“So are you on holiday?”
“Nah. Or, yes. I guess so.” It was the most bizarre holiday I’d ever had. “Are you back from the hospital now?”
“They let me go home the day before yesterday. My head still hurts, especially when I try to play AutoCrash, but the doctor says that will stop soon.”
“That’s good.”
I desperately wanted to tell him how much I missed him, but I didn’t. You don’t say I miss you to a boy who isn’t your boyfriend. Do you?
I could hear noises in the background. The buzz of an intercom, voices, footsteps from the stairwell. Oscar’s dog, Woofer, was barking in that excited and agitated labrador-way that meant they had visitors. I heard Oscar’s mum speak to someone.
“Magnus and Kit are here,” Oscar said. “We’re going to make popcorn and watch DVDs. I’ll call you later, OK?”
I could hear he was about to hang up.
“No, wait,” I called out. “You can’t. I’ll have to call you.”
“Why?”
“Because there’s no signal here. Not unless I walk up the hill where I’m sitting now.”
“So where does your aunt live? Farflungistan?”
“You’re only half wrong.”
“All right, I’ll text you instead. See you later.”
And he was gone. I was left quite unreasonably envious of Kit and Magnus, who were about to veg out on the sofa cushions on the floor with Oscar and stuff themselves with popcorn and watch trash TV.
“Farflungistan,” I muttered darkly to myself. “That’s exactly what it is.”
I trudged back down the hill. Kahla had gone home for the day. Her dad had picked her up just as he had done the other three days I’d been here. Every morning he would drop her off at the gate and every afternoon he would pick her up again. Not in a car, but on foot, so I guessed they had to live nearby.
Aunt Isa had lit a lamp and was drawing at the large table by the window, I could see. A fat mallard waddling around the table appeared to be today’s model. Duck cards sold well, Aunt Isa had told me. By the looks of it, even a wildwitch needed to earn hard cash every now and then.
I didn’t go inside. Aunt Isa thought I’d gone out to tend to Star, so I decided I’d better do that. Of all the animals that lived with Aunt Isa, Star was my favourite – except for Bumble. She was a small, tough, round-backed mare; not exactly a glamorous thoroughbred, but good-natured and strong, and with four sturdy legs and a bristly, upright mane that suggested there was a bit of Norwegian Fjord Horse in her somewhere.
She was grazing in the field that was sheltered by the tall trees near the brook but when I called her, she raised her head, greeted me with a happy neigh and trotted towards the gate. Her stomach and chest were plastered with mud and her golden-brown winter coat was matted from the rain.
“Come on, horsey. Let me rub you down,” I said, and she followed me willingly into the stable. I tied her to one of the rings in the wall while I rubbed her fairly dry and brushed the worst of the mud off her. One of the goats came over to say hello, and Star lowered her neck and snorted at it. Because there were no other horses here, Star had adopted the goats as her herd, Aunt Isa said. They kept each other company and got on well even though they were very different. That was more than could be said for Kahla and me. I don’t know why she was so snappy and angry with me all the time. If only she’d been a little nicer, living here in Farflungistan would have been much more fun and not nearly as lonely.
Grooming the horse cheered me up. Until a year ago I’d been having lessons in an old riding school by the town hall park, but then the council decided to shut it down for safety reasons, and that was the end of my having horses within a fifteen-minute bike ride. The riding school moved out of town, which meant I had to catch two different buses and it would have taken me more than an hour to get there, so now I only went when Mum had time to drive me. I missed it so much, both the horses and my riding friends, especially Mia, Laura and Anna. And Magic, who was the horse I’d ridden the most, and on whom I’d even been allowed to take part in club events. Star might not be anybody’s idea of an eventer, and would probably roll around laughing if you asked her for an extended trot or tried to get her to jump over anything taller than a tree trunk, but she had a warm, soft muzzle and friendly eyes, and at least she smelled of horse. Of wet and muddy horse and a little bit of goat. She was definitely better than nothing.
While I was trying to brush the mud out of Star’s thick black tail, I got a strange feeling of being watched. I looked up. Hoot-Hoot was sitting on one of the beams above me, but he wasn’t the one spying on me. He flapped his wings anxiously and turned his head in that 360° way that only owls can do. Then, without warning, he took off and swooped over Star’s head and mine with a shrill cry.
My heart skipped a beat. Star snorted and shook her head. One of the goats bleated nervously.
“Clara!” Aunt Isa was calling me in a sharp and very firm voice. “Get inside, now!”
I hadn’t finished with Star. She still had mud in her tail and I hadn’t yet given her fresh hay. But there was something in Aunt Isa’s tone that made me put the brush down on the feed bin and leave the stable immediately.
It was almost as dark in the yard as it had been inside the stable. The rain was only a misty drizzle now, but the wind was rising and the branches of the chestnut tree at the end of the farmhouse were swaying and rocking. Aunt Isa was standing in the doorway with a lamp behind her and Hoot-Hoot on her shoulder, looking just as hunched as the very first time I’d seen her.
“Hurry up!” she shouted.
I ran across the yard and ducked under the door with Bumble on my heels.
“What is it?” I asked.
“The wildways have opened. I think someone’s looking for you.”
“The wildways?”
“I’m going out. Close the door after me and bolt it. Then go and wait in the kitchen; I’ll tap on the window when I want to get back in. I won’t be long.”
She took a hurricane lamp, lit it and went outside. I bolted the door just like she’d told me to.
What did she mean by “the wildways have opened”? And what was she doing outside? The duck had jumped down from the table and was cowering behind the log basket. Every now and then it let out a fearful little quack, as if hoping someone would reassure it that it wasn’t alone. I knew exactly how it felt. I curled up on the sofa and pressed my nose against the window to get a better look at what was going on in the November twilight outside.
I could see the bobbing beam of light from the hurricane lamp and behind it my aunt’s figure, still with Hoot-Hoot on her shoulder. She was walking towards the gate and the white stones. When she reached them, she hung the lamp on a fence post and stood still for a long time. I think she was singing. I couldn’t hear her, but a sense of… tranquillity began to spread. It was as if the flame in the lamp burned more steadily, as if the wind blew less fiercely and the chestnut branches scraped less angrily against the roof. The duck stopped quacking and tucked its beak under its wing.
Aunt Isa returned shortly afterwards. I think she saw my face through the glass because she didn’t tap on the window as she’d said she would, but just waited until I unbolted and opened the door.
“So what happened?” I asked.
“There was unrest on the wildways,” she said. “But I strengthened the boundaries of my ward and I think they’re safe now.”
“What’s wrong with the wildways? What does that even mean?”
“Put the kettle on so we can have a cup of tea. Then I’ll explain it to you.”
I had a cheese sandwich with jam and a mug of tea while my aunt turned my world upside down by telling me how everything was actually connected.
“When Chimera turned up and you were nearly run over by that lorry… what happened?” she asked.
“It was foggy,” I said. “We had to get off our bikes and push them because we couldn’t see where we were going. Sudd
enly it was as if the pavement disappeared. And then she came. Out of the fog.”
Aunt Isa nodded.
“That’s the wildways,” she said. “The fog, or rather the pathways inside it. Anything born wild uses the wildways – to hear more than it can usually hear. To hide better or to hunt better. You used them when you scared off the fleas – and the rest of the forest while you were at it.” She smiled to let me know that she was only joking. “A fully fledged wildwitch can enter the wildways in the foglands in one place and come out somewhere else. That’s one of the reasons why I have ward boundaries. So that only those I’ve invited can enter.”
“Can you… walk the wildways?”
“Yes. But I don’t do it very often.”
“But you could? And go… anywhere you wanted?”
“Well, it’s not quite that simple. For example, it’s easier to find a place you’ve visited before. The hardest thing about the wildways is finding your way around them.”
“But if you suddenly wanted to… oh, let’s say, go on holiday to Barbados? Then you could do it – even though it’s a really long way away?”
“I wouldn’t do it just to go on holiday.”
“But you could? Without buying a plane ticket? Completely free?”
She drank a mouthful of her tea and shook her head.
“Nothing is free, Clara. It costs something other than money.”
“I would love to be able to do that,” I said, and thought that if Aunt Isa could nip off to Barbados just like that, perhaps I could learn to make my way to the riding school without having to catch two different buses. I mean, it was much closer than Barbados.
Then I remembered Star.
“I never gave Star her hay,” I said.
“We can do it together,” Aunt Isa said. “I need to check up on her and the other animals. They can sense when something happens, and it makes them jittery.”
I bit my lip. Just as I’d finally discovered one good thing about being a wildwitch, Isa brought me back to earth. I would clearly not be popping off to the riding school for the foreseeable future. Not as long as Chimera was waiting out there in the fog on the wildways.
“You said that someone was looking for me. Was that Chimera?”
Aunt Isa took the hurricane lamp from the hook by the door and stuck her feet in her wellies again.
“Probably,” she said. “It’s either Chimera – or that big black monster cat of yours.”
The cat. I automatically touched my forehead, where the claw marks were still visible although the scars were now less red. I would almost rather be found by Chimera.
CHAPTER 10
Fire and Ashes
“No, Clara. Try again. Watch Kahla.”
I got utterly fed up of hearing those words in the week that followed. Kahla could make fleas line up in ranks and salute her. Kahla could summon a single rook from a tree without the other birds taking off. Kahla could locate a specific ant in an anthill. And she could blend into the landscape so well that Bumble and I would walk straight past her without ever knowing she was there.
Kahla was so clever. Kahla could do everything that I couldn’t do.
If only she had been nice – or even halfway friendly. But she kept scowling at me as if she would love nothing more than to turn me into a beetle and squash me.
“Are you sure you’re not wrong?” I asked Aunt Isa while we gave Bumble, Star, the goats and all the other more or less resident animals their breakfast feed.
“About what?”
“About me being a wildwitch.”
Yesterday Aunt Isa had told me to call Bumble wildwitch style: without saying anything and without his being able to see me. Bumble hadn’t stirred from the spot. He’d just sat there by the pond on his big brown bottom, mesmerized by the acorns that plopped into the water at regular intervals. He hadn’t even wagged his tail. And this was Bumble we were talking about. The world’s friendliest dog. Meanwhile, Kahla was making the rooks come and go as if they were bike messengers she could simply call on her wildwitch telephone. “Rook number four from the left, yes, you with the long beak… come to me, would you?” It was driving me crazy. “It’s so easy for Kahla!”
“Kahla’s parents have been playing wildwitch games with her since she was three years old. You won’t reach her level in a week, sweetheart.”
Star buried her muzzle in the hay and started munching. I stroked her woolly neck.
“But when will I? When can I go home?”
I missed my mum and I missed Oscar. And he hadn’t texted me, either, even though he’d promised. Or perhaps I hadn’t got his text – who knew if things like that even worked out here in Farflungistan?
Isa looked at me. “Is this making you very upset?” she asked. “Do you hate all of it or do you enjoy some parts?”
I needed a moment to think about that because up until now I had been focusing mostly on things I found stupid, dangerous and irritating.
“I like all the animals,” I said slowly. “And I like Star and Bumble. And you.”
“And I like you too, Clara sweetheart.”
“If it was just a holiday,” I said. “If I knew that I would be going home to Mum’s in a week or two, or… I mean, if I could just be sure. And if it wasn’t for the cat and Chimera…” It might have been exciting to learn all this wildwitch magic if the situation hadn’t been so desperate. Or if I had been any good at it. Or if Kahla had been nicer.
“Try to focus on the positive,” Aunt Isa said. “And you’ll have a better day.”
I tried. I really did. But the day didn’t care. It got off to a bad start – before it decided to go completely wrong altogether. As wrong as it could possibly go…
It was bitterly cold and raining. I was deeply envious of Kahla’s seven or eight layers of clothes because, although I’d borrowed Aunt Isa’s bright yellow rain hat and was wearing a nice thick sweater under my raincoat, big fat raindrops trickled steadily down my neck and under my collar, and my toes were starting to feel like two packets of mince that had just been taken out of the freezer.
We’d been given a pad and pencil in a plastic bag that stopped the paper dissolving in the rain. Our task was to sit by the willow pond, listen, sense and note down all the wildlife we could detect within a radius of fifty metres. Kahla was writing non-stop. On my pad I had written “two ducks”, “blackbird” and “Bumble”, and then I cheated and wrote “worms” even though that was just a guess. After that I sat gnawing my pencil while I shivered. The wind rattled the branches of the willow tree and raindrops formed circles on the surface of the dark pond. I spotted an empty snail shell between the reeds. I was fairly sure that the snail that had once lived inside it was long dead and gone, but I wrote “snail” all the same.
Then I was stuck. Opening or closing my eyes made no difference. I knew they were there – beetles under the tree bark, fish and frogs and other aquatic animals in the pond, moles and mice and small birds. But I couldn’t sense them.
“How are you doing?” Aunt Isa asked us.
“Great!” Kahla exclaimed, scribbling away like mad.
“Great…” I mumbled and wrote “beetle” just to give myself something to do. How many types of beetle had Aunt Isa told us were in this part of the country? Chances were that one of them, at least, must be nearby. Were there tadpoles at this time of year? Probably not.
I snuck a peek at Kahla. She underlined something, got up and handed her notepad to Aunt Isa.
“There are plenty more further out, obviously,” she said. “But you did say fifty metres only.”
Aunt Isa took Kahla’s notepad and started reading.
“Good work, Kahla,” she said, pointing to one of the words on the list. “That one is so deep down I wasn’t sure you’d be able to sense it.”
I wrote “mole” on my own pad. Then I heard a contemptuous little snort behind me.
Kahla was looking over my shoulder. She could see just how few words were on my paper. And
she’d caught me cheating about the mole.
She didn’t say anything, but she smiled. And not in a nice, friendly way.
I lost my temper. She was laughing at me. She was standing there mocking me and it was clearer than ever that she thought I was embarrassing and hopeless and a joke. I was fed up with listening to her – and even more upset that she was right.
Get lost, I thought. Leave me alone! Shoo. Go away.
The ducks flapped their wings and took off in fright. And Kahla stepped back in surprise. Her foot slipped on the muddy shore and she reached out for a branch in an attempt to steady herself.
Snap! The branch broke with a wet, rotten sound and that was it. Kahla tumbled sideways into the water and briefly disappeared among the reeds and aquatic plants. Then she surfaced, spluttering and gasping, still up to the middle of her thighs in water.
“Kahla!” Aunt Isa threw down the notepad and pulled her back on land with a firm grip.
Kahla was completely drenched. All her woolly layers were soaked through and her dark hair stuck to her face in flattened black wisps. One of her rainbow-coloured Inca hats floated on the surface of the pond like a merry little boat. She stared at me with big, shocked eyes.
“You…” she said. “It was you…”
“We’ll talk about it later,” Aunt Isa said in a rather ominous tone of voice. “Right now we need to get you into some dry clothes.”
Kahla couldn’t stop shaking. Aunt Isa had filled up the old tub with steaming hot water twice now and poured mug after mug of boiling hot tea into her, but it made no difference. In the end we dressed her in practically all the clothes I’d brought with me and wasn’t wearing, plus a big old woolly sweater, three pairs of socks and a pair of Aunt Isa’s boots.
Kahla looked completely different without her chrysalis of multi-coloured clothes. Small, skinny and frightened, and no longer snooty. She stuck like a limpet to the stove in the living room, her lips blue from the cold. Tears rolled quietly down her cheeks.
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