Into Brocéliande (Blood of the Fae Book 2) Page 2

  When she opened her eyes, Lettie had given up imitating Gran, and was waylaying bees and gathering nectar from the heady red-and-white roses.

  “Are you listening to me?” Gran demanded.

  “Ah…”

  Fortunately, the back door clanked open, so she didn’t have to answer. Grandad. He was carrying an enormous silver tray with a jug of lemonade and glasses on one side, and a tower of scones on the other. He, too, was wearing a safari suit, his sword hanging from a leather sword belt that he wore over his shoulder like a baldrick. A neatly cropped salt and pepper moustache, and hair combed in a side part, completed his crusty old-adventurer look. “Time for a break? So, how’s it been going, everyone?”

  “I won. I won.” Pearl danced around, her mask off, her raven black hair swirling behind her.

  Grandad’s chest puffed out. “Well done, Pearl. And Ruby, don’t give up. It’s not about winning or losing; it’s about staying alive. An Andersen must know how to use a sword.”

  “I’m going to be better than Pearl,” Ruby said. “Just as soon as I’m stronger than her.”

  “You’re older than me by two years,” Pearl sniped.

  “Am not,” Ruby said. “Not really.”

  “Well…” Gran started, then shook her head and sighed. “Pearl. Leave it be.” She took a sip of lemonade and bit into a buttery scone. “Delicious.”

  Grandad grinned. “Don’t get used to it.”

  He said that every time. He seemed to be embarrassed that he enjoyed cooking.

  Shedding padding, Ruby stumbled to her feet and downed her glass in one gulp. The sun-sweet stickiness almost cutting through the perfume of Gran’s blousy roses. Ruby poured another glass and piled a rose-saucer high with scones.

  “Hey, leave some for me,” Pearl said.

  “Some,” Ruby said, falling into the wooden chair and pulling her feet under her. As always, when food was around, Lettie circled to land on Ruby’s shoulder.

  “Hungry?” Ruby dipped a teaspoon into the drink and held it out for Lettie.

  “What. Are. You. Doing?!” Gran said.

  “Lettie’s hungry and I’m tired, and I’m sick of you all pretending you can’t see her. She’s right here on my shoulder.”

  Gran humphed.

  “Let’s not argue about it now.” Grandad nervously glanced about. “Just remember, you don’t want anyone that’s not in the family to see this.” He patted his moustache. “And especially not the Faulkners. It’s, er, dangerous.”

  Ruby fed Lettie a crumb. “I’m going for a walk.”

  “And don’t go into the forest,” Gran snapped. “If I’ve told you once…”

  “I’ll keep her from getting into trouble,” Pearl said, cutting off Gran’s usual tirade about how the forest wasn’t safe. Like trees were dangerous or something. The way Gran went on, the local forest was filled with hoodlums, murderers, and wolves. It wasn’t. Ruby had checked. There’d been no wolves in Britain for hundreds of years. They were hardly going to start appearing now.

  “I guess you’ve done enough practice for today. Put everything back neatly in the weapon cabinet. And put that padding through the wash. It stinks.”

  Taking pains to ignore Pearl, Ruby rushed to the laundry, shoved the padding into the washing machine and splashed water over her face. Then, thinking about wolves, she decided a real sword would be her best protection.

  She pulled Gran’s old, plain sword and scabbard down from the weapon cabinet. The scabbard was way too big to cinch around her waist, so she put it over her head, resting it on her shoulder in an imitation of Grandad’s shoulder strap holster. Then she adjusted the sword until it rested comfortably at her hip and she could pull it if necessary.

  “Why are you stealing Gran’s sword?” Pearl whispered. “Or are you being weird because you’re a changeling like Hazel says?”

  “Pearl’s right,” Lettie chimed in. “You shouldn’t take your gran’s sword. You should find your own sword. That’ll be much better.”

  Ruby ignored the sting of the word, changeling, and Lettie’s nonsensical babbling. “What if I could bring Mum and Dad home?” Today, that dream seemed stronger than ever. Ruby crunched down the gravel driveway, past the hen house.

  Pearl trailed after. “You’re going to the forest, aren’t you? You know you shouldn’t.”

  Ruby ignored her and kept on going. She was tired of being the problem. If she could solve the problem of their missing parents, like the Famous Five solved their mysteries, everything would be alright.

  “Don’t be like that. I was just excited.” Pearl pulled at Ruby’s top. “Come back home. I didn’t mean to hurt you.”

  “It doesn’t matter. Not today. I’m going into the forest to get Mum and Dad back. Are you going to tell on me?” Ruby challenged.

  “No, you can’t,” Lettie said.

  Behind, Pearl’s footsteps slapped on the dirt path. “Of course not. Do I ever tattle on you when you talk to your imaginary friend in public?”

  “Imaginary?” Ruby scoffed. “You’ve always been able to see her before. You said so. Look. She’s right there.” Ruby pointed at Lettie flitting through the grassy park toward the forest.

  A bird swooped down.

  Lettie squealed and darted back to hide in Ruby’s hair, peeking out behind the dark red curls.

  “Tell me you didn’t see that?” Ruby demanded.

  Pearl shrugged. “See what?”

  Ruby sighed and strode into the forest. Dappled light fell through the tall oak trees and onto the mosses and ferns underneath. The track rolling out flat and easy for some time before the roots sprawled across the path and moss climbed up the dark side of the trunks.

  It looked eerily familiar. Flashes of memory assailed her. Nightmares of giant fae dancing while she clutched enormous bones with chubby, almost three-year-old toddler hands. Ruby shook her head, determined to find the entrance to the place she dreamed of.

  “Had enough yet?” Pearl demanded, hands on hips. She was standing next to a fallen log. And beyond the log was a track that wound its way into an ancient forest of oak and beech.

  “Not yet.” Ruby climbed over the fallen log and strode down the narrow track.

  “That’s not the way we usually go,” Pearl said.

  “That’s because we always go the wrong way,” Ruby replied. “I really think this time I’ve found it.”

  “Not this way,” Lettie tugged at Ruby’s ear. “Pearl’s right, you shouldn’t go this way.”

  More determined than ever, Ruby barrelled down the path, with Pearl trailing behind.

  “I’m tired,” Pearl mumbled.

  “We’ve hardly started,” Ruby replied, loving the way the light filtered through the leaves, as if it had passed through the stained-glass windows of a church. The birds and insects squawked and chirruped and hummed. Ruby couldn’t decide if they were welcoming her in, or telling them to go away. Or both.

  Then Ruby saw a multi-trunked tree draped in ferns and vines, the two trunks shooting skyward from a blanket of emerald-green moss.

  “This is it!” she called excitedly, putting her hands on the trunk.

  Lettie flew around Ruby’s head. “No! It’s too dangerous. Wait until you’re older. Wait until I can come with you.”

  A soft hum emanated from the rough bark. Ruby closed her eyes. Concentrating, she could feel the force flowing up from deep underground, through the roots and up into the crown of the tree.

  She pushed in with her mind to better hear the hum. To better feel the strength of the tree, smell the sap of the heartwood. And then she pulled those sensations closer, pushing through the tree until she could taste the untamed forest on the other side.

  Pearl gasped.

  Ruby opened her eyes. The forest from her dreams shimmered through the gap in the tree trunks. Not the emerald velvet and twilit darkness of her nightmares, but the dreams of ferns and dappled sunlight. She felt like she could reach through the tree and touch her parents
on the other side.

  Stepping back, Pearl spluttered, “Are you a witch? Did you just conjure a jungle?”

  “It’s not a jungle, it’s a forest,” Ruby replied, stepping through the two trunks and into the fresh green world. She marvelled at how the light was softer here, with tangled roots sprawling over the track. Deep blue flowers lined the forest path and ahead, and further down the track, flecks of sky peeked through the dense leaves.

  Lettie remained on the other side, wings trembling. “Don’t go, I can’t follow you. I can’t keep you safe.”

  “I don’t want to be safe, Lettie. I want to find Mum and Dad.”

  Pearl frowned. “Mum and Dad are far away, or dead. Otherwise they’d have come back. That’s what my friends at school say.”

  “Do you even remember them, Pearl?”

  “Only their pictures,” Pearl said. “I remember you coming home through the mirror. But sometimes it feels like a dream.”

  Ruby shuddered. Her dreams of Mum and Dad were nightmares of them hacking at an enormous cavern wall in a hot, underground hellscape and overseen by stony devils with whips. “Pearl, you should stay back. This could be dangerous.”

  “If you’re going. I’m coming, too.” Pearl stepped through the trunks.

  Her jaw dropped as she gazed around. “It’s not an illusion. What is this place? Is this fairyland?”

  “No.” Ruby shook her head. “These trees are old, but FaerLand is greener than green velvet and lit by tiny lights and the shimmering glow of the moon, or the setting sun.” She broke off. The memories were fading. All jumbled in her head. But there was one thing she remembered. “The Fae there aren’t like Lettie, they’re taller than Gran and Grandad.” Ruby shivered at her recollection of their angry, perfectly beautiful faces and flawless skin that reflected every shade of the forest.

  “Watch out!” Lettie yelled, flying toward the gap in the trunks. “Come back!” the little fae bounced off an invisible barrier. She whirled back, head over heels, calling, “Wait. It’s dangerous. There are wolves and bears and…at least stay on the path. Remember your fairy tale rules.”

  “Don’t worry, we won’t go far,” Ruby reassured her, clutching the handle of Gran’s old sword, determined not to stop now.

  Pearl reached out a hand, and together, they crept along the forest path, red-gold with leaves that hid gnarled old roots and slippery rocks.

  After an age of walking, they reached a branch in the path.

  “Which way?” Pearl asked.

  Ruby glanced around, half-expecting to be accosted by green-capped gnomes demanding that they turn straw into gold. No such gnome appeared. There was a battered sign, hidden by a branch and half-covered in moss. Ruby brushed the moss aside. Market Town. Wóþbora cotif. Which Place. The Three Sisters.

  “I’m not sure,” Ruby admitted, then laughed. “Wait a minute. Do you think we should be trailing breadcrumbs?”

  “Not breadcrumbs.” Pearl grinned back. “But keep an eye out for bears. They could be handsome princes.”

  “Oh yes, and watch out for gnomes,” Ruby joked. Grandad loved reading them fairy tales. He’d say they were educational and Pearl and Ruby could learn a lot if they listened. Which had always seemed odd as Ruby had never seen talking bears, princes, gnomes or half the characters involved. At least not that she could remember.

  “So, which way?” Pearl asked.

  “Hmm.” Ruby examined the sign from every angle. The stony soil it was stuck into. The rough planks of wood. The scrawled writing. Market Town. Wóþbora cotif. Nothing struck a chord.

  A wolf howled in the distance.

  “Wait.” Pearl clutched Ruby’s shoulder. “We should go back.”

  Ruby shook her head and listened. Another howl, closer this time. As if the wolf was following them.

  Ruby drew the sword from the scabbard over her shoulder, aware of the coldness of the steel and the dead weight of it in her hand. “Damn.”

  Pearl’s eyes flashed wide. “You swore again.”

  “And that worries you more than dying?” Not so far to her left, leaves rustled. Her neck prickled as if a thousand eyes were watching from the shadows.

  “I wish I knew which way to go to rescue Mum and Dad. But I don’t know where we are, or anything.” Ruby wiped a tear from her eye.

  “Oh, dear. Oh dear.” An old lady leaning heavily on a crooked walking stick hobbled around the corner. She blinked her milky-white eyes. “Has no one told you about the problem with wishes?”

  Ruby nodded. “I’m sorry, I didn’t think.”

  “It’s not your business, old lady,” Pearl snapped.

  “Old lady.” The woman chortled stepping closer. She smelled of dogs and smoke, with a hint of thorns and broken hearts. “Been a long time since anyone called me a lady.”

  “I’m sorry,” Ruby repeated. “Can we help you?”

  “Yes, very helpful, aren’t you. Your parents chose your names well. Go that way.” She pointed a crooked finger to the left-hand path.

  Ruby glanced down the track. Gnarled trees and impossibly tall ferns loomed over the rough path.

  Suddenly the wind picked up. A howling storm swept down on them as if from nowhere—branches cracking and snapping overhead. Ruby ducked low, the wind catching her red hair and whipping it about her face. She reached back to help the old woman, but she was gone.

  The wind died down as quickly as it had started. Pearl peered down the path. “That lady was strange. Do you think she was an actual witch?”

  “Of course she was a witch,” a robin said, fluffing its feathers against the wind. “Blowing magic here and blowing magic there. Lucky my fledglings left the nest last week, or they’d have blown to their deaths.”

  “You can speak!” Ruby said. “Pearl, did you hear the bird?”

  “I’m not sure,” Pearl said. “Could it really be talking?”

  “It?” The robin chirped. “Well I never. Rude.” The bird flew off down the trail. “Rude…squawk. Rude, indeed.”

  Pearl and Ruby’s eyes met, and they burst into laughter. “I love it here,” Ruby said. “It feels like I’m home.”

  “Really?” Pearl wrinkled her nose. “But it’s so strange. It even smells strange.”

  Ruby breathed deeply. The air was heavy with woods and leaves and secrets. “I love it.”

  The wolf howled again, a rising note that cut through the air.

  Ruby’s stomach clenched as she dragged Pearl further along the path. Where’s the witch sent us? Into hell? Into a trap? Into some kind of terrible trial by fire? But nothing appeared. Just more track. They stumbled along, pushed by the wind. The birds silent or gone. The path ahead disappeared into blackberry brambles and ivy.

  “I’m tired.” Pearl dragged behind. “Are you sure this is the right way?”

  The howling closed in.

  Ruby glanced back, nervously. “Come on.”

  They clambered through the thicket, thorns tearing at Ruby’s arms. With thick brush along both sides of the track, there was no way they’d see the beast until it was upon them.

  A tree poked out of the brambles. A huge apple tree. Ruby’s heart leapt. “This is it. I think this is it.” It was so familiar. The thorns were thinning, but the swathes of ivy were still too thick to see through.

  Pearl pointed to a low gap. “This way.”

  Ruby followed her, burrowing under the ivy, hoping that the lack of howling-wolf was a good sign. They finally dropped to their hands and knees to scrape under the metal links of an old fence, and emerged into tall grass. Grass, roses, and other wild plants, near swamped a village of tumble-down cottages and the burned shells of buildings.

  “It’s utterly deserted,” Pearl whispered.

  “Wait. Look.” Ruby pointed to a cottage with rampant red and white roses sprawling over a trellis that ran over the front steps. It appeared to have been freshly thatched and the roses near the door trimmed.

  A flash of grey burst through the ivy and into t
he clearing. The stink of wet dog fur wafted toward them.

  Ruby and Pearl raced to the front door, the huff of the wolf’s breath closing in. Enveloped in the honey-butter scent of roses, Ruby turned to held the sword out at arm’s length as the large grey wolf bounded up the stairs, teeth flashing and snapping.

  Ruby swung the sword. The creature stopped just out of reach, its yellow eyes boring into her.

  Pearl banged on the door. “Let us in!”

  The wolf inched closer, its tongue lolling from grinning jaws. Its musky stench of strong spice, and wet fur, cut through the heady sweetness of the blousy roses.

  Ruby jabbed at it awkwardly. The creature dodged. Eyes bright with cunning, it turned its head from side to side, seeking opportunity.

  “Pearl!”

  The wolf lunged. Ruby swung the blade at its jaw. Missed. The beast’s grin was wider now.

  “Pearl! You got that door yet?”

  “It won’t budge. Here, give me the sword.” Pearl ripped Gran’s blade from Ruby’s aching arms. “You figure out how to get in.”

  Ruby pulled at the door knob. Nothing. “Open, dammit.”

  Behind her, the wolf slavered, its paws scraping on the stone.

  “Hurry,” Pearl yelled.

  Bottled Memories

  Wednesday 6 June 1945

  Florence Andersen tip-toed past young Ruby’s door where the child’s alcoholic fairy godmother was passed out on the pillow next to her—her granddaughter’s curly red hair draped over her like a coverlet. Somehow, the little fae was immune to Ruby’s tossing and turning. Or she was used to it. Sleep had not come easily to Ruby since she’d come back from FaerLand with the wee fae. And without her parents.

  Florence tightened her grip on the sword her daughter-in-law had made her, and slipped down the stairs. She vowed, for perhaps the millionth time, to bring her son and his wife home.

  “You ready?” Her husband, John, gave the porridge pot one last stir and poured the sludge into their plates, sprinkling brown sugar on the top. “Get this down you.”

  “Thanks.” She dumped another spoonful of sugar on top and tried to ignore the splodge of porridge stuck in John’s salt and pepper mustache. Two bites later, she threw down her spoon. “Dammit, you’ve got porridge on your moustache, and we’re no closer to rescuing Aiden and Keera than we were eleven years ago.”