Being a true shifter isn’t the blessing it may seem. But through pain and darkness Perdita seeks to find her own life despite the ambition of others…

Chapter Eight – Unicorn to Fairyland

Moth came back into her own head. Furious.
“Stupid fae won’t talk.”
“Why, dear one?”
“Some creature tells this is not fae business. They believe.”
I groaned. “Does this mean a visit to your Queen?”
Moth nodded. “Mandrake comes too?”
“He does. How do we get there?”
“We ride unicorn.” Moth explained.
“Unicorn?”
I think he thought I might shift my form. But, of course, that is impossible when you are flying into the land of the fae. Falling out of the sky is something to be avoided at all costs. I hastened to explain.
“It isn’t me in unicorn form. The land of the fae is too well protected for that. No. This is a sort of a taxi. Stick your fingers in your ears and shut your eyes.”
He did as I asked and I did the same. Even then, the sound of Moth summoning a unicorn made my bones vibrate and my teeth chatter. Fortunately it was a thing that was over almost as soon as it had begun.
“Why have I never heard that before? And please tell me I won’t have to hear it again.”
Moth bestowed her best sever look on our mate. “Is bonding thing. And you will hear worse.” She grinned at me. “You wait until beloved sings. Now. Furs.”
We shrugged ourselves into our furs and Mandrake had a quick conversation with Purslane. He was intuitive enough to understand the need for hurry without being told, and the three of us were outside in the grey cold when the sound of hoofbeats announced the arrival of our ride.
I don’t know what you may have been told about unicorns, but I’m about willing to bet it’s not the truth. Unicorns are not pink, nor snow white. Their horns are not pretty gilded adornments. And they certainly don’t like anything that isn’t a unicorn – or each other, much, now I come to think of it.
The creature who had come to transport us to the fae lands stood about twenty hands at the shoulder. He – for he was obviously a full stallion – was the colour of a storm cloud and his horn was a twisted, saw-edged weapon that had obviously seen a lot of use. He dropped to the ground showily, deliberately showering us with snow as he slithered to a halt. Mandrake growled and the unicorn took a closer look.
“A dragon. Since when did you own a dragon, Mothwing?”
“Mind business horse.”
The unicorn stamped a hoof and I decided to take a hand.
“Were you summoned here to collect Mothwing and her bonded mates?”
He nodded.
“Well know this then. Here we are.”
“The dragon is bonded?”
“He is.”
The unicorn made a brief obeisance and shook his head so that spume flew from his lips.
“I will carry you three then. In safety.”
“Thank you…” I stretched my mind for a second, “Alsviør.”
He preened that I should know his name, before making the knee so we could mount. When we were settled he turned his head.
“Where to Fairy Mothwing?”
“The seelie court.”
Riding a unicorn is about the most uncomfortable means of transportation you can think of as their flight is best described as a series of leaps and drops. It is vomit inducing, but we managed not to disgrace ourselves.
The landing in the courtyard of the seelie castle was considerably more decorous than at Lyon Hall and we were able to climb down easily.
“I shall await you.” Alsviør nodded his head twice and trotted off.
Moth hawked and spat and Mandrake offered her a tiny bottle from his pocket. “Water and herbs.”
She took a sip and her colour returned to normal. “Thank you, beloved dragon.”
A uniformed elf awaited us. He was a little quieter and more polite than his kind normally are. Mandrake spoke in my head.
‘Elves are generally respectful around dragons.’
‘Why?’
I felt his chuckle in my bones.
‘Elf is something of a delicacy.’
Moth joined the conversation. ‘Hate flesh eating. Could make exception for elves though.’
‘Little bastards.’
Moth climbed onto my shoulder and we followed our guide through the halls with their strangely slanting floors and odd curves. Mandrake snorted and I smiled up at him.
“Yeah. I know but we generally let her majesty have her little joke.”
“Mothwing are you holding,” he asked in his deepest most forbidding tones.
“Moth is fine, have eyes closed. Trusting beloved.”
He put his hand to where she sat on my shoulder and touched her face. The intimacy of the contact was both warming and slightly shocking.
“Behave you two.”
Moth sniggered and our elf guide turned narrow, vicious eyes our way.
“Such behaviour is frowned upon in the seelie court,” it snarled.
Mandrake snarled back and Moth speared him with a glare.
“Mind business, elf.” The dislike she put in that one word was quite enough to start something I didn’t want to have to finish in the domain of the Faerie Queen. I put an admonishing finger on her lips.
“Hush,” I murmured.
She subsided and that should have been that. But the elf was determined to have the last word.
“I can,” it said, “keep you and your ‘bond mates’ walking round in circles forever. I think you had better mend your attitude renegade fae.”
I sighed and snapped my fingers. The seemingly endless corridors disappeared and we stood outside the carved oak doors of the throne room.
“What? How?”
I speared him with a glance. “Mind business, elf.”
An elderly elf, who I recognised from previous visits, came barrelling down the corridor. It spared our guide a sideways glare before bowing so low it’s nose all but met its skinny knees.
“Great Lady. It’s glad I am to see you.”
I smiled at him.
“Is there a problem old one?”
“There is. And idiots like this one are making matters worse.”
The young elf snapped out an oath, and we could feel it beginning to construct a spell.
Mandrake reached out a long arm. He lifted the young one by his neck and squeezed gently.
“Put to sleep,” Moth demanded. “Is bad creature.”
Mandrake rapped the elf’s head against the stone of the wall and it grew limp in his grasp. Moth flew across and touched his face.
“Is pretending.”
Mandrake increased his pressure on the creature’s throat and sure enough its eyes flew open. The elderly elf put a hand on the young one’s head and it screamed faintly before sagging bonelessly in Mandrake’s grasp.
“Is sleep now.” Moth spoke dispassionately.
I turned to the old elf. “Are you permitted to tell me what is wrong?”
It bowed. “I am, Great Lady, but it might be better if you see for yourself.”
“Very well.”
It clapped its hands and two elves in the Queen’s livery threw open the doors of the throne room.

Jane Jago

The cat joined Garth for lunch every day, and he began to notice how thin she was and how dull her coat.

It came to him that she was feeding kittens and he felt a little worried that nobody would feed her on his day off.

He spoke to the master smith, who shrugged massively.

“We can always use cats in the smithy. Speak to Karina.”

Garth spoke to the smith’s comely daughter and between them they fed the little cat.  

By the time she brought them her kittens, Garth and Karina had thoughts of a brood of their own… 

Jane Jago

Some whimsical words on whimsical themes…

When the priest placed her hand in her new husband’s she knew that this marriage was no more to his liking than her own.

He took her arm gently, and led her from the place. They walked in silence to the top of the sunlit winter pasture. He bent and took off his shoes, before kneeling to do the same for her.

“Shall we run?”

She picked up her skirts, and as her feet crushed the soft grass she felt a jolt of something so piercing and sweet that her heart leapt.

“There is joy in small things,” he laughed. 

Jane Jago

An everyday tale of village life and vampires…

Dumbfounded.
Such a good word, Ginny decided. It was almost onomatopoeic as a descriptor for the way she was feeling.
“But, vampires aren’t real,” she protested at last when she saw from the expressions of the two women sitting at the table with her that they really weren’t joking. They genuinely believed what they were telling her. 
And there was the minor fact she was alive and uninjured after that terrible incident in the church with the vicar.
Memory of which suddenly pushed even the ludicrous idea that she was now a vampire out of her mind for a moment.
“The vicar,” she said, “was a giant rabbit.” 
Em just nodded as if it was the most natural thing in the world to have a giant rabbit as your local clergyman.
“Oh yes,” Agnes said. “A wererabbit as it turns out though I had a side bet with Lilian that he’d be a wererat. Would have suited him much better, in my opinion.”
Ginny gave a brittle laugh which she could hear had a distinct edge of hysteria to it. “Oh it all makes so much sense now. We women are vampires and the vicar was a wererabbit. Silly me.” She put her hand to her mouth to stifle a sudden sob.
Em reached over the table and squeezed her hand.
“It is a bit much to take on board all at once. Normally we’d have a careful selection and interview process for a new Sister, but it was something of an emergency in your case.” She wore a bright encouraging smile, as if willing Ginny to perk up. “I’m sure you’ll have a lot of questions. Agnes and I can answer some now, but you don’t need to tackle this all at once. You have plenty of time.”
Plenty of time.
Of course.
Vampires were immortal.
Weren’t they?
Ginny suddenly found a slew of questions overwhelming the mixed up emotions, all pushing forward to be answered first. It must have shown in her face, because Agnes stood up quickly.
“I’ll make coffee, you’d better take Ginny up to the Office.”
“Good idea.” Em got to her feet and Ginny followed her back upstairs, along the landing from the bedroom she had been in and into a bijou study with walls lined with bookshelves and just enough room for a desk facing the window, which commanded a view over the churchyard. Ginny was wondering where she should sit and taking in the range of Em’s literary tastes – Jane Austin sitting next to JK Rowling, and James Joyce jostled in beside EL James – when Em pulled a large, leather bound tome (could it really be a Bible?) slightly forwards, and one of the shelf units swung back to show a modern looking teak and steel spiral staircase going up.
“I always wanted one of those,” Ginny admitted as she stepped into the attic area which turned out to be a spacious and comfortable room.
“What? A spiral staircase? A pain to clean I can tell you.”
“No. A secret door in a bookcase.”
Em laughed.
“So did I. It’s why I had that one put in.”
Ginny took a seat and found herself staring at a large map of the village pinned to the wall. Each house had a small label stuck onto it with just two or three words. Things like ‘arrogant wanker’, ‘spiteful gossip’ and ‘mostly harmless’. She found herself looking for her own little cottage and just before Em blocked her view by sitting in front of it, she was almost sure she read ‘wet hen’.
“Ask away then,” Em said, leaning back in her chair.
Ginny decided to start with the obvious.
“This whole blood-drinking thing, do I…?”
“You can survive very well on regular food most of the time, but we need blood to support the extras of being a vampire – heightened perceptions, healing, that kind of thing. And go too long without and you will become quite ill.”
“So I have to…to…bite people?” Ginny struggled to even think it let alone say it.
Em waved a dismissive hand and smiled.
“Oh goodness me, no. We don’t live in the Middle Ages any more. We get deliveries from the local blood bank. So even your vegetarian ethics shouldn’t be too offended as those were donations made freely by people who wanted to help others.”
“I’m sure that wasn’t quite what they had in mind when they went to give blood.”
“Probably not. But they all wanted to save lives and they are helping to do that. Besides which, we purchase what we get so we’re not stealing from the system.”
It was a rather loose ethical take on the situation, but Ginny decided it was a lot better than the alternative.
“So with the blood drinking, am I – er – are we immortal?”
Em considered for a moment before she replied.
“That depends what you mean by ‘immortal’. We can be killed by most things that would kill a regular human, like accidental beheading, being run over by a combine harvester or whatever, but we are immune to human illness, we heal much faster and we don’t age. Oh and we are fine in sunlight as long as it’s not for too long or too intense.”
“As long as we have enough blood?”
Em smiled warmly
“You’re getting it.”

Part 19 of Much Dithering in Little Botheringham by Jane Jago and Eleanor Swift-Hook, will be here next week..

Because life happens…

Exploring the mysteries of life through the versatile medium of limerick poetry.

Fruit

For life is a basket of fruit
Sometimes bitter, or sharp – or a hoot
Be it all ripe and sweet
Or too sour to eat
You get all different sorts as your loot.

Eleanor Swift-Hook

Alas, all good things must come to an end and summer’s siren song that lured me to Hellenic shores is silenced. So I shall leave you with these final poetic thoughts as I return to colder climes and inevitable autumn…

Biker Biker

Biker, biker roaring past
In the street, night before last
What the hell possess-ed thee
To wake me up at half-past three?

On what distant motorway
Did you begin your ride that day?
On what tarmac didst you roll
From whence came you my sleep to troll?

And what hard shoulder fast depart
Could twist your manifold apart?
So that the popping of the sound
Could so reverberate around?

What did hammer your bike chain
To make it thunder in the rain?
What did make you choose my road
To burden with your heavy load?

When the stars – or sparks more like,
Flew from the tailpipe of your bike,
Did you wonder what fell fate
Left you back-firing by my gate?

Biker, biker roaring past
In the street, night before last
What the hell possess-ed thee
To blast me up at half-past three?

Heavenly Host

I wondered, lonely and so proud
My thoughts so high, oe’r window sills
When all at once I was endowed
With views through neighbour’s curtain frills.

I glimpsed the barest hint of skin
As through my bedroom blinds I’d peek.
To speculate who was within
The electoral roll didst seek.

I glimpsed again and flesh did see
That lofted oe’r sleek curves and tan
But then Mama did answer me:
“Moons? That new neighbour? It’s a man.”

So yet I peer the blinds between
And linger on the vision there
The secret seer, sight unseen
So it’s a man? I could not care!

Moonbeam Farquhar Metheringham IV

There once was a plumber who was so crappy
And the name of the plumber was Mister Happy
He sent round a man for a hundred pound
Who didn’t know his arse from a hole in the ground

Soon may the plumber come
Sits in his van with his finger up his bum
Whatever you ask him to do
He will mess it up for you

He started a job then he went away
And the water ran down the walls all day
And when he returned he looked in your eye
And said your problem was not I

Soon may the plumber come
Sits in his van with his finger up his bum
Whatever you ask him to do
He will mess it up for you

He’s never on time and he’s never at home
And nobody ever answers the phone
The only thing that is not late
Is the bloody bill that’s right on date

Soon may the plumber come
Sits in his van with his finger up his bum
Whatever you ask him to do
He will mess it up for you

Jane Jago

Being a true shifter isn’t the blessing it may seem. But through pain and darkness Perdita seeks to find her own life despite the ambition of others…

Moth wilted like a flower in autumn, but before either Mandrake or I could get to her, the grizzled fighter lifted his hand and gently touched her hair.
“Will you draw strength from one whose gratitude knows no bounds?”
She leaned into him and I felt her grow stronger with every breath.
Outside, the lioness had finished her trawl through the memories of her mate. As far as I could see she was about as pissed off as it’s possible to be without killing someone – and I wouldn’t have bet on all the players in the drama getting away with whole skins.
Mandrake must have thought the same, because he grinned a vicious grin. “Right now, I’m very glad I’m not a lion.”
Lady Lyon stepped forward and stood at the edge of the top step.
“I am embarrassed and I am angry. I will do what I can to make reparation.”
To my internal amusement, Purslane elected herself spokesdragon.
“Perhaps we might awaken sleeping beauty there and ask it some searching questions.”
“Indeed we might. I will have our gaoler bring silver manacles and secure it before it is awoken.”
“Sounds like a plan to me,” Mandrake muttered and I understood by his tone that he was rather pleased by Purslane’s boldness. He kissed my face and spoke proudly in my head. ‘I trained her, and what a fine dragon she has become.’
A half-were with a vaguely leonine face and rather a lot of bodily hair appeared carrying a set of wrist and ankle chains. He wore heavy leather gloves but even then he only breathed easily when he had chained the female and was able to step away. I felt the poor creature’s pain, but knew it was not mine to heal.
Purslane winced. “We dragons forget how painful silver is to most lycanthropes. I have often wondered why we are not so affected.”
Moth looked soberly at her. “Must never touch silver in dragon form. Never.”
“A dragon touched by silver when flying is likely to fall from the sky,” Mandrake explained. “We pay for being able to deal with silver in human form by being the most vulnerable of all when we ride our beasts.”
I recognised the lurch in my stomach as fear for my beloved, and I rode the pain.
Purslane swallowed audibly. “I am not sure I needed to know that.”
Moth flew to her shoulder. “Did need to know. Friend of Mothwing must take care. Now wake up creature.”
Lady Lyon pulled the dart from beauty’s neck and Purslane’s second dart landed alongside the first wound.
“Antidote should work quite quickly.”
It was only a couple of minutes until the creature stirred. Lady Lyon rolled it onto its side and we watched as the face it wore sort of melted, leaving something that hovered somewhere on the not human spectrum, but I wasn’t sure where.
Moth hissed. “Is face-borrower. Bad creature. Can copy humans. Is stupid but has much malice. Will be servant of something powerful. Creature mustn’t see Mothwing.”
She contracted herself until she could fit into Mandrake’s pocket and disappeared.
Meanwhile the counterfeit lioness writhed and wriggled in its bonds. It snapped, snarled and swore foully, vowing vengeance on all about it. Wulfric put up with its behaviour for about two minutes before striding over and wrapping a hard hand about the now less lovely neck. He squeezed and it became still and quiet.
“You see how it is,” he snarled. “This can be hard or easy. I doesn’t matter to me which you choose. What say you?”
He loosened his grip slightly.
“Easy,” it muttered grudgingly.
“I didn’t hear you.”
His hand must have tightened slightly, because the creature spoke louder and with an edge of panic to its voice.
“I said easy. I choose easy.”
Wulfric took his hand away.
“Right then. Talk.”
“Will answers buy my life?”
Lady Lyon snarled. “No. But truth may buy you an easy death.”
The creature seemed to sink into itself. “What would you have me say?”
“Shall we start with who sent you here?”
“My master is…”
The air around the creature shimmered and grew opaque. The smell that emanated from the fog was nauseatingly rotten. While I retched and tried to hold my breath, the face-borrower fought desperately to get away, but to no avail. It screamed once, high and agonised before the life left its body. A sardonic laugh cut the air, and I was chilled to my bones by the feeling of unalloyed malice, before whatever it was that had done the killing was gone as quickly as it had arrived.
I was beyond angry at casual killing and the manipulation of living creatures without a touch of conscience or empathy, but I had more pressing matters to deal with; my dragon companions were about to lose control.
Mandrake was right on the edge of assuming dragon form, as were all the wing. I felt powerless against their need to hunt the killing thing, but Moth was strong. She struggled out of her hiding place and flew to my shoulder.
“Dragons hold,” she cried in a voice that seemed too large to come from her body. “Be still and await the orders of your Wing Leader.”
I could feel her urging me to go to Mandrake and grasp his hands. I held on as strongly as I was able and poured my love into him through our joined hands. For a few seconds his palms felt scaly and his fingers spasmed as if they were growing claws, but he pulled back from the chasm.
“Dragons stand down,” he ordered and the power in his voice rocked me to my toes.
As the atmosphere around us eased he leaned down and kissed Moth’s curls.
“Thank you,” he said
Moth preened herself. “I did brave.”
“You did indeed. You pulled us back from making a horrible mistake.”
“It was a hard. But now I will ask my sisters if any have smelled that sending.”
I hate it when Moth talks to her fae sisters as it makes my head ache and my stomach churn. Mandrake took me in his arms and I suffered through a mercifully short communication.

Jane Jago

Writing inspired by the art of Ian Bristow

They said she was too young. Too inexperienced. That she was an untried Wiccan who would never succeed in such an endeavour. But they underestimated her determination to carry on her beloved grandmother’s work. 

A single tear ran down her face as she picked up grandmother’s wand and stroked it lovingly. She closed her eyes and drew the necessary serenity about her.

Lifting the wand to her face she opened her eyes and blew gently.

The air about her filled with the delicate beauty of hope, joy, laughter and happiness. The bubbles flew gently away, bearing dreams for sleeping children.

Jane Jago

Ian is an awesome artist and cover designer, you can find his work at Bristow Design.

Some whimsical words on whimsical themes…

In a space station on Gallifrey
They contacted humans today 
They heard what we said
And looked into our heads
And decided to just walk away

Jane Jago