Charlotte Stone and the Children of the Nymet (14 page)

‘Not at this time I suspect,' the lady replied. ‘And it would be best that you do not visit this place any more than you absolutely have to. The Dreamtime changes people… and not for the best. It is too easy to be pulled into the darkness, even for the most brilliant soul. You should have learnt that from your experience tonight.'

‘But that wasn't my darkness.'

‘Darkness is darkness. It doesn't discriminate,' the lady shrugged.

‘But with practice I could…'

‘It's not about practice, little spirit, it is about timing,' the lady said, then she was gone.

The week had gone without incident (unless you included Jude's misadventure with a set of hair straighteners) and Charlotte had even managed to get through five days of school without either getting a detention or bumping into Mr Ransell. All their school classes were now focused on trees and in particular the Brackenheath Oak, which Charlotte suspected The Morrigan had had a hand in. Life was good and even starting to feel normal, plus she had her first karate lesson to look forward to.

The Jade Moon Chinese restaurant was not exactly a conventional location for a martial arts lesson but it appealed to Charlotte for just that reason. Though it was currently closed, the kitchen was in full swing judging by the sweet, spicy aromas in the little courtyard by the back door.

‘Welcome, Miss Stone. I have been waiting for you,' Mr Lei beamed from the door, waving her inside.

Mr Lei was an unassuming man who looked much younger than he was. Short and slim, he was dressed in a simple tunic and trousers and a smile that creased his face.

‘Thank you, Sensi Lei.' Charlotte made a small bow in respect for her new teacher and Mr Lei nodded in approval. He led her past the bustling kitchen where a number of cooks were already making preparations for the night's service. It was much more exciting than Clarissa's with lots of fire, steam and flying vegetables as the cooks danced round each other – no pickled ash keys or dandelions in sight.

‘My apologies but today will be a short session, Miss Stone. I must get to work soon, but your aunt was anxious for your training to begin as soon as possible and I must say, I am interested in seeing how much you know,' Mr Lei said, bringing her back to the reason she was there as he led her into a small room about the size of a double garage.

One of the long walls was lined with mirrors and the floor, with the exception of a small area near the door, was raised and covered in reed mats. A gong and green banner covered in Chinese kanji sat at the far end of the room next to a large Buddha statue festooned with flowers, incense burning at its feet.

‘This is our family temple,' Mr Lei explained, indicating she should remove her shoes before stepping on the mats. ‘It is not normally a place for combat but we will work here just for today. Your regular lessons, however, will be at Wykenhall High.' He bowed to the statue then turned back to Charlotte.

‘Why don't we start with you showing me one of the forms you have learnt.' Charlotte nodded and took a couple of deep breaths before working through the last routine she had been taught, before her old life had come crashing down around her ears. Mr Lei studied her movements like a hawk, correcting her posture every now and again.

‘Good, good,' he smiled when she had done. ‘And were these the moves you tried on Mr Trull?' Charlotte blushed with embarrassment.

‘That is a good sign,' Mr Lei continued, ‘it seems you understand that the school yard is not an appropriate place for practising your skills.'

‘I was only trying to stand up to the bullies, Sensei,' Charlotte retorted.

‘Ah yes, very admirable, Miss Stone, but a true warrior knows that fighting must be the last resort. Finding a diplomatic solution through words is always preferable. If you start with a fight, where is there to go from there?'

The door from the kitchen corridor creaked and a slim Chinese girl peeked round at them. Her sleek black hair was woven into several plaits that were twisted into a bun and adorned with a sprig of white jasmine.

‘This is my daughter Sang.' Mr Lei motioned her to come closer. ‘She will be your sparring partner for today.'

Charlotte recognised Sang as one of the many faces Isla had introduced her to on her first day at Wykenhall High but couldn't remember having spoken to her during the whistle-stop tour of what Isla considered the ‘less popular' kids. ‘Nice to meet you properly,' she smiled.

Sang smiled nervously before running her thumb down her face and wiping her hands.

‘Sang says hello,' Mr Lei interpreted. ‘She chooses not to speak, preferring instead to express herself through movement. Some people find it a little strange at first but you soon get used to it,' he explained.

Charlotte, who had seen far stranger things, wasn't at all fazed.

Sang was stronger and quicker than she looked, beating Charlotte in the first four rounds. Just as Charlotte thought the next round was hers, Sang floored her with an illegal move.

‘Hey, that's not fair,' she protested but Mr Lei just smiled.

‘The lesson here, Miss Stone, is that you cannot always rely on the rule book. One's opponent will not generally play by the rules – they are only interested in winning.'

‘Are you saying I should cheat?'

‘Not at all, you must simply trust your inner wisdom. Observe what is going on around you and you can determine what your opponent is planning. Then you can act accordingly, using their intentions against them. But you must have a still mind.'

Charlotte was soon exhausted but she felt more like her old self. Mr Lei certainly promised to be an inspiring teacher and Clarissa was turning out to be the coolest aunt in the world.

‘We are out of time, I'm afraid.' Mr Lei smiled. ‘You have skill, Miss Stone, but there is much Sang can teach you. I expect you to be much improved by the time I see you again.' Mr Lei gave a low bow as he let Charlotte out the front door, locking it behind her.

*

On the coastal road between Brackenheath and Wykenhall, Alexanders shot out of the hedgerows with the full force of spring and warm rain poured through Tar'sel's ethereal body. He may have a free pass through the Dreamtime but that did not make it any easier to journey through the desolate landscape of nightmares and craters. However, here in the soft warmth of the single Albion sun, the disturbing images finally melted like frost in sunlight and he was able to focus on the task in hand. He had to find Charlotte.

He didn't know how he'd ended up so far off course – Mor'seka must have miscalculated the jump – but he could see the cliffs to the north. This side of the Dreamtime Tar'sel's beloved Nellpa Barra looked so alien, so barren. While the ground beneath his feet felt familiar, where were the trees, the wild herbs and grasses, the Nymet?

Tar'sel tried to find his way by closing his eyes and following the contours of the land and the throb of the Mother's heartbeat, faint as it was here, but she was drowned out by every tree, leaf and flower. They were all singing so loud Tar'sel couldn't hear himself think. This was not the harmonious song of Syluria where each voice wove naturally into the one song; here every individual blade of grass was vying with each other, desperate to be heard. Tar'sel couldn't understand how the people of Albion were able to bear it.

That was when he stumbled across Boris.

*

It was sunny in between the rain showers and Charlotte was glad she had chosen to walk home, ambling along the country lanes and picking bunches of elderflower as she went.

‘Do you have permission to pick those?' said the nearest hedgerow.

It took Charlotte a while to notice a rather scruffy-looking man wearing a wrinkled brown shirt and jeans at least two sizes too big for him tied up with rope. His face was covered in white stubble and he had the same swarthy complexion and eagle eyes as Charlie Mitchell, the boy Giles had been picking on. This must be the infamous Lloyd that she had heard so much about.

‘I'm sorry, I didn't realise I needed permission.'

‘I'm surprised the Fey didn't tell you, they're sticklers for rules. In any case, elderflower won't help you. Besides, these have been weaved,' he wrinkled his nose in disgust.

Charlotte was wondering what Lloyd could possibly know about weaving when he started rummaging around in the meadow behind him. ‘Ah, this is what you need,' he exclaimed, gathering handfuls of nettles with his bare hands.

‘Er, thanks, but I'm good. Clarissa dosed me up and I'm all better.'

‘Well, that's a start I suppose but not nearly good enough,' Lloyd said, gathering more nettles and stuffing them into an old plastic shopping bag he had pulled from his pocket.

‘Can't you hear it, child, the Nymet song? It's coming from everything, ever since the old girl was struck.' He thumbed in the general direction of the park. ‘There's no silence anymore, it's almost unbearable.'

Most people avoided Lloyd and Lloyd himself did nothing to counter the gossip she had heard – most of it from Clarissa's neighbour, Mrs Bunratty. Clarissa, on the other hand, had always spoken fondly of him and Charlotte had learnt to trust her judgement. Besides, she found him much more fascinating than many of the residents of Brackenheath.

‘Can you tell me more?' she asked.

‘Not here!' the man gasped. ‘The trees have ears – all I will say is this: last time Herself started singing, there was all kinds of trouble. Anyways, I have to get this tincture ready for you. It's a matter of utmost urgency. I'll bring it over later tonight.'

‘But what do I need it for?'

‘Ask your aunt, she'll know. I want to test some of my theories first before I worry you.'

It was a bit late for that in Charlotte's opinion but she couldn't get him to say another word.

*

‘Quit it, I's not a freak show.' Boris swiped Tar'sel's hands away, nursing the bump on his head from where Tar'sel had sent him flying.

‘But a real-life Veshengo. It's not possible, especially not in Albion.' Tar'sel ignored the fairy's protests, forgetting for a moment why he was there.

‘Well, there's many a Fey that are beings where they shouldn't, thanks to you humans.' Boris had scampered into a nearby holly bush to observe Tar'sel from a safe distance.

‘I'm sorry for that but I'm not an Albion human; I just need your help. I'm here to heal the Nymet. Can you take me to her?'

‘Is don't know what you bes talking about.' Boris refused to make eye contact and clambered further into the bush.

‘Come on, what do you take me for?' Tar'sel was beginning to lose patience. ‘If you could just get me to…'

‘Is take you for a Sylurian, Tree Weaver.' Boris pointed to the swirling gold patterns that adorned Tar'sel's body.

Tar'sel reached into his pockets and produced a handful of snacks. They were as translucent as he was but the Veshengo salivated all the same.

‘I can get you real ledome moss and bokh nuts…'

The Veshengo squealed with delight before darting into the undergrowth.

‘Here we go. Time to get lost,' Tar'sel muttered to himself before chasing after him.

Tar'sel was shocked to see the state of the Brackenheath Oak once Boris finally decided to take him there. This explained so much. His own people may have deflected the lightning blast, at the cost of a life, but the Nymet had not been so lucky this side of the Dreamtime. Had they caused this somehow?

‘She looks really sick!' Tar'sel flinched at the painful cracks in the bark and curled brown leaves.

‘It's not the outsidings yous need to be worrying about, Tree Weaver,' Boris replied. ‘You humans is all the same, whichever side of the Dreamtime you comes from. Only seeings what is under your noses.' He rapped his knuckles on the trunk. ‘The sap flow has beens babbling nonsense for days… I should know,' he added proudly.

Tar'sel tried to get close enough to properly inspect the damage but whenever he tried flocks of crows flew from the boughs and dive-bombed him, screeching so loudly his ears rang.

‘We've got to do something,' Tar'sel gasped. ‘I don't understand why they won't let me near.'

‘Them's her birds.' Boris' voice was thin with fear. ‘Yous be needing the girl as lives on the cliff.'

*

‘How did the training go?' Clarissa called from the kitchen as Charlotte came in the main door.

‘I think I made a friend.' Charlotte dumped her school books on the heavy oak table.

‘Sang?' Clarissa asked.

‘Actually, Lloyd!' Charlotte smirked.

‘What has that ruffian been up to now?' Clarissa said, a tone of affection in her voice. ‘Has he been scaring the locals again?'

‘No. Just me,' Charlotte replied. ‘I don't know what you've been telling him but he wants to feed me nettles too. I'm sure there was mention of warts as well.' Charlotte pulled a face at the mere idea of eating warts.

‘Mugwort? St John's Wort?' Clarissa stopped what she was doing and stared intently at Charlotte.

‘I don't know.' Charlotte reached for one of the freshly made cupcakes on the counter before Clarissa slapped her hand away.

‘You really could do with being a little more…
aware
,' Clarissa chided, wiping her hands on her apron and putting a pot of water on the stove.

‘Well, he's coming over later if you want to ask him. Anyway, I need to do some more research. Do you have any books on local legends?'

Clarissa was adding sage leaves to the water. Behind her Charlotte wrinkled her nose.

‘It's not for you,' Clarissa said over her shoulder before adding, ‘Have you tried the library, dear?'

‘Library? I didn't know you had a library!' Charlotte was stunned.

‘Oh yes, dear, we are a family of book-lovers. It's the door in the centre of the gallery just before the stairs to my room but I warn you, they're in no particular order.'

*

The library was exactly as Charlotte had expected: musty with the smell of the books piled on the floor, on tables, windowsills and even in the empty fireplace. Romantic it may be, ordered it was not; this was going to take some time. Charlotte started wading through the mountains of books.

Along with the usual classics were ancient first edition tomes on Egyptology and more modern works on cookery, archaeology and eco landscaping mixed with astrophysics, politics and herb craft, but nothing that suited her needs. Quintillian hopped from one pile to another staring intently at her as she worked, meowing at intervals.