‘What on earth did you think you were doing, Luned?’ Malik roared, thumping his desk with such force, puffs of soil fell from the ceiling. Luned tried not to flinch at the reminder that she was deep, deep under the Brackenheath oak, home to the Fey town of Fargale.
‘I’m an Undine, my instincts are rarely wrong, Sir.’
‘And you think that is sufficient evidence to stage an unauthorised covert op amongst the raspberry canes? A whim?’
‘With respect, Sir, it’s my job to protect Fargale…’
‘From a nitwit human child?’
‘She was able to see the Weblight, Sir. She also seemed to know an awful lot about the Fey Nation for a mere human child and I heard her discussing gatecrashing the spring ball with her aunt.’
‘Clarissa was hardly about to tell her anything, Luned,’ Malik scoffed, ‘but now she’s seen Sylurians floating across her living room she’s even more likely to go sticking her nose into matters that don’t concern her.’
‘Her family is not her concern? I hardly think she’d see it that way, Sir. Besides, don’t you think that maybe part of the reason the Nymet is sick is due to the punishment we dealt out on one of her own? Readings suggest things were knocked out of balance…’
‘Remember who you’re talking to, Luned,’ Malik growled. ‘It’s our job to keep the Verses in their rightful places, something that is becoming increasingly difficult with the Dreamtime withering around us. It’s just not natural for them to be blending into each other willy-nilly. And may I remind you, letting humans meddle in Fey affairs never ends well, even if they are descendants of the Golden Root – I need not remind you of the “Tinkerbel Scandal”. I should post you to tap root duties for this. Your actions were simply reckless, do you hear me?’
Malik rose to his feet and waddled across his office, dipping into various files that lay about the room. Eventually it was clear he had found the one he was looking for and he handed it to Luned with a malicious flourish.
‘Well, as you are so curious, she is now your responsibility.’ Malik waved away her objections. ‘Your primary job now,’ he emphasised each word with a vicious jab from a podgy finger to her shoulder, ‘is to ensure she doesn’t cause any trouble.’
Luned sighed as Malik indicated he was done with her. Given the choice she would probably have gone with tap root duties. Her first day in Fargale was not going well.
*
The town of Fargale didn’t compare in looks to the dazzling city of Agrimony, capital of the Fey Nation where she was born, but it was special. Fargale was the gateway between the three Verses. Not only was the place legendary, it was neither entirely underground nor in the Dreamtime. She really didn’t want to lose this post or the chance to live in the sun.
Back in her own office in the higher, flimsier branches of the oak tree, she took a deep breath of sweet dawn air and shuffled some of the case files on her desk. She had been posted to ‘Operation Sugar Plum’ and had a busy day ahead of her issuing eviction notices among the Lower Branch and Bole districts. She also had to investigate a report of a Neagle infestation by the river crossing as well as issue A.K.O.R.Ns to the Drakes and Pooka for environmental violations.
With the human domination of the traditional territories of the Fey in both Earth and Syluria, tensions had risen between the Fey species. The more their territories dwindled the more they were forced to live in each other’s pockets, and certain Fey were not natural neighbours. Now the Dreamtime was withering too, their options were getting more and more limited, and Luned’s job was getting harder.
Her afternoon would be taken up by the obligatory induction tour to the ‘Hanging Gardens of Fargale’, as the root system was known, where she would have to learn how to monitor the water levels and general health of the oak. She was not relishing being underground again but there was no getting out of it. At least she had the night shift to look forward to where she would be joining the ‘Standstormers’ unit (code name: Blue Fairy), facilitating ‘dream adjustment’ on the local human population. She certainly couldn’t say her work wasn’t varied.
The last thing Luned needed was more work but she couldn’t stop thinking about the girl living on the cliff. Luned couldn’t shake the feeling this human was going to have a huge, and not necessarily pleasant, impact on Fargale.
A dandiclock in the corner of the room released six puffs of downy seed – her instincts were going to have to wait. Luned picked up the files and a pocket version of the P.O.D charter before tucking a NETEL stun gun into her belt and heading for the river to interrogate a few trolls.
*
Water dripped in fat splodges from the formal avenue of sycamores that lined the main path through Brackenheath Park, and steam rose from the meadow beyond as the sun warmed the air. Charlotte wasn’t a fan of wet weather, she took after her dad in that respect, and it seemed to rain a lot here. But she adored the freshness of the air after a storm, as well as the smell of green.
She was also grateful to be away from the adults too and being outside helped her to work through recent events with a sharp mind. Jude was a regular visitor, and while Charlotte knew she meant well trying to counsel her over recent tragedies the fact was Charlotte just wasn’t ready for sharing, not yet. Most of their conversations only ended up with Jude telling her another story about her dead son Adam anyway.
Clarissa still puzzled her too. She loved the fact she was so laid back and open, but she had an air of otherworldliness that was quite unsettling. Charlotte often expected her to appear on the living room carpet in a puff of smoke like a genie from a bottle. Clarissa was everywhere in Rosemary Heights, even in the oldest parts of the house. So was Charlotte’s mother – another reason why she had to get outside.
*
In the valley ahead, Charlotte could see a couple of boys about her age, one with a wild shock of blond hair, the other a well-built bruiser, enthusiastically kicking a ball between themselves. New classmates, she guessed looking for an escape route. Not only was she not ready to disclose her pain and guilt to an elderly woman with a pink and orange Mohican but she was in no mood to try and awkwardly build friendships from thin air, football or not. Besides, she needed to focus.
Above the bank to her left, she could see another footpath meandering away from the main open space of the park through a thicket of bushes and on to a small copse, which promised a bit of privacy. There was a cluster of beech trees perched at the top of the bank and their thick roots, further exposed by the rain, cascaded down the bank in intricate knots forming a strange staircase over the soft, water-sodden soil. Tugging on a drooping branch, Charlotte hoisted herself onto the nearest stout root and began to climb. The wood was slippery underfoot and she would need to be careful not to twist an ankle but she had done far more adventurous and dangerous climbs than this before now, so she made quick progress. She heard the chatter of the boys pass beneath her just as she ducked into the first bush.
The air was cooler among the trees and the silence hung thickly in the gloom. Charlotte breathed deeply, relishing the complex mix of aromas. Above her, the sky darkened and a peal of thunder rumbled in the clouds. From the relative dryness of the wood, and still able to see over the fields and meadows of Brackenheath-on-Sea, Charlotte watched the tell-tale vertical streaks on the horizon, beautiful in the ruby sunset, that showed the rain drifting her way. It was mesmerising.
The vision was as vivid as ever, lurking in the recesses of her unconsciousness and waiting to pounce the minute she closed her eyes, replaying over and over again. At the base of a huge tree a rose bush glowed, releasing the most beautiful fragrance she had ever smelt. Then, in an instance, the rose bush withered and died before her vision went black and she heard that blood-curdling scream – the scream she was never ready for.
The blackness was like a portal to another world.
‘If only,’ Charlotte muttered bitterly to herself. Where would she go? Back to her old life? No, that was gone and there was only one way to get it back. What she wouldn’t do to find her parents, and she tried to imagine where they might be right this very minute.
‘Penny for ’em.’
Charlotte spun round, almost slipping in the wet leaves. She was half expecting to see the man with the top hat and gloves; instead there were only trees.
‘Down ’ere, human.’
Charlotte was startled to see a rather furry man, only slightly taller than her knees, grinning up at her. He had a bushy beard and wild, bedraggled hair matted with all sorts of vegetation. He was wearing an old Hovis bread bag with holes poked out for his arms and head which was secured with a belt of plaited strawberry shoelaces. His huge feet had long toes that seemed to have a mind of their own, digging around in the dirt. Perhaps it is the stress of everything that’s happened recently, she thought; what else could explain the fact that she seemed to be hallucinating.
‘You going to say anything then?’ the man persisted.
Hallucinations didn’t talk, did they?
‘Er… Hello?’ she said, not quite sure what she was speaking to. It crossed her mind that Clarissa was pulling some sort of trick.
‘Salutations to you, human fairy, I, am Boris.’ The little man bowed with much aplomb.
‘Hi, I… I’m Charlotte,’ Charlotte offered feebly.
‘You’s wondering what I am?’
‘Actually, I’m wondering if I’m going bonkers,’ Charlotte replied.
The fairy chuckled. ‘I’ms here alright. Is wood folk, Veshengo. We wood folk are an unassuming and noble folk and would live in peace and harmony with all the creatures of the trees. We protect that which you humans often abandon.’
‘I… I’m sorry…’
‘Perfectly alright. We actually prefer it that way, not your job anyways and you lot do make a lot of chatter.’ The Veshengo eyed her up and down approvingly. ‘I’m liking you though, Miss Charlotte.’ He nodded.
Charlotte, who was still trying to take in the man’s strange appearance, didn’t know how to respond to such a speech so she felt it was safer to say nothing.
‘You are a lady of few words, unlike the most of your sort, and you…’ Boris lowered his voice to a whisper, ‘… you live in the house on the cliff?’
‘How do you know?’
‘Someone has been awaiting you, Miss Charlotte. I’ve been sent to collect you.’
Charlotte was taken aback. Was that a good thing or not? She felt slightly uneasy but her sense of adventure won out. The Veshengo smiled as if he knew what was going on in her head.
‘Follow me, it’s not far,’ he announced, and before Charlotte could say anything, he shot off into the undergrowth.
‘Wait!’ Charlotte called dipping into the bushes and following him as best she could. ‘I’m not as little as you.’
‘Nice,’ said Boris appearing in a branch by her ear. ‘You discriminating on my size?’ He looked at her with daggers.
‘No, I just mean I can’t follow you into all the little nooks and crannies.’
‘Well, we simply can’t stick to the paths, won’t do, just won’t do! Look… just do the best you can.’ He patted her on the head like she was a defenceless baby and winked before disappearing. ‘Follow my voice!’ he shouted from a patch of brambles before breaking into a raucous song about nubile young sylphs.
Charlotte lost track of how long they played his strange game of cat and mouse but her cargo trousers were soon soaked through, with a few rips and stains, before Boris finally stopped.
‘Here we are then.’
‘Where?’
‘Dunno.’
‘We’re lost? But you’re a Veshengo.’
‘Yes!’ said the little man. ‘That’s what we’re good at.’
‘Well, now I’ve heard it all, aren’t you supposed to know where you are in a wood?’
‘Listen, human, you can’t be findings the heart of the forest till you’re good and lost… thought everyone knew that,’ he sniffed. ‘Anyways, that’s what I brought you to see, right there.’ Boris pointed at a tall, sturdy-looking tree.
‘It’s the Brackenheath Oak!’ Charlotte whispered in awe and… was it… shimmering?
‘Yous can feel it, I can tell. That shimmer, it’s Weblight, from the Dreamtime. This tree is sitting in more than one place at the same time.’ Boris was eyeing the tree suspiciously. Clearly this was not normal even in the fairy world.
Charlotte approached the tree slowly; she wasn’t sure what she would find but she had the same strange feeling that she had experienced with the crystals at Rosemary Heights, the sensation that she belonged here, in this place. She noticed the air cool around her and it became almost electric with anticipation. Surely she was imagining it?
‘Slow walkings, human,’ whispered the Veshengo, ‘and don’t look directly, blur your vision to truly see,’ Boris encouraged her as he bounced along beside her.
She did as she was told, slowing her pace and feeling the ground with her feet. The shimmer became stronger as pin pricks of golden dust swirled in the air around the tree’s vast trunk. The whole tree appeared luminescent and Charlotte had to shield her eyes. She stopped about a foot from the trunk, pausing for a moment before reaching out to touch the rough bark. She was a little disappointed that it felt just like any other oak tree.
‘Hold, hold,’ Boris encouraged her again as he backed further away from the tree.
He seemed nervous to be there which didn’t instil Charlotte with confidence but she somehow knew she had to do this. Maybe the Veshengo could help her connect with Edessa.
‘Feel its heartbeat, touch its soul. Has been waiting for you.’
Charlotte placed both hands and her left ear to the tree bole and shut her eyes to listen. She could hear, yes, and feel, the sap flowing through what must, by the size of it, be an ancient tree. Was that singing? Chanting? It was different to what she had heard before; just one voice and so many stories that seemed to stretch out forever. Charlotte turned to ask Boris what it was but the little fairy had disappeared.
The sky had cleared and the final rays of sunlight broke through the wood canopy but Charlotte could hear thunder. She should think about getting home soon but she was determined to contact her sister first.
Suddenly, from nowhere, a streak of neon blue cut through the air and through the trunk of the tree. Everything after that was a mass of confusion as the ground shook and Charlotte felt herself falling into the sticky mud, broken wood ripping through her clothes and flesh. Something cracked her on the head and the world went blank.
*
It was already getting dark as Luned made her way Underground. Despite being born in a subterranean spring near Agrimony, it always made her feel claustrophobic and she hoped the tour would be over quickly. A ruddy-faced dwarf greeted her with a hearty handshake and a pat to the back that nearly sent her flying.
‘Another newbie, heh?’ he chortled. ‘I’m Davlin, welcome to the “engine room” of Fargale.’
‘That’s a good, traditional dwarf name. I’m Luned.’ She shook the dwarf’s hand.
Davlin beamed. ‘You must be the Undine from Hazelpool Academy, I’ve heard good things about you.’
He led her into a huge cave alive with noise and activity. Intricate knots of tree roots hung in bundles from the walls and ceiling; some hung limply while others vibrated and pulsed with colour. Dozens of fairies weaved through the air like they were performing some sort of aerial ballet, plugging the root ends into each other, unplugging others, knitting certain bundles together, taking measurements before recording their findings and placing them into one of the numerous pools of coloured liquid that filled the floor.
‘What you are looking at here is the most sophisticated communication centre in the whole of the Fey Nation.’ The dwarf beamed proudly. ‘Here we have the Willow board and over there is the Ash ‘n’ Elm exchange. Not just about modern communication mind; Fey seers visit regularly too. They read the roots to determine the fate of families and nations; you’ll find them over there by the Norn Interface. Complicated science, that is.’
They weaved through the pools, some steaming and bubbling gently, releasing pleasant aromas, while others were being stirred to prevent them from freezing over. ‘The nutripools,’ Davlin offered by way of explanation and without slowing his pace.
‘This is the pièce de résistance!’ he announced excitedly, coming to an abrupt stop outside a heavy door.
Silence folded round Luned like a balm after the buzz of the cave as they entered the Tap Room. The air was heavy with the sweet smell of healthy soil, though a bitterness hung ghostly underneath. In the centre of the room the tap root pulsed with a soft green-blue glow.
‘That’s the sap rising,’ Davlin whispered reverently. ‘Though between you and me it’s not been flowing as well as it should for the time of year… of course it’ll be nothing for you to worry about, just seasonal change.’ The dwarf checked himself, clearly worried that he had revealed too much.
Despite the tons of earth above her head and the weakness of the pulse, Luned, who had been feeling somewhat nauseous, felt better to be in the presence of water.
‘It’s so beautiful,’ Luned murmured, mesmerised by the patterns that flowed in the sap stream.
‘It can be a real show for sure,’ Davlin nodded. ‘When you know what you’re looking at, you can decipher their meanings. These here show she’s sensing a storm coming.’
At that moment the walls of the tap room vibrated, causing a light fall of soil from the ceiling.
‘What was that?’ Luned was suddenly very aware of the rock and stone above her. Before Davlin had a chance to answer, there was a second, more violent quake and they were both dragged into the sap stream.
*
Being an Undine, the ride was easier for Luned as she melted into the flow, but even she was glad it was mercifully short – the poor dwarf had not faired as well. Davlin was covered in gashes and bruises and his left arm was now at a sickeningly unnatural angle.
‘What in K’hul just happened?’ Luned gasped as they emerged into fresh air.
‘F… Fargale… screaming,’ Davlin gurgled in pain. A medic appeared at his side and called urgently to a colleague before they whisked him off on a stretcher.
Shell-shocked, Luned tried to make sense of the scene of chaos around her. The air had been fried and was filled with arid smoke, ozone and the moans of the injured residents of Fargale – the lucky ones. It took a while to register what had happened. Black, cracked charcoal replaced healthy bark and soot covered everything. The central trunk was a sickening mass of split and twisted wood and there were pockets of fire everywhere. Something had ripped the heart out of Fargale, and the very same sap Luned had been part of moments ago was evaporating in the heat that still sat in the wood.
From her vantage point in the upper branches, Luned could see something large lying at the foot of the tree. In the fussiness of her head it took some time to realise she recognised the shape, that she had seen it before – it was the human girl who lived on the cliff. This would need to be added to the file.
*
As Charlotte came to, pain flooded her senses. She ached everywhere and could feel something – she didn’t know if it was blood or water – trickling down her chin. Mist swirled across the ground and leaf mould crackled loudly in the silence as she moved. Tentatively, she stretched her neck. Not broken, that was a good start; clearly the spinal cord wasn’t severed as testified by the pain but Charlotte had to suppress the urge to vomit when she caught sight of her hand.
‘It’s not as bad as it looks,’ a voice said behind her. ‘I think we can remove the wood easily enough.’
Charlotte vaguely remembered before she had been knocked out cold, a stabbing pain in her right hand. One of the tree’s thick roots was frayed and a section of it was plunged into her flesh.
‘It hasn’t damaged the muscle too much and, more importantly, it has managed to avoid any veins or arteries.’
‘That’s alright then,’ Charlotte said with feeble sarcasm; she was feeling very faint.
‘You have been very lucky, Charlotte of Stone. Drink this.’
Charlotte finally saw the woman; she was young and slim with almost deathly pale skin. She shared Charlotte’s own red hair and piercing green eyes but it was her clothes that were most striking purple silks and green robes in Roman style finished with a mantle of gold encrusted with precious jewels over which she wore a feathered robe as black as night. A black bird swooped through the trees to land on her shoulder.
‘Caroc has alerted your kin, they will be here soon; now do as I tell you and drink. Do not put my hard work to waste.’ There was an authority in the stranger’s voice that could not be argued with.
The potion was warm and sweet and took effect immediately. To her right a disturbing sucking noise told her the woman was removing the jagged, torn root but surprisingly there was no pain. The woman chanted under her breath as she worked and with a few hand gestures a floating ball of light appeared in front of her. The ball glowed eerily in the moonlight and seemed to be awaiting her command. A moment later it sunk into the hole in Charlotte’s hand, knitting together broken skin and bone.
‘Just like new.’ The woman smiled as she reached into the heart of the still-smouldering tree and pulled out some dark soot. ‘This tree has been lightning struck, and so have you, little one.’ She sprinkled the soot into Charlotte’s skin. ‘You are now bound to each other.’
The lady urged Charlotte to sit up and she found, to her surprise, that all the pain in her body had gone.
‘I anoint you as a warrior of the order of the Nymet Draoi. You now bear the Mother’s Kiss.’
For the first time Charlotte noticed the spidery burn marks on her arm that strangely resembled a tree. Where the soot had touched her skin the marks pulsed as if the lightning was still flowing through her.
‘What does all this mean?’ Charlotte muttered through her shock. ‘What if I don’t want to be a…’
‘It is done, destiny has chosen you and there is no denying her touch.’ The woman took Charlotte’s chin and looked into her eyes with such intensity, any argument Charlotte had formed in her head was forgotten.
‘We have but a very short time left, so listen well, Charlotte of Stone. It is as much a mystery to me that wood should choose fire and stone but it is so and a gateway has been opened for you. It is your role from this moment to protect this tree.’ The woman waved at the oak which, in spite of the large hollow in its heart, still stood strong, shimmering even more in the dark.
‘In this state, it will have many enemies,’ the woman went on, ‘but it must not fall or we are all doomed.’
Suddenly from the undergrowth Cicero launched himself onto Charlotte’s chest and let out a plaintive howl before reverting to his usual gurgling purr as he started kneading Charlotte happily.
The woman stood and gathered her robes around her. ‘I am done here. Tell Lady Aherne, The Morrigan will be seeing her soon,’ she said before fading into the trees.
Lights bobbed below Charlotte. Aunt Clarissa and the local police officer, PC Taylor, came into view, worry etched on both their faces.
‘I’m here,’ Charlotte waved to them. ‘I’m… I’m alright,’ she shouted down to them, not quite able to believe it herself. Aunt Clarissa marched up the bank in half the time that many of her age would normally manage.
‘Oh, Charlotte, we were all so worried about you.’ She took Charlotte’s face in her hands and went to kiss her forehead when she noticed the soot. She gave Charlotte a quizzical look.
‘I’ve just met Mrs Morrigan, she healed me; and she sends you her regards.’
Clarissa blanched. It was the first time Charlotte had seen her afraid. In fact, she had never seen Clarissa even slightly panicked and she would have bet on it not being possible if she hadn’t seen her now.
‘The Morrigan,’ Clarissa corrected, ‘and she never gives without taking. What did she look like?’
Charlotte thought this an odd question. The woman had obviously known Clarissa.
‘Well, surely you know?’
‘She has different guises.’ Clarissa was impatient now.
‘Well, I… she was… youngish.’
‘Charlotte. This is important, girl. You must tell me exactly what she looked like.’ Clarissa reminded her of Madame Cortes with the steel in her eyes.
‘Long red hair, pale skin, sort of… well, a crazy look in her eyes… and she had a bird on her shoulder.’
‘A raven?’
Charlotte considered this for a moment, comparing the bird to those she had seen on her visits to the Tower of London.
‘Could be, yes, I think it was.’
‘Battle ready,’ Aunt Clarissa whispered.
Charlotte just about caught those odd last words and wondered if she had misheard.
‘Time to batten down the hatches, my dear, trouble’s coming to Brackenheath.’