The Hawkweed Prophecy

by Irena Brignull

  Witchcraft was at the forefront of Poppy’s mind, but at the back of it was Leo. He was always there, a part of her, and it felt odd she hadn’t seen him for a while. She had expected him to return the coat and thank her for it. She had it all rehearsed—how she would refuse to take the coat back, showing him the new one she had bought from the secondhand store; how he would insist; how she would give him her old sleeping bag instead. She had needed to stand on a chair to reach it from the highest shelf of her closet. It was still in its plastic bag, never used, bought for a camping trip that, like so many of the trips planned with her dad, had never materialized. She had dusted it off and stuffed it under her bed where it lay waiting, as she did, for Leo.

  As the days passed by and Leo still didn’t show, Poppy allowed herself to drift further away from the day-to-day reality in which Leo and the coat and the sleeping bag existed and into the realms of her own mind, stretching it to the limits, venturing into the unchartered frontiers of her imagination. She dimly recognized that she was becoming obsessed, “training” like an Olympic athlete, needing her fix like a junkie, powerless to stop even if she wanted to.

  And she didn’t want to. Since Minx’s death, something had taken hold inside of her. It was as though she had been empty of magic for so long that now that she felt full, she could never go hungry again. When Poppy succeeded in a spell, she felt complete, fully alive, like her whole self was present in that moment. And she felt triumphant—like she could fell a tree with her bare hand, or dive to the darkest reaches of the ocean and still have air to spare, or conquer the tallest mountain without tiring.

  The only thing that could pierce this high was Leo. Whenever Poppy’s mind strayed and touched on him, she felt her powers fade and found herself plummeting back down to earth. Magic didn’t seem to hold the answer for the butterflies in her stomach when she thought of him or the confusion clouding her head when she remembered Ember’s feelings for him. Leo was a distraction, an itch that if she started scratching, she would never stop. Poppy didn’t want to spend her time wondering where Leo was and why he hadn’t come to see her. She didn’t want to doubt herself just when she was starting to believe. She wanted to climb back up to those dizzying heights where she felt like she could conquer anything.

  Ember hadn’t made it to the dell for days, but one evening she came over the top of the hill, picking a pathway down the slope, carrying in her arms a big bag brimming with treasures. She handed over the latest ingredients to Poppy and then, rather nervously, a new book. This one looked even older and more precious than the rest, and Poppy felt a thrill run through her when she saw it.

  “It’s my mother’s,” Ember told her in a voice strained with worry.

  She seemed reluctant to let it go. Her fingers tightly clasping it, she made Poppy swear she would give it back soon and not leave a mark upon it.

  “I know how precious it is,” Poppy reassured her as she gazed at the book in reverence. She gave the book a slight pull so Ember had to release it. Quickly flicking through the pages, her eyes feasting on the ancient ink, Poppy could feel Ember wincing. It annoyed her, Ember’s possessiveness. She tried to joke, “I am allowed to read it, aren’t I?” but didn’t bother to wait for Ember’s reaction.

  Poppy had already returned to the book, absorbed in what lay within. Simply seeing the words without even comprehending them transported Poppy to some higher plane that felt almost spiritual.

  Ember, meanwhile, was feeling low, stuck in the mires of the mundane. Her complaints were of the coven—the cousin who wouldn’t leave her be; the endless washing and mending clothes; the tedium of the long, lonely evenings; the reports of another foreign clan traveling closer, soon to be on these shores; fears of how this clan uprooted their tree and intended harm to her family. At this, Poppy’s ears pricked and she looked up from the book.

  “Another clan? How many are there? Are they everywhere?” Poppy could hear the excitement in her voice, and Ember heard it too and she looked at Poppy as if, momentarily, she didn’t recognize her. “I’m sorry,” Poppy quickly added. Then, for good measure, she continued, “I am sorry for the threat of this clan, I am. But your aunt will keep you all safe. You did say she was the most powerful, didn’t you?” Then Poppy drifted off into her own imaginings for a moment before returning and finishing wistfully, “It’s just I had never thought there’d be so many others.”

  “Why is that a good thing?” Ember remonstrated. “You wouldn’t even like most of the witches I know. And the Eastern clan, they are truly wicked. They’d cut you down and boil your bones for their spells.”

  Even this gruesome detail sent a strange spark through Poppy. But she just said, “I like you, don’t I, and you’re a witch?”

  Ember shut her eyes for a second, then gave a small smile. When she spoke next, it was of Leo and it became clear to Poppy this was what Ember had really wanted to talk about all along. Leo was the true cause of her anxiety—how she might see him again, when she might see him again, and why she hadn’t seen him already.

  With a shudder, Poppy realized how these thoughts mirrored her own. How pathetic she could become if she let herself. Poppy quickly glanced back down at the book, and soon Ember’s words became as distant as the babbling stream beyond the dell and the breeze in the highest branches of the trees. Yet again, magic was her salvation. Poppy murmured some half-felt, sympathetic noises, and when finally she sensed a pause for breath coming, she pushed another list of supplies into Ember’s hand. Ember looked at the scrunched-up piece of paper with dismay, and Poppy had to beg and plead that she try her best to gather them for her.

  “It’s working, Ember. I’m getting stronger. I can feel it.”

  Ember hung her head as she walked away, and Poppy felt a pang of pity. Perhaps she could find a spell to lift Ember’s spirits and bring her better luck. Poppy’s mind began to whir as different symbols and chants sprung to her mind that she might use. By the time she reached the outskirts of the town, all thoughts of her friend, or the sleeping bag for Leo, or the endangered cousin and foreign clan had evaporated. There was only the magic.

  Leo, in the meantime, was pretending his feelings weren’t hurt. He was fine that Poppy hadn’t come to find him; he didn’t need a thank you for all his help—he and Poppy, they were above all that. She would show up when she was ready and he was happy to wait until then. At least that’s what he told himself, over and over as though he were reciting lines from a speech that someone else had written. However, it was hard to say the lines with any real conviction when the disappointment of Poppy’s absence kept tripping him up and making him falter.

  Leo spent a lot of his time beyond the graveyard walls, figuring this was still his place, and if Poppy happened to be there, then that was her business. He sat by the stream for hours, quiet in the solitude that until recently he’d found comforting but now just felt lonely, trying not to think forward or back, trying not to have any expectations. It didn’t work. His head kept turning at the slightest noise. It was always simply the rustle of wildlife in the bushes—a squirrel snapping a twig, a fox in a thicket, a bird’s cry splitting the air—but Leo couldn’t help himself but look, just in case . . . just in case it was her. And every night Leo left for the town, feeling foolishly surprised Poppy hadn’t walked through the old, creaking door in the wall with an apologetic smile on her face and a sheepish wave of the hand and that he hadn’t had the chance to forgive her instantly, despite knowing he should be more aloof.

  Leo wondered why Poppy didn’t, at the very least, come to visit the cat’s grave. He worried she might have fallen into some kind of trouble. Yet deep inside he felt it was important that Poppy come to him this time. It wasn’t a question of turns, or pride, or resentment. Leo wanted the two of them to feel balanced, like they fitted, like they could walk in step and in time. It was so very tempting, though, to go to Poppy’s house or school, just to get a glimpse of her. But with his mind set, Leo waited, and the days ticked by and life ju
st got slower and dimmer and grayer without her.

  Ember’s clock, however, was ready, and at last Leo had a purpose. He set off for the dell, walking faster and taller than he had done in days. He pictured Ember’s face when she’d see the clock, and the thought made him feel brighter until his mind returned to the possibility that Poppy might be there and his face grew somber again and his step slowed. But, he reasoned, if they met today, it was not by his doing. It was beyond his control. Besides, it was Ember he was going to see.

  As it happened, Poppy wasn’t at the dell and Leo didn’t turn around in expectation at any of the rustles or crackles from the woods, and when he left, he didn’t feel disappointed. It was Ember who appeared there, whose face lit up with a smile upon seeing him, who raised her arm and waved in greeting. Her happiness, fresh and clear as the water that sprung from the mountainside, turned out to be the perfect tonic for Leo’s troubles. The hours he spent with Ember felt as natural and simple as life should be, not distracted by the past or anxious for the future, no sudden highs or lows. What you saw with Ember was what she felt and what you received.

  First, she helped him collect more scrap to sell, humming a tune as she searched. Then she showed him the river and lent him her homemade soap to wash his hands. The soap smelled of happy, carefree days. It smelled of Jocelyn. Chatting away so effortlessly in her singsong voice, Ember told him the names of all the plants and trees. There wasn’t one she didn’t know. She shared the nuts she carried in her pockets. They tasted so much better than any he had tried before. And when he shivered at the fierce north wind, Ember gave him a scarf she had knit. She wound it around his neck and looked so pleased to see it on him.

  Only then did Leo realize that he hadn’t given her the clock. Her face when she saw it was just as he’d imagined. And then she kissed him.

  CHAPTER TWENTY

  Ember wasn’t used to her dreams coming true, but she had dreamt of Leo and there he was. Not just a figment but real flesh and blood. He was standing in her dell, looking like he belonged there, rummaging for bits and pieces like he knew the place. She watched him for a while like she would a rare bird or butterfly, feeling blessed simply to have spotted him, committing to memory the feeling of having him there just in case he never passed this way again. Fearful of disturbing him, she didn’t make a sound. She worried Leo would leave if he knew she was there, but at the same time, she longed for him to notice her. Ember knew she should call out to Leo, but the longer she left it to announce her presence, the harder it became. If she tried to speak, she wasn’t sure she’d find her voice.

  And then he turned and Ember smiled. Her lips moved of their own accord, and the joy they revealed was beyond her control to contain. She realized then, with a sense of abandon, she didn’t want to contain it. She wanted Leo to know, to feel, how happy she was. She didn’t want to hide in the shadows and watch. She wanted to talk to him and touch him.

  He said her name. “Ember.”

  He said it warmly without question or expectation. She felt like hurtling toward him and jumping into his arms, but her legs moved slowly and nervously so she had to concentrate just to reach him. She grinned up at him, looking so intently into his eyes that she could see her own reflection there.

  “Where’s Poppy?” she asked, her pupils still fixed on his.

  “It’s just me,” he answered with a bashful smile.

  Just me. Ember nearly laughed out loud. A tiny, faraway part of her felt sorry she could so blithely forsake her friend, but she was too full of glee to feel any remorse.

  “Are you looking for more things to sell?” Her voice sounded faint in her ears, but Leo seemed to hear her well enough and he nodded in reply.

  “Metal, mainly.”

  “I can help you if you like.”

  Together they mined the dell for anything Leo considered valuable. It wasn’t the things she would have chosen. Not the books, or pictures, or pieces of china. Though she was glad he didn’t take those, for she had always hoped one day to have a home of her own in which to keep them.

  An hour passed quickly and soon Leo had a stack of metal to carry home with him. He said he was thirsty and Ember took him to the river. It felt like a miracle to have him by her side, walking next to her along the path she’d trod all her life alone. She kept looking straight ahead, but she could hear his footsteps next to her own lighter ones. She could feel his closeness. Without letting herself hesitate, she slipped her hand into his own.

  “Cold,” he said, and he held it tight as they walked. His hand was rough and calloused, and hers, which she always considered big, felt so small and soft within it, despite all the hours of laundry she’d been doing in the camp, working sometimes until her hands were raw.

  At the river Ember watched as Leo cupped the freezing water into his mouth and how it ran like tears down his chin and neck. No woman’s neck was like that, and she stared at the lump inside the front of it that rose and fell as he gulped the water down. She washed her muddy hands with the new soap she’d made, then handed it to him. He brought it to his nose and inhaled, shutting his eyes as he did so.

  “Lavender,” he said.

  He was right, and by knowing that one detail, it was as though he knew the whole of her.

  Then he scrubbed his hands and she watched them rub and intertwine and clasp, then plunge into the water. A shiver ran through her.

  They sat on the rocks and she handed him some walnuts from her pocket, and they cracked them on the stone and delved inside the shells to pick out the kernels.

  “They’re good,” he said, and she handed him another.

  “Do you like jam? Next time I can bring you some. What fruit do you prefer? I have apricot, or raspberry, or greengage?”

  “You make it?” he asked without answering her.

  “Of course,” she said. “There aren’t any stores where I come from.”

  “Poppy told me not to ask.” And with her name spoken out loud, the mood changed. Leo got to his feet but then reached out his hand and helped Ember up. Then he released her. She wasn’t sure why.

  They didn’t hold hands as they wandered back to the dell, but Leo didn’t rush and Ember was grateful that he talked and his words filled the silence.

  “I don’t have a proper home either, you know. I live on the streets. Doorways, benches. There are stores, but I don’t have money to buy anything from them. I get what they throw out.” Leo shrugged.

  “You should have a caravan,” Ember replied practically. “And a vegetable garden.”

  He laughed at her simplicity. “I should.”

  “It must be cold.”

  “It is. Especially the nights.” And he shivered, perhaps at the memory or maybe at the gust of wind that whistled past. Ember reached into her bag and got the scarf she’d been knitting for her mother. It was almost done. She took her needles and swiftly completed two more rows before binding them off.

  “Impressive,” he said, and she glanced to see if he was laughing at her.

  He wasn’t, and she felt herself blush. Without looking him in the eye, she stood on tiptoes to wrap the scarf around his neck.

  “For you,” she murmured shyly.

  Leo looked taken aback, and Ember suddenly worried she’d done the wrong thing without realizing it.

  “I can’t take it.” His voice was different, awkward.

  “Please, it’s to keep you warm. I can make another.”

  Ember looked at Leo now and she saw how sad and troubled his eyes were and it made her own well up.

  “Don’t,” he muttered. “Don’t feel sorry for me.”

  “I’m not sorry for you!” she exclaimed. “Why, I’m jealous of you. I wish I were you. I mean,” she said more hesitantly, “I wish I could come with you.”

  Ember watched Leo’s face fervently, waiting to see if she’d said too much. His features slowly cracked, then softened.

  “That bad, huh?” he said, and Ember realized he was talking about her own life,
and she turned her head away but then looked back at him through the corners of her eyes. Leo took one end of the scarf and flipped it over his shoulder. “Thanks. It’s . . . it’s warm.” Then he smacked his hand onto his forehead so Ember jumped back, startled. But Leo didn’t notice, for he was busy rummaging in his bag and pulling something out to show her.

  “My clock,” she gasped.

  “It’s all fixed. Good as new.”

  Ember stared at the clock now resurrected and alive, the second hand ticking its circle. She put the clock to her ear and listened to it working, the clicks like a tiny heartbeat. And then she couldn’t help herself. She flung her arms over the scarf around Leo’s neck and kissed him, full on the lips.

  In the kitchen Poppy was pouring a potion into a vial when her hand flinched and the potion dropped with a clatter. She stood there, stunned, looking at the precious liquid staining the tiles on the floor. She couldn’t move. Her chest hurt too much. Her heart felt like it had been shattered too, all in shards, the blood seeping out of it. She breathed slowly through the pain, trying to claim it, own it.

  As it eased, she felt like weeping. Not for the potion, though that had taken hours of preparation, but for another reason that she couldn’t seem to drag from her subconscious and translate into thought. She glanced at the book and groaned out loud. Its pages were spattered with dark sticky blotches. Ember would be frantic. Poppy was already at fault for not visiting her, and now she had ruined the book she had sworn to look after. How would she ever gain Ember’s forgiveness? The stains on the tiles came off with the strongest household cleaner. It would take something far more powerful to clean the book.