Page 10 of The Knucker King

You know once you step through the stone circle, the day passes differently. You linger at the well for too long every time you visit, Bramble chided.

“Enough scolding!” Avice snapped.

Her familiar whimpered but said nothing further. Guilt pricked at her. She was cold, filthy, and her body ached from all her efforts. She had been awake all night and day, and her temper hung by a fraying thread.

No excuse, Bramble has not done anything wrong. Avice reached and scratched the top of the Grim’s shaggy head as they continued their quick march. “I am sorry. I should not have snapped at you.”

I accept your apology. I should not have scolded you. It has been… a day. He huffed heavily through his nose.

Exhaustion dogged her every step, but Avice managed a weak giggle. “As you say, it has been a day.”

At last, the cottage was in sight. Halfway through their journey home, the heavens had opened and soaked them both to the bone. Relief spread through Avice as they crossed through the stone circle that surrounded the gardens she kept. Her boots crunched on the frosted path that led all the way up to her dwelling. Avice’s lips tugged down, her joints were frozen stiff, and her teeth chattered in her head.

I did a good thing today, she comforted herself.

Even over the steady sound of the rain, a chime caught her attention from an evergreen holly bush, quickly followed by excitable jabbering. She smiled gently in the direction of the noise.

“Yes, I am home,” Avice reassured before continuing to limp her way up the path.

The Good Neighbours who lived in her garden took sanctuary in the evergreens during Winter. The Pillywiggins favoured the holly bush and had consumed all the berries nestled amongst its spiked leaves – its juices were poisonous to people and animals, but a delicacy to this particular type of Faerie. Avice had often wondered if the juice from the fruit is what gave the Pillywiggins their attractive, red colouring.

Another chime was accompanied by a heavy rustle from amongst the greenery. The midwife’s heart thudded, concerned they were about to evacuate their Winter home and spread their wings.

“Do not come out!” Avice exclaimed. “I am soaked, cold, and I must get inside to warm up.”

An indignant shriek was followed by the snapping of twigs. The midwife knew that once the Pillywiggins came out from their hibernation, they would want to begin their Spring preparation and now was simply not the time.

She said no, Bramble growled, the edge of his lip quirking up.

That was enough for the flock of Pillywiggins to fall silent. Avice let out a relieved sigh and turned her gaze to her humble cottage. The dwelling had belonged to the Gardener women for generations. The timber framed, wattle and daub walls had been patched and replaced repeatedly over the many turns of seasons – the old way of describing a Christian year – and the varying shades of brown and yellow were proof of the repairs.

She smiled at the steady stream of smoke that wafted from the stone chimney. It stood proudly from the thatched roof. Gentle light flickered behind the wooden shutters. The midwife pulled at the leather strip around her neck and drew out a bronze key from beneath her dress.

The last rays of the Sun dipped below the trees. Avice grumbled to herself as she pushed the key into the lock. She wrestled with it, her fingers chilled and sore, shivering against the rapidly dropping temperature. The comforting clunk of the solid, wooden door unlocking finally met her ears. Avice shoved her way inside, the air within her humble, one-roomed cottage immediately warmed her bones.

“Come, Bramble,” Avice called.

The Grim stepped over the threshold, shaking out the droplets that had clung to his coat. The midwife shoved the door closed behind them, the hinges creaking loudly in the near-silent cottage as it slammed shut. Locking the door from the inside, Avice sealed away the chilly night.

Finally, Bramble huffed, padding towards the central hearth, his pelt steaming on his approach.

“Thank you, Ashling. It is so warm in here. I cannot tell you how good it is to come home to this,” Avice called over to the stone hearth.

The fire, burning merrily, cast the room in a cosy glow. He gave a loud chirp. A small ball of blue fire rose from the flames and floated over to Avice. The midwife giggled as the Wisp landed on her extended finger. The Faerie had cooled his flames enough to kiss her damp skin in greeting.

Avice rose the Wisp to her face and nuzzled him affectionately. “I missed you, too.”

With a final chime, the little Faerie bounced from Avice’s freezing finger. The Wisp sang and floated around Bramble, who wagged his tail and whuffed in response.

Avice. The Grim turned his head from the game. I mean no offense… He sniffed the smoky air with an exaggerated flare. …but you reek.

“I am well aware, Bramble,” Avice huffed in response.

She rubbed her freezing hands together. I cannot believe I left my gloves at Robert Shepherd’s. She cursed her foolishness. I will have to remember to get them when I am doing a follow-up with Goodwife Joan.

Avice flexed them, the feeling finally returning to her fingertips. She toed off her mud-caked boots, leaving them on the woven mat by the door. Now she could use her hands properly again, she began to untie the fastenings on her many layers of soaked clothes. The blood from the birth, mud from her tumble, and damp from the rain had practically stuck the fabrics together. Terrified she may rip the garments, she gritted her teeth, delicately removing them – layer by layer.

Finally, she stood, only in her linen chemise and stockings. Shivering, she looked down at herself. Clicking her tongue in frustration, she saw the filth had seeped into her final layer.