Chapter Two - The Tale of the Sorceress
I DIVED DESPERATLEY out of the door, expecting to feel the downward pull of gravity as I rushed towards the ground. Instead, I felt an upward draw as if caught in a jet stream. It catapulted me so fast through the air that I found it impossible to draw any breath into my lungs. I wanted to struggle, trying to prize my arms away from my sides or wriggle my legs but I was moving with such a force that it was hopeless. I imagined myself like a speeding bullet travelling through the skies with no choice or control over its destination. Colours and sounds all blurring into one singular fluid torrent. I reasoned that I had probably died when I hit the ground or maybe the creature had caught me with its jet of red light. That would certainly explain why I couldn’t breathe. After all the dead don’t need to do they? That’s when my thoughts turned to my parents and how they would feel when they discovered that their only daughter had left the earth. My heart ached, I at least wanted the chance to say goodbye to them. I wondered if there would be any way to communicate with them when I arrived, well…wherever it was I would eventually arrive at. I began to draw hurried breaths in a panic. I hated to think that I was about to cause that kind of pain to the people I loved the most. Then it occurred to me, I was breathing, I was alive after all and I was slowing down.
The force had now decreased to the extent that I managed to crank my head backward, I could see I was heading towards a coastline. A crumbled tower almost identical to the one I had just thrown myself from sat tentatively by the beach. There were four archways positioned at the very top of the belfry, with no bell to hold guard over the loft of the tower. It was situated on the edge of a small grass verge overlooking the sea. I was on course towards the tower, descending now, my destination was one of the towers archways. My heart thumped against my ribcage as I flew through the arch like a well-aimed arrow and landed with a thud on the floor of the belfry. A door identical to the one I had just witnessed in Spider Hollow creaked to a close and disappeared into nothingness before my eyes.
Now that I was out of the immediate danger posed by a creature I had never encountered before throughout my entire sixteen years, and now I was not hurtling at great speed through the midnight sky, my head swam with confusion. What had just happened to me? How had I ended up here in this place? And what the bloody hell had been chasing me? The only logical conclusion that I could reach was, that Dahlia and I had been in a collision and I had to be in hospital. Obviously, I must be comatose and suffering from the effects of the drugs that are fed into your system when you suffer some kind of immense trauma. It had all felt so real, the running through the woods, the burning of the necklace and the flying through the air but then it would, wouldn’t it? The realisation that to be in a state of unconsciousness this severe must mean I was pretty badly injured, imbued me with a new sense of fear. Who would I be when I awoke, would I still be the same old me? Would I need months of therapy to recover myself? I refused to explore the possibility that I might wake up ‘locked-in’ my own body. A kind of living death that only the luckiest of people emerged from. My heart beat at a thousand pulses per minute. Fear was overtaking my body, making my whole being shiver involuntarily. ‘Come on Violet, Don’t do this to yourself’ I told myself, I had to calm down. Even in this new state of consciousness, I was weary. Was it possible to sleep when you were already unconscious? I didn’t know but my body was telling me I needed to.
I relaxed a little and stared out of the archway at the full moon that beamed enough light into the belfry to illuminate the whole room. The stone brickwork glistened greyish blue in the moonlight and the wooden floorboards were covered in a thick layer of dust that now coated the back of my work uniform. It was working its way into and around the strands of my hair, it dispersed into the atmosphere whenever I adjusted position.
I inhaled the salty sea air and listened to the waves gently caressing the pebbled beach. I counted the bricks for a short while before I concluded that the best course of action would be to lay still and wait for sleep to wash over me. Eight hundred and seventy one bricks later, I finally drifted off with the hope that when I did awaken I would be in a hospital bed, staring into the concerned faces of my parents and my best friend would be okay.
The dream once again captured my mind, the smell of the damp evening grass, the tempting whispers of the breeze, the translucent silver of the brook and that same awful screech. This time the mysterious sound was not the final image of my slumberous state. Upon hearing the screech, I raised my eyes from the water and observed with terror that on the opposite bank to where I stood, the creature waited to make its move.
The sun rose and shone through the east archway of the belfry. I opened my eyes to watch it flood the room with daylight. The same eight hundred and seventy one bricks now illuminated with light and no concerned parents in sight.
“Oh dear,” I sighed in frustration and fear at not being able to wake from this perpetual dream. What did my future hold, would I ever truly wake?
“SSSHHH,” warned a soft female voice from below “Did you hear that?” I couldn’t be asleep. Not even in my most vivid dreams did I ever hear the voices of others. That was with the exception of my one recurring dream, a dream that was truly an exception in its realism. No, I was transported last night, the portal of air that caught me and catapulted me into the nights sky was real. I really was lying confused and anxious in this unfamiliar place, with unfamiliar people below me, still talking in hushed voices. I did not recognise the unusual yet subtle tones of the accent and although the voices sounded friendly enough, I still felt a very real sense of danger, a primal fear of the unknown. My hands were trembling as I pushed myself onto my feet.
“Naaaw,” a male was now speaking, the same ring to his voice.
“Well I definitely heard something, I’m not mad don’t you know!” The female retorted somewhat defensively. The dialect seemed very unusual to me.
“Well I never said you were did I? Came down here to look with you didn’t I? For all the thanks I’m going to get for it.” The male replied disappointedly.
“Oh yeah and what thanks were you expecting from me then Burzel Treeclasp?” The female replied.
With no other option, I cautiously began to ascend the deep stone stairs. Maybe these people would know where I was. If they were friend not foe, they may tell me how to get home. I noticed their voices had a distinctively Welsh ring to them. Surely, I hadn’t somehow ended up in Wales!
“Well I don’t know do I? A tray of honey scones would go down nicely I suppose.” I could practically hear the hunger in the male’s voice with the mention of scones. My own stomach gave an approving rumble.
I reached the last step as the male and female stepped into the entrance of the Belfry. I scanned them slightly, surprised at how small they were in stature. They couldn’t have been more than three and a half feet high, yet they were definitely adults. Their faces were wider than usual with fat rounded cheeks that made them look almost childlike, but not quite. Their mouths were wide and thin. They had stumped yet broad noses that spread across their faces and huge eyes that turned up subtly at the tips. The woman had curled dark brown hair pulled up on the top of her head by a chain of daisies’s and a scarlet smock with an apron tied round the front. The male had ruffled red hair and freckles scattered like buttercups across his cheeks. The woman’s huge eyes widened further as she noticed me.
“GNARL!” The male yelled in alarm. As he turned and ran head-on into the door he obviously forgot he had pulled shut, he knocked himself out.
“That’s not a Gnarl you fool,” the brown-haired woman didn’t seem to realise her companion was completely unconscious. “That’s a girl, and I’ll bet she’s the one that’s come in through the gate.”
“I beg your pardon,” I began, instantly put at ease by these amiable looking beings. “But what gate?”
“Merrydian’s Gate of course, how else would you have got here?” The woman spoke as if she was ex
plaining something blatantly obvious that I should somehow be able to grasp.
“I’m sorry” I continued, feeling painfully ignorant “But I think I hit my head or something, I’m not even sure where here is, am I in Wales?”
The woman let out a hearty laugh for someone so small.
“No my deary, you’re definitely not in Wales.” I took a moment to review her expression and concluded that she was telling the truth. She registered my look of confusion and her amusement at my predicament turned to sympathy. “Look, come with me I’ll take you to someone who might be able to explain all of this better than I can.” Concluding that I didn’t have much choice in the matter I nodded my head in agreement. “Come on then Burzel let’s get a move on.” The woman turned to her dazed companion, who had roused and now propped himself up on his elbows in order to get a better look at me.
We headed up a rocky track that led away from the beach towards lush grass fields that were scattered with daisies. The man named Burzel decided to walk a few paces behind, so the brown-haired woman and me were left to advance onwards in an awkward silence. We continued along the pathway occasionally passing what looked like tiny wooden farmhouses. They reminded me of a children’s playhouse on Wickersley lane I sometimes caught a glimpse of when passing an open garden gate, only they were longer and wider as if they had extra rooms built onto them. Some had honeysuckle or clematis climbing around the structure, which added a pleasant smattering of colour to the dull grey oak they were all crafted from. Others had animals out in the pastures with what I initially thought were small children, sat on wooden stools milking cows, on closer inspection however, it became clear that these farmers and milkmaids were fully-grown adults. They were simply very small adults much the same as my present companions. After around three miles walking, we reached a large wooden signpost that stood at a crossroads in the dirt path we were following. I read it aloud more to myself than my new acquaintances who, I assumed, had been down this path countless times.
“North Mount Galdur, Forge Gate and Cragsley.”
The words Thistlewick Marshes were scribed onto the arm pointing to the left. The shortest piece of the signpost pointed in the direction where we headed in. It simply said Blossomdown. The names didn’t sound familiar to me, although I tried my best to recall them, repeating them in my mind hoping to jog a distant memory.
“Well, come on then deary.” The brown-haired woman called. “By the way my names Bettery Petaldopper and this here‘s my valiant friend Burzel Treeclasp.”
I smiled, slightly bemused once again at their odd sounding names. I didn’t even think to reply with my own.
“I’ll wager that grumpy out goat’ll be wanting to know what’s what.” Bettery stated. I quickened my pace and made up for the ground I had lost contemplating the signpost. We walked for another mile or so before we came to a curious village comprised of miniature grey stone terraced houses. Most of them had tiny gardens beneath the windows. The doors were rectangular and had family names rather than numbers adorning them. I read them as we advanced through the village. They were not like names I had ever encountered before.
One of the houses was particularly colourful, with a row of pansies’s framing a small cobbled pathway that led to rosebushes set at either side of the door. Climbing nasturtiums crept up the side of its small walls and the door had the name Petaldopper scribed into it.
“Beautiful isn’t it? That’s my house that is.” Bettery exclaimed with pride. I smiled politely in agreement, still disorientated. I kept my pace at her side, not wanting to draw attention to myself in this beautiful yet unrecognisable place.
We walked briskly down a wide cobbled street that consisted mostly of the small florally decorated houses but occasionally a bakers or carpenters shop would appear in-between the miniature stone terraces. Burzel was still about six paces behind us sulkily rubbing the angry red bump that was beginning to appear on his forehead. He was glaring at me accusingly as if I had intentionally caused him to run into a solid wood door.
“Oh, never mind him deary, he’s a misery today he is on account of accompanying me to visit Merl, he doesn’t reckon much to Merl. Mind you deary Merl can be a much bigger misery than Burzel.” She looked at me in warning.
“So Merl, is he the guy who’s going to explain where I am?” I asked half enquiring and half hoping that whoever Merl was, we were not heading in his direction. My question was soon answered when we stopped at a charcoal wrought- iron gate which was at least six foot high and seemed somewhat unnecessary in this village of small people. When I looked beyond, the house before me was nothing like any of the others in the village. It was tall but narrow with a spire, which leant threateningly to the left, sat on top. Ivy crept up at least four stories until it reached the tip of a small chimney peak, built into the already leaning spire. The widows had red velvet curtains drawn across them all in order to exclude the sunlight. As we approached the gate, I read aloud a wooden sign, hung with string around the highest point of the post.
“Buggerth Offeth.” I inhaled a deep breath, like a diver about to plunge into un-chartered and foreboding waters and staying close behind Bettery, I passed through. Burzel didn’t follow.
“I’ll wait here.” He called to us as the gate slammed shut of its own accord.
In contrast to the delicate flowers of the smaller homes in the village, a thicket of brambles framed the huge oak door of this house, guarding its occupant from potential visitors. A dark stone path matched the brickwork leading to the door. Whoever resided in this house certainly was not as small as the other occupants of the village were. On the door was a stone gargoyle head, with a circular knocker in its mouth. It was positioned so high that Bettery had to stretch to the very tips of her fingers to disturb it. I jumped back in shock as the gargoyles’ eyes flicked open, a look of annoyance taking shape on its previously slumberous face.
“Pluugh bluurgh.” The gargoyle spat out the ring. “What do you want? Can’t you read?”
I had seen inanimate objects brought to life by modern electrical technology but nothing close to the life-like way in which this gargoyle moved. Actually, I had never heard of an object that could react in real time to a conversation. The shock hit me like a powerful gust of northern wind, as impossible as it should have been this gargoyle WAS alive!
“Never mind that you miserable over-sized door knocker, I need to see Merl I do.” Bettery stood her ground with the moody statue. it seemed he decided that the sooner he allowed us to enter, the sooner he could go back to sleep. With one last harrumph of disapproval from the gargoyle, the door creaked open.
Through the doorway, I could vaguely make out a stone corridor that seemed to extend to the very back of the house. There were huge oak bookshelves lining the walls, only illuminated by the light of candles situated in small insets carved into the stone. Interrupting the bookshelves there were three doors, one of which was directly to the left of where I now stood, in the entrance of the dusty house. Although the door was covered in cobwebs, I could make out a beautiful and complexly carved design of interwoven birds in flight. Sparrows, hawks, falcons and ravens all intricately danced around one another.
“On we go deary this way.” Bettery gestured to the door I was admiring “I’ll wager he’ll be having his afternoon nap by now.”
“Afternoon nap! Aren’t they for babies and really old people?” I enquired as Bettery used both hands to push open the heavy door.
“Indeed they are!” Stated a withered male voice from somewhere deep inside the long and narrow room we stepped into. “And I believe that as someone who has attained an age such as mine, I am rudy well entitled to my afternoon slumber without it being interrupted by some ignoramus youth!”
“Oh, I’m sorry.” I surveyed the dark room for the source of the voice “I didn’t mean to…” I stopped, not knowing exactly how to finish the sentence.
“Humph.” The voice retorted from what I now guessed was the far corner of the
room.
“Now Merl,” Bettery began, “this girls come in through the gate, she’s very confused and she looks like she needs a good meal and rest.” I was grateful that Bettery had noticed how hungry I was. My stomach had been rumbling as we walked down the dirt path but I didn’t want to impose. I had hoped that it wouldn’t be much longer until my strange companions would enlighten me about how to find my way home.
“Well how the rudy hell has she managed that? That gate has been closed and the key has been lost now for nearly two hundred years.”
“There’s only one way she could have come through there is.” Bettery gave Merl a knowing look.
“Ah, so we have an heir on the island once again? Hmm the locals may not be very pleased when they hear of this.” He stated, “It is probably prudent to keep this to ourselves for the time being.” I couldn’t be sure but I thought I had detected the slightest amount of excitement creep into his voice.
Bettery gave a quick nod and then began busying herself with a large iron firelighter, lighting the candles kept in bronze holders around the room. I could now see the withered voice came from a small and slight old man, whose wiry beard reached all the way to his stomach. He was perched like a huge bird of prey on a vast wooden chair, engraved once again with birds in flight and cushioned in rich purple velvet. His heavy silver robes glistened in the light of the candles and came to a crumpled heap around his feet. His thin lips looked stern and disapproving and his bushy eyebrows met in a frown as he surveyed my ramshackle appearance. His eyes were a deep blue, glistening with the secrets of the darkest waters of the farthest oceans. His general demeanour gave an air of either excitement, as I had first thought, or dismay as I now concluded but couldn’t say for sure, at my arrival. His eyes were welcoming enough, grandfatherly even. I felt myself warming to this grumpy stranger, as if I had known him for longer than the five minutes I stood in his sitting room.
“Well sit down then girl. It seems an explanation is due.” He barked impatiently.
I situated myself on a rickety wooden bench. It was not nearly as grand as the purple chair but it was cushioned with battered purple silk that was soft and cool against my tired legs. Bettery pulled up a small stool. It had obviously been fashioned for her. It had her initials, B.P., carved into either leg with a butterfly detail meandering around the lettering. Merl looked at me, his face intent with concentration
“Firstly I must enquire, how exactly did you find yourself here?”
“I’m not really sure” I began nervously. I didn’t know if this was the best time to be recounting far-fetched stories about creatures that clearly were neither human nor animal chasing me into doorways that didn’t exist and flying swiftly across the midnight ocean. However, I had already realised that this place was far from normal and if I wanted to go home my best option would be to recount the truth and hope these extraordinary looking people would take pity on me. I was counting on my kindly rescuers sending me to a hospital somewhere for a head examination. During which time my details would obviously be checked and I would be sent home to my parents who were probably worried sick about me by now. I decided that honestly was the best policy.
“Well, I was chased by a strange animal, or at least I think it was some kind of animal, into woods near my home.” I recounted, “There is a Belfry in a clearing and while I was trying to escape, I ran into it.” I paused noting that Merl’s eyes widened a touch in the flickering light of the candles.
“What did this animal look like precisely?” He enquired.
“I didn’t get a very good look, it was dark but it seemed to be hairless with large pointed ears, tiger shaped eyes and a huge row of teeth that were pointed like knives. It was wearing a cloak. I’ve never seen anything like it before.” I offered.
Merl and Bettery exchanged a look of concern before Merl had an outburst of annoyance.
“Those blasted Gnarls, one would have thought they’d have found a more fruitful pursuit to occupy them after all this time. I‘ll tell you Bettery if they ever found a way through they‘d wish they hadn’t bothered when I was finished with them!”
I found this a strange statement to cross the lips of this seemingly small and feeble old man. Bettery’s demeanor hinted that his words might sanction more weight than I realised as she shifted uncomfortably on her stool. I recounted my story in more detail when Merl had finished talking. I told my new companions about Dahlia, how I had tried to distract the Gnarl creature and about how my necklace had burned as the door appeared. I noticed Merl’s eyes dart towards the rope around my neck at this statement. A strange look appeared on his face, he seemed to recognise it. Another emotion, that I was not entirely certain of, was there in his eyes, shock perhaps? I couldn’t tell exactly. I ended my tale by recounting my night spent in the identical tower to the one I had leapt from, concluding with my encounter with Bettery and Burzel.
When I finished, Bettery disappeared through the heavy door for a short while, leaving me awkwardly admiring the room. It all seemed so old fashioned. I hadn’t realised that people still lived this way. Awe was not my only motive in avoiding eye contact with Merl. He was intently and unashamedly staring at me, as if attempting to look deep into my soul. This was off-putting and I was grateful when Bettery reappeared with a tray of large misshapen biscuits that tasted somewhat like butterscotch and a tall jar of freshly pummelled raspberry juice. I sat and ate whilst Bettery and Merl had a quiet conversation that I was obviously not intended to hear.
“Well then, I suppose I must inform you miss…” Merl waited for me to enlighten him with my name.
“Oh yeah, sorry how rude of me, Violet… my name is Violet Aurora Knight.”
“Indeed Miss Violet Aurora Knight.” Merl continued, “I suppose you will be expecting an explanation as to the predicament which you seem to have found yourself in. I suppose you would also like to know who both I and this good lady here are exactly.” Merl did not allow me time to reply and instead continued
“My formal name is Merrydian. However the few people I associate with these days call my by the moniker Merl. I have no need of a last name because, you see, I have been around much longer than the quite modern concept of surnames. I am a wizard, the most powerful one that has ever lived.” He paused to give me a chance to absorb the information. “I once occupied the island that you have travelled from and if I am not mistaken, I have become rather famous in my absence. That however, is inconsequential to me as no-one believes I really existed anymore. This is the way I much prefer it to be.”
I was aghast. The statement that had left Merl’s lips in such a matter of fact manner I wasn’t sure how to react.
“This lady here, you may have noticed, is not precisely like any person you will have encountered before and this is because she is not a human being as you believe them to be.”
“No deary I should say not, I‘m a Bobbin you see a good deal more magical than a human and a few feet smaller too.” Bettery offered in agreement.
“But I don’t understand.” I interrupted
“Well of course you don’t deary. You were never supposed to have to understand.” Bettery attempted to reassure me before continuing. “Humans and magical beings parted ways many ages ago and they were never meant to cross paths you see, it was all part of the agreement we all came to.” Bettery turned to Merl, “I think its best that you explain the whole story to her.”
Merl seemed reluctant to tell his tale. I got the impression that whatever he had to say might resurrect memories he had long since forgotten. Nevertheless, he began his story with an aged frown.
It was many, many years ago when I created the gateway from the world magical beings used to inhabit, along-side man, to this world you have most unfortunately found yourself in tonight. Those who know of its existence quite commonly refer to it as Merrydian’s gate.
During a period of war and trouble in the kingdom you originate from, I found and guided a champion of the people to a time of peace
and prosperity. This man was a great man with a true heart and indeed legends are still alive, even now in this modern age when all magic has become fairytale and magical creatures’ myths, the tales of these glorious times are retold. Alas, all good things have to find their end eventually.
What is not recorded in your so-called legends is that this era ended in a great battle between the good and evil forces that existed in both man and the mystical. The greatest enemy that man has ever known emerged at this fateful time in the form of a very powerful sorceress named Agrona. She was beautiful and highly intelligent but she did not see the value in others. She even sacrificed what should have been most sacred to her, in order to render herself invincible. She wanted to claim the land as her own and rule all beings man and mystical. She probably had the skill to do so had it not been for me. For I was the only living being with the capability to stop her. Good men and women fought and died alongside the creatures that inhabit this island. Most significantly, the champion of the people was lost to us. He bravely faced her down but she proved a foe that even he was no match for. Merl paused, a reflective sadness echoed on his features.
Whilst I was otherwise obtained, he was mercilessly slain. Wails of grief echoed around the battlefield as it became clear that the champion had fallen. All hope was almost lost. Fortunately, I found a moment of opportunity whilst a young Bobbin named Ferden Barkscratcher distracted Agrona. I hit her with an enchantment that never before had been used. To this day, it has not been used again. It removed her still beating heart from her immortal body, without the heart to pump her magical blood to her organs, she fell.
The king that took the place of my champion was fearful and mistrustful of magical beings after the unspeakable atrocities that Agrona had inflicted upon his people. Mutually, it was agreed that we would retreat from your world and live separate and hidden lives. For that purpose, I created the gateway that you passed through last night and beings of all kinds came to this island to live out their long lives in peace. The key to the gate, I lost two centuries ago whilst on a visit to your world. That key now sits on a rope around your neck. That is how you opened the gateway and escaped the Gnarl last night.
As for Agrona, I and I alone know where the heart and the body are hidden and I cannot risk the creature that chased you into the gate and his kind, finding either. For as long as they are separate Agrona remains in a state of perpetual preservation. She is unable to walk among the living but never can she join with the dances of the dead.
“And long may that be.” offered Bettery, determination filling her voice giving the impression that she would gladly lay down her own life to prevent Agrona’s awakening. “Come on deary I’ll make a bed for you tonight I will, we’ll reckon out the rest when the dawn comes.”
I heard a moan of disagreement emerging from Merl, swiftly suppressed by a backward glance from Bettery.