Nine

And so the days passed, and each dawned as glorious as the one before until one morning, totally unexpectedly, Blossom Valley woke up under a blanket of grey mist. Not a single whisper of wind or breeze stirred and a strange hush had taken hold of the entire valley. Even the sun wouldn’t show up, as if it had made up its mind to take the morning off.

But after it had enjoyed a long lie in, its glowing face popped up over the tip of Sunrise Hill and came blazing through the gaps of the trees. It turned the mist into pink haze, silvered the grass, and turned the dew drops into sparkling crystals.

Perched high on the elm tree, George was marvelling at the spectacle when out of the corner of his left eye he thought he saw three red dots travelling through the mist over the northern side of the ivy wall. Something stirred inside him. Could it be the ladybirds? Had they lured the butterflies out with the intention of harming them? He quietly flapped his wings and flew out.

The sun hadn’t reached that side of the wall yet and the mist still lingered, thick and grey. George flew high, dipped low, circled around and strained his eyes, trying to see through the mist, but saw nothing. Seconds later, he heard distant muffled sounds. He stopped flapping and listened. It was only the whining of the wind blowing down from the northern hills.

“I’ve been seeing and hearing things,” he moaned to himself. He didn’t feel like joining his friends this morning, so he flew farther away to Penny meadow.

***

“Lovely place you’ve got here, ladies,” George said to a bunch of young ladybirds who were flying from one anemone to another. They weren’t the five spot species. He counted their black dots.

“We mainly have small birds in our meadow,” one of them said in a playful voice. “Crows rarely, and if they do come, they’re always in pairs. You are alone then? You live on the rocks? on the hills?”

“I live in Blossom Valley. You may have heard of it,” George replied.

They shook their heads.

“I have,” shouted an older ladybird who was basking on a buttercup. “We had one from there, so she told us. She was a five spot species and gloating about it. Call me what you may, Crow, she looked a nasty piece of work, if you get my drift.”

“Are the five spot ladybirds rare?” George asked.

“Thirteen and five spot ladybirds are very rare,” the old ladybird answered. “We, here, are the seven spot species and, together with the ten spot, we are the most common ones, but we don’t grumble. That’s how nature made us. I’ll tell you something I’m sure you don’t know, Crow. Seven and ten spot ladybirds are bred in their millions and used for pest controlling purposes. We eat the flies, pests that damage the farmers’ produce. So you see, Crow, all creatures have a purpose on this earth. Now, going back to what I was saying, this five spot took some of our own, lured them out, kept talking to them about Blossom Valley, some magical butterflies, a prince and a princess, and they followed her. We never saw them again. Some days later, a sparrow, one of our regular visitors, asked me if we ladybirds can fly long distances and as high as birds can. I asked him why he wanted to know. He said he’d seen a number of them travelling towards the northern hills. He mentioned a place. Um, I’m not certain but I think I heard the word, devil something. They were on their way to Blossom Valley, I said to him. What are you talking about, silly ladybird? he asked mockingly. There aren’t any valleys up there, only steep ugly rocks.”

“Did the sparrow say Devil’s Gorge, ladybird?” George asked, anxiety mixed with fear in his voice.

“As I said, Crow, I don’t remember. I wasn’t paying much attention,” the ladybird replied peevishly and moved away.

Devil’s Gorge was a deep narrow passage with rough rock sides that fell deep down into a dry river. No trees or plants grew down there, only dead brambles, twisted and tangled up in massive heaps.

So why did Rosa take the ladybirds up there? What plan was in her devious mind? Why did the ladybirds never return to the meadow? What if my eyes and ears saw and heard right? What if Heather, as evil as her mother, has done the same with the butterflies?

Panic overtook him. Like an arrow he shot off into the sky. He was flying against the wind, its fierce gusts fighting furiously to send him reeling backwards, but he used all his might to give his wings the extra power and kept on flapping.

***

By now, Heather, her sisters and the butterflies were quite some distance away from Blossom Valley, and Heather was pleased her plan had gone well so far. No one had followed.

“Isn’t it fun, girls?” she shouted in a cheerful voice. “I’ve waited a long time for a morning like this to take you out. Nobody saw us leave and nobody will know where we’re going. I’ve planned to take you to a place you’ve never imagined, a place that will carry you away to another world. What do you say, Princess?”

“I say, what are we waiting for?” Princess Estella replied excitedly. Then, overcome by the sense of freedom, adventure and mischief, the butterflies giggled, danced, dipped and rose in the wind.

A short while later Heather’s voice announced. “We’re here, ladies, time to come down. We’ve landed safely on Devil’s Gorge. I bet you’ve never flown to such heights before.”

Estella had gone silent, turning her head left and right examining the surroundings. “I don’t like this place,” she said. “It’s barren and bleak. The hills look menacing. Their jagged peaks look like scary ghosts, and the eerie moaning of this wind is giving me the creeps. I would much rather have gone to the meadows. We’d have fun there.”

“Don’t worry about the fun, Princess.” Heather’s mouth opened in a leering smirk. “We’ll have plenty of that here. Now come and take a look at this magical plant of mine. It is unique and has powers that no one but I know.”

Estella walked a few paces closer. The leaves of the plant were short and curly and its centre was a faint yellow. “Is this it?” she said with a frown. “That is but a plain weed with nothing magical about it and I am very disappointed you brought us up here to show us a weed. We’re going back,” she said firmly.

“No, you aren’t,” Heather retorted, a menacing look in her eyes. “I won’t let you.” Then she softened her voice and with a fake tone of concern went on. “I won’t let you cause the flight is long as you’ve just experienced yourselves. The wind has picked up and will make the flight dangerous. I’d hate it if anything happened to you and we’d get the blame. We’ll take you back. Don’t get yourselves upset. Relax and let us have some fun. So, you called my unique plant a weed, didn’t you, Princes? Ha! I’m going to prove to you that it isn’t. You’ll know how unique it is after you’ve taken a sniff from its yellow centre. Breathe long and deep, until your lungs are full. Straight away a wonderful feeling will travel through your body and mind and carry you away to a beautiful world.”

Though Heather had spoken in a fake soft voice, there was malice in her eyes that she couldn’t hide. The butterflies drew back and pulled Estella with them.

“Don’t!” they whispered. “It’s a trick. Heather is twisted. We mustn’t trust her.”

“Don’t be silly,” Estella whispered back. “It’s only a plain weed. What harm can it do me?”

Without hesitating and with her usual grace and calmness, she walked to the weed, bent her head over its yellow centre and drew a deep breath. Seconds later, her eyes gleamed with tranquil joy.

“Come on, girls. Hurry up and join me,” she called. “It’s a wonderful sensation, you’ll see.”

The butterflies yielded and together bent over the weed and took deep breaths.

The power of the weed took over the butterflies’ minds as if a spell had suddenly fallen on them and sent them into a trance. Imaginary plumes of haze swirled around them and inside those plumes, floated vague visions dancing to a soft tinkling sound. Estella beat at the haze to get it away from her eyes and she was now seeing fairies whirling and smiling at her.

“Stop turning and let me touch you,” she pleaded. But the vision of the fairies gradually faded away, then vanished.

“They’ve gone,” Estella whined drowsily. “Why?”

“They’ve gone cause they were never there, Princess.” Heather said with a husky laugh. “It was an illusion that my magical plant created. And I’m not finished with you. The best is yet to come.”

Heather’s two sisters, who’d shrunk back terrified, now dared to come forward.

“Stop it, Heather!” Daisy, the older of the two, urged. “You’re being cruel to them. Please stop.”

“Clear off then!” Heather snarled. “I don’t see why you fuss. It’s only an innocent sleeping weed. The old owl nurse uses it to sooth her patients’ pain or to sedate them if the injury is severe. Only she, being a nurse, knows how much she can give them. To delicate creatures like them, the effect...well, we’ll have to wait and see. But it won’t be the sleeping weed that’ll kill them. I’ve been planning for a long time to get the butterflies out of the way, especially that one.” She pointed at Estella and a spark of hatred and malevolence lit up her eyes.

“I’ve been up here before to put my plan to test. My mother does a lot of spying and learns secrets. Good job too, cause she heard Plato, the old owl, say that this sleeping weed is rare and only grows on Devil’s Gorge. So she brought some meadow ladybirds, common worthless species, no one would miss.”

“You’ve done this before?” Heather’s two sisters gasped and drew back.

“I needed to test the power of the sleeping weed, didn’t I? It had worked fine and so had the rest of my plan. I’m a genius like my mother. She planted the idea in my head. She stayed behind to see that Prince Orpheo has a long sleep so he can’t alert the spider. A small dose of my magical weed will see to that. Now that you’ve heard it all, get out of my face or you won’t live to see another day.”

The butterflies wavered in the air for a second or two then dropped to the ground. They shuffled about letting out short sharp squeals and then went motionless.