by Liz Williams
A familiar light, too. A seagreen marshfire flicker.
Result! So where was Stare? Hopefully he would have fallen in somewhere and drowned. But just in case… Stella searched around her and found a gnarly spine of driftwood. She banged it on a stone to see if it broke. It did not. “You will do,” Stella said to it. She seemed to be getting the hang of this carrying-weapons business. Then she ran down the bluff, keeping an eye out on either side.
It wasn’t until she was further along the bluff that Stella saw him. Stare, in his dark clothes, blended in against the black background of the sea better than the star herself. She stood, feet braced on the wet sand, with the marshfire light flickering about her face and hair. She looked alien and electric and – if this was some kind of standoff – Stella did not fancy Tam’s chances. He had his back to her. If she could sneak up on him and whack him over the head… but as she sidled closer, Tam raised his hand and she saw it glow white.
What the hell? If he could do that, Stella asked herself, then why hadn’t he provided its not inconsiderable light earlier on when they needed it? She hesitated, half expecting some kind of magical battle: lightning bolts thrown, light sabre manifestations in frost and seagreen. But this did not happen. She felt a breath of deep cold whistle past her ear and the temperature dropped enough to make her give a sudden shudder. She thought: but stars come from the depth of space, the killing cold, so – then Tam Stare spoke a name.
Stella didn’t know how she knew it to be a name, but it wasn’t one humans were meant to hear, let alone speak. It made the sea ring. She clapped her hands to her ears to shut it out but the echoes went on and on and she saw the star crumple and fall to the ground. Stella picked up the driftwood, which she had dropped, and raced forwards. She swung the heavy branch at the back of Tam’s head but it did not connect. Instead, it was as though Stella had received the blow. She was knocked off her feet and off the bluff, down into the water.
Bee
Now that Drake had taken them out of the storm, Bee was able to see more of the coast. It was like looking through a rainy windowpane, water-streaked but still transparent. She could see the white cliffs of the Isle of Wight to the south, shining in the sunlight, and behind them crouched the grey bulk of Hurst Castle. The little boat skimmed the waves like the swallow inked on Ned Dark’s arm. Drake himself stared straight ahead, intent as a hunting cat. Bee did not like to ask where they were going and she was missing the comforting size of the Hind, now riding at anchor far down the Solent. In this little boat, even with Dark and Drake alongside her, she could not help thinking of that sharp-toothed face and sharper arm reaching up out of the wildness of the water towards her. If it had reached her, Bee had no doubt that it would have dragged her down and not to make coral of her bones. More probably to suck out the marrow. She’d never be inclined to trail her hand in the water again.
She was not sure whether the storm had dissipated or whether it had turned inland. The coast, apart from Hurst and the island itself, lay in shadow. Dark rowed on, towing the sun behind.
Stella
Stella went down through green water. The breath had once more been knocked from her lungs although she had managed to take a deep breath just before she hit the waves. There was one thought in her mind: fuck you, Tam Stare. She couldn’t get her Converse off and they were dragging her under but she struck upwards anyway, strong swimmer’s memory kicking in and taking over. The current was too strong, however. She broke the surface and breathed, but saw that the shore was already a long way off. Bollocks. But there was land further out, a kind of bar at the estuary’s mouth and it was then that Stella knew where she was. This was the second time she’d fallen into this river. It was the mouth of the Beaulieu and she was being swept out to the patch of salt marsh called Gull Island.
Being marooned on Gull Island was a pain but not as bad as the alternative, which was drowning and she might well do that instead because she could feel herself being pulled under. Stella fought back, but it was night-black below and very cold: it would be the cold that would kill. Then something grasped her ankle. Stella, fuelled by a spurt of adrenaline, kicked out hard but she was rolled over and up. She could see sunlight above the surface of the water – how did that work? It had been pitch black a minute ago. She broke the surface, choked and spluttered, but she was breathing. Something was holding her up. Stella looked down in panic and saw two hands clasped around her waist. The fingers were slender and delicate, human except for the long black claws. It let her go and Stella, splashing, rolled over and saw a white face with enormous black eyes, a skein of brown hair. It grinned at her. Its teeth were points.
What the hell are you? – but she had seen it before. Memory came flooding back like a riptide. Falling over the side of the boat down into the glassy reach of the river and something, someone, had caught her before she had reached the clinging, tangling weeds. It had played with her, laughing underwater, as Stella struggled, and there had been something friendly and cruel about it but it had not let her drown. And it was not letting her drown now. Stella struck out in a breaststroke, heading for Gull Island, but she did not reach it. There was a shout, the clop of oars, and Stella was seized and pulled bodily from the water. She collapsed face down and undignified in the bottom of a rowing boat and rolled over to find herself in her horrified sister’s lap.
“Bee!” Stella sat up. Ahead, the grey-green grass of Gull Island waved in the wind and the island was a huge run of shadow across the Solent. At the rivermouth, something brown and sleek broke the water for a second and arrow-waked away.
“Oh, there’s an otter!” said Bee, excited. Dark swung the rowing boat around.
“Take us onto the river tide,” the captain said.
Serena
Serena couldn’t help wondering how Ward’s investigations at Amberley were going, but there were things to be done in the meantime. She was hoovering the ground floor when Nell came in.
“Can I do anything?” Her brow was furrowed. “I’d ask Bee but I can’t find her.”
“Bee had to run Stella up to Bristol,” Serena lied. “One of her contact lenses dropped out.” Appalling how easily deception was starting to come to her.
“Oh no! What a nuisance. Isn’t there anyone more local?”
“There are opticians in Street but they have some special coating, apparently –” where was she getting this stuff from? “– so Bristol it had to be.”
“I hope she gets it sorted,” Nell said. “Anyway, can I help, in fact?”
“You could vacuum upstairs, if you like. But wait till Luna gets up, she’s still in bed.”
“I’ll do some dusting until she emerges,” Nell said. “Then I’ll hoover.”
Once Nell had disappeared, lugging the Henry, Serena bagged up all the rubbish that had accumulated in the kitchen and sorted it into the recycling boxes. Then she ran the dishwasher a second time and put a laundry basket’s worth of clothes in the washing machine. With gadgets whirring around her, and the black and green boxes stacked in the yard, she had a satisfying moment of virtue and good housewifery. At least something wasn’t in total chaos. As she surveyed her small queendom, her daughter said through the kitchen door,
“Mum? If I’m careful, can I go up to the attic?”
“Yes, if you want to. Why do you want to?”
“Just to see what’s up there. I’m reading this book and this girl goes into an attic and she finds a load of stuff.”
“Just watch your footing. Don’t fall down the stairs.”
“I won’t, Mum.” Only a mild eyeroll.
“And don’t make too much noise! Luna and Sam are still asleep and she’ll be tired if she’s having a baby, remember.”
At this, Bella became quite serious and said, “No, I won’t. I’ll be really quiet, like a mouse.”
She vanished upwards. Maybe teenagehood wouldn’t be quite as bad as Serena feared. At least Bella was still reading books, unlike a lot of her school friends. How middl
e class you sound, Serena told herself. Especially given the amount of time you spend on Instagram. Talking of which… She checked her phone but there were no messages from Bee or Stella. As she was staring at the screen, however, a text pinged into view.
On my way back.
Ward. When had he sent it? But in the way of important messages, the sender was at the door by the time the text had arrived, looking screen-villainous in black jeans and a polo neck.
“Good morning. Did you get my text?”
“Just this moment.”
“Typical. Good thing it wasn’t life or death.” He sat down at the kitchen table and ran his hands through his hair. “Jesus. Well, that was like getting blood out of a stone.”
“Oh dear.”
“I spoke to Caro. I finally managed to prise her away from Richard and Laura, both of whom kept bursting in with endless questions to do with horses. Why are horses so complicated? No wonder someone invented the internal combustion engine.”
“So what did she say?”
“I tried to be subtle. You know me. I can do subtle. I’m not totally clod-hopping when it comes to obliqueness and subtext. I went to RADA, after all. I tried a number of opening gambits, from Shakespeare’s more things in heaven and Earth, to whether anyone had seen any ghosts recently, and my cousin proved remarkably obtuse, I must say. So eventually I said “So has anyone in this family ever physically changed into an animal?” and she dropped a cup.”
“So had they?” Serena was fascinated.
“Well, she wouldn’t tell me. She said, was I joking, so I said no, I was deadly serious, and she said what on Earth had ever given me that idea: we weren’t living in Harry Potter and it was impossible. Is it really, I said, fixing her with my basilisk gaze, because I could swear blind that someone known to me just did it.”
“Oh my God.”
“And I’m presuming that she noticed my absence last night, even if she was too polite to mention it. Anyway, she started trembling. Literally. She got down on her knees and kept picking up the bits of cup and moving them about like a bloody jigsaw until I told her to stop and then she cut her hand.”
“Oh, poor Caro!”
“So there was a bit of a hiatus while we found sticking plaster and so forth, then someone else came in with a horse question, and just as I was about to offer to run her into A&E just to get some fucking peace and quiet, she pulled herself together and said I mustn’t ever say anything about this, ever. I told her I was not in the habit of propping up the bar of the Ivy telling my mates about shapeshifters in Somerset. Then she calmed down a bit, apologised, and said that it wasn’t her secret, but it was something to do with Rich’s family – so, my family, in fact – and that Richard’s mother had entrusted her with a piece of information which she couldn’t reveal because, apparently, it is not for men to know. This last was said in capital letters, if you know what I mean.”
“Interesting!”
“It is a women’s thing. I didn’t really know where to take it from that point because Caro obviously wasn’t going to tell me anything else and I could hardly beat it out of her. It was kind of a conversation ender. I asked her if Richard knew anything about it and she said that she didn’t think he did. This beggars belief according to me, but really, Serena, Richard’s a nice chap but he’s never been in the top ten when it comes to powers of observation. I once went with him on someone’s stag night to Barcelona and we walked past the Segrada Familia on the way to some bar. I mentioned ‘that amazing building’ and he said, ‘What amazing building?’”
“He really notices horses, though. He’s brilliant when it comes to something being wrong with the way they walk, Mum once told me.”
“Yes, maybe it’s like tunnel vision or something. But anyway, that’s that. Caro started washing up rather fiercely and she looked as if she was in danger of becoming really upset, so I thanked her for a difficult conversation and slunk away.”
“I hope it doesn’t cause problems for Bee.”
“The thing is, she might tell Bee what’s up. She might tell you, if you went over and fessed up.”
“Would she really want a daughter in law who turns into a hare, though?”
Ward gave her a searching look. “Are you ever going to be her daughter in law, though?”
“I don’t know.”
“Do you want to be?”
“I don’t know. Any more.”
“This is the point where I’m supposed to press you to my manly bosom, confess my undying devotion to you and tell you it’s going to be all right, isn’t it? But I’m not sure that’s true. Going to be all right, that is.”
“It’s not that –”
“Not what?” But Serena was silent.
“Look, I’ve been around the block. I’m not dim enough to think that just because we had a valedictory fuck, we’re back on.”
“Would you like to be ‘back on’?” Serena asked in a rather small voice.
“Actually, you know what, yes, I think I would. But, depending how you feel about my idiot cousin – would you?”
Serena opened her mouth to reply, although she was not sure what was going to emerge from it, when Bella burst in through the door.
“Mum! Mum, I’ve found something in the attic.”
Luna
Luna, Moth and Ver March made their way along the silver ley of the lych path. They were not talking. Ver had told Luna to keep her lips sealed.
“Words can drop out when you don’t mean them to and who knows where they might end up?”
“All right,” Luna said, though she was burning with questions. They followed the track up the slope opposite where the caravan was parked, then down again, then up until they came onto a high ridge of land. Before them, the plain was dark. The lych path was faltering into a scattering of silvery dew on the short turf and a yard or so ahead, it was gone. Luna looked out across the distance. She knew where they were now, but there was no sign of the illuminated grid of Swindon or the line of the M4. But when she looked to the east, she could see the comet, burning bright. From the look of the land, it was wooded all below the ridge.
Ver took her by the sleeve and plucked. They stepped away from end of the lych path and Ver led her into a thorn brake. The earth had worn away beneath the trees and the chalk bones of the world were visible below.
“I hope this is far enough,” Ver said. She coughed. “I tell you what, my girl – I’m not used to all this exercise, these days. I ought to sign up to one of those gyms.”
“I’m sorry,” Luna said, feeling guilty. She had brought a problem to Ver’s door, after all.
“It’s not your fault, my love. It’s just how things are. Your knees get knackered and that’s no one’s fault. Anyway, we’ve followed the path as far as it goes and this is where we’ll find your mum.”
“This is near Wayland’s Smithy,” Luna said.
“That’s right. We’re in White Horse Country now. I’ll need a drop of your blood.”
Luna hesitated, but only for a moment. “Okay.” She pulled off her mitten and the fingerless glove underneath it.
“Hold your finger out.” Luna did so. She felt a pinprick of pain and then there was a welling bead on the end of her index finger. She knew it was red but in the moonlight it seemed black. Ver snapped off a spine of blackthorn and from her pocket she took a twist of thread.
“It’s red wool, if you ever want to do this again.” She mopped up the wetness from Luna’s finger and tied the bloody thread to the thorn, leaving an end so that the thorn dangled from it. “But you’ve got to spin it yourself, old school. Can’t just go into a knitting shop. There you go.”
“What do I do with it? Is it like a pendulum?”
“More or less.” Ver pressed the end of the thread into Luna’s hand. “See what it does.”
Luna held the thorn up to the moon and it began to twist and spin. She held her breath until it settled, the sharp point of the thorn indicating due east.
“Are you coming with me?” she asked Ver March, but the old woman said, “No. This bit you have to do on your own. I’m sure your doggy will go with you, though. But I will wait for you. I’ll have a sit down.”
Luna nodded and with Moth began walking east. The moon rode low in the sky and she could feel the comet’s presence now, a disruption at the edge of the world. It made her twitchy and nervous, like a horse that senses a threat. She held the thorn out in front of her and though the ground was rough and Luna’s steps were uneven, the thorn did not falter but remained rigid and horizontal. A dark mass rose ahead: the beech trees in which the Smithy was situated. Luna swallowed hard and walked into the grove.
She could see the outlines of the stones. They rose in a series of shelves and points. The largest stones, vaguely triangular in shape and reminding her of her grandfather’s tomb, were taller than Luna herself. As with all standing stones, especially at night, she felt that they were somehow alive and that she was trespassing on their peace.
“I’m sorry,” she whispered. Beside her, the lurcher whined. But the stones were still watching.
Stella
By now, Stella thought she had more or less got her bearings although it was possible that the landscape had changed, and she wasn’t overly familiar with the mouth of the Beaulieu river: it was years since they’d been down here, after all. She navigated as best she could, issuing Dark with instructions. Drake sat in the prow, with an expression best described as ‘inscrutable,’ Stella thought. She wondered who he was taking orders from: Elizabeth the Queen? His Elizabeth, that is, not the current incumbent. Or perhaps in this curious hinterland to life he obeyed his own orders.