| SORCEROUS SIGNALS |
| Written by Barbara Davies / Artwork by Lee Kuruganti |
| Make a donation to this writer |
| Spirit of the Glade |
A blackbird was singing in the branches of the oak tree when Derwen awoke inside its trunk. For a
moment she simply listened in delight, then she stretched away her stiffness. How long had she slept
this time? A decade? A century?
Extending her senses, she tapped into the seven-hundred-year-old tree's awareness, until it was hard
to tell where it began and she ended. Its vast, slow mind welcomed her return, and she reciprocated its
affection before examining its thoughts. Insects were busy in its bark, and wasp galls were irritating the
leaves on its upper branches. It had lost a mighty limb in a recent storm. More seriously, though, was
the underlying sense of deep disquiet.
Derwen probed a little deeper, but the oak's worry was of something vague and insubstantial. Gently,
she withdrew from its embrace, and flowed through the trunk into the glade.
Dappled sunlight on her face greeted her emergence, and, for a moment, she savoured it and the
sensation of leaf mould between her toes. Then she turned full circle, scanning her surroundings. The
trees and bushes were more mature than she remembered, the undergrowth taller and more tangled,
otherwise not much had changed.
From the lie and length of the shadows and the strength of the sunlight, it was a mid morning in late
Spring. An abundance of flowering bluebells and the delicate stems of wood sorrel confirmed her guess.
Her questing senses paused as, from the north, came a feeling of wrongness. She set off in that
direction, following the thickly wooded slope downhill, careful not to crush stems or flowers underfoot.
The trees were full of birdsong, which fell silent as she approached, and woodland creatures chittered
their alarm. Calm soon returned when they realised who she was. At each thicket of oak, ash and thorn,
each stand of young conifers, she rested a hand on the nearest trunk and sent the news that she was
back through the bark and into the sap.
As she travelled, the feeling of wrongness grew. When a faint, acrid scent of wood smoke tainted the air,
the hairs on the back of her neck rose. Then came the sounds she had been dreading: the thud of axes
and rasp of saws. And voices.
The tree cover ended abruptly, and she stopped, shocked, then ducked back out of sight behind the
trunk of a silver birch. The dense woodland that had previously continued for several miles was gone,
replaced by a wasteland of stumps.
Trees had been taken from these woods for as long as she could remember, but never so unselectively
or in such quantities.
Those responsible must be greedy or desperate...or both.
Careful to remain hidden, she peered out.
The clearing was an ant's nest of activity, reeking of sweat and smoke and the anguish of trees dying.
Figures in flat, round, green caps were hard at work, felling the tall, straight trees she remembered. Yet
more were removing the branches, then dragging the trunks with hooks to where several placid shire
horses waited. A stooping figure wrapped a chain around a suitable bole, and attached the chain to a
bar, which in turn was attached to a horse's harness. As Derwen watched, the horse responded to its
owner's quiet commands and began to haul the tree trunk downhill to where a strange, horseless vehicle
waited.
The animals were instantly aware of Derwen's presence. Ears pricked forward with curiosity, and long
noses turned in her direction. Luckily, their human owners were oblivious.
It took her a moment to realise they were women. It was the sun-browned faces, the shirts open at the
neck, and the shapeless brown trousers that had misled her. The last time she had seen women in these
woods, they were pale skinned and wearing elegant long dresses, hats, and gloves. The mere idea of
such women undertaking strenuous physical labour would have been preposterous.
"Timber!" came the cry, and with it, a subvocal groan that was the soul of another tree departing this
world.
Sorrow filled her as it dawned on her just where she was standing. Gwernen's glade had been right here,
hadn't it? The tree spirit, a couple of decades older than Derwen, had always been a fount of wisdom and
advice. And now every trace of her was gone. Just like that!
Blinking away the tears, she gazed out at the sea of stumps. If this felling were to continue it would
threaten her glade too. And, if even Gwernen had been unable to save herself....
Derwen's heart sank. No wonder my oak is concerned.
***
That first night, the caterwaul of sirens and the whistle and boom of explosions drew the alarmed tree
spirit to the wood's northern edge to gape at the flickering, orange-red glare on the horizon. The
settlement humans called London was under attack, but by what or whom? Only later did Derwen realise
that the bombardment came from the flying machines that had droned over the wood earlier like a vast
and sinister flock of geese.
The second night, a host of smaller aircraft greeted the flying machines' appearance, appearing out of
nowhere and diving at them, spitting flame. Most of the larger craft escaped unscathed, but one was hit
and the resulting fireball streaked to earth to the north.
Derwen calculated its trajectory, then set off running. The fire was out by the time she reached the crash
site, panting. A once lush thicket of young hawthorn and silver birch was now splinters and gouged
earth. At its still-smoking heart, half buried, lay a mass of twisted metal. She studied it, noting the
cross-like markings on the contraption's wings, until voices and crashing in the undergrowth told her
humans were coming, and she retreated back to her glade.
It was then it dawned on her. England was under attack. And she along with it.
***
There were forty women in all, and most looked to be in their late teens or early twenties. Eavesdropping
on the frequent animated conversations that took place around the massive tea urn expanded Derwen's
knowledge and vocabulary considerably. She gleaned the women were 'doing their bit' by working for the
Timber Corps and they called themselves lumberjills or horsewomen, according to their duties.
She began to distinguish one from another. Some wore the sleeves of their green jerseys rolled up to
reveal muscular, tanned arms; some preferred to tie up their long hair in a scarf rather than wear the
jaunty beret. Physiques differed, as did characters. One slim girl with dark hair was always tripping over
tree stumps or lengths of chain. Another kept sneaking away for a quick cigarette. Yet another talked
incessantly until her exasperated companions told her to shut up.
The short, stern-faced one with the whistle strung on twine round her neck and the badge on her sleeve
was in charge. If Derwen were to incapacitate her....
It was a matter of timing, of allowing for the slight delay between Derwen's request to a suitable tree and
its answer. Tree roots tripped the stern-faced woman several times, but weren't enough. Soon,
however, a falling branch broke her ankle. But another woman replaced her, and another. Then, to
Derwen's chagrin, she learned the decision regarding which trees were to be felled was in any case made
not by the women with the whistles but by a stout man with a grizzled moustache and a perpetually
worried look.
Mr. Edwards was the owner of the local sawmill, and every few days he came to check on progress. The
change that came over the camp whenever he visited intrigued Derwen. A wary, respectful silence
replaced the relaxed banter. Edwards' driver, a handsome young man with a dashing moustache and a
lame left leg, caused a different reaction. Johnny Egan liked to limp around the clearing, ogling the
women. Most turned their backs on him, but a few batted their eyelashes and competed for his
attention. His self-satisfied smirk made Derwen itch to slap him.
It soon became clear Egan was interested in one particular woman. Kathy was shy, fair-haired and
pretty, in an understated, English kind of way. To Derwen it was obvious Kathy's friendship with the
fierce-looking horsewoman named Anna could turn into something deeper given encouragement. But
Egan was either oblivious to their blossoming relationship or convinced Kathy would be unable to resist
his charms.
But while the awkward interactions between the three intrigued Derwen, her priority was getting the
sawmill owner to direct the felling away from her glade, or better still stop it altogether. Unfortunately,
Edwards seemed to have a sixth sense for snaking roots and falling branches, and, after the third near
miss, took to staying well clear of trees altogether. If she was going to save her glade, she must think of
something else. And soon.
***
The crashing sounds startled the squirrel Derwen had been watching dig for acorns. It sat bolt upright,
gave its tail an agitated twitch, and fled.
"Come back, you little fool," a man's voice said.
Derwen hid behind her oak and peered round its trunk.
A lumberjill burst into the glade. She was struggling to catch her breath. Her jersey was ripped and
leaves and twigs had got caught in her hair. Derwen recognised her at once.
Kathy.
The young woman rushed to the far side of the glade and tried to force her way through, but the trunks
and branches were too crooked and crowded there, and wouldn't let her pass.
Another figure burst into the clearing.
"There you are." Johnny Egan limped towards Kathy.
The colour blanched from her cheeks and her eyes widened in alarm. "Leave me alone!"
He grinned. "Don't be like that."
She lowered her head and charged.
"Hey!" He got out of her way just in time.
For a moment, Derwen thought Kathy was going to escape, then Egan reached out and grabbed her.
She struggled, but he was bigger than she was, stronger.
"Get off me, you brute!"
"Calm down."
"Leave me alone."
He dragged Kathy roughly towards Derwen's oak, her heels scuffing up the leaf mould, and threw her
against its trunk. "All this fuss!"
He put his hand behind her neck and ground his mouth into hers. Then he yelped and released her.
"Bitch!" He raised a hand to his lip, studied the blood on it, then slapped Kathy so hard her own lip bled.
She looked dazed.
A grim-faced Derwen rested her palm against the oak's trunk and sent out a request.
Egan tried to undo the straps of Kathy's overalls, to yank her jersey up over her head.
"Stop it!"
Her protests only seemed to excite him more. He ripped open her shirt and was about to paw her
breasts when the branch fell on him. Bones cracked. He slumped against Kathy.
"Get off me." Kathy's voice was thick with tears.
Egan didn't move, so she shoved him away. On hands and knees she crawled to the centre of the glade,
then looked back. Egan still hadn't moved. She dropped her head in her hands.
The sounds of sobbing were too much for Derwen. She emerged from her hiding place and went to
comfort the young woman. "There, there. You're safe now."
Kathy's head snapped up. "What? Who are you?"
"A friend."
"Were you watching me all this time? While he tried to..." Tears overtook her again.
"Get away from her," a new voice said.
Derwen twisted round to see its owner. Anna. With a face like thunder.
"I said get away from her. Now!"
Holding her palms out in a calming gesture, Derwen rose and backed carefully away.
Anna rushed towards Kathy. "Are you all right?" She knelt beside her and rested a hand on her shoulder.
Kathy's sobbing intensified and Anna looked panicked.
"It’s all right." She pulled Kathy into an embrace. "I won't let anyone hurt you."
The other woman threw her arms around Anna, as though her life depended upon it.
"What happened?" Anna asked.
It took a moment for Derwen to register that the horsewoman was looking over Kathy's shoulder at her,
her expression stony. Derwen gestured towards the sprawled man. Anna's gaze shifted and her eyes
widened with realisation.
"Oh God!" She pulled back and studied Kathy's face. "Kathy, love. Tell me what happened. Did he..."
Derwen took the opportunity to slip back into her hiding place.
"He tried to." Tears spilled down Kathy's cheeks. "If it hadn't been for..." She pressed her face back into
Anna's shoulder.
Anna's face creased with distress. "They said you were on your fag break, but I couldn't find you. Then I
heard screaming in the distance..." She took a breath to calm herself.
"I tried to fend him off." Anna's shoulder muffled Kathy's words. "But he wouldn't leave me alone...." She
pulled back and glanced round. "He's not dead, is he?"
"I hope he broke his bloody neck."
Kathy shivered. "It was strange how that branch fell on him just then. Almost as if..." She looked
furtively around. "Did you see a woman?" She bit her lip. "Or did I imagine her?"
Anna shrugged. "She's gone now. Forget her. As long as you're all right."
Kathy leaned into her again. "He kept saying I was just being silly, Anna. That I'd like it."
The horsewoman curled her lip. "Some of the others probably would." She slipped an arm around
Kathy's waist. "Think you can stand?" Kathy nodded and let Anna help her up.
For a while the two simply held one another, then Kathy straightened her jersey and tried to rebutton
the bib of her overalls. A button was missing. Anna hunted around and found it.
"Here."
"Thanks." Kathy stuffed it in her pocket. She sighed and rubbed at her face. "I must look a sight."
Anna picked a leaf from her hair. "Not to me." She pressed a gentle kiss on Kathy's cheek.
Derwen wondered if that was their first kiss. If so it was plainly welcome. Kathy's cheeks pinked with
pleasure and her eyes brightened.
They went to inspect the driver. Anna heaved the branch off him then gave the fresh gap in the canopy
above a speculative glance.
"Is he dead?" Kathy asked.
Anna stooped and felt for a pulse. "No." She sounded disappointed.
"Shouldn't we see about getting him back to camp?"
"I suppose so." Anna continued her examination. "He took a blow to the head." She felt his shoulder.
"Broke his collarbone too." She gave Kathy a grim smile. "Serves him right."
"Strange how many branches have been falling without warning lately, isn’t it?" Kathy shivered. "Did you
know our camp's injury rate is much higher than that of the others?"
"Mm. There's something very odd about this wood."
"Could that woman have had something to do with it? Her feet were bare. Did you notice? And that hair
down to her waist, it looked like she never combs it. As for that dress...it didn't leave much to the
imagination, did it?"
Anna looked thoughtful.
"I know it sounds crazy," Kathy continued. "But suppose...suppose she's a woodland spirit, protecting
her trees?"
They blinked at one another, then Kathy glanced uneasily around the glade. Derwen edged further into
the shadows.
"I'm spooking myself," Kathy murmured.
"Me too," Anna said. Egan's fingers chose that moment to twitch. "We should get him back before he
comes round." She rolled him onto his back and straightened his limbs. "You take his legs, and I'll take
his arms."
"All right."
Anna slipped her hands under the driver's armpits. It evoked a groan but he didn't regain
consciousness. She straightened. "Weighs a bloody ton!"
Kathy grabbed his ankles and lifted. "His shoulder's going to hurt like blazes."
"Good," Anna muttered.
They carried him to the edge of the glade.
From her hiding place, Derwen watched them go.
***
"Are you here, tree spirit?" It was Kathy's voice, coming from directly outside Derwen's tree. "If so,
please come out. We mean you no harm."
She hesitated.
"Told you we imagined it," Anna muttered.
"Hush," Kathy said. "We want to thank you," she continued, raising her voice again. "For what you did."
Derwen took a deep breath and stepped out of her oak.
"Oh!" Anna's cheeks paled. "You're real." She wrapped a protective arm around Kathy's shoulders.
"You're a tree spirit, aren't you?" Kathy's expression was rapt.
Derwen smiled and inclined her head.
"Thank you for saving me."
"You're welcome."
She was glad the young lumberjill appeared to have recovered from her ordeal. Anna's attentions were
probably helping.
Kathy's gaze flicked to the oak then back to Derwen. "Do you die if your tree is felled?"
Derwen nodded.
The lumberjill's brow furrowed. "Is that why you've been trying to halt the felling?"
"Mine is the last of the inhabited glades. Gwernen's trees are no more."
Kathy's eyes grew round. "Oh my gosh. You mean there were other spirits in these woods?" She
exchanged a shocked glance with Anna.
"Gone, all gone," Derwen said sadly.
Kathy's eyes brimmed with tears. "But we didn't know! How could we?"
Anna glared at Derwen, as if she was the one who had made Kathy cry. "We didn’t know," she repeated.
"Nevertheless." Derwen paused and considered the two women. "Will you make amends?"
"By helping to save your glade?" Kathy asked.
"It's not up to us," Anna said at once. "The man who owns the sawmill, Edwards, he's the one who
decides what to fell."
Kathy gave Anna a pleading look. "But there must be something we can do."
"I don't see what." Anna regarded the glade with a frown. "These trees are too old and crooked for pit
props or telegraph poles, it's true, but Edwards could still turn them into wood pulp."
Derwen's heart sank. Is there no hope, then?
"What we really need," Anna continued, her tone thoughtful, "is some powerfully persuasive reason for
him to go elsewhere."
Her eyes lit up and she grinned. It softened the fierceness of her features and Derwen suddenly saw
what Kathy saw in her horsewoman.
"You've had an idea," Kathy accused. She prodded Anna in the stomach. "What is it?"
Anna tapped the side of her nose. "Wait and see."
***
It was a cloudless night, and the droning planes had disappeared towards the city an hour ago. The
distant bombardment almost drowned out the sound of someone coming towards Derwen's glade.
Almost.
Voices: a man and a woman's. The nicker of a horse. The creak of a leather harness and clink of chains.
Something heavy being dragged.
When Anna led her shire horse into the glade, Derwen was hiding behind her oak. It was just as well.
The horsewoman wasn't alone.
The man accompanying her stopped just inside the tree line. His uniform was regular army, but she
didn't recognise the badge on his sleeve: a sinister, yellow shape on a dark oval that would, she thought,
be scarlet in daylight.
"Is this the place?" He studied his moonlit surroundings. "Some of these trees look ancient."
Anna nodded. "Help me get it unchained."
'It' was a cylinder, five feet long and dark green in colour, though the glint from numerous scratch marks
showed there was metal beneath the paint. Two broad red stripes encircled the cylinder's nose and
middle. One end was pointed, the other had four fins attached. Two of the fins were bent as if from a
recent collision.
Derwen watched Anna and her companion unfasten the chain from the horse, which stood placidly in the
moonlight, ears flicking. The resemblance between them was striking. The same nose. The same broad
forehead and determined chin.
The man produced a collapsible spade, unfolded it, scraped back the covering of leaf mould from a rough
circle in the centre of the glade, and began to dig. Anna watched him for a moment then pulled out a
cigarette and lit it.
"All right for some," he grumbled.
"I'll take over when you get tired."
"We won't need the hole to be that deep."
Worried about possible damage to her oak's roots, Derwen pressed her hand to its trunk and warned it
to move them out of his way. After the usual delay, it complied. She flitted around the glade, keeping out
of sight, making the same request of the other trees.
If the man noticed his task had suddenly become easier, he didn't mention it. He dug for ten minutes
then took a breather, rubbing the small of his back.
"Why here? I'd have thought after what nearly happened to Kathy you'd want this place obliterated."
"It's not the glade's fault. In fact, if that branch hadn't come down on that bugger's head..." Anna
stubbed out her cigarette. "Want me to take over?"
He shook his head, and resumed digging. Anna crossed to the cylinder and started to drag it towards
the growing hole.
"Careful, Sis."
She paused and looked at him. "You did disarm it, didn’t you?"
He rolled his eyes. "What do you take me for? I just don’t want you putting your back out."
"I'm not that feeble!" She resumed her task.
After a few minutes more, he stopped digging and hopped out of the hole. "Should be deep enough."
"Good. Give me a hand."
"Can't I even stop for a fag?" She looked at him and he sighed. "Slave driver."
Derwen and the horse watched the siblings manoeuvre the pointed end of the cylinder into the hole,
positioning it so the fins still showed. The man shovelled the displaced earth back in, and Anna stamped
it down.
"Not too hard. It has to look convincing."
"I know."
"Make sure the leaf mould goes back on top."
She threw him an exasperated look. "I know!"
When they'd finished, they stood back to assess the result: a lopsided mound of earth, from which
protruded four fins.
"It would convince me," he said. "One of the bombers could easily have dropped its payload early." He
pulled out a cigarette and lit it.
Anna rubbed her jaw. "And you're sure Edwards won't be able to get your lot to deal with it?"
"Positive." He took another drag of his cigarette. "He can ask, but we won't come. These raids are
keeping us rushed off our feet—I had to call in a favour just to get a few hours off. And the middle of an
unpopulated wood hardly counts as top priority. No. Your boss'll have no choice but to cordon this place
off for the duration."
She gave him a relieved grin. "Good."
He threw down his butt and ground it out with his heel. "All done?" He grinned. "Or have you got
another cloak and dagger mission lined up for me?"
Anna returned his grin and clapped him on the back. "All done."
She gathered up the loose length of chain, looped it round her forearm, then walked over to the
patiently waiting horse and stroked its nose. "Now help me get Nancy here back to her stable. She's
missed enough sleep for one night."
"She's not the only one." He yawned, folded his spade, and tucked it back in his belt.
As they were leaving, Anna paused at the edge of the glade and looked back towards the ancient oak
tree. "Goodnight," she called.
He gave her a strange look. "Talking to yourself again, Sis?"
"Looks like it." She laughed.
"Goodnight," Derwen whispered.
***
Voices and the clank of metal and thud of hammers roused Derwen the next morning. A shiver of dread
washed through her, and she went to investigate.
Several lumberjills were cordoning off the glade with posts and ropes while others nailed red warning
signs to the adjacent tree trunks.
"UXB?" Derwen murmured, reading the signs.
"Unexploded bomb," a voice said from beside her, making her heart pound. She had been so preoccupied
Anna and Kathy had been able to creep up on her unannounced.
Her heart slowed to its normal beat. "Does that mean I'm safe?"
"For now." Kathy bit her lip, "Couldn't you find another tree?"
"I'm afraid it doesn't work like that."
"I'm sorry."
Derwen smiled. "Don't be. You've won me a reprieve. Thank you."
"Seemed the least we could do," Anna said. "After..." She gave Kathy's shoulders a comforting squeeze.
"You know."
"How is he?" Derwen asked.
"Egan? Recovering. That blow to the head wiped his memory, fortunately. He's on sick leave, so Edwards
has got himself a new driver." She glanced at Kathy. "He won't be missed."
Kathy glanced anxiously to where the lumberjills were packing up their tools and heading back down the
hill. "We'd better go, Anna. It looks like they've finished."
"All right."
Anna held out her hand to Derwen. "We probably won’t see you again," she said. "Good luck."
The tree spirit frowned at the hand in puzzlement then realised she was supposed to clasp and shake it.
She did so. "And you," she said. "I hope you win your war."
"Me too."
With a shy little wave from Kathy, the two set off walking. Derwen watched them go, noticing the
moment when they reluctantly released hands. It was a shame that love, in all its guises, was not
acceptable in this era. But the world turned, and perhaps one day...
She studied the rope cordon once more. Would it keep her glade safe? There was nothing she could do
about it if it didn't. A careless cigarette, a real bomb, the inescapable fact that her oak would not live
forever... One day, her time would come, but for now...
As peace returned to the glade and the blackbirds resumed their singing, she took one last look at her
surroundings then flowed inside the oak and settled herself comfortably against its interior.
How long should she sleep this time? A decade? A century? She yawned. And what kind of world would
be waiting for her when she awoke?
I'm going to sleep now, old friend, she sent. Wake me if anything happens.
I will, came the oak's reply after the usual long pause. I will.
moment she simply listened in delight, then she stretched away her stiffness. How long had she slept
this time? A decade? A century?
Extending her senses, she tapped into the seven-hundred-year-old tree's awareness, until it was hard
to tell where it began and she ended. Its vast, slow mind welcomed her return, and she reciprocated its
affection before examining its thoughts. Insects were busy in its bark, and wasp galls were irritating the
leaves on its upper branches. It had lost a mighty limb in a recent storm. More seriously, though, was
the underlying sense of deep disquiet.
Derwen probed a little deeper, but the oak's worry was of something vague and insubstantial. Gently,
she withdrew from its embrace, and flowed through the trunk into the glade.
Dappled sunlight on her face greeted her emergence, and, for a moment, she savoured it and the
sensation of leaf mould between her toes. Then she turned full circle, scanning her surroundings. The
trees and bushes were more mature than she remembered, the undergrowth taller and more tangled,
otherwise not much had changed.
From the lie and length of the shadows and the strength of the sunlight, it was a mid morning in late
Spring. An abundance of flowering bluebells and the delicate stems of wood sorrel confirmed her guess.
Her questing senses paused as, from the north, came a feeling of wrongness. She set off in that
direction, following the thickly wooded slope downhill, careful not to crush stems or flowers underfoot.
The trees were full of birdsong, which fell silent as she approached, and woodland creatures chittered
their alarm. Calm soon returned when they realised who she was. At each thicket of oak, ash and thorn,
each stand of young conifers, she rested a hand on the nearest trunk and sent the news that she was
back through the bark and into the sap.
As she travelled, the feeling of wrongness grew. When a faint, acrid scent of wood smoke tainted the air,
the hairs on the back of her neck rose. Then came the sounds she had been dreading: the thud of axes
and rasp of saws. And voices.
The tree cover ended abruptly, and she stopped, shocked, then ducked back out of sight behind the
trunk of a silver birch. The dense woodland that had previously continued for several miles was gone,
replaced by a wasteland of stumps.
Trees had been taken from these woods for as long as she could remember, but never so unselectively
or in such quantities.
Those responsible must be greedy or desperate...or both.
Careful to remain hidden, she peered out.
The clearing was an ant's nest of activity, reeking of sweat and smoke and the anguish of trees dying.
Figures in flat, round, green caps were hard at work, felling the tall, straight trees she remembered. Yet
more were removing the branches, then dragging the trunks with hooks to where several placid shire
horses waited. A stooping figure wrapped a chain around a suitable bole, and attached the chain to a
bar, which in turn was attached to a horse's harness. As Derwen watched, the horse responded to its
owner's quiet commands and began to haul the tree trunk downhill to where a strange, horseless vehicle
waited.
The animals were instantly aware of Derwen's presence. Ears pricked forward with curiosity, and long
noses turned in her direction. Luckily, their human owners were oblivious.
It took her a moment to realise they were women. It was the sun-browned faces, the shirts open at the
neck, and the shapeless brown trousers that had misled her. The last time she had seen women in these
woods, they were pale skinned and wearing elegant long dresses, hats, and gloves. The mere idea of
such women undertaking strenuous physical labour would have been preposterous.
"Timber!" came the cry, and with it, a subvocal groan that was the soul of another tree departing this
world.
Sorrow filled her as it dawned on her just where she was standing. Gwernen's glade had been right here,
hadn't it? The tree spirit, a couple of decades older than Derwen, had always been a fount of wisdom and
advice. And now every trace of her was gone. Just like that!
Blinking away the tears, she gazed out at the sea of stumps. If this felling were to continue it would
threaten her glade too. And, if even Gwernen had been unable to save herself....
Derwen's heart sank. No wonder my oak is concerned.
***
That first night, the caterwaul of sirens and the whistle and boom of explosions drew the alarmed tree
spirit to the wood's northern edge to gape at the flickering, orange-red glare on the horizon. The
settlement humans called London was under attack, but by what or whom? Only later did Derwen realise
that the bombardment came from the flying machines that had droned over the wood earlier like a vast
and sinister flock of geese.
The second night, a host of smaller aircraft greeted the flying machines' appearance, appearing out of
nowhere and diving at them, spitting flame. Most of the larger craft escaped unscathed, but one was hit
and the resulting fireball streaked to earth to the north.
Derwen calculated its trajectory, then set off running. The fire was out by the time she reached the crash
site, panting. A once lush thicket of young hawthorn and silver birch was now splinters and gouged
earth. At its still-smoking heart, half buried, lay a mass of twisted metal. She studied it, noting the
cross-like markings on the contraption's wings, until voices and crashing in the undergrowth told her
humans were coming, and she retreated back to her glade.
It was then it dawned on her. England was under attack. And she along with it.
***
There were forty women in all, and most looked to be in their late teens or early twenties. Eavesdropping
on the frequent animated conversations that took place around the massive tea urn expanded Derwen's
knowledge and vocabulary considerably. She gleaned the women were 'doing their bit' by working for the
Timber Corps and they called themselves lumberjills or horsewomen, according to their duties.
She began to distinguish one from another. Some wore the sleeves of their green jerseys rolled up to
reveal muscular, tanned arms; some preferred to tie up their long hair in a scarf rather than wear the
jaunty beret. Physiques differed, as did characters. One slim girl with dark hair was always tripping over
tree stumps or lengths of chain. Another kept sneaking away for a quick cigarette. Yet another talked
incessantly until her exasperated companions told her to shut up.
The short, stern-faced one with the whistle strung on twine round her neck and the badge on her sleeve
was in charge. If Derwen were to incapacitate her....
It was a matter of timing, of allowing for the slight delay between Derwen's request to a suitable tree and
its answer. Tree roots tripped the stern-faced woman several times, but weren't enough. Soon,
however, a falling branch broke her ankle. But another woman replaced her, and another. Then, to
Derwen's chagrin, she learned the decision regarding which trees were to be felled was in any case made
not by the women with the whistles but by a stout man with a grizzled moustache and a perpetually
worried look.
Mr. Edwards was the owner of the local sawmill, and every few days he came to check on progress. The
change that came over the camp whenever he visited intrigued Derwen. A wary, respectful silence
replaced the relaxed banter. Edwards' driver, a handsome young man with a dashing moustache and a
lame left leg, caused a different reaction. Johnny Egan liked to limp around the clearing, ogling the
women. Most turned their backs on him, but a few batted their eyelashes and competed for his
attention. His self-satisfied smirk made Derwen itch to slap him.
It soon became clear Egan was interested in one particular woman. Kathy was shy, fair-haired and
pretty, in an understated, English kind of way. To Derwen it was obvious Kathy's friendship with the
fierce-looking horsewoman named Anna could turn into something deeper given encouragement. But
Egan was either oblivious to their blossoming relationship or convinced Kathy would be unable to resist
his charms.
But while the awkward interactions between the three intrigued Derwen, her priority was getting the
sawmill owner to direct the felling away from her glade, or better still stop it altogether. Unfortunately,
Edwards seemed to have a sixth sense for snaking roots and falling branches, and, after the third near
miss, took to staying well clear of trees altogether. If she was going to save her glade, she must think of
something else. And soon.
***
The crashing sounds startled the squirrel Derwen had been watching dig for acorns. It sat bolt upright,
gave its tail an agitated twitch, and fled.
"Come back, you little fool," a man's voice said.
Derwen hid behind her oak and peered round its trunk.
A lumberjill burst into the glade. She was struggling to catch her breath. Her jersey was ripped and
leaves and twigs had got caught in her hair. Derwen recognised her at once.
Kathy.
The young woman rushed to the far side of the glade and tried to force her way through, but the trunks
and branches were too crooked and crowded there, and wouldn't let her pass.
Another figure burst into the clearing.
"There you are." Johnny Egan limped towards Kathy.
The colour blanched from her cheeks and her eyes widened in alarm. "Leave me alone!"
He grinned. "Don't be like that."
She lowered her head and charged.
"Hey!" He got out of her way just in time.
For a moment, Derwen thought Kathy was going to escape, then Egan reached out and grabbed her.
She struggled, but he was bigger than she was, stronger.
"Get off me, you brute!"
"Calm down."
"Leave me alone."
He dragged Kathy roughly towards Derwen's oak, her heels scuffing up the leaf mould, and threw her
against its trunk. "All this fuss!"
He put his hand behind her neck and ground his mouth into hers. Then he yelped and released her.
"Bitch!" He raised a hand to his lip, studied the blood on it, then slapped Kathy so hard her own lip bled.
She looked dazed.
A grim-faced Derwen rested her palm against the oak's trunk and sent out a request.
Egan tried to undo the straps of Kathy's overalls, to yank her jersey up over her head.
"Stop it!"
Her protests only seemed to excite him more. He ripped open her shirt and was about to paw her
breasts when the branch fell on him. Bones cracked. He slumped against Kathy.
"Get off me." Kathy's voice was thick with tears.
Egan didn't move, so she shoved him away. On hands and knees she crawled to the centre of the glade,
then looked back. Egan still hadn't moved. She dropped her head in her hands.
The sounds of sobbing were too much for Derwen. She emerged from her hiding place and went to
comfort the young woman. "There, there. You're safe now."
Kathy's head snapped up. "What? Who are you?"
"A friend."
"Were you watching me all this time? While he tried to..." Tears overtook her again.
"Get away from her," a new voice said.
Derwen twisted round to see its owner. Anna. With a face like thunder.
"I said get away from her. Now!"
Holding her palms out in a calming gesture, Derwen rose and backed carefully away.
Anna rushed towards Kathy. "Are you all right?" She knelt beside her and rested a hand on her shoulder.
Kathy's sobbing intensified and Anna looked panicked.
"It’s all right." She pulled Kathy into an embrace. "I won't let anyone hurt you."
The other woman threw her arms around Anna, as though her life depended upon it.
"What happened?" Anna asked.
It took a moment for Derwen to register that the horsewoman was looking over Kathy's shoulder at her,
her expression stony. Derwen gestured towards the sprawled man. Anna's gaze shifted and her eyes
widened with realisation.
"Oh God!" She pulled back and studied Kathy's face. "Kathy, love. Tell me what happened. Did he..."
Derwen took the opportunity to slip back into her hiding place.
"He tried to." Tears spilled down Kathy's cheeks. "If it hadn't been for..." She pressed her face back into
Anna's shoulder.
Anna's face creased with distress. "They said you were on your fag break, but I couldn't find you. Then I
heard screaming in the distance..." She took a breath to calm herself.
"I tried to fend him off." Anna's shoulder muffled Kathy's words. "But he wouldn't leave me alone...." She
pulled back and glanced round. "He's not dead, is he?"
"I hope he broke his bloody neck."
Kathy shivered. "It was strange how that branch fell on him just then. Almost as if..." She looked
furtively around. "Did you see a woman?" She bit her lip. "Or did I imagine her?"
Anna shrugged. "She's gone now. Forget her. As long as you're all right."
Kathy leaned into her again. "He kept saying I was just being silly, Anna. That I'd like it."
The horsewoman curled her lip. "Some of the others probably would." She slipped an arm around
Kathy's waist. "Think you can stand?" Kathy nodded and let Anna help her up.
For a while the two simply held one another, then Kathy straightened her jersey and tried to rebutton
the bib of her overalls. A button was missing. Anna hunted around and found it.
"Here."
"Thanks." Kathy stuffed it in her pocket. She sighed and rubbed at her face. "I must look a sight."
Anna picked a leaf from her hair. "Not to me." She pressed a gentle kiss on Kathy's cheek.
Derwen wondered if that was their first kiss. If so it was plainly welcome. Kathy's cheeks pinked with
pleasure and her eyes brightened.
They went to inspect the driver. Anna heaved the branch off him then gave the fresh gap in the canopy
above a speculative glance.
"Is he dead?" Kathy asked.
Anna stooped and felt for a pulse. "No." She sounded disappointed.
"Shouldn't we see about getting him back to camp?"
"I suppose so." Anna continued her examination. "He took a blow to the head." She felt his shoulder.
"Broke his collarbone too." She gave Kathy a grim smile. "Serves him right."
"Strange how many branches have been falling without warning lately, isn’t it?" Kathy shivered. "Did you
know our camp's injury rate is much higher than that of the others?"
"Mm. There's something very odd about this wood."
"Could that woman have had something to do with it? Her feet were bare. Did you notice? And that hair
down to her waist, it looked like she never combs it. As for that dress...it didn't leave much to the
imagination, did it?"
Anna looked thoughtful.
"I know it sounds crazy," Kathy continued. "But suppose...suppose she's a woodland spirit, protecting
her trees?"
They blinked at one another, then Kathy glanced uneasily around the glade. Derwen edged further into
the shadows.
"I'm spooking myself," Kathy murmured.
"Me too," Anna said. Egan's fingers chose that moment to twitch. "We should get him back before he
comes round." She rolled him onto his back and straightened his limbs. "You take his legs, and I'll take
his arms."
"All right."
Anna slipped her hands under the driver's armpits. It evoked a groan but he didn't regain
consciousness. She straightened. "Weighs a bloody ton!"
Kathy grabbed his ankles and lifted. "His shoulder's going to hurt like blazes."
"Good," Anna muttered.
They carried him to the edge of the glade.
From her hiding place, Derwen watched them go.
***
"Are you here, tree spirit?" It was Kathy's voice, coming from directly outside Derwen's tree. "If so,
please come out. We mean you no harm."
She hesitated.
"Told you we imagined it," Anna muttered.
"Hush," Kathy said. "We want to thank you," she continued, raising her voice again. "For what you did."
Derwen took a deep breath and stepped out of her oak.
"Oh!" Anna's cheeks paled. "You're real." She wrapped a protective arm around Kathy's shoulders.
"You're a tree spirit, aren't you?" Kathy's expression was rapt.
Derwen smiled and inclined her head.
"Thank you for saving me."
"You're welcome."
She was glad the young lumberjill appeared to have recovered from her ordeal. Anna's attentions were
probably helping.
Kathy's gaze flicked to the oak then back to Derwen. "Do you die if your tree is felled?"
Derwen nodded.
The lumberjill's brow furrowed. "Is that why you've been trying to halt the felling?"
"Mine is the last of the inhabited glades. Gwernen's trees are no more."
Kathy's eyes grew round. "Oh my gosh. You mean there were other spirits in these woods?" She
exchanged a shocked glance with Anna.
"Gone, all gone," Derwen said sadly.
Kathy's eyes brimmed with tears. "But we didn't know! How could we?"
Anna glared at Derwen, as if she was the one who had made Kathy cry. "We didn’t know," she repeated.
"Nevertheless." Derwen paused and considered the two women. "Will you make amends?"
"By helping to save your glade?" Kathy asked.
"It's not up to us," Anna said at once. "The man who owns the sawmill, Edwards, he's the one who
decides what to fell."
Kathy gave Anna a pleading look. "But there must be something we can do."
"I don't see what." Anna regarded the glade with a frown. "These trees are too old and crooked for pit
props or telegraph poles, it's true, but Edwards could still turn them into wood pulp."
Derwen's heart sank. Is there no hope, then?
"What we really need," Anna continued, her tone thoughtful, "is some powerfully persuasive reason for
him to go elsewhere."
Her eyes lit up and she grinned. It softened the fierceness of her features and Derwen suddenly saw
what Kathy saw in her horsewoman.
"You've had an idea," Kathy accused. She prodded Anna in the stomach. "What is it?"
Anna tapped the side of her nose. "Wait and see."
***
It was a cloudless night, and the droning planes had disappeared towards the city an hour ago. The
distant bombardment almost drowned out the sound of someone coming towards Derwen's glade.
Almost.
Voices: a man and a woman's. The nicker of a horse. The creak of a leather harness and clink of chains.
Something heavy being dragged.
When Anna led her shire horse into the glade, Derwen was hiding behind her oak. It was just as well.
The horsewoman wasn't alone.
The man accompanying her stopped just inside the tree line. His uniform was regular army, but she
didn't recognise the badge on his sleeve: a sinister, yellow shape on a dark oval that would, she thought,
be scarlet in daylight.
"Is this the place?" He studied his moonlit surroundings. "Some of these trees look ancient."
Anna nodded. "Help me get it unchained."
'It' was a cylinder, five feet long and dark green in colour, though the glint from numerous scratch marks
showed there was metal beneath the paint. Two broad red stripes encircled the cylinder's nose and
middle. One end was pointed, the other had four fins attached. Two of the fins were bent as if from a
recent collision.
Derwen watched Anna and her companion unfasten the chain from the horse, which stood placidly in the
moonlight, ears flicking. The resemblance between them was striking. The same nose. The same broad
forehead and determined chin.
The man produced a collapsible spade, unfolded it, scraped back the covering of leaf mould from a rough
circle in the centre of the glade, and began to dig. Anna watched him for a moment then pulled out a
cigarette and lit it.
"All right for some," he grumbled.
"I'll take over when you get tired."
"We won't need the hole to be that deep."
Worried about possible damage to her oak's roots, Derwen pressed her hand to its trunk and warned it
to move them out of his way. After the usual delay, it complied. She flitted around the glade, keeping out
of sight, making the same request of the other trees.
If the man noticed his task had suddenly become easier, he didn't mention it. He dug for ten minutes
then took a breather, rubbing the small of his back.
"Why here? I'd have thought after what nearly happened to Kathy you'd want this place obliterated."
"It's not the glade's fault. In fact, if that branch hadn't come down on that bugger's head..." Anna
stubbed out her cigarette. "Want me to take over?"
He shook his head, and resumed digging. Anna crossed to the cylinder and started to drag it towards
the growing hole.
"Careful, Sis."
She paused and looked at him. "You did disarm it, didn’t you?"
He rolled his eyes. "What do you take me for? I just don’t want you putting your back out."
"I'm not that feeble!" She resumed her task.
After a few minutes more, he stopped digging and hopped out of the hole. "Should be deep enough."
"Good. Give me a hand."
"Can't I even stop for a fag?" She looked at him and he sighed. "Slave driver."
Derwen and the horse watched the siblings manoeuvre the pointed end of the cylinder into the hole,
positioning it so the fins still showed. The man shovelled the displaced earth back in, and Anna stamped
it down.
"Not too hard. It has to look convincing."
"I know."
"Make sure the leaf mould goes back on top."
She threw him an exasperated look. "I know!"
When they'd finished, they stood back to assess the result: a lopsided mound of earth, from which
protruded four fins.
"It would convince me," he said. "One of the bombers could easily have dropped its payload early." He
pulled out a cigarette and lit it.
Anna rubbed her jaw. "And you're sure Edwards won't be able to get your lot to deal with it?"
"Positive." He took another drag of his cigarette. "He can ask, but we won't come. These raids are
keeping us rushed off our feet—I had to call in a favour just to get a few hours off. And the middle of an
unpopulated wood hardly counts as top priority. No. Your boss'll have no choice but to cordon this place
off for the duration."
She gave him a relieved grin. "Good."
He threw down his butt and ground it out with his heel. "All done?" He grinned. "Or have you got
another cloak and dagger mission lined up for me?"
Anna returned his grin and clapped him on the back. "All done."
She gathered up the loose length of chain, looped it round her forearm, then walked over to the
patiently waiting horse and stroked its nose. "Now help me get Nancy here back to her stable. She's
missed enough sleep for one night."
"She's not the only one." He yawned, folded his spade, and tucked it back in his belt.
As they were leaving, Anna paused at the edge of the glade and looked back towards the ancient oak
tree. "Goodnight," she called.
He gave her a strange look. "Talking to yourself again, Sis?"
"Looks like it." She laughed.
"Goodnight," Derwen whispered.
***
Voices and the clank of metal and thud of hammers roused Derwen the next morning. A shiver of dread
washed through her, and she went to investigate.
Several lumberjills were cordoning off the glade with posts and ropes while others nailed red warning
signs to the adjacent tree trunks.
"UXB?" Derwen murmured, reading the signs.
"Unexploded bomb," a voice said from beside her, making her heart pound. She had been so preoccupied
Anna and Kathy had been able to creep up on her unannounced.
Her heart slowed to its normal beat. "Does that mean I'm safe?"
"For now." Kathy bit her lip, "Couldn't you find another tree?"
"I'm afraid it doesn't work like that."
"I'm sorry."
Derwen smiled. "Don't be. You've won me a reprieve. Thank you."
"Seemed the least we could do," Anna said. "After..." She gave Kathy's shoulders a comforting squeeze.
"You know."
"How is he?" Derwen asked.
"Egan? Recovering. That blow to the head wiped his memory, fortunately. He's on sick leave, so Edwards
has got himself a new driver." She glanced at Kathy. "He won't be missed."
Kathy glanced anxiously to where the lumberjills were packing up their tools and heading back down the
hill. "We'd better go, Anna. It looks like they've finished."
"All right."
Anna held out her hand to Derwen. "We probably won’t see you again," she said. "Good luck."
The tree spirit frowned at the hand in puzzlement then realised she was supposed to clasp and shake it.
She did so. "And you," she said. "I hope you win your war."
"Me too."
With a shy little wave from Kathy, the two set off walking. Derwen watched them go, noticing the
moment when they reluctantly released hands. It was a shame that love, in all its guises, was not
acceptable in this era. But the world turned, and perhaps one day...
She studied the rope cordon once more. Would it keep her glade safe? There was nothing she could do
about it if it didn't. A careless cigarette, a real bomb, the inescapable fact that her oak would not live
forever... One day, her time would come, but for now...
As peace returned to the glade and the blackbirds resumed their singing, she took one last look at her
surroundings then flowed inside the oak and settled herself comfortably against its interior.
How long should she sleep this time? A decade? A century? She yawned. And what kind of world would
be waiting for her when she awoke?
I'm going to sleep now, old friend, she sent. Wake me if anything happens.
I will, came the oak's reply after the usual long pause. I will.
| Make a donation to this artist |
