CHAPTER FOUR

‘That bird back there in the meadow,' Jane said, breathing hard. 'That bird spoke.'

The path had narrowed and they were pushing past overhanging ferns and large-leaved grasses.Tom held his sides and breathed through a wide open mouth. Jane limped on her ankle.

Jane shook her head and said, 'I think the bird said the word ‘El’ followed by something else.’

‘Perhaps … with imagination,’ said Tom. 'It was hard to make out.'

‘Do you think there was any meaning in it?’

Tom didn’t answer for a moment, then he said, ‘The priest told me that my name was Elion here in the world of Paris.’

‘The bird must have said your name.’

‘Perhaps?’

‘If that bird recognised you as Elion, it could mean trouble.'

Tom shrugged. ‘Really ... what can a bird do?'

'I don't know, but this is a strange world.'

They walked in silence for a moment, listening to the woodland sounds. The chirps and clicks and bird shrieks comforted Jane in a strange way, as though the woodfolk made her safe.

The path twisted downwards, going up and down over monster tree roots. They passed a huge mushroom growing from the side of a massive tree trunk. The mushroom was as bulky as a telephone box, with a spongy pink underbelly. A butterfly as big as a hand and as blue as the vase where her foster mother kept her spare change, flitted between the trees and flowers.

‘Everything is so large?’ said Jane.

A pile of stones made a path up onto a fallen tree. Climbing the tree was like climbing a small hill. Tom stopped on top and put his hands on his belly and drew in deep breaths. The air had a rich, acrid, scent, almost like that of cinnamon. Tom scrutinised Jane, then spoke in a matter-of-fact tone:

'Why are you so obsessed with the Wyld Book of Secrets?'

'Why would you think I am obsessed with it?' Jane said between breaths.

'You are famous for your obsession. Even in the boys school we know about the girl who carried the book about monsters and myths everywhere she went. You used to tell everyone about the Wyld Book.'

Jane didn't say anything, but she wasn't happy that the boys were talking about her. So what if she carried a book that was important to her? She had had her reasons.

‘Do you think you will be able to use the book? Do you think it will give you power?’

Worry squirted into Jane’s stomach. After being so excited that the fantasy she had entertained for her entire life might actually be true, she now wondered if the reality of the book would be meaningless. What if she couldn’t even read the book?

‘I just want to find the book,’ said Jane. ‘I wouldn’t believe it when sister Agnus told me that I could find the book with your help. Of course I want to find the book.’

‘But why?’

Jane shrugged.

‘I know that you killed your father,’ said Tom.

Jane felt that moment of fear she always got when somebody recognised her for the BIG event of her life. Somehow the row of reporters and the black eyed cameras and the shouted questions was, in her memory, the worst part of that horrible day. Perhaps it was the fame that those loudly clacking cameras brought, the newspaper headlines, the longer articles conflating the act of violence perpetrated by an eleven year old to social trends and the political missteps of a conservative government still run by Churchill. Hearing mention of that one awful day brought, again, the flood of shame and trauma that filled her belly like vomit.

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‘I won’t talk about that.’

Tom kept staring at her. He said, ‘It’s your big secret.’

‘It’s something I am not going to talk about.’

Tom got his breath back and they set off again. Another pile of stones took them down the far side of the fallen tree. The path kept descending down stairs made of dark stone, descending into a canyon between two black cliffs.Tom bounded down the stone stairs with his school shoes clattering and his green blazer flying out like a cape.

From somewhere behind came the wild shriek. Even though the shriek was a long way off, it ran into Jane’s nerves like electricity.

At the base of the cliff there was a dark green pool, catching water from a waterfall. The pool ran into a creek that trickled off into the black canyon. Across the pool was a steep bank of dense shrubs and ferns and lichen, glistening with spray from the waterfall.

‘Look at the bees,’ said Jane.

Plump bees flying on glassy wings were burying their heads into giant orange flowers. The flowers were as fat as pumpkins and the bees came out with globules of ovarian pollen. Wings thrumming, the bees made heavy journeys from flower to flower.

'Those howls are a long way back ... I think we should rest a moment,' said Tom.

Tom sat on a moss covered stone and let his head droop. Jane squatted at the pool’s edge, beneath the waterfall, and cupped her hands to drink.

‘Elion,’ said Jane, trying the word in her mouth. ‘Elion.’

Tom leaned forward and swished his fingers in the water. Insects rose in a furry cloud. Then a rock dislodged and fell into the water, sending out a circle of ripples.

Jane said, ‘Did the priest say how far we had to travel to find this woodland King?'

Tom didn't answer. He thrust a hand in the air and spoke in a sharp but strained whisper.

‘Quiet.’

Across the creek branches crackled as something large trod through the shrubbery. A creature snorted. A leg showed amidst the ground ferns, the leg skinny and pink and hairless, with muscles wrapping around a bone like ivy strangling a tree branch. Jane took one careful step away from the pool and her foot crunched on leaves.

Tom stood, carefully, silently, quivering, on his skinny legs.

The bushes shifted and the creature’s leg disappeared. Then a pinkish ear with a sprout of pale bristles became visible beside a fern’s frond.

A voice came from the bushes, snuffling, phlegmy and garbled.

‘I nain not scaredy of noghost.’

A swift movement unsettled the ferns across the creek and a rock streaked toward the teenagers, the rock sizzling with momentum. The rock was poorly aimed, however, and it missed the two by several metres and hit a tree branch with such force that it knocked a branch from the tree. The branch fell but swung as it was still attached by bark.

A howl rose from behind the fern, and Jane immediately recognised it as being the same type of howl she had heard back in the meadow. Then the creature spoke again:

‘Elion’s ghost is ol nothing.’

Tom turned to Jane, and the sun ran through his red hair turning it into fire.

‘Raise your arms and shout the name Elion ’

Jane opened her mouth to tell Tom that she would not utter such stupidity, when something strange happened: instead of saying ‘The idea is madness’, she shouted, ‘Elion.’

Another animal scream came from behind the ferns, and through a gap in the greenery Jane caught a glimpse of a meat coloured torso with insect bite marks oozing with yellow fluid.

‘Elion commands you to leave,’ Jane shouted and she held her arms in the air.

From the shrubbery came an unintelligible mutter, and a grunt.

Jane clenched her fist and stepped toward the pond, as though she was going to walk into the water and keep on after the creature. Suddenly she was ridiculously angry and she yelled in a voice of rage.

‘Leave us alone, you piece of shite.’

With a large crash the creature ran away, up through the steep greenery. It continued to shriek with the bone chilling sounds that the teenagers had heard back in the meadow. Ferns and trees swayed and crashed. Jane caught glimpses of grey skin and black bristles.

‘What kind of creature?’ asked Jane.

'I don't know.'

'Did the priest tell you that the creatures would be afraid of the name of Elion?'

'No. I don't know if they are. I just had a hunch that that one would be.'

Tom put his hands on his hips and looked up to where the animal had disappeared. He turned to Jane. His ears were red and shining.

‘Let's keep going.’