Emma and the Banderwigh Page 10

  Too many questions bounced through Emma’s mind for her to enjoy gazing at the clouds. Father had not spoken again of her ‘wandering off’ in the middle of the night. She didn’t get the feeling he was upset with her, so she let it go. Still, she would rather he believed her. The longfly shifted, walking over her toes and making her giggle. A moment later, it flicked its wings out flat, and took off with a heavy, droning buzz that sent Kimber into the grass with a shriek. Emma tapped her foot against the air, attempting to sort things out between the world she thought she knew and the one she’d just escaped. As much as the Emma of a few days ago would have agreed with Father about it being all a dream, she knew it wasn’t.

  Tam perked up. “I’m hungry.”

  “Dinner’s not for a while,” said Emma.

  “C’we have fruit?”

  Kimber stopped smiling. “I don’t want apples.”

  Emma got up. “I’ll ask Nan for some cherries.”

  She swatted bits of grass away from her dress as she walked to the house. The fragrance of candlewax and herbs swirled around in the warm air. Nan stood by her special cabinet, puttering around. Mother was out. Emma went for the pantry, slowing as she passed her grandmother and weaving about to peek at what went on.

  “Done playing?” asked Nan.

  Emma grasped her wrist and ground one toe into the floor. “Tam’s hungry, are there any cherries left?”

  “Come here, child.” Nan turned to let her see the counter, where various herbs and a bowl of dark green powder sat.

  Eyes wide with curiosity, she tucked up and grasped the edge of the wood. Dried berries, leaves, stalks, bottles of liquids in different colors, jars of animal parts, and odd powders filled the cabinet Nan never allowed her to see before. It looked like a much smaller version of Marsten’s shop.

  “Gather a few strands of that,” said Nan, pointing at a bowl containing thin blue filaments. “Put them in this.” She tapped a well-worn three-legged stone pestle.

  Emma reached, but hesitated before she touched it. “What is it?”

  “Nymph’s Hair.” Nan cackled to coughing at the face Emma made. “No, girl. It’s a plant.”

  “Oh.” Emma took some. As soon as she felt it, she flung it into the waiting stoneware, and rubbed her hand on her dress. “It’s fuzzy and sticky.”

  Nan took one more thread from the bowl, drawing it between the thumb and forefinger in both hands. She held it to Emma’s eyes, moving it so the light caught hundreds of fine hairs.

  “The stickiness comes from small hairs. It won’t harm you.”

  Emma touched one hesitant finger to the strand, poking at it a few times before finally grasping it. It draped over her hand as Nan let go. Her expression was one of confused disgust.

  “See, it just feels odd.” Nan motioned at the pestle. “You’ll need five strands. You only took four.”

  “What are we doing?” She added it to the rest.

  “Making an elixir that can mend small injuries. Now, add a spoonful of that.” Nan pointed at the green powder. Before Emma could ask, she winked. “Dried liferoot, set to bask in the light of a full moon on the longest night of the year.”

  “Why?” Emma measured out a spoonful of the crumbling dust and dumped it into the mixing vessel.

  “The moon gives it power. Perhaps you’ll learn that ritual someday.” Nan winked. “Now, add a bottle of water and stir.”

  Emma poured the contents of a nearby bottle in, grabbed the mortar, and began to work the mixture into an off-smelling paste. Once the threads of Nymph’s Hair were no longer identifiable in the muck, Nan held her hand over the pestle and closed her eyes.

  “Uruleth, hear me. Grant the boon of life to your children.”

  Faint green light surrounded the old woman’s hand, falling as luminous vapor into the mixture. Strange symbols on the side of the stone vessel glowed in response. Emma stopped stirring for a few seconds, staring in shock until the light faded.

  “Do not stop, child.”

  The symbols again flared to life as Emma grasped the pestle in both hands and ground the mixture. Within moments, the brown sludge turned white and thinned out. The earthy smell grew herbal; the same substance Nan had given Kimber the previous day.

  “Nan?” Emma shifted to the side to let her grandmother pour the goop into a bottle. “You turned into the raven, didn’t you?”

  Wrinkles deepened with a smile. “Yes, child.”

  “I’m sorry for not believing you.”

  “Oh, Em.” Nan patted her on the back. “It is nothing to be sorry of. Many people go through their entire life without seeing such things. Beth was almost fourteen before she believed me.”

  “Beth?” Emma blinked. “Oh, Mama.”

  “Here.” Nan gave her an empty glass flask. “Pour that in this.”

  She poured the mixture in, marveling at how it slid out of the pestle without coating it. Nan took the bottle and twisted a cork into the neck before setting it on a shelf inside the cabinet.

  “Can I turn into a raven?” Emma put together the ingredients for another healing elixir.

  “I don’t know.” Nan tapped a finger to her chin. “It’s different for all of us. It depends on your animal spirit. Mine is the raven. Your mother still hasn’t found one. However, she has a gift for making potions.” Emma grunted as a conspiratorial elbow found her ribs. “Why do you think your father is so brave and strong?”

  Emma rubbed her side, eyebrows furrowed. “The pouch Mother gives him when he goes out?”

  “Indeed. A little magic never hurt.”

  “He doesn’t believe either, does he?” Emma stirred while Nan used the green magic again.

  “He makes excuses to explain everything he can’t understand. He is from Calebrin, a big city two days northeast. They are removed from nature there. They think themselves above it with their big temples and important gods.” Nan waved her hand about. “Too important for little old us.”

  Emma stirred until the substance turned white again. “I think I have a spirit, Nan. A wolf.”

  “Oh?”

  “I’ve seen wolves twice and they didn’t try to hurt me.” She upended the pestle, filling the second flask. “The big one seemed worried about me.”

  Nan tapped a cork into the bottle. “Could it be you were just lucky?”

  “They saved us from goblins.”

  “Perhaps you are right.” Nan patted her on the head.

  “What are you?” Emma looked down. “I mean, what are we? Am I like you and Mother?”

  “I believe so.” Nan caressed her cheek. “Some call us hedgewizards, others think of us as weedmages. A few think we are woodwitches, and some call us druids.”

  Emma made a face. “Druid doesn’t sound as silly as the others.”

  “It doesn’t matter what we are called, Em. We have a special bond with the natural world. Respect all things, and it shall be your ally.”

  “Does that mean we can’t eat meat?”

  “No, Em. Wolves and bears eat meat, as do cats and dogs. Mind you, be grateful to whatever animal gave its life. The spirits go around in an endless cycle of life and death.”

  “So we’ve eaten the same cow more than once?”

  Nan cackled. “Not exactly, though…” She rubbed her chin. “I suppose it is possible. More likely the cow came back as something else.”

  “Who is Uruleth?”

  “Uruleth is the bear spirit, the guardian of life. We call upon him for healing and strength. Strixian is the spirit of the owl, a bearer of great knowledge. Ylithir is the wolf spirit, known for his cunning and guile. Loyalty as well, to his pack.”

  “Can I do… magic?” Emma glanced at the pestle.

  “You are a little younger than your Mother was when she learned her first bit of magic, but I think we shall start soon.”

  “Strixian…” Emma muttered.

  Nan slapped herself on the thigh and snapped her fingers. “Why don’t we start with something basic, see
if you have the knack? Try this. You do believe now, do you not?”

  Emma offered a weak smile. “Uhh, yes.”

  “Alright, Emma. If you believe Strixian is real, ask him to teach you the whisper of the wildkin, so you can talk to them.”

  “What are the words?” Emma tilted her head.

  “What do you want them to be?” Nan winked. “Whatever you need.” She closed her eyes, whispering. “Strixian, spirit of thought, grant me the gift of the wildkin.”

  Emma gasped with delight as tiny wisps of light wrapped around Nan. They faded soon after, and the old one looked at the far end of the room and made a series of strange squeaking sounds. Two mice peeked out from under the bed, one of which ran over and sat up on its back legs.

  “Go on, Em.” Nan gripped her shoulder.

  She tried to imagine the same strands of light around her arms, convincing herself what Nan told her was real. “Strixian, let me have the wildkin whisper.”

  Emma swung her arms in a dramatic swish, like Tam’s dragon-slaying wizard. She stared at her plain, somewhat dirty, and definitely not-glowing hands.

  She pouted.

  “Not bad, Em. But, you didn’t want it enough. It’s nothing to be ashamed of. Not everyone in our family has the gift.”

  Emma squatted and looked at the mouse. It was difficult not to believe, after everything she had seen over the past few days. She gripped her knees and concentrated on the need to speak to the little rodent. “Strixian, please teach me the wildkin whisper.”

  A small tingle spread across her shoulders, as if something drifted close to see who she was. Emma tensed, offering a momentary thought of reverence before calling out with desire. The strange energy flowed into her body; a tingly warmth entered the middle of her back, spread through her chest, and flowed down her arms. Threads of light wisped around her, circling and weaving through her fingers.

  “No think no think she do it. Too young. Too young,” squeaked a tiny little voice.

  “Hello?” Emma wanted to talk, but made a squeaking sound.

  The mouse jumped, doing a backflip. “Wow, wow. Worked!”

  “How long does it last?” chirped Emma.

  The mouse spun in a circle. “Don’t know. Don’t know. Ask old one.”

  Emma whirled on Nan. Everything she tried to say came out as squeaks, which sent the mouse into fits of laughter the more panicked she got.

  “You have to do more than talk while the magic is on you.” Nan squeezed her shoulder. “Before you speak, focus on if you want to talk to a person or an animal.”

  She stared up at Nan, making a series of exaggerated determined faces. “How long does it last?”

  Nan clapped. “Good. Only a few minutes.” She stooped and squeaked at the mouse. This time, Emma understood it as a “Thank you.”

  The critter scurried off, hiding once more under the bed.

  “I wanna learn more!” Emma bounced.

  “All things in time, child. You should master that before going further.” Nan tapped her on the head. “That is why boys have more trouble with it. They can’t wait to learn everything all at once. They want to go straight to the lightning, and think they waste time talking to mice.”

  Emma giggled. When understanding crept in, her jaw dropped. “Lightning?”

  “That’s many years away, girl.”

  Nan ambled over to the pantry, taking a sack of cherries down from a shelf.

  “Can you show me what it looks like?”

  “Not now, Em. This house is too nice to destroy.” Nan waited a moment, and burst into cackles at the horrified look on Emma’s face.

  “Nan.” Emma wandered over. “Would it break the house? What does it look like?”

  “Have you seen a storm where the sky flashes?”

  Emma nodded.

  “Well, it’s like that, but it goes where I want.” Nan dug her hands into the cherries. “Oh, don’t look at me like that. I’m still your Nan. I’m not going to burn down any houses.”

  Emma held her dress up into a bowl. “Nan, what was the Banderwigh?”

  Nan doled out a three-child portion of cherries and put the bag away.

  “I think they are men who have fallen victim to an old curse. Some believe them to be tortured souls, who suffered so much in life that they returned to take revenge.”

  “Revenge?”

  “Yes, child. Revenge on anyone who would dare be happy while they suffered. Others may be distraught fathers whose children were taken away from them. Some, perhaps even by another Banderwigh. They tried to kill the creature, or wandered in search of their lost family until they died. Some may have even succeeded in destroying one, but when they touched the beast’s tainted weapon, the darkness devoured their soul. Or, maybe they’re simply what they are―monsters.”

  Emma leaned away from the strange look in Nan’s eyes and swallowed. “Is Kimber’s dad gonna become one?”

  Nan waved at her. “Oh, no. That man wasn’t worth spitting on, but wasn’t the kind of evil that turns into such a creature.”

  “I was scared it would take Kimber. She was always alone in the forest. Why did it take me an’ Tam?”

  Nan rubbed her chin and closed the pantry. “Why do you think?”

  Emma stared at her dress full of cherries for a moment. “We were happier. It would hurt more to be taken.”

  “Yes, yes, close enough I suppose.” Nan shooed her toward the door. “Don’t keep them waiting. Oh, and Emma…”

  She glanced back from the end of the porch.

  “Try not to talk to any of the local horses, they’re such horrible gossips.”

  mma sat cross-legged in the meadow with her eyes closed. No one had spoken of the Banderwigh for almost a week. The village had even seemed to forget about Old Man Drinn’s sudden death. The most anyone had said of it was how shocked they were it had taken as long as it did for the strong berry brandy to kill him. No one was shocked. She couldn’t figure out how long she’d been in the cage; Mother said she’d been missing for a whole day, but it didn’t feel like that much time had passed.

  Head tilted back, she inhaled the breeze that touched her face and kept her hands on her knees. She tried listening for the sound of spirits; however, every time she felt calm, a bug would land on her face or the grass would brush her legs. Each tickling distraction, insect or plant, broke her concentration and left her frustrated.

  She leaned forward, raking her fingers through the grass and thinking about what Nan had said. Life took on many forms, each of them essential. Does grass have feelings?

  The wind calmed and she tried again. Something buzzed past her ear. The noise ceased at the same time a light presence upon her cheek crawled up onto her nose. Emma ignored it, listening to the sound of the breeze and thinking of the big, grey wolf. Silence. She opened her eyes, which crossed to focus on a bee the size of Father’s thumb, all black, except one small spot of white hair between the wings. A flyeater. Emma thought about puffing at it, but did not fancy a giant, red nose for a week. It departed in a moment, letting her breathe again. Once her nerves settled, she shut her eyes and thought about spirits and the strange green light fading into the pestle.

  The feeling that wisped around her when she had used the speaking magic was, according to Nan, Strixian’s first contact. At the moment she felt it, she tugged at her desire and the magic had worked. Emma focused on that feeling, but did not think about any specific animal. Minutes passed: filled with quiet breezes and the occasional buzzing insect going by. Everything seemed to still, and a presence filled in the void before her.

  Where are you? Are you my animal spirit?

  Cold touched her forehead. She opened her eyes, finding herself nose to nose with the large wolf she had seen twice prior. Instinct made her heart race. Considering their respective size, it could snap her neck with ease. She leaned back, mouth agape. It stood still, staring right through her. She called upon Strixian. The energy responded, and the wisps of light skimmed a
long the meadow and surrounded her.

  “Greetings, Emma.” The wolf’s jaw moved as though it had let out a howl too soft for human ears, but the voice she heard sounded like a man. Deep and confident, like Father. “It is good to know you.”

  “Thank you.” She reached out and touched him, fingers combing through the fluffy fur on the side of his face. Excitement ran through her blood. She moved to kneel, and the wolf allowed her to wrap her arms around him. “Thank you for protecting me.”

  “The raven is friend. So shall you be. Come, little one.” The wolf turned sideways.

  She glanced at the distant house. Everyone else was inside. Tam was no doubt engaging in knight vs. dragon warfare while Nan watched. Mother had gone with Kimber to see the Magistrate.

  “We will not be long.” The great wolf lowered himself to the ground.

  Emma stepped over him, sitting on his back and twining her fingers in his fur. When he stood, her feet could not reach the ground and she gulped. His sudden bolt into a run made her scream, but the sound turned gleeful before her lungs emptied. Meadow grass became a dull green blur, punctuated by the sporadic glow of a streak of firefly. He ran up and down small hills that felt as though they flew through dips and dives. By the time they reached the edge of Widowswood, she couldn’t stop grinning and laughing.

  “Lean forward,” said the wolf.

  She gripped with her legs and bent forward, sliding her arms around his neck. For a few minutes, he bounded through the brush and weaved among the trees. She looked around in awe as he trotted over a fallen log, through the mist of a modest waterfall. The undergrowth on the other side was thinner, and they cleared ground with such speed Emma felt tired from watching. He slowed to trot along the edge of a smaller waterway, perhaps the same one looped back, until it split around a tiny island. The wolf bounded all the way to the far side, where he resumed a brisk trot.