Brunt Boggart

by David Greygoose

  When the season’s moon came round again, the Pedlar Man returned. Firedancer and Silfren asked for news of Starwhisper their friend. And the Pedlar Man smiled and the Pedlar Man sighed and the Pedlar Man rolled his eyes – but then he opened up his sack again and hidden at the bottom was a brand new scarf such as Turnfeather made, woven with creatures from a-far. And when they unwrapped it there was a fresh-made dolly all nestling inside, and Firedancer took it into her arms and gazed deep into its dried berry eyes. But how the straw dolly and the silken scarf came to be all twined together, the Pedlar Man would not say.

  Snowpetal, Ha’penny Rose and the Star that Fell in the Meadow

  Let me tell you… let me tell you… Snowpetal was a little’un. In fact she was Silverwing’s little sister, if you want to know. But Silverwing never wanted to know. She would never take Snowpetal with her, down to the hollow in the middle of the Green to sit with all the girlen. No – Silverwing always left her sister behind to stay in the cottage and play with her basket of twisted straw stars which Scallowflax made specially for her. And when Snowpetal was tired of the stars, she would talk to their grandmother, Ha’penny Rose, who sat all day in her great wooden chair with its great wooden wheels, which had been built for her by Darkwind, the man who made kites for all the boys in the village.

  Ha’penny Rose would sit there, rocking and knitting while her grand-daughter played – until the time came for Snowpetal to wheel her, pushing the great wooden chair all down to the edge of the Green. And there Ha’penny Rose could watch them – Ravenhair, Silverwing, Duskeye and Dawnflower and all the other girlen, and remember when she had been a young’un, just like them. And even way back then, the young’uns had never let the little’uns play with them, so now nothing had changed – and Snowpetal whiled away all the day-long day, chasing after butterflies and singing to herself, all around the edge of the Green:

  “Find me a Star

  That will carry me far –

  Around the Moon and back.

  Find me a Star

  That will carry me far –

  And bring me all that I lack.”

  And when she’d done singing, Snowpetal would run over to her grandmother Ha’penny Rose and sit herself down beside her chair with her skirt all spread out around her on the grass and wait for her to start thinking back, the way she always did.

  “Let me tell you…” said Ha’penny Rose. “When I was a little’un, just like you, I would go down to the meadow, just the way you do. I would go with all the others who were little’uns then – Ninefingers, Night-thorn, Nettleye and Willowmist. And we would play such games. We’d play Fox-and-Geese and Chainy-o and we’d dare each other to go to the wood, even though our mothers had told us to stay away, because that’s where the Wolf lived – and you know what happens if the Wolf gets you, don’t you?”

  Snowpetal looked up at her Granny with big wide eyes and shrieked and giggled.

  “Go on,” she said. “Go on.”

  “Go on?” said her Granny. “What was I saying?” For Ha’penny Rose was very old, and sometimes she forgot what she had been telling you.

  “Tell me about the Wolf,” Snowpetal pleaded.

  “Not so much to tell,” said Ha’penny Rose, shaking her head. “You ever seen him?”

  Snowpetal shook her head too, just the way her Granny did.

  “Me neither,” said Ha’penny Rose. “None of us ever did. Except Nettleye. She always told us she saw him once. But we reckon it weren’t no wolf at all, just that bad lad Marlroot, you wouldn’t know him, he was Oakum Marlroot’s dad and was always trying to scare us. No – we never saw no wolf, but we did find a star once, down in the meadow.”

  Snowpetal sat up.

  “What did it look like?”

  “Why – twas a glittering thing, lying there in the grass, all white and shining. Willowmist saw it first and we all ran over – and the closer we got, the brighter it shone.”

  “What happened?” asked Snowpetal, her eyes shining like stars themselves.

  “That was the strange thing,” Ha’penny Rose told her. “Soon as we got right up to it, why then the star was gone.”

  “Where did it go?” asked Snowpetal.

  “Nobody knows,” said her grandmother. “We never saw it again, however hard we looked. I used to go out every night and gaze up at the stars and give them all names and wonder which one it was that came down to us in the meadow. But sometimes I think it never went away, because that star made us all feel special, the five of us who saw it – Ninefingers, Night-thorn, Nettleye, Willowmist and me. And whenever we got together, we’d smile and join hands like five points of a star – and when we were smiling we always felt happy. And when we felt happy, why then so many other wonderful things would happen.”

  “Such as what?” Snowpetal frowned, trying to hear her Nanny above the noise of Silverwing and her friends as they came racing by.

  “Such as anything you wanted,” Ha’penny Rose replied. “You should try it sometime. Ninefingers dug out a herb that would cure plagues and agues, pox and palsy. Night-thorn found a rounded jar to bottle her Morning Sunrise. Willowmist got her seven sons who grew to be farmers strong and true. Nettleye – what did she get? Why maybe she found a little crimson fish such as no-one had seen before…”

  “And what about you?” Snowpetal asked.

  Ha’penny Rose paused.

  “What about me?”

  “What did you get?”

  “Why, I kept on smiling and a few years on and a few years after that, I met Scallum, your grandfather. And then I got Silfren, your very own mother. And she got Silverwing, your sister. And then in the end we all got you!”

  Snowpetal stopped frowning and smiled as her grandmother tweaked her nose.

  “That’s better,” said Ha’penny Rose. “Keep smiling and see what you get!”

  “But first don’t I have to find the star that fell in the meadow?” Snowpetal asked.

  Her grandmother nodded.

  “It’s true,” she said. “You do.”

  Snowpetal looked thoughtful.

  “What are you puzzling on, little one?” her grandmother asked.

  “I’m thinking about what to wish for when I find the shining star,” Snowpetal replied.

  “And what will you wish for?” quizzed Ha’penny Rose.

  Snowpetal shook her head, but she knew that if she found the star, she would wish that her Granny was well again. For Ha’penny Rose was old and frail – and every day Snowpetal would push her in the great wooden chair that Darkwind made – trundling out of the cottage and across the grass, to sit at the edge of the Green. But sometimes when Snowpetal went to collect her, she’d find her grandmother just staring, as if she’d forgotten what she was doing there, as if she’d forgotten the names of all her friends.

  “Tell me about the star again,” Snowpetal asked her grandmother, as she rattled the chair slowly back towards the cottage.

  “What star was that?” asked Ha’penny Rose.

  “You know what star,” Snowpetal replied, hoping her Granny was teasing, though she could never be sure these days. “The star you saw with Ninefingers, Night-thorn, Nettleye and Willowmist. What do they say about it now?”

  Ha’penny Rose scratched her head.

  “Don’t say a lot,” she said. “Twas a long time ago. Long enough to forget what we wanted to remember and remember what we wanted to forget. Ninefingers says it weren’t a star at all but a tree in blossom. Night-thorn says it was a sudden blow of snow. Willowmist says it was a sheep lost its way.”

  Ha’penny Rose paused.

  “And Nettleye says twas a naked man running. But twas a star, sure enough. It was a star we saw, I know.”

  Snowpetal smoothed her grandmother’s shawl and helped her out of the great wooden chair, into the shadows of the cottage.

  That night, when her mother was busy tidying the kitchen and Silverwing was still out by the woods, where she knew she wasn’t supposed to go –
Snowpetal slipped away from the cottage and away across the Green, away from the straggle of lanterns that lit the back alleys, and the lights that shone from Brunt Boggart’s windows. Darkness was creeping up out of the shadows, but the night was soft and warm. Snowpetal wore a daisy-chain that she’d made that day with Scallowflax all down in the meadow by the river. It swung from side to side as she ran breathless up the stony path that led to Langton Brow.

  Snowpetal loved Langton Brow. By day she would come and sit here and listen to the blackbirds, the thrushes and the yellowhammers which would flit between the bushes with their trilling, chirruping songs. From the top she could see across the valley and the long river rolling on its way to the sea. She could see Pottam’s Mill far down below, at the end of Mallenbrook Lane. She could see Oakum Marlroot’s farm, the cattle and sheep dotted about the fields. She could see a plume of smoke rising from the cottage in the wood where Skyweaver lived.

  But now darkness had fallen and Snowpetal climbed on, scrambling up the track, her feet slithering through a scree of pebbles, her hands grabbing out to clutch branches and brambles, hauling her upward towards the top. One more step, one more step – she was breathing heavily, then she reached the crest and a cry of joy burst from her. For Snowpetal could see every star in the sky. More stars than she could count on the fingers of her hand, or truth to tell on Silverwing’s fingers and Ha’penny Rose and her mother as well. More stars than all the berries out in Pottam’s wood. More stars than all the dewdrops on the meadow in the morning. At first each one seemed shimmering silver, bright and clear. But then when she looked, she could see as many more, floating into a milky haze.

  When she closed her eyes then opened them again, Snowpetal could see the stars beyond the stars, more than she could ever name. And she felt as if she was floating high above Brunt Boggart’s houses where they squatted far below, lurking in the darkness. Her head was spinning. She reached out her hands as if she could touch the stars, take them and scatter them through her hair, but all the time her feet were rooted firmly on the ground.

  She wanted to run. She wanted to cry. She felt powerful and yet confused; lonely and lost, but loved. She wanted to tell her Grandmother Ha’penny Rose how she’d seen every star in the sky. But which was the special one, the star which had fallen into the meadow all those years ago – the star her grandmother had found? She wished that she could find it now and share in the secret that her grandmother shared with Ninefingers, Night-thorn, Nettleye and Willowmist.

  Snowpetal smiled and looked again. Which was her grandmother’s special star? She didn’t care. Each and every one of them was special to her now. She felt as if they were touching her, bathing her in light. She felt as if she was a child of the sky, floating through the night as she ran, ran and ran all the way home.

  That night she dreamt of the stars. Dreamt she was flying through them, on and on, until she found the star which fell to the meadow – and there was her grandmother Ha’penny Rose with Ninefingers, Night-thorn, Nettleye and Willowmist. They were all as young as her sister was now, as young as they’d been that day in the meadow. They clustered around to greet her, then they linked their hands in the five points of a star and their voices joined together clear and high:

  “Find me a Star

  That will carry me far –

  Around the Moon and back.

  Find me a Star

  That will carry me far –

  And bring me all that I lack.”

  “Snowpetal, Snowpetal – what do you wish for?” they asked when the song was done.

  Snowpetal felt confused. She knew the wish that she wanted to wish – that her grandmother would be well again. But here was Ha’penny Rose as young and as fresh as she could ever be.

  “I wish that the stars didn’t fade with the morning,” Snowpetal whispered. “I wish they would shine all the day.”

  Ha’penny Rose smiled and so too did Ninefingers, Night-thorn, Nettleye and Willowmist. And then they dropped their hands and Snowpetal felt herself falling, falling down from the sky.

  Next morning when she woke in the cottage at the end of the dusty lane, Snowpetal looked out of the windows to see if her wish had come true – but all the stars had gone. Last night there had been so many, but now there were none at all. Snowpetal rushed down the stairs, still in her nightshirt, and stood between the rutted puddles outside. Even though she could not see them, she knew that the stars must be there. She ducked under the sagging night-lanterns and set out towards Langton Brow.

  But the sky was empty now. Even the sun had gone – hidden behind a dull grey cloud. Instead, drops of water fell, one by one, sparkling and fresh and clear. Snowpetal rushed on, holding out her hands, towards the path that led to the Brow. She didn’t care that her nightshirt was soaked and her feet were muddied and cold. The raindrops fell as bright as the stars and Snowpetal tried to catch them, then splashed them over her face. The drops tasted sweet and sparkled clear, clear as the stars that shone in the night.

  “The stars are falling, the stars are falling!” she cried to her mother, though her mother could not hear her – she was sleeping still, away back in their cottage.

  Snowpetal ran on, scooping up the raindrops, scooping up the stars. Hundreds of stars, thousands of stars. Millions of stars. More than she could ever count, more than she could ever name – and they all came tumbling into her hands, all along the lane.

  Snowpetal danced with the stars, as if they were sisters, as if they were girlen down on the Green. She danced although her feet were wet and her nightshirt soaked right through. But around her, where they had fallen, the stars lay dull in the puddles of mud. They had lost their sparkle, they had lost their shine. They ran into each other and lay weary and sad, tired and jaded by their journey from the sky.

  Snowpetal began to cry.

  “Where have the stars gone?” she wailed. “The stars I saw last night – more than I could count, more than I could name.”

  She trawled her way up and down the lane, picking at anything that seemed to glitter, dew-wet leaves or shining stones. But the stars had gone. They had melted away, lost in the puddles and the ditches and the ruts. Snowpetal shook her head and sneezed. Her nightshirt was soaked, her bare feet were muddied and she trudged her way wearily back to the cottage, just as the sun began to shine – to dry up the puddles just like her tears. When she got home, Snowpetal found her mother had risen from her bed and was pottering around the kitchen, preparing dough to bake a batch of bread.

  “Where have the stars gone?” the little girl said.

  Her mother wiped the flour from the end of her nose and peered out through the window.

  “What stars are they?” she asked, checking the oven.

  “The stars that fell down out of the sky, just like drops of rain,” Snowpetal explained.

  Her mother stopped and stared at her and tried to remember what her own mother had told her when she came asking questions – when she was a little’un, no bigger than Snowpetal.

  “The sun has come to take them,” she told her daughter quickly. “She scooped them up into her arms and carried them back to the sky.”

  But Snowpetal didn’t believe her.

  “I saw the stars. They came for me.”

  Before her mother could say anything, Snowpetal slipped back out of the door and ran and ran down the lane to Langton Brow.

  “The stars are falling, the stars are falling,” she said to herself, over and over again.

  And then in the hedgerow she saw berries glistening – red and purple and shiny black.

  “Now I know where the stars have gone.” Snowpetal touched the elderberries, rain-kissed and shimmering bright.

  “Now I know where the stars have gone!” she repeated in delight.

  There were berries everywhere, festooned in the hedgerows, hanging high and hanging low. More than she could ever count, more than she could ever name. And Snowpetal picked just a handful. They tasted so sharp, they tasted so bright
that she knew what she was eating. And soon her belly was filled with stars. She could feel them dancing – and as they danced, she started to laugh and as she laughed she wanted to tell her Grandmother Ha’penny Rose that she had eaten the stars. Maybe she had even eaten the special star which fell down to the meadow.

  When she thought of that, she laughed even more and as she laughed she turned to run, all the way back to the cottage. She ran and ran, her bare feet hopping from stone to stone and over the fallen branches, all the way down the rutted track. When she reached the cottage she rushed inside, knocking over her basket of twisted straw stars which Scallowflax made specially for her. She dashed right into her Grandmother’s room, and there was Ha’penny Rose sitting in her great wooden chair – waiting to go out. Her eyes were closed but a warm smile spread across her face.

  Snowpetal shook her arm.

  “Grandmother – look!” she cried. “Look at my belly, I’ve eaten all the stars.” And she lifted her nightshirt to show her swollen tummy with all the stars inside.

  Ha’penny Rose went on smiling, but did not open her eyes.

  “Grandmother, I’ve found it – your special star. I can feel it in my tummy, dancing inside.”

  Her grandmother said nothing. Bright sunlight struck through the window, across the dresser at the side of the bed, as Silfren, Snowpetal’s mother, quietly opened the door.

  “Mother, Mother – why won’t Grandma speak to me? I want to show her my belly all filled up with stars.”

  Snowpetal’s mother took her arm.

  “Hush now, little’un. Do not touch her. Your Grandmother is resting now. She is at peace.”

  Snowpetal twisted away. Then she turned again and looked at her mother standing there beside her mother, who sat so quiet and still. Snowpetal rubbed her belly again. She could feel the stars there, laughing and dancing. But then she knew. The special star was not there.