THE BLACKBERRY WITCH: chapter 26

All chapters of The Blackberry Witch

XXVI. Eleanor

Wednesday dawned with a pinkish glow that began as a hint in the east and melted into the rest of the sky, a crescendo’s peak of the previous week and a summary of life at the foot of Briar’s Peak in the heart of the Old Country: autumn-heavy, fragrant, steady, clear, subtle and bright, gently easing away from the merry mirth of summer into the somber quiet of autumn, presaging the stillness of winter coming. Wednesday arrived and was changed, the week’s journey transposing it into something recognizable but deeper, fuller, crisper. Its light hailed the retreating night and provided a closure to the lingering notes of the starbirds. The dawn exhaled over the valley in a fine mist, washing the fields with gold, encouraging dewdrops of red and orange to sprout along waving stalks of corn and barley and oatgrass. Morning glittered on the eastern river like a fairy’s treasure.

Gently, the dawn folded itself over the small fisherman’s camp on the side of the river. Its soft touch whispered through a mouse’s whiskers, hovered upon the glossy deep of a raven’s wings, tangled in the black-and-white fur of a snoring dog, grazed along the strong arms of a sleeping fisherman, and caressed the tousled hair of a windswept boy from the nearby village. Then the dawn, its purpose fulfilled, pooled into the tent-opening and stretched out over the river fair.

Thomas was already awake to greet the lantern-light of Wednesday. His dreams escaped in the cracking of the shutters, and by the time the shafts of light fell upon him in full, the night’s images and conjured memories were river-mist and pebble-echoes only. He smiled and stretched and bade the morning a fair day ahead.

For his own share, Thomas was glad he’d slept well and was glad to meet the dawning day. He could ask no more of Wednesday than that it would give him the chance to live well. That itself would bring adventure of one sort or another. Thomas sat up and watched the river growing bright, his thoughts a contented wakeful reflection of the slow-moving river, placid and calm.

Wednesday settled itself into the crook of the river and Thomas’s animal companions began to stir. Thomas said hello to each in turn—patting Cathán’s furry head, scratching Elwood behind the ears, and stroking Avery’s injured wing with care—and then the boy excused himself to the river to wash his face and wake his limbs and send out a little floating gift downstream toward Gilroy and Ableil.

When he returned, Thomas found that Finlay had arisen and was preparing a breakfast for the little group. The fisherman eschewed feeding them more eel, claiming that it wasn’t well for man or animal to subsist only on such a delicacy, but instead that living things should seek variety in their meals. Finlay had fried up a passel of mushrooms and sliced tomatoes, serving them hot and steaming with slices of heavy nut bread and morsels of cheese.

Thomas ate cheerily and well. He snuck an extra slice of bread and smuggled some cheese out of the communal basket, tucking them away into his satchel just in case. Conversation was kept light and simple during the meal, with each focusing on the pleasant weather and better food and the mild warmth of the sun against their sleep-chilled skin.

“You’ll be heading to the north road today?” Finlay asked while they helped him clean up after breakfast. “Would you like some company? I can leave my poles and nets for a day.”

Thomas took a licked-clean dish away from Elwood and gave it to Cathán for a proper scrubbing. “Thank you, but that’s okay. I know you’ve been busy here. And you’ve already been so much help to us—we couldn’t have found the shell without you. We can see the rest of this journey through ourselves.”

“I’ll at least accompany you to the head of the river.” Finlay took the last wooden spoon from Avery and nodded his thanks to the raven. “I want to make sure that you’re walking in the right direction.”

They finished cleaning up and made ready their belongings. Thomas wore his shoes and jacket and knit cap, ready for the long walk ahead, and carried his satchel slung across his shoulders. It was heavier now with the weight of his hopes for Eleanor’s safety. Avery perched on his left shoulder and Cathán on his right.

Finlay led the way, Elwood at his side and Thomas just behind, walking along the riverside toward the crossway and the North Road. They chatted here and there; Finlay had a deep understanding of the eastern river and its affairs that was matched only by Thomas’s genuine curiosity for the subject. The fisherman spoke of what he’d learned and what he hoped to someday investigate. Before long, they came abreast of the more trafficked docks and the gathering of fishers there. Finlay halted.

“You’ll cut across the hills and barley-fields there, same way you came,” Finlay said, pointing westward away. “On straight to the North Road; and from there you know better than I, of course.”

Elwood seemed loath to leave Finlay and the fun of the river behind. He whined and pawed at the dirt and sniffed in the direction of the docks. Thomas promised the great shaggy dog that they would all return soon to play in the water, which seemed comforting enough.

“You’d best bring your sister when you do,” Finlay added, kneeling to give the dog a last hearty scratch. “She’ll want to try some of my eel-skin soup, I’m sure, and we have meetings to keep with Ableil and Gilroy besides. Don’t tarry too long away, Thomas.” He rose and clasped hands with the boy.

“I won’t.” Thomas smiled, feeling a tugging in his chest. “Thank you for everything, Finlay.”

“Be safe, Thomas. Let your friends keep you safe.”

“Aye.”

Thomas set out from the river at a steady pace. He came to the crest of a hill and turned back to wave; Elwood let out a short howl, then spun around again and darted forward into the tangled grasses and barley-stalks. Even from such a distance, Thomas could see Finlay’s shoulders shaking with laughter. The boy laughed as well, then followed after Elwood into the fields and pastures and homesteads between him and his sister.

On they walked. Elwood bounded ahead and back, always checking that his friends were still there before moving on, occasionally bringing back flowers or bits of grass or, just once, a bumblebee that had alighted upon the dog’s wet nose and was removed only with persistence and persuasion.

Thomas enjoyed the rhythmic stretch of his legs and the rolling of the earth beneath his feet and the brush of grass and wind. Wednesday was warming up with each passing mile, shedding off the overnight cold of autumn, a last summerlike day meant for outside and open air and sky. Cathán rode on the boy’s shoulder; Avery swooped overhead, testing the strength of his mending wing, landing now and then to chatter away or rest.

They paused to rest for a short time in the shade of a little stand of oak trees. Thomas took a long drink from his water-skin and leaned back against a trunk. Cathán scurried down his chest and climbed up his bent knee, turning to face the boy.

“We’ll get there in time, friend Thomas. We’ve got the four objects the witch demanded. We’ve nearly reached the end of our quest.”

Thomas smiled. “Aye, nearly so. Thank you for everything, Cathán. You gave me hope from the very beginning.”

“Are you worried?” Cathán asked.

“For Eleanor, yes,” Thomas replied. He realized then—but didn’t say—that he was truly only worried for Eleanor, not for himself. He was worried she had suffered during the past week, worried that the witch wouldn’t free her, worried that she wouldn’t be safe. But he wasn’t worried for his own self.

Instead, he’d found a kind of calm. Perhaps it had been the starbirds’ song or the rumbling of Gilroy’s grotto; perhaps it was the endless travels and battles and adventures and perils with trusted companions at his side; perhaps it simply came from the dawning of a bright Wednesday morning and the wind over the river and the walk through gentle rolling hills. But Thomas was calm. “How much farther do you think we have?”

Avery rustled his wings. “A few miles. Perhaps another two hours at your legged pace. Did the violet witch give a time for the meeting?”

“No,” said Thomas, “but I was given to understand that I shouldn’t make her wait long. Two hours should be fine—the heat of the morning will be on the North Road then, not quite a full seven days since I ate her blackberries. That’ll be enough.”

Cathán sat back on his hindpaws and nibbled a morsel of cheese. “You know, Thomas,” said the Mouse Knight, “of all the stories I’ve told during this past week, yours has been the one that most impressed me, and yet it’s the one I’ve least recounted. It bears telling now, I think. We first met by hiding in a hole in the brambles from that charging boar. We became fast friends, and you agreed to help with the threat of the Nathaia Iór, the great Winged Serpent and the scourge of the Thistledown Kingdom.

“Bravely, and without much prior training in the craft of war, you joined the First Legion and we fought the slithering serpent. Your strikes with the bramble-branch caught the snake totally unprepared, yes: and then to victory we charged, with the full might of Mouse Knights and doughty warriors! Without your assistance, fair champion Thomas of Mídhel, the Nathaia Iór would surely have continued its rampage across the woods, claiming many lives. Your valiance against such a dark foe at once became one of my fondest memories, and you an immediate cherished friend. Never forget that story, Thomas.” The mouse finished his cheese and sat back, whiskers twitching.

Avery hopped over. “I would remind you, as well—knowing of the fallible and flighty memory of humans—of the several moments during the past week in which you have demonstrated a kind of cleverness that, although not up to even fledgling raven standards, was nonetheless impressive in its own standing. For example, your outmaneuvering of the King of Lions on Lightning Peak was rather enlightened, if you’ll pardon the wordplay.”

“I don’t think that was me,” said Thomas.

“Ah, no, of course not,” Avery said, tapping thoughtfully with his beak on a pebble embedded in the ground. “That was one of my prior conquests, and a terribly thrilling story too! Perhaps I can recount it to you someday. In any case, I am altogether certain that you displayed distinct cunning during our adventures. Your trickery of the dragon-boar and your wordsmithery and peacecraft in the Grimgrove will long be the stuff of legend among all woodland beings: mark it well! I’ll compose the songs myself.”

Avery puffed out his chest a little. “Yes, I’ll write such famous songs of your cunning, your quick wits; and I’ll even do what I can to avoid mention of my own exploits, that thereby your tale may shine all the brighter. Anyway, you should remember that, on this bright autumn Wednesday. Remember your own cleverness.”

Elwood padded up from his exploration in the grass and licked Thomas on the side of the cheek. Then the great shaggy dog barked twice, whined a little, barked again, and ran around in a circle. He looked at Thomas afterward expectantly, at least until the twitching of his own tail caught his attention and he gave pursuit.

“Elwood has a reminder of his own, Thomas,” said Cathán. “He’s really just a big soft thing. He wanted to make sure you didn’t forget how brave and strong you were in Palewater Bog. Elwood didn’t like that place at all, didn’t like Saf the changeling or the rotting bones or the sirens or any of the other torments of the bog; but you were strong of will and character, brave and true, and you used that energy to bring a little light into the gloom. Elwood says you shouldn’t forget that you helped him see a little clearer.”

“He’d do better with some human shears to those overhanging tufts on his head,” Avery observed.

Elwood stopped chasing his tail and growled, then plopped into the dirt and set to cleaning himself.

“In any case, Elwood’s right—you helped save him from Saf’s evil influence, and he’s not the only one you’ve rescued.” Cathán patted Thomas’s knee. “Keep that in mind today, yes?”

Thomas nodded and smiled but kept his thoughts to himself.

After a short time they rose and gathered themselves up and started off again across the fields and byways north of Mídhel. The walk was pleasant and sunny and warm. Feeling a bit impatient, Thomas hurried along, and well short of the two hours Avery had predicted came the sight of the dusty North Road crawling from the village to the hills and forests of the northern lands.

Thomas stopped when he reached the edge of the road.

“Odd,” said Cathán, hanging on Thomas’s ear to stretch out for a better look. “I’d expected a busier time on such a broad thoroughfare.”

“Perhaps they’re all away trying that eel-skin soup,” Avery suggested, clacking his beak. “It was lovely.” Elwood barked his assent.

“No,” said Thomas, scanning up and down the length of the road, then stepping carefully onto the hard-packed earth. The road was warm even through his shoes, and he removed his knit cap and ran his fingers through his hair. “This is what it was like before, when the witch came and showed me that she’d taken Eleanor.”

The North Road, as ever, was lined with shops and stalls and merchants’ tents, colorful fabrics dotting either side of the wide avenue, boxes and crates supporting them. Mídhel was small but not unpopular; most journeys in the Old Country passed by the little village now and then, so the North Road was a common site for travelers and wayfarers—thus the proliferation of wares and their sellers.

But those sellers of goods had departed their tents, as before. Each of the stalls and wagons and stands of fresh vegetables was empty, and again Thomas had the distinct sensation that something had called them away from their places—that the presence and malice of the witch drove all others from this meeting-place while she conducted her business. Thomas hoped that they were safe and otherwise distracted long enough for this affair to conclude, one way or another.

The North Road was no place for anyone on this autumn Wednesday.

Elwood barked and sniffed the air. Thomas followed the dog’s movements and saw a small tent across the street. It was made from brown canvas and its flap was pinned open and there was smoke wafting from within.

“Someone’s inside,” advised Avery, clutching Thomas’s shoulder a little more firmly.

“Aye,” said Thomas, and started across the road.

When Thomas was a few paces away, the tent-flap parted further and a man stepped out. Thomas stopped and examined him quickly. The man was an enigma at first and further glance. He wore simple brown clothing and had a short-trimmed beard and spectacles perched on his nose. His eyes were brown and his head bore a floppy hat. He was holding a book in one hand and a half-eaten apple in the other. As Thomas watched, the man took a bite from the apple and chewed slowly.

Thomas was absolutely certain he’d never seen the man before; and yet something persisted, wiggling in the back of his mind: a sense of familiarity of spirit, perhaps, or the kinship of being the only two humans on the North Road this morning.

“Ho there, traveling boy,” said the man, in a voice that was straightforward and rustic. “Welcome to the North Road. Our inhabitants have gone elsewhere for the moment, I’m afraid, but if there’s anything you need, I can help you.”

Thomas thought a moment. “I’m fine, thank you, sir. I have what I need.”

The man took another bite. “Shoes fitting right? Shirt and jacket properly tailored? Trousers darned and cuffed just so?”

Thomas gave thought to each question. “Yes, my clothes fit me well.”

“And your companions?” The man smiled at the gathering of animals with Thomas. “Mouse, raven, and dog, I see. They all appear healthy and happy. Are they so?”

“I think so,” said Thomas, looking at his friends. They all voiced their agreement. “Yes, we’re all well. It’s a beautiful day,” he added. “How are you?”

The man seemed surprised. “Oh, just fine, thank you! Just fine indeed. And I’m happy myself, though perhaps a little lonely here all alone on the North Road. I think I’ll seek out some friends in the village, if I can find any. But you don’t need anything as you continue along your travels? You have what you need?”

“Aye,” said Thomas. “I’m well prepared for what’s ahead.” He thought back to his friends’ reminders, to all that had unfolded over the previous week, and nodded his head. “I’ve been prepared for today’s travels. Thank you for your kindness.”

The man inclined his floppy hat toward them. “I’ll be seeing you around, then.” He took a last bite of the apple, seeds and all, and tossed the stem aside. “Safe travels.”

“And you, wise merchant,” replied Thomas. “Best wishes for your studies.” The words were a surprise to him; but the man smiled deeper and nodded again, then started off on the road toward Mídhel, whistling a jaunty tune. Thomas watched him walk into the distance and disappear.

“I had a feeling you might’ve known that merchant,” said Cathán quietly.

“So did I,” replied Thomas. “I can’t be sure. But he did seem very wise. Perhaps we’ll meet him again.”

The four companions turned northward to face the road ahead.

They proceeded on, walking together down the road, Cathán and Avery riding Thomas’s shoulders, Elwood keeping pace astride. They passed a few more of the vacant stalls and shops. Thomas saw Mistress Eva’s empty rocking chair next to two large stacks of hay bales, an unfinished stocking draped over the arm of the chair, which itself creaked a little in the wind and gave the impression that she’d only just dashed away to remove a singing tea-kettle or to chase out the neighbor’s tomcat. Thomas also saw a few scraps of cloth floating free, the remnants of the makeshift tent erected to host the Elb na Sálan caravan as it passed by the village. He wondered if Eleanor had managed a glimpse of the famed merchant wagons before the witch stole her away.

The wind picked up as they distanced themselves from the last of the market corridor and stepped beyond the proper borders of Mídhel. The North Road snaked on ahead, cutting through homesteads and farms to distant lands beyond. Orange-gold leaves clumped along the roadway like bulrushes on a riverbank. The sunlight overhead was warm and pale.

Elwood was the first to smell something strange, and his urgent barking halted their progression. Thomas sniffed the air himself. It was indeed an odd smell, like ash and charcoal, or perhaps a cut of beef gone off by just a day or two. He looked around. Mídhel was still visible behind him, chimneys and angled roofs peeking over the rise of the road. Away to the east were the fields and croplands he and his friends had recently tramped through twice over on their errand to the eastern river. The village and the fields were both serene beneath the autumn morning.

Thomas looked to the west, toward Palewater Bog. It shimmered faintly on the far horizon, a yellow haze like a low-lying cloud. But the wind was pushing toward the bog, not away. And Thomas felt that any farther north would be too far; he recognized something of his surroundings, a slope of the ground or a shadow of a tree or a patch of discolored rocky soil, little signs that he’d come near here before. This stretch of road whispered with memory in the back of his mind.

“We’re here,” said Thomas to his companions, patting Elwood’s scruffy head. The dog ceased its whining, though a low growl rumbled in the back of his throat and his posture was stiff. “This is the meeting-place with the witch.”

Cathán nocked a tiny dart into his bow, careful to keep the sharpened point away from Thomas’s skin. “We’d best be at the ready, then.”

“How do you prepare for an encounter with a witch?” Avery asked caustically, fluttering his wings to reposition himself. “Ah, but we’ve faced worse terrors than she in recent days, haven’t we? Even dogs and mice and human boys will be just fine against a witch, I suppose.”

Thomas retrieved a water-skin from his satchel and took a long swallow, wetting his now-dry mouth. He replaced the skin and set the satchel at the roadside, along with his cap and jacket, then returned to the center of the road with his hands empty and his fingers drumming nervously against his trousers.

The wind surged over the road, all at once, whipping dust and leaves around in a single flurry. The acrid smell burned sharp and hot in Thomas’s nose. He coughed and shielded his eyes. The burst of wind died as suddenly as it had arisen, and then came a crackle of violet lightning that fissured from the road before them and spiked skyward. It sizzled the air and made Elwood dart back behind Thomas, tail tucked.

Thomas blinked hard against the throbbing afterimages of the magical lightning. It came with no peal of thunder: instead an unnatural stillness, a calm in the wake of the wind.

The boy’s vision cleared, and he saw his sister standing in the middle of the road before him.

Thomas darted forward immediately, arms outstretched, calling out Eleanor’s name. The sudden movement flung both Avery and Cathán from his shoulders. Eleanor turned toward him, and though he could see that she was a bit dirty and disheveled, she didn’t seem to be suffering any obvious injury or maltreatment.

It was only four quick steps to close the distance between them—and then Thomas’s arms closed about empty air.

He stumbled from the unexpected absence, pinwheeling to keep his balance and kicking up dirt. He looked back. Eleanor was standing there again, in just the same spot, now an arm’s length away; but her skin shimmered a little, like the reflection of the sky in a slow-moving river, like warped glass or dreams.

For a moment Thomas worried that this was just a trick, a mirage—or worse, that this was the work of a changeling, a thought too awful to contemplate.

Then Eleanor smiled and spoke. “Thomas!” the girl cried out, and tears shone on her cheeks. “Oh, Thomas, I’m so glad to see you safe! I knew you’d come for me. Are you well?”

“I—” Thomas wiped a hand across his face. “I’m just fine, El, just fine! But—what about you—why can’t I—?”

“Magic,” said the girl, a frown marring her joy at the reunion. “I’m here, but I’m not free yet. She’s placed a spell on me. You can’t touch me and I can’t touch you. Not unless she decides to release me.”

Thomas’s companions came forward to circle around Eleanor, but they said nothing, deferring to Thomas. The boy ran his fingers through his hair and wrinkled his brow. “I’m so sorry you were taken, Eleanor. But you’re okay? You haven’t been hurt?”

Eleanor shook her head. “I’m just fine. I’m scared, but I’m fine. What about you, Thomas? Are you truly okay? I can’t imagine what’s happened to you. Has it really been a week?”

“Aye,” said Thomas in answer to all of it. “I’m healthy and safe. It’s been a long week—adventures good and bad. I’ll tell you all about it when you’re free. Do you know where the witch is?”

As though the words had summoned her—as though the merest mention had invoked her ire—the witch arrived on the North Road at just that moment, wreathed in crackling violet flames and billowing smoke, glorious and terrible in her dark majesty, standing only a few steps away from the crowd of friends, her gaze fixed on Thomas.