Violet Quiggle & the Wicked Garden

Chapter One

            The sugary blueberry breeze sweetened this first day of summer. Violet settled into the arms of the tree, knitting away, feeling magically free. A pair of birds building a nest near her elbow chirped for a scrap of yarn. Violet pulled one from her bag and paid the rent on the tree. An oddly perfumed, but light rain began falling, but then stopped just that fast. Ah, summer! Violet, going on thirteen, wanted to lull in this peace, knitting winter mittens for the wizard's pipes, the most delicate plant in the Wicked Garden. They did not like the snow settling on their bare branches. It would take her all summer to knit enough.

"Viii-OOOO-letttt! Viii-OOOO-letttt!" Great Aunt's voice sounded like an ancient hinge swinging open and shut. Tucking down into the tree she waited until the large figure of her grandmother went passed, her shimmering cape flowing behind her. Another pleasant breeze spiced the air. She breathed it in. Violet might have left the kitchen in a tip, and missed an appointment for her uniform fitting, but none of that was meant for the first day of summer. Tucking down into the sling of the limb she went on knitting.

The strange rumbling came on with enough force that she had to hang on to the tree branch. Birds flew out. A sour wind blew her dark curly hair into knots. Just like that, the tree tipped, Violet spilled out, her ball of yarn rolled away, taking one of her knitting needles with it.

"Nooooo!" Violet cried crawling after the special knitting needle which she found held fast to the ground by the toe of Great Aunt's boot.

"Dear, dear, Violet, you have somehow become quite a tragedy. What are you doing down there?" Great Aunt was a woman who towered over others, something she liked to do. That morning her hair was bound neatly under an intricate, swirly cap that looked to be knitted by bees.

"I lost my knitting needle!"

"Yes, I have it trapped under my boot." Great Aunt did not lift her foot off. "You must have heard me calling."

"Did you knock me out of the tree?"

"No. I believe it is the Wicked Garden acting up."

"Maybe I should get over there to see," Violet asked still on the ground, still waiting for the opportunity to get her precious knitting needle.

"Master Gardener Fenn will have that garden in hand—Violet are you knitting that rag with two old wizard wands?" When she inhaled, she lifted her foot. Violet snatched her knitting, put it in her Keeper Bag-- a place where only her own hand would fit. Stood up, bringing leaves with her.

"You gave them to me."

"Did I?" A yellow bird landed on Great Aunt's shoulder pecking at the beads. A wave of her hand sent it flying. "As you know, your mother expects that you will be prepared to attend an academy this autumn. You will be turning thirteen, the most important year. You don't want to show up there the last nitwit, you'll never get the label off. And we must get all the clothing made. You've missed four fittings."

"I don't want to leave. I'll miss the garden. It needs me." Violet attended a one room school house, as the only pupil, being the only child in her town. She had the one teacher, the fox faced, but bland Abecedary Renard. And her apprenticeship with Fenn, Master Gardener of the Wicked Garden. Together they minded the town's infamous Wicked Garden which seemed to be having its own tantrum that morning.

"You need to practice if you are to be prepared for all possible--"

The ground rumbled again, trees shook. Seed bombs began whistling through the air in some kind of attack Violet had never seen.

"I think those are all from the Wicked Garden."

Great Aunt flourished her hand in the air. "I'm sure it's nothing serious. Gardens have moods, as we all know well. Let's make a quick sweep for damage and see what can be remedied with a flick and a splick," Great Aunt said, but she kept hold of Violet by the scruff of her collar, like a pup. "And then you will get home to clean the kitchen, like you were told to do before you took out your knitting in that poor tree."