Abby the Witch (13 page)

The head witch
put up a quick hand and silenced the mumbling that had erupted.
'You come here, child.'

Abby obeyed
and took the cup of tea that was offered her, taking a polite sip
and handing it back to the waiting witch.

The other
witches held their breath, waiting for the prognosis. It was clear
from their eager silence that they all thought it would be
something horrible. Abby tried to remain stoic, but she knew
from experience that silent witches were a bad omen.

'Hmmm,' the
head witch had her face set over the tea, watching it with beady
yellowed eyes. 'well I ain't seen this for a while, not for a long
while indeed. This is wrong.'

Pembrake
cleared his throat and appeared to be about to speak until Abby
shot him a look dripping with warning. This was not the time for Mr
Arrogant Commander; these witches would eat him alive.

'You shouldn't
be here, child,' the witch looked up shaking her head like a farmer
that had lost a calf, 'and you shouldn't be with him,' she pointed
a crooked finger at Pembrake. 'You shouldn't be anywhere near
him.'

Silence broke
after her words, and Abby thought it best to ignore the strange
look of panic that had clouded Pembrake's face. What was he
thinking? Abby wondered as she tried to remain tall and strong,
accepting her fortune with the dignity of a-Ms-Crowthy-trained
witch. And what did they mean… what kind of fortune was that?

'Oh you've
gone and broken something you have. Somewhere along the line this
storm as ruined things – ruined future things.'

Abby bit her
lip to stop it from trembling. She couldn't have ruined the
timeline already? She had tried….

'You, boy,'
the head witch pointed again at Pembrake, 'come drink from this
cup.'

There was a
moment where Abby was not certain Pembrake would comply; after all,
he didn't seem to be the type to be ordered around. But whether it
was the present company or something else, he slowly walked forward
and accepted the cup, sipping quietly and returning it to the old
witch's hand carefully.

The head witch
just shook her head as she stared at the contents. 'Well, well,
well – things have changed, haven't they?'

'Destinies?'
another witch piped up, leaning forward in her chair.

A chill shot
down Abby's back. You can't change destinies like that….

'Hmmm, yes,' a
different witch mumbled, 'I can see it now, these two children were
supposed to lead different lives.'

The head witch
nodded. 'They were never meant to meet, and now look at them;
they'll likely never be apart again.'

Abby blinked
quickly, what on Earth did that mean? She glanced at Pembrake and
he was staring at her, eyes full of alarm, one eyebrow raised.

'Oh, yes, I
can see it now too. He was supposed to be a captain of
ship somewhere.'

'Had a wife
named Pearl, three children too,' one witch said as she took the
tea cup for the head witch, 'dies at sea, he does, age of 45.'

'Shark
attack,' one witch grinned at Pembrake, baring her yellowed
teeth.

'And you,
youngin,' one witch pointed at Abby, 'you were supposed to live in
Bridgestock, never leaving, never abandoning your duty.'

All the
witches nodded at the apparent proper behaviour of Abby's broken
future-self.

'But you're
hunted, running out a work and money, starving and homeless,
nowhere to run for help.'

Abby felt
slow, her breathing shuddering to a bare nonexistent, shallow hush.
She was aware she was blinking too much, but couldn't stop it.

'You dies on
the streets, youngin, you and that cat of yours. You is 26.'

All the
witches sat back and nodded.

She had two
years to live… or rather, she had had two years to live. But the
revelation, regardless of how true it was now that she had
travelled into the past, was making the blood in Abby's veins
freeze to solid lumps of dread. Dying on the streets, starving and
alone – that had been her destiny.

That's all a
witch was good for in the present day.

She was aware
the witches were looking at her, Pembrake too. But she couldn't
turn to him. What a future he'd had, she half expected he'd be
happy to go in a shark attack; he didn't seem to be the kind to
want to die in his bed.

'It's broken
now,' the head witch said slowly and carefully, 'can't happen at
all. Because everything's changed. Your destinies are like loose
strings flapping in the wind, no longer attached to the ends of
your lives, but lost out in space with nothing to anchor to.'

'They have to
be tied down,' one witch nodded to her solemnly from over her cup
of tea, 'they have to be tied to something or you'll be
lost in space for ever, not knowing where you're going, and not
getting anywhere at all.'

If the story
of her once-destined death had been horrible, then the implication
of their warnings was on par. Their allusion to strings flapping
free in the wind was more than illustration. Destiny was like a
tie, like an anchor fixing you to a direction in time, to a
direction across space. It's what ensured the countless souls of
the universe could all travel at different times and different
places, all in their own unique direction. Without direction,
without destinies, her and Pembrake would become lost souls
drifting through the universe with no hope and no future.

'They have to
be tied to something,' a different witch repeated,
'something so as they don't get lost.'

Tied to what,
she wondered, what on Earth could you tie the broken destinies of
two people two? A tree, a rock, a house? It was all very well of
the witches to warn her, but what was she meant to do about it? She
could not fix her broken destiny as sure as she could not snap her
fingers and return her and Pembrake home again. She wasn't that
powerful.

'Don't you
lose heart, dear,' the head witch peered at her keenly, 'you have
to find it on your own, but trust me, dear, there
is something you can tie your heart to.'

'But she's got
to find it on her own,' another witch finished.

They weren't
about to tell her what it was, though she was sure they probably
knew. As Ms Crowthy had said, you had to appreciate a good
narrative sometimes. The point of story, after all, was that you
don't tell people what's happened till you show 'em how to get
there. Otherwise you don't have a story, you only have an ending,
and life would not be worth living if all it was was ending.

The witches
had felt free to tell Abby her broken destiny, because it could no
longer be the end of her story. But to tell her the new end, or the
easy route to get there, would be too rewrite what little story
Abby had left.

'Once you
figure it out, should be easy to come go back home, dear,' the head
witch nodded carefully, 'once your time is right again, you'll
return back to the right time, you mark my words.'

'But if you
don't figure it out, you'll be stuck here as wandering souls…' the
witch that had grinned at Pembrake drifted off ominously, letting
her eyes go unfocused and stared at the two of them.

With a large
sniff that signalled the end to their session, the head witch
stood. 'I don't envy you, child, but at least your future is now in
your hands,' she briefly looked at Pembrake, 'in both of
your hands. Now,' she walked over to Abby and took up her hands,
squeezing them firmly but warmly, 'don't go splitting up till it's
all over and don't go getting yourself into extra trouble.'

'You won't be
needing extra trouble,' interrupted another witch.

'No, you
won't,' the head witch nodded again, 'but if you keep your head on
your shoulders, it should be fine.'

Abby couldn't
even sniff, so she sucked in a breath, trying to calm her nerves
enough to speak. 'Is there… anything else that you can see?'

'Ohh, I sees a
ball with lots of fancy dresses.'

'And I sees a
prince and a princess!'

'Yes I sees
the palace,' said the head witch with a far off look, 'and it's
very important. You have to go getting yourself in the palace,
children.'

'Most of their
story lies there,' another witch mumbled.

'That's where
they'll find the key,' confirmed the head witch with a sharp
nod.

'The key?'
Abby's voice had a distinct waver.

'The Key of
Time.’

Abby shared a
momentary look with Pembrake. The Key of Time sounded like a pretty
useful tool in figuring out how to get home again – why were the
witches only mentioning it now?

'It's not what
you think though,' the head witch looked unblinking at Abby.

'Oh,' Abby was
rapidly running out of cool, and she could feel a slick of sweat
trickle along her brow. Broken destinies, key's of time, the
palace? This was insane. This was insane!

The witches
then grew silent, many of them turning back to their cups of teas
and mumbling incoherently at each other. With a happy flick of his
tail, Charlie trotted back to Abby and leapt into her arms,
signalling that the quorum was over.

Abby turned to
leave, barely able to flick her eyes towards the door to tell
Pembrake that their time was up.

'One last
thing, child,' the head crone looked up, 'where's that bracelet of
yours? You'll be needing that, you will.'

The bracelet,
the bracelet! She'd forgotten all about it!

Abby patted a
hand to her pocket but realised, with a heavy swallow, that she was
not even in her original clothes, she was dressed in the large
dress and smock which Martha had leant her.

Abby could
feel the eyes of everyone turn to her again.

'You'll find
it again,' the head witch assured her, 'but you be careful with it,
child. Now off you go to find the rest of your story, you've stayed
here long enough.'

Abby had
stammered a yes, and with that had left the witches, feeling such a
strange mix of cold dread and… possibility. The bracelet, her
destiny, their omens – it was just so much to take in, so much to
think about in her already frazzled state.

But her mind
honed in on her destiny – the one that could have been. To know
what could have happened to her and to now know that whatever lay
before had yet to be properly decided – well, it was frightening
and exciting all at once.

The witches
had assured them that they needed to keep moving, needed to keep
searching the city for clues and leads, whatever that meant. But
the head witch had told Abby to return, should they need
assistance, and had smiled at her with the strict firmness of a
boarding school matron, before sending her out the door with a pat
on the shoulder and a reminder that their story wouldn't progress
until they found themselves in the palace.

They were to
search the city, to search the land, for some clue, some way to tie
down their destinies, to rebuild broken futures, and to find a way
into the palace to boot. Abby really had no idea where to start,
but Pembrake, she was sure, had even less.

They had
walked from the witches shop in silence, sharing each other's
company in presence only. She was sure he was mulling over the
words of the witches, imagining himself in the life they had seen.
Happily married with a beautiful wife and three children, dying at
sea in the job he loved – what a life he had lost….

For her part,
she tried to keep the colour in her cheeks, but her mind kept
flirting with the terrible destiny she had once been headed
towards. Dying alone and starving – had she always known that was
where she was headed, had she always suspected?

'You know,'
Pembrake broke the silence when they'd walked several blocks away,
'I've always hated sharks.'

Abby, beside
herself, smiled.

Though
Pembrake had tried to lighten the mood, there was no dragging Abby
up from her miserable lull. It was sweet of him in a way, but she
was sure it wasn't genuine, what with Pembrake Hunter the boy he
was, he was likely to have some kind of rotten agenda.

'Three kids? I
hate kids, what kind of a future is that?' he'd commented as they'd
walked the streets looking for whatever it was the witches said was
out there.

Abby hadn't
even smiled, not wanting to encourage him further.

Then as they'd
mounted the steps that would lead them to the more well-to-do areas
of Bridgestock, he'd tried again, not even bothering to wink at an
attractive young lady that walked by.

'Shark attack,
I mean really – what a rubbish life I would have had,' he
spoke with fake enthusiasm; she could tell his heart wasn't in
it.

A beautiful
wife, three adoring kids, and a successful career? Oh yes, what a
bother.

'I mean at
least you get to go out with your man, Charlie – I'm eaten alive by
sharks, presumably while my crew watch and cheer.'

Abby had
blinked slowly as they'd carefully taken to the new clean cobbles
of upper Bridgestock. Pembrake was persistent, she'd give him that.
But there would come a point, surely, when he would realise Abby
wasn't interested. She didn't want cheering up; she deserved to be
miserable. He'd gone and lost the perfect life because of her, and
where had she been headed? Death, misery, and starvation – that's
all Abby of the future was worth. And as far as she could tell, she
hadn't changed any, so the same future was probably still lurking
on the horizon.

'I mean at
least you aren't alone, right? At least you get to go out with the
man you love. I'm eaten by sharks far, far away from my family, all
of whom I probably hadn't seen for years,' Pembrake just wouldn't
let up.

For someone
who wanted to throw her off a cliff only this morning, he sure had
changed his mind about her quickly. Or was this part of the way
Pembrake operated? Pull people up when they are down and bash them
to the floor again once their up?