by Jen Storer
‘Precisely. Meddlers and thieves, all of them!’ said Reafen. ‘Too easily seduced. Too easily intoxicated by the riches of the Old Realm. I kept a close eye on them all. But mostly I watched what Varla was up to. At first she was a lost and lonely wanderer, a Vanishing Lady from a New World carnival who had stumbled into our realm. She was happy just to be alive, to work alongside our farmers and healers. We offered her safe return to this world but in those early days she refused. Pretended she was too weak. Then she begins to dabble in the sacred magicks and stick her nose where it does not belong. Her life grows long — unnaturally long for a flimsy human. She grows stronger, taller, more powerful, more ... insatiable. Next she is a shaman, a sorceress. She fiddled and delved so much in the Old Realm magicks that her human form was almost lost to her. In such a state she could no longer pass back through the veil even if she wanted to.’
The Donut Lady nodded knowingly. ‘Yes. This has been my thoughts exactly.’
Reafen went on. ‘Many times I found her viewing the narrares, watching and learning the secrets of the goblin folk. She had even begun to gather them to her, to trade her magick in return for more and more narrares, for more and more power. Taking our narrares for herself. Imagine!’
The others cringed. Reafen was getting so worked up. Angus remembered what Ava had said about the loss of narrares. How sacred they were, how important they were to the goblins and to their sense of place and history. By persuading them to hand over their narrares, Varla must have been corrupting goblin society at its very core. His head was spinning. He had only just come to accept that goblins were real — and now all this. It was almost too much to bear.
‘Varla charmed and seduced many,’ said Reafen. ‘Many were happy to do her bidding. But I knew what she was up to; I was the only one who could see the witch for what she was. Eventually, of course, the narrares led her to the Wild Magick — and all its evil darkness.’
Angus snapped. ‘Look, who cares about the stupid narrares!’ he cried. ‘My sister’s gone. My father’s gone. We need to save them!’
The Donut Lady slapped her knees and rose quickly. ‘You are right. Reafen, I assume you have the Wishing Stones. I assume this is how this latest chain of events began?’
‘Wishing Stones?’ said Ava with a sharp breath.
Reafen hung her head. ‘I was lonely,’ she whined. ‘In need of familiar comforts and kin. In need of someone to notice. To take interest. I craved the company of anyone with ties and tangles to the Old Realm. So I cast the stones and I wished ... I wished to be near someone, anyone, who had a strong connection to our kind ...’
As she trailed off, Angus felt the eyes of the old goblin boring into him. She’s batty, he thought. Completely cuckoo. As if our family is connected to her kind.
‘That is all,’ Reafen went on. ‘Simple, simple. I was lonely and lost. Lost in the worst possible way.’
‘Yes,’ said the Donut Lady. ‘And bamboozled by sugar too, no doubt. What an idiotic risk you took! Casting Wishing Stones. Making thoughtless, selfish wishes, interfering with fate, meddling in the destiny of all and sundry. Get out the stones, Reafen. It is time they spoke to us.’
Reafen reached inside her fur coat and hesitated.
‘Give them to me,’ said the Donut Lady, holding out her hand.
‘Wishing Stones!’ said Ava once more, her face shining with surprise. ‘Such dangerous rarities! I never imagined that Reafen would possess such a remarkable Birth Gift.’ Ava thought a moment longer. ‘But I now know why Graini and I felt compelled to come to this city. Why our endless New World searches and ramblings sent us here, to this very place. For we are part of the wished-for connection too!’
The Donut Lady jerked her hand at Reafen. The small stones rolled about on Reafen’s palm, flipping and spinning as if anticipating the exchange. Angus could not help but stare.
Slowly Reafen tipped the stones into the Donut Lady’s outstretched hand. The Donut Lady slapped her hands together and clasped the stones tightly — but it was no use. No matter how hard she struggled to contain them, one by one the stones slipped or tumbled or bounced through her fingers.
‘Look how they slide through my grip,’ she cried. ‘Look how they taunt me.’
‘You have no magickal blood,’ said Reafen smugly. ‘You have no control of such pretties.’
Ava held a hand over her mouth. To Angus, it looked as if she might laugh. How could she at a time like this? Anger and impatience flared inside him.
‘Help me catch them, goblin girl,’ cried the Donut Lady, and Ava dropped to her knees.
‘I will try,’ said Ava, ‘but they will not approve of me either ...’
There were seven stones in all. They were similar in size and shape to Ava’s Singing Stones, only these stones were blue, as blue as a summer sky, and each was inscribed with a silver rune mark.
As the Donut Lady and Ava groped about on the floor, trying to catch the skittish stones, Reafen spoke. ‘I would have given them to the father,’ she said. ‘Sooner or later, I would have given them over to him. For they were drawn to him and they are truthfully his. That much is obvious.’
‘I would not be so sure,’ puffed the Donut Lady as she dabbed her face and rose to her feet. ‘The connection may not be to the father. It may not be to Maxwell Jack.’
For some reason, at the mention of these words, Angus felt his stomach flip.
The Donut Lady had managed to catch the agitated stones and was now struggling to hold on to them. ‘Angus Jack, come and stand before me,’ she said.
‘Look,’ said Angus angrily, ‘we need to get going. We need to start searching. We have to find Martha!’
‘Come here,’ repeated the Donut Lady. ‘First we must know something. It will aid our cause,’ she added gently.
Angus shook his head and marched up to the Donut Lady. ‘You’re wasting my time,’ he said, glaring at her bitterly.
‘Hold out your hand,’ said the Donut Lady.
Resentfully Angus did as he was asked.
Ava drew closer and smiled at him reassuringly.
The Donut Lady poured the restless stones into his hand.
They lay still. The vibrating, the jumping, the jittering — it all ceased the moment the Wishing Stones fell into his hand.
‘Oh!’ groaned Reafen.
The Donut Lady smiled mischievously. ‘So,’ she said. ‘Angus Jack, there is more to you than meets the eyeballs.’
CHAPTER THIRTY-EIGHT
____________________________________________
En garde
Angus stared at the Wishing Stones. He rolled them about in his hand. They almost looked like toys. Like something you would buy in a drawstring bag from Benjamin Pollock’s Toyshop in London.
He picked up one in his other hand and a thrill shot through him.
‘I don’t understand,’ he said softly.
‘It is just as I suspected,’ said the Donut Lady, eyeing him with satisfaction. ‘It is not the father, it is the firstborn.’
‘You,’ said Reafen, ‘you boy, you are descended from Mevras himself.’
‘Who’s Mevras?’ said Angus again.
‘Yawning Wolf, Greyfeld, The Hooded One,’ said Reafen impatiently.
‘Mevras, the great Viking magician,’ said the Donut Lady. ‘The greatest who ever roamed this earth. There was a time when Vikings moved freely between this world and the Old Realm, exchanging information, sharing knowledge, protecting the goblin folk. But when the Great Sadness came and he could see that the age of the Vikings was drawing to a close, Mevras made a narrare. Soon after, he passed into the mists of time and left his remarkable narrare in the safekeeping of the goblins. You are descended from Mevras, Angus Jack.’
‘My mother,’ said Angus almost to himself. ‘She always said she was descended from Vikings.’
‘Ah! Then it is settled,’ said the Donut Lady firmly. ‘The connection is on your mother’s side.’
Angus stared at them,
a crazy goblin elder, a pretty goblin girl and a seriously weird Donut Lady. His life, all that he knew, all that he believed, the facts and the science that he had diligently placed his trust in, had been turned on its head. Suddenly anything seemed possible, anything at all.
‘Are you saying I’m ... magickal?’ he said.
Reafen threw up her arms and cackled madly. Even the Donut Lady smirked.
‘You are a descendant. A flimsy, New World boy-relative,’ said Reafen. ‘You are not all of a sudden, KAPOW, a great and illustrious magician!’
‘Oh yeah, right,’ said Angus, his cheeks burning with humiliation. I’m such an idiot, he thought. Such a stupid dork ...
‘Still, you do see, don’t you?’ said the Donut Lady matter-of-factly. ‘Should you ever wish to pursue the magickal arts, well, let us just say, you would be very well placed ...’
‘With the help and instruction and glorious expertise of one such as me,’ added Reafen, pulling the blonde wig back on.
She coughed into her sleeve, a pained, hacking cough. She shuffled closer to Angus and without looking directly at him said, ‘The Wishing Stones belong to you now, boy.’ Her voice wavered. ‘It is the rightful inheritance. I cannot keep them safe any longer. I, Reafen, Defender of the Old Realm, cannot be trusted. It is done. It is proven ...’ She sniffed deeply and sadly.
‘Self-appointed Defender of the Old Realm,’ whispered Ava to Angus. ‘It’s all in her mind. All her own little fantasy. Even Graini and I know that. Back home she was just an everyday Wise Woman who lived on her own in the woods.’
Poor old bag, thought Angus, suddenly feeling sympathetic. Poor old, loopy Reafen.
‘You keep the stones, Reafen,’ he said. ‘What am I going to do with a bunch of blue stones?’ He glanced at the Donut Lady for confirmation.
‘No, no, no! They are yours, Angus Jack, you must take them,’ she said firmly. ‘For once Reafen speaks in a straight line.’
Reafen nodded. ‘No arguments,’ she croaked. ‘No questions. Their time with Reafen is over.’
‘Okay,’ said Angus doubtfully. He closed his hand around the Wishing Stones. They felt so familiar! Images flashed through his mind, one after another. Emotions — joy, excitement, dread — rippled through his body.
‘All my life I’ve seen things,’ he said. ‘Glimpsed things — visions that felt real, that felt like memories, but couldn’t have been.’
He stopped for a moment as the realisation sank in more deeply. He thought of the snow-white otter in Reafen’s shop, how it had seemed so familiar to him; the willow flute music that had felt like a lullaby from his childhood; the night he’d dreamed of ice and swirling mists and a long, wooden boat — a Viking boat, he now realised ...
‘I thought I was imagining it all,’ he said. ‘I thought my imagination was dangerous ... that if I paid it too much attention, it would spin out of control and send me mad. It scared me. I hated it.’
The Donut Lady cleared her throat pointedly.
Angus tipped the stones from hand to hand. He could literally feel their energy. It was uncanny.
‘And now I’m remembering so much,’ he said. ‘Faces, people, strange people, strange animals. Wooden boats, mist and muddy rain. I can hear music — I swear I can hear it! I can smell the open sea too ...’ He shut his eyes. ‘Look at the ice,’ he cried. ‘The ice!’
His eyes sprang open — the Wishing Stones glowed softly and nestled into his palm.
‘It is all rushing to you now,’ said the Donut Lady. ‘The Wishing Stones are stirring what is ancient and forgotten in your blood.’
Angus gasped. ‘I’ll use them to get Martha back!’ he said excitedly. ‘How do I do it? How do I use them? Quick, tell me!’
‘No!’ cried Ava and the Donut Lady together.
‘Come on! Just this once, just one time,’ insisted Angus.
‘No matter who we are, no matter how clever or how magickal our relatives, we cannot see the large picture,’ said the Donut Lady. ‘We have no knowledge of the world’s grand design. We can never know what will happen as a result of our wishes.’
‘Who cares about the grand design?’ said Angus. ‘I want my sister back. My father ...’
‘Do you not see what has happened since Reafen cast the stones?’ said the Donut Lady.
‘One tiny, simple, comforting wish,’ said Reafen weakly. ‘One little ... dabble.’
‘Yes, and look at the catastrophe your little dabble has caused,’ said the Donut Lady, her voice rising. ‘Look at the events. Varla is here. Varla has come through the veil!’
Reafen fell back, shattered. ‘The Wishing Stones were my most elaborate Birth Gift. Handed down to me from my father’s father’s father for safekeeping and deep contemplation. They are full of the magick, the magick we shared and traded with the Viking chieftains and kings. They were my heirlooms to treasure, not to play with like phony toys. I have failed everyone!’
The Donut Lady clucked her tongue dismissively. She had no time for Reafen’s self-pity.
‘You might wish for good.’ The Donut Lady turned to Angus. ‘But can you predict what will quickly follow your tampering? The Wishing Stones are charming, they are in fact astonishing, but they are irresponsible. Ruthless. The Wishing Stones are detached from all and any outcome of their making. They are dangerous, Angus Jack, do you see? They are for you to protect, not exploit.’
‘Exploit? I’ve already lost my mother!’ blurted Angus.
His heart twisted in his chest. Right now he missed his mother so much he almost had to gasp for air.
Ava placed a soothing hand on his shoulder. ‘It is a bittersweet day for me too,’ she said. ‘I have lost my Graini. But I have also discovered that you and yours were once beloved of the Old Realm.’ Her blue eyes glistened with tears. ‘I was never wrong to trust you, Angus Jack,’ she said. ‘Never wrong to ... admire you. The Wishing Stones brought us together. Perhaps all hope is not lost.’
Angus felt a rush of shame. He had given no thought to Ava’s loss, Ava’s pain. He was not alone in this disaster; Ava had lost someone dear to her too. She was just as miserable and confused.
His heart pounded. He longed to put his arms around Ava and hold her close. But he also wanted to escape. To run from these people, this city, this life, to run and run and never return.
There was a clap of thunder. The annexe shook so hard an ornament fell off the sideboard.
‘Come,’ said the Donut Lady. ‘The night deteriorates. We will do no good searching tonight. We must rest now.’
‘Rest?’ said Angus. ‘My sister’s out there. I can’t rest!’
‘But you must,’ said the Donut Lady. ‘The storm is getting worse, and all our efforts will be lost. I will escort you home for now. You need to sleep. You need strength.’
Angus threw the door open. Thunder clapped and lightning stabbed the sky. With a sinking heart, he knew it was pointless to search tonight. As impossible as it seemed, he would have to wait. He shut the door on the wind. Weariness and despair swamped him.
‘Barney will watch over my caravan and see to Reafen,’ said the Donut Lady, striding across the room to the bookcase. ‘They will be good for each other.’
Barney stepped forward from the shadows and nodded solemnly.
‘And I will watch over you,’ said the Donut Lady, glancing at Angus.
She threw a dry shawl around her shoulders and picked up her guitar case. Angus groaned. Surely she wasn’t planning a singalong while they waited for the storm to pass?
The Donut Lady placed the case on the floor, fiddled with the combination locks and the lid creaked open. She pulled back a swathe of red velvet.
‘Swords!’ spluttered Angus. He could barely believe his eyes — and yet it suddenly seemed so obvious. The swords, those famous swords from all the rumours, had been here all along. But they didn’t look like Cossack swords ...
Ava peered into the case. ‘They’re Viking swords,’ she breathed. ‘Three swords, a
ll short. All exceptional.’
The Donut Lady beamed.
‘May I?’ asked Ava.
The Donut Lady nodded and Ava lifted one of the swords from its hardwood support. ‘Double-edged blades, pattern welded — beautiful, intricate, menacing,’ she said with reverence.
Ava bowed solemnly then assumed the en garde position. She slashed the air with cool, precise strokes.
Angus stared in disbelief. ‘I thought the goblins of the Old Realm were peaceful,’ he said, trying to disguise his dismay at Ava’s skill.
‘Oh but we are,’ said Ava with a theatrical flourish. ‘But we are not alone in the Old Realm. It is necessary that we protect ourselves.’
‘We must go on our search prepared,’ said the Donut Lady briskly as she took the sword from Ava. It looked small in the hands of the Donut Lady. Small but deadly. She laid it back beside its companions and spread the velvet covering over them. ‘This night I would not leave my caravan without them.’
‘You’re bringing swords,’ said Angus, shaking his head. ‘Swords ...’
‘You do not know Varla,’ said the Donut Lady, and she snapped the lid shut.
‘Obviously not,’ said Angus, although, truth be told, he was glad they had a weapon or two. He had seen enough to know that this was a cruel, outlandish enemy they were up against — an outlandish enemy they would be hunting.
He wondered if the goblin girls had weapons back at the hat factory. Amongst their baggage. The baggage they had brought with them from the Old Realm. On their enchanted boat ...
His rubbed his forehead; his skull throbbed with stress and fatigue ...
‘Peachy Pepp, fairy floss, Fizzy Whips ...’ mumbled Reafen.
Everyone turned toward the couch.
Reafen’s curly blonde head drooped over her chest.
She was sound asleep.
The Donut Lady walked over to the couch but instead of giving Reafen a good shake as Angus expected, she took the old goblin by the shoulders and eased her back into a lying position. She slid a pillow under Reafen’s head and draped a crocheted blanket over her chest and legs, gently tucking the excess around the goblin’s large feet. Reafen snored heartily.