Jack Shian and the Mapa Mundi (3 page)

When Jack heard that the Kildashie would be present, he was in two minds. He knew that many different groups had been invited along in recognition of the return of the King’s Chalice. The McCools from the west of Ireland had arrived, and the Inari, who had brought rare foods from Japan. But Unseelie? Did the Congress know what it was doing?

Grandpa wouldn’t be easily fooled, only …

Something gnawed away at Jack’s insides, something nameless and troubling.

“How was work today?” asked Aunt Katie brightly as Jack slouched back from his day at Gilmore’s.

“Not bad.” Jack reached for the jug of tayberry juice.

“Come on, there must be more to it than that,” pressed his aunt.

“Fenrig started back. He doesn’t look like he wants to be here at all.”

“Did you speak to him?” asked Aunt Katie anxiously.

“Not much. He doesn’t bother answering.”

“Did he tell you about Iceland, then? What were the Elle-folk like?”

Aunt Katie’s persistence irritated Jack.

“I don’t know,” he snapped. “I told you, Fenrig doesn’t say much. I don’t know why the Congress said he could come back here.”

“That’s a bit harsh, Jack. You know he has no family left, not since his father was … put away.”

“His father got off lightly. Three years, it’s a joke.”

“Jack, I just meant …”

But Aunt Katie’s words were left to trail in the air, as Jack picked up his satchel and stormed out. He had just determined to go out to the High Street when he saw Petros and his sisters on the other side of the square.

“Hiya Jack,” called Rana. “We’re just going to get some things for the festival. Want to come?”

Grateful that he had received his apprentice’s allowance the day before, Jack joined his cousins as they went to the shop at the top of the square. With the Chalice attracting even more Shian to Edinburgh, the shop had expanded hugely. Jack reached up and grabbed a firework wheel.

“We’ll spin it down the hill after the Blue Hag’s started spring – to mark the turning of the year.”

Petros smiled broadly as he pocketed some forget-me-aye powder.

“It’s brilliant,” he explained. “It works on Shian
and
humans: you just put some in their drink and they forget who they are. Boyce told me about it.”

“That’s dangerous,” pouted Lizzie. “People do silly things if they don’t know who they are. ’Specially humans. Grandpa said you must only pick someone who really deserves it.”

“I’ll find someone,” smirked Petros. “I can’t wait for the festival.”

“You’ve only just come back from Rangie,” pointed out Jack.

“Yes, and they’re really pulling out all the stops for this one,” said Rana. “You won’t believe how much it’s changed. It’s been charmed so it looks a lot bigger; they’re expecting hundreds.”

The youngsters’ expectation and excitement carried them through the necessary chores of the next three days. When the time came to leave Edinburgh, they all met up in the front room with Aunt Katie and Grandpa Sandy.

“Have you got everything you need?”

Aunt Katie, as ever, flustered around. Petros smiled back as Jack rolled his eyes.

“Come along, you lot.” Grandpa Sandy took control. “All ready? Right, off to the low road. Uncle Doonya’s gone ahead with the Congress.”

As he led them down towards the low road mound, Jack asked, “Grandpa, how come we can use the low road? I thought we had to walk, like we always do.”

“More low roads are opening up. The Chalice and the Stone are having some effect, I can tell you.”

When they reached the house down by the foot of the square, Jack saw to his surprise that it was no longer gloomy. Freshly painted and with clean curtains in the windows, it bore little resemblance to the ramshackle house it had been a few months earlier.

Linking arms on the mound, the six huddled in close.

“Wind-flock Rangie!” whispered Grandpa Sandy, and they all began the familiar spinning that announced their entrance onto the low road.

Within two or three minutes they found themselves by the hawthorn tree on the edge of Rangie wood. The air felt sweeter to Jack, and the well-known sounds of the woods were reassuring. But there was more: the hubbub of hundreds of people, music, laughter, chatter, all coming from just down the glen.

Grandpa Sandy led the way, striding purposefully towards the small field that lay between two hills. Naturally sheltered, local farmers favoured it as good pastureland. But Jack could see no trace of sheep or cattle today, and the field itself seemed much larger. Catching his eye, his grandfather said, “Looks different, doesn’t it? Well, that’s a special Oestre for you. The Congress has made a few adjustments, to make room for all the extra guests.”

Though not as many as had been at the previous midsummer’s festival at Falabray, the extra guests, as Grandpa called them, were numerous.

“Are we going to slow down time again tonight?” asked Jack breathlessly.

“There’s no need. Rangie is so sheltered there’s little chance of humans turning up. Just to make sure, we’ve got charms to keep them away. In fact, we move in the other direction tonight: we’ll use Fugitemp.”

“‘Fugitemp’?”

“Time speeder, Jack. Our time will go quickly: it makes things even better for us. For the humans it will pass as usual.” Grandpa moved off to talk to Atholmor. Next to them Jack saw Uncle Doonya in conversation with Armina the enchantress. Approaching them, Aunt Katie called out, “There you are. We’ll let the kids off to see what’s going on. How are you, Armina?”

As she and Armina engaged in conversation, Uncle Doonya turned to the youngsters.

“Here’s some spending money. Try and make it last longer than an hour, Rana. We’ve got ages yet.”

“Come on, I’ve heard there’s Phooka here,” said Petros. “Let’s see who can find them first.”

“Just a minute,” said Jack. “I’ll just give your mum my firework wheel to look after.”

Rana and Lizzie ran off excitedly into the crowd, while Petros steered Jack towards one of the many food stalls.

“Aren’t we going to find the Phooka?”

“Time for that later. Let’s get some heather wine first.”

Jack looked round cautiously, wondering if his aunt or uncle could see them.

“Don’t worry about Mum and Dad. They’ll never see us in this crowd.”

“Maybe later. I don’t feel like any now.”

“Suit yourself,” sniffed Petros. “I’ll catch up with you at the Phooka stall, yeah?”

Mumbling assent, Jack set off to investigate what the festival had to offer.

Rana came running up.

“There’s Flame spirits!” she announced breathlessly. “Come on! Lizzie’s keeping a space for you. She asked a Kildashie to do a sound trick, but he just walked away.”

The sky had already darkened, and the Flame spirits glimmered in the evening gloom. As the night darkened, they performed a series of tricks: floating, transforming into hares or rabbits, exploding into showers of light. Jack sat entranced as they performed one trick after another. After the disappointment of the Falabray festival, it was good to see what they could do.

Petros appeared after a while and tried to get Jack to come and see a Ghillie-Doo fire carnival, but Jack shrugged him away. Petros retreated sulkily, and later Jack saw him sitting alone with a goblet of what he suspected was heather wine.

Jack wandered among the different Shian. Almost everyone had been invited: there were korrigans and Phooka, pisgies and Elle-folk. And the Kildashie: about thirty of them, tall and wild-looking, a little apart from the main throng, but not excluded. Jack wasn’t surprised that Lizzie’s request had been rebuffed. They were making their own entertainment round a huge fire –
They must’ve cut down at least three trees to make that!
– wild dances, and songs that were both soothing and frightening. They used whistles and drums, and the polished horn of what must have been an enormous ram. Jack decided to steer clear of them.

They were creating quite a mess too. Jack heard Tig shouting at Boreus for throwing his rubbish into the stream. The word ‘poison’ – or was it ‘pollution’? – drifted over. Boreus was angry, but seemed reluctant to challenge his leader.

Unseelie, thought Jack. They don’t like humans; they don’t even like each other; and they certainly don’t respect this place.

The entertainment continued, though. The Inari, from Japan, played screeching, jangly music that made Jack’s spine tingle; the pisgies flew in formation, re-enacting battle scenes; and the McCools sang mournful songs of loss and parting.

“Their songs
are
beautiful,” said Grandpa, moving beside Jack. “They sailed here, you know. They conjure boats when they need them, and they sailed right round Scotland to get here. Look, one of them gave me a charm stone for calling the boats.”

He showed Jack a small emerald with a tiny flaw in it. Held up to the firelight, the flaw looked like a minute ship. Grandpa slipped the gemstone into his pouch.

The night passed quickly. Grandpa had been right: the fun
was
concentrated, but disappointingly it seemed no time at all before the first glimmers of daylight brightened the eastern horizon.

“Olwen’s coming,” whispered Aunt Katie to Jack as he sat watching the eastern sky.

Jack knew the story, but had never been present when the Blue Hag, in her new spring form, had arrived.

I didn’t get to see her transform, but this is the next best thing. Olwen at the Oestre festival means spring is finally here.

It was going to be a good year; Jack just knew that. He got his firework wheel ready.

As the sun crept above the skyline of the hill, the Blue Hag came into view, holding aloft her staff. Despite the sun being at her back, her face shone: Jack had never thought a face could change so much. And she began to sing: clear notes, a slow ascending scale that drifted over. The hairs on Jack’s neck stood on end, and as the scale ended and a peaceful stillness settled over the crowd, a glow enveloped the old woman. Jack’s whole scalp tingled as the transformation hit him: Olwen. He had never seen such a beautiful young woman before.

Without warning, there was an angry cry from behind him, and Jack saw Olwen point her staff directly towards him. Shian turned to look at him … no, not him, behind him. Jack turned round and saw the Kildashie group, all gathered together. They were standing, poised. Jack saw Boreus with his sceptre drawn, directing it up towards Olwen.

“No, Boreus!” commanded Tig.

But it was too late: a bolt flew up towards the woman on the hill. With a loud
crack!
the bolt hit her staff, and it exploded.

The next few minutes were pandemonium.

With a screech, Olwen flew down to the field, her staff smouldering. Tig ordered two Kildashie to disarm Boreus, and he was quickly held, but this wasn’t enough. An angry crowd gathered around the Kildashie, brandishing their sceptres. Hexes started to fly, and two Kildashie fell, screaming in pain. Atholmor’s pleas for restraint fell on deaf ears as hexes and bolts were fired and returned.

Olwen tried to barge her way through to where Tig was attempting to keep order, but Donar had cast a protective charm around him. People were shouting, there were screams of pain as hexes found their mark, and a deafening peal of thunder echoed around the hills.

And suddenly, silence.

Jack felt icy cold. Out of the corner of his eye, he had seen his grandfather wave his sceptre in an arc above his head. It was as if he had thrown a cover over an unruly caged bird; from a squawking, arguing chaos, out of the blue there was calm. It was freezing, but it
was
calm. Jack could see, he could hear, but he couldn’t move a muscle.

Grandpa Sandy lowered his sceptre slowly, making sure that his encasing hex was holding. He stepped forward and touched Olwen on the arm. She came to life, and with horror Jack watched her age in front of him. Her face began to wrinkle, her skin sagged and her lustrous brown hair showed flecks of grey. Alarmed, Grandpa Sandy removed his hand from her arm. Her ageing stopped abruptly, and she became immobile once more.

Grandpa Sandy pondered this for a few moments, then reached into his jacket pocket and withdrew a small stone. Placing this first in Olwen’s right hand, he touched her arm again; once more she came to life, and the ageing Jack had witnessed slowly reversed itself. Within a minute she had returned to her youthful state, but she was docile, and Jack saw his grandfather lead her away from the crowd. When they were about twenty yards away, Grandpa Sandy waved his arm over Olwen’s head and she simply disappeared.

Walking through the motionless crowd, Grandpa Sandy trailed his sceptre on the ground, creating a thin line of fire. Then, retreating and facing the whole crowd, he directed his sceptre in the air, firing a single bolt. The crowd parted: the Kildashie to one side of the line and everyone else to the other side. The separation complete, the sceptre was raised again. Jack watched his grandfather wave his arm expansively over his head and dissolve the encasing hex.

The arguments began afresh as the crowd found it could move and speak again, but without the violence that had gone before.

“There will be no hexing at this festival!” roared Atholmor, holding up his hand for silence. “You were invited to demonstrate that Seelie and Unseelie can live in peace! Men of Kildashie, you are summoned to appear before the Congress to answer for your actions.”

Tig approached the invisible wall.

“We
do
come in peace. But Boreus thought he was being attacked. The Blue Hag was going to fire at him.”

“You fool!” cried Atholmor. “She is no longer the Blue Hag – she is Olwen; her staff has no hex power. The snows have gone, and the
cailleach
’s powers of force with them.”

“Then Boreus will atone for what he has done.” Turning round to Boreus, Tig ordered, “You will stay in the house of Atholmor as his bonded servant for seven years!”

Boreus started to protest, but was silenced instantly by a blow to his temple from Donar.

“And what use is an unconscious servant to me?” enquired Atholmor sarcastically. “The Kildashie council will attend the Congress this evening at Cos-Howe. Now go, and prepare your defence well.”