‘It’s to hold the Swan’s Egg,’ she said, understanding. ‘That’s all. That’s Her heart’s desire after all, and that makes it yours, too.’
‘Well, it’s absolutely no use to me!’ the Crow snapped. He sounded bitterly annoyed. ‘And you saying it would help!’
‘It’s not my fault!’ Seren frowned. ‘Well, at least when we find the Egg we have something safe to put it in.’
‘Find it! HA! You have no idea…!’
‘He’s right, Seren.’ Tomos shook his head sadly. ‘It doesn’t help him get his human shape back.’
‘Not only that.’ The Crow was acid. ‘They gave you this Box. They played a trick on you … and you fell for it. No wonder all those goblin faces were laughing. They must think you such a silly girl!’
Seren went red. She felt so upset she wanted to cry. ‘You’re wrong,’ she snapped. ‘I stole it. And anyway, how hard did you actually try to find the Egg?’
‘Very hard.’
‘Are you sure?’
‘Tried for a hundred years,’ the Crow said huffily.
Seren shook her head. ‘You’ve always been scared of Them…’
‘Never!’
‘I mean They captured you and put you in a cage. They want you…’
‘Of course. Who wouldn’t? But…’
‘Did you ever go into Their country?’
The Crow was silent. Then it muttered, ‘Of course not. Do I look totally mad?’
Tomos groaned.
Seren said, ‘But that’s what we need to do! Go and see Them. Ask Them…’
‘Pointless.’ The Crow hopped down into the carpet of petals and turned its back. ‘Besides I would NEVER lower myself to beg!’
‘Then you’re far too proud, and you deserve to be a Crow for ever!’ She was so angry she turned her back too. He was so infuriating!
There was an awkward silence.
Birds sang outside in the hot shimmer of the air. Bees hummed in the lavender.
A few petals rose from the floor and drifted back down again.
Tomos said, ‘Stop arguing, you two. It won’t get us anywhere.’
‘Well, that’s all right because HE doesn’t want to go anywhere,’ Seren said. She felt really annoyed and wanted to scream but it wasn’t just about the Crow and the Box. It was because she didn’t know what was going to happen to her, and she was scared.
‘Tell HER,’ the Crow said loftily, ‘that only fools go into Their country. I’m far too wise.’
‘Tell HIM,’ Seren snapped, ‘that he’s not worth bothering with.’
‘Tell HER,’ the Crow said, ‘that anyone who thinks they are Sherlock Holmes is too silly to help.’
‘Tell HIM,’ Seren gasped, ‘that at least I’m not scared of Them.’
Suddenly she grabbed the Box and marched to the door with it. ‘And I’m not silly. And if HE doesn’t want my help, then HE won’t get it. GOODBYE.’
She marched out with her head high and along the corridor to her room. Once there she slammed the door with the loudest slam she could make, threw the Box onto the bed and herself after it. She was furious!
She lay with her chin on her hands looking towards the open window.
Slowly she calmed down.
It was very hot.
That was part of the trouble.
The window was wide and the sky beyond it was a deep, deep blue, as if it went on for ever.
You could never see the sky in the orphanage. The windows had always been tiny, and high up in the walls, and when no one was looking you had to grab with your hands and tug yourself up just to get your chin over the sill.
Seren shook her head. She hated remembering the orphanage and she wasn’t going to. And she wasn’t going back there either.
But maybe it would be a school.
What would that be like?
‘If I don’t like it,’ she said aloud, ‘I can just run away.’
Outside, swallows flitted, catching flies on the wing. Suddenly she scrambled up and ran to the window and looked across the lawns at the lake. There were always birds on there; now she saw geese and out on the water, swans. They had cygnets with them, a small line of five grey shapes sailing along behind their parents. So she couldn’t even steal a swan’s egg. Not that she would have done that.
Sadly she leaned her head against the side of the window.
The Crow was such an irritating creature!
There was a small tittering sound. She glanced up and saw that the line of starlings on the roof of the house had got longer. There must be forty or fifty of them now. They were watching the preparations for the Ball.
Some of the maids were carrying out huge red lanterns; Gwyn was up a tree stringing the lanterns from the branches. There were tents on the lawn, too, and tables inside ready for food and drink.
The smell of freshly cut grass rose to her.
Gwyn waved.
She waved back.
When the last lantern was up he climbed down and came and stood under her window.
‘What’s the matter, Seren? Beth sy’n bod?’
‘Nothing.’
He shook his head. ‘I can tell. You’re cross.’
‘Well, maybe. But I can’t explain. There’s something I have to find and I don’t know how to find it and it’s the Ball tonight and I’m worried … about Them.’
‘So is Denzil.’
For a moment they watched Lily and Sian carry out tables and set them up. Then Seren said, ‘Gwyn, where would I find a swan’s egg?’
He stared. ‘It’s too late to find one. They’ve all hatched.’
‘I know. That’s the problem.’
‘Gwyn!’ Mrs Villiers was beckoning. ‘I need you to go to the village. Right now.’
‘Sorry, Seren.’ He backed away. ‘If you’d looked a few months ago there were some. You’d need magic to find one now.’
‘Yes,’ she said.
Then he was running to the stables.
She pulled her head in and stared at the reflection of the Box in the dressing-table window.
She didn’t have magic.
But They did.
And she wasn’t scared of Them.
7
A promise is made
You may be bold, and merry and bright.
But we are the fears that come out at night.
It was very dangerous, but she was sure she could do it.
First, she went down to the cellars and tried the locked door, but she already knew this way was blocked; Denzil had made sure of that. No one would be going down the strange golden stairs as Tomos once had. She had to find Them by another way.
She had the Box in a small bag hanging over her shoulder. It clunked against her hip.
She crept out of the side door just before Mrs Villiers could see her and ran down the path past the greenhouses and the kitchen garden with its rows of cabbages and carrots, then slipped through the gate. The hanging iron implements rattled ominously as she closed the latch behind her. Now she was outside.
They could be anywhere here.
The wood was the best place to start, she thought. In woods you always felt as if They were watching you, from behind trees and up in branches.
Seren walked across the lawn. It was very hot; she was glad to get into the shade of the trees and under the heavy canopy of branches. They were so thick with summer growth that soon she couldn’t see anything around her but leaves. The path grew thin and spindly, and the trunks of the trees seemed closer together than usual.
She walked on.
It was a cooler, greener world here and she was deep inside it. And maybe she was already in Their world, because she had walked so far that she should surely have come to the wall of the estate by now. Instead, the day felt sleepy and strange.
Bright butterflies danced around her.
And she felt the ground was rising, and she was climbing, and that shouldn’t be, because the park was flat.
Then the sounds began.
Creaks and rustles.
Murmurs and whispers.
She looked back, and spun around trying to catch a movement. There was nothing, but she knew They were here.
She walked on boldly until she came into a small clearing in the trees, where she stopped.
This was the place. She could feel Their curiosity and laughter and malice.
She looked all around. Then she took a breath and said in a loud voice, ‘You stole an Egg from the Midnight Swan. I know all about that. It was very wrong to do that. So now I’m asking you to give me the Egg. We need it very much. I would be very grateful.’ To be polite she added, ‘Thank you.’
In the silence that followed she shivered a little.
Really she shouldn’t have come here like this.
The Crow would be even more furious when he found out.
She could feel in her bones how dangerous it was.
She was just about to turn and run back as fast as she could when the soft voice came from the leaves to her right. ‘If we do, what will you give us in return?’
Seren’s heart jumped.
‘What do you want?’ she asked, turning.
‘What we always want.’ The voice came from behind her now, silvery and close. ‘A human child.’
Seren realised that she was not surprised. She had sort of known this would happen.
‘You can’t have Tomos,’ she said, very firmly. ‘I don’t think that’s right.’
‘Then we will have you, bright Star.’
The voice was on the other side of her now. Or was it more than one voice? She turned, trying to see Them, but only the leaves quivered. Were there faces in there, and eyes, and fingers? Were those emeralds and gold glinting, or just sparkles of sunlight?
She was very scared. ‘I’m not at all sure about that. I’ll have to see…’
‘You must promise to give us what we want. Or we keep the Swan’s Egg.’
She blew out her cheeks and clutched her hands into fists. The Tylwyth Teg were clever. They knew she had no choice. Well, she did, actually, she could turn and walk away. But then the Crow would be trapped in the body of a clockwork bird for ever. And then she had a strange thought: that living with Them had to be better than the orphanage.
She wasn’t sure she believed that but suddenly she felt reckless. ‘All right. Give me the Egg and I’ll come in return. That is, if you still want me to.’
As soon as she’d said it she felt cold and shivery with dread. Around her a great excited whispering and twittering and humming broke out, and the trees stirred, as if hundreds of beings were moving in the branches. Music began playing, playful and far off.
‘That’s good. We are very pleased.’
‘So I can have the Egg?’
She wondered if it would somehow fall at her feet.
‘You have to go up and get it. It’s not far.’
A small dark opening appeared in the greenery. She saw the leaves were pulled aside by strange, silvery hands.
She walked towards the gap, and as she went through it a whisper tickled her ear.
‘At the Midsummer Ball, bright Star. We will come for you when the moon is full. When the night is shortest. When the roses are in bloom. We will not forget. You belong to us now.’
Then she was in a dark and narrow corridor of tangled branches. She hurried along, ducking down so that her hair didn’t get caught, and trying not to think at all about what she had done.
Soon the branches were so low she had to go down on hands and knees in the litter, and her fingers sank deep into it, as if thousands of years of leaves had fallen and died in here.
Then, just when her face was almost on the floor, she realised there was room to stand up, so she did. She was in a green, dim space in the wood.
In front of her was a hollow tree.
It had been an oak once, enormous and ancient. Maybe lightning had blasted it, long ago, because now the inside was just a ridged and knotted emptiness.
Seren walked all around the tree. She looked up.
She had to put her head so far back it made her giddy, but there was a knotted mesh of branches up there, and high in the branches, so high it was scary, there was a nest. It was made of odd shiny things, as far as she could see. She realised what she had to do. The Egg must be in that nest, and she had to climb up and get it.
For a moment, as she hesitated, she almost thought she heard voices calling her name urgently, very faint and far away. It might have been Tomos, or the Crow. Perhaps they were looking for her. If they found her they would tell her to stop, so she slipped inside the hollow trunk of the oak, put her hands up and her foot on the twisty roots and began to climb.
It was not too difficult, rather more as if the tree had a winding staircase inside it. There were ridges of old timber, and gnarls and knots and branches to catch hold of and pull herself higher. Soon swallows and swifts circled round her. She climbed carefully past a nest of bees that buzzed in her face, through a tangle of ivy that caught in her hair. Slants of sunlight dazzled her eyes. A squirrel watched her and a hawk flew away with a flap of wings.
Soon she was breathless and her heart was thumping, but she went on, and up. Now the stairway was very tight and it was made of smaller branches that bent under her weight as if she was coming to the top. Then her head came out through a crown of leaves, and she could see for miles.
She held on tight, and stared. What a strange country it was!
Not Wales at all. Not anywhere she knew.
Great mountains surrounded it, all glassy and snow-covered. Vast unbroken forests stretched forever. And over there she could see the sea! A green, shifting ocean far in the distance, but how could that be?
Plas-y-Fran was nowhere to be seen.
This was a different world altogether.
‘Gosh,’ she said, clutching as the branches swayed.
It was too strange to think about, really, so she shifted her weight and took a breath of the cold fresh air. Then she struggled around with her back to the tree trunk, and saw the nest.
It was made of gold. She knew that at once, because it shone so brightly. It was out on a thick branch, a good way out from the main trunk. Suddenly she realised what a long way down the ground was.
‘Don’t look down, silly,’ she told herself.
She got down on her hands and knees and began to crawl along the thick bough. It was scary, but she kept her eyes on the nest. As she pulled herself nearer she saw that it was made of a mass of objects, all shinily woven together. Cups and plates and knives and forks. Salvers and necklaces, dishes and rings and winding watch chains. Amulets and bracelets and tiaras. And hundreds of coins, all glinting and shining among the branches.
Seren was almost blinded by the splendour of it. It was a heap of treasure!
But there was no mistaking the Egg.
It sat right in the middle of the heap. It was large and smooth and creamy white, with no markings on it at all. She thought it was bigger than a normal swan’s egg; in any case it would be awkward enough to get down. The Egg of the Midnight Swan! What if she dropped it! She dared not even think about that.
Seren crawled nearer. With every movement the branch dipped. It was really springy now, and her hands were green with lichen and her knees were sore. Finally, she lifted one hand and reached out. She had to stretch, because she didn’t dare let go with her other hand. Her fingers waved in the air.
Not quite enough.
She slid a tiny bit more.
A bee buzzed round her. She ducked away, and wobbled. ‘Stop that,’ she hissed.
She touched the Egg.
It moved slightly. She jerked her hand back, because she had to be so careful!
Then, with her knees and ankles gripping tight, she let go of the branch, waited till she felt balanced, and bent and lifted the Egg with both hands.
A chill breeze gusted around her.
She wobbled.
Quickly she wrapped the Egg in her skirt and held it th
ere with one hand.
She started to slide backwards. It was very difficult. What made it worse was that a wind seemed to have arrived from nowhere, and the branches were bending and flexing and her hair was blowing in her eyes. But finally she felt the tree trunk at her back.
She grabbed the trunk and held it tight.
For a moment she felt so breathless she couldn’t move. How could she climb down? Holding an Egg? It would be impossible! If only the Crow was here!
Yes, but that’s your fault, she told herself sternly. Because you didn’t tell him where you were going. And so now you are going to have to do this on your own.
She nodded.
And then laughed at herself.
The Box! This was just what it was for!
She wriggled the bag round and balanced the Egg between her knees. Then she pulled the Box out and opened it, and there was the beautiful egg-shaped space, all waiting. She laid the Egg in its pale blue silk and closed the Box tight.
She almost felt it sigh with satisfaction.
The wind gusted. The tree shook.
The Box wobbled.
‘No… Wait…! ‘Seren grabbed at it. She slipped. She screamed and quite suddenly everything went giddy and the world skewed and she was hanging upside down from her arms and feet, clinging on tight. And there, flashing past her, down and down and crashing through the branches below, she heard the Box fall all the way to the floor.
8
A warning is given
Magic is made of simple things.
A mirror, a crystal, a pad of pins.
Seren kept her eyes closed. She didn’t want to see. But her arms were aching and she would fall if she didn’t do something, so she swung her way to the branch and climbed back up onto it, her boots wedged in cracks, her green hands slipping and sliding on moss and lichen.
The Midnight Swan Page 6