The Watching Wood (16 page)

‘Delilah!’ Jenny gasped. ‘Grace, no!’

With another loose stone Grace attacked one of the rings on Jenny’s wrists, clanging and chipping away at the rusty metal. She worked furiously, ignoring Jenny’s shouting in her ear. They could talk when this was over and she was free. She glanced to her left and saw Delilah hold her palm over the other ring, mumbling under her breath with her eyes closed. Like fast-growing lichen, the rust spread under her spell, eating into the metal, making it weaker and weaker. Grace’s arm ached as she slammed the rock on the ring, over and over. It was working. The ring was dented and flaking and, beneath it, her powerful blows were chipping at the stone wall that held onto the metal. Something was going to give.

‘
Grace
,’ Jenny’s voice rang out under the constant clash of
stone on metal, ‘listen to me, it’s–’

‘Nearly there! Just hang on.’ There was a dull crack and the rusted metal split. ‘Yes! Got it.’

Grace wrenched apart the jagged ends of the split and freed Jenny’s hand. Her right wrist was still bound, but Delilah’s magic was gradually turning the ring to brown dust. Just another minute or two and they could run. But the growl from the back of the cell gave them no time. The goat-headed beast lunged from the dark, meeting Grace nose to nose as she pressed her back against the damp wall. Delilah clenched her fist and kissed her fingers, ready to throw more silver stars, but Jenny knocked her arm away.

‘Stop!’ she said. ‘You mustn’t do that.’

The goat beast was so close, Grace could feel the cold as he inhaled, and the heat as he released each irate breath. The yellow pupil-less eyes were so inhuman.

‘He didn’t hurt me,’ Jenny said, putting a calming hand on Delilah’s clenched fist. ‘He told me where to get drops of water from cracks in the wall when I was parched. He could have hurt me if he wanted. He didn’t. I think … it’s okay, he’s not dangerous.’

Grace wouldn’t believe her. Those soulless eyes were bad, she was sure of it.

‘Break the ring, Delilah.’ Her voice was level, and she never took her eyes from the goat beast. ‘And then we’re leaving.’

The goat laughed his raspy laugh.

‘And how will you get out?’

‘We’ve left …’ Grace started. ‘We can find our way out.’

‘Find the entrance maybe, but your foot is circled like your friend’s.’ He nodded to the binding ring on her ankle. ‘Will your small friend carry you both?’

Grace could feel Delilah’s gaze on her. They both knew she wouldn’t be able to carry either of them back up to that awful slanted corridor. Grace still hadn’t taken her eyes from the goat.

‘We’ll find our way out.’

He smiled, knowingly, but backed off and gave her room.

Delilah resumed her powdering of the metal ring, and soon Jenny’s wrist was free.

‘He’s right, you know,’ Jenny said out loud, to Grace’s dismay. ‘It took three of them to take me down that black hole and lock me up. Delilah can’t manage it alone.’

‘We’ll find a way.’ Grace knew her repetition was proving nothing, but she was determined not to look afraid. ‘Come on, let’s go.’

‘Maybe …’ Jenny said, hesitating. ‘Maybe we should let him go.’

‘Absolutely not.’

‘Grace, he’s been down here for centuries. Wouldn’t you be a bit strange after all that time alone? He’s not–’

‘He’s a faery!’

‘So?’

‘Rachel said they’re dangerous. The Hunters kill them – all day, every day – they spend their whole lives taking out faeries because otherwise …’

‘Otherwise what?’

‘Look,’ Grace said, exasperated, ‘they’re dangerous, alright? All of them.’

‘What about B-brr?’ Delilah said.

‘Who?’

‘The wood nymph.’

‘You called him B-brr?’

Delilah put her finger between her lips and went
b-brr, b-brr, b-brr
.

‘He does that,’ she said to Jenny, who was giving her a queer look.

‘Well, he’s not …’ Grace struggled to get the words out. ‘He’s too small, I guess, to be dangerous.’

‘He broke my binding ring,’ the small girl said. ‘He showed us the way to Jenny.’

Grace sighed. She couldn’t bad-mouth Delilah’s pet. Without him, they would never have escaped from the turret or found Jenny.
Little rat still ate all the rose myrrh
, she growled to herself.

‘Fine, he’s okay then. But we can’t set the goat-thing free, Jenny, we just can’t. We don’t know him, and we can’t trust him. I’m sorry.’

‘Phooka,’ the sing-song voice said from the back of the
cell. ‘I’m the Phooka. And you don’t have to set me free.’

He stepped from the dark, all seven feet of him, and held his arms up to the light. His wrists were bare, and his chains lay in a heap on the floor. At his feet, the wood nymph grinned up at the girls, licking his lips, his teeth still pink with the stain of rose myrrh.

16

Those of the Darkness

Rachel picked her way through the dark forest, still shaking with adrenalin. Far to her right, she saw a pale body disappear into the trees, the last faery within sight. As the mass had moved from the clearing, she had veered away from the stream, getting further and further from all the others. The blue sprite had followed her for a time, but she managed to lose her by ducking into some bushes when the sprite was momentarily distracted. She would emerge from the woods much farther from the castle than she had hoped, but she would be out of sight of the faery gathering at the eastern edge.

There were no firefly eyes watching this time, and she
told herself that she was finally alone; except that she felt she wasn’t. She couldn’t hear anyone in the unnatural silence that plagued the woods, but she moved as lightly as possible, breathing quietly, as if to hide herself from him or her or it, whatever it was that was following her. There was a rustle of leaves behind. She spun around and caught a glimpse of something white, maybe with black hair. A little boy? Her mouth was so dry it hurt.

‘You’re a long way from home, little asrai.’

She felt her eyes widen in shock. Right in front of her, the fungi creature hung from a branch, his pale face like a misshapen moon in the trees.

‘And dawn approaches.’

She backed away, stumbling on legs that felt like jelly.

‘Yes,’ she gasped. ‘It’s nearly dawn and I should go.’

The screamer face smiled weirdly.

‘I do admire the moon faeries. You have an elegance never quite equalled by your daylight friends.’

Rachel continued to move backwards, too terrified to turn, but the fungi faery crawled swiftly from the tree towards her. Standing upright he would have been taller than she was, but his knees remained bent and his body hunched. She couldn’t bear the sight of his long bony fingers, and was forced to stare at his face instead.

‘You know the stories, little asrai,’ he said. ‘They’ve told you.’

She was frozen to the spot and didn’t dare speak.

‘How three witches found a haven in the sea; an island of plenty, filled with magic and beings of every kind. How they were welcomed with open arms, given leave to make their home. But the witches were greedy, they would not share. Their greed unsettled the spirits of the island, strengthening those of the darkness, and leaving those of the light weak. There was no longer balance. And our kind fell. It is a tragic story, is it not?’

She nodded her head.

‘I wish you no harm, little asrai,’ he tilted his head sadly, ‘though I fear you cannot say the same. The dark spirits hold sway over more than just the ground beneath your feet; they poison weaker minds, planting seeds of malice and revenge. But I have hope that your mind is yet free.’

Rachel sucked in a shaky breath as he leaned up close enough to whisper in her ear.

‘Beware what has followed you from the grand house, and do not trust your eyes. Innocence is the greatest disguise.’

He sank back onto bended knees and smiled.

‘Good luck, little asrai. I wish you all the best.’

Rachel watched the Fungi walk slowly eastwards on his odd bended legs. She dropped her glamour. What was the point? He knew what she was and he’d let her go. He must have presumed that she would tell the Hunters of his plan, but he made no effort to stop her. Was he telling the truth
about the three witches? Did the Supremes really steal the island when they had the choice to live freely among the faeries?

A sobbing sound made her turn and she realised she had been standing rigidly the whole time, like a statue. A shock of black hair poked out from behind a tree and a little white hand grasped the bark. Slowly, the ghost of Tormey Vause crept into view. His huge green eyes were bloodshot with tears and his face was stricken with fear. Rachel shivered in sympathy at the sight of the small, cold child in a drenched nightgown. He looked so defenceless.

‘Don’t let him get me,’ he whispered.

Rachel shook her head.

‘He’s not going to hurt you. No-one can hurt you.’

‘Don’t let him get me,’ the boy repeated, his pale skin tinged blue with the cold. ‘Don’t let the faery get me.’

He stepped towards her and Rachel instinctively stepped back.

‘He led me to the cliff,’ he said. ‘His wicked faery light led me to the water.’

‘The
Phooka
,’ Rachel replied, narrowing her eyes. ‘Alinda said the Phooka led you to the cliff.’

There was a pause and the little boy shook his head slowly.

‘The fungi faery led me to the cliff. You must kill him. Kill him and save me.’

‘Kill him!’

Rachel jumped at the sound of another child’s voice to her right. Lark Walden stood there holding his colourful wooden puzzle. He looked too young to understand what he was saying, but his huge eyes looked up pleadingly under his blond hair. Some feet away stood Vela Romwood, her skin and clothes the grim colouring of her portrait. All of the children – and more had appeared – had that strange colouring; too grey and too bleak to be real.

‘Kill him,’ they echoed. ‘Kill him.’

Rachel shook her head, trying not to look afraid.

‘No,’ she said firmly. ‘I don’t believe you. I won’t help you.’

The echoing stopped but the children remained staring. She stepped between them; they made an eerie guard of honour as she moved forwards, avoiding the glaring, foreboding eyes. When she was out of sight of them, she told herself, she would run.

Rachel’s limbs were weak with exertion and terror. She couldn’t run anymore and she was too tired to glamour. She was as vulnerable as she could be in these woods, but all she could think about were her friends in the castle. They had no idea what was coming, and she was the only one who could warn them.

Her vision was becoming blurry with fatigue, and the growing mist curling around her ankles wasn’t helping. She
leaned against the black bark of a tree, blinking against the tiredness and trying to revive her senses. Up ahead, through the fog, she could see some warm light. Had she reached the edge of the woods? It must be daylight and, despite what dawn would bring, she felt comforted. Following the yellow glow she found a small break in the trees and there, hanging in the air, was an amber lamp.

It was like a mini-sun hovering in the night-time. She closed her eyes and basked in its light. It was warm and soothing and it eased the aching in her limbs and the worries on her mind. But it moved, taking its warmth with it. She frowned, and followed it, taking a u-turn back the way she had come. If she stayed within a few feet of it she felt that serenity that sunshine gave. Any further than that and the cold night air brought back her pain and anxiety with a shock. So she followed it; back into the woods, and further from her friends in Tithon Castle.

Grace ignored Jenny’s attempts to delay the rescue mission. Her friend could be bossy again when they were out of the dungeons; down here, she was in charge. She clenched her friends’ hands even tighter, making Delilah wince in pain, and ploughed ahead.

That little rat
, she thought to herself.
All that time he was chewing on those chains and setting the Phooka free
. She wished
she had thrown the wood nymph from the turret window when she had had the chance.

She didn’t waste a second when she saw the goat creature was no longer tethered to the wall. She had snatched her friends by the hands and pushed them out of the cell. Now they were running at full pelt through the dark passageways, scouring the stone floor for that sad bit of cream jumper. Her heart was sinking, believing she had dragged them the wrong way, but
there
! There was so little of it she almost missed it in the dull green gloom.

‘Got it!’ she cried, letting go of the others and clutching the material.

‘Did you guys leave that here?’ Jenny asked, impressed.

‘Grace’s jumper,’ Delilah replied. ‘So we could find our way back out.’

‘Clever.’

‘Come on,’ said Grace. ‘We’ve gotta move. If the little rat could follow the scent to your cell, he can follow ours to the entrance. We need to run.’

She ran ahead, gathering up the thread as she went. The others followed. They made it back to the first junction, and looked helplessly at the spot where Grace and Delilah had landed with a bump.

‘Any ideas how to get out yet?’ said Jenny.

Grace grimaced. She hadn’t any.

‘Climb,’ she said at last.

‘That’s impossible.’

‘Maybe not.’ Grace pointed to the cracks between the stone blocks. ‘Use these for hand and foot holds, and Delilah can hover behind us to catch us if we slip.’

‘The walls are slimy,’ Delilah said. ‘You
are
going to slip.’

‘Both of us,’ Jenny agreed. ‘We’re both going to slip, and Delilah can’t catch two at a time. Even one of us would drag her to the floor. One bad fall and someone’s going to break a leg.’

‘That would be a terrible thing,’ said a raspy voice behind them.

The yellow eyes glowed. The girls backed into the wall beneath the entrance high above. They were trapped. They couldn’t climb, and they couldn’t run past the tall, horned figure that blocked the passageway.

‘Since you were banished to the dungeons, little witch,’ the Phooka said to Jenny, as the wood nymph scampered about his hoofed feet, ‘and these two came to your rescue, I presume that none of you are welcome guests in the castle above us.’

There was an audible gulp as Jenny shook her head.

‘Then you have no allegiance to the Three?’

‘The Supremes?’ Jenny said, ‘No, no we don’t.’

‘Well,’ said the Phooka, coming close, ‘I am glad.’

He crouched down and wriggled a little, as if in pain. The girls gasped in horror as two protrusions erupted from
his hairy back, stretching and bursting the skin. There was no bleeding, but the protrusions lengthened and unfolded, revealing a pair of feathered wings, each the length of his whole body. When he lifted his head, the goat’s face with its shaggy brown hair was gone and, in its place were two round, bright eyes and an expanding beak of a shiny grey colour. The cloven hooves were now taloned feet, and a wave of dark gold feathers ruffled from his neck to the top of his head.

‘The enemy of my enemy is my friend,’ he said in a lighter, sing-song voice. ‘Climb on, little witches.’

The great bird turned to one side and lowered a wing. The girls looked to each other.

‘Can’t be worse than trying to climb,’ Jenny whispered. ‘I think we’ll have to take a chance, Grace, I really do.’

The girls climbed on, each gripping a handful of feathers for balance. With a sudden jerk they were airborne. Within seconds they had reached the slanted corridor and crawled off the Phooka’s back, relieved to be on solid ground.

‘The little rat still likes you then,’ Grace said as the wood nymph perched on Delilah’s shoulder gripping her ear with one hand.

‘B-brr,’ the small girl said.

Grace gave in.

‘Fine. B-brr.’

The nymph jammed a finger between his lips –
b-brr, b-brr,
b-brr
– then beamed at Grace with his pink teeth.

Yeah, still don’t have to like you
, Grace thought.

‘Adie and Una,’ Jenny said. ‘Are they still in the turret?’

‘We think so.’

‘They were grabbed before they could get to Madame Three’s room and get the sapphire rose,’ said Delilah.

Watching the Phooka’s transformation from eagle to goat was one thing, but Grace winced at the bone-groaning sound of those wings pushing back into his body. Looking up at his long face under the twisted horns, she couldn’t help wishing he would remain a bird.

‘More friends imprisoned,’ he said, smiling. ‘My, my, you have been naughty.’

The Phooka backed away into shadows without another word. His grin was the last Grace saw of him, and it sent a shiver up her spine.

The fog was thinning and Rachel could make out the cliff edge and the sound of rushing waves below. Now that she was clear of the trees, the rain stung her face and urged her closer to the comfort of the amber light. She reached out to touch it and it moved nearer to the precipice. If she could hold the light, she need never be without that warm feeling again. If she could just grab it. She stretched again, the lamp jerked out of her reach, and the sound of the sea got closer.
Her feet moved from spongey grass to emerging rock and she knew she was close to the edge. But it didn’t matter. All that mattered was staying close to the light.

In the distance, along the coast, she caught a glimpse of a pebble beach.

The Ferryman
.

For a split second her stomach twirled in panic; was she about to go over?
But it doesn’t matter
, she told herself.
Just stay close to the light
.

Then out of nowhere, thoughts of her friends filled her mind. They were in danger at the castle. They needed the Ferryman to get home. They were trying to get to that beach with the sapphire rose so they could pay him. She looked past the amber light to the hint of red sky that promised sunrise. Her friends needed her. They were in
danger
.