Witch Grannies - The Case of the Lonely Banshee

by Gary J Byrnes

  At the far end of the room, a fireplace roared. There were three armchairs before the fire, their backs to Emily. Emily looked towards the fire, longing in her eyes. She wasn't as cold as she felt she ought to be. But still she wanted to feel the fire’s heat.

  Emily thought about bolting. She had some magic that she could use - was the banshee aware that Emily was a witch in training? - but she was fearful of the banshee's apparently more powerful magic. So she decided to bide her time.

  'Would you like to sit by the fire, child?' asked the banshee, her arm outstretched towards the warmth and the cosy armchairs.

  'Yes,' said Emily.

  As they walked towards the fire, Emily saw that one of the armchairs was occupied.

  'There's somebody I'd like you to meet,' said the banshee.

  A familiar face turned to Emily, a familiar smile lighting up the room.

  'Edna,' said Emily. 'I might have known it would be you.'

  CHAPTER 13. SECRETS OF THE HAIR

 

  Granny Annie had returned to the All-Seeing Eye's house while the others continued to search the river, looking for any clue, anything at all.

  The fog was gone, a brilliantly sunny morning replacing the murky, mysterious night that had gone before it. They were in the lab, with its test tubes, computer screens and countless jars filled with everything from manganese dioxide to newts' eyes.

  The DNA analysis of the banshee's hair had been completed and results were displayed on the biggest screen. The grey double-helix rotated slowly, certain areas picked out in colour.

  'She's mostly like one of us,' said the All-Seeing Eye. 'So if she's not exactly a witch now, she used to be at some stage. There are certain areas in your DNA that determine magic powers. Of course the DNA changes as your powers increase, but I can't quite understand what's happened to hers. She could have lost some powers or she might have stronger powers than any of us.

  'Well, she was able to take Emily away without a whisper,' said Granny Annie, worried now.

  'Hmmm. Then there's this region here,' said the All-Seeing Eye, pointing to an area on the screen where the banshee's DNA shimmered with a pink glow. 'It could be some kind of contaminant, I'm not sure.'

  'That's interesting. Can you find out what it is?'

  'I need to run some more tests. I think I'll crank up the mass spectrometer. I only hope there's enough firewood.'

  She cocked her head towards a vast machine at the far end of the lab, all glass tubes and steel pipes and warning signs.

  Granny Annie didn't ask. She went and made the tea. Extra strong.

  CHAPTER 14. WELL HELLO, EDNA

 

  Edna closed the book that she'd been reading. It was Mr. William Shakespeare’s Comedies, Histories and Tragedies, first edition, signed by the author in 1623.

  ‘A Midsummer Night’s Dream,’ she said. ‘Great craic altogether. Emily!’ She stood up and gave Emily a great hug. Emily noted that she didn't appear to be scared or worried or anything. 'Look at you, child. You're getting so tall!'

  The banshee smiled and said 'While you two catch up, I need to go and see if there's any salmon for lunch. I'll be back in a while.'

  Emily looked at her and was shocked to see that the impossibly beautiful young woman had been replaced by a woman as old as the river itself. As old as time, even.

  She looked at Emily. 'Make yourself at home, Emily.'

  In a flash, she was away down the hole and into the river.

  'What's happening, Edna?' Emily asked as she warmed her hands at the fire.

  'Don't be frightened, child,' said Edna. 'She means us no harm, I can assure you of that.'

  'Then why are we here? How did you get here?'

  Edna sighed. 'I was down for a walk by the river the other night - it seems so long ago now - and I met her. We sat on the rocks by the bridge and talked for hours, about the old days and the state of the world today. Then she took my hand. You know the rest of it.'

  She went back to her seat, sat with her hands on her lap.

  ‘But why?’

  'As for why we're here? Well, it's because the river is being poisoned. She needs our help to put it right because if it's not put right everything will soon be dead. Every swan, every salmon, every dragonfly, the whole lot.'

  'That would be awful' said Emily.

  'That it would, child. That it would.'

  'Well,' said Emily, 'we have to at least try and let the others know where we are. They'll be looking for us.'

  Emily tore the cuff from her jacket, the frilled denim would be unmistakable to her grannies. She went to the hole in the ground which they'd used to enter the banshee's lair. The water was calm, up to just below the edge of the hole. She whispered something to the piece of cloth, then dropped it onto the water. It waited for a moment, then sank quickly out of sight.

 

  The banshee swam across the river bottom. The salmon withdrew into her hiding place. The banshee knew that she was there, but ignored her for now. There was a row of odd little bunches of herbs, suspended in the middle of the water, swaying with the current. Each bundle consisted of thirteen different plants, with a hook in the centre and a touch of magic. The bundles were connected to a long chain across the bed. Two fine salmon - eight-pounders at least - struggled to escape, the herbal bait in their mouths, the hooks coming through their cheeks. The banshee touched each salmon in turn and their struggles ceased. She gently unhooked them and tucked the fish into a folds of her cloak.

  Then she went up to the surface, to a rock that was hidden from either bank by a dense growth of reeds and a majestic weeping willow that stooped so low, the tips of its branches caressed the water. She sat there for a time, watching the family of swans as they preened and nuzzled each other, the sun warming her face as it sparkled off the water. This she did every single day.

  CHAPTER 15. MALCOLM'S ANTICS

 

  Malcolm and the other Emily arrived at school just as the bell began to ring. Their school was much like an American high school that you might see in the movies. Boys and girls learned together. The place wasn't run by any religious crowd and it was generally good fun.

  Malcolm had concocted a few different plans during the bus trip to school.

  'I've got double maths,' said Emily. 'I love Monday mornings, don't you?'

  'You know what would be great, Em?'

  'What would be great?'

  'If you told the teachers exactly what you think of them today. I mean, honesty's the best policy, isn't it?'

  'That's correct, Malcolm.'

  'Good. Well, I'll see you at break, so. Enjoy maths!'

  'I will,' said Emily.

 

  That day, everybody enjoyed maths. Emily corrected the teacher a couple of times when he got a little confused by the trigonometry. Mr O'Boyle was embarrassed by the attention and blushed bright red. When Emily told him that he didn't really have a maths brain, that he would be much happier as an artist or a musician, his reflex was to send her to the principle's office. But she was right.

  So they spent most of the class discussing the arts and how they bring a glimmer of beauty to an otherwise dull and grey existence. Her classmates found this almost as boring as trigonometry. Then Emily used the last few minutes to explain the mathematical equations in a way that everybody could actually understand.

  When the exams eventually came around, everybody in Emily's maths class got an A.

  During break, Malcolm and one of his friends found Emily. She was talking to the caretaker, handing him a list of the broken lockers and toilet cubicle doors, the cracked panes of glass and faulty fire extinguishers that she needed fixed by the end of the day. The poor man rubbed his head, but took her list and went to work.

  'How was maths, Emily? asked Malcolm. His friend sniggered.

  'Hi guys. Maths was really good. Mr O'Boyle is going to take up landscape painting.'

  'Oh,' said Malcolm. This wasn't how it was supposed to
go. 'Well I think you should organise a pupils' strike.'

  'A strike? Why?'

  'Well the teachers are always at it and they get what they want. What should we strike over, Tom?'

  Malcolm's friend looked into the middle distance for a minute.

  'I've got it,' he said, smiling. 'Let's demand a longer school day!'

  'Steady on,' said Malcolm.

  'Only half an hour or something,' said Tom. 'We could have a longer lunchbreak or maybe catch-up classes or study time. The thing is, we can't be criticised for wanting to spend more time in school...'

  '...and there's no way the teachers would give in,' finished Malcolm. 'It's beautiful. The simplicity of it. We'll be out for weeks!'

  'Okay,' said Emily. 'I've got art next so we can do up some signs and placards. I need you guys to spread the word. The strike starts at lunchtime.'

  CHAPTER 16. LUNCH WITH THE BANSHEE

 

  The banshee stayed on the rock, watched the swans until a calm daze came over her. Then a distant buzzing took her attention back to the river below. Around a bend came a small boat, its outboard motor buzzing and groaning as it fought against the mighty current. More fishermen? No. Witches.

  Granny Smith and two more witches had borrowed the boat from the fisheries manager and were zigzagging back and forth across the river, looking for any kind of clue. Granny Smith stood at the bow of the boat, her hand on her forehead to reduce the glare from the sun.

  'Whisht!' she called and the boat stopped moving forward.

  She bent over the edge and fished something out of the water.

  'That's Emily's,' she said, examining the cuff. She listened to it then, heard the magic spell. 'Yes, she sent it for us. Now girls, let's head directly upstream from this point. The current's fairly straight so we should go directly to Emily.'

  The engine roared, taking the boat straight towards the banshee.

  She slipped into the water, back to the lair.

 

  The banshee clapped her hands and all the candles were lit. The sound startled Emily and Edna, as they were in deep discussion about the river and what might be poisoning it. They looked around to see that a great dining table was in the centre of the room. It was piled high with roast potatoes, many different kinds of vegetables and, in pride of place, two salmon on platters. One was steamed and one was roasted.

  'Come, ladies,' said the banshee. 'Let us eat.'

  Four chairs were arranged around the table. Emily wondered who would be joining them. The banshee indicated a seat for her. Edna knew where to sit.

  'Ah, Bill,' said the banshee with a twinkle in her eye. 'You smelled the salmon?'

  A handsome man, aged about sixty, appeared behind Emily. He was dressed in a brown tweed suit and wore fisherman's boots, the ones that come up to your thighs. He took off his hat, which had dozens of multi-coloured flies stuck in it, and introduced himself to Emily. He shook her hand, said Welcome. He nodded to Edna and smiled.

  When they were all seated, they began to serve themselves while the banshee told Emily about Bill.

  'It was just the other week,' she said. 'I was up sitting on a rock, watching the swans. I heard an awful commotion then, splashing and thrashing. I swam to the noise but there was no sign of anything. So I dove under the surface and what did I find only this man here.'

  'I was fishing,' explained Bill. 'The autumn salmon run, back in from the Atlantic. I'd hooked a beauty but, with all the excitement, I lost my footing and slipped. My heavy tweed clothes dragged me to the bottom in no time at all.'

  'So I took hold of him,' said the banshee, reaching her hand across the table and putting it gently on Bill's. 'And I brought him down below. And here we are.'

  'Are you dead?' asked Emily.

  'Well, I'm told that my lungs were filled with water and it's just the magic of this place that keeps me going.'

  The banshee nodded sadly.

  'But at least I can sit down in fine company and enjoy this lovely meal,' said Bill. 'And I get to do a spot of fishing every single day. Sure, what more could I ask for?'

  Emily put a large chunk of roasted salmon on her plate. It was cooked with olive oil, sea salt and black pepper and the smell of it was like nothing she'd ever had before. She put a forkful into her mouth and her tastebuds exploded with happiness. She loaded her plate with crispy roast potatoes, steamed broccoli, sliced, boiled carrots and roasted parsnips. And a lot more of the salmon.

  'It doesn't get much fresher than that,' smiled Bill. 'What, half an hour ago she was swimming around?'

  'As long as she's not poisoned,' said Emily.

  This got them all thinking about the problem at hand. When lunch was done and the leftovers put into plastic Witchware containers, the banshee clapped and the dining table was instantly cleared. Bill went and got a huge old map of the river. Its edges were frayed like a pair of old jeans and there were stains on it like from spilled coffee.

  They gathered around the map and the banshee's bony finger stabbed down hard.

  'This is us,' she said. Then her finger followed the course of the river back upstream. 'And this is where the poison seems to be coming from.'

  She traced a ring around the river just north of the village, where a few small tributaries met the great water.

  ‘Have you been up there?’ asked Emily?

  ‘I tried,’ said the banshee. ‘But I lost all my strength. It’s just beyond my patch. This is where I’m stuck,’ she said, gesturing with her arms. ‘This is my patch forever.’

  ‘I’ve an idea,’ said Bill. ‘You know Keeper Hill, just out the road in Tipperary?’

  ‘Of course,’ said Edna.

  ‘Is that the big mountain you can always see wherever you are in Castleconnell?’ asked Emily.

  ‘That’s the one, darlin’. Well, that’s part of the Silvermine Mountains. There was a lot of mining going on there until lately. Hard work getting the silver out though. It’s said that the local water supply up there is polluted from all the chemicals they used.’

  ‘Are you saying that the silver mines are polluting our Shannon, Bill?’ asked the banshee.

  ‘No. But I’m wondering if some lunatics think that if there’s silver in these here parts, there might be gold as well. And that’s a bad business.’

  ‘Why?’ asked Emily. ‘What do they use for getting gold out?’

  ‘Cyanide,’ said Bill. ‘One of the deadliest poisons on Earth.’

  CHAPTER 17. SO MUCH FOR THE STRIKE

  Everything had gone brilliantly at first. Emily and the rest of her art class had made signs saying WE WANT MORE SCHOOL and LONGER SCHOOL DAYS NOW and WE LOVE SCHOOL and SCHOOL ROCKS. All the kids were marching up and down with them at the school entrance.

  Emily had sent emails to all the local papers and the radio stations and even the TV news. It was a slow news day, so lots of reporters had turned up, even a TV camera.

  As Emily was interviewed by that nice woman off the TV news, the teachers stood inside the front door, looking confused.

  ‘This is fantastic,’ said Malcolm.

  He was really proud of his sister. Well, proud of her clone. It was the same thing, wasn’t it? When her interview was finished, she went to Malcolm and stood in front of him with a blank look on her face.

  ‘Nice one, Em,’ he said. ‘Em? You okay?’

  ‘I have something to report,’ she said, as if the words were coming from somewhere else, just through her. ‘My true self is in trouble. She has been kidnapped. She is under the water.’

  ‘Oh no,’ said Malcolm, the blood draining from his face. ‘Is she safe?’

  The clone closed her eyes for a few seconds, making contact with her true self.

  ‘Yes. She has eaten the best meal of her life. But she is worried about poison. She is safe, but she is in an unusual situation.’

  ‘What about our grannies? Can they help Emily?’

  ‘The are searching for her, but they cannot help her yet.’
>
  ‘I’m going,’ said Malcolm. Emily needs me.’

  ‘But what about our parents?’

  ‘You can cover for me. You’re sharp.’

  ‘How will you get to Castleconnell?’

  ‘Good question. Any ideas.’

  The clone closed her eyes again.

  ‘I can call up a broomstick for you.’

  Malcolm’s eyes lit up, the colour coming back into him.

  ‘Yes please!’

  ‘You go around the back of the school. It’ll be here in four minutes.’

  ‘Thanks. Good luck with the strike.’

  ‘Be careful,’ said the clone to Malcolm’s back, as he ran around the reporters and the protesting kids .

  The broomstick whistled through the sky, enjoying its first flight alone, up with the seagulls and the clouds and the hot sunshine. It sang to itself, strange melodies about tasting the wind. Then it spotted the school far below and dropped like a stone, landed right in front of Malcolm.

  On the TV news at nine o’clock that night, Emily and some of the other striking kids were being interviewed for a light-hearted, And finally report called ‘The kids who want more school’. There were seven calls made to the channel, by viewers who swore they saw a child flying up into the air in the background. They were told that it was just a reflection off the lens. There’s a lot of crazy people out there.

  CHAPTER 18. THE SALMON’S QUEST

  She followed the bitter taste upstream, pausing every so often to examine a shiny rock here or a dark crevice there. A fully mature salmon now, her urge was to find the spawning beds and lay her eggs, but not yet. For some knowledge, deep inside her, told her that if the spawning happened while the poison in the river was growing stronger, then all the salmon in the River Shannon would die. Forever.

  Her silver form flashed past the fishermen and the otters and the poachers’ nets. The bitterness of the poison drove her on. She was able to sense the strongest flow of the poison. She could see its sparkling, red, smokey flow now, which meant that she could avoid the worst concentrations of it, swimming upstream just feet away from the evil stuff.

  Finally she reached a little tributary of the Great River and this seemed to be all poison. The source! She rested in the shallows just above the flow. A shadow flashed across her then and a sharp spear came hurtling towards her flank. Her reflexes were perfect, so her long, muscular body automatically jerked out of the path of the heron’s beak. Back in the depths and the bird couldn’t reach her. He paced up and down along the gravelly edge, uttering bird curses.