by Richard Swan
‘Well, least said soonest mended, as my mother used to tell me. We’d better get to work if we want this door whole again.’
‘We?’
‘Definitely “we”. You’re the one concerned with the door, aren’t you?’
‘I broke it. I’m not likely to want to mend it.’
Cush looked at her levelly. ‘I wouldn’t be so sure about that. We don’t always want the same thing at different times. Sometimes we need to break down doors, but sometimes we need to build doors. We need to keep things out as well as let things in. Come here and try it.’
Reluctantly Melody walked over to where the woman stood beside the door. She was running her hands up and down the surface of the wood, as if testing it or trying to trace its grain through the layers of paint. The gash where Melody had split it in two was plainly visible, and for the first time Melody felt slightly ashamed of her behaviour. It didn’t look now as if she’d needed to break the door in such a spectacular fashion.
‘Here,’ said Cush, taking Melody’s small hand in one of her large ones and laying it against the oak planks where they had been roughly fitted back in position. ‘Feel the break, feel the point where it’s been forced apart. Can you sense the tearing, the strength that did it?’
‘Of course I can,’ said Melody with a touch of irritation. ‘I told you, I’m the one who did it. I can remember it, and I can feel the result still in the door.’
‘Good,’ said Cush, without reacting to Melody’s anger. ‘Now you must feel the other strength, the power to push these panels back together so that they’re joined again.’
‘I don’t have that power.’
‘Yes you do,’ said Cush flatly, denying all contradiction. ‘Everybody does.’
‘I don’t,’ insisted Melody. ‘All I know is how to destroy.’
‘Whoever told you that is a fool, and has never looked at you properly. Anyway, I told you everybody has the power, if only they’ll stop to look for it. Try now.’
Melody was not at all convinced, but she didn’t know how to argue against the woman’s certainty. Unwillingly, unsurely, she put her left hand flat on the door, feeling again the tear and the break that she had made. She tried to imagine the door made whole again, tried to focus her mind through her new ring to make the panels knit together. Nothing happened. She knew why – she couldn’t visualise the door as a complete thing. It was sundered, separated. It couldn’t be made whole.
Behind her, Cush sighed, then leant forward over Melody’s shoulder and put her own right hand flat over Melody’s left one so that their rings touched, and both hands were pressing against the wood. At first Melody could only sense the warmth of Cush’s hand, the closeness and scent of her as she leant forward; she wasn’t used to being this near to another human being. But gently, slowly, she sensed the warmth stretching through her own fingers and into the oak. Where it spread, she had a vision of the fibres of the wood moving together, bonding into a single plank stronger than it had been when it was first built. The warmth spread up and down the door under the pressure of their combined hands, and up her arm too so that she felt at one with Cush and at one with the wood that she was healing. She let her consciousness drift free of the immediate moment and flow down through her hand into the door. Right down its length the two halves of the door stirred and settled into place, and Melody was taken by a vision of the door entirely complete, a single entity with no weakness anywhere in it. There was a warmth in her mind, a certainty of what could be and what should be, and for a moment there was a wholeness that she knew she would always crave.
The shifting of Cush’s hand brought her back to the present. Cush moved away and stepped back to look at the door from a distance.
‘There,’ she said with satisfaction. ‘As good as new. Better than new, in fact, thanks to you.’
‘Thanks to me?’ said Melody, surprised. ‘I didn’t do anything. I couldn’t do anything until you helped me.’
Cush laughed. ‘Oh yes you did. I showed you how to do it, but you provided all the power to make it happen. I’ve never seen such strength of will. You could be a great healer, you know.’
Melody turned on her with a puzzled expression. ‘What do you mean, healer? I can’t heal things, I’ve told you.’
‘You’ve told yourself,’ replied Cush calmly, ‘or been told it – it’s the same thing. But don’t believe it. Think. I’m twenty-six, my power is almost gone. It was all your work. You healed this door, and this door is oak. It’s solid, it’s unyielding, it doesn’t permit itself to be altered by a mere whim. But you have the power to change it. You can split it apart, but you can also put it back together.’
Melody stood silent, trying to take in what she was hearing. Cush was obviously sincere, there was no trace of doubt or dishonesty in her voice, but it went against everything that Melody had believed of herself.
Can this be true? she thought. And if it is true, how will it affect my power? Knowing that I can heal as well as wound, will that lessen my ability to wound at all? Will I become a weak person, unable to act in any direction because I know I can move in every one?
Melody noticed that Cush was standing there, not stirring, obviously observing Melody’s internal struggle and waiting for the correct moment to speak.
‘Don’t worry,’ she said when she saw that Melody had come out of her reverie. ‘You haven’t lost your power – at least, not yet. You’ll have five or six years at least before your strength begins to wane, and that’s plenty of time to accomplish all you’re meant to do. Don’t think you’ve lost anything here, you haven’t. Instead you’ve gained something – a better knowledge of what you can do. Use it wisely.’
‘Did Corann know this would happen?’ asked Melody suddenly. Cush sounded just like him, and she wondered whether the whole event had been planned for her benefit.
Cush smiled. ‘Not exactly. People can’t see how things will turn out, not even Corann – and he’s got clearer sight than most. He merely asked me if I would help with the door. So I helped with the door. But I’m glad you were there too.’
‘So am I,’ said Melody thoughtfully. ‘So am I.’
Cush stayed to lunch, which Melody made. It was only omelettes, but she felt she was being more useful, more part of the household. Tamar hadn’t returned, and Ruric was at his shop, so the three of them sat round the kitchen table and Melody felt more at ease than at any time since her arrival. She let Corann and Cush chat – they were evidently old friends – while she relaxed in the sensation of being accepted and welcome. She bustled about, insisting that they talked while she prepared the food, and then found fruit for dessert. It reminded her of home, where she governed the house while her silent father sat and read, or watched some programme on television. She missed him, but was glad she’d made the choice to come here. It grieved her more that her father would be missing her, roaming around the quiet house that was now empty save for himself.
She put the thought firmly aside and made herself enjoy the instant. After lunch Cush left, and Melody felt the need to be alone for a while. When Corann said he had work to do she decided that she’d take a walk out into the town, to explore further by herself. She didn’t want to return to the common, at least not so soon, so she turned the other way and walked along the Broadway towards West Ealing. The street here was lined with shops and busy with people going about their business, so she could mingle with the crowds and not be noticed. She wanted time to let her thoughts drift, to come to terms with what she’d discovered in the morning.
Only once was her attention distracted. A young man with distinctive reddish hair and a rough beard was standing at a street corner, holding out a magazine and saying gently to those who passed: ‘Big Issue, please. Big Issue.’ As Melody neared him he began his standard patter, then broke off as he caught clear sight of her.
‘Big Issue, please. Big Iss … Who are you?’ His voice had suddenly taken on definition and focus, as if he were using it properly for
the first time.
‘I’m nobody,’ said Melody, not wanting to be drawn into conversation, and not wanting to be noticed. ‘I’m just a girl.’
‘But what are you? What are you?’ His voice had an urgency to it as if his question really mattered.
‘What do you mean, what am I? I’m a girl, like I told you. I’m not anything special.’
He looked intently at her, as if puzzled or confused. ‘No, no, that’s not true. You’re exactly special. The way you walk, the way you tilt your head. What are you?’
Melody was wary of this strange apparition, accosting her in the street. ‘I don’t know what you mean. I’m a girl, like I said before. Excuse me, I have to hurry.’ And she did hurry, scurrying down the street with the objective of getting as far out of sight as possible, as quickly as she could.
She didn’t feel safe until she’d put several hundred yards between her and the magazine seller, and even then she looked round to make sure he hadn’t followed her. Who was he? And what did he mean by asking her what she was? It was as if he recognised her in some way, but not like someone he’d seen before. She thought about the phrase he’d used: ‘exactly special’. What did that mean?
As she walked on she began to calm down, and started to reflect on the day as a whole. Exactly special. She supposed she was in a way. Corann had said he didn’t fully understand her; Cush had insisted she had power she wasn’t aware of. She couldn’t make sense of it, but perhaps the Big Issue seller had got it right, saw more in her than she was aware of herself. But who was he? She hadn’t paused long enough to get an impression of him, certainly not long enough to look at him and wonder about him. Part of her wanted to go back, to ask him what he saw, but another part was unsure, didn’t want to face a stranger who claimed to see things in her.
She compromised by walking back on the other side of the street, keeping a wary eye open as she drew opposite where he’d been standing. He was still there, continuing his patter and trying to sell his magazine to anybody who passed. She shrank behind the protection of a gaggle of shoppers and moved on. Once he looked across the street, but he didn’t seem to notice her and she soon walked far enough to leave him well out of sight.
She was so absorbed in her thoughts that she didn’t hear her name being called. She didn’t take any notice until someone put a hand on her shoulder, and for an awful second she thought the magazine seller had spotted her and caught up. When she turned, it was Corann who was standing there, smiling at her.
‘Daydreaming? Too intent to notice a friend?’
She smiled shyly back. ‘I’m sorry, I didn’t see you. Daydreaming? No. Intent? I certainly was. Anyway, I wasn’t expecting to see anyone I knew. I thought you were working.’
‘I was, but I needed some more envelopes, and I popped out to get some. So why are you so preoccupied?’
‘I’ve just had a weird experience.’ Melody explained about the Big Issue seller, but as she talked she realised how feeble it must sound to be frightened by a chance remark, and said so.
‘Not at all,’ Corann said. ‘I’ve told you already that very few encounters are totally chance, and I doubt if this one was. This person recognised you, that’s all. It’s not a surprise. He’s someone who’s had power, and responded to that quality in you.’
‘But why did he ask me what I was?’
‘I don’t know. That bit is odd. Everybody sees things differently, but what he meant, I can’t say.’
‘Doesn’t he see the same me as you do?’
‘No. You don’t see the same people as I do, nor as they see each other. Look at that couple coming along the street.’
‘What about them?’
‘Are they happy, would you say?’
Melody looked closely at them before replying. They were a young couple, both dressed in jeans and loose hooded tops, and they held hands as they walked. The girl was carrying two large carrier bags, clearly containing new clothes. Melody looked closer, at the way they walked, the way she leaned in towards her partner and chatted confidentially to him, while he walked upright, glancing at the other shoppers as they passed. His eye caught Melody’s as they came near, and he quickly looked away.
‘She’s happy. She’s been shopping, and she believes she looks good in her clothes, and she thinks he admires her and is in love with her because she’s beautiful.’
‘And him?’
‘He’s not happy. They’ve been out shopping for hours, and he thinks she’s vain, and dull, and he wishes he wasn’t with her, but he doesn’t know what to do. How can she not see that?’
‘People see what they choose to see. There’s nothing unusual about that. We all do it. How do you know so much about these two whom you’ve never seen before?’
‘I feel it. I sense it.’
‘Exactly. That’s your gift. You sense the emotions of other creatures, you’re attuned to them. They interest you and you care about them, so you detect such feelings very easily. I couldn’t have been as sure about that couple as you have. It’s like your dryad. You responded to his presence even though you weren’t aware of him, and he responded to yours. If you want to see dryads, you’ll see dryads.’
‘Does that mean I can see more clearly than other people? Is that what makes me special?’ Melody thought she might have understood what the magazine seller had said to her, but Corann’s next words dashed her hopes.
‘Not at all. You’re just as limited in your own way. Look at that man over there by the bank, in the grey suit.’
‘What about him? He looks dull, and sad, and uninteresting.’
‘But he’s not sad. On the contrary, he’s very happy, because he’s a very rich man. He wears expensive clothes, and owns several cars, and likes to treat his wife to luxury gifts.’
‘How do you know?’
‘Because I can see him. To you these things mean nothing, you don’t care about them, so you’re not aware of them. You’d rather see dryads, or unicorns.’
‘Wouldn’t everybody?’
‘Not at all! Some people wouldn’t understand them, and most would be terrified of them. So they don’t admit their existence.’
‘Children want to see unicorns, and dragons.’
‘Which is why their power is stronger. Their desires are greater. But not many children, even, truly want to see unicorns or dragons. They think they do, but what they really want is an image of prettiness, or beauty, or goodness, and that is not what a unicorn is.’
Melody was silent, thinking.
Corann continued, ‘Can you remember when you first consciously wanted to see a unicorn, or a dragon?’
‘I’ve never wanted to see one!’ protested Melody. ‘I was terrified of the idea, of dragons especially. I thought they’d be terrible, and powerful, and make me feel useless and human.’
‘And so they are; the most terrible and powerful of all creatures. Dragons and unicorns are immortal, the only creatures who never grow old, although they can be killed by accident or through malice. And they do make us feel human, of course, but they don’t always make us feel useless. That’s why you would be able to see them, because you believe in them, and would know them for what they are.’
Melody accepted this. ‘Doesn’t that mean that dragons are true, while that man’s wealth, which I can’t see, is false, an illusion he follows? Don’t I really see more clearly what is real?’
Corann smiled sadly. ‘Ah, no. If only it were that simple.’
‘But isn’t what’s true simply true?’ persisted Melody.
Corann shook his head. ‘Not at all. The truth varies from person to person. We all know that if we stop to think about it. How many religions are there in the world, and how many gods?’
‘I’ve no idea. Hundreds of religions, I suppose. Thousands of gods.’
‘And are they all true? Or worse, are they all false? Is the Hindu who worships the elephant god Ganesh more correct than the Christian who worships Christ, or the Aztec who worshipped Quetz
alcoatl? Which of these is true?’
Melody was silent.
‘You see? Everything that can be believed is an image of truth. One man may see a dryad in the trees, another sees only lumber.’
‘Are dryads not real then? Nor unicorns?’
Corann laughed at that. ‘Oh yes, they’re real all right. There’s nothing more real than a dryad, especially if you hurt his tree! But that doesn’t mean they’re real to everyone, or that everyone sees the same reality that you do.’
‘I don’t think I understand.’
‘Try your wolf. You saw a wolf near the house. Tamar saw a dog. Think about it. Why did he see a dog?’
Melody did think about it for a long while before she answered. ‘He saw a dog because he was expecting to see a dog. As far as he’s concerned there aren’t any wolves, so there couldn’t have been one.’
‘So far so good. Then why did you see a wolf?’
This was harder. ‘Perhaps because I hadn’t eliminated the possibility of wolves?’
‘And because you’d just seen a dryad. Your senses were attuned to such things, you didn’t necessarily expect things to be normal, so when you saw a wolf you accepted it for what it was.’
‘But which was it. Dog or wolf?’
‘I said before, it was probably a wolf. But the better answer is that it was both, a dog and a wolf.’
‘Now I really don’t understand.’
‘Not yet. But you will in time. As you grow older you’ll understand more, and your power will fade. At the moment you see everything brightly, and clearly, and you’re sure of what is and what is not. That’s why your power is so strong, because you can decide what is real. You can force doors to break at your word, you can command the dryads and the trees, you could even command a unicorn. As you get older and become less certain that every tree has a spirit, and isn’t just a source of wood and leaves, you’ll be less sure of your power over it, and your command will lessen. Your power or magic will grow weak, as all our power does, until you’re just an ordinary human being and nothing else. That’s why you’re needed now.’
