One Wish (27 page)

‘I was furious. Henry was ordered to his room with strict instructions to never speak of Morghul again. But as he was walking away . . . it was Turpin who saw it.’

‘Saw what?’ Tanya asked. She glanced at Turpin, but the fairy’s face was stony, giving nothing away.

‘Henry’s shadow. It was sort of . . . separate from him. Still joined, but not quite mirroring his actions. Like it was something else. Once it knew we had noticed, it tried its best to mimic Henry’s movements, but though it came close it was still out of step. And that’s when I knew that Henry had been telling the truth, and that Morghul had become more than just a figment of Henry’s imagination. I knew then that something had to be done, and that Morghul had to be sent back to wherever he had come from before he took over Henry completely. The problem was, neither Turpin nor I knew how. Because how do you get rid of something that’s been created by the power of someone else’s imagination?’

‘You can’t,’ said Tanya. ‘I mean . . . I guess only the person who imagined it in the first place has the power to un-imagine it.’

‘Exactly,’ said Don. ‘And trying to convince a small boy to do such a thing – that he was even capable of doing such a thing – when Morghul was so real and so powerful . . . well. It was impossible. Henry’s fear made it impossible, unless he learned to conquer it at least, and there was no telling how long that might take. So we began to try and think of another solution. And that’s . . . that’s when I remembered Solomon.’

‘Solomon? That’s the fey man you mentioned before,’ Tanya realised. ‘Whose memory Ratty stole.’

Don bowed his head. ‘Yes. I’d known him since I was a boy. He lived next door—’

‘Wait,’ said Tanya. All this had started to sound familiar. ‘Gretchen and Griselda lived next door to you . . .’

Don nodded and gave a weary sigh. ‘Solomon is their brother. Like them, he not only had magic in his blood, but a great gift for it, too. He was focused and determined, always reaching towards the next level of greatness. He became a success; in both his secret practice of fey magic and his outward appearance as a doctor.’ Don paused. ‘A very, very good doctor, who could heal all kinds of ailments. Of course, those who knew him realised that magic was involved. And where was the harm in that? If it healed, what did it matter if it was magic or medicine? Over the years I lost touch with him, especially since everything that occurred with Gretchen and Griselda, but I heard that he had suffered a personal tragedy. He had fallen in love with a human woman, a dying patient whom he vowed to save. But though he tried everything he could, with both magic and medicine, the illness was just too strong. She died, leaving him devastated.

‘Then, about six months before we sought his help with Henry, I bumped into Solomon by chance. He invited me for tea, so of course I went. We reminisced for a while, but I noticed he seemed distant, like something was troubling him. When pressed, he confessed that he had ambitions for a particular spell which he was sure was possible, only he hadn’t quite figured it out yet. This spell, he said, would have the power to change lives, for, in essence, the spell was a life form itself. His aim, he told me, was to undo the suffering brought about by death – not only by preventing it, but by bringing loved ones back from the dead.’

‘But that’s a wonderful idea, isn’t it?’ Tanya said. She thought of her Nana Ivy, who had died two years ago and whom she missed terribly.

‘Is it?’ Don answered. ‘Think about it a little more. We all have people we miss, and for whom we’d do anything to spend another day with them, or even another minute. But life isn’t like that, and it’s not meant to be. However difficult death is for us to accept, we must, because the alternative is far worse. The world would become crowded. The sick would cling to life, even if their illness meant no real life at all. And how would we learn to appreciate each moment if it were not precious? If life were forever?’

Tanya fell silent, digesting Don’s words. Reluctantly, she had to admit that what he said was true.

‘When I told Solomon my thoughts, he was angry,’ Don went on. ‘He said if I’d seen the suffering he had, I’d think differently. I didn’t agree, but to spare further argument I said nothing else. When we parted, I thought no more about it or him, until we came to ask for his help in ridding us of Morghul. But when I saw him again I was shocked.’

‘Why?’ asked Tanya.

‘He was thin and haggard, clearly not eating or sleeping properly, and was on the verge of losing his job. I felt uncomfortable, for he was rambling to himself about this elusive spell, and how if he could only figure it out then all would be well again. I almost left right then, for it was obvious he’d driven himself half mad in pursuit of this spell, whatever it was, and I didn’t want to trouble him further. Yet a spark of the old Solomon remained and he saw that I, too, was in distress and insisted I tell him what was wrong.

‘When I explained, a feverish look came into his eyes. He became excited and said he was convinced he knew of a way to rid us of Morghul.’ Don shook his head. ‘Foolishly, I thought his enthusiasm came from the thought of helping Henry. Little did I know the truth.’

‘Which was?’ Tanya asked.

‘That he had just found the answer to what he was looking for. The missing ingredient that would finally complete his spell.’ Don closed his eyes and took a deep, shaky breath. ‘Morghul.’

21

The Hidden Memory

‘M
ORGHUL WAS THE INGREDIENT Solomon needed to make the spell work?’ Tanya asked.

‘Yes,’ Don replied. ‘As soon as Solomon heard about Morghul, he knew it was the key to unlocking the entire thing. For a spell so ambitious, he needed a vital ingredient to make it work: a life force. Up until then he had worked out that to undo death would take the cost of a life, but he could not bring himself to kill. After all, it was the opposite of what he wanted to achieve.’ He paused. ‘Given time, though, I often wondered if his desperation would have led him there, had we not brought him the solution. And what a perfect solution it was. A life form created entirely from the power of a child’s imagination.’

‘So what happened next?’ said Tanya. ‘Did he manage to free Ratty from Morghul?’

‘He did,’ said Don. ‘But at great cost to us all.’

‘What do you mean?’ she asked, but Turpin’s fist hit the table, snapping her back to the present.

‘Enough talking,’ the fairy said fiercely. Her face was scowling and red. ‘Is growing later and later. Time for us to leave.’

‘Yes,’ Don said, shaking his head a little as though to free himself from the past. ‘Turpin is right, we must go. It’s time to collect the memory.’

Tanya rose from the table, placing the spell jar in the bag. Already the liquid inside had diminished a little; clearly, the caterpillar had been busy. ‘I think we have everything,’ she said.

‘Not everything,’ said Turpin. She hopped off the table and disappeared into the bedroom.

Tanya and Don waited expectantly, saying nothing. Sleeping noises filled the air and Tanya turned to watch the statue-like figures with a pang of guilt. It was the first time since her parents’ divorce that she had seen her mother look peaceful. The little worried crease between her eyebrows was gone, and her lips moved softly, as though she were singing or speaking within her dreams.

Raven’s and Feathercap’s faces were blank and unreadable, but Gredin’s wore a slight smirk.
Probably dreaming up some horrible punishment for me as payback for this
, Tanya thought dismally. A rumbling snore drew her attention to the Mizhog, but, though it was drooling heavily, the sound was coming from elsewhere. It was only then she remembered that someone else had been in the cottage when she had thrown the graveyard dirt: someone unseen.

‘Thingy,’ she whispered. She dropped to her knees, ears straining to follow the noise. Oberon trotted over to her, his claws clicking softly. ‘Where is it, boy?’ she said. ‘Where’s it coming from?’ Another snore, softer this time, sounded nearby. Oberon snuffled along the floorboards near to the coffee table. Tanya caught sight of a small section of wood lifting slightly under his paw. Using her nails, she prised the section of floorboard out and peered into the cavity below. An underground draught whistled out of the space.

‘What are you doing?’

Turpin had appeared next to her, clutching two jars. One contained the shimmering Spidertwine and the other held the Cornish brownie.

‘I think we just found our resident grudge-keeper,’ Tanya answered. They stared into the space below the floorboards. There, amongst years of thick, grey dust and dirt, lay a pitiful figure, about half Turpin’s size. He wore ragged, patched-up clothes, but his feet were bare. Matted hair stood out in a cloud from his head and his face was deeply lined. His mouth was open to display the broken, yellow teeth Tanya had glimpsed through the floorboards when she’d first arrived at the cottage. She remembered the anger and dread she had felt, but found that now all she felt was pity. Thingy snored again, then shivered in his sleep. Tanya reached out and touched his arm. It was painfully cold.

She reached into the cavity and gently lifted the little figure out, trying not to flinch as her hand broke through thick cobwebs. With her other hand, she replaced the floorboard. Then she got up and took the pathetic creature into her room and placed him in the bed, wrapping the covers round the cold little body.

‘You sleep now, Thingy,’ she told him. ‘Sleep in the warm.’ She leaned closer. ‘I forgive you.’

The snoring paused and the faintest of smiles tweaked the corners of the fairy’s mouth. Tanya left the room, brushing dust and cobwebs from her hands. Turpin was on the table, stuffing the Spidertwine and the brownie into the rucksack.

‘Let’s go,’ said Tanya. She led the way, past the sleeping figures and out of the cottage. The stillness outside remained; it seemed even the birds were reluctant to sing. Her footsteps sounded loud and unwelcome on the path. ‘Where is it we’re going to anyway?’

‘You know the place,’ said Turpin.

‘I do?’

‘The place where you first met Ratty.’

Tanya thought back to her first encounter with Ratty, only days ago. It already felt much longer. ‘The Wishing Tree,’ she said.

The fairies along the wooded path to the meadow were strangely quiet as they trampled over the grass. Perhaps, Tanya thought, they were aware of the deterrents, or even the captive brownie, she carried with her, unless it was the presence of Turpin – one of their own – that explained the lack of sniggers and whispering she had encountered before. Either way, she welcomed their silence, for they were a distraction she did not need. Already she could feel a tight little knot of fear in her stomach, but it was mixed with a curiosity to know more.

‘You were telling me about Solomon,’ she said in a low voice, watching as Turpin marched ahead with Oberon closely at her heel. She dropped back a little, to make sure the fairy was out of earshot. ‘Before Turpin got upset.’

‘That’s right,’ said Don, from the pocket of the rucksack. ‘Where was I?’

‘You said he managed to free Ratty from Morghul, but at a great cost. What did you mean by that?’

Don nudged the zip back a little further and pushed his head out into the open. ‘When we took Henry to Solomon, we had no idea what he had in mind to resolve the problem. It turned out that Solomon had been researching ways to draw Morghul away from Henry and trap him, and he’d discovered an ancient ritual which he believed would work. Immediately, I was uneasy. The ritual was very dark magic and not something Solomon had performed before, though he assured us he could do it. And so, against my better judgement, I allowed myself to be convinced and for the ritual to go ahead.

‘Henry was put into a trance. Solomon promised that he would have no memory of the events – or of Morghul – once the ritual was complete. He started to draw Morghul out, and for the first time we were able to see what Henry had created.’ He shuddered. ‘His fear had made it monstrous, a mix of creatures from every nightmare. As the separation progressed, Morghul started to lose his form. He became like a figure of melting wax, with no proper features, no proper face. Solomon assured us that this meant the ritual was working, for it was only Henry’s imagination that gave Morghul his strength – and his form. But we had all underestimated Morghul’s power. He didn’t
want
to be separated from Henry. He clung on with every ounce of his strength.

‘It was clear that even Solomon’s power was not enough. He was out of his depth. I begged him to stop the ritual, to find another spell, but he refused. He screamed that this was the only way, and that he needed Morghul if his life’s work were ever to be achieved. Then I realised the truth: that Henry was of little importance to him – he was just a means of getting Solomon’s final ingredient for that wretched spell of his. And that’s when Turpin – dear, loyal little Turpin – stepped in.

‘She attacked Morghul with everything, all her physical and magical strength. It was terrible to behold. Poor Henry was caught between them like a piece of meat between lions. Morghul ripped away Turpin’s wing. Physically, she was no match for him and it seemed all was lost. But perhaps it was her love for Henry which tipped the balance. Something in her overpowered him, and Morghul finally released his hold and fell aside, weakened.’

‘Morghul is the reason Turpin lost her wing?’ Tanya asked, stunned.

‘And her power,’ said Don. ‘She used it all to sever him from Henry. She’s never performed a single act of magic since. Afterwards, Henry woke from the trance, seemingly as he was before except that he showed no fear – nor any memory even – of Morghul, just as Solomon had promised. But I knew we had a problem. Solomon wanted Morghul for his spell – but Morghul was not Solomon’s to keep. That was never part of the deal. And for the first time I saw a problem with what we had done, for, if Morghul had been created by Henry and was part of him, then what would happen if that part were used in Solomon’s spell?’

‘What are you two whispering about?’ Turpin said suddenly.