Louisa Shorney

Tom lies back placing his hands behind his head as a pillow and lets his eyes relax behind their lids. Warmed by the afternoon sun they flit rapidly from side to side as his memory repaints pictures of his woodland home. Sunbeams breaking through the canopy like laser lights scanning the forest floor. Purple stained fingers and lips dripping with juice. Hunting treetop bird houses like a martin, for the golden centred treasures they hold inside. Feeling the oneness of the river through fingers and toes, mimicking the rock’s shade to tickle a trout. The warmth of the fire side wrapped in his mother’s arms. The soft lilt of her song voice weaving wonderful tales of life before the separation, legends of the Annwm and the time of the Creation. For a moment he is sure that he can hear her song carried to him on the breeze, a whisper of something that he can’t quite catch. Eyes closed he sits up to better discern its source somewhere behind him, back towards the trees away from the river. In the right hand corner of the clearing there’s a virulent patch of undergrowth, mostly bramble and nettle, with a clump of ivy grappling to bring something to the ground, hallmarks of reclamation. The whispering in the wind falls silent with the opening of his eyes but the tug of something not quite remembered remains. Selecting a robust fallen branchling to beat back the bulwark of brambles, Tom fights his way through, to find out what ivy has in her grasp. A hollow tower of purposefully stacked stone, mortared together with a mix of chopped dried grass and hard baked clay. Something almost remembered makes him pull ivy out at her feet until he can see the opening he seeks. Bracken roof and mud made walls have long since returned to ground but fire breast and chimney stack still keep the memory of his birth. Standing with his back to the hearth the bulwark lightly fades as an overlay of wattle and daub brings the smell of wood smoke, tallow, animal skins and the songs of the beings of the woods. Tom breathes the remembrance in deeply, letting it fill his lungs, fill his heart, until the filling awakens in him what was sleeping and left to wither and die. His skin tingles with energy, without thought or question he extends this out from his hands towards an ash sapling mutilated by the bramble mesh and melds his with its own. A conversation of sorts, the sapling straightens and strengthens, enough to stand its own ground now thanks to Tomlin’s support. This is what she had taught him before life in the Islands had made him hide. He turns to ivy and replacing her root back in the ground he heals the ruptures and asks her forgiveness before returning his discovery to her protection.

‘I sense that it is important for you to keep this hidden behind your curtain Gort, there’s something it is not yet ready to reveal.’

Gently he lays his hand upon the stone chimney as if to say farewell. He turns and retraces his steps, with no need for a bludgeon, there will be no scrape nor shredding rip from this brier now. Returning to the blanket by the stream he notices how long the shadows have grown, as the light begins to drop so too does the temperature. A slight twinge of worry rises and then falls. He checks his roamer, Cerri has not called him yet. He stands on the bank and looks down stream in the direction Cerri had taken, he can not see her nor hear the sound of sloshing feet. She must be ok or she would have called, unless of course something has happened and she can’t get to her roamer or she’s dropped it in the stream or….

‘Tomlin enough now, you’re gettin’ into a pickle over nothin’. She wont appreciate you suffocatin’ her with that candyfloss blanket of yours.’

Chuckling to himself he decides not to raise the search party until he’s got the harma packed and ready to move off.

Tomlin unfolds his pocket worn map and lays it across the bonnet of the harma, with the leaving light he wants to double check their route as he can not trust to childhood memory alone. It is not a well beaten track and there will be no lamp light, may be the moon will be kind. He mumbles to himself as he scans the map with his torch for their current location.

‘Planning the search party already?’

Cerri’s tone is humorous as she walks up, stealthily, behind Tom whose face flushes with startled adrenalin.

‘Fer feck’s sake!’

Tom reaches forward, instinctively, to put his arm around her waist, glad that she has returned safely, but stops before he makes contact unsure of the response that he will receive. Looking down, uncertain of how he should behave, he sees Cerri’s bare feet and the water darkened denim of her jeans.

‘Ah Mother! What happened to ye love? Ye must be freezin’. Get them jeans off ye while I find a towel an’ we’ll get ye dry before yer teeth chatter themselves out of yer head.’

He fumbles around in the boot of the harma until he finds what he’s looking for. Handing Cerri a towel he takes her wet jeans, wrings them out and lays them on the back seat to dry out.

‘Here’s a dry pair of trackies an’ some warm socks. Put them on in the harma, I’ll get the engine started, it’ll warm up in no time.’

Managing not to make eye contact or look directly at Cerri, Tom grabs the map from the bonnet folding it down to the area they need and climbs in behind the steering arms, he keeps his focus on the map whilst he starts the engine. Cerri brings her fluffy sock warmed feet up on to the seat and hugs her knees into her chest. The softness of his trackies sooth the icey burning of her damp cold skin, with her head resting on her knees she breathes in Tom’s scent from the fabric and her heart fills with shame.

‘I’m really sorry Tom. The way I behaved earlier I really don’t deserve your kindness, but I am very grateful for it.’

Tom dares to look at her, a light twinkle in his eye and a smile spreading across his face. His smile grows from a snicker into a giggle.

‘Is that a crow’s nest yer wearin’ hun? Or have ye been dancin’ with the Flimsy Folk?’

‘Ha! It’s my crown I’ll have you know and it was gifted to me by the Lady of the Forest.’

Cerri pokes her tongue out at Tom playfully.

‘So I’m forgiven enough for you to make fun of me then?’

‘May be, may be not. Depends if you have any more black tipped daggers to stare at me with.’

‘That’s what my “crow’s nest” crown is for, it hasn’t finished its work yet apparently.’

‘Oh, says who?’

‘Bredda, my Meseer.’

‘You met him in the woods?’

‘I knocked him out of the air actually.’

‘Ha! I know just how the poor fella must be feelin’. Sounds like there’s a tale there for telling if you’re up for sharin’ it, hun?’

‘Yep I’d like that, it might help to reconcile it in my own head.’

‘Well then you can tell me on the road. We’d better get goin’. You warm enough there hun?’

‘Yes thanks Elysium.’

Cerri smiles at Tom flirtatiously from under a gort fringe, feeling more comfortable now that her sanity seems to have returned. Tom passes her the folded map and his torch, turns the harma around and drives back up the forest track towards the oil sand topped road.

‘I’ve marked where we’re goin’ on the map, you should be able to follow it once we’re back on the road. Keep a look out for anything you recognise on the way, a second pair of eyes watching out for where we’re goin’ should stop us from gettin’ lost.’

Tom winks at Cerri, glad that they are back on easy terms, he takes a deep breath filling himself with honeysuckle essence.

‘So who’s this “Lady” that gave ye such a fine “crown”?’

‘Apparently she’s the spirit of the forest but she wasn’t there, it was a fox that brought it to me.’

‘A fox?’

‘Yeah and a badger and a magpie. Saved Bredda from me. Saved me from me really.’

‘So, what happened?’

‘I was enjoying playing with the water, feeling it through my toes and just feeling…I dunno…light, carefree? Then I heard this voice, really faint, in my head. It was coming from the water.’

‘A voice? Who’s voice? Do you know?’

‘She said she was a crow. Morrigan I think she called herself. Said she was trapped in a dungeon. She wants me to tell the “Master” and I don’t think she likes the Lord High Commissioner much.’

‘Who does? What exactly was it she said, can you remember it word for word?’

‘That was about it Tom. She said, “Dungeon, iron bound, the key is Lamia’s…” and then she was gone, that’s when I lost it.’

‘Lost what, love?’

‘My sanity Tom. I got so angry when I couldn’t reach her anymore, I wanted to annihilate.’

‘Anything in particular?’

‘Everything, anything. That’s when Bredda got in the way, I didn’t know what I was doing Tom, I would have killed him if they hadn’t stopped me.’

Tears well up in Cerri’s eyes and cascade down her cheeks. Tom puts his hand tentatively on her knee wanting to be reassuring but still not certain of how his touch will be received.

‘Oh Mother! Tom I’m so sorry, that’s exactly how I felt with you earlier, by the river. That’s why I had to get away. I didn’t know what was happening and I was struggling to control it.’

‘And yer not strugglin anymore?’

‘Not since they knocked me in the river and gave me this.’

She drops her head down to indicate her crown. Tom chuckles has he imagines the scene.

‘So that’s how ye got so wet. Felled by a fox and a badger.’

‘Just the badger actually.’

‘So what’s this “crown” s’posed to do for you?’

‘They said it would help with the pain in my head. Apparently I’m the last of Lilith, what ever that means and this vicious venom that keeps surging up inside me is my dance with the snake. If Aunt Meg can’t shed some light on that there’s no way in Azrial’s fire I’m gunna work it out on my own.’

‘I might be able to help with some of it.’

Cerri looks at Tom wondering who he is, he’s definitely not the Tom she went to bed with last night, well he is but there’s more Tom here than the Tom she’s being living with for five years. She is uncomfortably uncertain how to feel about that. Is it betrayal and a secretive unwillingness to deeply share with her leaving her feeling vulnerable and used. Or is it guilt and shame for not bothering to show enough interest, for him to want to share so deeply with her. Cerri’s consternation is making the little hairs on the back of Tom’s neck prickle.

‘Are ye ok hun? What’s disturbing ye?’

‘You.’

‘Me? Wot’ve I done?’

‘Nothing, but you’re not you. At least you’re not the you I knew. Well you are but…. All this stuff Tom. You’ve never told me. Shit. Look it’s not your fault, I mean I don’t blame you, well there’s nothing to blame but….arrrgh! I don’t know. Seems I’ve been living in some Flimsy dream land and reality’s come along and knocked my teeth out.’

‘It’s nothing I’ve meant to keep from ye love, I’d just packed it away and buried it deep down where I wouldn’t remember it. You’ve been the key that’s unlocked it all. I don’t even know what a lot of it is Cerri, but you keep asking questions an’ up pops another memory. I’m still me sweetheart, more me than I’ve been in a long time.’

Feeling more assured Cerri puts her hand on Tom’s thigh, fully experiencing the affection with which she smiles at him. If only he weren’t driving.

‘How long before we reach Aunt Meg’s do ye think?’

‘Within the hour. I was rather hopin’ we’d be seein’ somethin’ familiar by now. You recognise anythin’?’

After climbing steadily for about a league, the road starts to twist and turn as it navigates large shoulders of granite thrusting up through the forest floor. Notes of David’s lilting stories whisper in Cerri’s mind. Songs weaving a young girls imaginings of giants playing boule in an enchanted garden that hides the entrance to the Forbidden Lake. Her Dah’s stories had always filled their trips with magic and mystery. Why Aunt Meg’s was called the Forbidden Lake she’d never understood, it has a wee spring bubbling up through the ground at the bottom of the garden, but that hardly created a pool let alone a lake.

‘It shouldn’t be far now. There’ll be a rough track off to the left between two giant boulders, “Huff” n’ “Chuff” we used to call them. They’ll be surrounded by a magnolia grove, magnificent when their in bloom.’

‘What, like these two giant stacks of rock?’