Charlotte Stone and the Children of the Nymet (7 page)

Charlotte was dozing off when Cicero pressed himself tightly against her and mewed, staring intently into thin air. She heard the same fizzing noise she had heard in the garden and saw a shimmering outline forming at the other end of the room.

A translucent figure appeared and started to slowly make its way across the room. It was a boy about three or four years older than herself with light green skin, wild blond hair scraped roughly into a ponytail and swirling patterns on his arms and face. His nose was his most striking feature, elongated and wider than her own, while his ears were slightly pointed underneath his hair. But it was his eyes that Charlotte was drawn too most, piercing and brooding – and they were looking straight through her.

He was not like the silhouette she had seen in the garden or at the train station, she was sure. For a start he was much bigger. Could this be one of the Fey? He seemed more like a ghost.

The boy was focused on something in the corner by the television, completely oblivious of Charlotte and Jude. Soon, he began striding purposefully through the furniture, stopping about a foot from Jude's shoulder. He slowly raised a spear to the side of his head before, quick as lightning, he launched it through the air. Charlotte watched as it disappeared through the wall. The boy darted after it before fading behind the TV.

Suddenly, Jude let out a loud moan and a flash of light burst out of each of her palms. Cicero dug his claws into Charlotte's chest in alarm before shooting across the coffee table, sending Jude's bag flying.

Makeup, a tub of dental floss, crystals, corn pads and glass vials of flower remedies spilled across the pale rugs and Charlotte watched as a tin of pink blusher rolled across the wooden floor at speed before colliding with the skirting board and exploding in a puff of pink powder. Crystals bounced on the wooden floor and still more stuff poured out of the bag: a wind chime, dowsing rods, mala beads, keys, phone, a virtual avalanche of postcards and pictures, incense sticks and finally, a copy of
The Little Book of Calm
.

A bottle of tonic had smashed on landing and spilt over some of the pictures which Charlotte noticed seemed to be of a young man in army uniform, his nose sunburnt as he stood in various desert locations smiling, thumbs up at the camera. This must be Adam.

‘Oooh, my pictures!' Jude howled as she hurriedly swept all her belongs into a single pile of clutter. She wiped the pictures dry but the liquid had already started to do its work and they were beginning to blister. Charlotte looked on helplessly as the older woman howled and blubbed.

‘Haven't you got other pictures at home?' she offered weakly, trying to comfort Jude, but it just made her howl even more.

‘My word, what is going on here?' Aunt Clarissa announced from the main door. ‘Jude, dear, what's wrong?' Jude was so beside herself she couldn't speak and just offered the pictures as explanation.

‘Now now, dear, we can fix these, don't fret. You sit here and I'll sort those out in a jiffy, what a terrible fuss.' Jude sniffed and blew her nose loudly. ‘Let me get you a cup of tea,' Clarissa added before heading to the kitchen.

‘ ‘Your aunt is unbelievably kind, you know.' Jude dabbed her eyes, smearing her heavy kohl. ‘You really couldn't ask for a better guardian to look after you while your parents are finding their way home.'

The comment was like an electric current down Charlotte's spine.

‘You think they might still be out there somewhere?' she said quietly.

‘I think you always know when someone close to you is gone, sweetheart. What does your heart tell you?'

Charlotte didn't know what to say that wouldn't sound harsh or cruel but she wasn't so sure she believed that. She had no idea where her parents were or what had happened to them. She couldn't help thinking she was responsible. Besides, Jude didn't seem to be able to accept the death of her son. Did she think he was out there somewhere?

Jude was smiling gently at her through her tears.

‘I'm not a fool, Charlotte darling. I know he is not coming back but this is my way of coping, of keeping him close.' Jude held Charlotte's hands in her own.

‘What about my sister, you think she'll get better?'

‘It's happened plenty of times before, don't give up on her.'

‘I would never…'

‘I didn't mean it like that… I just meant, it might take a while.' Jude smiled. They both sat for a while saying nothing.

Aunt Clarissa broke the silence with tea and steaming bowls of stew.

‘I'm so sorry, but I think your rugs have been stained,' Jude said sheepishly, pointing to patches of powder and brown goo.

‘I'm sure it'll come out, don't worry your head.' Clarissa handed her the photographs.

‘Oh my, they're as good as new, I don't know how you do it.'

‘Must be magic.' Clarissa winked.

‘What on earth did you think you were doing, Luned?' Malik roared, thumping his desk with such force, puffs of soil fell from the ceiling. Luned tried not to flinch at the reminder that she was deep, deep under the Brackenheath oak, home to the Fey town of Fargale.

‘I'm an Undine, my instincts are rarely wrong, Sir.'

‘And you think that is sufficient evidence to stage an unauthorised covert op amongst the raspberry canes? A whim?'

‘With respect, Sir, it's my job to protect Fargale…'

‘From a nitwit human child?'

‘She was able to see the Weblight, Sir. She also seemed to know an awful lot about the Fey Nation for a mere human child and I heard her discussing gatecrashing the spring ball with her aunt.'

‘Clarissa was hardly about to tell her anything, Luned,' Malik scoffed, ‘but now she's seen Sylurians floating across her living room she's even more likely to go sticking her nose into matters that don't concern her.'

‘Her family is not her concern? I hardly think she'd see it that way, Sir. Besides, don't you think that maybe part of the reason the Nymet is sick is due to the punishment we dealt out on one of her own? Readings suggest things were knocked out of balance…'

‘Remember who you're talking to, Luned,' Malik growled. ‘It's our job to keep the Verses in their rightful places, something that is becoming increasingly difficult with the Dreamtime withering around us. It's just not natural for them to be blending into each other willy-nilly. And may I remind you, letting humans meddle in Fey affairs never ends well, even if they are descendants of the Golden Root – I need not remind you of the “Tinkerbel Scandal”. I should post you to tap root duties for this. Your actions were simply reckless, do you hear me?'

Malik rose to his feet and waddled across his office, dipping into various files that lay about the room. Eventually it was clear he had found the one he was looking for and he handed it to Luned with a malicious flourish.

‘Well, as you are so curious, she is now your responsibility.' Malik waved away her objections. ‘Your primary job now,' he emphasised each word with a vicious jab from a podgy finger to her shoulder, ‘is to ensure she doesn't cause any trouble.'

Luned sighed as Malik indicated he was done with her. Given the choice she would probably have gone with tap root duties. Her first day in Fargale was not going well.

*

The town of Fargale didn't compare in looks to the dazzling city of Agrimony, capital of the Fey Nation where she was born, but it was special. Fargale was the gateway between the three Verses. Not only was the place legendary, it was neither entirely underground nor in the Dreamtime. She really didn't want to lose this post or the chance to live in the sun.

Back in her own office in the higher, flimsier branches of the oak tree, she took a deep breath of sweet dawn air and shuffled some of the case files on her desk. She had been posted to ‘Operation Sugar Plum' and had a busy day ahead of her issuing eviction notices among the Lower Branch and Bole districts. She also had to investigate a report of a Neagle infestation by the river crossing as well as issue A.K.O.R.Ns to the Drakes and Pooka for environmental violations.

With the human domination of the traditional territories of the Fey in both Earth and Syluria, tensions had risen between the Fey species. The more their territories dwindled the more they were forced to live in each other's pockets, and certain Fey were not natural neighbours. Now the Dreamtime was withering too, their options were getting more and more limited, and Luned's job was getting harder.

Her afternoon would be taken up by the obligatory induction tour to the ‘Hanging Gardens of Fargale', as the root system was known, where she would have to learn how to monitor the water levels and general health of the oak. She was not relishing being underground again but there was no getting out of it. At least she had the night shift to look forward to where she would be joining the ‘Standstormers' unit (code name: Blue Fairy), facilitating ‘dream adjustment' on the local human population. She certainly couldn't say her work wasn't varied.

The last thing Luned needed was more work but she couldn't stop thinking about the girl living on the cliff. Luned couldn't shake the feeling this human was going to have a huge, and not necessarily pleasant, impact on Fargale.

A dandiclock in the corner of the room released six puffs of downy seed – her instincts were going to have to wait. Luned picked up the files and a pocket version of the P.O.D charter before tucking a NETEL stun gun into her belt and heading for the river to interrogate a few trolls.

*

Water dripped in fat splodges from the formal avenue of sycamores that lined the main path through Brackenheath Park, and steam rose from the meadow beyond as the sun warmed the air. Charlotte wasn't a fan of wet weather, she took after her dad in that respect, and it seemed to rain a lot here. But she adored the freshness of the air after a storm, as well as the smell of green.

She was also grateful to be away from the adults too and being outside helped her to work through recent events with a sharp mind. Jude was a regular visitor, and while Charlotte knew she meant well trying to counsel her over recent tragedies the fact was Charlotte just wasn't ready for sharing, not yet. Most of their conversations only ended up with Jude telling her another story about her dead son Adam anyway.

Clarissa still puzzled her too. She loved the fact she was so laid back and open, but she had an air of otherworldliness that was quite unsettling. Charlotte often expected her to appear on the living room carpet in a puff of smoke like a genie from a bottle. Clarissa was everywhere in Rosemary Heights, even in the oldest parts of the house. So was Charlotte's mother – another reason why she had to get outside.

*

In the valley ahead, Charlotte could see a couple of boys about her age, one with a wild shock of blond hair, the other a well-built bruiser, enthusiastically kicking a ball between themselves.
New classmates,
she guessed looking for an escape route. Not only was she not ready to disclose her pain and guilt to an elderly woman with a pink and orange Mohican but she was in no mood to try and awkwardly build friendships from thin air, football or not. Besides, she needed to focus.

Above the bank to her left, she could see another footpath meandering away from the main open space of the park through a thicket of bushes and on to a small copse, which promised a bit of privacy. There was a cluster of beech trees perched at the top of the bank and their thick roots, further exposed by the rain, cascaded down the bank in intricate knots forming a strange staircase over the soft, water-sodden soil. Tugging on a drooping branch, Charlotte hoisted herself onto the nearest stout root and began to climb. The wood was slippery underfoot and she would need to be careful not to twist an ankle but she had done far more adventurous and dangerous climbs than this before now, so she made quick progress. She heard the chatter of the boys pass beneath her just as she ducked into the first bush.

The air was cooler among the trees and the silence hung thickly in the gloom. Charlotte breathed deeply, relishing the complex mix of aromas. Above her, the sky darkened and a peal of thunder rumbled in the clouds. From the relative dryness of the wood, and still able to see over the fields and meadows of Brackenheath-on-Sea, Charlotte watched the tell-tale vertical streaks on the horizon, beautiful in the ruby sunset, that showed the rain drifting her way. It was mesmerising.

The vision was as vivid as ever, lurking in the recesses of her unconsciousness and waiting to pounce the minute she closed her eyes, replaying over and over again. At the base of a huge tree a rose bush glowed, releasing the most beautiful fragrance she had ever smelt. Then, in an instance, the rose bush withered and died before her vision went black and she heard that blood-curdling scream – the scream she was never ready for.

The blackness was like a portal to another world.

‘If only,' Charlotte muttered bitterly to herself. Where would she go? Back to her old life? No, that was gone and there was only one way to get it back. What she wouldn't do to find her parents, and she tried to imagine where they might be right this very minute.

‘Penny for 'em.'

Charlotte spun round, almost slipping in the wet leaves. She was half expecting to see the man with the top hat and gloves; instead there were only trees.

‘Down 'ere, human.'

Charlotte was startled to see a rather furry man, only slightly taller than her knees, grinning up at her. He had a bushy beard and wild, bedraggled hair matted with all sorts of vegetation. He was wearing an old Hovis bread bag with holes poked out for his arms and head which was secured with a belt of plaited strawberry shoelaces. His huge feet had long toes that seemed to have a mind of their own, digging around in the dirt.
Perhaps it is the stress of everything that's happened recently
, she thought; what else could explain the fact that she seemed to be hallucinating.

‘You going to say anything then?' the man persisted.

Hallucinations didn't talk, did they?

‘Er… Hello?' she said, not quite sure what she was speaking to. It crossed her mind that Clarissa was pulling some sort of trick.

‘Salutations to you, human fairy, I, am Boris.' The little man bowed with much aplomb.

‘Hi, I… I'm Charlotte,' Charlotte offered feebly.

‘You's wondering what I am?'

‘Actually, I'm wondering if I'm going bonkers,' Charlotte replied.

The fairy chuckled. ‘I'ms here alright. Is wood folk, Veshengo. We wood folk are an unassuming and noble folk and would live in peace and harmony with all the creatures of the trees. We protect that which you humans often abandon.'

‘I… I'm sorry…'

‘Perfectly alright. We actually prefer it that way, not your job anyways and you lot do make a lot of chatter.' The Veshengo eyed her up and down approvingly. ‘I'm liking you though, Miss Charlotte.' He nodded.

Charlotte, who was still trying to take in the man's strange appearance, didn't know how to respond to such a speech so she felt it was safer to say nothing.

‘You are a lady of few words, unlike the most of your sort, and you…' Boris lowered his voice to a whisper, ‘… you live in the house on the cliff?'

‘How do you know?'

‘Someone has been awaiting you, Miss Charlotte. I've been sent to collect you.'

Charlotte was taken aback. Was that a good thing or not? She felt slightly uneasy but her sense of adventure won out. The Veshengo smiled as if he knew what was going on in her head.

‘Follow me, it's not far,' he announced, and before Charlotte could say anything, he shot off into the undergrowth.

‘Wait!' Charlotte called dipping into the bushes and following him as best she could. ‘I'm not as little as you.'

‘Nice,' said Boris appearing in a branch by her ear. ‘You discriminating on my size?' He looked at her with daggers.

‘No, I just mean I can't follow you into all the little nooks and crannies.'

‘Well, we simply can't stick to the paths, won't do, just won't do! Look… just do the best you can.' He patted her on the head like she was a defenceless baby and winked before disappearing. ‘Follow my voice!' he shouted from a patch of brambles before breaking into a raucous song about nubile young sylphs.

Charlotte lost track of how long they played his strange game of cat and mouse but her cargo trousers were soon soaked through, with a few rips and stains, before Boris finally stopped.

‘Here we are then.'

‘Where?'

‘Dunno.'

‘We're lost? But you're a Veshengo.'

‘Yes!' said the little man. ‘That's what we're good at.'

‘Well, now I've heard it all, aren't you supposed to know where you are in a wood?'

‘Listen, human, you can't be findings the heart of the forest till you're good and lost… thought everyone knew that,' he sniffed. ‘Anyways, that's what I brought you to see, right there.' Boris pointed at a tall, sturdy-looking tree.

‘It's the Brackenheath Oak!' Charlotte whispered in awe and… was it… shimmering?

‘Yous can feel it, I can tell. That shimmer, it's Weblight, from the Dreamtime. This tree is sitting in more than one place at the same time.' Boris was eyeing the tree suspiciously. Clearly this was not normal even in the fairy world.

Charlotte approached the tree slowly; she wasn't sure what she would find but she had the same strange feeling that she had experienced with the crystals at Rosemary Heights, the sensation that she belonged here, in this place. She noticed the air cool around her and it became almost electric with anticipation. Surely she was imagining it?

‘Slow walkings, human,' whispered the Veshengo, ‘and don't look directly, blur your vision to truly see,' Boris encouraged her as he bounced along beside her.

She did as she was told, slowing her pace and feeling the ground with her feet. The shimmer became stronger as pin pricks of golden dust swirled in the air around the tree's vast trunk. The whole tree appeared luminescent and Charlotte had to shield her eyes. She stopped about a foot from the trunk, pausing for a moment before reaching out to touch the rough bark. She was a little disappointed that it felt just like any other oak tree.

‘Hold, hold,' Boris encouraged her again as he backed further away from the tree.

He seemed nervous to be there which didn't instil Charlotte with confidence but she somehow knew she had to do this. Maybe the Veshengo could help her connect with Edessa.

‘Feel its heartbeat, touch its soul. Has been waiting for you.'

Charlotte placed both hands and her left ear to the tree bole and shut her eyes to listen. She could hear, yes, and feel, the sap flowing through what must, by the size of it, be an ancient tree. Was that singing? Chanting? It was different to what she had heard before; just one voice and so many stories that seemed to stretch out forever. Charlotte turned to ask Boris what it was but the little fairy had disappeared.