Puddlebrain

Chapter Twenty Eight

Puddlebrain had started along the pathway. She knew, as she walked slowly forward, that this was not of her doing. The trees were leering over her, their branches softly rustling, letting her know she wasn't forgotten. The Grimace had made this path. Perhaps it was in part due to the magic she'd shown the forest. Maybe it was giving in, submitting to what it saw of her power. She thought it was probably more the fact that, if it couldn't get rid of her, the Grimace would guide her to where it wanted her to go. She just hoped that she needed to go the same way.

Once, she looked back the way she had come. The forest had closed behind her. Indeed, the path was disappearing almost as soon as her feet had moved forward. She was virtually being pushed forward, the Grimace forcing a sense of urgency upon the witch.

"Come on," it was saying. "Get a move on!"

She had no choice but to walk faster, lest her ankles be snapped at by the over-zealous roots of the Grimace. But get a move on to what? To where? Puddlebrain was sure she'd find out soon enough and she hoped she was prepared for it.

It was dark.

Her eyes had, to a certain extent, become accustomed to the lack of light, but she still had to feel her way along. The pathway was fast becoming a sliver between the trees. With it closing up behind her, she had no time to stop and think or to use her magic to either brighten her way or widen the passage ahead. The branches above were interlocked like the knuckles of a pair of giant hands preparing to close in and squash her in their fist. They squeezed out any light from the night sky making everything seem like shadow layered upon shadow, thick and threatening, larger than life and infinitely more dangerous.

Puddlebrain wasn't normally a claustrophobic person, Gemini had the prize for that one, but she could understand how her sister might feel. More than once she tripped and fell, picking herself up only just in time to avoid being consumed by the rapidly fusing forest. Before long she was running, the permanent dusk making her feel almost blind. Branches whipped at her face, snagging her hair, tearing at her clothes.

She stumbled again and this time caught her breath as she heard, close by, a grumble of low laughter. She stared about frantically.

Was that a pair of red eyes, slashing the night?

Too quick to be sure, the harsh crimson rips were gone. But she was sure they had been there, wasn't she? And the laughter? A growl that crawled along the inside of the skin on her forearms? Had she really heard it? Or was it just the Grimace playing games with her? Puddlebrain was facing back the way she had come. The path had vanished, becoming a blanket of colourless branches and leaves that wrapped the night in indistinct detail. She was panting, drawing the air in through rapid, hoarse gasps. She couldn't move. The strength had been drained from her as easily as if she'd been a wet rag, rung out before being pegged on a line to dry. Her head hung forward and her eyes were closed. She struggled to control her breathing and her heaving chest.

"Come on," she told herself. "Come on. Calm. Be calm."

She opened her eyes. The forest was silent around her, waiting for her next move. Puddlebrain frowned. Why hadn't the forest closed upon her completely, drowning her in its foliage, consuming her like a spider does a fly? What was it waiting for? After a quick glance behind her to check the pathway was still open, she shuffled backwards on her bottom. As she moved, there was a hushed creaking as roots slid through the mud and branches stretched over to close the path where she had just been. She stopped moving, and the forest stopped closing.

Puddlebrain tilted her head to one side in thought. She drew her foot towards her slowly, and a root, as thick as her wrist and as long as her arm, slithered, snakelike, into the gap she had just created. She stretched her leg back out, but the root continued to uncoil, followed closely by a spindly branch covered in anaemic yellowing leaves. She retreated a little more, and again the Grimace reclaimed its territory.

Shuffle, close, stop. Shuffle, close stop.

The forest was playing with her. She felt like a child's doll, pulled and pushed as the Grimace saw fit. It was dancing, with her an unwilling partner, in a tuneless tango. She would not play this game! She would not bop this boogie, as Gemini might say.

Puddlebrain stood up. She smiled at the trees around her, wondering how they would feel if this particular toy chose not to play. Well, let's find out, eh? Let's dance to a different beat.

So. Here was she, a witch. Here were trees. Perfect. A match made in magic. Puddlebrain reached out and took hold of a particularly smooth branch. Glancing around her, sure the forest was just holding its breath, waiting for the chance to pounce, she tried to snap the branch off. The tree she was pulling at was resisting. She could feel it through her hands. It tensed as she pulled and she didn't quite have the strength to break it off.

Hey, never mind! There were more ways, she knew, to boil a broth than simply lighting a match. Holding the branch firmly in one hand, the witch reached out with her other hand and lightly touched where it joined the trunk. There was a crunchy slicing noise, sounding just like a knife cutting through a lettuce, and the branch came away from the tree in a clean break. The tree, one of the few elms that had managed to survive amongst the overpowering oaks, flailed its branches as if in pain and anger. It whipped out at Puddlebrain's head, but she easily managed to avoid being hit.

"Oh, hush now," she smiled. "You'll only go and grow another one. Besides, you've got dozens more. You won't miss this little one here!"

She confidently turned her back on the elm and ran her hand along the length of the branch, humming softly. The leaves and twigs and offshoots sprouting from it fell away leaving an unmarked main stem that glistened faintly with residual magic. Puddlebrain inspected it and nodded to herself. Good choice. She suddenly felt, rather than heard, the Grimace drawing in its breath, probably in response to her damaging one of its own. She'd expected this, and was ready. Quickly pushed one end of the branch against the earth, the witch swung her leg astride it. She looked back and saw the trees reaching towards her, clawing the air. She waited until they were a whisper away and then kicked at the ground.

"Catch me if you can!" she cried...

...And took off! Her feet left the floor and the branch, now smooth and sleek as if carved and polished by the finest broomstick craftsman in town (there were no broomstick craftsmen in town, they all live in Upper Witherton, but if there was one...), swept along the path more than twice as fast as Puddlebrain could have run. She leaned forwards, almost hugging the shaft, giving as little as possible to the forest's claws. The limbs of the oaks closed on empty air and the forest tried to gather about her, but it was simply not fast enough. Having lived for so long, it was used to everything happening at a lingering pace. It wasn't prepared for this rush of a girl. She'd disrupted its slumber and it had tried to teach her, but she hadn't learned the lesson. She hadn't wanted to learn!

Well then.

The Grimace shook itself, a shiver that ran through the leaves of every bush, oak and sliver of grass. It still chased the witch along the path created for her, but knew it couldn't catch up. Still, it wanted her to think it was trying. There were more ways, it knew, to catch a mouse than to simply buy a cat. Of course it didn't know this literally, it was a forest, and forests knew nothing of commerce or the eternal power struggle between feline and rodent, but it had the essence of the idea. And the Grimace realised that, if this intruder was watching her back, she would be less likely to be watching where she was headed.

The path led her on and she followed it without a thought as to where it might end. Even after so many years of not being able to fly, she was still adept. She assumed that this was what 'ordinary' people meant when they talked about 'as easy as riding a bicycle'. She had always been an acrobatic flyer, preferring to test her brooms and her talents to their limit – none of this 'As long as it gets me from here to there, I'm happy' nonsense that her sisters spouted. She wanted to fly the highest, swoop the fastest, and get as many loops in as she could along the way.

So Puddlebrain knew her business. She and her broomstick were almost a part of each other as they swept through the Grimace ducking and swaying and dodging along the path. Branches whipped as is they had every intention of taking her head clean off, but she avoided them effortlessly. Roots reached out like gnarled tentacles, wanting to grab her ankles and yank her back, but she out-flew them easily. A blur, she raced onwards, leaving the looming forest behind.

Flying was one of Puddlebrain's talents, of that there was no doubt. Unfortunately, she had never quite managed to perfect the tricky art of stopping sharply.