Celandine

by Steve Augarde

  ‘Put thee hand in,’ whispered Micas. ‘See what be there.’

  Put her hand in? Celandine wasn’t sure that she was able to reach that far, nor was she sure that she wanted to try. Anything might be in there – an owl for instance, or even a buzzard. No, she didn’t like that idea at all.

  ‘I can’t reach,’ she whispered back at him. ‘And anyway, what am I looking for?’

  ‘A box’n.’

  ‘A … box?’

  ‘Aye – made o’ tinsy.’

  Micas dropped to his knees. He placed his hands flat upon one of the great tree roots and then braced his shoulder against the trunk.

  ‘Climb upon me, child. Hurry!’

  Celandine hesitated. Things were moving too fast for her. She looked doubtfully at the crouching figure of Micas, then up at the shattered trunk of the beech. What if …?

  ‘Be quick, maid!’

  She was panicked into action, and placed one foot on Micas’s back. Then she put her hands upon the bark and pushed herself up – wobbled as Micas seemed about to collapse, clung against the broad trunk, and steadied herself. Now she could reach – just.

  The hole was just above eye-level. Another wobble as she brought one arm upwards, and then she was able to grasp the edge of the opening. Again she hesitated.

  ‘Are you all right?’ She really didn’t want to do this.

  Micas grunted, and let out a sharp breath. ‘Aye. Hurry.’

  Celandine bit her lip and gingerly put her hand inside the cavity, slowly reaching forward, terrified that some unknown creature might suddenly grab at her fingers.

  Ugh! She had touched something – it was spiky! Her hand jumped backwards. What was it? A hedgehog? No, it couldn’t be. Again she reached into the hollow, and again her hand touched the spiky thing. It moved, but didn’t seem alive. Once more then …

  Her fingers closed about the object, explored the shape of it, recognized it for what it was. Just an old pine-cone.

  Micas shifted slightly beneath her. He wouldn’t be able to bear her weight much longer. Celandine delved deeper into the hole. Leaves … bits of twig … moss. Feathers? She dug down through the pile of rubbish, her fingers growing bolder now that there seemed little danger of them being bitten off. How many birds and animals had made their home here? Squirrels, woodpeckers perhaps … There! What was that? Her fingertips had brushed against metal – the hard square edge of something. She tried to manoeuvre herself into a better position, and again there was a sharp hiss of breath from Micas.

  The thing was just a little too big to grip with one hand, but it was definitely a box of some sort, and she was able to get her fingers beneath it and drag it up towards the opening. It was heavy. She tilted it over the edge, and it tumbled towards her, just as Micas’s strength finally gave out. The box fell away somewhere, and Celandine slid awkwardly down the tree – scraping the side of her face on the bark and ripping her trouser knee on one of the protruding roots as she collapsed to the ground.

  It took her a few seconds to recover herself, by which time Micas was already back on his feet and retrieving the metal box from where it had bounced onto the grass. He took no notice of her, but instead looked furtively about him before concentrating upon opening the box lid.

  Celandine struggled to stand up, angry that her own efforts and injuries should merit so little attention. Her knee hurt, and she was sure that her face must be bleeding. She put her fingers tentatively to her cheek. It felt grazed and raw, but no more than that, perhaps.

  Micas had his back to her now, as though he didn’t want her to see what he was doing. It was dark in any case. Why was he being so secretive?

  ‘Well? Is it all right?’ Celandine said, annoyed at being so obviously excluded. ‘No damage done, I hope?’

  Micas turned towards her, and the box appeared to be closed once more.

  ‘Aye, all’s well. I were feared that ’twere harmed by the rowdy-dow. But ’tis safe. And now we must put ’n back.’

  Put it back? After all the trouble she had been to?

  ‘Well, you must put it back then. Because I’m not going up there again.’ Celandine folded her arms, intending to show that she had a will of her own in such matters, but Micas immediately agreed with her – and this annoyed her even more.

  ‘Aye. If ’ee can bear me up, then I s’ll do it.’

  What? Was she now to take the part of a stepladder in this ridiculous venture? She opened her mouth to protest, but then considered her situation once more. This was a dangerous place to be, and the sooner they were out of it the better.

  She sighed.

  ‘All right then.’

  Celandine crouched down onto the knee that didn’t hurt, and Micas climbed onto her shoulders.

  He was heavier than he looked, and she had to steady herself against the trunk of the tree – head forward, hands splayed on the rough bark – as Micas hid the box once more. What was he doing up there? It seemed to be taking a great deal longer than necessary.

  At last he whispered, ‘’Tis well. Bringen me down, maid.’ Celandine awkwardly moved her hands down the tree-trunk, one at a time, until he was able to slide from her shoulders.

  They could still hear the distant rumbles of thunder – the ‘rowdy-dow’ as Micas called it – as they stole away into the humid warmth of the night.

  *

  Later, unable to sleep, Celandine lay upon her pallet-bed and stared up into the shadows. She was too hot, and the stone chamber felt airless and stuffy. Her thoughts raced round and round her head, everything jumbled up and confused. What was she supposed to do? Micas had said that she must leave, but that meant returning to the outside world again, and she didn’t even want to think about the outside world. So long as she refused to think about it, then that other life did not exist. So long as she was not surrounded by reminders of the past, she could pretend that it wasn’t there, that it had never happened. There was no other way of coping with it.

  And it was the same with the future – she had simply avoided considering it. Today was all there was. Here. Now.

  It was no good. She couldn’t sleep, and thinking only made things worse. Perhaps a little fresh air would clear her head.

  Celandine got up and pulled on her shirt. It was as big as a nightgown on her, and the stone floor felt cool against her bare feet as she walked silently out into the main cavern. An oil lamp burned steadily in an alcove, giving off its familiar scent of lavender, no breath of air to disturb the even flame.

  As she glanced towards the cave entrance she saw a figure standing there and her heart gave a little jump – but then she realized that it was only Micas. He had his back to her. Perhaps he too was unable to sleep.

  She watched him for a few moments. What was he thinking about, she wondered? The Ickren, most likely, and all the problems that their arrival had brought. And now she was a problem too – one more to add to his list. As if echoing her thoughts, she heard a rustling sound, and realized that Micas was folding a piece of paper. It must be a sheet from one of her old exercise books. Perhaps he really had been making a list, she thought, and smiled at the idea of it – although Micas was one of those who could write now, after a fashion.

  How miraculous it all still seemed, that first chance meeting with Fin so long ago, and everything that it had led to. If she hadn’t banged her head, then none of this would have come about.

  Her eyes were drawn towards the yellow flame of the oil lamp, and she stared at it for a few moments, remembering. Where had this story begun? With Freddie, when they had played at rolling down the hillside? Or had it all been because of Miss Bell? Yes. If Miss Bell hadn’t nagged at her so much, then perhaps she and Freddie would never have left the Coronation party. Then they would never have rolled down the hill, and she would never have hurt her head, and been put in a bassinet beneath the trees. She would never have seen Fin, or known any of this …

  And now the cave-dwellers wanted to send her away. But they couldn’t, not af
ter all that had happened. Not now.

  She opened her mouth to say something to Micas, and then realized that he had gone. He had slipped out into the night, without her even noticing. Celandine walked quickly to the cave entrance and looked about her, but could see nothing. It seemed odd that Micas should go out yet again.

  Well, it was none of her business. She leaned against the wall of the entrance and ran her fingers through her short hair. What was she going to do? Her head felt a little clearer, but still she could find no answer.

  As she turned to go, she thought she heard a voice – a low muttering from somewhere out there among the bushes. She paused, and listened. Nothing.

  It occurred to her that perhaps she was being watched, that there might be unfriendly eyes trained upon her – or more arrows. She crept hurriedly back to the safety of her chamber and tried once more to go to sleep.

  Chapter Eighteen

  CELANDINE WAS AWOKEN by the sound of angry words, echoing from the main cavern. Micas she recognized, and Bron. They were shouting at someone.

  ‘This be no business o’ yourn – and this be no place for thee!’ – Micas.

  Other voices, muffled, from outside the cave it seemed. Then Micas again;

  ‘There be no giants here! Parley, do ’ee say? Then you med tell Corben us’ll see ’un at sun-wane. Aye. All that be here – in Little Clearing. Now be gone with ’ee.’

  A few moments of silence, and then Micas appeared at the entrance to her chamber. He looked tired – perhaps he had not slept at all – and his expression was serious.

  ‘Bist awake, maid? Then maken theeself ready. We can hide ’ee no longer, for th’ Ickren do now reckon ’ee to be here. Come sun-wane we meet, all tribes, and ’tis then thee must run to the tunnel. Aye, thee must go from here when all eyes be elsewhere.’

  There was the urgent murmur of another voice, out in the main cavern, and Micas said, ‘Aye, Bron. I be with ’ee. Mark me now, maid – come sun-wane, when all tribes be met, get thee to the tunnel and away from here. Heed what I say.’ Then he was gone.

  Celandine sat on the corner of her pallet-bed, quite unable to get her bewildered thoughts into any sensible order. Was that it, then? Was it really all over? She looked at her canvas bag, tucked away in a corner of the chamber, and vaguely supposed that she ought to begin packing her things. But what did she need to take? Nothing. And where was she supposed to be going? She didn’t know. She didn’t know why she was leaving, or what she was running away from, or what she would do. She had never even seen the enemy – the Ickren – that were the cause of all this. What were they like, she wondered, these invaders? And what right had they to drive her out?

  Corben was now certain that Tuz had not been mistaken after all. The tongues of the Naiad childer had wagged, and the rumours were too many to be ignored; there was a giant, a Gorji maid, living among the cave-dwellers – such common knowledge as could not be kept secret for long. The ogre had apparently been in the forest for some time and was considered harmless. Corben had despatched his archers to the caves, with orders to ask questions, but not to attack. They had returned empty handed, and with no further information, but certain that a giant was being harboured in there.

  So be it, then. This Gorji was naught but a maid, and could do him no harm for the moment. Such a being could not be allowed to leave this place alive of course, but that could be dealt with later. He would have to discover how a giant had got in here in the first place, and ensure that any exit was blocked.

  In the meantime he had other matters to consider. The Elders were grown impatient – and the Guard mistrustful. They wanted to know why he did not simply use the Touchstone to find the Orbis. Surely, when the Stone had led them so far, it would lead them to the Orbis itself? Did he not hear it speaking to him? He had claimed to have that power. Why then did he delay?

  And there were others of the tribe who viewed him with dull suspicion, he knew it. The two scouts, Peck and Rafe, and the archers of the old Guard – they had followed his lead, but their reluctance had been plain enough. Their loyalty had been to Avlon, and to Una, not to him. Now they all waited to hear him speak.

  ‘The Orbis be here,’ he said. ‘I know that these forest-dwellers have it. The Stone tells me so, and ’twould lead me to it if I asked. Aye, we could take it before sun-high, if we so wanted. But there would be blood.’ He faced the archers of the old Guard. ‘Would that have been Avlon’s way, think ’ee – to take without parley? Have we not lost enough of our own already?’ Corben paused here for a moment, and there was some cautious nodding of heads.

  ‘I think of Avlon,’ he said. ‘’Twas my brother’s belief that the Touchstone and Orbis together shall lead us on – true travellers once more – and return us to Elysse. And I believe this also. But even when the Orbis be ours to hold, we may be here a moon or more, as I and these wise Elders learn how such a thing be put to use. And how much harder shall our task be if all hands be against us? Would it not be better if the Orbis were freely given? If we can persuade these scare-a-crows by parley to give up that which be ours, then we might save ourselves an armful of trouble.’

  Again there were some murmurs of agreement, but Dunch, now General of the Guard, said, ‘They’ll not give it up, not they Tinklers. I never saw their like. They that do live as moles and do give shelter to giants – aye, for I knows that there be such a one in there – they’ll not be reasoned wi’. Us were there at sun-wax, as ’ee told us, Corben, and we did have some arglebargle – but ’twere no good. They’ll hold to whatsoever they have, till it be took from ’em, whether ’tis Orbis nor ogre.’

  Corben gave a faint smile. ‘Then Orbis and ogre shall be taken from them, Dunch. Yet I would try parley first. Let all tribes meet at sun-wane, then, and we shall see what a king’s tongue may do to loosen their hold. If they will not then give, so we must take. In anywise we shall have the Orbis come moon-wax, I give my vow.’

  It was a bold statement, and Corben saw that it had worked. The Ickri were still with him, and he had gained himself a little more time. But if the cave-dwellers could not be persuaded to reveal the whereabouts of the Orbis, then he was in trouble – for he had not the first idea of where it could be found, and the Stone told him nothing.

  *

  As the forest waited for sun-wane, when all the tribes would be awake and ready to attend the Ickri summons to parley, so Celandine made her miserable preparations for leaving. Micas’s instructions had been clear enough. She was to wait until the Tinklers and the Troggles had vacated the cave, then, when all the forest-dwellers could be presumed to be gathered in Little Clearing, she was to quietly make her way to the wicker tunnel. She was not to linger, and she was not to let herself be seen. She was simply to return immediately to her own kind, and to not come back. This was for her own safety, but also for the safety of all forest-dwellers. The Ickri were savages, and would surely attack any that helped her or sheltered her.

  Celandine looked around the dimly-lit stone chamber that had been her home since early spring. So warm and safe she had felt here. The thought of returning to that other world made her stomach hurt.

  There was nothing that she wanted to take back with her – the books and the writing materials, and all the useful little odds and ends that she had smuggled in – everything might as well remain. She wished that she could magically turn herself into a pair of scissors, or a ball of wool. Then she could stay as well.

  They had given her a present, a pecking bag, such as the woodlanders often wore when foraging for food. This was a large pouch made of some kind of soft leather with a flap that fastened over the top. It had two compartments inside, and in these had been placed some gifts for her – two tinsy pendants and a bracelet, a carved wooden comb, a toy boat made out of a walnut shell, and a folded piece of paper. The pendants and bracelet had each been decorated with a flower – celandines, she thought – very simply engraved, perhaps hastily. In the toy boat sat a little figurine, made out of beeswax. T
wo tiny feathers protruded from the figure, like oars, so that the boat appeared as though it might fly away.

  When she unfolded the piece of paper, it made her want to cry.

  ‘’Tis we,’ said Elina, and so it was – a crowd of names that covered the whole sheet, all higgledy-piggledy, and jumbled up together. The names had been written in pencil, some large and bold, some small and faint, but all were recorded there, down to the very youngest.

  ‘I did wroten my own,’ said Loren, very proud. ‘And I did put Tadgemole’s for ’un – see? There.’

  Celandine looked to where the tiny finger pointed, but could only see a blur. She nodded, and brushed the back of her hand across her eyes. ‘It’s very good,’ she said, and wondered how she could ever bear it. This wasn’t right. She shouldn’t be leaving like this.

  At sun-wane the cave-dwellers were gathered in the main entrance, ready to go to the parley, and it was time for Celandine to part from them.

  Micas helped her to adjust the pecking bag so that it would tie around her waist – the strap being too short to go over her shoulder. He shifted the bag around to the back of her, and spent some time making sure that the fastenings were secure. ‘’Twon’t get ’ee all of a tangle, then,’ he said. ‘Best leave it so, till ’ee be safely whum.’

  Home, she thought? Was that where she was going? She felt as though she were leaving home, not returning to it.

  Micas looked out towards the evening sky. The light was beginning to fade, and a broad band of dark cloud had arisen, creeping threateningly over the high tree-line. Another storm seemed likely.

  ‘We’m in for a soak,’ he said, ‘afore this night be done. Mark what I say then, maid, and don’t ’ee tarry. Once ’tis dimpsy-dark, away thee go.’

  Celandine nodded, but couldn’t speak. She didn’t know how she was going to say goodbye.