The Magic of Endings, page 7
‘Oooh, we’re gonna eat them all up,’ said one.
‘Yum, yum, yum,’ said another.
‘Do we really have to wait for the others?’ said a third. ‘Can’t we just get started?’
Jojo gulped. He could see it now in his mind: some terrible monsters, all ratty and sinister, sharp teeth and vicious claws holding his brother, waiting for him and Aunt Pen, waiting to gobble them up.
What kind of dreams had Jojo been having?
‘Come on, Jojo,’ he said to himself. He just wished he had something to fight with, a stick or a bat or something.
Aunt Pen tapped him on the shoulder. ‘Here. Take this.’ She handed him the table lamp. Jojo took it in one hand and raised the other to question what on earth Aunt Pen expected him to do with a pink lamp with a tasselled fringe. Aunt Pen mimed a downward whack and a thrust as if she had handed him a sword.
Jojo shrugged. It was better than nothing, he guessed. He gripped the lamp in both hands, swallowed, breathed out and took the final few steps round the bend and into the glow.
‘Hey!’ said one voice.
‘Our guests,’ said another.
‘Jojo!’ said a third.
Jojo dropped the lamp and dropped his jaw. It took a few moments to take in what he was seeing in the rather nice room in front of him. A big, round table, piled high with sandwiches, cooling toast, pots of tea and hot chocolate, plates of cakes, biscuits and cream-filled puddings.
Seated at the table were three huge badgers. And at the far end was Ricco, grinning from ear to ear.
‘Aha. We were beginning to worry about you,’ said the largest of the badgers, wearing a pair of round glasses and a fluffy red sweater. If Jojo had to guess, he’d have said she was the mum. But there was no time to make guesses as two paws took his hands.
Each paw belonged to two more badgers, much smaller badgers.
‘Come on den,’ said one, in the voice of a tiny girl.
‘Do it den, come and sit down,’ said the other.
Jojo, as stunned as he had been at any time in the last few days, followed the badgers to a very snug cushioned seat at the table.
‘Ah, of course,’ said Aunt Pen, vanishing the lamp and finding her own chair, ‘Badgers. Big badgers. Not monsters after all.’ She grinned and winked at Jojo.
‘Aunt Pen?’ said Ricco. ‘You are a faerie! This is like... like my actual real dream.’
‘Cake,’ said Aunt Pen, conjuring the fruitcake she’d made earlier that day from one of her many bags and parcels. ‘I told you we’d need this. You can’t turn up to a badgers’ tea party without a cake.’
‘A cake!’ said the largest badger, the mum, taking the cake from Aunt Pen. ‘How wonderful.’
‘You knew about this, didn’t you?’ said Jojo.
‘Well...’ said Aunt Pen.
‘You knew all along?’
‘Well...’
‘What was all that about monsters?’
‘Made it exciting, didn’t it?! And now we know.’
‘Know what?’
‘What dreams are made of.’
Jojo frowned. What did that mean?
‘OK,’ said the mum badger, ‘I think we can start!’
‘Yeah!’ said the gathered badgers. ‘Time to start.’
Aunt Pen whispered to herself once more: ‘Ready for a real rescue mission.’
A badgers’ tea party is a busy affair. The two brothers, Bobby and Buddy, seated either side of Ricco, grabbed and snuffled and scoffed at marmalade on toast and cucumber sandwiches and scones with cream and strawberries. The twin sisters, Coco and Ottie, the littlest badgers who had led Jojo to the table, helped themselves to piles of blackberries, crumpets dripping with butter and jam, and big slices of fruit cake. Ricco was just as quick as the badgers. He tried a bit of everything: egg sandwiches and raspberry roly-poly, honey on toasted muffins and chocolate eclairs, scones and cakes and puddings. Jojo hesitated at first – this magic business was just a little too much – but his hunger soon got the better of him and he had a sandwich and another and another, each filled with some curious meaty paste.
‘Oooooh,’ said the mum badger, who was busy pouring everyone tea and hot chocolate, which was then passed round and round the table, ‘I didn’t know you humans liked earthworm paste sandwiches. Quite delicious, aren’t they?’
Jojo coughed on his mouthful, and, not wanting to be rude, swallowed slowly. After that he stuck to the cake Aunt Pen had made – which, he would tell you now, was the finest, most buttery, most delicate, light and airy, rich and fruity cake he had ever had.
Aunt Pen kept taking slices of bread to the fire which roared in the corner and crisping them until dark, dark brown, just before they burned. Then she’d return, slather them in butter with a sprinkle of salt and crunch her way through.
The talk was of the kind that is had over a big meal:
‘Oooh, this is delicious.’
‘Have you tried this?’
‘Mmm-nyumm-nyumm, scones!’
And Mrs Badger sometimes said things like, ‘Bobby, one slice in your mouth at a time please,’ while Bobby tried to shovel a third or fourth piece of chocolate swiss roll into his mouth, or, ‘Coco, would you please stop dipping your paws in the cream!’ while Coco and her sister each had a bowl of cream that they were happily eating by hand.
It was the finest, funnest, homeliest tea party JoJo could imagine. Looking at Ricco’s glowing eyes, alight with contentment, he could see it really was a dream come true.
Mr Badger
Soon, the party slowed down. Aunt Pen sat smiling contentedly at Jojo and Ricco. Ricco was so full he could only sip at his chocolate. Jojo had abandoned his third slice of fruit cake half eaten on his plate. Ottie and Coco were making finger paintings with jam on their plates and even the badger boys had grown full, or full enough that they were now only nibbling at slices of flapjack.
‘Now,’ said Mrs Badger, who it seemed had not eaten anything, only busied around, pouring drinks, piling cakes onto others’ plates. ‘Now that the tea party is almost over, I think we should have a few toasts, don’t you? I did have a bottle of something fizzy somewhere.’
She looked across the destruction in front of her, plates of crumbs and piles of crusts, empty trays and cups. Buddy burped and looked embarrassed. Something glassy clinked under his chair. Mrs Badger scowled and opened her mouth.
‘No, no. Not to worry. Allow me,’ said Aunt Pen, still in faerie form. She reached for the packages slung about her, rummaged for a moment, pushing aside canvas bags and brown boxes, before delving into what looked like a small picnic hamper. Finally, with a flourish, she produced an impossibly big bottle of golden, shining, bubbling liquid. The cork popped as she pulled it out and liquid fizzed and steamed over the top.
‘Tintinhull cider,’ said Aunt Pen. ‘Fresh and fizzy. You won’t find a finer drink outside of Kernow.’
With the help of Bobby and Buddy, whose mouths were still full, Mrs Badger fetched glasses. Between them they had them filled and distributed to the whole party.
‘Can I start the toasts?’ said Bobby.
‘Certainly,’ said his mother.
‘To the lady over there who brought the cake,’ he shouted, pointing to Aunt Pen.
‘To the lady over there!’ shouted all the badgers and Ricco, who was right into the swing of things.
Jojo said, ‘To Aunt Pen.’
Aunt Pen herself seemed to blush. She stood and bowed a little nod of a bow as glasses clinked and everyone had their first sip of the fizzy apple drink, which really was the most refreshing, most fizzy, most richly apple-flavoured thing any of them had had. It took them a few moments to all comment on how wonderful the drink was before Buddy shouted over the party.
‘Me next,’ he called, swallowing a final mouthful of flapjack. ‘To Mum, for all the rest of the food. It was great, Mum.’
‘To Mum,’ everyone shouted, even Jojo, and they clinked and took another sip. The drink really was delicious and was perfectly capping off all the fine food.
‘Me, me,’ squeaked Coco. ‘To the biscuits. I liked the biscuits.’
‘And the berries,’ said her sister.
They hadn’t quite got the idea of toasts, but still the whole party raised their glasses and repeated, ‘To the biscuits and the berries,’ before clinking and sipping.
‘I have a final toast,’ said Mrs Badger. ‘But before then, would any of our guests like to raise their glasses?’
Ricco was giggling with Bobby, who had just shoved another pawful of strawberries in his mouth.
‘I will,’ said Jojo. He lifted his glass and said, ‘To Ricco and Aunt Pen for bringing us here. It really was quite fun.’
‘To fun,’ everyone shouted. Clinked and drunk. Ricco grinned at his brother. Aunt Pen winked.
When it fell silent, Mrs Badger cleared her throat. ‘So to our final toast. I would like us to raise our glasses to Mr Badger.’ At this, she looked to a corner of the room that neither Jojo nor Ricco had paid much mind to, where the biggest badger of the lot lay on a long bed. His black fur seemed even blacker than his family’s and where the white stood out on his chest and streaked on his head, it seemed even whiter. His chest rose and fell, occasionally he snuffled. He was absolutely fast asleep.
And with that one glance, a memory came to Jojo. It came to him as the other had, out of a clear blue sky. It broke into his mind, or more accurately, out of his mind, out of wherever it had been hiding.
Memories were breaking out.
He remembered in that moment, another party, in another place. Jojo was wearing a party hat, a pointy fabric thing, with a gold star on the front. He knew right then that his grandma had made it. Did she make things? Did she? He was five years old.
The table, like the one in the badgers’ sett, had been laden with food but was now a mess of crumbs and empty plates.
He remembered most of all his dad, asleep on the sofa. He remembered them all laughing at him.
‘Leave him be,’ Mum said. Her stomach was round. Ricco was on his way. ‘He’s working hard. Saving up for the big move. Soon, Jojo, we’ll be in our new house, just across the road from Grandad and Grandma’s.’
But Jojo didn’t leave him be. He ran and jumped onto the chest of the man on the sofa. His father. His dad.
‘Oomph,’ said his dad. He opened one eye. He grinned. ‘Buddy!’
Arms encircled the five-year-old Jojo.
That’s what he remembered. And with that, tears sprang to his eyes.
‘Are you OK, young man?’ said a kindly voice. Mrs Badger.
Everyone stared at Jojo. They waited for him. How long had he sat there, staring at Mr Badger? Jojo coughed and took one more look over at the hairy creature on the bed.
Above the bed where he lay, there was a painting, dark with shadow. Jojo squinted to make it out. A woman, it seemed, small and pale with dark red hair and deep black eyes.
‘I’m OK,’ said Jojo. ‘I’m OK.’
‘OK, sweetheart,’ Mrs Badger said. ‘I’ll finish my toast then. To Mr Badger. He really is the finest man, and our family would be incomplete without him.’
‘And Gurt,’ squeaked Coco.
At the end of the bed lay a big, shiny black woodlouse, the size of a dog, who at the sound of her name shook herself awake.
‘And Gurt,’ repeated their mum.
They raised their glasses again for the final toast, a solemn toast this time, with heads bowed. ‘To Dad and Gurt.’
At the sound of her name again, the woodlouse made a croaking noise, like a bark. And as if in answer, the painting above the sofa began to move. Jojo was sure of it. Eyes moved in that dark face. They flicked around the room before settling on Jojo and Ricco. Anger, blazing anger, filled those eyes and the red hair grew somehow redder.
‘You’re right, Gurt,’ said Mrs Badger. ‘It really is time Dad was waking up. Bobby, give him a little shake.’
Jojo could not take his eyes from the painting. Even as Aunt Pen said, ‘I think it might be time for us too.’
Bobby was at his father’s shoulder. He shook him and as he did, the ground around them shook. Eyes glared. Hair blazed. And the ground shook.
‘Woah,’ said Ricco.
Mrs Badger didn’t seem to notice. None of the badgers did. ‘Give him another little shake, Bobby.’ The boy badger did and the ground now rocked and heaved back and forth. There was a deep grumbling from the ceiling above.
‘Ah,’ said Aunt Pen, ‘it really is time for us to be going.’
‘What’s happening?’ shouted Jojo, as the earth now roared and bits of dirt and rock began to fall from the cracking ceiling.
The badgers carried on as if nothing out of the ordinary was happening at all. Bobby and Buddy had begun to clear the table. Coco and Ottie were flicking globs of jam at each other.
‘Run!’ called Aunt Pen. ‘My magic is only so strong now.’
With a sad look at the badgers they were leaving behind, Ricco vaulted the table and ran. It was clear now, they couldn’t stay put. The ceiling was coming down in chunks and a great chasm was yawning open across the floor. Jojo took one more look at the dark painting. An arm seemed to be reaching out of it. He did not wait any longer to see. He kicked his chair back and hurtled after his brother and the shouting faerie.
‘Run! Run!’
It was not easy staying on their feet as the world seemed to roll back and forth and the ground beneath them churned like the surface of a stormy sea. Ricco stumbled, but stayed upright, now neck and neck with Aunt Pen, who seemed to float above the rocking earth, dodging and ducking falling slabs of stone, holding aloft her table-lamp torch. Jojo was right behind them, pelting back along the fearful tunnel, away from the light of the badgers’ home.
‘Quick!’ shouted Aunt Pen, looking back over one shoulder at Jojo.
He looked up, he tried to call, ‘I am going as quickly as I can,’ but all he got out was, ‘I aaahhh...’ before he found himself face down on the frenzied ground. His foot was burning. He’d stubbed it against something. He scrabbled to stand, reaching back for the something that had tripped him. A rock, the size of his fist. On impulse he seized it and held it tight in one hand, feeling its smooth surface, feeling the hole in the centre of it. A strange rock. Back up, he ran on, pocketing the stone.
He couldn’t see Ricco and Aunt Pen now, it was grown almost pitch dark. He couldn’t see the ceiling falling in, but he could feel it, dirt and pebbles raining over him.
‘There’s no way out,’ shouted Ricco from some way further on. ‘It’s blocked.’
Jojo’s breath was gone. His heart was pounding. But he didn’t stop. He shouted, ‘Aunt Pen, get us out of here. Make us fly!’
Then there was a light. It didn’t come from a lamp or a fire. It came from Aunt Pen herself. She shone in the dark. ‘Reach for me, Jojo! We have to be touching, Ricco.’
With his last breath of musty underground air, and his last burst through the falling rocks, Jojo launched himself forward, and clung, fingertip to fingertip, to his faerie godmother, while from the other side Ricco leaped and took hold of her ankle with a clawing hand.
She blinked, she wrinkled her nose and they were gone. They were light, bursting through the dark, they plunged on, bouncing from crumbling ceiling to cracked floor. Finding their way blocked, the light bounced back and shot through cracks and crevices, sliding forward. Like a whisper, like a razor, they passed through the most minute fissures, the tiniest rifts, till without sound they burst out into the daylight.
Then... SPLASH!
They were no longer light. They were themselves. They were there in the real world, struggling for breath, struggling out of the water they’d landed in.
Ricco! Ricco couldn’t swim!
Jojo broke the surface as someone leaped from the bank into the water. A huge man with curly grey hair and skin just darker than Jojo’s. He saw the old man reach Ricco, grab him and pull him toward the bank. Jojo swam the few strokes and pushed out of the water, joining Aunt Pen, the auntie Aunt Pen. Ricco and the man soon scrabbled out beside them, coughing and spluttering.
And there they stood, dripping, panting, gasping, covered in dirt, smeared with mud, bruised and shaking. They were not in the park any longer. They stood clinging to one another on a grassy path, in a woodland, beside a river.
‘What... where... ?’ said a voice that came from the man who’d rescued Ricco.
‘Arf, arf,’ barked a dog that stood beside him and farted gently – Pppftt.
‘Errrrm... Grandad,’ said Ricco.
Jojo reached into his pocket, past the round stone, to his asthma pump. He took a deep breath and a puff. His lungs loosened. He glanced at the river behind them. At Grandad. He opened his mouth. What was there to say? How to explain them all appearing as if by magic and falling from mid-air into the river?
He didn’t need to explain. Aunt Pen spoke first.
‘So,’ she said, pulling a pair of spectacles that Jojo had not seen before from one of her many pouches, and placing them before her squinting eyes, ‘I’m a faerie.’ With a wrinkle of her nose and a blink, a breeze rushed from a long, tube-shaped pendant on her neck, like a minute trumpet. The breeze whirled around them, got in under their clothes, whistled through their hair and dried them all in moments.
‘Ahhh,’ said Grandad, feeling his dry clothes. His eyes widened, taking in his grandsons, who nodded at him, looking both as guilty and alive as he’d ever seen them. ‘Well, that does explain things, doesn’t it.’
And the Rocks Break
I would take you there, but there we must not stay,
I would take you there, but it is not for us, the land of fae,
Soon we must return, or in Dinn Ainnhir we will sleep,
We must awake or be forever lost, sunk unto the deep
In that castle on the rock, in a western corner of Elfhaeme, the ground also shook. The ground shook. The rocks shook. The foundations of that ancient fortress shook. The House of the Nine rumbled and groaned.
Memory broke out.
Deep inside that citadel, a man lay asleep on a white bed. Old, he seemed, bearded and dark. He slept a sleep that had gone on too long. A sleep which must come to an end or be the ending of all things.
