Nettle Blackthorn and the Three Wicked Sisters (19 page)

Fred gave a
non-committal half-nod. “Yes, well, as you can imagine, the stories
have been exaggerated and twisted somewhat, but in essence… I
suppose… yes.” He began to pace the room. “Trenawts, sprites, imps,
brownies, pixies, the lower denizens. Then there’s the goblins and
the ysar, with more power than anyone should rightfully own,” he
said giving the kids a disparaging look, as if they knew and agreed
with him.

The two girls
just stared back at him, slack-jawed and stupefied.

“Right…
then…” the words drifting apart as he realized he’d gone too far.
Bram was the only one soaking in the new knowledge, listening with
interest. Fred waved his hand in a careless manner. “I guess I’m
getting ahead of myself.”

Nettle just
couldn’t get her head around it all. “Faeries actually exist?”

Fred
grimly nodded.

“Oh, OK,” she said and sank to the floor. Her murky green
eyes were wide and vacant and fixed on nothing in particular. This
was ridiculously mind-bending.
Faeries actually exist... they actually
exist…
It
was hard to think, to contemplate. Her world had been knocked
sideways, and upside-down and back-to-front. There was this
other world
just outside her
door, and she had grown up in this cottage.
Why don’t I remember any
encounters?
It didn’t make sense.

Fred lifted
the spriggan to eye level. He remained silent for a long while
until the spriggan squirmed uncomfortably under his stare, and then
he asked. “What’s your name?”

The spriggan
pressed his fat lips together, refusing to answer.

“
What are you doing here?”

The spriggan
didn’t answer that question either, crossing his arms defiantly
instead.

Bram answered
for him. “His name is Quary Gravell.”

Fred glanced
at his son in surprise.

“
He told me that just before I let him out of the
cage.”

“
What cage?”

Bram bent down
and picked up the bird cage. “I was tired of Jazz blaming us for
everything that happened to her, so I laid a trap.”

Jazz, for the
most part, looked slightly ashamed. She gave her cousin the
briefest of apologetic glances. Nettle guessed that was the best
either of them was going to get from her.

Fred looked at
the cage appreciatively. The spriggan shrank from it as far as
Fred’s grip would allow. “I haven’t seen this in years. I crafted
it from the branches of a rosebush. They don’t go near the plants
as it weakens them. Leaves nasty welts on them too.”

“
You built that?” asked Nettle, rising from the
floor.

Fred
shrugged. “I was sick of them getting in the house.” He dropped the
spriggan into the cage. The little faerie immediately sprung away
from the wooden bars, squealing, and crouched in the centre of the
cage.

Nettle stared
at her father as if it was the first time she’d ever seen him.

Bram
poked his glasses back to the bridge of his nose which was crinkled
in contemplation, now understanding why the cage had been so
effective. “I trapped him in it earlier today. He didn’t do
anything, until I took him out. I guess he couldn’t, ‘til he was
freed.” Bram’s shoulders slumped. “I’m so sorry Dad. I didn’t know
what he could do. He could have destroyed the cottage and it’s all
my fault.”

Fred ruffled
his son’s hair, letting him know everything was all right. “But he
didn’t.” And he bumped his son playfully with a hip, eliciting a
small smile from Bram. He turned back to the bird cage, “So, Quary
Gravell, you got anything you want to say for yourself?”

The spriggan turned his back on Fred and
huffed.

“
Did he say anything else to you besides his name?” Fred asked
Bram.

Bram wrinkled up his nose, “Just a few things. He called me
‘
wart-face’
and he hoped I’d ‘
choke on rat-droppings
.’”

Fred chuckled.
“Well I wouldn’t expect much else from the likes of a spriggan.” He
ran a rough thumb across his lips, thoughtfully. “They often travel
in small thieving bands. I expect whoever he’s travelling with will
try and free him. I suppose I should think about letting him
go.”

The spriggan
suddenly turned around in interest.

“
No,” snarled Jazz, suddenly animated. “He cut off my hair! He
needs a good spanking if nothing else. And I’ll give it to
him.”

The spriggan
glared daggers at Jazz, almost as if he dared her to.

“
Why would they do something like that?” Jazz wailed to her
uncle, “What did I ever do to them? It’s going to take ages to grow
it back.”

“
I’m sure it won’t take long before your hair grows back,”
soothed Fred. He headed toward the bedroom door, the cage under his
arm. “Well, I don’t know about you lot, but I’m starving. Come on,
lets eat.”

CHAPTER TWENTY

The
Forgotten Wilds

Fred whistled
while he cooked up a hearty supper of eggs, beans and fried
tomatoes with thick slices of buttered toast. He’d hung the bird
cage up on a hook in the kitchen and the spriggan glowered at the
family below. Though he’d been offered something to eat, he’d
refused, but every so often his nose twitched and stomach growled
and he glanced down with longing.

Night had
fallen and Bram had lit a collection of candles gathered in the
centre of the table. The slight draft in the kitchen sent their
slender flames into undulating waves and cast playful shadows that
chased one another in the corners of the room.

Nettle pushed
her eggs around the plate. Orange yolk had burst from one of the
poached eggs and soaked a corner of her toast. She didn’t need to
remind herself to check in with the cage, she found herself
glancing up frequently just to verify the creature was still there.
Now that she had time, she realized the spriggan wore an eye patch
and sported a three cornered hat with a raspberry patched shirt,
with Jazz’s earring as a breast plate beneath a leather vest. She
shook her head in mild disbelief for the umpteenth time that
evening.

For once
Jazz was unusually quiet and compliant. She’d gingerly washed the
dust off earlier, and her lacerated skin was dotted all over with a
creamy white lotion her father had made for her cuts. She looked as
if she’d a bad case of the chicken-pox. If the evening wasn’t so
strangely odd, Nettle probably would have had the forethought to
take a sneaky photograph of her.

“
So Dad,” Nettle began. “What is the Forgotten Wilds,
really?”

Fred took a moment, he wasn’t sure exactly how to explain.
“I guess the best way to describe it as other-worldly. It’s
the
territory, realm… homeland
…” he said rubbing his fingers against his
stubbly chin. “I don’t know, I guess it’s just the place where all
those fantastical beings that you read about as children
live.”

“
Faeries.” Nettle answered, her mind skipping through images
of ogres and pastel winged fairies, goblins and pixies.

“
But, aren’t they just tales?” Bram said, but then glanced up
at Quary Gravell who was glaring down at him through his one good
eye. “I guess they’re not,” he amended.

“
All stories of myth are based on some form of reality, no
matter how slight. It’s just the passage of time and doubt that
twists them into long-ago-tales.”

“But why don’t we know of them? Why isn’t it common
knowledge?” Nettle threw her arms wide. “Like, this forest
is
huge
.” She remembered the map that brought them here. The
forest almost took up the entire chart. “How come no one else has
stumbled upon it, and these creatures, well before now?”

“
The Forgotten Wilds is an appropriate name for such a place.”
Fred answered. “No one ever seems to remember it. People just drive
by. They forget the forest even exists. Its there in the
peripherals of their mind, but… it just doesn’t seem to
stick.”

Bram rested
his elbows on the table and leant his chin on his interwoven
fingers. “If that’s the case,” he said, reminding Nettle of a
professor. “Then, how do we? You remember the Wilds, and we do
too.”

“We
come
from the Wilds. Our family has always lived at Blackthorn
Cottage.” He shook his head. “Though the cottage used to be
situated near the border of the forest. Over the centuries the
Wilds encroached upon the property and surrounded us. It’s only
been my generation that left the Wilds for the outside world. Even
then, you both were born here.”

“
I wasn’t,” piped up Jazz.

“
No, but you’re blood.”

Now seemed like the right time to ask about something that
had been playing on her mind. “Then why don’t I remember?” Nettle
asked. “I know I was a child when we lived here with…” Nettle
refused to say
with Mum
, “But, why don’t I remember meeting any faerie
folk?”

“
We had things in place to keep most of the faerie from the
cottage, but you’re right, on occasion you did meet some.” He
half-shrugged shaking his head despondently. “But when we left the
cottage for good, you never wanted to talk about our time here. You
made yourself forget.”

Oh,
Nettle thought to herself,
she had.
She’d done her best to erase everything
that had anything to do with her mother, which meant most of her
childhood memories.

“
If we’re from here, wouldn’t it be safe for our family to
walk through the forest, then?” pursued Bram.

Fred shook his
head. “No. It’s not safe for anyone. We always have to be very,
very careful and respectful of where we live. If you don’t know
what you’re doing, you, like the man I suspect Jazz met, will fall
to one of its many entrapments. Unwary travellers, even today, go
missing in the Wilds and centuries can pass during the course of a
single day.”

Nettle shot
her cousin a quizzical glance. “What man?” She’d almost forgotten
her father and Jazz staggering out of the forest earlier today.

Jazz’s broad shoulders shuddered. “He was so creepy and
weird. He really needed to see a dentist about his rotten teeth.”
She waved a hand before her nose. “
Ugh,
he had the foulest breath. And he was annoying. He
wanted,
me
to help him,” she said with aghast. “And then when I did,
he just went – poof - turned to dust, all over me.” Jazz shivered
with the recollection. “Totally freaked me out.”

Astonished,
both siblings turned to Fred. “The Forgotten Wilds is treacherous.
I’m warning you all, don’t ever go in there. The only safe passage
through, is the path that cuts through the forest.”

“
But, that ends with a wall of prickles,” said Jazz with a
perplexed look. “There’s no way past that I could see.”

“
Wall of prickles?” Nettle echoed, her swampy green eyes
silently asking her father to explain.

“Jazz is
talking about a wall of thorns. It encircles the entire forest.
There’s not really much to worry about. We live at the edge of the
thicket and the faerie this side are generally just annoying, and
nothing much to worry about.”

Besides ‘
this side’
Nettle also noted her father mentioned ‘
generally’
which meant to her that there
are worse faerie out there, and ‘
nothing much to worry about’
meant - there
was.

In the
candlelight, Fred saw doubt reflected in all three young faces. He
smiled reassuringly. “Now that I’ve collected a few things and put
a few back in place, we should be protected from the faerie of the
Wilds.”

“
You used iron on Gravell, and the cage is made out of rose
stems.” said Bram perceptively.

Fred
nodded. “Iron wounds them, as does certain types of wood.
Encircling water can hide us from view.”

That jolted Nettle’s memory. “Oh, the stream, that’s why
it’s forked and runs around the property. And
roses…”
she whispered to herself
thoughtfully. Her mind jumped to the boulders her father had been
levering a few days ago. “Like the rocks you put in a circle around
the house? They’ve grown rapidly. Aren’t they
rosebushes?”

“Yes,”
answered Fred. “Tomorrow, I’ll introduce you.”

Nettle blinked with surprise. “
Huh
, they can talk?”

Fred
grinned. “Well, grumble and complain a lot, more than actually
holding a worthy conversation.”

“
But, how did the spriggan get into the house?” Bram
asked.

Fred sighed.
“He must have been here already – before we turned up.” Without
thinking, he added, “I guess there’ll be others too.”

Fred caught
Nettle and Bram sharing a worried glance.

“
Is that why you stay up all night on the porch with that
sword?” Nettle questioned.

Fred really didn’t want to answer, but looking at his two
young children with their anxious expressions - and the realization
they’d just entered a dark and dangerous world that they never knew
existed beyond the pages of bedtime stories - he felt they deserved
to know the truth. Well, as much as he was willing to share.
Not everything,
just yet
, he
decided.