Chapter 13
Avice
Unsure exactly how long she had been waiting in Trewoofe’s garden, Avice eventually settled down to rest amongst the blossoming moss.
As she laid back, a puff of yellow pollen enveloped her, itching her nose.
She groaned. Everything ached. Even her bones hurt.
She pressed her head back against a quartz boulder and closed her throbbing eyes.
I cannot keep doing this all alone; I need an apprentice.
Avice knew that an extra pair of hands – after some lessons – would ease her workload exponentially. Most worries of the villagers were solved with some basic knowledge and care. She furrowed her brow and squeezed her eyes more tightly.
I need a Faerie-speaker, someone with sight so they can use bargains from the Good Neighbours. I need to ask John about taking on Nell again.
She let out another yawn and felt the gentle thud of Bramble’s head in her lap. Avice’s hand found the Grim’s head, and she gave him a swirling rub with her palm.
You are working too hard, Bramble observed.
Avice grunted and cracked an eye open to give him a reproachful glare. She bit her tongue as she saw he stared up at her with a soulful look. She closed it again and let out a huff as she settled back against the boulder.
“That is true,” she admitted begrudgingly. “I am so grateful for Trewoofe. If he had not carried me, I do not think things would have turned out so well.”
Butterflies fluttered in her belly at the thought of her thighs and centre flush against his smooth hide.
Then, when he had laughed. The rumbling sensation had sent a skitter of desire up her spine and made her toes curl in her boots.
It had rolled deliciously against what her mother had told her was a woman’s pearl.
Avice knew that was where pleasure could be found – if the husband was willing to give it.
She squeezed her thighs together at the memory.
Bramble grunted with annoyance at the movement.
He fancies you. I can tell, he said.
“He does not…” Avice trailed off. Or does he?
Trewoofe had always been kind and obliging. Though, she sensed something had shifted in him since they had saved Hope together. He was there: steady, sure, offering to carry her around like he was a pet pony rather than a fearsome Knucker.
How would I feel? she mused, feeling drowsy. If he did fancy me that way?
Surprisingly, she found she did not mind.
She awoke to Trewoofe’s snout in her face. “Avice, it is time for me to take you home.”
She knew that the sight should send a quake of fear through her, that the proximity of such a large Knucker should be alarming. Warmth bloomed in her chest at his presence. She yawned, sat forward, and stretched. She rolled her neck to rid herself of the stiffness from using a stone as a pillow.
Avice smiled sleepily up at the Knucker. “How did it go?”
“The Wulver have agreed to take Boarden.”
She furrowed her brow. “Wulver? Not the Piskies?”
Bramble shifted his head from her lap, with a huff, so she could stand. The Knucker lowered his head. Avice clambered onto Trewoofe, and he began their journey. He explained what had happened in the Underneath as he climbed down his hill and entered the surrounding woods.
“Both recognised some sort of magic on the offspring, but neither knew what Faerie it could be from,” he concluded.
Avice clutched Trewoofe’s horn with one hand as his head gently swayed. He kept a slower pace than before as he delivered her home. Her other hand lay on the crystal pendant around her neck. She ran her gloved fingers over the smooth surface as she contemplated.
“I feel as though I can hear your thoughts flying,” Trewoofe commented.
“Hmmm…”
“Hmmm…?”
“Spring is late.”
“Yes.”
Extremely late, Bramble chipped in, trotting at the Knucker’s side.
“And two babies born in unusual circumstances in such a short space of time with some sort of Faerie mark,” Avice added. “Could they be related?”
“Spring is a part of Nature’s blessing, the cycle that always comes. For her to be so late… it could mean a powerful group of the Folk is holding her back.”
“Folk? Like wild Faeries?”
“Before the Cross God came, before humans came, we were all Folk. We only became Good Neighbours when we lived in close enough proximity to people. We became more domesticated, softer around the edges, and easier to live next to.”
Avice bit her tongue. In her experience, the Good Neighbours were not soft or domesticated, even her garden Faeries could pose her threat.
Just look at the Pillywiggins! And well… him.
Avice leaned around Trewoofe’s horn, sneaking a look at his head. A well-muscled jaw powered his fang-filled mouth. She glanced down as a huge leg strode forward. His massive paw was tipped with serrated talons.
In appearance, there is nothing soft about him. But he is gentle with me. Is that because he has lived close to humans for so long? Or because he sees something special about me? Avice glanced down to her pendant and softly smiled. I think that is my answer.
“We are here,” Trewoofe announced crossing through the stone circle boundary into her garden.
He lowered his head to the ground, and Avice slipped down his neck.
She did not stumble this time. Trewoofe had his tail ready, prepared to steady her if needed.
Her heart fluttered at the gesture. Avice opened her mouth to speak, but a loud grumble from her stomach had her slapping her hand over it instead.
Bramble nosed at her belly. When did you last eat?
“I cannot remember,” Avice admitted. She smiled up at Trewoofe. “I am going to eat… something.”
Trewoofe tilted his head. “Something?”
Avice shrugged. The impact of this lingering Winter meant that her food stocks were dwindling.
She shivered at the thought of going down into her root cellar.
She hated stocking it and retrieving from it, but necessity overtook her fear.
Beneath the cool ground, her jars of preserved food kept unspoiled for much longer than they would in her warm cottage.
Keeping her food stocks there was the only way she could ensure she could keep herself fed through Winter.
Avice led the way through her garden. Mostly still frozen, except for where Trewoofe had lingered.
The spots where he had wandered were flushed green and punctuated with large, ornate blooms. Each flower wafted a delicious fragrance on the frigid air, leaving a sweet flavour at the back of her throat.
Their colours were vivid against the barren surrounds, reminding Avice of a startling rainbow against storm clouds.
Winter remained.
Only the presence of the Knucker’s magic seemed to force its retreat.
They are connected, the marked children and long Winter. I am sure of it.
Avice could see patterns others could not. It was how she could tell a hemlock root from wild parsnip. They were indistinguishable unless you looked at in a certain light, or you had the sight.
Her stomach growled again, pulling her from her ruminations.
She pressed a hand there, willing it to shush.
Avice heard Trewoofe’s throaty chuckle behind her as they made their way up the garden path.
Her cheeks flushed in response. The trio stopped at the front of her cottage.
Apprehension clawed at her throat at the thought of climbing down.
She turned to Trewoofe. “Would you like to join me for something to eat?”
The way his jaw was shaped did not allow him to grin, but his eyes lit up at the question.
“I would love to,” he replied.
She managed a small smile and resolute nod, before turning her attention to her familiar. “Will you help me, Bramble?”
The Grim wagged his tail. Always.
Avice rounded to the back of her cottage. She eyed the wooden hatch, protecting the space beneath from the worst of the elements. Squatting, she wrapped her gloved hands around the frigid handle.
She yanked. The door did not budge. The wood had frozen solid against its frame. Avice tugged and pulled again. Her biceps burnt and strained with the effort, sweat even peppered her upper lip.
Bramble whimpered. Stop, you will hurt yourself, let me—
“Allow me,” Trewoofe interrupted.
Avice stepped back. The Knucker whipped out a talon and slotted the tip of it beneath the bronze handle. With a quick flourish, he yanked it open, revealing the black hole beneath.
“Thank you, Lord,” Avice mumbled, unable to tear her eyes from the cellar.
Bramble jumped down into the pitch and appeared at the bottom in a blink. His red eyes stared back up at her through the darkness.
I am here, Avice, climb down, he encouraged.
She swallowed the lump at the back of her throat, squashing down the anxiety clawing at her chest. Trewoofe lowered his head so he could meet her eye, his expression curious.
Avice clenched her jaw. If you want to eat, you need to do this.
She gave the Knucker a false smile before beginning the descent down the ladder embedded into the rammed earth wall. As each boot stepped to the next rung, the roaring in her ears grew louder.
The black swallowed her whole.
She fumbled around in the last fragments of light that penetrated the dark. Pulling out the tinderbox she kept in her satchel, she felt around the closest shelf for the candle she kept there. After several more moments of hearing only her thudding heart, she finally lit it.
Bramble’s eyes were no longer the only thing illuminating the space. She titled her head up the ladder. Trewoofe poked his snout into the entrance.
“Are you alright, little witch?”
Avice placed her hand on her pendant. “I am fine,” she reassured the Knucker. “I will not be long.”
“If you say so…”
She smiled at the concerned note in his voice. She took a deep breath and eyed Bramble in the gloom. The space was small. Stuffed full of wooden shelves stacked with jars. Each held a different type of preserved or pickled vegetable, mushroom, or herb.
Her hands began to shake. This is your space, Avice. Not his. This is not the tavern. He is not here. She shook her head, trying to rid herself of the memory of a glinting knife, grabbing hands, and meaty fists. God’s blood, pull yourself together. Get some food and climb out.
Bramble let out a yip, pulling her back into the present. She held up her candle and squinted through the gloom, spotting a charcoal etching of a vegetable on one of the jars.
Cabbage.
Avice eyed the one next to it.
Onion.
She recalled she had pickled both with carraway and mustard seed. Her stomach growled at the idea of adding it to some rye bread she baked over Ashling the day before.
Butter with it would be nice, but this will do. Her mouth watered at the thought of milk, butter and cheese. No Spring, no calves, no dairy.
Avice gathered the jars into the crook of her arm and turned back towards the light. Bramble had moved through the shadows again, and he stood at the base of the ladder. She juggled the jars and candle; her awkward movements snuffed out the light.
Darkness enveloped her.
She froze.
Avice! Bramble barked.
She felt her familiar’s presence next to her. He whimpered and licked her gloved hand. Normally, that was enough to snap her out of it. She trembled, the rattling of the jars she held rumbling like thunder in her head.
In her periphery, Avice caught the tip of Trewoofe’s snout peek into the root cellar, the only part of him that would fit.
“Little witch, please come out now,” he called to her, his voice gentle, yet firm.
Her scars screamed. All she could feel was the knife, the hands, him on top of her.
Avice, come back to us, Bramble begged, nosing at her hip.
“Avice, follow my voice. Over here, please.”
Blinking, she processed the obvious distress in their voices. They are worried about me. I should not let them be concerned because of me; it is not fair on them.
“Little witch?”
Shivering and abandoning the dead candle, she turned to face the exit. She let out a coarse chuckle at the sight of Trewoofe’s nose twitching.
“I am coming,” Avice whispered.
“Good, well done. I know you can do this. Whatever happened in the past… it is not the now. Your familiar and I are here for you, I promise.”
Yes! Bramble agreed, following her jerking steps.
Avice blinked up, unsure how she managed to get to the bottom of the ladder. Trewoofe’s sweet breath wafted in her nose and helped ground her.
She looked up with a small smile. “Lord?”
“Yes. What is it? Do you need something?”
“I cannot climb out when you are in the way,” she chuckled.
“Oh! Yes, of course.”
Trewoofe shifted from the entrance, and Avice was met with the clouded afternoon Sunshine. She squinted at the light, turning her face from it as she climbed up.