The Mysterious Disappearance of Contessa Willoughby: Part Nine
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Part Nine
Reread Part Eight if you wish to recall where we last left Contessa or continue reading.
Gallagher awoke to a twig snapping. Although the sun had set hours before, the woods were far from quiet. While the green woodpecker with its laughing call had turned in for the night, nocturnal birds assembled for their evening orchestrations. A long-eared owl let out a percussion of wee-ohh in the trees high above.
“Do you hear that Contessa?” Gallagher turned to where he had last seen Contessa sleeping. But she was no longer there.
Gallagher jumped up on his hind legs and moved to the soft pile of needles where a slight indentation provided the only evidence of the little girl who had once been sleeping there. Gallagher followed her scent. It mingled with the fox, leading away from the fire, eastwardly in the direction he and Contessa would have embarked on together at daybreak. Why would she leave me?, he thought to himself. And with the fox? He sped up.
∆
The first time that Contessa time traveled, she was keenly aware of absolutely nothing. There were no sensations. No colors. No scents. Not even a feeling in her body that anything was different. She simply blinked and in one moment she was in an entirely different place. This was not the case the second time around.
Keeping her eyes open, she saw a wild tangle of brown cords that grew thin then wide and curled into one another. Reaching out to touch one of them, she realized that they were some sort fo root. As her hands began to brush each tendril, she suddenly felt a jolt — like the kind she got when she accidentally rammed her finger in an outlet trying to plug in the radio. Her hand shot back. She took a deep breath but nearly choked on the heady scent of earth rich with memory.
There was a faint beating sound again. She felt it inside her chest, but then Contessa realized it wasn’t her heart. It came from a deeper place. As she moved, the tendrils and roots began to turn white, and the beat grew to a loud rhythmic thud, growing so loud that she considered stopping up her ears with her fingers. Instead, she breathed with the beat. Now the air was light and sweet, an effervescence that buzzed around her. Violet candies, lilacs, her mother’s perfume — the one she sneakily dabbed on her wrists every morning when her mother wasn’t looking — all of these scents danced within her flared nostrils. She stuck out her tongue as though trying to catch a snowflake on it. Was it possible? The air tasted sweet, too. She blinked, and suddenly she was standing within the belly of a tree. Contessa looked around. Although snug, the smooth interior rose up above her into dark hollows and spread out wide at her feet. Large knobs punctuated an otherwise even floor. She seen other trees like this. There was the Bowthorpe Oak her grandfather took her to see near relatives in Peterborough. It was nearly 13-meters around, and hollowed out and smooth on the inside.
“Imagine the tea parties we could have here, Papa,” her mind already assembling Leotina, her ragged stuffed lion and Mellie, the doll Aunt Vie gave her the last time she saw her. There would also be plates of scones studded with currants, clotted cream, and sweet summer berries.
“I don’t have to imagine, my girl,” her Papa answered. “I have dined in this tree once before.”
“But how can that be? There is no table here now, nor are there any chairs,” she said frowning, hoping that he could wave a magic wand and a feast would appear. Her grandfather's eyes sparkled with secrets.
“There once were, Contessa, some time ago,” he said, then his hands fluttered about the air. “The table was here, and along either side of it there were nine chairs and one at each end.”
Contessa did the math. “Twenty people!”
The tree she currently occupied was just the right size for a small child. Her grandfather — or any adult-sized human — would need to crouch and surely wouldn’t linger as she had been in her time-traveling induced torpor. This was no place for a tea party. It occurred to her then that her grandfather’s tea party “some time ago” must have been a result of a journey not unlike the one in which she had found herself.
Contessa’s attention returned to her present predicament. She slowly turned her head to appraise the interior of the tree. Her head stopped when her eyes landed on a withered piece of paper nailed to its smooth belly. The paper fluttered as she leaned in to examine it. It was small, no bigger than the palm of her hand, and marked with a symbol printed in black depicting oak leaves and another flower she didn’t recognize, encircling a quartet of acorns. She had seen this design before. It was in her pocket. Contessa retrieved the scrap she had plucked from the ground just before she traveled through the tree. She held it up next to the paper tacked to the wall in front of her. If she were playing the game of memory, this move would have been a win. It was a match.
“What is the Council of the Quercus?” Contessa muttered aloud.
“You’re asking the wrong question child. It’s ‘who?’”
Contessa pivoted on her heels and bent out of the tree’s hollow towards a woman’s approving voice, “Ah, you look just like her when she was a child.”
“Like who?”
“Why your aunt of course, save for her flaming red hair. Yours resembles the dull coat of a field mouse.”
“My Aunt Vie?” Contessa stepped out of the tree and gasped. The woman’s skin was the color of the sun and her dress flickered green and gold. When Contessa looked up towards the woman’s face, she had to shield her eyes.
“What are you?” Contessa stammered certain her imagination had leaped beyond all realms of possibility. Was this one of the fairies her Papa had sworn existed? Or was it simply her mind playing tricks on her? She wasn’t sure.
“You’re stunned, child, your poor manners thus forgiven. My name is Arianrhod.”
∆
Gallagher raced beneath thick overstory, the scent of Contessa and Ferand was a trail of crumbs he was eager to devour. Gallagher was raised not to trust foxes because of their wily and cunning ways but did his best to not bend to generalizations. Now. however, he had supporting evidence. He could not fathom why Contessa would follow a stranger off into the night. To be fair, he was also a stranger to her, and yet she followed along with him willingly. He knew Contessa was a clever girl, but if the prophecies were true, there would be no room for mistakes. He had to find her. And soon.
His mind went blank as the dashed along hollowed logs and skittered across the forest floor a faint glimmer of red. The light fell like long shards as the sun rose above the thinning trees. He was close to the woodland’s edge, where he was sure the crumbs would end, at Generys. He was near his cousin Phoebe’s home, and now that she was grown, Generys fell under her watch. He hoped a small child and sly fox hadn’t escaped her as easily they had eluded him.
Gallagher slowed his pace. The fox was nearby. He could smell him; the musky scent grew stronger while Contessa’s scent seemed to disappear. Was it Phoebe who he smelled in her place? As he neared the woodland edge, he came to a halt, dipping behind the obstinate remains of a beech tree. From his hiding place, he could see Ferand, pacing around a solemn Generys. There was no sign of Phoebe. Perhaps he had just imagined her scent in hopes she could have stopped Ferand.
Gallagher crisscrossed the wood until he arrived at an invisible barrier marking the transition between the wild woods and the tame landscape many woodland creatures favored because of the light and protection it provided. Location was a key reason why Generys was chosen. Others like Generys lived in the heart of this particular wood where they were subject to fewer prying eyes, but the Council preferred to hide this secret in plain sight. On the wood’s edge, Generys may have been more visible, but under Council’s watch, nothing would be missed. Or so Gallagher hoped.
Ferand came to a halt. He picked up Gallagher’s scent. He was sure of it, even more so as he made way for where Gallagher hunched under the cover of blackberry bramble.
“Gallagher, how remarkable it is seeing you here,” Ferand feigned surprise, “and without Contessa, I see.” He peered behind Gallagher, though Gallagher knew Ferand’s nose dedicated a singular scent at least a half-mile earlier. Gallagher got to his point.
“Ferand! I demand to know where she is!” Gallagher skeetered towards the fox, taking his place directly in front of him.
“Whatever are you talking about? I thought Contessa had unwisely wandered off. Why, I was in search of her myself.”
“I don’t trust you.”
“Perhaps it is she who doesn’t trust you.” Ferand let out a menacing giggle.
“He’s lying,” called a familiar voice from the direction of Generys. Phoebe scurried down Generys’s rough body to stand opposite Gallagher. “I have alerted the Council, Gallagher. Others are on their way. Addressing Ferand, she glared, “I’d watch yourself fox, Percival is but an eagle’s swoop above you.”
Ferand reclined to his hind legs and sighed. “Well, it seems that only Contessa is going somewhere today.”
“It’s true,” Phoebe rounded Ferand’s rear and embraced Gallagher. “Good to see you cousin.”
“And you as well,” Gallagher pulled back, then he too relaxed, certain Ferand wasn’t going to go anywhere now that it was clear Ferand was in need of Contessa too. “Tell me, Phoebe, what did you see?”
Ferand ignored him. “The girl vanished.
“Quiet Ferand, “ Gallagher grunted, “I want to hear it from Phoebe.”
“It’s true. The girl disappeared. Before that, though, this fox—“
“—it’s Ferand, madam.“
“Ferand had a stick—”
“—a twig.”
“Enough Ferand! Now, who’s the one without manners?” Gallagher's eyes glazed with anger. “Continue Phoebe.”
“As I was saying, he had something that resembled a twig, and he was trying to get the girl to touch it. She did not and reached for Generys instead. And then she disappeared.
“Generys was waiting for her, no doubt,” Gallagher paused, then looked at Ferand. “What is this twig Phoebe says you have? And where is it now?”
“The twig belongs to my family, Gallagher. There is no chance that you’ll get your paws on it. Any of you. You can’t force it from me, you know. Without my permission, it can’t even be used.”
“Used for what?” Gallagher’s patience was wearing.
“And I thought you were a standing member of the Council,” another insidious laugh escaped. “I am not going to tell my tale again to you or anyone else.”
Phoebe stepped forward. Gallagher shot her a look of concern. “Please, Ferand. We need your help. It is a matter of life and death.”
“Do you not also believe, as a member of the Council, that those like Contessa should be limited in number?” Ferand eyed Gallagher closely.
“Enough!” Gallagher glowered. “You know it’s more complicated than that and we don’t have time for a debate. We must find Contessa.”
“Well, it’s very clear where she has gone.” Ferand slinked towards the direction of Generys. “Come with me. I have an idea.”
Phoebe and Gallagher glanced at one another. Neither could travel through the trees. What was Ferand up to? Ferand noticed that the squirrels were not following him and stopped.
“If we are going to find Contessa, you are going to have to trust me.”
Gallagher chortled. “Trust a fox! We wouldn’t be in this mess if we hadn’t have trusted you in the first place.”
“Fine. Here’s a better reason to trust me. I am of the Adarraren family.”
There was silence.
“You know the Adarraren family, don’t you?”
“Of course. Everyone does from the stories.” Gallagher quipped. “My grandfather told me of your family’s many exploits.”
“They were hardly exploits. Survival is what I would call it. We did what any other creature would have done. We were brave —”
“You took what wasn’t yours. So you have it then? Let me see it.”
“He does. I saw it,” Phoebe said.
“Well, what are we going to do with it now?” Gallagher threw up his paws. “Without Contessa it’s useless.”
“We must go to see someone in Cantref Gwaelod. She can point us in the direction of where we need to go — and maybe help us get there.”
“The Lowland Hundred? But that place is no longer, Ferand. This is a trap —“
“As I said, you must trust me if we are to find the girl.”
“He’s right, Gallagher.” Phoebe stepped closer to Ferand.
“Then I propose an oath of honor. Amongst us all.”
“My actions should be as loud as my words, but if you insist.”
“We shall swear on Generys. She will witness it. ” Phoebe proposed. Each placed their right forepaw on the rough bark and swore to honor the quest to find Contessa.
∆
“Come out of that yew, child. You’re ghastly white. You must be hungry.”
Arianrhod bade Contessa out of the tree.
“But it had this paper in it.” She retrieved the slip of paper and presented it to her new companion.
When Arianrhod’s eyes fell on the paper, Contessa was certain the woman’s glow dimmed. “Whatever this is, it’s of no consequence,” waving it off, then, turning her attention to the tree, gazed upon it the way one does a person they love. “This yew, however, is of great importance. A beauty, is it not?” Contessa tucked the paper back into her pocket and turned around to take in the creature that had just held her in its belly. Outside, it was impossible to take in its immense proportions. Long clefts scarred two trunks that had been cleaved together to form a trunk of incomprehensible girth. Short, sprouting branches also covered the trunk, giving it the appearance of a green fur coat. Among the limbs were boughs unlike any of the others, identical in color to Arianrhod’s shimmering cloak.
“What’s that?” Contessa pointed to a golden limb.
“Nothing that concerns you.” But the chill in Arianrhod’s voice suggested that it did. Both her Papa and Aunt Vie told her of such a branch. She reached into the dark corners of her memory, the fireside and bedtime stories they each shared told her of a time when humans lived as part of the natural world, not apart from it. What she could recall of the story was that it was tinged with warning, and that feeling began to seep into her bones as she stood with Arianrhod, a tower of sunlight whose shadow chilled her to the bone. What was it?
“I can tell you this,” Arianrhod took a step forward. Contessa’s reverie faded into the softened tone of Arianrhod’s voice “The golden boughs you see are special. Do you know about the golden bough?”
“A little,” it was true, Contessa couldn’t recall what she learned about them. “It’s just mistletoe, I thought.”
“It’s not mistletoe. People like to make up stories to keep people from learning about other realities, other possibilities of existence.” She was irritated. “The golden bough is usually only found in oaks, but here it is. This yew is special, not just for the bough, but it is also male and female. It’s not only oaks that can access other realms. It’s trees like this Contessa.”
Contessa craned her neck towards the bough high above her. Tucked among the limbs of the tree, it emitted a faint glow. She blinked to make sure her eyes weren’t playing tricks on her, but the shimmer remained.
“Let us go now. I have something to show you.”
Contessa was hesitant to follow her Arianrhod but every cell in her body told her otherwise. Arianrhod knew something and perhaps even knew where her grandfather was or how to find him. As beautiful as the tree was, it was useless without knowing how to use it. She felt a faint warmth in her belly, a sign her intuition was intact.
∆