The Singing, page 4
‘It is about experiencing.’
‘What about enjoyment, then?’ Clarice’s fingers dug into the flesh of her arms, and she looked sideways at Morghan’s snake, who seemed to be peering unblinkingly at her from under the nearest vegetation. She was glad she herself did not walk with Snake. Snake was all business, all the time. She looked over at Morghan.
Why had the Queen banned her from the Fair Lands until Winter Solstice? She’d done it with no explanation, just picked her out of the crowd of courtiers, took her aside, and said the words without any preamble at all.
You are to return to your world and not come back here until after the Midwinter.
Not even the solstice, really, but after it. After midwinter’s, which was – Clarice did a quick calculation – almost six months away. The dismissal cut into her like a knife, and she felt flayed open, helpless. She tightened the grip of her folded arms.
What was she going to do with herself until then? She couldn’t think of a single thing. Everyone was busy – Morghan didn’t need her. And besides, she really was more comfortable roaming the woods, crossing back and forth between the worlds, spending time on her own when she wasn’t with the Fae. Clarice shook her head, and the goosebumps were back, raising the hairs on her arms, the back of her neck. This was like being a kid again, she thought, not sure of anything, not knowing where in this terribly unfriendly world she belonged.
She’d solved that one though, hadn’t she? She didn’t belong in this world at all. She was half Fae, she’d decided, and there was home more than here.
Except now she was banned from the Fair Lands. Without explanation. Clarice shook her head and turned to look back through the fence – it was so out of place, this wire fence in the midst of this beautiful natural landscape. She grimaced.
‘Why show you this house though?’ she asked. ‘Why not any other ramshackle place that needs to be torn down?’
Morghan looked at her. Clarice looked young again, vulnerable, a little lost.
She turned and gazed up at the house.
‘Because this is part of my history, I think,’ Morghan answered. ‘We must always start where we are, with what we have.’
Clarice shook her head. ‘I have just been banned from where I mostly am.’ She trailed off, shrugged her thin shoulders, looked over at Morghan. ‘And what do I have to start with?’ She glanced back at the house. ‘My foundations are about as poppycock sideways as that place’s.’
‘Do you think so?’ Morghan asked. ‘You are your mother’s daughter, and mine,’ she said. ‘I cannot believe you do not have foundations that are not strong and true.’ She took a breath and put an arm around Clarice’s shoulders, drawing her gently away from the sight of the house.
‘Perhaps the better question to ask is what have you built on top of them?’ She smiled. ‘We can think on it together perhaps, since you’ll be spending more time at home.’
Clarice snorted. Shook her head.
Then sighed.
5
Clarice stepped out into the cooling dusk and walked across the lawn, stopping to look at the line of trees and give a low whistle.
She waited, one hand tapping against her thigh before she took a deliberate breath and stilled her fingers. She whistled again.
Sigil came, silently, a glow of white wings in the darkening sky, and then a ruffle of feathers as she settled onto Clarice’s outstretched arm.
Clarice stroked the owl almost as though she were a cat, then tucked the bird on her shoulder, so that if she turned her head, Sigil’s wide eyes would be there, looking back at her.
What to do now, she wondered. The night was only just creeping over the hills and valleys, and there was nothing for her to do, nowhere for her to go. It was insufferable. How could the queen have done this? Banished Clarice from what was practically her own home?
Clarice shook her head, felt Sigil’s soft feathers against her cheek, the pale bird almost the same colour as her own hair and skin. She lifted her gaze. The same colour as the moon also, she thought.
This was her element. The night and the moon. She could cross the borders between the Grove and the Fair Lands without even thinking. She knew many of the paths like the blue veins that glowed under the milk-pale skin of her own hands.
Clarice shook her head, and Sigil stood up, stretching her legs in protest before settling back down in a huff of feathers.
Midsummer was close, Clarice thought, gazing at the moon sailing under a silvered cloud. The winter solstice was months away. Months during which she would do, what?
She had no answer for that. Morghan would try, she was sure, to engage her in the doings of the Grove, and of the village, but Clarice shook her head again at that idea. She was an outsider, always skirting around the edges of Wellsford life. Not for her, she thought, were easy lunches at The Copper Kettle, or evenings drinking and laughing at The Green Man, which would soon be open for business again.
She belonged out here, in the night. Flitting between the trees like some exotic moth, darting across to the Fair Lands and back again. She’d wandered into these woods when she was a child, little more than five years old, and had never really come back out of them.
Well, she decided. She would keep wandering. There were other places to explore than the queen’s lands.
Sigil still on her shoulder, Clarice paced closer to the tree line, breathing deeply, centring herself, looking for the way to shift her vision so that she saw the spirit of the woods as clearly as the waking vision of trees and shadows and the small, scurrying animals that lived there.
And it was there, as it always was - the way into the Wildwood. Clarice sighed quietly in relief and lifted a hand to touch Sigil’s feathers.
‘Come on,’ she whispered. ‘Let’s go for a walk.’
She stepped onto the path between the trees, turning her head to catch a glimpse of anyone she knew who might be passing that way. Surely her Fae friends would be out and about on such a clear evening?
The woods rustled with the murmurings and creepings of the small animals that lived there. Somewhere on a high branch, a bird opened its beak and gave a low, mournful hoot. Sigil turned her great eyes towards it but stayed otherwise still upon Clarice’s shoulder.
Clarice peered through the shadows, searching for her friends. She wasn’t the only one who liked to wander. In the Wildwood, in the in-between world, she often walked and talked with them. It was easy – only a relaxing and widening of the sight.
‘Where are you?’ she muttered, and Sigil chirruped softly against her ear.
Clarice shook her head. She walked further along the path, her body alert for the sense of someone with her.
And when one of the Fae appeared – finally – it was her body that knew of their presence before she turned to look, her skin prickling.
‘Maxen,’ she said, surprised, blinking in the dimness. ‘I didn’t expect you.’
The Fae man tipped his dark head in acknowledgement. ‘You walk the borders?’
‘The queen will not let me into the Fair Lands,’ Clarice said, and there was an edge of desperation to her voice.
‘So, you creep along the edges, hoping for what?’
Clarice glanced over at Maxen, who she had known since she was a child. ‘I belong there,’ she said, her mouth set stubbornly.
‘But you do not,’ Maxen said, lifting his eyebrows at her.
‘It is the only place I feel at home.’
They were both silent for a long moment. Somewhere in the woods a fox barked.
Sigil fluffed up her feathers, smoothed them down again.
‘She didn’t give a reason,’ Clarice said. ‘The queen. She didn’t give a reason.’
Clarice stopped walking, turned to look at Maxen. ‘Do you know why she has banished me?’ she asked.
He shook his head. ‘I am not privy to the queen’s thinking,’ he said.
Clarice looked down at her hands, the skin so white it seemed to glow in the dimness. She pulled her sleeves down over her fingers and looked up at Maxen.
‘Can you take a guess?’ she asked.
He shrugged, a smile appearing on his face. ‘Can you?’
Clarice rolled her eyes. ‘It’s not fun when questions are answered with more questions.’
‘Nonetheless, I stand by my enquiry,’ Maxen said. ‘Can you?’
‘Can I guess?’ Clarice asked, wrapping her arms around herself. ‘No. To punish me, perhaps? Although I haven’t done anything wrong.’ She stared off into the forest.
‘It should not be a punishment to live in the world you were born to.’
Slowly, Clarice turned back to look at him. ‘But it is,’ she said.
Maxen shook his head. ‘What is the teaching?’ he asked. ‘To walk in balance, world to world?’
Clarice closed her eyes.
When she opened them, Maxen was gone.
The woods of Wilde Grove were all around her, the trees rustling slightly as they gossiped with the wind, and Clarice narrowed her eyes, looking into the dimness between their trunks, before lifting her hands to rub tiredly at her face and turning to walk back towards the house.
She stepped out of the trees and saw a figure strolling towards her.
‘Clarice?’
It was Morghan, and she moved as silently over the grass as Clarice herself did.
‘I’m here,’ Clarice said, knowing full well that Morghan could see her.
Morghan stopped in front of her, smiling. She held out a hand and gently touched Sigil’s feathers. ‘Do you have plans for tonight?’ she asked. Sigil’s feathers were soft and warm under her fingers.
Clarice looked longingly towards the trees, to the path in there that would take her to the Fair Lands. She shook her head.
‘No.’
Morghan dropped her hand and looked carefully at her stepdaughter. Clarice’s mouth was a tight line, her eyes distant, unhappy.
‘What has happened?’ Morghan asked. ‘Did you try to go back?’
She meant to the Fair Lands of course, and Clarice knew she did.
‘No,’ Clarice answered. ‘I just walked the borders.’ She blinked, shrugged, turned to look back at the trees. ‘Hoping to see someone, anyone I knew.’
‘And did you?’
Clarice shook her head. ‘Just Maxen, and he was as infuriating as ever.’
Morghan couldn’t help her laugh. ‘What did he say?’
He told me it is not a punishment to walk in the world I was born in.’ She turned her eyes, flashing with sudden anger, on Morghan. ‘But it is a punishment to be banished to it,’ she said.
Morghan regarded her for a moment. ‘Was that all?’
‘Oh no,’ Clarice said. ‘Of course not – he reminded me that it is our task to walk in balance, world to world.’
‘As it is,’ Morghan said.
‘Yeah, well, that’s the bit I have a tough time with.’ Clarice stuck her hands in her pockets so that Morghan wouldn’t see them clenched into tight fists.
‘Walk with me,’ Morghan said, turning and taking a few steps before looking back at Clarice. ‘Please?’ she added, smiling.
Clarice stared at her for a moment, then ducked her head in the gathering darkness and followed.
‘I’ve something I think will help you,’ Morghan said.
Clarice shot her a suspicious glance. ‘Help me?’
Morghan nodded. ‘I’ve been giving this some thought. Mostly pondering upon the fact that the queen sent you back upon a path that would take you straight to my private place in the Wildwood, and to the remains of that house.’
Clarice touched her cheek to Sigil’s feathers. ‘What about it?’ she asked after a minute.
‘Well, it is meaningful, wouldn’t you say?’
‘Nothing’s ever an accident, when the queen is involved, so I suppose so.’ Clarice followed Morghan alongside Hawthorn House, wondering where they were going.
‘Indeed,’ Morghan said. ‘But I keep coming back to the image of a house.’ She stepped out from the shadow of the manor and crossed over a stretch of lawn to take a path into the far gardens. She led Clarice down the winding path until they reached the tiny cottage that sat in a circular garden at the end of the path.
Clarice stopped beside her and looked around. ‘I haven’t been here for years,’ she said. ‘Not since…’ She blinked. ‘Not since Mum, you know?’
Morghan nodded. She knew. ‘Not since your mother passed.’ She smiled at the tiny cottage. ‘This was her space. Where she painted and drew and wrote.’ Morghan paused. ‘And dreamt.’
Clarice looked at the small building. It was only one room, but there was a sweet entranceway, a mullioned window, and the miniature cottage had a steep tiled roof, as though it didn’t know it was only tiny. ‘There’s smoke coming from the chimney,’ she said.
‘Yes,’ Morghan said. ‘I’ve cleaned and cleared out the space for you to use.’
‘Use?’ Clarice turned and stared at her. ‘What for?’
‘It came to me in a bit of a flash of inspiration,’ Morghan said. ‘Here is a connection to your mother, and thus to your ancestors and your soul family. I think you need that.’
Clarice shook her head slightly and Sigil stretched for a moment up onto her legs, then settled. ‘I do?’ Clarice asked.
Morghan looked at her, eyes soft with love. ‘I think so. Your connection with the Fae is not enough. You need the guidance and companionship of your own spirit kin.’ She smiled. ‘I think you will find them here.’
Clarice couldn’t help it, she barked a laugh. ‘What, are they packed away in the cupboards or something?’
Morghan continued to look at her.
‘Fine,’ Clarice said at last. ‘Sorry.’ She huffed out a breath. ‘I guess I need something to do, while I’m in banishment.’
Morghan looked at her a moment longer, then turned back to smile at the tiny cottage. ‘Dream work,’ she said.
‘What?’
‘There are many ways to travel to the Otherworld,’ Morghan said, then gave Clarice a crooked grin. ‘Without disturbing the Fae. And there is little better a way to find your path through all worlds than by your dreams.’
‘I barely ever remember dreaming.’ Clarice shrugged.
‘Then this is the time to work on it.’ Morghan gestured to the little cottage. ‘Sleep here over the next weeks. Make your sleeping and dreaming a ritual event, as they used to do at the Delphi Oracles and other places. The world has a long history of dreamers, and I think it might do you good to become one of them.’ She turned and looked at Clarice.
‘You just never know what will happen,’ she said.
Clarice was silent for a moment. ‘Are my mother’s things still in there?’ she asked.
‘Some of them,’ Morghan replied. ‘But I want this to become your place. Tend to it as your own sacred space. Come to it as a priestess and a seeker.’
She looked at her stepdaughter’s face in the waning light, trying to read the expression she saw there.
‘Will you do it?’ she asked at last.
Clarice swallowed. ‘Why do you want me to?’ she said at last, knowing she was answering a question with another question, but doing it anyway.
Morghan inclined her head. ‘Because Maxen is right. You must learn to walk in balance. And you must learn to walk in this world.’ She smiled. ‘A strong house built on solid foundations is necessary to the success of that endeavour. Your dreams will tell you what you need and how to do what is necessary. They will also introduce you to your kin.’
She nodded. ‘So, I ask again. Will you do it?’
Clarice glanced at her stepmother. When Morghan spoke like that, asked questions in that way, there was no room for a flippant answer. Whatever was spoken in response had consequences.
She looked at the tiny cottage, remembering her mother standing in the doorway, smiling out at the sunshine. She remembered herself, playing in the garden, a wide sunhat shading her face as she skipped along the paths, gathered flowers and pretended to make spells with them.
‘Yes,’ she said, her mouth dry. ‘I will do it.’
Morghan beamed at her, reached out and touched a hand to her shoulder.
‘Wonderful,’ she said. ‘Begin tonight, and may the Goddess bless you in your dreaming.’ She left her hand on Clarice’s shoulder for a moment longer, then turned and slipped back the way they’d come.
Clarice stood where she was, listening to her heart thumping behind her ribs.
6
Clarice nodded, took a breath, then lifted Sigil from her shoulder. ‘I’m going inside now,’ she said to the bird. ‘You can go fly and hunt. I’ll see you in the morning, tuck you in.’ The small joke fell flat under her nervousness, but she shrugged. ‘Off you go,’ she said.
Sigil spread her wings and launched herself from Clarice’s hands, her horny toenails digging in for a brief moment before she was on the wing. Clarice stood and watched her fly, a bright streaking of feathers in the sky, the colour of the moon. She would see Sigil in the morning, for the bird would be back in her small owlery to roost and sleep for the day.
Clarice turned back to the cottage, not knowing what to expect once she stepped inside. For a moment she frowned, berating herself for dithering on the doorstep like this, as though she were just a clueless kid. She wasn’t. She might not be strictly in balance, but she walked the worlds, and she could do this.
Dream. She could dream.
Nodding, Clarice stepped under the tiny stone porch and saw that Morghan had left the key for her, swinging from the doorknob on a piece of ribbon. Mouth still dry, Clarice took the large skeleton key and held it in one palm while she turned the knob and drew the door open.
It was warm inside the room, flames blazing away in the open fireplace that took up much of one end of the rectangular room. There was a small stack of logs beside it, and Clarice breathed in the smoky scent of the wood, then reached out with her hand to grip the door frame.
