Septimus Heap 4 - Queste (25 page)

The final Questor stepped out of the rowboat and risked a quick glance back at Queste. She was not a bad boat, he thought. She looked fast and very maneuverable—the kind of boat that Nicko would like. The thought of Nicko made Septimus forget his own troubles.

Ephaniah led the way along the bank past the Infirmary with its early morning candles lighting up the small windows—it still had a few elderly victims of the Sickenesse regaining their strength. They took the footpath around the back of the Infirmary and were at last out of sight of the Questing Boat. Relieved, Septimus shrugged off his little-old-lady mode and handed Jenna back her cloak, which she carefully fastened with Nicko’s precious gold pin.

Behind the Infirmary was an overgrown path, sunk between two deep banks, well-trodden long ago by generations of charcoal burners. They followed Ephaniah as he limped through the ferns and drifts of leaves that covered the old path, and soon they came to a low escarpment of rock, which seemed to block their way. Ephaniah turned and pointed to a narrow gap in the rock. With some difficulty, the rat-man squeezed through (he had been a little thinner when he had last made the journey as a fourteen-year-old) and Septimus, Beetle, Jenna and Ullr easily followed him.

In front of them stretched a deep and narrow cutting through the rocks, shaded by overhanging trees high above.

“The charcoal burners’ gulley,” squeaked Ephaniah proudly, pleased to have found the way after all the years. “The best way into the Forest.”

“I wish Stanley were here,” said Jenna. “He’d tell us what Ephaniah was saying.”

“Eventually, he might.” Septimus grinned. “But first he’d tell us all about his third cousin twice removed who followed a giant rat into the Forest and was never seen again and then he’d tell us all about the time that he and Dawnie had—”

“All right, all right,” laughed Jenna. “Maybe I’m glad Stanley isn’t here.”

SILAS’S SEARCH

W hile Jenna, Ullr, Septimus and

Beetle were setting off along the charcoal burners’ gulley, Silas and Maxie were waking up in a cold, damp tepee in the Wendron Witches’ Summer Circle.

Maxie had enjoyed his night in the Witches’ Circle—Silas had not. The tepee had leaked and the bedding had gotten wet and begun to smell of rancid goat. To make matters worse, Silas had been kept awake by the giggling of a gang of teenage witches planning a raid on what they called Camp Heap, which was where Sam, Edd, Erik and Jo-Jo Heap lived.

Silas, who had no wish to know what his four sons were up to when it came to the Wendron Witches, had stuffed his ears full of rancid goat wool—big mistake—and tried to get to sleep by counting sheep—even bigger mistake, as the sheep had turned into rancid goats and started chanting. After a while Silas had realized that the chanting was in fact the witches chanting around the campfire. Exasperated, he had thrown a pile of stinking goat fur over his head to drown out the noise and had finally fallen asleep.

As Silas lay staring blearily at the top of the tepee, a young witch put her head around the door flap and said, “The Witch Mother requests that you join her for breakfast.”

Silas struggled to sit up, and the young witch suppressed a giggle. Silas’s straw-colored curly hair looked like a bird’s nest—the kind of nest that would belong to a large untidy bird with a hygiene problem. From the middle of the nest, Silas’s green eyes peered out, trying to focus on the young witch. “Um, thank you. Please tell her that I would be delighted.” Even though Silas felt as if he had spent the night with a wet goat sitting on his head, he knew that any invitation from the Witch Mother must always be treated with reverence and respect.

A few minutes later, Silas and Maxie were sitting beside a blazing campfire. A strong smell of damp dog with subtle notes of none-too-clean wool filled the air as Silas’s Ordinary Wizard robes steamed in the heat. Behind him the young witch who had woken him poured out a cup of hot witches’ brew and avoided breathing in too deeply.

Sitting opposite Silas was Morwenna, the Witch Mother—a large woman with piercingly blue witches’ eyes and long graying hair held back with a green leather headband. Morwenna wore the Wendron Witches’ summer tunic of green and, as Witch Mother, she had a broad white sash around her more than ample waist.

The young witch passed Silas a steaming cup of witches’ brew and he warily took a sip. It was, as he feared, disgusting—but it was also strangely warming. Morwenna was watching him with a fond smile, so Silas slowly drank a few more mouthfuls. As he did so he felt the ache in his bones fade and his spirits begin to drag themselves up from the deep pit where they had spent the night.

The young witch passed Silas a wooden bowl containing what looked, at first impression, like cereal with caterpillars.

Silas inspected it dubiously but, telling himself that that flecks of green were most likely some kind of fleshy herb, he took a spoonful. His first impression had been right. They were caterpillars. Silas swallowed with some difficulty—because you never, ever

spat out food given to you by a witch. Gloomily he surveyed the enormous amount of caterpillar cereal that he still had left to eat and wondered if he could sneak any to Maxie. He decided not to risk it.

“I trust it is to your liking?” asked Morwenna, noticing Silas’s expression.

“Oh. Yes. It’s very, um…”—Silas bit through a particularly large caterpillar with legs—“crunchy.”

“I am so pleased. They are a late spring delicacy and give great strength and will clear your head. I thought you looked in need of them.”

Silas nodded, unable to speak right then due to a mouth full of caterpillars and a sudden inability to swallow. One ghastly gulp later Silas decided he had to be tough—he would herd all the caterpillars together and get it over with.

Gathering his courage, he scooped up and quickly swallowed two large spoonfuls of caterpillars. With great relief he looked at the remains of his cereal, which was now caterpillar-free. But, as Silas was taking a great gulp of the witches’

brew to wash down the last resistant caterpillar that had got stuck between a gap in his teeth, the young serving-witch stepped forward with a small bowl full of writhing green tubes and dutifully added three more spoonfuls to his porridge.

“You seem preoccupied, Silas Heap,” said Morwenna.

“Ahem,” said Silas, overwhelmed by the latest caterpillar incursion.

“Thank you, Marissa, you may leave us now,” said Morwenna, waving the young witch away. She took Silas’s bowl from him with a smile and gave it to a deeply grateful Maxie. “Too many caterpillars this morning, perhaps?” she said.

“But, um, very…remarkable caterpillars. I feel much better, thank you.” And it was true, Silas did suddenly feel better.

In fact he felt very good indeed. Clear-headed, strong and ready for the day.

“Ever since I heard about Nicko’s disappearance I have been expecting you,” Morwenna said.

Silas looked amazed. “Oh. Oh, Morwenna, I Know Nicko is in the Forest. But I do not Know where.”

“And I Know that he is not,” said Morwenna.

“Are you sure?” asked Silas, who had great respect for Morwenna’s knowledge.

Morwenna leaned forward and placed her surprisingly dainty hand on Silas’s arm. Very gently she said, “Silas, I must tell you that Nicko is not in this world.”

Silas went pale, the tepees surrounding him began to sway and he wanted to be sick. “You mean he’s dead,” he said.

Hastily Morwenna said, “No. He is no more dead than those who are not yet born are dead.”

Silas put his head in his hands. He found what Sarah Heap scathingly called witchy-talk difficult at the best of times, and now was most definitely not

the best of times. He needed to talk to his father. Silas’s father had been a practical man—a good, honest Shape-Shifter Wizard who was now living as a tree somewhere in the Forest. He would know what to do.

“Morwenna,” said Silas, “there’s a tree I need to find.”

“There are many trees in the Forest,” Morwenna observed. Silas wondered if she was making fun of him but then she said, “And some are more tree than others. Some were born trees and some became trees. I believe the tree you seek was not a born tree, I am right, Silas Heap?”

“Yes,” said Silas.

“To seek a tree not born of tree is no easy task. They grow in the Ancient Groves, which are dangerous places. Some are pleased with their choice to be tree and others weep and wail and wish to be as they once were. These are the ones that prey upon the traveler and lure her to her doom. Who is it you wish to find, Silas Heap?”

“Benjamin Heap. My father.”

“Ah, your shape-shifter father. It is true what they say—your family runs deep and dark, Silas Heap.”

“Do they? I don’t know why. Dad just liked trees, that’s all. He was a quiet man, very slow in his ways. I think it probably suits him. But…well, last year the boys—Septimus and Nicko—they found him. And I need to see him, Morwenna. He’ll know how to find Nicko. He must. He must.”

Morwenna had never seen Silas Heap so desperate. Remembering the time many years ago when Silas had saved her from certain death by the Forest wolverines, she made him a generous offer. “I will take you to your father,” she said.

Silas gasped. “You know where he is?”

“Of course. I know each tree in the Forest. How could I be Witch Mother and not know this?”

Silas was speechless. He had spent the last twenty-five years searching for his father and Morwenna had known all the time.

“You are strangely silent, Silas. Perhaps you do not wish to see your father after all?”

“Oh…no, I do. I really do.”

Five minutes later Silas and Maxie were following the Witch Mother down the spiral path to the Forest floor. They took a narrow track that Silas knew would lead them past Camp Heap, where Silas had spent the last few days—until both he and the occupants of the camp had become totally exasperated with one another. Quietly, they skirted Camp Heap which, at that time of the morning, was still a slumbering circle of what looked like great piles of leaves. These were in fact what the Heap boys called benders—simple shelters made from bent willow branches and leaves. The only sign of occupation was the smoldering of the campfire, which the boys always kept burning, and the sound of snoring drifting out of Sam Heap’s bender. Silas felt the urge to go wake them all up and tell them to get up and do something—which was what had led to much of the trouble during his stay—but he resisted.

Silas, Maxie and Morwenna walked deeper into the Forest, through dark glades and gulleys and into hidden places where Silas had never been before. They traveled fast, with Morwenna moving swift and agile through the trees. Silas concentrated hard on following the witch’s Forest green robes, which took on the shadows and shapes of their surroundings and he knew would quickly disappear if he looked away for one moment. Maxie loped behind, his stiff old joints complaining at the long trek, but not letting Silas out of his sight for one second.

Suddenly, Morwenna dived into a thicket of giant ferns. Silas followed her but the thick stems would not let him pass.

He pushed and shoved, he even insulted them under his breath, but they would not move. He succeeded in nothing more than getting an impressive collection of giant burrs and two sticky toads stuck to his cloak. Silas fought the temptation to call out Morwenna’s name, for he knew that the sound of a human voice in the Forest, even in daytime, can draw the kind of attention a human does not necessarily want. So he waited, hoping that Morwenna would soon notice he was no longer following her. Maxie gratefully lay down and licked his weary paws, but Silas was not so patient. He kicked his heels, he scratched his itchy head and dislodged three tree beetles, he prized the sticky toads from his cloak and stuck them onto a nearby sapling, and then one by one he picked off twenty-five giant burrs that had stuck onto his cloak and threw them into the ferns. But still there was no sign of the Witch Mother.

Silas decided to risk a whisper. “Morwenna…Morwenna…”

A few moments later Morwenna emerged from the ferns. “There you are,” she said. “Come on. Keep up.” She plunged into the ferns once again but this time Silas followed her so closely that he was very nearly treading upon her heels. The thick stems made way for the witch—but not for Silas. As soon as Morwenna had passed through, the giant ferns began to close ranks again, forcing Silas and Maxie to be quick and slip through the narrowing gap. It was lucky, thought Silas, that Morwenna was so much wider than him.

As they moved through the ferns, the light faded to a green dimness. At last they stepped out into a great green cathedral of trees—the tallest trees Silas had ever seen in his life, their branches arching gracefully up into the canopy of the Forest hundreds of feet above him. An unexpected feeling of awe came over him. Maxie whimpered.

“Your father is here,” Morwenna said quietly.

“Oh…”

“I shall leave you now, Silas Heap,” Morwenna half-whispered. “I have business at our Winter Quarters. I will return for you on my way back.”

Silas did not answer. He could not imagine ever leaving such a peaceful place.

“Silas?” Morwenna prompted.

Silas shook himself out of his trance and answered, “Thank you, Morwenna. But…I think I want to stay here for a while.”

Morwenna saw the faraway look in Silas’s eyes and she knew she would get no more sense out of him. “Well, take care,” she told him. “Be sure to spend the hours of darkness off the Forest floor. The Ancient Groves are dangerous places at night.”

Silas nodded.

“May the Goddess go with you.”

“Morwenna?”

“Yes, Silas Heap?”

“Where exactly is my father?”

Morwenna pointed to the tangle of gnarled mossy roots below Silas’s boots.

“You’re standing on his toes,” she said with a smile. With that she was gone.

PROMISED

A fter watching Silas—and a

very bemused wolfhound—being slowly lifted up into the branches of Benjamin Heap, Morwenna headed straight for the Old Quarry. Morwenna’s predecessor, Madam Agaric, had run the Wendron Witch Coven from the vastness of a large cave set high up in the walls of the Old Quarry deep in the Forest. Madam Agaric’s reign had come to an unexpected—and generally unlamented—end one cold winter’s night at a full moon when the old witch had taken a fraction of a second too long to Freeze