Backwards Moon (11 page)

“I'll try,” said Bracken.

The raccoon sighed heavily.

Ben stopped the pickup truck at what Bracken now knew was a gas station (the farmer had bought gas several times already) and talked for a long time with a man inside. Bracken and the raccoon watched through the big glass windows.

“He's a good human,” said the raccoon. “There are some, you know.”

“He
is
a good human,” said Bracken.

Ben came back. “Guy thought I was kind of nuts,” he said, climbing onto the seat and starting the truck. “But I think I know where to go. Sort of.”

After a time he swerved from the giant road onto a narrower one. Soon there were fewer gleaming, lighted buildings and fewer cars. “We should hit the river pretty soon,” he said. “The guy said there are a lot of old houses along the river.”

It took several more gas stations, but at last they found the river. It ran, dark and quiet, at the bottom of a deep and forested gorge. Houses all along it overlooked the river.

“This is a nice, quiet neighborhood,” said the farmer. The street was lined with big spreading trees and street lanterns like the ones in the
Cyclopedia
. In the far distance Bracken saw a bridge, its line of lights reflecting in the dark water.

“What do you think of these?” asked Ben. “These houses seem like they were built a long time ago. Do any of these look likely?”

“I don't know what to look for,” said Bracken miserably. “I can't think . . .”

They drove on, past house after house after house.

At last Ben stopped the truck. “I don't think this is going to work.”

“Bracken.” The raccoon turned his little bandit face to her. “This is dire need.”

She looked out over the river, her heart beating hard. The bridge's string of glimmering lights reminded her of a necklace. Perhaps it's an omen, Bracken thought.

She put her hand to her necklace and wished.

At first, nothing seemed to happen. Bracken put her face in her hands.

“Don't cry,” said Ben. “Please.”

But Bracken
was
crying. There was no other sound in the pickup truck.

“Bracken,” said the farmer suddenly. “Wait! I feel something.”

Bracken snuffled and stopped.

“I think something
did
happen when you wished. It's like this funny feeling behind my eyes. And it seems like . . . I think maybe I know where to go,” said Ben.

“You do?” said Bracken.

“
Seems
like it.”

“Start the truck!” said the raccoon. “The necklace comes through again!”

They drove along the river.

Ben slowed at a corner and paused for a second, then turned onto a street that led away from the river. They turned several more times, Ben pausing before each turn, then they stopped in front of a big castle-like house. The farmer shut off the truck and its noise died away. “Is that it?” he asked.

Bracken rolled down the window. “I don't know. Maybe.”

The farmer hurried around and opened the door for her. Bracken got out, and all three walked slowly toward the house.

“That wall,” said Bracken, stopping. “What do you suppose is behind it?”

“A garden, I bet,” said the farmer. “Big places like this, they have those formal gardens.”

“There's magic in that garden,” said Bracken. “I can feel it.” She hobbled toward the wall, then craned her neck to look up.

It was a very tall wall, all covered with vines. There was a door in the wall but when Ben tried it, it was locked.

“I can climb over and take a look around,” said the raccoon. He grabbed on to the vines and pulled himself upward.

Nettle tried the remembering spell again, then held her fingerspark high. “The Door,” she whispered, gazing at Dee and Anna in turn. “Oh, please remember!”

“I can't,” said Dee. “It's all a fog.”

“Try,” pleaded Nettle.

Anna shook her head. “It's no use. Everything is gone.”

“Look. I'll get some enchanter's nightshade,” said Nettle, running to the door. “It might help. It's quite a powerful herb.”

She ran down the path and was almost at the nightshade when she saw something moving in the darkness right in front of her.

A small humpbacked animal seemed to be wandering among the flower beds, sniffing at things. At first Nettle thought it might be a dog. But how would a dog get in the garden? And it didn't move quite like a dog.

It peered up, startled.
“Nettle?”
it said. “Are you Nettle? Because your cousin's looking for you. She's on the other side of the wall.”

“Where?” cried Nettle, running toward the raccoon.

He pointed with one finger.

She pulled out her broom and soared over the wall.

“Bracken!” she cried. “BRACKEN!” She swooped down and jumped off her broomstick. She hugged her cousin tight. And then she burst into tears. “Bracken, I met—I think I met—our
mothers
! And they're old. The Fading got them. They're not witches anymore at all! They're little old women who've forgotten everything. They don't know who I am, they won't recognize you. . . .”

“Our
mothers? You found our mothers?
”

“I think so. Just now,” said Nettle, the tears streaming down her face. “And they don't seem like our mothers at all.”

“But . . .”

“They used to be witches. Their names are Dee and Anna. Like Adelia and Nicotiana, don't you see? And they have our eyes. That's how I knew they were witches, from their eyes. I can't do the remembering spell just right, but
you
could. Then
they may remember the Door, where the Door is. I'm looking for this Door. This Door—” She stopped suddenly, noticing the human man who stood nearby.

“He's a Witchfriend. His name is Ben,” said Bracken quickly. “Magic brought him.”

“Merry meet,” said Nettle, nodding.

“Where are they?” asked Bracken.

“They're in the garden. Right over the wall.”

“The door's locked,” said the Witchfriend, Ben. “We tried it.”

“Do an unlocking spell!” said Nettle to Bracken. “You know lots of them.”

Bracken touched the lock, muttered a few words, and the door swung open. They all hurried through.

“Bracken, what's wrong with your leg?” asked Nettle.

“I was shot. By hunters.”

Nettle stopped.
“What?”

“In the leg. It
hurts
.”

“Wait here!” Nettle ran ahead and snatched up herbs: heals-all and heartsease and a sprig of enchanter's nightshade. “Here! Try these!” she panted.

Bracken undid her bandage and pressed the herbs to her leg.

“Did it work?” asked the Witchfriend.

“I don't think so,” said Bracken. She took a few wobbly steps and winced with pain.

“If it hurts to walk, just fly,” said Nettle.

“I can't,” said Bracken.

For a moment Nettle could not speak. “You can't fly? It's not the Fading, is it? Say it's not the Fading!”

“I don't know! I don't think so!”

“Shoot your spark! Try it.”

Bracken did, and it was clear and blue.

“Good,” said Nettle, weak with relief.

“I think it's the lead shot,” said Ben, the Witchfriend.

“I'm all right,” said Bracken weakly. She trudged on.

“They
might
not be our mothers,” said Nettle as they neared the cottage. She slowed and stopped. Suddenly she hoped fervently that her real mother was someone else, somewhere else.

But Bracken shook her head. “Our mothers went looking for the Door. Toadflax told me. And she said the Door was near the Safehouse. So it makes sense that they would be here. And Toadflax said sometimes the Fading turns you to dust, but other times you just live on, without your magic. Forgetting everything.”

“It's awful,” said Nettle.

They reached the door and pushed it open.

“This is my cousin,” said Nettle quietly. “She can do a remembering spell.”

“Goodness,” said Dee. She looked at Bracken with surprise. “That nightshade
is
a powerful herb.”

“I'm Ben.” He nodded at them. “Ben Niskenen. Witchfriend.”

“Hello,” said the raccoon cautiously. But Nettle could tell that Dee and Anna couldn't hear him.

Bracken looked from one old woman to the other, her face still and anxious. Then she said the remembering spell, said it perfectly. She held up her spark. “Awake, memory.”

Anna and Dee trembled.

“We were,” said Dee at last. “We
were
witches. Long ago, and we left the valley for something. To search for the Door. The Door to another world.”

Bracken nodded, stricken. “Do you remember who we are?” she asked shakily.

“It almost seems as though I've seen you before,” said Anna. “Or maybe it was just someone who looked like you.”

Bracken closed her eyes.

“What's wrong?” asked Dee.

Nettle looked to Bracken, and each knew the question the other was thinking. Should they tell? For what good, now, could come of it?

Then Bracken shook her head, just slightly. “Nothing,” she said quietly. “Not so much, really.”

“It's all right,” said Nettle.

“The Door,” said Bracken. “Tell us everything you know about the Door.”

“There's a stone,” said Dee slowly. “We brought it with us. I remember that. And I think the stone has something to do with the Door.”

“A seeking stone?
I
have a seeking stone!” said Nettle. She pulled Epigaea's stone from her pocket. “It was in the Atkinson house.”

“The one you took from the glass case?” Dee shook her head. “I don't think that was it,” she said. “I've seen that one for years. The stone I'm thinking of was another stone.”

“It hurts to remember,” said Anna dully. “But there was something about our stone, I do know that.”

“It
was
a stone, but it was one we brought ourselves, when we came. I feel sure,” said Dee.

“Where is it now?” said Bracken. “Think! Where would it be?”

“We hid it somewhere,” said Dee. “I remember that.”

“There was a spell, a hiding spell,” said Anna. Tears ran down her cheeks. “It's hidden somewhere.”

“Yes,” said Dee. “By a spell. I think it was the last one we ever did.”

“In the Safehouse? Did you hide it in the Safehouse?” asked Bracken. “Because that would make sense, wouldn't it? That you would hide it there for another witch to find?”

“I would think so,” said Dee. She shook her head. “But I really can't remember.”

As they soared toward the Atkinson House, Bracken rode behind Nettle, clinging to Nettle's waist. “We can go through there,” said Nettle, steering toward a small, gabled window at the very top.

They landed on the sloping roof just below the window. Bracken muttered a spell. Nettle pushed the window and it swung open. They climbed through and stood listening in the silent house.

Then Bracken began to chant a spell for finding hidden things.

They walked slowly down the hallway, Bracken leaning on Nettle and chanting all the while. They walked down another hallway, and another.

“This is an immense house,” said Bracken. “And oh, my
leg aches, and my head too! And I think I hear this little whining in my ears.”

The Fading, thought Nettle. Her stomach lurched.

“It seems as though it gets worse the longer I chant,” said Bracken.

“Let me do it.”

So Bracken told Nettle the spell. Nettle listened, harder than she had in her whole life. She ran down the hallway chanting it, her voice high and shrill in her ears.

At the end, in an alcove nearly hidden under the stairs, she saw it. “Bracken, I've found something!” It was a narrow green door and as she watched, it swung open of its own accord. Bracken came half limping, half running.

It was a tiny attic room, with one window through which the city lights glared and glittered. A wooden box sat on the floor.

Nettle darted through and knelt down. “It's in this box. It must be.”

Bracken hobbled over and knelt down beside her. They lifted the lid.

“Oh . . .” sighed Bracken, gazing at the stone. Then, quickly, she reached into the box and picked up the stone with both hands. “The cloth,” she whispered as she lifted out the stone, for there was a Woodfolk cloth beneath it. “Get the cloth too. We'll wrap it.”

Nettle whisked out the cloth and Bracken slipped it under the stone.

“A Woodfolk cloth,” breathed Bracken. “So beautiful . . .” She was tucking in the corners when a mist rose from the stone. It curled toward the low ceiling, twisting in the harsh city light.

“So,” said a hollow voice. “You found it. You succeeded on your quest.” And out of the mist stepped Toadflax.