Winter Wood (16 page)

Midge didn't know what else she could say.

‘Tea?'

It was as though all the lights had been switched on anew. The room was hot and bright, and there stood Elaine, with a little aluminium trolley. Sandwiches on a plate, and a brown teapot, and some fairy cakes. Then Carol Reeve was crossing the room towards them, pointing to her watch as she approached.

Midge looked at the sandwiches. ‘Um, no. I'd better not. I have to go. Sorry . . .'

‘Sorry.' Carol's voice echoed her own. ‘Got a bit caught up. We should make a move, Midge, if you want to get back to the Almbury centre before five. I'll
walk you over. How've you been getting on? Everything all right?'

‘Yes,' said Midge. ‘Thanks.' But everything wasn't all right at all. She stood up and reached for her fleece.

‘
What
little people?' Aunt Celandine was looking around her. Her voice sounded agitated now, and her hands were gripping the arms of the wheelchair.

‘Sh,' said Elaine. ‘Look – I've made you sandwiches. Tuna mayonnaise. You like them.'

‘Where's the girl? Is she there? Has she gone already?'

‘No, she's still here. But now it's time for her to go home.' Elaine bent low and put an arm around the old lady's shoulders. She looked up at Midge, over her spectacles. ‘Better say cheerio now, dear.'

‘Yes. All right, then.' Midge moved over to the wheelchair, and hesitantly rested one of her hands on top of Celandine's. ‘Goodbye, Aunt Celandine. It's lovely to have met you.' She could feel the tremor of the thin fingers beneath her palm, and worried then that perhaps she'd said too much too soon – had succeeded only in upsetting this poor old woman. The balding head lolled backwards, rocking awkwardly, as though out of control, and the filmy eyes looked up at her, blank.

‘Oh.'

Again the mouth held the circular shape of the sound it had made, a neat little ‘o' of surprise and bewilderment. But then Midge felt her own hand being covered by Celandine's, a hesitant touch at first that became a great squeeze – as if of communication,
recognition. The strength in that grip was really quite amazing. A curious tingly sensation ran through her, warm, and wonderfully uplifting. Her Aunt Celandine's face crinkled into a thousand criss-cross patterns, the lines as intricate as leaf-prints or bees' wings. A huge and delighted smile.

‘Lovely,' she said. ‘Yes, lovely indeed, and I'm sorry you have to go so soon. But we shall talk some more. And you're quite right – “Great-great-aunt” sounds perfectly ridiculous. You must simply call me Aunt Celandine from now on. You'll come again, won't you?'

‘Yes,' Midge said. ‘Of course. I'll ring next time, though.'

Another warm squeeze of her hand, and then Midge withdrew, backing away and turning to follow Carol across the room. She heard her Aunt Celandine say, ‘That's my great-great-niece, you know,' a clear voice above the clink of teacups. Carol held the squeaky door open for her to pass through into the corridor, and then the sounds of the room faded away. It was over. As quickly and as bewilderingly as that.

They hurried across the windy car park and Carol said, ‘I hope we haven't got you into trouble. It's just gone five.'

‘It'll be OK.'

‘Do you want me to come and explain to your mum?'

‘No, it'll be OK, thanks.'

‘Well, I'll stay with you till I know you're safe.'

The shopping mall was less crowded now, and it didn't take long for Midge to catch sight of her mother. Uncle Brian was still sitting at the café table with his friend, and Mum and Barry were standing next to them, chatting. Barry had his arm around her mum's shoulders. That was a bit weird.

‘She's just over there.' Midge pointed towards the table, and looked up at Carol. ‘I'm OK now.'

‘Sure?'

‘Yes. Thanks for walking me back.'

‘You're very welcome. Um . . . did you mean it when you said you'd visit Miss Howard again?'

‘Yes. I'd like to, anyway. Not sure when it'd be, though, or how I'd get here. I'll ring first, like I said.'

‘Well, I'm sure that she'd always be delighted to see you. We'll wait till we hear from you then.'

‘OK. Bye. And thanks.'

‘Bye, Midge. Keep safe.'

‘Yeah.'

Midge watched Carol walk away, her dark two-piece suit looking out-of-place smart somehow, amongst all the winter shoppers in their jackets and jeans. She turned to see that Mum had spotted her, and that there was already a questioning little frown on her face.

Better be prepared, then. Midge put her hand in the pockets of her dungarees and walked towards the café. What was she going to say? Tell the truth, as far as she could. Usually the simplest thing. But everything had happened so quickly in the last hour that it was hard to accept that it
was
the truth. She had
found Celandine. Could that really be right? It made her head spin.

‘Hallo – where have
you
been? I was just about to give you a call, missy. Brian says you've been gone almost an hour. Who was that woman you were talking to?' Mum had disentangled herself from Barry's arm, the better to get serious with her.

Midge smiled. They were never going to believe this.

‘You're never going to believe this,' she said. ‘I've been having tea with Aunt Celandine. Not that I actually
got
any tea, though. There wasn't enough time. Can I have another cake or something? I'm starving.'

It was great to see their faces. She wished she had a camera.

Her mum said, ‘
Whaaat?
'

MAGLIN HAD MADE
his decision. He would gather together the Ickri tribe, along with any of the Wisp and Naiad who were willing to follow him, and quit the forest as soon as was possible. All others would be left to their fate.

The Far Woods might provide a temporary haven. He would take his people and sit out the rest of the winter there. Then, when better weather came, he would move north, sending out scouts to search for lands that were less overrun with giants. There was no knowing whether such lands existed, but any chance was worth taking when the alternative was simply to sit here starving and waiting to be discovered.

With his shoulders hunched against the cold, Maglin entered Royal Clearing and walked towards the Rowdy-Dow tree. How miserable the Woodpecker looked, crouching up there on the Perch, all huddled beneath his bindle-wrap. Little wonder that he seemed so wretched. With no permission to wed, the lad hadn't even the comfort of his thoughts to keep him warm.

Maglin tapped the shaft of his spear against the tree trunk.

‘Come, Woodpecker – rouse up. I've work for 'ee.'

Little-Marten hastily pulled his bindle-wrap aside, looked down at Maglin, and fumbled for the clavensticks.

‘Aye, Maglin. I be ready.'

‘Then muster the tribes.'

‘All tribes?'

‘All tribes. 'Tis time we were gone from here. You'll have heard the talk, I don't doubt. Well now you hear it from me. The Ickri be leaving – along with any others that will. Sound the Muster, then.'

‘Don't 'ee do it, Maglin!'

Maglin stared up at Little-Marten in astonishment – then realized that it was not the Woodpecker who had spoken. He swung round, spear at the ready. From the back of the shattered beech tree stepped the fantastic figure of Maven-the-Green. By Elysse! Maglin jabbed his spear at the hag, quite prepared to run her through there and then for giving him such a shock.

‘You old
witch
! Do 'ee ever stop creeping about? Get back from me, if thee've a mind to live this day through!'

Maven slowly raised her arms as a sign of peace, but Maglin just growled at her and thrust his spear further towards her skinny throat. The crone looked more outrageous than ever – the sight of her was enough to make a rock jump. Her face and arms were daubed in what looked to be rough green clay, so thick that it had cracked and split upon her skin like willow-bark.
Her hair too was caked in clay, matted into great twisted hanks that snaked down over her forehead so that the peering red-rimmed eyes were hardly visible. A terrible creature she was, hump-backed and wreathed in winter ivy – ancient as the very woods she haunted. And mad as a nest of adders.

Maglin cautiously withdrew his spear.

‘This be a dangerous amusement, hag, to creep up on one such as I. Eh? Now I warn 'ee: keep such japes for those with softer tempers and thee might breathe a while yet, but try 'em with me and I'll have 'ee wriggling on the end of this spear like an eel. Too often I find 'ee lurking where thee've no business.'

‘'Tain't such an easy thing, though, maister.'

‘Eh?'

‘To spear an eel.' Maven's voice was a creaky whisper. She lowered one of her arms, but kept the other one half raised and began moving it gently to and fro, in a lazy snaking motion. There was something graceful in her actions – the hypnotic movement of her arm so clearly imitating an eel, moving back and forth in a slow current. ‘'Tis plain enough to
see
'un' – Maven moved a little closer towards Maglin – ‘and so thee reckons thee shall
have
'un.' Her voice was lowered to a softly rhythmic croak. ‘Thee bides . . . and thee bides . . . and then – when 'ee has 'un just right – thee
throws
the spear . . .'

In one startling movement Maven's arm shot forward, grasped Maglin's spear, and flung it to the heavens. The weapon flew straight up towards Little-Marten's high Perch, hit the underside of the broken
limb with a solid
thunk
, and hung there, quivering. Little-Marten's squawk of fright drifted down from above.

‘And then what 'ee be left wi', maister? No eel. And no spear, neither.' Maven shrugged her skinny shoulders. Her mouth cracked open into a horrible grin – a flash of pink against the green of her encrusted face.

She stood her ground, waiting almost, as Maglin recovered himself from his shock to come roaring down upon her.

‘Dost think to make a mock o'
me
, you old drab?' Maglin lunged forward, grabbed Maven by the arm, and shook her from side to side. ‘
Here's
what I be left with – a bundle o' dry twigs as I might snap into kindles! A handful o' last season's nettle-stalks as I might trample down just to hear 'em crackle! By Elysse, I'll have 'ee tied to the Whipping Stone for this!'

But Maven, instead of struggling to escape, yanked herself closer to Maglin – clung to him so that her face was thrust up against his cheek, her breath hissing into his ear.

‘Dost think I be mad, maister? Dost reckon me witless? That I be mazy in the head? No! 'Tis thee, Maglin, that be too crack-nogged to reason aright. 'Tis
thee
that've lost all sense. Do 'ee not see where the true path lies? Then let me show 'ee . . . let me aid thee . . .'

‘Get . . . get
away
from me!' Maglin managed to wrench himself free of the bony green fingers that clutched at his tunic. He sent Maven staggering back
against the trunk of the beech, and raised his head to shout up at Little-Marten.

‘Woodpecker! Do 'ee just bide there gawking? Get me my spear!'

Little-Marten, sitting astride the Perch, began shuffling further along it in order to try and get at the weapon. He hooked one of his legs beneath the broken tree limb, and gave an awkward push at the spear with the ball of his foot – very nearly unseating himself in the process. The spear swung sideways, dislodged itself and tumbled downwards . . . end over end . . . to drop straight into the waiting grasp of Maven-the-Green.

With astonishing agility the old hag snatched the spear from mid-air, and had it pointed at Maglin before he'd even begun to move. Little-Marten gawped down at the scene, barely able to see how such a thing could have come about.

‘Maven – none o' your games! You give me that!' Maglin advanced towards the crone, arms outstretched, snarling with fury.

‘Don't 'ee wish thee may get it, then?' Maven retreated, but kept the spear pointed at Maglin, feinting, thrusting, holding him at bay. From left to right Maglin dodged, always advancing, but never able to move quickly enough to get around that vicious jabbing blade.

Away from the Rowdy-Dow tree and back across the frosty clearing the two of them moved, locked together in their circling dance, the still air alive with the threats and roars of the one, and the mad cackling
of the other. Always Maven was too quick to be caught – yet Maglin could hardly give up and allow himself beaten. He was Steward of the Ickri!

Little-Marten watched dumbfounded as Maven-the-Green finally backed into the dead undergrowth that surrounded the clearing, and Maglin continued to pursue her. Occasional bellows of outrage were audible for some time after the two of them had disappeared into the trees.