Charlotte Stone and the Children of the Nymet (17 page)

‘Speak clearly, Andarwen.'

‘An unstoppable chain of events will unfold, bringing about the release… of the Echo.'

The silence was deafening. Charlotte and Sang exchanged looks; Sang clearly had no idea what Andarwen was talking about. In moments, the courts came to their senses and a wall of voices hit them like a tidal wave.

‘That is preposterous. “The Echo” is a silly fairy story designed to scare baby Fey. It's not real,' exclaimed a portly-looking gnome with a bushy beard that fell down to the floor.

‘And what would a human child know of the Echo?' shouted a shrill, bird-like woman with silver hair, clothed only in rubies. The woman gave Sang a spiteful look when she finished speaking. She clearly hadn't forgiven her for her unseemly entrance.

‘Many things can be revealed to the uninitiated through dreams. What I have provided is an interpretation of her dream.' Andarwen was calm in the face of such outrage.

‘I should have known you would put your own spin on things – I'd expect no less from an Unseelie. This is a courtroom, we require solid facts and literal translation, please,' Dijin replied.

‘You doubt my skills as a dreamseer, Lord Dijin? What I say are facts – just not necessarily in any format you seem to respect. If I didn't know better, I'd say you were scared.'

Dijin ignored her, instead looking pleadingly at the king who was already consulting with his advisers. The court clerk exchanged whispers with the group before banging his staff for order amongst the crowd.

‘The testament will stand,' he squeaked. ‘All rise for the king's verdict.'

The Seelie Court members duly stood as ordered, whereas many of the Unseelie Court, who had been standing, very deliberately sat down. Others started flying loop-the-loop around the room and Andarwen hopped over to Luned and Charlotte.

‘Do not be put off by the reputation of the Vorla,' she whispered in Charlotte's ear. ‘They may be your only hope before this is done. You'll certainly get no help from this lot.'

The commotion finally died down and the king spoke.

‘In light of what we have heard today, I decree that the human child known as Charlotte Seshat Stone will be issued with an A.K.O.R.N for her irresponsible actions.'

There were some boos, but mainly cheers, from the Unseelie Court at this announcement.

‘The courts impress on the human child the seriousness of what she has done,' the king continued. ‘It is felt that she does not fully understand the possible devastation of her actions, and while a custodial sentence is deemed inappropriate at this time, the conditions of the A.K.O.R.N are that she will make no attempt to cultivate any form of vegetation either by standard or sonic means until this decree is lifted. Any breach will have serious consequences.'

King Rosebay-Willowherb looked down at her in a manner he clearly thought was intimidating, but it was obvious he was not as well practised as Dijin.

‘Magic is prohibited for humans in this realm – for good reasons,' he scolded her.

‘But why? Please, if I just understood…'

‘You are not required to understand, only to comply,' Dijin cut her off. ‘No further discussion will be entered into.' He turned to the shining Seelie Court. ‘As for the one who so recklessly taught Miss Stone the secrets of weaving, I put it to the courts that further enquiries are needed to discover their identity so they too can be brought to justice for this reckless act.'

Various members of the court nodded in approval.

‘I will consider your proposal,' the king replied graciously before taking his seat.

Happy with their conclusions, Dijin and the court looked to the Elfin Jury who still hadn't moved. In unison, the hooded figures nodded in agreement with the ruling before filing out of the courtroom.

*

Charlotte had expected some kind of formal close to the hearing but Dijin simply disappeared with a pop while the rest of the courts scattered chaotically, leaving the court clerk to unpick the willow leaves.

‘Is that it?'

‘All done,' Luned smiled. ‘You got off lightly there. Thank goodness for Andarwen.'

‘Here, take this,' Andarwen whispered behind them, pulling a green, almond-shaped object from beneath her shawl.

‘Is it a seed?' Luned gasped. ‘She can't take this, didn't you just hear the king's decree?'

‘I did indeed!' The lady's grin was full of mischief. ‘Oh, put away your silly P.O.D charter, Luned, before you put us both to sleep with boredom. She can keep it close, she doesn't have to TOUCH it.'

‘What's it for?' Charlotte asked.

Andarwen shrugged. ‘It might be useful at some point.'

‘OK, when?' Charlotte persisted.

Andarwen shrugged again. ‘No idea, but you'll know when to use it when the time comes. You must not remain underground, Charlotte. Dijin may be blind but some of us realise who you are. I'll leave you to fill in the details, Luned.'

Charlotte was about to ask her who they seemed to think she was, and correct the mistake, but Andarwen dived under the willow leaves and, with a splash, was gone.

Charlotte had so many questions she didn't know where to start. What had just happened? Who or what was the Echo? Why was the Seelie Court wary of Clarissa? Before she could formulate any of these thoughts into words though, Luned was already leaving.

‘I trust you can find your own way home from here? Good. Try to stay out of trouble if you can,' Luned said before disappearing with a pop.

Suddenly Sang and Charlotte were alone under the willow.

‘I saw your sister,'
Sang signed to a shocked Charlotte,
‘and she has a message for you.'

The ‘Save Brackenheath Park by Class 34A' project had been installed at the Wykenhall Public Library for just over a week. It stretched across two large display boards in the main corridor and included all their stories, not only about the Brackenheath Oak, but of trees from around the world.

Sang had done a piece on how the Buddha found enlightenment under the Banyan tree, Govinder's essay was on the Indian tradition of planting a new tree at the birth of a baby and the McNamara twins had produced write-ups on fairy trees and the Ogham tree alphabet.

Charlotte was especially interested in these. It was a language she had never come across before but it looked just like the symbol she had found in the book from Clarissa's library. According to Connor's essay, the double left-handed bar meant ‘oak'. It had to be more than just a coincidence. Charlotte had no idea what the relevance of the ‘rowan' bars to the right was though. There were no rowan trees in Brackenheath Park.

Charlotte's list of news stories where trees had been saved from the chop – and some where bad things had happened when they weren't – had also made the display. A certain amount of real life was always important, Mr Thomlinson had said.

It seemed Sissy and Charlie were quite the artists, so they had produced some beautiful illustrations to accompany the stories and, of course, Olly's songs and poems were also on display. The ‘crowning glory', however, was a number of old photographs of Brackenheath Park and the Evergreen Oak, the centre picture being that of Charlotte's grandparents.

‘It's been very popular.' The librarian was clearly very pleased. ‘It has brought in so many new customers. Was it your idea? We'll have to prick your brains for future displays, I think.' She beamed as she handed Charlotte her books along with a bag of chocolates. ‘A little thank you,' she explained.

Charlotte was not comfortable with her new-found celebrity as poster girl for the ‘Save our Park' campaign and it didn't take her long to assess that she was well and truly out of her comfort zone. It wasn't the librarian so much as the posh do she had been invited to at the Hickling residence later that evening.

*

Isla's house was a grand-looking town house in the suburbs of Wykenhall on the Brackenheath Road. The white stone cladding reminded Charlotte of the Pimlico buildings that housed the Stone family flat, minus the balconies. Sparkly green, helium-filled balloons bobbed from the fence posts that were also festooned with green ribbons. A tap on her shoulder made her turn round.

‘Am I pleased to see you,' Charlotte beamed at Sang. ‘I could do with some moral support.'

Sang broke into a flurry of hand gestures that Charlotte was now fluent in.

‘Not fair,' Charlotte protested. ‘How come you get to sneak off early?'

‘I have very important errands to run – besides, I'm not the guest of honour,'
Sang signed with a wry smile, before squeezing Charlotte's hand in support.

‘Welcome to my nightmare,' Charlotte grumbled as they made their way up the drive.

*

A marquee was erected on the large lawn at the rear and tables laden with food and drink were already swarming with guests.

Isla was a picture of sophistication in a pastel pink summer dress and pearl earrings, making Charlotte feel underdressed in her habitual combat trousers, T-shirt and trainers. Isla was a natural hostess, yet she lacked the easy charm of Edessa, Charlotte noticed with a certain satisfaction.

‘So glad you could make it,' she beamed as if Charlotte had had a choice.

‘Thank you for inviting me,' Charlotte replied automatically in what she hoped was an interested tone.

‘Let me introduce you to some of the guests,' Isla simpered, whisking Charlotte through another sea of strange faces.

‘So you're the young lady causing such a furore,' said Mr Hickling, as Isla introduced her. He offered her his hand with a practised but genuine smile. Charlotte could see where Isla had learnt it from.

‘I just don't see the sense in destroying a perfectly healthy tree and park, especially one with so much history,' she replied.

She could hardly say it was a matter of life and death; they would think she was mad as a box of frogs if she started talking about Syluria, Tree Weavers or the loss of a new race of people from another dimension before anyone even knew they existed. If only The Morrigan would use her skills – surely this could be sorted out with a little magic.

‘Quite right, quite right. History is important, and we must hear both sides of the debate, that's the reason for this little soirée. We must however, also ensure we get the right balance of retaining our history and making progress. We don't want to be left behind, now do we?'

Charlotte made a mental note. He talked a good talk but it was clear where Mr Hickling stood on the matter. She wouldn't find an ally there.

‘Is this Miss Charlotte of Stone?' a lady asked Mr Hickling. ‘Isn't she doing a fine job,' she cooed.

‘She is indeed,' Mr Hickling replied, with no idea who the lady was. ‘Well, Miss Stone, I must not monopolise you, there will be many people wanting to speak to you, I'm sure.'

‘Lady Morrigan.' Charlotte addressed the woman.

‘You are doing well,' The Morrigan nodded with approval, ‘but time is running out.'

‘Then why don't you do something? I know you could.'

The Morrigan nodded. ‘I could, but what would that achieve? The humans would just destroy the Nymet another day. They have to be made to care. If you can't talk them round I will have no choice but to intervene and as I've told you before, you really don't want that.'

‘I don't know why you chose me then, why not Oll…'

‘I didn't choose you, Charlotte of Stone. The Nymet did,' The Morrigan hissed. ‘Rest assured you would have been my last choice… now, maybe that sister of yours…'

‘What do you know of Edessa?'

The Morrigan smiled. ‘I know about the Sleeping Mother… and how she sometimes changes her mind, but I am only a player in the same game as you.'

The Morrigan faded into the air but before Charlotte had time to respond and she could see Olly's father bounding over to her with a huge grin.

‘So pleased to meet you, Charlotte.' He shook her hand vigorously.

‘Thank you, Mr Batterbee.'

‘Call me Irving,' Mr Batterbee insisted. ‘I used to go to school with your mother, you know. I understand you found an old essay we wrote together; I was the one who took that photo of her and the tree in the snow.' He grinned proudly. ‘That was one strange winter.'

‘Olly has told me all about you,' Charlotte said politely. ‘He says you're quite the local historian.'

‘Some would be kind enough to say that but I'm afraid I can't help you with the story of your grandparents if that's what you were going to ask.'

‘Actually I've got that covered,' Charlotte smiled, ‘Clarissa told me all about them. Knowing I have a long line of family from here certainly has boosted my confidence in speaking tonight. I don't feel like such an outsider anymore.'

‘There's my girl, I knew that jumped up little turnip Ransell had underestimated you. You are your mother's daughter, eh?'

Charlotte didn't know how to respond, she was concentrating on not welling up.

‘We all know those nasty Ransell boys want to sell the land for development; the decision is nothing to do with safety. The destruction of Brackenheath Park in its entirety for restaurants, cinemas, a swimming pool, gym and bowling alley! What do we need with a bowling alley, I ask you?'

Not long ago Charlotte would have been thrilled at such news. She remembered the first time she'd driven through Brackenheath and how her heart had sunk at the lack of such facilities but not anymore. She would much rather have the park, the trees and the Nymet.

As night fell, little solar-powered lights flickered on across the garden and staff began to line the marquee with chairs and run the sound checks. Mr Hickling got up to do the introduction, of course.

‘Welcome, friends and esteemed colleagues,' he beamed. ‘I have invited you all tonight, for an informal chat about the fate of Brackenheath Park – especially for those of you who will not get to have your say at the council vote tomorrow; it is important to us that your voices are heard. As you know, there are plans for development with some very exciting visions for the future, but in the first instance, we need to discuss the matter of the safety of the Brackenheath Oak that was tragically struck by lightning.'

Mr Hickling gestured for the first speaker to come to the stage. At first Charlotte thought it was Mr Ransell but soon realised this must be his brother. They had the same cold grey eyes and beak-like nose.

‘Thank you, Lionel, and may I just say what a wonderful evening, it is a credit to you.' The second Mr Ransell smiled like a shark.

‘My name is Marcus Ransell,' the man addressed the crowd. ‘Many of you will know I am a long serving member of the local council, tirelessly working behind the scenes, not looking for glory but interested only in what is best for the local community I love.'

Charlotte wanted to vomit.

‘You may well hear many impassioned pleas tonight to save the Brackenheath Oak on grounds of spurious sentimentality.' The second Mr Ransell stared directly at Charlotte. ‘But rest assured that a full survey has been done and the facts speak for themselves: the tree is dangerous and unstable and as such, it must come down. Heartbreaking as it may be, we must have the courage to do the right thing for the safety of all.' Marcus Ransell left the stage to a ripple of applause.

‘Dangerous and unstable? Yes, these words certainly seem to apply, but not to the Brackenheath Oak,' Irving Batterbee announced when it was his turn to take the stage. ‘The oak is our most famous landmark; if we destroy it, not only will we be thumbing our noses at the lessons history has to teach us, but we are missing a trick – think of the tourism possibilities.'

‘It's already destroyed through no one's fault. That is sad of course, but who wants to come and see a blasted stump?' Julian Ransell challenged.

The fate of the Brackenheath Oak created more debate than the rest of the park with many of the locals getting up to say their piece. While she waited her turn Charlotte thought about the discussion she had had with Clarissa, Jude and Luned earlier that day.

‘Couldn't we say there are great crested newts?' Jude had offered as they sat round the kitchen table with steaming cups of tea. ‘I'm sure we could introduce one to the area,' she'd added with a wicked smile.

‘Won't work,' Luned had replied flatly. ‘They've been in such demand in recent years their rates are through the roof. They won't consider even a basic ‘sighting' gig for less than 10,000 rose petals. Besides, the impact of having a ‘Newt-in-residence' isn't as powerful as it once was.'

Charlotte smiled at the memory; not many families would have such strange conversations, but she knew this was bigger than newts. An entire community and their forest was at stake yet the people around her, debating the Tree Weavers' fate, had no idea they even existed and most would not be open to the truth. She would have to find another way to convince the councillors, she thought as she took to the stage.

Isla was sitting front left so Charlotte deliberately faced slightly right; the last thing she needed was her pitying looks distracting her. Unfortunately, Sang had already left but not before wishing her good luck. Taking a deep breath, Charlotte began.

‘There has already been a warning this evening about the possibility of pleas to save the Brackenheath Oak based on sentimentality. You certainly won't get that from me. Until a few short months ago I didn't even know the oak existed and I hadn't heard of Brackenheath or Wykenhall.

‘There is nothing to say that just because a tree has been struck by lightning it needs to be cut down. Many lightning-struck trees, most of them oaks, go on to live for decades: fact. The Brackenheath Oak is already showing signs of new growth: fact.

‘Thanks to this amazing tree I have discovered new family, made new friends, and found a sense of belonging I have never had before. This tree has witnessed the joys and woes of this community. It has been a reminder of home and loved ones for those who have gone to war, it has been a beacon of hope for the starving – not to mention quietly, unassumingly producing oxygen and maintaining the health of the earth on which we stand. All fact.

‘This oak has given this community so much, isn't it time we gave something back? If it was a human, this tree would have been commemorated with a plaque or statue by now: fact. It does not need these things, however. It is its own monument. It should simply be allowed to continue to stand until the day it is ready to fall.'

Charlotte left the podium to huge applause and, with a certain satisfaction, she enjoyed the gormless look on Isla's face.

‘Ha, Marcus, how does it feel to be outdone by a thirteen-year-old?' Irving crowed. The second Mr Ransell was calm and measured.

‘She is an excellent speaker for sure. But common sense will prevail.' At this, he turned and left.

Charlotte couldn't help thinking Mr Batterbee was right, the Ransell brothers were both ‘dangerous and unstable'.

*

The day of the council vote was bright and sunny, the perfect day to be stood outside. The tables were already set up when Charlotte arrived at the town hall. The green and yellow ‘Save our Park' banner, designed by Sissy and Charlie, was tied between the lampposts.

‘I hear you were quite a hit last night.' Govinder made her jump.

‘Does that chair have stealth mode or something?' Charlotte teased; she didn't want to be the centre of attention. Of course, she couldn't change that as Clarissa had pointed out.