The forest glen was at peace (relatively) as the rooks found their nests in the late evening. A small cottage in a clearing presented itself as you walk through the trees into a well tended herb garden with some pumpkins along the side, Tegan often sang to the herbs to help them grow. A well tempered goat called Winnie is tethered near the cottage, she is kept out of the way as her presence can still traumatise one of the guests who remains upset from an assault from three Billy Goats. Winnie is not bad tempered, with some fresh grass and water she gives milk and Tegan takes care of her, turning her milk into a delicious cheese that she will occasionally sell in the village market along with the honey from the bees who shared a space in her hive near the forest edge.
Her home is safe, even safer now that a grumpy troll named Ferdinand has taken up temporary residence. This tale finds him happily down at the waters edge where he is busy building a bridge for himself. He has set to this task with enthusiasm and he has also planted some carrots and pak choi along the rivers edge. His activity partly amuses her and his presence is strangely pleasing, he keeps unwanted strangers and stray animals far away from her property, moves heavy rocks and fallen trees with ease and (rather to her disgust) eats the garden slugs as a tasty snack.
She was no expert on trolls, but after the trauma of the assault on his previous home she noted how he thrived on the predictability of life, his love of fishing helped him repair and he would pay for his accommodation under her old oak tree with daily fish that now formed a part of her diet. Sooty, her black cat, also appreciated the fish and watched the troll with interest. He would join his mistress and this new visitor as they sat and shared stories of the ancient time and grilled the fish.
As for the bridge building, Tegan was fine with that too, he needed a bridge as opposed to the temporary abode beneath the tree and it would help her on her monthly trip to the village. He was also constructing an unusually complex goat traps at the far end of the bridge. It comprised a scarecrow who was stuffed with wolf hair he had collected from the forest, the scarecrow would move with the wind and was holding pots that rattled together. He had also constructed a sticky floor approach with messy pine tree sap on the approach to his new bridge that made loud popping noises as you approached. The final touch was a sign propped up saying “Toll: fresh news from the world – Absolutely no hooves allowed.”
Sooty needed fed (again) so she moved inside with him. Her little cottage had three rooms, untidy in many respects with herbs and potions, clothes, tarot cards and knick-naks everywhere, but she knew where everything was. Many may feel uncomfortable if they came in, the presence of another traumatised refugee Mr.Incy Wincey (who had made a large silken web by the door) was usually enough to make them run.
Then there was a knock on her door.
*
To understand this knock is to go back five years. At that time Tegan lived in the village making a small living through fortune telling and herbalism. A young girl alone after her mother, Belladonna, had run off with a local water diviner who had tempted her with his ownership of a fine shire horse.
Then there was ‘love.’ A local boy courted her, but as the daughter of Belladonna her reputation in a village of gossips and taxi drivers was low. Too many rumours of cats, familiars and tarot. So for a girl not versed in the ways of men she fell for the words of honey, the good looks of the farmers lad and the gift of eggs and wildflowers.
She should have been warned when she checked the cards and drew the moon and the seven of swords, but her heart lied to her and she fell for his words. She fell pregnant and his family would not allow such a scandalous match, he abandoned her.
The village diarist spread the lies, whore, witch – Anne Boleyn…you know the words. Soon she felt the hate turn on her and she fled for the woods determined to keep her child away from the poison and the hate. But it was winter and a sad song is always best for winter. The night was cold, she struggled for warmth and food (she collected what she could and was scared that she had ingested rue) and when she slipped and fell she miscarried a child, a boy who could have lived. This was the trauma she carried. Sometimes she would see him in her mind, imagine talking to him to say sorry, imagined him living with her and collecting the herbs. Sometimes she would banish the memories with Chamomile and balms. Her contact with the village disappeared, she found a small cottage in a clearing near a river that was both abandoned and had possibilities. A longer walk would take her to another hamlet who didn’t know her and bought her wares. Her monthly trip would take her over Ferdinand’s bridge and she would always happily pay his toll, she liked quiet and private beings. And that was Tegan.
*
And then the knock came to her door.
She opened it and stopped for a moment in shock,
“Mother!”
There indeed was her mother, older and more wrinkly, more witchy in actuality and there she was with this little toad face of a man who hadn’t aged at all. They both made their way inside without a by or leave, without a hug or smile. Her mother deposited herself on the worn sofa and looked up at her daughter.
“I see the cottage found you.”
“Actually I found it mother dear, after you abandoned me.”
“Oh abandoned, such melodramas,you were 16 and by the time I was 14 I had left home, travelled to the next valley and bought a cow. Honestly, your generation…Cyril has discovered water on this land by the way, and the cottage always finds who it is meant to. Been in the family for hundreds of years.”
“Cyril?”
Her mother indicated the little man she had deserted her for.
“Oh, this is Cyril. Well…there is a river running next to us, so finding water is not a major revelation, can I get you something?”
And they sat and had an uncomfortable tea and home made cookies while making strained small talk.
“Are you aware you have an especially ill featured troll at the bottom of the cottage herb garden? He appears busy in constructing an ineffectual scarecrow.”
Tegan rolled her eyes,
“I could scarcely be unaware, and he’s my guest. He pays me fish and is remarkably good at seasoning his food….mother, why are you here?”
There was a long pause, the sort of pause you could park a cow in along with an assortment of other farmyard animals. It had been a long seven years since her mother had walked out with barely a note and seeing her now brought back any number of memories.
“There has been an incident…” Cyril muttered.
“Incident?”
“Yes” her mother replied. “Thing is I blew up the house, sky high, quite spectacular. It was due to an experiment I was doing and…you know how it is. But that is all in the past now and what matters to me is that Cyril and I need a home, and…to be blunt… this cottage is actually mine. It found you that’s true, but…and I do hate legal technicalities, legally it is mine as eldest in the family.”
Tegan’s hair turned blue, a character trait that occurred during anxiety and stress.
“I think you will find, mother dear that possession is nine tenths of the law. You can stay for three nights.”
Belladonna spilt her drink in anger.
“Three nights?”
“Yes.”
“That’s hardly enough time to rebuild a house.”
“Then I suggest you get started.”
*
Tegan had gone to bed and left her mother and Cyril on the sofa. Honestly, the sheer front of some people. It turned out that Cyril snored, but eventually the cottage fell to sleep.
In the morning Tegan, not in the best of moods walked into her living room/kitchen to find her mother feeding Sooty, who looked extremely happy.
“Traitor” she muttered at him,
Sooty: purrs.
Belladonna: “Cats always like me.”
Tegan: “They don’t.”
Sooty: purrs louder.
“I presume” Tegan said (ignoring Sooty), that you will be both going to try and repair the house today, I could possibly try and persuade Ferdinand to help with the heavy lifting?”
“Darling, you may have some appreciation for the troll. He clearly has some merit from a security point of view, but by nature they are dim witted beasts best suited to caves. As you are being so lacking in understanding or natural affection for your one remaining parent, I will go and work on the house. Cyril will come…and go.”
*
That was the running theme of the next day or so, they came and went. Tegan began to notice how her mother was forever fussing over Cyril, forever fretting that he was not eating enough, eating too much. That he was exerting himself with the house repair, how awful she had been given a daughter so lacking natural love. Cyril would nod and mutter, he had a thing about spiders and considered Mr Incy Wincey “an abomination of the first order” – and was Tegan aware that there was a source of water in her very kitchen (Tegan has installed a tap very early on in her time at the cottage).
All these things were as they were, but then she began to notice how things were going missing.
It was hard to spot, but first she lost her model duck that floated on the bath. Next it was the cushion for her sofa with the design of the chrysanthemum, her loofah, the little home made bar of soap that sat next to the sink….
Her mother, who looked especially grumpy that evening waved her hand in dismissal of the question,
“You’re working us to the bone, three days to get a repair completed. Is there no familial love, no sense of duty for your poor dear mother?”
Tegan sighed and wondered about her herbs, were they missing her?
“Mother its a bit late for that, perhaps you needed to think of familial love when you literally walked out, and I was only 15, you missed by 16th birthday. Look, I have nothing against you as such, but let’s face it you were a rotten mother.”
“And was Sooty’s mother rotten?” her mother bit back.
“Sooty’s mother? How would I know? He wandered in one day and has never left. And on the question of Sooty please don’t over feed him or he becomes fat.”
Sooty meowed.
“Poor dear. But his mother made him independent. I made you independent, parents who expect their children to be there all the time never allow them to find life. And look…thanks to your unreasonable position I need a wash and sleep. Then we will be gone maybe by tomorrow night….evicted out of my own cottage…” Her parting shot as she left for the bathroom.
It was dusk, the night was pulling in and Tegan needed fresh air. She stepped out of the door smiling at Mr Incy Wincey as she left. To her herb garden and…oh my…there was her loofah half buried in the middle of her herb garden with her little parsley plant completely uprooted.
Sacrilage!
This really would not do…she needed a plan.
*
It was as the morning moved toward mid-day on day two of her mothers visit that Tegan made her move. After her mother, and supposedly Cyril, had left for their house repair she went to look through their bags. She needed to know who she had in her home. Was Cyril just a water diviner with an unhealthy obsession for other peoples soap, or was he a malignant presence in her home. “Judge not lest ye too…”she thought as she went through his bag, and finding a diary she settled down to read.
Hmm…it was revealing, and not in a good way. The diary was full of an obsession pulled from long ago when he met a leprechaun who told him his pots of gold were buried at the end of the rainbow that had appeared in the garden of Belladonna’s family cottage – he was able to borrow a large amount of money from Cyril on the strength of telling him exactly where, and then disappeared….Tegan frowned, the account was surely nonsense, a rainbow exists entirely in the sky and air. Cyril was looking down for something that only exists because of what is up.
She had never really thought about him before, but his unclothed body that she saw coming out from her bathroom yesterday was covered in bizarre, tattooed maps. Clearly, instead of mapping underground aquifers, he has spent years mapping local weather patterns, humidity percentages, and angles of the sun. He is trying to mathematically calculate the “Static Point”—the one place in the valley where a rainbow might hit twice, proving the gold is anchored there. – this is anchored by the loofah in the middle of Tegan’s herb garden. So now she knew.
*
It was late afternoon, with the day awaiting evening. The crows gathered in the upper trees and Tegan had been sitting in what used to be Ferdinand’s temporary home under the great oak tree. She was waiting, watching. In the distance she saw Ferdinand happily completing his goat trap, the last touches to his bridge. He was happy at least. The she saw Cyril, and he was carrying her rubber duck.
He also had a shovel.
She watched in suspended shock as he approached her little bed of horseradish (you have to keep that plant contained or it takes over). He took his shovel, pulled some up and appeared to plant her duck.
“That’s enough…” she heard her voice from somewhere as she strode forward.
“I’ve had it, I want you both gone now. Go, depart, leave.”
“Darling,” her mother’s voice came from behind her as Cyril stammered in shock, “calm down and come inside. Allow Cyril to do his digging and we will be gone. And (she pointed to a bottle in her hand) play nicely or Mr Incy Wincey gets it.”
“Mexican stand off” muttered Cyril as he pulled up another plant, using the soap to draw a line between loofah and duck.
“This is insane,” Tegan bunched her fists, “there is no pot of gold, you’re being ridiculous. And if you touch Mr Incy Wincey mother you will have me to reckon with.”
“Hmm” her mother smiled. “Back off, it won’t take long.”
But then something happened that added to the standoff, as Cyril stepped back to look at the lines he found a very large hand come from behind a tree and suddenly he was seven feet off the floor and dangling from the hands of a large troll.
“WTF?” He turned bright red and was flailing, legs kicking.
Ferdinand said very little, yet enough.
“Put Mr Incey Wincey down and leave, or else.”
Belladonna smiled,
“You know how to play. My my. Very well dear daughter we will go, but, what is the expression…we will be back.
And they were gone in a snap of witchy fingers.
Tegan leapt for the falling jar and caught it before it smashed. Sooty decided to come and investigate and Ferdinand gloomily made his way back to the bridge, he never liked getting too near to Winnie.
*
“Thank You Ferdinand”
Tegan had wandered down to the bridge the following day and was pleased to see it was finished.
He nodded and offered a fish from his basket.
“Why thank you Sir” she smiled.They will be back and we will need more than a goat trap next time methinks.”
“He won’t find it.”
“But he will, he thinks it’s in the garden and he won’t give up.”
“Not actually true on one count.”
Ferdinand’s eyes had a little glint. He nodded his head toward the little steps down to the waters edge, and my oh my…
A little dirty and disheveled, but unmistakably the possession of a stash-keeping leprechaun.
“Ferdinand?”
“Ah yes…that lepricorn was a stingy one and he never paid the gnome that was guarding it. I paid him off for the information yesterday. Don’t make a fuss.”
Tegan raised an eyebrow, let her mother come back now!
By Mark C. Chambers
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