She came walking through the fog with Hoot-Hoot on her shoulder and Star following at her heels like a large dog rather than the sturdy, round-backed, woolly pony she was. Hoot-Hoot spread his broad wings and stared at us with round owl eyes. Oscar whispered: “Awesome!” And then appeared to lose the power of speech.
He had my sympathy. I was used to seeing Aunt Isa at home where she belonged, in the small stone farmhouse in the middle of the woods, with paraffin lamps and a log burner and hibernating hedgehogs in shoeboxes in the living room. She didn’t look exactly ordinary there either, but still… less out of place.
Emerging from the dense, grey fog, in her broad-brimmed hat and long plaits, an owl perched on her shoulder and a horse with no bridle or saddle trotting behind her – right here in Fairydell Park with its tarmac paths, empty cola cans and council park benches, and the traffic roaring past on Fairydell Road… Well, my aunt Isa looked exactly what she was: a witch. A wildwitch who could travel the wildways and appear any place any time, a creature from a world where you didn’t change buses or drive cars to get from A to B, and because she was angry, she also looked fierce. She really looked as if she could turn someone into a frog if they didn’t behave – and if she didn’t think it would be a rotten thing to do to all the other ordinary decent real frogs.
She didn’t say a word; just nodded briefly to me and dropped to her knees by Shanaia’s side. She put a hand on her neck, right below the ear, and began to sing. The wildsong wound itself around us almost like the fog tentacles had done, low and high at the same time, a sudden warmth, a scent of soil and wet leaves, a quiver of life deep in our bones.
Shanaia coughed lightly and I saw a trickle from the corner of her mouth, something slimy and pink that didn’t look healthy. She coughed again, more violently this time, and the ferret twitched and then made a wild, jubilant jump for joy. It gave a happy sort of whine and rubbed itself against Aunt Isa’s hand as if it were a cuddly kitten, and Shanaia opened her eyes.
She hadn’t recovered full consciousness. Her gaze was blurry and confused, and she was unable to sit up without help. One fist clenched a tuft of greasy grass and she began to shake all over.
“Shanaia,” Aunt Isa called out. “Shanaia, we’re here. You’re here. Come back to us.”
What did she mean by that?
“Shanaia!” Loud and commanding. Shanaia’s whole body suddenly jerked and something in her eyes changed.
“Yes,” she said in a croaky and very quiet voice. “I’m here now.” As if she really hadn’t been, before. Then she coughed lightly again and closed her eyes.
“Help me get her up on Star,” Aunt Isa said. “She can’t walk on her own.”
Shanaia’s skin was still cold, but not as icy as before. She tried to stand, but she had almost no strength left and getting her onto Star’s broad, round back was a struggle.
“Hang on to the mane,” Aunt Isa said to her. “We’ll take care of everything else.”
“Yes,” Shanaia whispered, flopping forward onto Star’s neck. She grabbed the coarse, bristly mane with both hands, but I had to support her from one side and Oscar from the other to make sure she stayed on. The ferret popped its head out from under the collar of her leather jacket and emitted a string of tiny, high-pitched eeek-eeek-eeek noises that sounded anxious and aggressive at the same time.
“You have to help,” Aunt Isa said, her voice straining with the effort. “Both of you. We need to get her back to my house.”
“But…” Oscar began.
“I’ll take you home afterwards,” Aunt Isa said. Woofer just gazed up at Aunt Isa with total adoration and wagged his tail so his broad backside swung from side to side. “Clara, call your mum and tell her I’ll bring you back as soon as I can.”
I don’t think Aunt Isa had any idea just how my mum would react to such a message, so I decided to text her instead: Oscar and I are with Aunt Isa. Please would you call Dad? Will explain later. Right now it was easier.
“Is this the wildways?” Oscar whispered to me as we started walking.
“Not yet,” I said.
Aunt Isa led the way and Star followed very carefully as if she were scared of dropping Shanaia. The fog grew denser, and the noise from the traffic on Fairydell Road disappeared.
“Now we’re on the wildways,” I said to Oscar.
When we emerged from the wildways fog near Aunt Isa’s farmhouse, it had grown completely dark. A huge and nearly full moon hung right above the treetops and a fine sprinkling of snow and hoar frost on the meadow and the gravel track turned everything blue. The meadow, the track, the thatched roofs on the farmhouse and the barn, the apple trees in the orchard… everything glistened frostily blue in the moonlight. The fire must still be going in the wood burner because a fine blue trickle of smoke rose from the chimney. Star whinnied loudly, and from inside the house we could hear Bumble bark with excitement, which made Woofer go completely hyper, pulling and straining at his leash like a mad dog.
Aunt Isa helped Shanaia down from the pony.
“Please would you see to Star?” she asked me.
“Of course,” I said, although the barn was frankly not where I wanted to be right now. Shanaia was still barely conscious and had told us nothing about what happened, and my curiosity was nearly killing me. But Star deserved a good feed and lots of cuddles and a good rub down, given how sweet and cautious she had been, so careful not to drop her weakened rider.
Oscar was standing in the middle of the farmyard, looking around him with widening eyes. I don’t think it was the farmyard in itself or the thatched roof or the grey stone walls. Rather, it was the fact that we were here, quite clearly deep in the forest, when only ten minutes ago we had been in Fairydell Park with the traffic zooming past just on the other side of the fence.
“Wow…” he said. “What happened?”
“The wildways,” I said. “I told you.”
“Yes. But…”
But being here was completely different from my telling him about it. I did understand that.
“You’ll get used to it,” I said, although I wasn’t entirely sure I was used to it myself.
Oscar helped me with Star. He had little experience with horses, but I showed him how to brush her, first in soft circles with the plastic curry comb, then with the dandy brush in long strokes in the direction of her coat. We stood either side of her, rubbing and brushing until she dropped her lower lip and looked blissful, and actually it felt really pleasant and quiet and safe after everything that had happened. We let Woofer off his leash and he cautiously greeted the bravest of the goats. The goat promptly butted him playfully with its small, stumpy horns, making Woofer yelp with fright and seek cover behind Oscar. Woofer wasn’t quite the sort of action dog hero that scaled walls, disarmed bad guys, and jumped into harbours to save his drowning master. To be honest, he was a bit of a couch potato. But he was a very sweet dog all the same.
Cat had disappeared, and I took this to be a good sign. Had he believed I was still in danger, I’m sure he would have stayed with me.
“What do you think is wrong with Shanaia?” Oscar asked.
“I don’t know,” I said. “But if you’ll help me give Star some hay and fresh water, then we can go inside and find out.”