The Magical Realm of Shadows Part 1 Chapter 11

Three into One

“Are you sure you know where you’re going, Gerri? I mean, you’re not just wandering around for the sake of it, are you? I know you like long walks but this is getting ridiculous.”

Gerri answered with a bark of encouragement.

Brigit sighed and carried on following her through the twilight.

“But I can’t stop worrying about… all right, Lily’s probably with that… Loki, but what if Diana and Billy are wandering around like this – alone. Oh, what am I doing talking to a dumb dog?”

Gerri stopped and whimpered, giving Brigit a hurt, hangdog look.

“I’m sorry, Gerri. I’m hungry and I’ve got a stomach ache.”

They carried on walking. The meadow was full of white puffball mushrooms and some of them were just as tall as Brigit. Occasionally, one of them would squirt out a cloud of bright jade-green spores, which glowed as they drifted on the breeze. Newly emerged, young mushroom balls, the size of footballs, were everywhere amongst the flowers. Brigit constantly had to avoid standing on them. Then there were the bats chasing giant damson flies at low-level, constantly threatening to crash into her head. She found it unnerving at first, but soon got used to it and stopped ducking.

“Gerri, does no one live here except Loki and that wicked queen?”

Brigit looked at the ground as she walked, watching the carpet of wild flowers change colours, all at once switching between indigo blue, white, purple, and then white again. She was so fascinated with the display that she failed to notice they had left the puffball patch behind, until she bumped into Gerri.

In the open glade ahead, a ring of giant faery mushrooms stood in a perfect circle, like a mushroom henge, some twenty metres across. At the centre of the ring sat three small figures huddling around a fire.

Gerri set off again, leading Brigit towards the towering mushrooms. As they got closer, Brigit could make out that the figures were clothed in brown hooded robes. She stepped into the firelight and they turned to look at her. Their eyes had no pupils, only whites. Brigit shivered, feeling like someone had walked across her grave.

The hooded ones each raised a left hand, palm outwards, to reveal tattoos of eyes. Brigit recognised the symbol from Aunty’s books – it was the Eye of Horus, only the eyeballs at the centre of the tattoos moved - and they were looking at her.

“Greetings, traveller,” they said as one. “Welcome to our glade.”

They were dwarfish females, about half Brigit’s size, and they looked identical, like triplets.

Although their faces were old, they spoke with the voices of children.

“Come nearer child, so we can have a good look at you.” Again, they all spoke together.

Brigit moved closer but couldn’t hide her nervousness. She stared back suspiciously as the tattooed palms inspected her.

“Are you blind?” she asked.

“Only in the first and second eyes,” they replied. “The third eye sees just fine.”

“Are you good or bad witches?” Brigit needed to know.

“What a strange question,” they looked at each other with their palms, grinning.

“Oh, don’t tell me – sometimes you’re good, sometimes you’re bad."

The witches laughed, but unlike their talk, their laughter was out of synch with each other and rang around the glade, as though amplified. It reminded Brigit of the school playground. When they stopped laughing, the sound of laughter carried on for a while, like an echo.

“Hello, Gerri,” said the witches, as though they had only just noticed her.

Gerri went to get petted, tail wagging furiously.

“Ah, you must be one of The Sibyl’s imps.” They sounded excited. “We knew you would come sooner or later, to fulfil the prophecy. You’re belly is rumbling and paining you child, sit and eat with us.”

Brigit sat on one of the petrified toadstools ringing the fire. “I’m Brigit, pleased to meet you.”

“Likewise, I’m Mabel.”

“What, all of you?”

“Three into one and one makes three,” they said, and started laughing again.

The echoing laughter made Brigit feel dizzy. She tried to concentrate on the fire, which had been built around three large, flat-topped stones; a metal teapot was warming on one stone and an iron frying pan rested between all three.

“Here, child, have an infusion of lemon balm,” said the Mabels, as one of them filled a wooden bowl from the teapot.

Brigit sipped at the hot, honey-sweetened brew and felt her stomach settle instantly. Another Mabel uncovered a basket and added a knob of butter to the frying pan. The butter sizzled and spread. Then she took some thin white, oval slices from the basket, adding them to the pan. From a stoneware jar, honey was drizzled over the slices.

When the slices had turned golden-brown on both sides, Brigit was offered a couple on a seashell plate and given a little silver, two-pronged fork with one sharp edge.

“Mmm, tastes nice,” Brigit declared. “Like marshmallow.”

Gerri must have eaten a dozen slices before the basket was empty.

Then it appeared that the heavens must be raining blue fire. A meteor shower fell on the glade, sending up lumps of earth into the air. The falling stars were landing everywhere but within the faery ring, some of them plunging into the puffballs, causing them to explode in a cloud of glowing spores and stardust. It was like an unearthly firework display. Brigit started and Geri cowered at her feet.

“It’s starting to happen,” said the Mabels.

“What is?” Brigit asked.

“The world is dying,” they chanted in a matter-of-fact manner. “But let’s not dwell on that now. We see you have a magic flute, play something for us, child.”

Brigit took the flute from around her neck and extended it. Then she began to play the first movement of Faure’s 'Fantasy' for flute and piano.

As the music filled the air, the Mabels hummed along. Then they joined hands and levitated, so they were hovering way above the fire. They danced around in circles, one way, then the other, interpreting the melody with the movements of their arms, their humming echoing round the faery ring.

Gerri looked heavenward and growled. Brigit paused in her playing and looked at the approaching black cloud. A flock of winged demons was closing fast, as they scoured the meadows in search of something – her.

“You tricked me!” she shouted up at the witches.

The Mabels laughed in mockery, or so it seemed.

“Pay no heed to the harpies, child,” the Mabels reassured her. “They cannot see or sniff thee here in this enchanted ring. Play on sweet music.”

After swallowing the lump of rising fear in her throat, Brigit put her lips to the blow hole and continued playing. The harpies whirled around the mushroom ring, dodging each other like bats and screeching. While the witches danced over the fire, Brigit gave the strangest performance of her life.

Then the demonic flock moved on searching further afield. Brigit stopped playing and the Mabels alighted on their toadstools. Gerri let out a big groan of relief.

“Oh, my, I’ve not had such fun in centuries,” the trio declared.

Brigit had questions to ask. “What do you mean about a prophecy, and about the world dying?”

She listened intently as the chorus replied. “It is foretold that when The Hounds of Annwyn are released from the pit, and a false queen sits on the serpent throne, three mortal witches from The Land of Light will come to restore Sirona to the throne.”

“But that can’t be us,” Brigit was panicking. “We’re just school girls. This is because of us messing about and playing with silly spells in the summer house, isn’t it? I knew we shouldn’t have messed about with witchcraft. We couldn’t possibly help people like you, honest. There’s been some kind of mistake… I just wanna go home.”

“But you can’t, child.” The Mabels looked shocked. “You must save Sirona to stop the earth from decaying. Your destiny lies at Silveramon.”

“Silveramon!” Brigit was horrified. “You mean that awful fortress? That monstrous place?”

“That magic place,” they said, as though it was Disneyland. They started to chant and laugh at the same time:

“Where the egg was lain and the world began
From the earthly navel at Silveramon.”