Charlotte Stone and the Children of the Nymet (12 page)

Hmmm, it seems you do have a temperature,' Clarissa finally agreed as she pulled the thermometer from Charlotte's mouth. It read 100 degrees Fahrenheit. ‘I am going to have a few choice words for that scoundrel Julian Ransell when I see him today. Fancy making you sit out in the rain.'

‘There is a plus side of course, I get to stay home,' Charlotte croaked.

‘I thought you were enjoying the adventure,' Clarissa smiled. ‘I need to go out today, I'm afraid, but I could ask Jude to come and watch you?'

‘I'll be fine on my own,' Charlotte reassured her.

‘Very well, but I want you to drink this before I go,' Clarissa insisted, handing Charlotte a steaming brew fresh from the stove. Charlotte wrinkled her nose at the smell.

‘What is it?'

‘Nettle and willow bark tea.'

‘Well, tree bark is new.' Charlotte took a cautious sip. ‘Ewww, it's vile.'

‘You're not drinking it for the taste. It will help clear the germs from your system.'

After much persuasion, and several more cups of the noxious brew, Clarissa was finally satisfied that Charlotte was well enough to be on her own and left to do her rounds at the Wykenhall shops. Charlotte had never been a good patient and in spite of Quintillian's soothing purrs as he sprawled at her feet, she was soon bored of lying on the sofa flicking through daytime TV. The tea seemed to be doing its job and she soon felt much better. Fresh air would do her good she reasoned so, dressing quickly and grabbing her rucksack, she headed for Brackenheath Park.

Charlotte automatically made a beeline for the oak on the hill.

‘The Nymet,' she whispered absentmindedly. The oak looked perfectly normal in the light of day, except of course for the cracked bark and charred blackness in its, now hollow, centre. The main side branch now bent over and upside down, its tip touching one of the thick roots that curled across the soil before disappearing below ground. It looked just like a doorway.

Perched on its little hill the bulk of the oak could clearly be seen above the main tree line and she couldn't understand why Boris had led her such a merry dance through the undergrowth; it was hardly hidden in this thin sprawl of trees let alone some imaginary forest. Charlotte wondered for a moment if she had dreamt the last encounter, but the pile of soot in its heart and the tree-like pattern burnt into her skin told her otherwise.

Sunlight flooded the branches of the oak, dappling the ground below, which was dry as a bone despite yesterday's rain. New shoots and old branches were beginning to bud but the fresh green leaves were curling and sickly with brown spots, and a strange luminous slime crept along the trunk and branches. Charlotte poked it cautiously with a stick. Spores oozed into the breeze, floating gently around the oak.
Well, that explains the ‘mysterious' glow,
Charlotte scoffed to herself; this stuff no doubt looked gold in the right light. She couldn't help feeling a little disappointed though. Of course, it didn't explain away the strange Veshengo creature.

Charlotte sat on a patch of soft grass and pulled out her water bottle, a pack of cheese salad sandwiches and
The Revised Encyclopaedia of the Fey Folk, and Where to Find Them
. The book was a large, ornately decorated hardback and it still smelt of incense. She perched it on her knees, back against the oak, and settled down to read.

*

Normally on a day like this Tar'sel would be making his way down to the Nellpa delta before sunrise for a relaxing day of sunbathing and fishing the shallows; but not today.

The first of the year's hog violets had been sighted and the spring festival of Patragi had been formally announced the previous evening. Celebrations had already started in the village and the women were festooning the central grove with bunting made from various spring flowers and grasses but the official feast would be held that evening.

Patragi was traditionally the time for initiation rites and Tar'sel had two to complete. Currently perched on a rocky outcrop, he was enjoying the pleasantly warm morning breezes while stretching out his aching limbs after the first of these. His Draoi rite would entitle him to enter the Nymet temple on his own.

It had been a long and uncomfortable night walled into the nearby cave known as ‘The Womb of the Sleeping Mother' and had been filled with terrifying sounds and visions. Without fire, food or even a sleeping fur, he had been required to stay alert throughout the night, and would be expected to recount his visions to the priestesses later.

He hadn't been surprised his visions featured the red-haired girl again. He knew she didn't belong to this world yet he had seen her standing in a thunderstorm on the edge of the Nymet summit, red lightning dancing around her as she sung it into life. Behind her a large black bird flew through the branches of the Nymet temple before swooping towards him as impenetrable darkness fell. In the black, the now familiar scream rang out. Tar'sel wondered what the priestesses would make of it all.

His head was fuzzy from the lack of sleep but he couldn't rest yet – there was still a day of hunting ahead. The golden fire of the morning sun exploded over the horizon, flooding the distant river and open plains with light; light that gave him a much needed boost of energy, though he didn't know how long it would last.

‘Welcome back,' said Tay'mor to his left. He had been waiting for Tar'sel to come round properly and now handed him a beaker and some stuffed oarweed. Tar'sel took the breakfast gratefully, recognising the brew as the same mixture Anya had given him at Nabinder.

‘The priestesses are waiting for you,' continued Tay'mor gently, ‘and I will need your decision on the hunt as soon as you are done.'

Tar'sel simply nodded but this was enough for Tay'mor and he walked off towards the village. Tar'sel wasn't ready to speak, he was still stuck in-between the worlds, images of the Dreamtime swimming in his head, but the food was beginning to work and the roots of the forest called to him, pulling him back to the Barra.

He turned his attention to the hunt. There were two choices – one in the wet and one on the dry. He had hoped to go for the thrill and prestige of hunting Talezo fish, a rare opportunity he probably wouldn't get again for many years to come. He knew he was expected to show more stamina than most as an initiate of the Draoi but realistically, it was more likely he would get himself drowned.

The other choice was hunting Rheadak. Not exactly safe but something they were all well practised at. Normally it would earn him less kudos, affecting his ranking within the village, but since he was to join the Nymet Draoi he was outside the rules of normal village bonds now. Anya had been so pleased for him, telling him to enjoy the freedom, but instead he only felt isolated.

*

The sun was on the descent and the sandwiches long gone by the time Charlotte had finished. She was now an expert on Dryads, Hinky-punks, Jenny Greenteeth and even Undines, but there hadn't been a single word on Veshengo. Charlotte threw the book down in frustration. A warm breeze stirred the dust and leaves at her feet.

Looottieeee,
whispered the wind through the brittle leaves of the Nymet, making the hairs stand up on the back of Charlotte's neck.

‘Edessa?'

The wind said nothing.

‘Edessa? Are you there?' Charlotte tried again but again the voice remained silent.

It was just another whisper, an echo of someone who wasn't there.

She was just about to pack up and go home when a tremor knocked her to the ground.

‘You've got to be kidding!' she muttered. What was it with her and this tree.

Another tremor hit and the bare earth below her began to sink and give way. A wind whipped up leaves and dust around her and soil and stones danced like water on a hot plate before finally settling. Charlotte assessed the damage. No twisted ankles, impalements or electric shocks; so far things were looking good. Charlotte looked up at the Nymet but it was sturdy and secure. Out of the corner of her eye though, she saw something strange. Red light crackled on the ground, turning the soil grey before dancing across the roses that trailed the oak. The light withered the roses before dissipating into the ground.

Charlotte was not the sort of girl who was afraid of her own shadow and had found herself in many an eerie spot in her family adventures but adrenaline coursed through her as her curiosity battled the fear that pleaded for her to run.

A rustling behind her made her scream.

‘Boris!' Relief flooded through her. She was so pleased to see his mischievous smile but she couldn't help being worried at how grey and gaunt he now looked.

‘Crack in the Dreamtime,' Boris said matter-of-factly, waving away her concern.

‘What?'

‘That's what you be seeing,' Boris explained. ‘I expect someone's been telling you of the Wyrdweb. Something has been here and messing where it ought not be a messing. Whatever it is being, it is no friend to anyone in this forest.'

Charlotte fished a set of glass vials and tweezers from her bag and started taking samples of the soil, roses and tree bark. She hoped they might give her some clues as to what was going on with the Nymet; this was clearly more than just a simple lightning strike and she was determined to get some answers.

‘What do you mean “forest”, Boris?' she said as she started to work.

‘You can't be seeing everything as is there, Missy. But yous be seeing soon. You have the mark now.' Boris burst into a violent coughing fit that bent him double, and it took him some time to recover. His face was pale and full of fear when he spoke again.

‘Someones no a liking me speaking to you… or you being here…' he shuddered.

Charlotte was now unrolling a tool set and mixing a paste.

‘What is that?' Boris asked.

‘Plaster of Paris, I'm making a mould.' Charlotte motioned to a strange indentation in the soil and started spreading the mixture across the ground.

‘And is this beings the sort of thing most humans carry around with them?' Boris asked with genuine interest, poking at the mixture in awe.

Charlotte was reminded again of the strangeness of her family. ‘No, my family is a bit odd, I guess. Now stop poking it, it needs to dry.'

‘So what be we doing now?' said Boris, trying to distract her so he could poke at it a bit more.

‘We wait. It should be ready in a few hours.'

‘Perhaps I can be assistings with that.' Boris gave her a mischievous smile before blowing on the plaster. In moments it had set rock solid.

‘I didn't know you could do that.'

‘There bes a lot yous not knowing, human, I's a magical creature not from this realm,' Boris shrugged. ‘And yous won't be finding us in that book; we's not supposed to be here…' he pointed at the encyclopaedia, ‘… and I's shouldn't be able to do that.'

‘Is that why you were banished?' Charlotte asked before thinking, cursing her big mouth, but Boris just nodded.

‘I stole fire from the Shriven,' he whispered, not wanting to meet her eyes.

‘Seems a bit harsh to banish you for something so small; so what if you can make… instant concrete.'

‘I's… can't be here… must be going.' Boris burst into another coughing fit. The Verses are moving, can'ts you sees it, Missy?' he spluttered, pointing at the Nymet tree.

As Charlotte followed his finger she could see the same golden dust as before blooming around the base of the tree.

‘Is can't be staying,' Boris squealed. ‘If I jump the Dreamtime I'ms a gonner.' He tugged at Charlotte's arm. ‘You shouldn't bes staying either, Missy,' he said before running off down the hill.

‘It's just spores, Boris. Nothing magical; though admittedly a little strange.'

‘Yous humans think you have the answers to everything but the Nymet is nots all it seems.'

‘I've heard that before,' Charlotte muttered, as she quickly peeled up the mould and turned to follow Boris – but something caught her eye, rooting her to the spot. A ghostly figure stood in the gold mist that accumulated in the doorway of branches; it was a figure she knew only too well.

‘It's time,' Edessa whispered with a smile before fading in front of Charlotte's eyes.

Charlotte let her rucksack drop to the ground as she walked towards the trunk of the tree. Her sister would never lead her into danger and whatever she was about to walk into, it had to be important. Closing her eyes she placed her hands on the bark of the tree, feeling the hum of its song. She instinctively knew what to do and for a split second hundreds of trees blossomed around her before the coldness of the Dreamtime washed over her.

*

It was mid-afternoon before the priestesses were finished with Tar'sel, interrogating him ruthlessly on his vision yet giving him no clue of its meaning. He could see the long dark canoes of the fishing party cutting through the choppy waters beyond the sandbanks as he walked out to the plains. A twinge of envy gripped him but Tar'sel knew Tay'mor couldn't keep them waiting just for him.

Handing him a spear, Tay'mor squeezed Tar'sel's shoulder for encouragement before moving on to the rest of the group. He would be joining them in the hunt, not to help but observe for the judgement later. As he looked around, Tar'sel was surprised to see Mor'seka bounding towards him.

‘I thought you'd be out on the wet.' It was not like Mor'seka to pass up the opportunity for new experiences. Mor'seka scowled.

‘Given the chance I would be, but lady luck was not on my side today. Anyway, how goes it in the land of the spirits?'

Mor'seka was mocking him.

‘Busy. I'd be sitting this out if I could.'

‘Surely the saviour of the nation isn't flagging already?'

‘Bite me, Mor'seka.'

‘Not very friendly,' Mor'seka laughed. ‘Well, if you will excuse me, oh Mighty One, I'll be heading up this hunt. If I can't have excitement I will have glory,' Mor'seka announced dramatically before charging off to organise the rest of the hunters.