by Rue
Flynn turned, hung her head, and shuffled after Master Sorrel. She leaned toward him and strained to hear.
“Hawthorn, I have always fancied that name. I considered your grandmother a veritable rogue in her day.” His rheumy eyes brightened with memory and he smiled.
Flynn had never thought of her grandmother as a ‘rogue’ and she wanted to tell him so, but she quickly remembered that she might be in trouble and kept her mouth shut.
“I did not arrive at the back of the room in time to observe where the burst of energy originated that levitated the entire class, but my hypothesis is that either Hazel or Lania bear some responsibility. What did you see, Flynn?” his soft voice gently prodding.
“Because we both know it couldn’t have been me, right, Master?”
He nodded affirmatively, clearly missing the sarcasm. “Did you observe anything?”
“No, sir. I had my eyes closed as you had instructed.”
“Very well. You are dismissed.” He shooed her away with the wave of his hand.
She quickly walked back to her friends. She thought she heard him say something about “we mice have business,” as she left, but she did not stop to find out.
Mistress Tamsin displayed a rare mood. After weeks of scowls and thinly veiled threats, her disposition had shifted with the position of the sun—as the earth warmed, her scorn had softened.
“I think I saw her smile,” Hazel whispered to Flynn.
“Impossible,” Flynn replied.
“What are you talking about?” Lania asked, bobbing her head on her willowy neck.
“Quiet, quiet, initiates,” Tamsin commanded.
The wind would not have dared to disobey. Silence engulfed the room.
“Today we are going out into the field to collect specimens. You will each receive the name of a species to collect and you will be expected to harvest the correct part of the correct plant in the proper amount, based on what you learned last month.”
Murmurs crept through the throng.
“I will take that incessant noise to mean that you have forgotten about harvesting respectfully and leaving the grandmother plant to continue to propagate.” Tamsin turned and let her heavy lids creep over her bulbous eyes, “Does anyone have a question?”
It was a dare. An invitation for the foolish to open their mouths and seal their fate.
“If we only find one plant, should we leave it and not harvest anything?” Po innocently asked.
“You may join your friends in the prep room when we return, Po. Let’s see,” she pretended to calculate something, “that makes ten days in a row, doesn’t it?”
Po opened his mouth to respond but Flynn’s hand grabbed his arm and tugged him backward.
“Find a partner and line up at the door,” Tamsin instructed.
Flynn saw Lania walking toward her and she didn’t have time to drop Po and get to Hazel. She glanced at Hazel and gave a look of “I’m sorry,” before she pulled Po to her side and announced, “Looks like we’re partners.”
Lania’s face clouded with disappointment, her thin lips pinched in a tight frown, but she spun around and latched onto Hazel as next best.
Mistress Tamsin walked by each pair and gave them their assignment. The duos wandered through the village in various directions, in search of their quarry.
The late spring lurked around the corner and many of the local plants were budding—a few sported blooms.
Flynn stopped to cradle a miniscule white snowdrop flower in her palm. She chuckled, “This would make a cute hat for Zip.”
“Who’s Zip?” Po asked.
She remembered she wasn’t with Hazel and mumbled some nonsense before she hurried along.
They were in search of burdock.
Flynn had a fairly good idea of the characteristics of that plant and led Po over to the sheep pastures.
They had each searched two sides of the pasture when Flynn turned to make a new plan with Po. She looked at his woolen pant leg, covered with spiky purple balls. “Where did those come from?”
“These?” Po reached down and brushed them off his lower leg. “I don’t know, over on the other side of the pasture, I guess.”
“Do you know what those are?” Flynn asked.
“Annoying, eh?” Po joked, unconsciously rubbing his scarred cheek.
“Those are burdock flowers. They were attached to burdock stalks, which grow from burdock roots—sound familiar?”
Po blushed and kicked his toe in the dirt. “Sorry, Flynn. I’m great with a carver’s chisel, but I’m lost with all these plants and flowers and weeds.”
Flynn and Po retraced his steps and found the patch of burdock.
“Hand me the shovel,” Flynn said.
“I thought you grabbed a shovel,” he replied.
Flynn plopped down into the damp grass and shook her head. “Well, master carver, can you carve me a shovel?”
Po grinned as wide as a giant clamshell and reached in his black boar skin satchel. “How about this?” He handed a long thin chisel to Flynn.
“That’s actually perfect.” She glanced over the patch and chose to respectfully harvest eight plants. She moved a wandering white butterfly from harm’s way, dug up four, and handed the tool back to Po. “All right, now you get four.” The smell of freshly turned earth filled her nostrils while she watched.
His work lacked precision and he didn’t manage to bring up the entire root bundle on his last plant, but he smiled with pride for his work all the same.
They wrapped up their plants and walked back to the Herb Hut.
Mistress Tamsin’s judgmental frame filled the doorway. “Back so soon?”
Flynn produced their bundle.
Mistress Tamsin barely glanced down, her thick eyelids sliding begrudgingly over her orb-like eyes. “And where did you harvest this?”
“On the far side of the sheep pasture,” Flynn announced proudly.
“You mean by the long drop?” Tamsin inquired.
Flynn hadn’t even noticed the public outhouse. She had been so intent on harvesting the right plant she forgot to check her surroundings.
“So, you would mean to make medicine from plants that may be poisoned by human waste?”
Po and Flynn shook their heads.
“Throw these into the fire in the prep room.” She handed the bundle back to Flynn. “And you might as well chop the rest of the rimu wood while you wait for your co-conspirator.”
“Grounding is canceled again,” Lania announced, on her way back from a fruitless trip to Master Sorrel’s training room. She flicked her long hair over her bony shoulder and asked, “Can I walk to Tamsin’s with you?”
Flynn exchanged a weary glance with Hazel. “Sure, whatever you want.” She wanted to tell Lania to stop following them around like an orphaned moa chick, but after months of attempts to shake their permanent shadow the girls had resigned themselves to her presence.
The three girls turned toward their new destination and Lania immediately resumed her annoying habit of asking endless questions.
“What do you think happened to Master Sorrel? I mean he’s been gone for nearly an entire moon cycle. My mother said he had a family issue that needed tending in Piper Run, but I wonder.”
“Yes, you do,” Flynn mumbled.
“Did he gives us any homework before he left?” she asked.
“Why are you asking us? You’re in the same training session,” Flynn replied.
Lania clutched her chest and mumbled to herself, “Level One sessions—Divination—psychometry, yes, yes.” She looked up, pleased that she had solved the puzzle. “Have you been practicing your psychometry?”
“My what?” Flynn asked.
“Oh, um, you call it reading the energy in found objects,” Lania explained, with a fidgety grin.
“That’s what we all call it, Lania, and that’s Divination,” Hazel interjected. She dropped the cowrie shell she had been rubbing into her satchel and tilted her head to stu
dy the interloper.
“Yes, of course. Have you practiced?” Lania asked.
Flynn shook her head and shrugged at Hazel. “Not really.”
“Oh, that’s good,” said Lania.
Flynn laughed, in spite of her irritation with Lania. “Sure, that’s great. I’m sure to fail.” She took a mocking bow.
Lania laughed nervously, “Right, that would be bad?”
“Is that a question?”
“No, no, no. It would be bad.” Lania put extra effort into adding the correct inflection to her voice.
Hazel exhaled loudly, turned to step in front of Lania and stopped to face her. “Lania, what in the world is wrong with you, and why have you been following us around forever?”
Lania stood stark still. She clutched at her chest and pulled her tunic.
Flynn saw a carefully braided cord that disappeared under the neckline of Lania’s blouse. She couldn’t see what hung from the cord, but judging by the size of the lump under the girl’s hand it must have been a small pouch of some kind.
“Lania? Lania?” Hazel looked at Flynn, “She’s staring off into space like a sleep walker again.”
Flynn waved her hand in front of Lania’s eyes and the girl did not react. “What do you think that thing is under her shirt?”
“What thing?” Hazel asked.
“See that cord? She’s got something under her hand…” Flynn’s voice faded as she slowly pried Lania’s spindly fingers open.
The girl’s hand remained frozen in midair.
Hazel reached for the cord and gently pulled it up, bit by bit.
The mysterious item suspended from the braided cord would surface—
“What do you think you’re doing?” Lania shouted and clamped her hand on the object under her blouse.
Flynn shot a worried look at Hazel and improvised, “You stopped talking, and so, we thought maybe you couldn’t breathe—maybe your necklace—”
“Do not lay a hand on me, Flynn Hawthorn.” The voice sounded like Lania’s, but much more steady and commanding. Her dark brown eyes flashed with a fierceness she did not possess.
Flynn and Hazel stepped away from Lania.
“We’ve got to get to Mistress Tamsin’s,” Hazel said.
“Um, yeah, bye,” Flynn added.
The girls had taken three or four hasty steps on the road when they were stopped in their tracks.
“I saw you exiting the House of Magickal Items on that moonless winter’s night.”
Hazel put her hand on Flynn’s back and poked—hard.
“What? You must be mistaken, Lania. Only the Grand Coven can enter the House.” Flynn could feel her heart racing, but she struggled to keep her expression calm.
Lania took a step toward them. “I know what I saw. And if you don’t take me with you, next time, I’ll tell the High Priestess.”
Flynn could feel her insides vibrating with fear and anger. “Lania, we don’t know how to get into the House. I swear.”
“The boy knows.”
Hazel ceased her merciless poking and stepped toward Lania. “ ‘The boy’? You know his name, Lania. What is his name?”
Lania’s eyes glazed over and she clutched once more at her chest.
Flynn grabbed Hazel’s arm and spun her around. “Call Mr. Mango. I think we have a situation.”
Mr. Mango raced at top speed while Hazel and Flynn hung on for dear life. It is impossible to have a conversation while bouncing on the back of a moa in full stride, so the girls rode in silence. They sped toward the once forbidden wood, which housed their only hope.
They could see the tops of the silver-leafed birch trees of Dreamwood Forest and Hazel placed her hand firmly on Mr. Mango’s thick neck, giving him the signal to slow down. “I’m not sure if he’ll spook and throw me off, like last time—but if he does I want to survive the fall.”
Flynn nodded.
He stopped a good distance from the dark forest and the girls hopped down from their perch. Hazel gave him the signal to roam and they walked toward the humid woodland—the smell of decay and mystery filled the air.
“Now what?” Hazel asked.
Before Flynn could respond a cloud of flickering faeries floated from the dense underbrush.
Hazel’s face softened, her eyes smiled, and she eagerly walked toward them.
Flynn bluffed.
She extracted the wand of Temarama from its secret pocket and held it aloft. She didn’t know how she spoke Meshwing, so she just looked at the cloud of fae and said, “We come to speak with Pounamu, the witch of the forest. I bear the wand of the all-powerful Temarama. You will take us safely to Pounamu’s cottage.”
Most of the faeries fled into the inky depths of the forest as soon as Flynn brandished the wand.
A small red faery floated down to face Flynn.
“Zip, is that you?” Flynn asked.
“You are a strange and silly flesh bag. Put that wand away before you hurt yourself.” Zip whooshed around and waited until the wand returned to its hiding place before he returned.
“Take us to Pounamu,” Flynn demanded.
“Manners, youngling. Mind your manners,” Zip replied.
Flynn took a deep breath and smiled. “My dearest Zip, would you kindly lead us to the witch of the wood?”
“On my honor, Flynn Kapowai Hawthorn.”
Much to Hazel’s surprise, she awoke deep in Dreamwood Forest with a fluttering, glowing guide. “What happened?”
“You went faery foolish, as usual, and I had to save the day,” Flynn replied with a chuckle.
Zip stopped, turned toward the girls, and hummed loudly.
“Yes, of course,” Flynn replied. “Zip says to tell you that he saved the day and we are a couple of lucky flesh bags.”
Hazel looked back and forth between the faery and Flynn, still not totally able to accept that her friend could speak to these magickal creatures.
Their guide resumed his flight pattern and before long they saw the smoke rising from Pounamu’s stone chimney.
“Oh, good, she’s home.” Flynn exhaled a breath she hadn’t realized she’d been holding. The forest unnerved her; she had the unsettling feeling that something tucked into the silence watched her every move.
Zip made one last pestering swoop past Flynn’s ear and shouted some nasty taunts as he disappeared into the trees.
The girls ran to the cabin’s front door and knocked loudly.
“Pounamu? Are you home? It’s Flynn and Hazel.”
The girls thought they heard voices and some scuffling, but before they could knock again the door flew open. “My darlings!” Pounamu caught them both in a huge hug. “Quickly, come inside.” She pushed them across the threshold, looked over her shoulder, and locked the door behind.
Both girls were talking at once and neither of them could be understood.
She took their cloaks while there were babbling and hung them on solid wooden pegs by the door. “Slow down, my darlings, we have nothing but time.” Pounamu sat down in her chair and smoothed her tan linen shift. “Let’s begin with how you found your way through Dreamwood, hmmm?” she asked.
Hazel shrugged, “I don’t remember.”
Flynn left out the bit about the wand brandishing and replied, “I asked Zip to guide us and he gave his word of honor.”
“He must truly fancy you, Flynn. Honor is not a thing the fae take lightly.” Pounamu put the kettle in the fire. “Would you girls like a bit of chamomile tea? You both seem highly agitated.”
“Yes, please,” they replied.
“All right, Flynn, why don’t you begin?”
“The oak tree told me Temarama wants to speak to me and Hazel thinks Mistress Windemere is working for the Shadow Coven of Southeil.”
Pounamu stiffened and her eyes darted to the corner of the cabin. “Quite a lot has happened, my darlings, but I am sure you don’t have to worry about Windemere. I’ve known her all her life and her loyalties lie with Kahu.”
&
nbsp; “But that’s just it, some people that we’ve known forever are acting strange and following us around, and—”
“Who’s following you?” Pounamu’s voice took on a commanding tone.
“Lania,” Flynn replied.
“Hmmm,” Pounamu rubbed her amulet and gazed into the fire. “The tea can wait, tell me everything.”
Hazel told her about Lania’s endless questions, forgetting people’s names, and not remembering homework assignments.
Flynn hesitantly told about Lania seeing them exiting the House of Magickal Items a few moons ago.
Pounamu waved a hand over Hazel and the girl drifted into a trance. “Did you find it?”
Flynn didn’t know what to say, she chewed the inside of her cheek and did not answer.
The emerald green eyes glowed and Flynn felt herself pulled into the flickering astral plane with Pounamu.
“Is it safe? Can anyone hear us?” Flynn asked.
“Speak freely, my darling.”
“It looked like the wall from my vision, but solid—it didn’t fade in and out. The wand pulled me toward it and I passed through. I saw The Book of Light. I touched it.”
“Did you open the book?”
“I did.”
“What did you feel?”
“My heart burst with compassion.”
“Ahhh, yes.” Pounamu smiled softly.
“But I heard them calling for me, Hazel and Po, so I slipped back through and pretended to be lost in the items.”
“Did you tell them of The Book?”
“Only you.”
“And so it shall be.”
Flynn jolted back into her body and saw Hazel blink and shake her head.
“Tell me more about Lania,” Pounamu said to Hazel.
“She stares off into midair and she has something around her neck that she won’t let us see.”
“Did she follow you into the House of Magickal Items?”
“No, she said she saw us coming out. But she couldn’t remember Po’s name and she’s known him her whole life.” Hazel waved her hands in frustration.
“Flynn, get my silver platter. I must look at this girl and her necklace.”
Flynn placed the tray before the hearth and Pounamu slowly poured the dark liquid into it. A fog rose up and cleared.