Winter Wood (48 page)

Una bowed her head for a moment, as though she were deeply wearied. When she raised it again her face looked paler than ever.

‘I must keep them apart a little longer, though I feel such an ache between them that I can scarce hold one from the other. But more time is needed to prepare. Tonight the Stone and Orbis shall be joined, and we may depart this place, any who would go. From Elysse we came and to Elysse we shall return, I and all who will journey with me. Who here has the faith to join me?'

‘I!' Maglin immediately raised his hand. He turned round and looked at his company, as if daring them not to follow his example, but there was no need. All had raised their hands – and all about the crowd, amongst Tinklers, Troggles, Ickri, Naiad and Wisp, hands and voices rose as one.

‘
I!
'

Una smiled and spoke again.

‘Then for those who would truly put their faith in me, here is my bidding – and a test of that faith. Go now to your homes and destroy them. Tear down your pods and your shelters and be joyful. For if you would truly leave, then there will be no returning and you will have no need of these things. Bring all that will burn to Royal Clearing, and build me a circle about the Rowdy-Dow tree – a high wall of willow and wicker that will hold us all within, and with a gap that we might enter. Archers, bring your bows and arrows, fishers your wicker eel-traps, farmers your bean-sticks. And cave-dwellers, bring lavender oil. Bring all that you live by, and heap all upon the pile. Tonight at moon-high we will meet within that circle. There the Stone and Orbis shall be joined together, and we
joined with them, hand in hand. We will become travellers once more, free of this world and returned to our own. Now go. Talk one with another and ask if you would truly do this thing, then come to me if you will. But have no fear. For those who have faith, all shall be well. Go . . .'

As the crowd slowly began to break up, Midge caught the whispered snatches of conversation of those passing by her.

‘I never heard such talk. What do 'ee think to it all? Do us take food, dost reckon?'

‘I be taking a bindle-wrap for certain.'

‘What about the horses? Do they come wi' us? I ain't so sure about all this . . .'

Midge wasn't so sure about it either. She was trying to picture exactly what was going to happen, and knew that if it was she who was being asked to take such a leap of faith then she simply couldn't do it. But then she wasn't a traveller.

She watched sadly as the tribespeople began to move away, the archers, fishers and fieldworkers reuniting with their families, tired children being lifted onto shoulders, others being led by the hand. It was like some strange carnival day coming to an end. And it was coming to an end, Midge thought. Everything was coming to an end . . .

‘Maglin – Tadgemole . . . stay a while.' Una's voice rose above the general buzz. Midge looked up and saw Una's eye upon her. ‘And you, child, come closer. Join us here.'

On the rock? Midge wasn't sure that there was
room. She stood up and walked stiffly over to the rock platform, perched herself sideways upon the edge of it, and sat with her boots in the trickling shallows. She felt cold and shivery, she realized, and suddenly very tired. Too much had happened today. Far too much to take in. But she looked up at Pegs and tried to raise a smile.

‘Are you really going?' she said.

Aye. We must.

The soft colours spread outwards inside her head, gentle starbursts of pink and yellow.

‘And so I shan't see you again?'

Do you think not? I think that perhaps you will. We each of us have many lives, Midge, so many that truly there is but one life that we are all a part of. We are all one. I am the fly upon my own cheek, and in another life I watch myself through his eye. Wherever we look we see only ourselves. You will see me again, and I you.

But that was too much for Midge, and it was not an answer that brought her any comfort.

‘I mean, to speak to.'

We shall see.

‘Child, it is time for you to leave. We have much to do.' Una's eyes were level with her own, and now that she was so close Midge could see the age and the wisdom that they held. And she saw that the skin of Una's face was almost transparent. Paper-thin, like her Aunt Celandine's, but taut and unlined. ‘Yet before you go, we have to thank you for all that you have done. Give me your hand.'

Una stood beside her, her pale arm outstretched.
Midge reached hesitantly for the tiny hand that was offered, and as their fingers met a little snap of electricity sprang between them. She flinched, but then reached out again and took the delicate hand between her own impossibly clumsy fingers and stubby thumb.

‘Ah.' Una's eyes half closed for a moment. ‘It is as I knew it would be, and you are truly the kin of she who was here before – Celandine. Like she, you have the Touch.'

‘D-do I?'

‘You do. And like she you will use it to the good. I will offer you no gifts, child, for you have gifts already. Gifts to be given.'

Midge could feel a warmth spreading through the bones of her hand, the same strange sensation that she had experienced with her Aunt Celandine.

‘Tell me about what happened . . .' she said. ‘When you met her – Celandine, I mean. She doesn't really remember.'

‘She was a child, like you, but one who had suffered much before meeting with our kind. She came here seeking refuge, and hid herself away from her own. But then when the Ickri came she was driven out once more, and in great fear of her life. Corben would have killed her. I helped her to escape, a child myself, and helped to see that the Orbis went with her. I never saw one so frightened or troubled, and perhaps 'tis as well for her that she forgot her time here. But she had great courage, and I see her spirit lives on in you. You will have a happier life than she.'

‘Will I?' Midge felt as though she was having her fortune told. She had so many more questions to ask, but knew that there would never be time to hear the answers. Already it was beginning to get dark. She looked at Tadgemole and Maglin, and saw that Maglin now held a swab of some sort to his leg and was wincing as he pressed it against the arrow wound. She should go.

‘I'm sorry you were hurt, Maglin,' she said. ‘But thank you for what you did . . . saving me from . . .'

‘'Tis a scratch. And 'twere Tadgemole that got the better of Ictor, not I. Though I've yet to hear how he came by the Stone.'

‘It was Pegs that took the Stone, and gave it to Tadgemole,' said Una. ‘All our intent was to keep either one of you from getting both the Stone and the Orbis, for then no peace would have ever come. And if I had taken these things for myself, as I might easily have done, then none would have said I had the right to them, or followed me. Such things are to be given, not taken. But you, child, before you go, shall take one thing with you at least, to remember us by. What shall it be?'

‘What? Oh . . . nothing. Really. There's nothing . . .' Midge was embarrassed. She looked up at Pegs, so beautiful in the last rays of the sun, and of course immediately saw the one thing that she really
would
like – which made her more uncomfortable than ever.

‘Ah. I see into your heart.' Una was smiling at her. ‘And how wise you are. Did you not know' – Una moved towards Pegs, and began to unclasp his bridle
– ‘that this pretty piece was first made by the Naiad as a parting gift for Celandine? How right then that it should return to you. Here, take it, and keep it safe.'

‘
Was
it? No, I never knew . . .' Midge could feel herself going as red as the leather from which the bridle was made. But she took it from Una's hands and said, ‘Thank you. I really love it. It's . . . lovely.' The bells jingled softly as she folded the straps. ‘Just beautiful.'

‘Away then, child. Keep it along with your good heart and don't look back. Pegs will walk you through the tunnel.'

‘Yes. I have to . . . have to get back . . .' Midge felt her eyes prickle with tears. She stood up and tucked the folded bridle into the front of her fleece.

‘We've much to thank 'ee for then, maid.' Maglin's voice sounded gruff.

‘Aye,' said Tadgemole. ‘And shan't forget.'

But then Midge remembered something that she had forgotten. She reached into the pocket of her fleece and took out the folded piece of paper that Tadgemole had given her – the drawing of Celandine.

‘Here,' she said. ‘I meant to give this back . . . but then I . . .'

Tadgemole began to reach for the notepaper, but then shook his head. ‘Keep it, maid. A gift from the cave-dwellers . . .'

‘Sorry . . . I can't do this . . . I can't . . .' Midge dropped the piece of paper and began to stumble away from the rock, suddenly overwhelmed by all the emotions that the day had brought upon her. It was too much to bear. The bubbling stream was a blur
beneath her feet, and the mouth of the tunnel just a vague dark shape ahead. The footsteps of Pegs were following behind her. As she began to duck, she heard Una's voice again.

‘Midge . . .' It was the first time that Una had called her by her name. Midge turned, and caught a final glimpse of the three figures standing upon the rock, Una, Maglin and Tadgemole. The little people shimmered through the film of her tears, and wouldn't come into focus. ‘Don't look back.' Midge could hear the smile in Una's husky voice. ‘You'll have no need.' She managed a nod and a smile in return, but could find no reply.

When they reached the other end of the tunnel Midge had to search through her pockets for some tissue. Pegs stood beside her, looking out across the darkening wetlands.

‘I'm sorry . . . I'm sorry . . .' Midge blew her nose and wiped her eyes. ‘You haven't even
gone
anywhere yet. I don't know why I'm making such a fuss.'

Parting may not be what parting seems, maid . . .

‘Oh . . . don't give me that. Let me give you a hug instead.' This was no time for words of wisdom. Midge crouched down and put her arms about Pegs' neck. She loved the smell of him, the rough warmth of his winter coat upon her face. He leaned into her, and gently rubbed his cheek against hers.

She could have stayed there for ever. But at last she stood up and allowed her hand to run down the length of his neck and mane until her fingers touched his wings. One more time she would experience that
extraordinary sensation in her fingertips, the feel of those delicate bones beneath their covering of velvety skin. And then never again.

‘Goodbye, Pegs.' She briefly bent down and kissed his mane, then stuffed her hands into her fleece and began to walk down the muddy gully.

Midge . . .

The pink and yellow colours burst in her head. This time she wouldn't look back.

Briefly parted, soon united.

‘If you say so, Pegs. I love you.'

Midge thrust her hands deeper into her pockets and kept on going, the farmhouse lights below a blur of dancing stars.

The workmen were just packing up and leaving.

Their white van stood in the yard, engine running, and as Midge wearily climbed the steps onto the flagstone path, she saw the foreman, Dave, coming out of the front door.

‘Ah, there you are.' The man dangled a bunch of keys. ‘I was wondering whether I should lock up or not. There didn't seem to be anybody around. Here you go.' He gave Midge the keys.

‘Oh thanks. Isn't anybody back yet?'

‘No. Don't think so. We'll be off then and, er, see you tomorrow. You OK?'

‘Yeah, I'm . . . fine.' Midge took a deep and shaky breath. ‘Just been out for a walk, that's all.'

‘Sure you're all right? OK. As long as somebody's here. See you, then.'

‘Bye.'

Midge was glad that the house was empty. It gave her a chance to sit down for a minute and think. She got herself a glass of milk from the fridge and collapsed onto one of the kitchen chairs. The bridle bells gave a muffled jingle from within her fleece – a reminder of all that had happened to her on this extraordinary day. So many thoughts and pictures crowded her brain that she couldn't begin to put them in any order . . . Scurl and the weir . . . Little-Marten and Henty . . . and George . . . and that awful archer, Ictor. And that was before she'd even properly got into the forest.

She was utterly exhausted, she realized. Numb with fatigue. She stared at her outstretched arm on the kitchen table and wondered whether she could even find the energy to lift the glass of milk. There was something on her sleeve. Midge brought her eyes into focus and saw that it was a hair – very long and silvery, shiny-bright beneath the glare of the kitchen lights. She picked at the end of it and gently pulled it away from the material.

Pegs. Of course. It must be from his mane. Midge wound the hair around the forefinger of her left hand and then did the same with her right. It was surprisingly coarse and tough. She tested its strength, tugging her hands apart, feeling the resistance, the slight elasticity as the hair tightened around her fingers. It was tempting to see just how much pressure could be applied before the hair would break, but at the same time she didn't want to spoil it. No, she
would keep it safe somewhere. It occurred to her that if she had a few more of the same, she could plait them into a bracelet. Maybe even dye them different colours. But then she remembered that there weren't going to be any more. Because she was never going to see Pegs again . . .