Beginner's Guide to Curses (Kelpies) Page 7

  “What kind of voice?” asked Beth.

  “I asked that too,” said Innes. He pulled out a neatly folded piece of paper. “I wrote down: Adult male or perhaps putting on a deep voice; human or similar; English or maybe using a false accent. So, male or pretending to be, adult or pretending to be, human or pretending to be, and English or pretending to be. It could have been anything in that pillar of sand. Even our friend the toad here.”

  The toad backed off awkwardly and croaked.

  Atacama said, “When the voice demanded to be let past, I refused politely but firmly, then asked my riddle. The voice said, ‘I do not know the answer, but let me past anyway.’

  “I said, ‘Answer or leave.’

  “He replied, ‘If you do not let me past, then I will curse you, I will remove the very thing that makes you a sphinx. That is my answer, now let me past.’

  “Of course I refused. So he cursed me. There was a blizzard of sand, which blinded me for a moment. When

  I could see again, he was still there. He hadn’t got past me, but my mind was lighter by the words of one riddle.

  “He said, ‘Ask your riddle again, pussy cat, and I might answer this time.’

  “But I couldn’t ask. Because I had lost my riddle.

  “He offered to lift the curse if I let him past. I refused. I pounced and bit and scratched through the swirling sand, but whatever was hidden inside just laughed and whirled away, saying as he left that I’d get my riddle back if I let him through the door.

  “That’s why I can’t guard the entrance now. I have no riddle to ask. Also I’m a security risk because my family know I could get my riddle back by telling him the answer. But of course I never will, because even though I’m nothing without a riddle, I’m also nothing without my family’s respect.”

  “Do you remember the answer?” asked Beth.

  “Yes. I have the answer, but not the question. That’s what’s so frustrating. But I won’t give that creature what he wants. I know how to lift my curse, because the curse-caster told me that when I was prepared to let him in I should scratch a message on a cask at the top of the pyramid opposite the door. But I’d rather be cursed forever than betray my vows.”

  Molly said, “Do you believe Mrs Sharpe can lift the curse without letting your curse-caster in?”

  Atacama stared at the earth clogging his elegant paws. “I would hardly be digging up vegetables for her if I didn’t believe it.”

  Chapter 11

  The witch’s packed lunch and the dryads’ cakes gave them enough energy to get back to the tatties with more speed and less dancing.

  “So, are there any similarities in our three curse stories?” asked Beth. “Any lessons we can learn?”

  “Don’t annoy people who can use magic,” said Molly, knocking a clump of earth off her fork.

  “Don’t be flippant.”

  “No, really. That’s the only common link. Me, Atacama, the people of Craigvenie, your trees, presumably the toad and Innes’s dad too, we all annoyed someone who can cast spells. Whether we did something good or evil or just daft, we all annoyed someone with the power to take revenge. That’s it. That’s all we can learn. Don’t annoy people who can use magic.” She shrugged and started on the last row of tatties.

  “But can we learn anything from the answers we gathered about how to lift the curses?” Beth asked.

  “Only that lifting a curse often involves doing something worse than the curse,” replied Molly. “Doing something wrong, like Atacama is refusing to do. Or dying, because some curses don’t end until the victim dies. There doesn’t seem to be an obvious ‘happy ever after’ way of lifting any curse.”

  They were all quiet as they finished the last row.

  Innes looked up at the sun. “Mrs Sharpe won’t shut the shop for a while. I need to sit by running water. Does anyone want to join me? If you’re all there, I’m less likely to dive in, swim off and never come back.”

  They walked across a field, through a narrow wood and over a path to a shallow burn running fast around moss-covered rocks.

  “I thought kelpies were great big monsters under the water,” said Molly. “But you must be able to shift into something small if you could swim away in that.”

  “We have deep river pools where we can stretch out in our largest shape. But in shallow water I can shift into a pike.”

  As they sat quietly, watching the water race past, Molly felt completely calm for the first time in days. She circled her shoulders, letting them relax after hours of digging.

  To her left, Innes sat on a rock a few paces away from the rest of them. He’d pulled off his shoes and was dangling his feet in the water. His eyes were closed as if he was trying to relax, but his forehead was creased in a frown.

  Atacama was sitting in his perfect pose, tail wrapped round his paws, ears pricked, like a carving of the ideal cat, but with a smooth dark human face and small sleek wings. He was staring at the water, as if he was thinking deep philosophical thoughts. Suddenly his paw flicked out and scooped a yellow leaf from the burn, tossed it into the air and batted it, like a kitten playing with a cat toy.

  Molly laughed.

  Atacama turned to her. “Reflexes,” he said sternly. “I’m working on my reflexes.”

  She looked to her right. The toad was squatting by the edge of the burn, letting misty spray dampen its skin.

  Molly asked, “Do you live by a river?”

  The toad was silent.

  “A pond, perhaps?”

  Still silence.

  “Do you live by water at all?”

  More silence.

  She sighed. Unless she was asking questions with ‘yes’ answers, she couldn’t be sure she was having a conversation with the toad at all.

  Beth said, “Hey, toad. Is this girl bothering you?”

  The toad didn’t answer that either.

  Molly looked up at Beth. She was on a branch overhanging the water, filing her silver nails.

  Molly knew that these people weren’t her friends, that they didn’t really care about her, that they were all caught up in their own problems. But at least all five of them were honestly and equally focussed on the same goal. Lifting their curses.

  Then Beth whispered, “Humans coming! I think it’s the Strachan family, they’re usually fine. Atacama should hide in the shadows though, in case he gives them a fright.”

  Atacama stepped calmly behind Innes’s rock and the toad crawled under a leaf.

  Innes said, “But what about Molly? Don’t the Strachans have a—?”

  He was too late. Molly heard a high-pitched bark and as she stood to run away, she felt the heat in her bones and found herself rearing up on strong hind legs.

  “Hide!” said Innes.

  Molly looked round. She didn’t want to hide behind the rock with the fanged meat-eating sphinx. So she just lay down, her tall ears along her back and her bright eyes closed.

  “Ok. Don’t hide,” said Innes. “Lying down in clear view right beside the path might work too.”

  But Molly felt fine. Flat on the ground, with her soft brown fur and her smooth lines, she felt safe. She knew she was less visible staying still than running away.

  She heard voices. Children chattering, adults rumbling and that high-pitched bark again. But she didn’t look up. She didn’t move at all.

  She heard a woman’s voice. “Hello Beth, and Innes, is it? Enjoying your holidays?”

  Beth said, “Hello Mrs Strachan. Yes, thanks.”

  “Ok. We’ll leave you in peace with your trees, and your fish, and… everything. Come on, kids.”

  Molly heard snuffling and scraping, and another bark. The dog was really close.

  She kept her head down, hoping the shivers she could feel up and down her spine weren’t showing in rippling fur…

  She heard footsteps pass her as the family moved along the path. But the dog was still sniffing around.

  “Shoo! Off you go,” muttered Beth.

&
nbsp; Molly heard a child’s voice as the family walked away. “Is she the magic one?”

  “Everyone is magic in their own way, Jocelyn. Let’s go and play Poohsticks.”

  “But is her hair magic? Could I have magic hair?”

  “I’ll put magic sparkly bobbles in your hair when we get home. Come on…”

  Then the dog barked. Right above Molly.

  It was too close. It was going to step on her.

  She opened her eyes and saw both Beth and Innes jump down to grab the dog. But Molly had already lost control. She couldn’t stay still any longer. She leapt up and ran, in the opposite direction from the family, hoping the dog would follow them rather than her.

  She heard Beth shout, “Ow! It bit me!”

  And she heard the dog yapping behind her.

  It was chasing her. But there was nowhere to leap or dodge. Just the open path, the water on one side, or the rocky ground on the other.

  Molly had to run straight ahead. With a dog right behind her.

  The dog barked again, high-pitched and close.

  Molly realised the dog’s bark was higher than the little girl’s voice, and that the dog behind her was even smaller than she was. A tiny, hairy, ribboned Yorkshire terrier, sprinting towards her.

  Molly whirled round and crouched down, facing the dog.

  As the dog reached her, she reared up on her hind legs and punched the dog on the nose. Whack, whack, whack; left, right, left. Whacking down with both front paws, from above the dog.

  The dog whined, turned tail, and ran away.

  Molly loped back along the path, her long back legs clumsy under her. Going at any pace slower than a run felt awkward, because her hare body was designed to sprint, not saunter.

  Innes, sitting on his rock, was laughing.

  Beth was wrapping a leaf round her finger. She waved her hand at Molly. “That little rat bit me! While I was trying to save you again!”

  Innes said, “You didn’t need to save Molly; she can fight dogs off herself. Don’t try that move with a Rottweiler though, Molly!”

  Beth muttered, “I suppose it’s only a scratch.” She secured the leaf with a twist and sat down. “We could head for a boundary to change you back. Unless you’re happy as a hare for now?”

  Molly approached Beth and crouched at her feet.

  Innes sighed. “Look at her. She’s completely human, she was utterly ignorant of magic until this week, but she’s still coping with her curse better than I am. I should stop being such a drama queen and just tell you what I’ve found out, shouldn’t I?”

  Beth said, “It’s not long until this evening’s class. Don’t do it twice if you don’t want to.”

  Innes shrugged. “I don’t want to, but I think I should. We’re meant to be a team.”

  Atacama and the toad reappeared and sat by Innes’s rock.

  Innes said, “I knew we’d been cursed because my father ate someone he shouldn’t have eaten. But I didn’t know who or why or what the conditions of the curse were. I know what the effects are though.

  “I know that once a month, when the moon is visible in the sky, one of the tributaries to the Spey, one of our burns or rivers, turns from fresh water to salt, suddenly, without warning. Not diluted salt like sea water, but a thick, poisonous level of salt, which kills all life in the water.

  “The first month the salt curse hit, my big brother Firth was caught in the water in his fish self. When we found him, he was caked in salt crystals, solid and heavy and crackling white. He was dead, and so were thousands of other water creatures.”

  Innes dipped his toes in the water again.

  “When the moon leaves the sky, the salt vanishes. The water is fresh enough to drink again. But nothing is left alive. And because a different burn or river is poisoned each month, eventually this whole water system, the whole Spey valley, will be dead. So will my family, because the curse is designed to kill us, one by one.

  “I knew the curse had killed my brother and I knew Mum thought it was Dad’s fault, because I’ve heard them arguing. They’ve always refused to tell me the details though, even when I signed up for Mrs Sharpe’s workshop. But when I went home to the mill-house today, with Atacama at my back and with an official-looking bit of paper, Dad had to tell me.”

  “He was relieved to tell you,” said Atacama.

  “Do you think so?”

  “Yes.”

  “So, tell us,” said Beth.

  Innes pulled the sheets of paper out of his pocket. He shook one open. “That’s yours, Atacama. Your mysterious voice in the pillar.” He laid that sheet on the rock and anchored it with a stone.

  He smoothed out the other sheet. “This is the story of my dad’s curse.” He stared at it, frowning, rereading the answers under his breath. No one interrupted.

  He shook his head. “The curse is entirely justified and completely deserved. But the curse is not reasonable or proportionate. Because it’s not just punishing Dad, it’s punishing all of us. Everyone and everything in the water. Is that reasonable or proportionate? Is it?”

  Beth said gently, “We don’t know, Innes, because you haven’t told us the answer to the most vital question. Why did someone curse him?”

  Innes took a deep breath. “Late last year, my dad was swimming in the Spey, early in the morning, in his largest hungriest most monstrous self. He was so hungry he was considering turning into a horse and luring a human to eat, even though we have a family rule about not eating people close to home. Then he heard a noise above him.”

  They all looked up, even Molly. But Innes pointed to the water in front of them. “Not in the sky. He was underwater. He heard noises on the surface. Small ripples, little singing voices. He rose up and…”

  Innes cleared his throat. “I wrote it down:

  “He heard voices singing Happy Birthday and giggling.

  “He saw a bark boat filled with fairies, wearing party hats made of heather blossom and waving balloons made of poppy petals.

  “And this is what he did.

  “He rose up out of the river, he opened his mouth and he ate them.”

  Innes folded the paper and put it under the stone.

  “It was stupid. He didn’t even like the taste, apparently. Too sweet. And it didn’t satisfy his hunger. He had to hunt eels later in his pike self. But he ate them. Half a dozen fairy children at a birthday party.

  “It was stupid. It was cruel. And it was wrong. We have rules about what we hunt: we’re not allowed to eat magical beings or human beings within the catchment area of our own river.

  “So that’s why we’re cursed. I didn’t know he’d done something so daft and so horrible. If he wasn’t my dad, and if the curse hadn’t killed my brother, I might think: fair enough, you deserve your curse, learn to live with it.”

  He sighed. “But I have to lift it. Or I will die, and my wee brother will die, and the rivers will die…” He gazed at the water.

  Molly was frustrated that she couldn’t ask questions. She sat up and flicked her ears.

  “Was that a question?” asked Beth. “Perhaps we should work out a code…”

  “I haven’t said who the curse-caster is yet, that’s probably what she wants to know. It was the fairy who organised the birthday party and who lost two of her own children and four of their best friends. The heather fairy.” Innes picked up the paper again. “The limits are: The curse will last until my father has lost all his children to the salt or until the Spey and its tributaries are empty of life.

  “I don’t think Dad knew what to do when she cast the curse. He didn’t tell anyone about it. The rest of the family only found out when my big brother died. I’m the next oldest, and the right age for this workshop, so I have to lift the curse.”

  “But no other kelpies have died since Firth, have they?” asked Beth.

  “We try to keep out of the water on moonlit nights, but we can’t remove every fish and frog and larva from every run of water. There’s nowhere safe to pu
t them, because we don’t know where the curse will hit next. And it won’t end until my father has lost me and my brother, or his river.

  “Dad tried apologising to the fairy, but like Molly found out, not all curse-casters will accept an apology. So there’s no point in me trying. Mrs Sharpe is my only hope.

  “And this is all my dad’s fault. Because he killed some fairies.”

  “But you can lift the curse,” said Beth. “You just have to dig endless fields of tatties and keep doing your homework.” She glanced at the fading sunlight on the tree trunks. “Time to head back.”

  Atacama said, “There may be more dogs on the path. Does someone wearing clothes want to hide Molly under their coat?”

  Beth and Innes stared at each other.

  Beth said, “Not really, to be honest.”

  Innes said, “She won’t want to trust herself to a predatory kelpie. If we snack on fairies, hares might be on the menu too.”

  Beth sighed. “Alright then.”

  She scooped Molly up and they walked along the path, Molly perched uncomfortably in Beth’s unwilling arms. Beth turned left and crossed the rough ground of the woods.

  Suddenly Molly felt larger, heavier, more awkward.

  Beth yelled and dropped her. Molly fell onto a hard heap of grey stones, bashing her knees.

  “But that’s not a boundary!” said Beth. “Mrs Sharpe’s land doesn’t start until the fence.”

  Innes pointed at the pile of stones, then swung his arm out to indicate several other piles in a line through the trees. “This must be an old wall. The magic must still regard this as the Skene Mains boundary.”

  Molly stood up. “Sorry. Thanks for carrying me.”

  “Thanks for dislocating my shoulder…” muttered Beth, as she clambered round the tumbledown wall and headed for the more modern fence.

  Molly turned to Innes. “Is she that unfriendly to all humans, or just to me?”

  “She has enough trees to make her happy, she doesn’t need human friends. Don’t take it personally. Let’s give our answers to the witch and see what she wants us to do next, to earn our curse-lifting.” He frowned and kicked at a stone. “I can’t help thinking, if my dad had eaten a boatload of human children, their parents wouldn’t have been able to curse him.”