Hazel and Holly

by Sara C. Snider

  “And that’s a problem?”

  Holly shrugged. “I don’t know. Part of me likes things the way they are. But then another part of me wants to help Hazel find our father. But if we do, then everything’s likely to change.”

  Tum chuckled. “Everything changes regardless. It’s just it usually happens too slow for most people to notice.”

  “Maybe,” Holly said.

  They followed the winding dirt road until they came to a thatched stone hut nearly overtaken by ivy. Holly rooted around in the vines until she found the door and pushed it open.

  Inside, the tavern was surprisingly bright, given that the ivy blocked most of the sunlight that tried to filter through the leaded windows. Instead, most of the illumination came from scores of colorful lanterns that hung from the rafters and painted walls. Misshapen tables of thick, polished wood dotted the room, all surrounded by chairs made of bent branches.

  A man stood behind a thick slab of wood that served as a counter, his face and arms tattooed with scrolling, intricate designs. His long brown hair was half-braided and half-tangled, the mess of which was pulled back in a monstrous tail.

  “Haven’t seen you here in a while, Holly,” he said.

  Holly smiled. “Been busy. It’s good to see you though, Gael.”

  Gael nodded towards Tum. “Who’s your friend?”

  Holly’s smile faded. “Not sure he’s a friend yet. Friends don’t rob one another.”

  “Wasn’t robbing anyone,” Tum said. “It was fair compensation.”

  Holly rolled her eyes. To Gael, she said, “Little monster needs beer.”

  Gael nodded. “We’ve got plenty of that.”

  Tum perked up. “Oh? What kind?”

  “All kinds. All kinds of mead, too, and all kinds of wine. You want the stronger stuff, though, you go to the Burned Man for that.”

  “No, no,” Tum said. “Beer’s my only poison.” He propped himself up on a stool at the counter. “Let’s see,” he said, sounding thoughtful. “Been a long time since I’ve had some apricot beer, though I doubt you have it.”

  “Got it,” Gael said. “Anything else?”

  “What? What about lavender beer?”

  “Got that too.”

  Tum drummed his fingers on the counter. “Rose hip beer?”

  Gael folded his arms. “Yep. You going to pick one?”

  Tum stared at him. “Say, you need a cellar gnome?”

  “Hey!” Holly said.

  Gael shook his head. “No gnome is setting foot in my cellar.”

  Tum waved a hand. “I jest,” he said to Holly. He eyed Gael a moment and said, “I’ll have a cinnamon beer then.”

  Gael nodded, and Tum’s mouth fell open. “What’ll you have, sweetheart?” Gael said to Holly.

  “Raspberry tea, please.”

  Gael nodded again and disappeared through a door behind the counter.

  “Amazing,” Tum muttered.

  “We’ll buy two for the road, and then we’re even, right?”

  “Of course,” Tum said. “Well, except for the spoils.”

  “You get a cut of the spoils when there’s spoils to be had. That was the agreement.”

  Tum screwed his mouth to the side. “That’s debatable. However, since your payment in beer is of fine quality, I can make allowances.”

  Holly shook her head.

  Gael returned with the drinks. Tum’s was a tall glass of rich amber liquid with a bundle of smoldering cinnamon sticks resting across the foaming top. Holly’s was as she expected—a round white cup topped with so much cream that she couldn’t see the liquid beneath it. She took a sip, smiling as the sweet, tart taste of raspberries filled her mouth, followed by honey and bitter black tea.

  Tum removed the bundle of cinnamon and, with both hands, grabbed hold of the glass and took a swig. He wiped away the foam from his face and let out a loud sigh. “Aye, that’s the good stuff.”

  “You happy now?”

  “Gimme two more bottles of that and I’ll be happy indeed.”

  Holly nodded and sipped her tea.

  Tum eyed her and waggled a finger. “It isn’t right, you being so glum in the presence of such fine drink. We need to fix that.”

  “I suppose.”

  “Go on now, tell old Tum what’s what.”

  Holly shrugged. “It’s stupid.”

  “Isn’t anything stupid that can put a smile on your face.”

  “It’s not like that. It’s just… well… I know Hazel’s going to plan all sorts of things for our trip south. Not that she’ll tell me any of it—she never does. But I want to help. I can help. I just… I don’t know how or to tell her I can.”

  Silence fell between them.

  “I told you,” Holly said. “Stupid.”

  Tum clicked his tongue. “Stupid is letting that drink of yours go cold.” He waved his hands. “Go on, drink up.”

  Holly took another sip as Tum took another gulp of his beer.

  “As for Miss Hazel,” Tum said, “well, we’ll just have to think of something, now won’t we?”

  Holly and Tum waited at the Green Man for night to fall. He drank three more beers, promising that the last was an advance on the following week’s wages. When the day faded and darkness settled in, he hopped off his stool, tottered a bit, then righted himself and threw Holly a great big smile.

  “Right,” he said. “Off we go then.” He shambled towards the door.

  “Where are we going, exactly?” Holly asked as she followed.

  He stopped and blinked at her. “Go?”

  Holly folded her arms. “You’re drunk, aren’t you?”

  Tum snorted and waved a hand, which caused him to totter again before he regained his balance. Then he looked at her with the utmost severity. “Perhaps.”

  Holly bent down towards him and whispered, “You’re a cellar gnome, and you can’t hold your beer!”

  “Shhh!” Tum said as he flailed his hands. “Isn’t anything of the sort. You tricked me with that fine beer of yours. Tricked old Tum into drinking an entire week’s worth all in one go. You’re a temptress, that’s what.”

  Holly opened her mouth to reply but stopped. She put a hand to her hair and smiled. “Temptress? Really?”

  Tum nodded, his expression solemn. “Oh yes. Perhaps even saucy, besides.”

  Holly giggled.

  Tum blinked at her. “Now remind me. Where were we going?”

  “I don’t know. You said you knew someone who could help me convince Hazel to let me help her.”

  Tum blinked at her again. “That’s a lot of helping.”

  “Well, yes, but it’s what you said.”

  Tum scratched his chin. “Well, if I said that, then I must have meant Odd. He’s real good at fixing and helping—all that stuff. We’ll have to wait until night though. Odd sleeps during the day, and you don’t want to wake him when he sleeps.”

  “It is night.”

  Tum smiled. “Well then! We best be off!”

  He zigzagged down the darkened road and, before long, plunged into the brush of the surrounding woods. Tall ferns eclipsed his small form, and Holly was only able to follow by the cacophonous rustling and snapping of twigs that signaled his passage.

  “Are you actually leading us somewhere?” Holly asked. “Or are you drunkenly wandering to nowhere at all?”

  “Always have a purpose, I always say.”

  “What kind of answer is that?”

  Tum poked a finger up through the ferns and into the air. “A most satisfactory one.”

  It wasn’t satisfactory at all, but Tum did seem to be heading in a particular direction, so Holly let it lie.

  The gibbous moon shone bright that night and bathed the woods in a silvery sheen. They came to a meadow within which a little cottage lay. Tum ran towards it. Holly followed.

  As they neared the front door, Tum veered around a corner of the cottage and came to a pair of cellar doors. He hoisted one open and descended down
a set of darkened stairs.

  “Tum!” Holly hissed. She looked towards the cottage to see if anyone was coming, but the windows remained dark and the night still. And so, not knowing what else to do, she followed Tum into the darkness.

  Holly had to descend sideways to keep herself from losing her footing on the steep and narrow stairs. She reached a hard-packed earthen floor. On the wall to her right, a single candle flame wavered. She tried to split the flame for additional light, but nothing happened. She must be in a witch’s home—her magic wouldn’t work here.

  She picked up the candle and waved it through the darkness as she made her way deeper into the cellar. The wavering, scratching sound of a violin met her ears, and she followed the music until she came to a door. She pushed it open and walked into a cozy room filled with light. Candles burned in sconces on the stone walls and in bottles on tables. A fire crackled within a plain stone hearth, sending wild shadows to cavort on the walls. A gnome-sized sofa faced the fire, and next to the sofa stood a table, upon which a little gramophone played the soothing strains of a violin concerto.

  “Ah, there you are,” Tum said. He wore a little red cap on his head and little curled slippers on his feet. On his body he wore a single suit of plush, soft material that reminded Holly of kittens and clouds.

  “Did you change your clothes?”

  Tum thrust a finger into the air. “When in the cellar, one’s got to wear cellar clothes. For gnomes, that is. You”—he waved his hands at her—“will have to make do with what you have.”

  Another gnome wearing similar clothes emerged from a hatch in the ground, holding a pair of dark-tinted bottles. “I got cowberry beer and radish beer. Radish beer’s got bit of a bite…” He trailed off when he saw Holly.

  “Hello,” Holly said.

  The other gnome said nothing, his grip tightening on the bottles as he stared at her.

  “Cowberry beer, you say?” Tum took one of the bottles from the gnome’s hand. He squinted as he held it out for inspection.

  Holly cleared her throat.

  “What’s that?” Tum said, snapping out of whatever reverie he had been caught in.

  Holly nodded towards the other gnome, her eyebrows raised.

  “Oh,” Tum said and, waving a hand, added, “Miss Holly, that’s Odd. Odd, Miss Holly.”

  Holly beamed at Odd. “Nice to meet you.”

  Odd grinned and shuffled his feet.

  Tum broke off the wax sealing the mouth of the bottle and took a swig. “It’s good. Maybe not as good as the cinnamon beer but good all the same.” He scampered over to the sofa and sat down.

  Holly said, “So… Tum. Are you going to explain why we’re here?”

  “Here?” Tum said as he peered at the bottle in the light of the fire.

  “Yes, here,” Holly said, growing annoyed. “Or have you forgotten again?”

  “Of course not!” He waved a hand. “Odd’ll help you.”

  Holly pressed her lips together. She took a step towards Tum but stopped when there was a tugging at her sleeve. She looked down, and Odd nodded towards a door at the other end of the room. Tum was enthralled with his beer bottle, so Holly let Odd lead her across the room.

  They passed through the door and into a room filled with shelves laden with jars, vials, boxes, and a wide assortment of tiny little knick-knacks that Holly had never seen before. “What is this place?”

  “My workshop,” Odd said. He took a little white coat hanging from a peg and put it on. He took off his cap and hung it on the peg, then put on a pair of spectacles his fished out of his coat pocket. He scampered to a shelf, pulled down a box, then returned to Holly. Grinning, he lifted the lid and held out the box to her.

  Holly leaned down and found a pair of violet flowers resting within. “How lovely,” she said, but when she reached towards the flowers, the petals fluttered and stirred as if caught in a breeze. She yanked her hand back and giggled. “Is it magic?”

  Odd smiled and shrugged. “Taste them.”

  Holly picked up one of the flowers. The petals were cold to the touch and slightly sticky. She popped it in her mouth, where the petals dissolved into a liquid. It tasted of grapes and fennel, with a hint of violets.

  “Amazing,” she said. “How did you do that?”

  Odd smiled and shrugged again. “It’s all in the method.”

  Holly didn’t understand, but it didn’t matter. “Has Tum explained my problem?”

  Odd nodded.

  “Well? What do you think?”

  Odd blinked at her from behind his glasses. Then he snapped his fingers and wandered off.

  Holly stood there, fidgeting with her hands. She eyed one of the shelves. There were little figurines made of what looked to be polished rocks but, when touched, felt soft like clay. There were flowers made of glass and glasses made of flowers. She lifted a lid of one of the little boxes but gasped and quickly snapped it shut when a pair of glowing eyes peered back out at her. There was even a little globe with a tiny house inside, and over the house loomed a grey cloud from which rain poured and lightning flashed. As she reached for it, the sky cleared and a rainbow streamed across the glass. Holly smiled and pulled her hand back, and the sky once again clouded and poured down more rain.

  Odd returned, trundling a wheelbarrow that held a miniature potted clementine tree. He parked the wheelbarrow in front of Holly.

  “What’s that?” she said.

  “Watch.” He plucked a clementine from the tree and set it on a table. He tapped the fruit, and a stream of black ants filed from the tree and headed towards it. Odd rocked on his heels as he beamed at Holly.

  “I don’t understand,” said Holly.

  “Scouts,” Odd said.

  “Scouts for what?”

  Odd’s face fell. “Scouting?”

  Holly shook her head. “It’s very nice and amazing, but I don’t think it will help.”

  Odd slumped. Then he straightened and snapped his fingers and again disappeared into the workshop. He returned after a moment, carrying a long, rectangular box. He held it out to her.

  Holly took the box and, when she opened it, found a row of vials containing a clear liquid. “What’s this?”

  “Potions.”

  Holly peered at the bottles. She was familiar with potions, all Hearth witches were, but she didn’t recognize these. “What kinds of potions?”

  “The potential kind.”

  “What?”

  “All potions have a purpose, yes? They are made to do one thing. These are for unlocking, but they unlock many things—possibilities, potential.”

  “I don’t understand. How can a potion unlock… possibilities?”

  Odd waved his hands. “Every day you decide things—what to wear, what to eat, where to go—these decidings direct your life. But the other choices, the ones you did not decide, still exist—you just don’t experience them. These potions, sometimes they can help you experience those other decidings you did not make. And sometimes, by experiencing those other decidings, you can change the ones you did make.”

  Holly stared at him as her mouth hung open.

  Odd scratched his backside.

  “I’ve never heard of potions like this,” Holly said. “How is that even possible?”

  “Odd is cellar gnome to Miss Iris—most gifted Hearth witch to have ever lived. Well, possibly. But she spends all her days making potions, using equipment made by Odd. Together we make potions no one else can.”

  Holly looked down at the bottles. “I couldn’t accept these. They sound much too dear for me to take.” She tried handing the box to Odd, but he pushed it back towards her.

  “Miss Iris makes many potions. Miss Holly can take these; no one will miss them.”

  She swallowed and nodded. “Thank you, Odd. I think these might be very helpful indeed.”

  Odd beamed up at her and then returned to the door where he donned his cap and removed his coat and glasses. “Now, time for beer.”

 
; Hazel and Holly walked along the darkening road as chirps of crickets and croaks of frogs pierced the warm twilit air. Hazel carried a lamp, but it would need to remain unlit for the time being.

  “Are you nervous?” Holly asked.

  “Why would I be nervous?” said Hazel.

  “You’re going to become a Wyr witch. That’s kind of scary.”

  “It’s just a formality. It’s not like anything’s going to change right away.” She glanced at Holly. “And why is it scary?”

  “No other witches practice Wyr except for Bellota, and she’s scary.”

  Hazel tilted her head. “True.”

  “I suppose that means you’ll have to learn from her.”

  “Maybe.”

  “You mean you won’t?”

  “I mean I want to see how far I get on my own.”

  “Oh.”

  They walked in silence a little longer. “Are you excited though?” Holly said.

  “I think it’s the right choice, if that’s what you mean.”

  “But do you want to become a Wyr witch?”

  “What I want doesn’t matter.”

  “It matters to me.”

  Hazel sighed. “What do you want me to say, Holly? That I’m happy our father trapped our mother’s soul? That I’m happy I get to spend my life trying to undo his treachery? Because I’m not, but it doesn’t matter. I’m doing what needs to be done, and that’s all there is to say about it.”

  “He already ruined Mother’s life,” Holly said in a near whisper. “You shouldn’t let him ruin yours as well.”

  Hazel closed her eyes, letting her anger lessen. “He’ll not ruin anything, not if I can help it. Now come on, or we’ll be late.”

  They followed the road until it branched off into a winding path that led to a circular clearing bordered with towering oak trees. Their thick, gnarled boughs stretched overhead, mottling the dark cerulean sky with shadowed leaves.

  A single torch burned at one end of the grove. Hazel walked over to it and used it to light her lantern. Then from the trees a line of witches emerged. They wore black dresses that matched both Hazel’s and Holly’s. Holly left Hazel’s side and joined the other women.