The next day, Cody still refused to go any deeper in the lake than his waist. He hugged his chest and watched Melissa walk on her hands in the shallow water, her legs floating behind her. “I’m a crocodile,” said Melissa. She bumped her head against Cody’s legs and he scrambled back onto dry ground and stuck his thumb in his mouth.
“There’s something on your leg,” said Melissa, staring at a dark blob stuck to Cody’s ankle. “It’s a weird kind of worm.”
Cody stared at the thing that stretched across his ankle. It looked like a long thin smear of black mud. He screamed.
Melissa stood up, water streaming from her shoulders and hair, and waded out of the lake. She brushed the worm thing with her fingers but it was stuck tight to Cody’s skin.
Cody screamed harder.
“Whatever is the matter?” said Sharlene from the porch. She had been sitting in the shade, reading a battered paperback copy of Hamlet.
“There’s some kind of worm thing on his leg,” said Melissa.
“Let me see,” said Sharlene, and Cody raced to her. He hopped up and down, hysterical. “It’s a leech, not a worm,” said Sharlene calmly.
“Oh, yuck,” said Melissa. Cody burst into tears.
Sharlene disappeared inside the cabin and came back with a box of salt. She sprinkled salt on the leech and then peeled it off Cody’s leg and flung it into the bushes. “It’s no big deal. We had them all the time at Grandpa’s cabin. Salt is the best way to get them off.”
Cody’s sobs had turned into hiccups. Sharlene wrapped him in a big striped beach towel and cuddled him on her lap. For once he didn’t pull away but snuggled deeper into her chest. Sharlene kissed the top of his rumpled blond hair and then leaned back in her chair and closed her eyes.
Melissa studied her mother’s face for a moment. Campstoves, J strokes, fishing rods and now leeches. What else did Sharlene know? If Melissa were drawing a picture of her mother, the lines wouldn’t be clear anymore. They would be smudged, like when she shaded the logs on the log cabin.
Sharlene made bannock for lunch. She had found an old wilderness cookbook in the back of a cupboard and had announced with enthusiasm that they had all the necessary ingredients.
Melissa helped. She had never heard of bannock, but according to Sharlene it was kind of like a wilderness fried bread that First Nations people made.
“Two and a half cups of flour,” read Sharlene. “We don’t have a measuring cup but we can use a mug. We’ll estimate.”
Melissa measured the flour into a bowl and then stirred in four teaspoons of baking powder. “What’s lard?” she said, peering at the recipe.
“Something margarine-like,” said Sharlene. She dolloped three spoonfuls of soft margarine into the bowl. “Mix it in with your fingers until it’s kind of crumbly.”
“Did you do this at your grandpa’s cabin?” said Melissa as she sifted her fingers through the mixture.
“Nope. First time,” said Sharlene.
Melissa added water to make dough. Soon, round mounds of the dough were frying to a golden brown in a black cast-iron pan on the campstove.
“Some people cook bannock on a stick over a campfire,” said Sharlene. “They kind of wrap it around like a snake. I don’t know how I know that but I do. If the campfire ban lifts, we could try it.”
Melissa pondered that information, wondering how you would keep the stick from burning up. They ate the bannock with margarine, which melted into little rivers, and raspberry jam.
“Can we have this for supper too?” said Cody, jam dripping on his chin.
“We can have it every day,” said Sharlene comfortably.
“I thought you weren’t coming.” Alice’s voice was flat and her gray eyes cold.
Melissa scrambled off the top of the ladder into the tree fort. She didn’t want to explain that after they had cleaned up from the bannock, she and Sharlene had played six games of Boggle while Cody slept, belly full, jam-smeared and sun-tired, on the couch. “Sorry. I had to look after Cody longer than usual.”
She wondered apprehensively if Alice was going to mention seeing them paddle past her house the night before. She couldn’t get the picture out of her head of the tall dark boy with the angry face. “What’s Austin doing today?” she said, trying to make her voice sound casual.
Alice frowned. Her sharp eyes studied Melissa for a moment. Then she said, “They’re still haying. He’s very busy, but he says he’s coming to Dar Wynd as soon as he has time. He’s very interested in what we’re doing here and he wants to read my story.”
Alice picked up a few sheets of paper covered in handwriting and said, “I’ve been working on this all morning. It’s ready for you to read.”
Melissa leaned back against the wall of the fort. She cast her mind over what had happened in the first part of the story—Elfrida’s little brother, Tristan, had been stolen and a changeling left in his place, and Elfrida had vowed to get him back. She started to read, conscious of Alice’s eyes watching her intently.
“Take him away! I cannot bear to look at him,” wailed Elfrida’s mother, Amarantha. “And make him stop crying. Oh, my poor baby, Tristan! Where are you?”
The maid carried the changeling from the room. The sick-looking boy stared at Elfrida as they left, and she shivered at the strange knowing look in his eyes.
There was a knock at the chamber door and Amarantha called out, “Come in.”
It was Warwick, Elfrida’s eighteen-year-old brother. He was walking with crutches, and one leg was bound tightly to a wooden splint. Two days ago he had been thrown from a young colt while he was training it and had broken his leg.
Warwick’s face was pale. “Mama, I fear this may be all my fault.”
Elfrida stared at him. “What do you mean?” said Amarantha.
“Three days ago I stopped at the Roaring Boar with some friends. There were some strangers in the tavern. A very rowdy group of little men with peculiar clothes and rough manners. They kept their hoods on and stayed out of the light.” Warwick sighed. “I believe now that they were not men at all but spriggans!”
Elfrida gasped and Amarantha gave a little cry. Elfrida had heard stories of spriggans, the name given to the dark and dangerous fairies who lived in the ancient ruins of castles. They did terrible things to people who offended them, including sending storms to ruin their crops and stealing their children and leaving one of their own in its place.
“The leader of the group challenged anyone in the tavern to an arm wrestle, and I took up the challenge for a lark,” said Warwick. “I beat him easily. He was no match at all! I flipped him right over onto the floor and caused everyone in the tavern to roar with laughter.”
Amarantha was staring at Warwick in horror.
“It was foolish, Mama,” admitted Warwick. “If I had known they were spriggans, I’d have left them alone.”
“And then what happened?” interrupted Elfrida.
“He vowed revenge,” whispered Warwick. “Then he and his companions left the tavern. Little did I know what they were plotting! They have taken Tristan! I would go after them but I cannot do a thing while I am a cripple on crutches!” His voice was bitter.
Melissa stopped reading. “What’s going to happen to the changeling?” she said. “I mean, if Elfrida gets Tristan back. Will the changeling die?”
“He won’t die,” said Alice. “Elfrida will rescue Tristan and then the changeling will go back to the spriggans where he belongs.”
“I feel kind of sorry for him,” said Melissa.
“The changeling is wicked,” said Alice. She sounded annoyed. “He’s a spriggan. He’s pretending to be Tristan. I don’t think you get this. Don’t you want the real Tristan back?”
For a second, Melissa was confused. Alice was sounding again as if the characters in her story really existed. “I do get it,” she said finally. “I just said I felt sorry for the changeling, that’s all.”
Melissa turned back to the paper and kept reading.
No one noticed when Elfrida slipped from the room. She hurried to get her cloak and left the castle. She had a plan. She would go to the Roaring Boar at once. Someone must have talked to the spriggans. Someone must know where they had gone.
Elfrida ran through the shadowy streets to the Roaring Boar. The sign hanging over the door creaked in the wind. Elfrida opened the door cautiously and went inside. She wished she had worn one of her older capes so she wouldn’t stand out so much.
The tavern was almost empty. A man with a round face was polishing tankards at the counter. Two rough-looking men sitting at a table stared at Elfrida and one of them gave a low whistle.
Elfrida took a big breath. “I am trying to get some information about a group of men who were here three nights ago. One of them had an arm wrestle with a gentleman.”
The man put down his rag. “We don’t get a lot of gentlemen in here. I remember the incident well. The men were troublemakers. Not from these parts. I was glad to see the end of them. I don’t need trouble in my tavern.”
“Do you know where they went?”
“No idea.”
Elfrida’s eyes stung with disappointment. Then she noticed a shadow move in the corner of the tavern. A figure in a long hooded coat was sitting alone on a bench. “Come and talk to me,” said a quavery voice.
Elfrida sat on the bench beside the figure. A withered hand pulled back the hood and Elfrida glimpsed a wrinkled face with bright brown eyes. It was an old woman!
“I’m Mareea,” said the woman. She let the hood fall back over her face. “Why are you asking about spriggans?”
A chill ran down Elfrida’s spine. Warwick was right! The rowdy strangers were not of this world at all but from the world of dark fairies! “They have taken my little brother and left a sick changeling in his place,” she said. “I need to know where they have gone. I must get my brother back! Please, I beg you to tell me if you know.”
For a long time, Mareea didn’t speak. Finally she said, “I overheard them speak of the Dark Valley. That is a long ride from here through dangerous territory.” The hood slipped farther back and Elfrida saw a greedy gleam in the old woman’s eyes. “If you make it worth my while, I will take you to the pass above the valley. No farther.”
“I can pay you ten silver coins,” said Elfrida. It was all the money she had saved.
Mareea sighed. “I suppose that will do. We will leave at midnight. I will need something to ride. My old legs do not take me very far these days.”
Elfrida thought quickly. She would ride Night-shadow and she would bring Willow, her old pony, for Mareea.
Mareea reached out her gnarled hand and touched a lock of Elfrida’s long golden hair. “It would be safer to travel as a boy,” she muttered.
Melissa looked up. “Elfrida’s going to cut her hair!” she guessed.
“She has no choice.” Alice spoke quickly. “That’s the next part I have to write. I’ve thought about it a lot. It would be a hard thing to do because in those days girls didn’t have short hair. But Elfrida would do anything to get her brother back.”
“Did they have scissors then?” said Melissa.
“I don’t know,” said Alice. “But I think Elfrida will use a knife. It’s more interesting that way.” She pushed her hands through her long hair and let it fall around her shoulders. “I have to do it too,” she said quietly.
“What? Cut your hair?” gasped Melissa.
“It will help me understand Elfrida’s character better,” said Alice. A strange sort of urgency seemed to have gripped her. “I’m going to do it now. Before I lose my nerve.”
“How much are you going to cut off?” said Melissa, astounded. Alice’s hair hung in a fine sheet halfway down her back.
Alice hesitated. “Not as much as Elfrida has to. I’m just trying to get the feeling. So I can write about it.”
She’s serious, thought Melissa as Alice picked up one of the knives they had used for the arrows. Alice separated her hair behind her neck and pulled one section forward. She held it in front of her. “Okay, here goes,” she muttered.
Melissa held her breath, her eyes riveted on Alice. The knife made a rasping sound as Alice sawed back and forth against the swath of glistening hair. “It’s too slippery,” she complained. “The knife won’t go through.”
“You could put your hair in two braids,” suggested Melissa. “And then just cut off the end. It might be easier.”
She was half joking. But Alice gave her a speculative look. “Good idea,” she said. While Melissa watched in disbelief, Alice twisted her hair deftly into two long braids. She gripped one braid just above her shoulder and hacked at it with the knife.
“Oh!” Alice gasped as the piece of braid broke off. Her hair sprang loose, ending in a ragged line.
“What does it look like?” Alice put her hand up and touched the ends. Her eyes were bright with triumph. “Is it really crooked?”
“A little bit,” said Melissa cautiously. She couldn’t believe Alice had done it.
“Now for the other side.” In a few seconds, Alice had sliced off the end of her other braid. She gave her head a shake. “It feels good. Freer. I like it.”
Until you look in a mirror, thought Melissa. Alice’s hair looked like it had been attacked by Cody with a pair of his play scissors.
“I’m glad I did it.” Alice laid the two ends of the braids on the shelf. Melissa’s stomach felt queasy when she looked at them. Alice waved the knife at Melissa. “Want a trim?”
Melissa’s hands flew to her ponytail. “No!”
“I’m just kidding. Let’s go swimming. I want to see what my hair feels like when it gets wet.”
“You didn’t stay very long,” protested Alice when Melissa, drowsy from baking on the flat rock, climbed into her canoe. Alice’s hair had dried into a fluffy cloud that made her narrow face look softer.
“I’ll come earlier tomorrow,” promised Melissa.
“You could bring your little brother,” said Alice. “I wouldn’t mind.”
Bring Cody to Dar Wynd? That would wreck everything.
“Forget it,” said Melissa. She gave a few strong strokes with her paddle and then turned to call goodbye. But Alice had vanished into the trees.
Melissa stretched her legs in front of her as she paddled. She was starting to get a tan. She thought vaguely of checking at the store to see if they had any nail polish so she could paint her toenails. Alice’s toenails were painted black, but she could imagine what Sharlene would say if she painted hers black too. Purple, maybe. She could ask Alice what she thought.
Melissa realized that she didn’t care anymore that Alice had lied about the tree house. It might even be partly true. She and Austin had probably fixed it up.
Alice was the best friend that Melissa had ever had. She made all the kids at school seem boring. You never knew what she was going to say or do next. And she hadn’t mentioned the pact to jump off the cliff today. Maybe, just maybe, she had forgotten all about it.