Fire Girl (5 page)

to fall like a hammer on the witches of England.’

Lord Protector Oliver Cromwell

H
azel ran through the forest, leaping over roots, ducking under branches and bursting through drifts of leaves. She might have run forever if she
hadn’t tripped and fallen flat on her face. Bramley rolled off her shoulder, squeaking with each bounce.

‘Have you always been so clumsy?’ he spluttered.

‘Only when I’m running away from a demon,’ Hazel said, wiping mud from her face. She looked around to ensure they were not being pursued. The mist had evaporated and above,
through the swaying branches, was a bright blue sky. Her spirits lifted at the sight.

‘That man,’ she said. ‘Who do you think he was?’

‘I’ve been shaken about so badly I can hardly think straight,’ Bramley huffed.

‘If he’s keeping Ma alive he must need her for something. And he came back for me and Tom.’

‘The demon-thing can eat that horrible cat for all I care.’

‘Bramley!’ scolded Hazel. ‘I
know
you don’t mean that.’ She scratched her nose thoughtfully. ‘What possible use could
I
be to anyone?’

‘I’m racking my brains,’ Bramley muttered.

‘Wait a second!’ Hazel leaped to her feet. ‘If we follow them – they might lead us to Ma. We have to go back.’

‘Are you totally mad?’ Bramley said. ‘How long do you think it’ll take that demon to catch you? I wouldn’t give a rotten acorn for your chances.’

‘Well, what other choice is there?’ The curls of her red hair started to smoulder.

‘There are
always
other choices. You’re just not giving yourself a chance to think of them.’

‘If I wait I might lose her forever—’

‘Listen,’ Bramley said, his whiskers twitching in agitation. ‘When that demon discovers you’ve left the Glade it’s going to come looking for you, and you’ll
be no good to your mother if you’re captured too. We need to get as far away as possible and
then
think of a plan. I for one have no intention of becoming demon food – if
it’s all the same to you.’

Hazel’s shoulders slumped. ‘I suppose you’re right,’ she said in a shaky voice.

‘I usually am. Now pick me up. You’ve got walking to do. And pick some berries as you go. I’m
starving
.’

Wet leaves squelched under Hazel’s feet as she wandered further into the forest. After years of tramping over the same hills and meadows in the Glade, it felt strange to
be somewhere new, a place not hemmed in by boundaries.

Bramley had been very quiet for the last hour or so. Hazel peered into her pocket and found him curled up into a ball. She poked him with a finger.

‘Wassat? Wha? What?’ mumbled Bramley.

‘Are you sleeping?’

‘No,’ sniffed the mouse. ‘Well, maybe. We’ve been walking for
hours
. I’m tired.’

‘
I’m
the one who’s been walking for hours,’ said Hazel. ‘And I’ve come up with a plan, if you can stay awake for long enough to listen to
it?’

‘Go on then,’ Bramley said.

‘We’re going to find Blind Mary,’ said Hazel.

‘Who’s Blind Mary?’

‘A good friend of Ma’s. She’s a Wielder too, very old and clever. Going a bit doolally, to be honest, but I know we can trust her.’

‘She sounds splendid,’ Bramley said. ‘Where does she live?’

‘In the forest.’

‘This forest?’

‘Yes,’ Hazel said, turning on the spot and peering through the trackless trees.

‘I don’t suppose you know where
exactly
?’

‘Er, well . . . no.’

‘Why does that not surprise me?’ Bramley shook his head.

Hazel tapped him on the nose. ‘That’s enough, mouse. Now,’ she continued as Bramley sulked, ‘all we need to do is find someone who knows where she lives. There must be a
farm or town nearby. The first thing to do is get out of this forest.’

‘But which way do we go?’ Bramley shimmied up Hazel’s cloak and gripped on to her ear.

Hazel grinned and pointed up. ‘We climb the tallest tree we can find and take a look.’

‘Wonderful. Just wonderful,’ groaned Bramley.

‘That one looks easy to climb,’ she said, pointing to a copper-leaf beech tree.

‘I think the most sensible thing would be for me to stay down here.’

‘Scared?’ Hazel asked, hauling herself on to the lowest branch.

‘Certainly not! I was . . . er . . . just thinking that if I was on the ground, I could catch you if you fell.’

‘Now why didn’t I think of that?’ Hazel laughed. ‘But don’t worry, I won’t fall. I used to go climbing in the Glade all the time. I’m like a
squirrel.’

Bramley gripped her ear even tighter. ‘Fine,’ he said. ‘But for goodness sake, stop talking and concentrate.’

The sunlight brightened as Hazel wormed her way through the branches until, panting for breath, she poked her head through a gap in the leaves. A breeze brushed her face, carrying with it the
distant rattle of a woodpecker. Wychwood shimmered in the sun, rolling and swaying like an ocean. Leaves hissed like waves on shingle, branches creaked like masts.

‘Oh, Bramley, it’s beautiful!’

‘I’ll take your word for it,’ he replied. ‘Just tell me what you see.’

‘Treetops as far as the horizon, green and copper and red. The sun feels wonderful. There’s a grey haze over there. Hills or mountains, maybe? Storm clouds, perhaps?’ She
twisted round, shielding her eyes from the sun’s glare. ‘Is England just one big forest? Wait, I see something . . .’

‘What?’

With great care, Hazel braced her knee on the wobbling branch and stood up, clinging to the tree trunk to steady herself.

‘Hazel!’ Bramley squeaked, his eyes popping open with fright. ‘What are you doing?’

‘I need a better look.’ She pointed to where the forest sloped down into a valley. A river wound through the trees like a silver thread, and beyond rose a column of black smoke.

‘That’s where we should go,’ Hazel said. ‘Towards the fire.’

‘That smoke is miles off,’ Bramley said. ‘We’re sure to get lost.’

‘We won’t,’ Hazel replied, ‘because I have another plan.’

‘Oh, joy.’ Bramley sighed. ‘What is it this time?’

‘We follow the moss.’

Anyone found harbouring witches, knowingly or not,

will face the full vengeance of the law.

Amendment to the Witch Laws, passed in 1651

B
y the time Hazel had scrambled to the ground, the sun was high and the forest streaked with columns of light. Birds chattered all around,
fluttering busily in the leaves.

‘This way,’ Hazel said, and set off through the trees.

‘How can you be so sure?’ Bramley asked.

‘I would have thought a
wise
forest creature like you would know all of nature’s secrets,’ Hazel said as she hopped over a foaming stream.

‘I know what I need to know, and that’s enough for me,’ Bramley huffed.

Hazel stopped by a gnarled old ash tree. ‘Look at the moss on the trunk. Notice anything?’

‘No.’

‘What about on that one?’ she said, pointing to a chestnut tree.

Bramley stared hard. ‘Well, there’s moss on both of them.’

‘Yes, and what does it have in common?’

‘It’s green?’

‘Ye-es. Anything else?’

‘Ah! It’s only growing on one side.’

‘Exactly,’ Hazel said. ‘Moss only grows on the north side of a tree, and the smoke column is in the same direction. So to get there I’m following the moss. Clever, right?
Blind Mary taught me that.’

‘Mmm.’ Bramley tugged her ear. ‘You know, there’re other things you need to be doing besides tramping through the forest.’

Hazel hopped over a tree root. ‘Like what?’

‘Like using your brain. We need to work out
why
that man and his demon took your mother. Tell me about her. What do you know of her life before you were born?’

‘Not much.’ Hazel frowned. ‘She never told me about it.’

‘And why did she never let you out of the Glade?’

‘I don’t know. I asked and asked but she always said I was too young – that she would tell me when the time was right. She was just about to when—’

‘Don’t you think it’s odd?’ Bramley said. ‘You were trapped, a prisoner, kept away from the world. Why would she do that to you?’

A flash of anger made heat pulse through Hazel’s veins. ‘Stop asking me questions I can’t answer.’

‘Perhaps that man and his horrible demon are the reason she created the Glade?’ Bramley said. ‘Maybe she was just trying to protect you.’

‘Maybe,’ Hazel replied. ‘But she could have trusted me with the truth. I wish she had. Then maybe we’d have some idea about how to save her.’

Hazel pressed on, mind whirring, stopping only once to rest her aching legs and eat some bread and cheese. By the time she emerged from the forest the sun had set, leaving a
bloody smear on the horizon. Freshly cut tree stumps poked sadly through the ground and lopped branches lay stacked in piles. The air smelt of sap and sawdust.

Hazel unslung her bag and perched on a felled tree trunk. ‘We did it,’ she said, pointing further down the valley. ‘Look, we’ve found a town.’

Huddled in a bend in the river was a walled village. A column of dense black smoke drifted from an open square in the middle.

‘I hope there’ll be apples there,’ Bramley said.

A crown of stars glittered in the pitch-black sky; after the shelter of the forest, Hazel suddenly felt small and exposed. She bit her lip.
Am I ready for this?
she wondered.
I
don’t know anything about towns or people.

‘Well,’ she said at last – as much to Bramley as to herself. ‘I supposed we’d better get down there and see what we shall see.’

‘I wouldn’t if I were you.’

The gruff voice came from behind her. Startled, Hazel leaped to her feet. A man in rough clothes and a hat that shaded his eyes was sitting on the ground with his back against a tree trunk. An
axe lay across his lap.

‘What’s the matter?’ he said. ‘Demon got your tongue?’

‘No,’ she replied, squaring her shoulders. ‘You just startled me.’

‘I was watching the sun set.’ He tipped back his hat, revealing a haggard face and red-rimmed eyes. ‘It’s late for a sapling like you to be abroad. What are you doing out
here on your own?’

‘I’m looking for a friend of mine. I was hoping someone in that town might know where she lives.’

‘I’m afraid the troubles of a stranger will not mean much to the people of Watley at the moment,’ the man said. ‘They have worries and torments of their own.’

‘Careful,’ Bramley whispered from his hiding place in her hair. ‘I’m not sure I like this fellow.’

‘Perhaps you could help me then?’ Hazel said. ‘I’m looking for Mary Applegate. Some call her Blind Mary. She lives somewhere in this forest.’

‘Blind Mary, is it?’

‘Yes,’ Hazel said. ‘Do you know her?’

‘I do, as it happens.’ He stood up, using the axe as a prop. ‘But first, I’m going to tell you what has happened to me during these past few days . . . then you might
understand why it’s dangerous to mention the name Blind Mary to strangers.’ He rested his axe on his shoulder and reeled away towards the forest.