by Simon Kewin
Cait laughed. The thought was amusing after everything Fer had said about disliking covens and rules. “She should. She…” Cait stopped in mid-sentence. Someone was trying to talk to her from afar, through the aether. Another witch, politely enquiring if she had a moment.
“What is it?” said Danny. “What's wrong?”
“Hellen wants to talk to me up at the orchard.” She rose, ignoring the complaints from her bruised limbs. “I'll go. She says it's something important.”
“Want me to come?” asked Danny.
“Chill out here. I think it's just me she wants to see.”
“Ah, right. Witchery.”
“Something like that.”
Cait saw Hellen from afar as she climbed the hill to the orchard. The old witch stood beside a bent, skeletal tree. She looked half like a tree herself, thin and hard and slightly stooped as if she stood in a raging gale. Was this what happened? Did the witches get so old and woody that they came up here one day and never came back? She could believe it.
Hellen's face was wrinkled, but her eyes burned with life and intelligence. “Cait. Thank you for coming. There's something I wanted to show you.”
“What is it?”
“You know what this place is? How it works?”
“I think so. When one of you dies your spirit ends up here.”
“Something like that. Except, sometimes, it captures other spirits, too. Like a net catching a fluttering moth in the aether. A moth that happens to be drawn here. If there's unfinished business, or the person is rooted to this place, then they can find a home. A bit like Bethany helping you and Fer.”
“Wait, you knew about that?”
“Oh yes.”
“So Bethany's here?”
“No, not her. As far as I know she's somewhere in your world if she's anywhere at all.”
“Who then?”
“Can't you tell? She was from here, of course. Her family I mean. Weyerd's great, great many-times-over granddaughter.”
“You mean, my mother?”
“See for yourself, child. This old apple tree has stood here many years but never had an inhabitant. Now it does.”
Cait regarded the tree. A single black crow had perched on its branches, gazing down at her with one eye. Cait's throat had gone dry. For a moment she didn't know what to say. “She'll stay here?”
“Yes. Whenever you come back, if you do come back, she'll be here for you.”
“And, I don't suppose … my father? He had no Weerd blood, of course, but still…”
“Talk to your mother. She was a powerful witch. I gather she scoured the aether for … echoes before finding her way here. Two in one tree. It happens some time, when two souls are intertwined. The world is full of wonders.”
“You mean…”
“Yes. Sit against the tree and open your mind. You have all the time you need.”
Doing as she was told, Cait closed her eyes. She was immediately aware of the two presences, the two familiar voices in her mind, speaking together.
Cait, love…
While the girl communed with her parents, Hellen turned to head deeper into the orchard. The trees were older, the undergrowth thicker, the farther you went. But the tree she wanted was only a little way in. A crooked blackthorn, its trunk bent over at a sharp angle as if it were growing in a gale. It was only a short time after Midwinter but already the first buds of the spring were showing upon it. Life was returning with miraculous urgency after too many dark days.
Hellen had her own spirit to commune with. She reached out to touch the rough, dark bark. After a moment, the presence of her old friend, Ariane of the Smiling Eyes, emerged from the background hubbub of dead witches' voices.
So you managed it at last then? the voice asked. The wound is healed?
Yes, said Hellen. The wound is healed.
The girl from the other world didn't succumb and become another like Menhroth? A Witch Queen?
No. I was almost completely sure she wouldn't.
Ah. Well, that's good.
Full of surprises that one, like I told you. In the end we were saved by her and by the mancers' greed and treachery. Strange how the world turns.
And what of you, old fool? Come to join us slumbering ghosts in the orchard?
Was she? She felt old and weary after the last few days. And her life's work was done. But still, she wasn't quite ready to rest yet.
Some day soon, she said. For now I think I might wander off into the world. Do some good for a change. Become the hedge witch I always meant to be. Get away from these rules and rites and people expecting things of me all the time.
You mean go and interfere in folks' lives even more, said Ariane. Haven't they suffered enough?
Hellen smiled. It was good to know her old friend had lost none of her barb just because she was dead. There's something else, too.
Oh?
Hellen had the distinct impression Ariane knew exactly what she meant. She pressed on regardless. It's Borrn. He's heading away again soon, back into the wilds. There is much to be done in the wide world. We thought we might travel together.
Ridiculous woman! said Ariane. At your age?
At my age, said Hellen. Yes. The spring is coming on in a flood. The bud is swelling. Surely even you can feel it deep in your wooden heart? It is a time for fresh starts. Perhaps we'll even give Ashen a brother or sister.
By the stars, woman, you're one hundred and thirty two.
Exactly. I think I'm just about ready for the responsibility of bringing someone up, now.
The presence of Ariane in the aether snorted, or as close to it as was possible.
I'll come back eventually, said Hellen quietly. When I'm ready. I fancy a nice hawthorn tree. Something spiky. I can sit next to you and spend the years pointing out all your flaws until we both fade away.
You won't have time, replied Ariane. I'll be too busy pointing out all yours to you. Off you go then. Go and busybody the good folk of Andar and Angere. But before you do, there's someone else you need to talk to in the orchard.
Who?
Isn't it obvious, woman? Who do you think you're going to find hanging around in an orchard? Especially this orchard. Oh, he was gone, lost. The faintest whisper. Now he's young and strong again and I fancy he'd like to talk to you.
Hellen understood then. Her touch lingering on the bark of the blackthorn, she walked away, toward the oldest, densest part of the orchard, where the trees grew wild and overgrown and the spirits were quietest. She worked her way among the boughs, gently lifting grey branches aside so she could push her way into the shadows.
The shifting light through the leaves confused her eye, making her see shapes where, perhaps, there were none. Under the boughs of an ancient oak tree the shadows coalesced briefly into the form of a horned stag, powerful and majestic. Then it was gone.
Hellen marched toward the spot. The light shifted again and there was a man there instead, emerging from the dapple. He was tall, strong and completely unclothed. But he wasn't only a man: from his head sprouted the buds of new antlers. Hellen bowed to no one, but she dipped her head to Hyrn.
“So you are reborn, too.”
His voice was the creak of ancient oaks and the babbling song of the mountain stream. “I am the land. The canker is stopped. The wound is healed and now I can walk the woods of An once more. It is … good to be alive and young.”
“And what of Angere?”
“I will walk there too, as I did of old.”
“The bridge is gone,” said Hellen. “The land is still cloven.”
“All woods are one wood. I can walk among them and between them as I please. In this world and in others.”
“Well, that's all very nice. The rest of us will find it a little more difficult to cross the river.”
“You can start building ships again. The river serpents will return to what they once were, harmless creatures of the deeps.”
“That's a start,” said Hellen.
“And maybe one day we can build a new bridge, but for now we need a different land crossing.”
Hyrn smiled at her. Was it her imagination or had his budding antlers grown a little as they talked? “You have something to ask of me?”
“Those tunnels we took to your island. Tunnels kept sealed by your will. If you opened them up folk could cross to the other side in safety, yes?”
“And then my island would no longer be my refuge.”
“True. Do you think you need a refuge any more, Green Man?”
Hyrn snorted in amusement, sounding momentarily like some beast rather than a man. “You and the other child walked from Andar to the island. Not all the way across.”
“But there are other tunnels are there not? I've heard tell of them. Caverns and delvings beneath the ruins of Morvale Wycka over in Angere. Tunnels leading under the ground just as they do from here. Tunnels that join up, I'm thinking. Passages that only need your word to be opened. Caves below ground and the bridge above, was that how it worked?”
Hyrn didn't reply for a moment. Then he took his turn to dip his head to her, very slightly. “Yes. You are right. The time has come for the pathways under the river to be walked. The An east and west must be united once more.”
“Good,” said Hellen. “And if I may, I have a favour to ask you.”
“Another favour, you mean?”
“Just so. There is a wood in the aether. A Tanglewood. Put there twenty years ago by magical means.”
“Put there by you.”
“Indeed. It is sealed now, but its presence in the aether causes disruption. Danger even. An aethernal has taken up residence there.”
“I have seen the creature that fills those woods like a howling gale.”
“If the Tanglewood continues to grow, passage and conversation between that other world and ours will become harder and harder. The woods, all woods, are your domain. It is said Tanglewoods were originally of your creation, that once the whole land was one such, its ways and paths impossibly knotty. Can you intervene now?”
“You wish me to destroy the Tanglewood?”
“No, there is no need for that. Perhaps stop it growing, contain it. Such magic was beyond my meagre ability, but it would be a shame if the other world were lost to us.”
Hyrn looked thoughtful for a moment, then nodded. “So be it. The creature and its impossible wood may remain as they are. An island of green in the aether. An acorn, perhaps, from which a new world might one day grow.”
“Excellent. And can you open the pathways through the wood despite the presence of the creature? The walls between the worlds offer no obstacle to you, I know.”
“You wish to leave this land?”
“Not me, but there are others. Everyone should be allowed to go home, should they not, Hyrn of the Green?”
“So they should, Hellen Meggenwar. Very well, I shall see that the paths through the Tanglewood remain clear for feet to follow.”
“Good,” said Hellen. “Well, if that's all sorted out I'll be on my way. Lots of work to be done. Lots of folk needing a healing hand.” She turned away.
“Hellen Meggenwar?”
“Yes?”
“You remind me of someone. Another child of the wicca. A forebear of yours perhaps? I met her once in the woods on the other side.”
Hellen turned back to look at Hyrn. “You mean Black Meg, that crossed to Andar when the bridge was destroyed?”
“Yes. That was her name.”
“A mother's mother's mother, many generations back. She wrote down everything she'd seen and learned. All of this, everything I've done, is because of what she said and described. She's long gone and there's no echo of her in the orchard now. But it was she who saved us, as much as anyone. She and two riders, Dervil and Bordun.”
“Ah. It is as I thought,” said Hyrn. “I chose wisely, then.”
“I think you did. She described you, too, you know. I know all about your little play in the woods. The two deer.”
Hyrn nodded as if remembering. His antlers were an inch larger than they had been. “Yes,” he said. “And now the two may live again, flourish together.”
“Good. And will I see you again, in this world or the next?”
“Black Meg asked me that, too.”
“And what did you tell her?”
“That I do not know. That I do not dream the world. It dreams me.”
“Ah. Well. We shall see, then. Farewell, Hyrn of the Green.”
“Farewell, Hellen Meggenwar.”
Picking her way through the branches of the orchard, Hellen made her way back to the Wycka, to begin her preparations for leaving.
Seven of them stood among the trees: Cait and Danny, Johnny, Hellen and Ashen, Fer and Lugg. Both Merdoc and Barion hovered in the background, looking on, unsure of their welcome. Fer took them both by the hand and drew them into the group.
Grinning, Ashen put his arms around Cait. “We'll miss you.”
“What about you? Will you go back to Guilden?”
He glanced at his mother. “Actually I'm going to stay here, spend some time in the archives studying the old texts.”
“You're turning your back on the mancers?”
He looked a little sheepish when he replied, scratching his chin thoughtfully. “No. I've been persuaded of the wisdom of exploring the old magics and the new together. To be a mancer and a warlock or whatever that makes me. It's time for the old divisions to end.”
Cait hugged him close. “It is.”
Hellen stepped forward, a small, battered leather pouch in her hand. She held it out for Cait to take. “This might be of use.”
“What's in there?”
“Books. Many books. I've scoured the archive for everything written by and about your family. When you get chance you can do some reading, find out about your history. Weyerd's account of the cleaving is in there along with much else. You might have to persuade the bookwyrm to translate things for you.”
The bag only looked big enough to hold a few coins, and it weighed next to nothing as Cait cupped it in her hands. “But how can all those books be in there?”
“Surely you've learned enough about magic to answer such questions for yourself, girl?”
“Yes. Of course. Thank you. I'll read everything.”
“Make sure you do. If you don't know where you've come from, you don't know who you are.”
Cait slipped the miraculous bag into her pocket and turned to Fer. She took the other girl's hands in hers. It wasn't precisely like looking in a mirror, but the resemblance was close enough to make the experience slightly weird. Especially when the two of them smiled at exactly the same instance.
“Now we'll both be back where we're supposed to be,” said Fer. “Your world is fascinating and strange, wonderful and terrible, but give me Andar any time.”
“And I'm very much looking forward to having WiFi and showers again,” said Cait.
“We may be able to converse at times, if the aether allows it.”
Cait squeezed her cousin tightly. “I'd like that very much.”
Fer stepped back to take Lugg's hand. To one side, the lower branches of two trees had been bent over to touch each other, their tips winding together to form a living archway.
“Step through and you'll be in the Tanglewood,” said Hellen to Cait. “Look for two trees the same there, and they'll take you to the library in your city. The aether creature will allow you passage. Although, stay on the path if you want my advice.”
“I thought you had to let a bat bite you or something to get through?” asked Cait.
“Not this time,” said Fer. “Someone very good with trees and magic has arranged this.”
“And can we ever come back the same way?” asked Cait.
“I think that would probably work, yes,” said Hellen. “Now, off you go. I think your gran is waiting for you. She'll be worried if you don't appear soon and I don't want her complaining to me.”
Cait nod
ded. There was suddenly nothing else to say. Hand in hand, Johnny following, Cait and Danny stepped into the archway to go home.
The End
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Engn
Available from Amazon | Find out more
Lost in the great machine...
Finn's childhood in the valley is idyllic, but across the plains lies a threat. Engn is an ever-growing steam-powered fortress, that needs a never-ending supply of workers. Generation after generation have been taken away, escorted into its depths by the mysterious and terrifying Ironclads, never to return.
The Masters of Engn first take Finn's sister, then his best friend, Connor. He thinks he, at least, is safe - until the day the ironclads come to haul him away.
Yet all is not lost, Finn has a plan. In the peace of the valley he and Connor made a pact. A promise to join the mythical Wreckers and end Engn's tyranny.
But now on his own, lost and thwarted in the vastness of Engn, Finn begins to have doubts. Is Connor really working to destroy Engn?
Or has he become part of the machine?
Praise for Engn
“In reading this I was reminded or Mervyn Peake's Gormenghast trilogy - a vivid world, characters by turns strange, ordinary, and mysterious. The world of Engn is captivating. Engn is about how the hopes of adults are given as promises to the younger as a prayer to the future, and how the trust of the young is broken by the reality of their inability to keep the promises.”