Wild Magic (13 page)

Jakob waited a few seconds, then dared to breathe out. He wondered again: why was he so scared? Was it because of the dark? Usually he wasn't scared of darkness or enclosed spaces, but this was different. He felt trapped. He didn't know the way out— if indeed there
was
a way out. And there was so much soil above him. A whole hill's worth, pressing down.

He hadn't been expecting this. Where had Paradise gone? When the Piper opened the hill, he had seen it, hadn't he? A cherry tree, sunshine, and butterflies. He hadn't seen wet, dark tunnels.

Perhaps that was why he felt scared. He wasn't with the Piper. He felt like he was trespassing—going where he shouldn't go, seeing things he shouldn't see. If the Piper was with him, that would be different. He would be a guest. As it was, he felt like a spy. No wonder he was nervous.

Jakob pulled the globe out from under his shirt and hurried on. But the tunnel seemed to go on forever. Was he walking around in circles? He didn't know. How could he tell when everything looked the same?

He could feel himself starting to panic and didn't like it. “Stop this!” he told himself. “It's not helping! Stay calm, keep walking and you'll find a way out. It won't be far.”

Jakob was right to be optimistic. Just five minutes later, he came to an immensely long flight of steps and, as he climbed, he noticed the atmosphere was changing. The air grew sweet with the scent of roses and honeysuckle. The bone-chilling cold became a soft, welcoming warmth.

The steps led to yet another tunnel—but Jakob could see light at the end of it. Sunshine.

He started to run. His feet pounded the ground. His arms pumped the air. And just for that moment, he forgot where he was and lost himself in the joy of running. He threw back his head, laughed out loud, and ran into the sunlight. Jumped up and down and tried to touch the sun. And it was only when he collapsed onto the ground, panting but happy, that he remembered where he was.

Jakob looked at the landscape around him. He was high on the side of a hill, gazing down upon a lush valley. He could see a river, blue as a swallow's wing, with herds of ponies grazing on its banks. In the distance lay misty mountains. Closer were forests, green as emeralds. The sky was laced with birdsong. The flowers were busy with butterflies. And there, right beside the path, was a cherry tree, with pink petals strewn beneath.

Jakob had to close his eyes. He was so full of emotion—so dazzled by the splendor and the light— he knew he would cry if he gazed any longer. With his eyes closed, he was able to steady his breathing and calm himself down. He sat quite still for several minutes, then dared to wonder whether it was all a dream.
Perhaps I'll wake up,
he thought,
and find myself
on Hamelin Hill, with nowhere to go but home.

Suddenly he was scared to open his eyes. What if it all disappeared? But he could smell roses . . . and there were no roses on his side of Hamelin Hill.

Jakob dared to open his eyes. The glory was still there.

He had found it. He was in Paradise.

PART
FOUR

CHAPTER
THIRTY-THREE

Marianna sat down on her haunches, lifted a back leg, and violently scratched her ear.

“Flamin' fleas,” she grumbled. “They're getting everywhere.”

She stopped scratching and wondered what she could do to get rid of them. Scratching wasn't working, nor was rolling in dirt. But she hadn't tried water.

She sniffed the air. There was water ahead. On the far side of the meadow, under the trees. She padded over.

Oh, what a place! It was a deep pool, ringed by alders. Cool, still . . . Perfect for swimming, especially on a hot afternoon like this. Marianna started to wade in.

The water rose up her legs to the top of her haunches. That was far enough. She didn't want to float; she wanted to sit with her body right under the water. She eased herself down. Oh! That felt good! The water was soothing her tired feet and, better still, she could feel the fleas panicking. Soon they were jumping from her body. She could see them floating in the water like blackberry seeds: shiny dots, fat with blood.

She dipped her head under the water and held it there, shaking it from side to side to make sure she would be rid of them all. Then she rose to the surface again and looked at the water. There were clouds of dead bodies now, swirling like a sky full of starlings. And suddenly she remembered Hamelin. The river Weser, black and still, bloated with rats. The Piper, elegant in turquoise and jade, shimmering with life in a mire of death.

Marianna dipped her head underwater again and washed away all thoughts of him. Then she waded deeper and started swimming, rolled onto her back like an otter, and floated still, gazing at the trees overhanging the pool.
Jakob would love this
, she thought.
Perfect peace and no one watching.

Ah, Jakob
. She couldn't think about him without feeling guilty. She should have stayed with him. Looked after him.
Heaven knows who's looking after him
now
, she thought.
It won't be Papa, that's for sure. He
can't look after himself, let alone anyone else. Poor Jakob. I
hope he's all right.

Marianna closed her eyes and floated on, determined to enjoy the moment. She didn't have many good moments these days; it was hard to forget she was a fox. But here in the pool, with the dappled sunshine on her face and the quiet of the countryside enfolding her, she could almost believe she was a girl again.

Then her belly started rumbling. Not a polite, girly rumble but a long, low moan.
Feed me. Feed me
now!
Marianna sighed and reluctantly opened her eyes. Sometimes she felt enslaved, like a genie in a lamp. As soon as her fox body called her, she had to obey.

It was calling her now.
Let's go hunting!

CHAPTER
THIRTY-FOUR

Marianna headed for a busy rabbit warren that lay south of her home. She had hunted there several times since settling in the area and had always been successful.

Marianna's home was a huge oak tree. It had toppled in a storm many moons ago and now its trunk was perfectly hollow, warm and dry. Marianna had been overjoyed to find it. She had been wandering for more than a week, managing to survive, when one day she asked herself why she was constantly traveling. Where was she going? Round and round in circles, it seemed. Hamelin Hill was as close as it had ever been.

She had given up any hope of returning home or regaining her human form, so wandering made no sense. Here, there—it made no difference. She would still be a fox. She simply had to make the best of things. That was what she had been taught in life and it had been a hard lesson. The family had little to make the best of.

But it had been a useful lesson and it probably explained how she had managed to survive. She had adapted and worked with her body where others might have fought against it. It didn't please her to do so. She felt dirty all the time and missed being able to wash her hands. If she wanted to clean herself, she had to use her tongue. It was horrible. She had to
lick her own backside clean
. It had to be done or things got worse. But she couldn't help feeling it was a disgusting habit. Her old dog, Scruff, had done it every day. She had scolded him. Told him to stop. But now she understood why he had done it. He didn't want to; he
had
to.

Food was a constant problem. In the beginning she had scavenged, eating anything she could find. Dead birds, eggs, worms, scraps thrown out by the elf farms. Then she had started stealing chickens. That had been scary. She was worried that the elves might catch her and turn her into a toad. A fox was bad enough, but a toad?
Eurgh!

She wasn't proud of stealing chickens, but she knew it was her fox's instinct, working to keep her alive. And it was that same instinct that made her crave meat. Scavenged food filled her belly, but it left her sluggish. She needed strength and energy to survive. There was no escaping it—what she really needed was a supply of fresh rabbit meat.

Marianna's first attempt at killing a rabbit had gone wildly wrong—in a way she could never have imagined.

She had noticed a small warren on her travels and waited until dusk. That was something she had learned early on about rabbits: they fed mostly at dawn and dusk. By day, they stayed underground in their burrows.

So Marianna had waited till the sun was setting, then skirted around the back of the warren and hidden herself beneath a mulberry bush. She knew the rabbits mustn't see her or catch her scent on the wind. That was the fox again, taking over her senses. Twitching her nose and pricking her ears. Narrowing her eyes, lowering her haunches.

Rabbit!

The smell hit her hard and strong and she began to drool. She couldn't help it; her belly sensed a meal coming. She swallowed the saliva down and opened her mouth to breathe more easily. Her long pink tongue poked between her canine teeth, in and out in the rhythm of her breathing.

She peered through the bush. A lone rabbit was hopping toward her. It looked nervous. It wasn't grazing—just looking around, trying to sense danger. But it wasn't doing a good job of it. Marianna was within killing distance and still it came closer.

Something snapped inside Marianna. She sprang from the bush, landed on top of the rabbit, and sank her teeth into the scruff of its neck.

“Oh!” cried the rabbit. “Don't kill me! Please don't kill me!”

Marianna got such a fright, she dropped the rabbit and fell backward. “I won't,” she stammered. “I promise.”

She looked at the rabbit. It was a tiny scrap of a thing, all wet around the neck where her teeth and tongue had been. It was shaking and breathing so fast, Marianna thought it would faint.

“Thank you,” it whispered.

Marianna took a deep breath to calm herself. Her heart was hammering like a woodpecker. “You gave me such a fright,” she said at last. “I didn't think rabbits could talk.”

“They can't,” said the rabbit. “Not in this language. There's only me.”

Marianna stared at it, horrified. A terrible thought was forming in her mind. She could hardly bear to say it out loud, but she did. “Are you from Hamelin?”

The rabbit nodded.

“Oh my!” cried Marianna. She had nearly killed one of the others.
Eaten
one of the others. She was as bad as the Beast.

“Who are you?” she asked.

“Lise Soliman,” replied the rabbit.

“Soliman?” said Marianna. “Did your family make candles? On Jetty Lane?”

“Yes!” cried the rabbit. “I'm Lise! The eldest!”

“Quite tall?” asked Marianna. “Blonde hair— usually in braids?”

“That's me,” said Lise proudly.

“Dear Lord,” said Marianna. “I nearly ate you.”

The rabbit sighed. “Would that have been so dreadful? Last night I went to sleep and prayed I'd never wake up again. It's not so bad for you— you're a fox. You'll survive. But I'm a rabbit. I'm someone's supper. I spend half my time looking over my shoulder. There are foxes and wolves and dogs and wildcats and who knows what else.”

“Eagles?” said Marianna. “Hawks? Crows?”

“Oh, thank you very much,” said Lise. “Now I have to watch the sky too.”

“I'm sorry,” said Marianna. “I wasn't thinking.”

“No, you weren't,” said the rabbit glumly. “You were too busy thinking about eating me.”

“I'm sorry,” said Marianna again. “I can't help it. But I promise you—I'll move on. I'll never hunt here again.”

The rabbit smiled. “Really? Oh, I'm so glad, because I'd like to stay here. It's quiet and comfortable, and the other rabbits have made me very welcome. I'm even starting to understand their language! I feel like I've found a home.”

Marianna grudgingly returned the smile. She felt cold and empty and envious. She was on her own. Wandering. Lost. But that wasn't Lise's fault.