A Sprinkle of Sorcery

by Michelle Harrison

  But they all knew that Luck, the second brother, had got lost. It was easy to see why. The tunnels twisted and turned, branching this way and that. Every word and every movement came back to haunt them as an echo, and Betty could not get the story out of her mind. How Luck had shouted and shouted for help, until all that was left of him was his voice.

  The temperature dipped further, chilling Betty’s bones as she eventually took the lead. She was already starting to lose track of time. Repeatedly, Betty had to pause as she followed the string in the dim light, causing Fliss and Spit, who were right behind her with Charlie, to bump into her. Willow moved silently close to Betty, her eyes fixed on the wisp. The further they got into the caves, the harder it became to ignore the evidence. Discarded objects littered the damp corners or lurked out of sight, waiting to trip them up. Betty cussed as she stumbled on a worn-out shoe, and her skin crawled as she crunched over broken eggshells. A squeal stuck in her throat as she accidentally kicked a wishbone. All signs of the people – and their wrong choices – who had gone before.

  ‘I can feel fresh air up ahead,’ she said, sensing a cool breeze on her cheeks. But then the tunnel narrowed, forcing them to stoop, and the air turned stale once more.

  ‘You sure this is right?’ Spit asked. He was breathing heavily, clearly not enjoying himself at all, and his blond hair was damp with sweat despite the chill. He lugged the bucket at his side, spilling so much water that Betty was fearful that the fish wouldn’t have enough left.

  ‘I’m not sure of anything,’ she said. ‘Except that we need to keep moving.’ The words were sour in her mouth, and her cheeks and neck itched with sudden heat. The enormity of what they were doing closed in on her, like a tomb, as the tunnel narrowed. Could they really place their trust in an old legend and a reel of yarn? With time running out and no other options, they didn’t have much choice.

  ‘What happens when the string runs out?’ Spit demanded. ‘For all we know, these caves could go on for miles.’

  ‘They probably do,’ said Betty. ‘But we’ve already come quite some way, and the reel still looks as full as ever.’ She eyed it with a tingle of fear. ‘It’s like . . . like it’s as long as you need it to be.’ She edged a little further, sharp pebbles digging through her worn boots. ‘Looks as if it’s opening up again here, thank goodness.’

  The cavern was so dark that the wisp’s glow barely seemed to light it at all. Afraid of losing sight of it, Betty bent down to pick up the string trailing behind the reel and held it carefully, allowing it to slide through her fingers. She knew she wasn’t imagining it now: the wisp was dimming. Hanging on by a thread, like Willow. All of a sudden the cavern widened and forked off in two directions: one narrow tunnel and one higher and wider. Both were as dark as each other. Betty paused, the rest of the group catching up to gather round her. She was glad that, for once, she was not in the lead.

  She moved closer to the higher tunnel for a better look. As she did, something clattered under Betty’s foot. She lifted her boot and bent down, recognising the object immediately. It was a golden key, set with an egg-shaped stone.

  ‘Ronia,’ she whispered, her eyes darting to the two dark caves ahead. There was silence, no sign of the pirate captain.

  Spit stared at the key. ‘She wouldn’t have left this. Something must have happened to her.’ A strange look crossed his face: a mixture of relief and regret. Would he return to the pirates without Ronia, Betty wondered, or take the opportunity to be free of them? Because, as he’d already said, if he wasn’t a Rusty Scuttler, then who was he?

  ‘Her and everyone else who came through here,’ said Betty, her thoughts moving to the shoe, the eggshells and the wishbone. The only traces of people who had taken on the island – and lost. Could Ronia, so fierce and invincible, really be one of them? If so, what hope had they, a group of mere children, a wisp and a fish? ‘Who knows what else we’ll find further on?’

  Spit shook his head. ‘That’s it. I’m not going another step through these tunnels.’

  ‘Thought you were a pirate?’ Charlie demanded. ‘You ain’t a real one, are you?’

  Spit gulped. ‘Maybe I’m not,’ he admitted. His eyes were wild, glassy with fear at the thought of his fearsome captain being defeated. ‘But I’m not staying here another minute.’ He dumped the bucket on the ground and turned towards the dark tunnel they’d come through.

  ‘Spit, wait!’ Betty protested. ‘Stay with us! You’ll get lost – the only light is the wisp!’

  Her voice echoed back at them, shrill and loud like a slap. And then another voice came out of the darkness, and another and another: whispered voices that echoed all around them. The words were low and fast, like dry leaves skittering in the wind. Betty’s scalp prickled.

  ‘Take us with you . . .’

  ‘So dark in here . . .’

  ‘We’ll follow you . . . follow you . . .’

  Spit turned back in the tunnel, his face almost as drained as Willow’s.

  ‘What is that?’ he gasped, the string slipping from his fingers. ‘Where’s it coming from?’

  ‘All around us.’ Betty thrust the bucket at Fliss. ‘Move, quickly!’

  Scuffling in the darkness, Betty grappled with the string, following it hand over hand as the reel rolled into the wider of the two tunnels. There was only blackness stretching ahead and a dim glow from the wisp. It was not enough to light the way, and time and again Betty bit her lip as she tripped on jutting rocks or crunched over more discarded objects. How much longer could Willow last in here? And how long would the fish survive in the bucket? If they stumbled, or dropped it, there was no hope of reaching water in time.

  Behind her, she heard panicked breathing. All of them were too terrified for words now and had only one thought between them: escape. Echoing voices surrounded them from every direction until it felt as though they were inside Betty’s head. With each one, the tunnels seemed to shrink. Some were pleading, others malevolent.

  ‘This way . . . follow us . . .’

  ‘Lead you to untold riches . . .’

  ‘. . . Stay away! Mine, mine . . .’

  Terror drowned Betty’s thoughts, making her clumsy. Twice she dropped the string as she tripped and was forced to put out her hands to save herself. Grit flew up and peppered her eyes, making them stream. Behind her, Charlie let out a whimper – or perhaps it was Fliss. Betty’s hand closed round the string and she almost wept in relief, vowing not to let go again. If she got lost, they all did.

  ‘How much longer, Betty?’ Charlie clutched at her with hot hands. ‘It feels like it’s getting harder to breathe!’

  ‘Not long now,’ Betty babbled, with no way of knowing if it were true. Surely they were nearly out? She couldn’t work out how long they’d been in the tunnels. It felt like hours, but there was no way of telling. All sense of time had vanished, leaving only fear and the urge to survive. ‘It has to be soon, it has to be!’

  ‘Has to be . . . has to be . . .’ the echoing voices chanted back, mocking and relentless.

  Beneath her, the cave dipped without warning. Betty’s ankle jarred, her foot suddenly ice-cold. ‘Water,’ she gasped. ‘I think it’s a rock pool . . .’ She took another step, feeling the coldness rise. ‘It’s getting deeper. I’m going to try and wade through it.’

  ‘Betty, be careful,’ Fliss begged, sloshing well water at her back. The icy shock of it made Betty turn and catch sight of the bucket containing the fish.

  ‘Saul,’ it burbled. ‘Saul!’

  ‘Yes, we know!’ Fliss snapped. ‘If it wasn’t for you, we wouldn’t be in this mess!’

  The fish blew a stream of indignant bubbles, its eyes full of misery.

  A third step took the water to Betty’s knees. The fourth, deeper still. She strained her ears, trying to listen over the whispers. From somewhere nearby, she thought she heard a faint trickling. Was there water above them? Below? She took another step, shivering as the icy wetness rose to her hips. ‘It’s g
etting higher,’ she told the others. Above her the ceiling of the tunnel sloped lower, forcing her deeper, before rapidly declining to meet the water. It’s underwater, she realised, the thought striking her with trepidation. But how far did it go?

  ‘How do you know this is really the way out?’ asked Spit. ‘And that the string isn’t just another one of the witch’s tricks?’

  ‘It can’t be,’ said Betty, but, as she said it, doubt began to creep up on her like fingers along her spine. Could they really trust anything from the witch’s cauldron? Betty had been so certain of the legend and everything she knew of it, but now it wasn’t just a spooky story. It was her life and her sisters’ lives. Spit’s life and Willow’s life. But, in the dim light, with echoing voices in her ears, she couldn’t be sure of what was real any more.

  Betty took another step. She had no time to gasp as the ground below seemingly vanished. Water stung her eyes and gushed into her mouth. She scrabbled around, desperate for the breath she never got to take. She fought to keep hold of the string, looping it round her wrist. Breaking the surface, she heaved in a lungful of air and swam back to the others, scraping her knee on the shelf of rock.

  ‘Betty!’ Fliss shrieked. ‘What happened?’

  Hands grabbed her, pulling at her soaking clothes. She coughed, her teeth chattering. ‘I’m all right . . . but it gets deeper. I don’t know whether we can get through – or how long it goes on for.’

  ‘But this is the way,’ Charlie protested. ‘Isn’t it? Did we go wrong?’

  ‘No . . . this is the way the string’s taking us,’ said Betty. She tried to keep her voice from rising as an awful thought occurred to her. ‘Perhaps this was the way out, long ago. Things change over time. Maybe it flooded. Maybe it . . .’

  An eerie, echoing laugh surrounded them. This time there was no mistaking its menace. ‘Maybe it flooded . . .’

  ‘SHUT UP!’ yelled Fliss. ‘Just leave us alone!’

  ‘There must be another path.’ Willow’s voice was weak, the light from her wisp dimming even further. ‘Pull the string back in. Perhaps it’ll lead us somewhere else.’

  Betty tugged the string, but already she knew that the reel was ahead in the underwater tunnel, and it was holding firm. Resisting. ‘It’s like it . . . wants us to follow.’

  ‘We can’t risk it,’ Fliss croaked. ‘These sorts of underwater caves . . . there’s no telling how far they stretch. We could all drown!’

  Betty squinted above their heads, searching in vain for some rocky shelf that they might cling to, but there was nothing. ‘I can’t see any other way,’ she said desperately. ‘We have to go through the water.’ She swallowed down a sob. ‘I’ll . . . I’ll go on ahead, swim a little way. For all we know, it could just be a dip.’

  ‘No,’ Fliss growled. ‘No way!’

  ‘We can’t go back,’ said Betty. ‘We don’t have a choice. Someone needs to go. If I get through, I’ll tug the string three times and you can follow. If it goes on too far, I’ll come back. I promise.’

  ‘Don’t make promises you might not be able to keep,’ Fliss said hotly. Betty could just see the outline of her face, but the little light there was showed that her eyes were sparkling with tears.

  Betty gritted her teeth. ‘I promise,’ she repeated, readying herself to go into the water again.

  ‘Betty?’ Charlie said anxiously. ‘What about Hoppit? He can’t swim that far!’

  ‘Oh, Charlie,’ Betty said, feeling a rush of love for her little sister. ‘You and that bleedin’ rat. He’ll make it.’ She sighed, ruffling Charlie’s hair. ‘Because he’ll be with you.’

  Charlie took the rat out from her collar and kissed him on the nose. ‘You can do it, Hoppit,’ she whispered. ‘And so can you, Betty.’

  ‘Right, then,’ said Betty, steeling herself. ‘Before I lose my nerve.’

  She slid into the water, moving to where the roof sloped quickly to meet the water. Taking a breath, she plunged beneath the surface and swept her arm from side to side, feeling her way. Rocks scraped her back, and slimy weeds tangled in her hair. A boot, still with its laces tied, drifted past her nose. She kicked further, jarring her ankle. Her lungs began to burn. How had she held her breath so long at the shipwreck? It was too much effort now, and she was so very tired. Dark spots flickered at the edge of her vision, threatening to overwhelm her. She clung to the thought of her sisters, and Granny, and home. But she had to breathe, cold water rushing in . . .

  The rocks at her back gave way, sloping up, and she emerged, wheezing, into a pocket of damp air. She lifted a hand in the pitch darkness, feeling cold, wet rock an arm’s length above her. Tentatively she swam a little further, hoping the tunnel roof might remain high enough for her to continue with her head above water – but only a short way along, her outstretched fingertips brushed sloping rock once more.

  Aware of the others waiting behind her, she tugged the string three times, feeling one in return, and time stood still. Water rushed and churned. Come on, she willed. Come on!

  It was Charlie who popped up first, immediately followed by Willow and the wisp. After the blackout the wisp’s glow, though faint, was welcome. ‘It stinks in here,’ Charlie gasped, her pigtails plastered to her head. On her shoulder, a soggy Hoppit squeaked as if in agreement.

  ‘Charlie!’ Betty gasped, hugging her joyfully. ‘You did it!’

  To Betty’s immense relief, Fliss emerged next, followed by Spit. To Betty’s shock, she saw he was bleeding.

  ‘It’s nothing,’ he muttered, rubbing his forehead. ‘Just a scratch on the rocks.’

  Betty nodded, gulping at the air gratefully. Stinking or not, it was keeping them alive a little longer.

  Spit was bobbing an arm’s length away, the bucket containing the fish beside him. ‘There’s another opening here,’ he said, motioning underwater. His chest heaved, and he blinked watery blood out of his eye. ‘Just need to . . . to get my breath. I’ll go first.’

  ‘Spit,’ Betty croaked. ‘No! You’ve hit your head.’

  ‘I’m going,’ he repeated. ‘You three have each other. If one of you gets hurt . . . I have no one. No one to miss me, anyway.’ He gave a wry laugh, passing the bucket to Fliss. ‘I don’t even have a proper name.’

  His words tugged at Betty’s heart. ‘Be careful,’ she said, reluctant. ‘Three tugs, remember?’

  He nodded, then breathed deep and vanished in the murky water.

  ‘The echoes have stopped,’ Fliss whispered in the silence that followed, holding Charlie tightly. The bucket bobbed next to her. ‘I don’t know if that’s better or worse.’

  Worse, Betty thought. For though she didn’t say it, it made the place seem even deader than it was already.

  ‘Is he still there?’ Charlie asked, shivering.

  Betty pulled the string gently, feeling the same resistance as before. ‘He’s there.’

  ‘He should be through by now,’ said Fliss. ‘It’s been too long!’

  ‘Give him a chance,’ said Betty, trying to convince herself. ‘He’ll do it.’ An image of Spit, open-eyed but unmoving, floated in her mind. How long could he last under there? She held in something that might have been a sob. Words sounded in her head: I have no one. No one to miss me . . .

  ‘That doesn’t mean it’s all right,’ she whispered. What Spit had risked for them mattered. He mattered.

  The string pulled in Betty’s hand, tight round her fingers. One, two, three.

  ‘He’s there!’ Betty yelled. ‘He’s made it – he’s somewhere. Come on!’

  Charlie and Fliss each took a gulp of air and vanished. Betty squeezed Willow’s hand, so cold that her own hand was almost numbed. She looked into the girl’s face and was gripped by doubt and fear.

  ‘Willow,’ Betty began, alarmed. ‘You’re looking paler than ever!’

  ‘I can make it,’ said Willow, edging closer, her face ashen. ‘Just don’t let go of me.’ With an iron grip, Betty pulled her under the water. It was worse here
, colder, the water heavy with silt. Her knuckles scraped rock. Slime caught under her nails. Not meaning to, she opened her eyes and wished she hadn’t. All around Willow the water glowed eerily, lit faintly by the wisp. Her terrified eyes locked on to Betty. Bubbles escaped her lips.

  Betty kicked, closing her eyes. Seaweed tangled in her hair, trying to pull her back. To keep her in the darkness.

  ‘Noooooooo!’ Betty yelled, losing precious air.

  Blinding light waited up ahead, so close. Water shot up her nose and into her throat, choking her. Then water turned to air as she came up to dazzling brightness, coughing and retching. Muffled voices reached her, becoming clearer as her ears emptied of water. She staggered from the water, a spluttering Willow following her. Finally, Betty released her hand as three figures came into view, ankle deep in a cave of shallow water. Beyond them, warm sunlight streamed through trees into the cave.

  ‘Fliss, Charlie!’ A cry forced its way out of her and she ran to them, pulling them both into her arms with a rush of love and relief.

  ‘We made it!’ Charlie laughed, thrusting a wet-nosed Hoppit in Betty’s face. He snuffled happily, shaking water from his whiskers. ‘All of us!’

  ‘Saul!’ the fish repeated from the bucket, now topped up almost to the brim.

  ‘Yes, you too,’ Betty added with an unexpected pang of sympathy for him. One by one they waded out of the water into the open air, still blinking after the darkness of the tunnels. The warm sun was like a balm on Betty’s skin and, from its warmth and position, she could tell that hours had passed during their passage through the caves. They were now on a rocky path which ran alongside a high cliff edge to the right, and curved down into the distance. To their left, a vast area of forest began at the path’s edge and dropped away steeply. Far below, past the thick vegetation, was a small circle of brightest turquoise. The lagoon.

  Betty’s heart galloped at the sight of it, but just as quickly she felt a flash of worry. She knew distances could be deceiving, and already it looked a long way to the lagoon. The quickest route would be off the path and through the trees – but the thought of this made the hairs on the back of her neck stand up. In all the fairy tales she knew, leaving the path was always a mistake.