like the kind of cheese a woodcutter might choose for the contents of his red-spotted handkerchief. Plus, it tasted delicious.
* * *
Hettie Way was small and slight at first glance; second glance, Calum thought, revealed the sinewy strength of her, her slightly gnarly fingered hands reaching for the basket he offered. Her soft grey eyes looked at him with the gaze of a she-wolf. If he was supposed to be intimidated, it had worked.
He was, in general, intimidated by the presence of the Way sisters. Even Emz, the youngest, who had been in his GCSE History group for the last two years, gave off a strength whenever she was in company with her sisters. They were close despite their age differences, or perhaps, Calum thought, because of that. Their difference made them separate enough to be cared about instead of being the competition.
“Your brother is Hamish did you say?” Hettie Way asked. They were sitting on the porch with an array of nibbles.
“They’re like a clan,” Charlie put in.
“Without the kilts and claymores, obviously…” Calum reassured her.
“Shame. I like a kilt.” Charlie grinned. He wondered if something had gone on between his brother and Charlie at some point. His brother had been very interested in her a few months ago, but that might have been because she was working at the Todgkinson Brewery in Castlebury back then.
Somewhere inside the cottage a small bell rang out an alarm, and Anna rose from her seat.
“Oh… that’s my timer… won’t be a sec.” She pushed back through the doors.
“Can I give you a hand, Anna?” Grandma Hettie pursued her.
Charlie peered at him.
“On a scale of one to ten, how terrifying is this?” She made a sweeping gesture encompassing Emz, the porch, the cottage and the horde of nibbles.
“Fifteen,” he came back, and she grinned broadly and offered him a plate of what looked like Scotch eggs.
“Arancini,” she informed him. “Rice balls, basically. Try them, they’re lit.” She popped a whole one into her mouth.
“So,” Calum was digging very deep into his tiny bag of small talk, “do you spend much time swimming in the lake?” He looked out across the steely grey waters.
“No.” Charlie shook her head.
“Too cold, of course.” He nodded.
“Black-deep, blue-cold,” Emz said, her gaze drifting out across the newly ruffled surface. Something in the distance blipped to the surface to prey on something else.
“Yes, I can imagine.” Calum gulped, the delicious morsel of arancini turning to pondweed in his mouth.
* * *
&n
bsp; In the scullery, just off the kitchen, the room that most people would call the utility room, Anna was reaching for some bottles of wine and beer chilling in the small fridge.
“Alright?” Grandma Hettie stood in the doorway. Anna was not alright. All manner of memories and emotions were seeping through her.
“No.” She could always be honest with Grandma Hettie. She was not the kind of person who wanted you to lie and feign out of politeness.
“What is it? Something particular?” Grandma was fact-finding. Anna gathered her thoughts.
“I should be happy. I should be golden and joyous. But,” Anna could not pin the thoughts for a moment, “it feels… sad. I feel as if I’m losing… I don’t know, connections? I don’t spend as much time with Charlie and Emz, for a start.”
“No, well, that’s how life is.” Grandma Hettie had never placated anyone in her life, and Anna felt strengthened by it.
“It is, isn’t it? I know it.”
“Doesn’t make it easier,” Grandma Hettie said.
“I spend less time with you.”
Grandma Hettie shrugged.
“Which is how things should be. Up and onwards. Making new times.”
Anna felt odd and edgy.
“I feel like I’m saying goodbye.”
Grandma Hettie, Anna saw, could not speak, and the emotion welled over her. With a step, she reached to hug Anna close. Her arms squeezed at Anna’s shoulders, and, for a moment, Anna was scared. There was a Strength in her grandmother’s hug that she couldn’t read.
“You’re strong, Anna. You are strong, and you will be strong,” her grandmother whispered, and the hug tightened. Anna held on tighter still. She felt ten again, enfolded and kept safe. Grandma Hettie stepped back.
