Becoming bored, the owl once more rehearsed the report in its mind. It had to remember not to mention Briony’s bracelet or the magical scarves she had made, as this information had been withheld previously, when it had reported on Briony’s funeral. But it still worried - what if the rat was a spy and had already made a report? A rat had taken a rather unusual interest in the owl at the beginning of the meeting at the fallen oak tree and had disappeared without anyone noticing. The owl had to be very careful in what it reported or it was going to be in a lot of pain. So the bird paced up and down on a branch outside the hole, miserable and unsure what to do next.
Coming to a decision, the owl took off effortlessly and glided gracefully above the tall tree. It then hooted loudly, before swooping down and entering the hole to land on its perch.
Fluffing out its feathers, the owl tried to relax and waited for the Summoner’s instructions. It noted the way one long, bony finger turned off the red light that buzzed so annoyingly, killing the sound instantly. It then watched curiously as the other box-like thing was quickly covered up. It was so obvious that the Summoner wanted to keep them hidden. Trying to act as calmly as possible, the owl started to preen its soft feathers and waited for the Summoner to ask for its report.
‘I don’t believe I summoned you,’ the Summoner said coldly.
‘The meeting, you…’ the owl muttered miserably; horribly aware that things were beginning to go desperately wrong.
‘Ah yes, I forgot…’ the Summoner added, looking back in the direction of the covered boxes.
The owl was stunned; the Summoner had never, ever forgotten anything. Something important must have happened today.
‘Don’t dawdle, speak up! Be quick about it!’ the Summoner ordered, irritated and annoyed at the owl’s interruption.
‘The hunt for Primrose and Evelyn is on, all parts of the river are to be searched, lots of animals helping. Rabbits are getting nervous. Orion may have found his pack. Jack and friends are meeting at Briony’s resting place on the evening of the next Full Moon. Story of the flood discussed. Fear that someone called Darius might have survived,’ the owl stopped for breath.
‘And?’
The owl felt the cold stare of the Summoner’s eyes even though it couldn’t see them and began to shiver.
The Summoner went to press the button that would have sent a painful charge through the silver chain, but found the chain dangled loosely. Sighing with frustration and annoyance at finding the owl was not secured properly to its perch, the Summoner placed long, bony fingers around the bird’s neck and squeezed gently.
‘And?’ the cruel voice repeated.
‘I’ve done something stupid,’ the owl confessed nervously.
The evil laugh that the Summoner emitted ran ice cold through the owl’s veins.
‘Tell me!’
‘I got spotted. They chose me. I was careless,’ the owl stuttered, becoming increasingly scared as the fingers tightened around its throat.
‘And what did my sweet, little bird promise to do?’ the Summoner asked, releasing the pressure around the owl’s neck. The change in the Summoner’s tone was sickly sweet; scarier than the usual cold, clipped tones.
‘They want me to send and take messages between the groups as they search for Evelyn and Primrose,’ the owl choked, as the fingers around its throat tightened again.
The Summoner’s laugh was loud and long.
Finally, after a long, uncomfortable silence in which the owl imagined all sorts of horrors, the Summoner spoke in a tone of such deathly quietness and with such menace that it caused the poor owl to tremble violently in fear.
‘I told you not to interfere.’
The owl felt cold.
‘I told you not to be seen.’
The owl felt sick.
‘You know what happens to things that don’t do as I say…’
The Summoner released his grasp on the owl’s neck and reached for the chain. The owl began to shiver. The Summoner laughed evilly, greatly amused at the poor bird’s discomfort.
‘I’m just playing with you sweetie, you did well.’
The owl was having trouble gaining control; it was dizzy and nauseous and couldn’t work out if the Summoner was being serious or not. The unpredictability of the Summoner’s moods was playing havoc on its nerves.
‘These messages come to me first, understand?’ the Summoner demanded, tightening his grasp on the owl’s neck again and using the familiar, unemotional tone.
The owl nodded, understanding only too well.
‘Now, go!’
Greatly relieved, the bird prepared to fly off and had just become airborne, when the Summoner grabbed at one of its wings. It fluttered desperately, trying hard to regain its balance.
‘Never, ever come back here unless summoned. If the message is important, fly to the topmost branch and hoot loudly three times. Understand?’
The owl tried to nod, but the physical exhaustion of trying to fly with just one wing was taking an enormous strain on its overstretched muscles. The Summoner carelessly and thoughtlessly flung the bird from the opening and turned back towards the boxes.
The owl sat trembling on the topmost branch of the tree. As far as it was concerned, the Summoner had hurt it for the last time. Taking time to rest and get its thoughts together, the owl tried to sleep. It needed daylight for the task it had been assigned to do.
As the morning sun cast its warming rays on the top of the forest trees, the owl awoke. Flexing its wings, the owl noticed something sparkle at its feet. It looked down. The silver clasp that circled its foot had just caught the light from the rising sun. The small bird sighed deeply. It resented the clasp that bound it to its jailor and wanted rid of it, but then it saw something wonderful - the clasp was loose! It must have happened while it had been hung upside down. Seizing the silver clasp in its sharp beak, it severed it with one bite and flung it as far away as possible.
Freedom! The owl was free. It could never, ever be summoned again!
Taking to the air, still very unsettled, it flew off to find a friendly face - Velvet the mole. It did not look back.
Meanwhile, at the base of the tallest tree in the forest, a brown rat with dark, beady eyes took that shiny, silver clasp between its long, sharp, front teeth and scuttled off into the undergrowth, believing its mistress might find it to be very important.
3. Inside the Ancient Tree
Waiting in total darkness, Primrose tried her hardest to remain calm. As she sat, she hugged her knees to her chest. She felt as though she was being tested, something was waiting for her to lose her temper and start to scream and shout. She sat quietly and listened, remembering the voice and the words that had been whispered to her as she had left the cottage garden - she was certain it had been Briony, her aunt, telling her not to give up. Primrose had no intention of giving up, but that did not stop the growing unease she felt at the continued silence and darkness that surrounded her.
At first, Primrose thought she was hearing things, a low buzzing noise like an alarm going off sounded, but it stopped as she became conscious of it. Next, she heard soft creaking noises. It reminded her of the noises in Briony’s cottage when she had slept over on the rare occasions - ‘settling’, Briony had called it, explaining that the house was relaxing after a long day. The idea of a house needing to rest after a long day had amused Primrose. Houses did not live; they were just a place to eat, sleep and grow.
Primrose was momentarily startled, above her head pin pricks of light started to appear. She blinked hard, hoping that the darkness was about to fade, but that did not stop her heart from beating faster from a sudden attack of nervous anticipation. The lights flickered. Primrose slowed her breathing and told herself to relax. The lights reminded her of the sparklers she had held on bonfire nights. However these lights did not dim but gradually became brighter, and
slowly the inside of the Ancient Tree was revealed.
Primrose looked around cautiously, giving her eyes time to adjust to the light. As she took everything in, she marvelled at what she saw.
The inside walls of the Tree had been planed and polished to an incredible smoothness. Ornately decorated murals were carved into the walls, depicting multiple forest scenes. Each one coloured in the rich, natural colours of ancient wood - deep oranges, a plethora of browns, warm reds and yellows.
The soft lighting complimented the décor; homely, comforting and welcoming. Looking up at the ceiling, Primrose noticed winding ivy had been etched into beams that met in the centre, from which a beautiful chandelier hung. Tiny, crystal roses dangled delicately from it and glittered brightly with many lights, like luminous fire flies. A stairway spiralled majestically in front of her, hugging the contours of the Tree. The bannister and newels were carved similarly to the wooden beams and the top of the bottommost post had been skilfully decorated with a single, perfect rose. Primrose was speechless.
A kitchen area was situated on Primrose’s left, from which a truly, appetising aroma wafted and tickled her nose; it made her stomach grumble loudly in both anticipation and appreciation. Along with the Aga and work area, a heavy, wooden table stood with two bench seats, waxed to highlight the natural wood grain to perfection.
On Primrose’s right there was a comfortable sitting room, with elegantly carved chairs adorned with deep, red, velvet cushions. They seemed to beckon her weary body to take a seat and relax, but Primrose would not sully their plushness with her unwashed body.
Primrose slowly stood up. Her muscles were stiff from staying still for so long, but she ignored the pain. She was totally in awe at everything she saw and decided to explore upstairs.
Her fingers lovingly caressed the exquisitely carved rose on the first post. As she touched the rose, soft lights lit each riser; highlighting each tread. She carefully placed each foot on each stair, thankful for the red, thick-piled carpet. She had no wish to scratch or dirty anything in this truly remarkable place. She couldn’t help it, she trailed her fingers gently along the inside wall and lovingly stoked the artistically carved bannister. She wished she had washed her hands first, but as her hand or finger made a mark, it magically disappeared!
At the top of the stairs, there was a door. On that door a name was carved - Primrose. Tears started to trickle slowly down her face. Her throat tightened as emotions she had not experienced in ages washed over her. She opened her door with the gentlest of touches to reveal a magnificent carved canopied bed with soft, cream furnishings and a bathroom through a partly opened door. Primrose knew she was home.
She noticed another staircase that led to another floor upstairs, but Primrose was only interested in the bathroom. She needed a wash desperately; the odour of fish and river water no longer suited the place she found herself in. Primrose wanted a bath. She wanted to wash away the dirt and grime embedded in her skin.
Entering the bathroom, Primrose noticed a white scalloped bath with a matching suite. She thought how wonderful it would be to soak in a deep, perfumed, soapy bath. To her amazement the faucets turned on, and warm water started to gush and gurgle into the deep bath. The scent of lavender filled the air. It was her favourite perfume. Amazing!
Primrose jumped violently. A grey figure was staring at her intently from the other side of the room and looked as shocked as she was. Primrose stepped forward, so did the grey figure. Primrose clenched her fists and was about to speak. The grey figure did the same. Primrose felt stupid as she realised that she was looking at her reflection in a long mirror, and laughed shakily, embarrassed by her mistake.
A truly horrific, filthy face stared back at her; spiky tufts of matted, dirty hair stuck out and framed her grubby face, which was engraved with deep, black lines, while purple-white streaks of dried, encrusted bird’s mess zig-zagged their way through her spiky hair and down her face.
She began to laugh loudly and wildly; tears ran down her cheeks adding to the mess that already coated her dry skin. She remembered a time when her mother, Violette, had said she was a mess. Now she knew how wrong her mother had been; her mother had no idea how messy, messy could be and for some unknown and inexplicable reason, Primrose found this extremely funny.
Primrose continued her examination; her clothes were grey, filthy, worn and smelt of fish and sweat. From her waist down, she was slightly cleaner, due to her prolonged contact with the river, and she could see faint traces of pink where her skin should be. But, most amazing of all was the stone monstrosity of a foot. It was definitely smaller and shaped more like an actual foot and no longer resembled a concrete block. Primrose had no idea how that had happened.
Primrose looked at the bath and thought it was going to take more than one immersion to get rid of the years of thick dirt that encrusted her body and change her back into some kind of recognisable being. It was time though to make that transition.
As she soaked in the warm, soapy, perfumed bathwater, she noticed above her head, an intricate carving of three young women with children. She briefly wondered who they were, but tonight she was going to relax, get clean, eat some of that hearty, wonderfully smelling broth that continued to send appetising wafts up the stairs, and then sleep in that comfortable, soft looking bed. A detailed exploration of her new home could wait until tomorrow.
Primrose did not know why or how she knew it, but she was absolutely certain that this wonderful, amazing place was hers and hers alone. The Ancient Tree had let her in and welcomed her home. All Primrose had had to do was find the way in and show a bit of patience; the Tree was doing the rest. She did not know to whom she spoke, but she said it anyway - thank you.
4. Primrose has a surprise or two
Two adults looked down on a peaceful family scene set in the forest, next to a stream. Two young women sat on the rocks. Each woman bounced a young child on their lap as one man looked on fondly. In the background, another younger woman seemed to be tickling trout in a small stream with another man; he appeared to be laughing at her attempts to catch one. Something else seemed to be staring down at the family group, but Primrose was unable to make out what it was exactly, due to the fragrant clouds of steam wafting above her head. Whatever it was, it gave her an unpleasant feeling.
Primrose lay soaking in yet another bath, determined to rid her skin of all the filth that still stained parts of her face and arms. The scent of lavender filled the air. Primrose breathed in deeply and sunk below the frothy bubbles, before studying the carving once more.
She thought that the two older adults must be dead as they looked down from the clouds, but she was sure she recognised one of the men as Jack or at least a younger version of him. That meant that the woman next to him was probably a younger Briony, which also meant that they had had a child, which could not be Elina, since the time line would be wrong… unless the other couple had had twins.
She wondered if the other woman was Violette or Vile Vi, her mother, as Primrose liked to call her. Primrose sneered at the thought and her stone foot, which hung over the bath, throbbed painfully. The foot had a tendency to ache when she thought less charitably towards things.
If the woman was Violette, could Primrose be the child that seemed to enjoy being bounced on its mother’s knee? Could the man that laughed at the girl tickling trout be her father, she wondered. Her stone foot tingled and ached pleasantly as she thought of the endless possibilities. They were obviously relatives of some sort. Primrose looked at the foot and sighed, it seemed to be talking to her now; perhaps she should add that to its ever-growing list of uses.
Once more, she sunk under the scented bubbles and immersed her body in the warm water, certain that she was one of the babies depicted in the carving. Her head spun with that idea, someone had definitely tampered with time. How could her mother have looked so young and Briony so worn and aged? How could she still be so young?
Had her mother used magic to keep them both young? If so, why hadn’t Briony used her magic to do the same for herself?
As she dried herself, she lifted her eyes to the carving once more and wondered who the other girl was that played in the river. She thought that maybe that was her, but Primrose looked down at her foot and felt nothing. She looked at the bouncing child and once more her foot tingled.
Primrose promised herself she would look at all the other wooden carvings the Ancient Tree possessed and search for more clues as to whom these people were. But as her stomach growled noisily, she knew breakfast beckoned.
What should she treat herself to this morning, she wondered? Once Briony had made her a lovely, creamy porridge drizzled with fresh honey, it had been absolutely delicious. How lovely it would be to savour and enjoy that special moment again?
Back in her room, Primrose had another surprise - a cupboard full of clothes. How the Tree knew her size baffled her, but Primrose was not going to complain. She gratefully chose a brand-new outfit - black jeggings and a yellow blouse. There was no way she wanted to wear the clothes of the day before, she had been wearing that particular outfit for thirteen years!
However, that was not the only surprise waiting for Primrose, when she entered the kitchen, she discovered another of her wishes had come true - breakfast! Primrose so loved this magical Tree.
As she savoured every morsel of the wonderful, honeyed porridge, she once again took in her surroundings. There were lots of carvings that needed to be studied, but there were two things that continued to draw her attention.
The first was a beautifully carved rocking cradle, and the second was a panel situated near the entrance; it was marked with an inexplicable design, almost like a burn. Both aroused her curiosity, but first she needed a drink and this time she was determined to make it herself. She was not prepared to let the Ancient Tree indulge her, at least not all of the time! She smiled as a thought flitted through her mind - the idea that she could become so lazy and never move again for yet another decade or so, but this time it would be due to piling on the pounds and not from being turned stone!
Unlikely Allies Page 2