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  ‘It didn’t speak to me,’ said Tamar, in a tone which suggested a mixture of relief and disappointment.

  ‘He, not it. But you didn’t speak to him, you know. You could have.’

  ‘No. It, he, scared me. It looked at me as if I was an enemy, one of those people who carve their names in the trunk.’

  ‘I don’t think so. He wasn’t used to speaking to humans, that’s all.’

  ‘What did it mean with all that stuff about not in the air and not on the ground?’

  ‘He. Not it. And I don’t think he knew himself. It was a rhyme he’d heard somewhere, or half remembered. I wish I could ask him more about it. But he won’t appear again while there’s people and dogs around. We may as well go home.’

  Melody observed Tamar closely as they walked back. He was obviously stunned by what he’d seen, but there was more than that. He was sulking, brooding. Melody kept silent for a while, but eventually she couldn’t stand it.

  ‘What’s the matter?’

  Tamar didn’t answer immediately. He scowled, and kicked a pebble.

  ‘Come on, tell me. What’s bothering you, apart from seeing a dryad?’

  ‘Dryad. Dryads. I’ve never seen a dryad in my whole life. You see one on your first visit to the common. Why should you be so lucky?’

  Melody was torn between anger and laughter. She made a conscious effort to control the anger, and laughed instead; she didn’t want a row if she didn’t have to. ‘I told you, I’ve never talked to one before. It isn’t really our choice. The dryad wanted to speak to us, that’s all.’

  ‘You. It wanted to speak to you. It never looked at me.’

  Melody paused on the verge of being rude. ‘Enough. We’ve been through this once. Anyway, that’s not all, is it? There’s something else, not just the dryad.’

  ‘How would you know?’

  ‘I can tell. You’re annoyed about something else. What is it?’

  Again Tamar didn’t answer at once, and Melody thought he wasn’t going to speak at all.

  ‘The concrete,’ he said at last in a tight voice.

  ‘What about it?’

  ‘You broke it. As easy as looking at it, yet it was solid. I couldn’t do that, however hard I tried. You didn’t seem to try at all.’

  Melody didn’t know what to say. It was true, she hadn’t had to concentrate particularly hard, but she hadn’t thought there was anything special about what she’d done.

  ‘I’m not sure. I find it easy to work with solid things. Like the door, like the concrete. They’re so real, they do what I want them to do, most of the time. What’s your speciality?’

  ‘I don’t have one.’

  ‘You must have. You must be good at something. You wouldn’t be studying otherwise.’

  Tamar hunched his shoulders. He looked away, and his eye caught sight of a little pile of litter caught in a gateway they were passing. Without a word to Melody he raised his arm, pointed and mumbled something. The pile burst into flames, dazzlingly bright, and in a few seconds had burnt itself out.

  Melody stared at him, then burst out laughing. ‘An arsonist! You set things on fire!’

  Tamar nodded mutely.

  Melody was still laughing. ‘And you expect to see dryads! You must know that the thing they fear above all else is fire. It damages or destroys their trees and they’re left without protection or home. And you’re surprised if they look at you as if you’re an enemy!’

  Tamar stared, speechless. It was obvious to her that he had never made the simple connection; had never thought that what he was would affect the behaviour of the creatures he hoped to see.

  Melody suddenly stopped laughing and looked at him narrowly. ‘You didn’t realise, did you?’ she said, half accusing, half sympathetically.

  He shook his head. She continued to regard him thoughtfully.

  ‘You didn’t think that your own actions would determine the reaction of those around you?’

  He shook his head again. ‘I never thought of myself as important,’ he said unwillingly, and Melody realised he was talking to her in a normal tone of voice for the very first time since they’d met. He was also talking to her as if she were the elder one, not him. ‘I didn’t think anybody paid attention to me, so I didn’t think it made any difference what I did.’

  Melody became genuinely angry. ‘No difference? Of course it makes a difference – all the difference. Everything you choose to do, or not do, has an effect. You can’t always see it, but you can’t escape it. That’s the first thing my father taught me. When you light fires creatures are afraid of you, or impressed by you, or want to be like you. They don’t just ignore you. How could they? They can’t, and even if they could they daren’t. It would be too dangerous. You’re powerful, and powerful beings must always be watched, in case they do something careless or threatening.’

  ‘Powerful? I’m powerful?’ Tamar sounded amazed.

  ‘Of course you are. Haven’t you been taught anything yet? What have you learnt if you haven’t learnt that?

  ‘I’ve been told it, I suppose,’ said Tamar reluctantly, ‘but I’m not sure I’ve learnt it.’ He stood still, obviously trying to come to terms with what she was saying. ‘But if that’s true, that means you must fear me, or respect me, or something.’

  She did laugh then. ‘Well done! You’re quicker than I thought. Yes, it does mean that I fear you, or respect you, or something.’

  ‘Which?’

  ‘That you’ll have to discover, won’t you?’ She gave him a broad, slightly mocking smile and turned into their road. He followed a yard or two behind, as if still unsure of himself, and was brought up short by her cry.

  ‘Wolf!’ she shouted as a dark shape once more disappeared up the narrow path between houses.

  ‘Dog,’ Tamar said, automatically, but his voice sounded uncertain. ‘Maybe a fox.’

  Fortunately the house was empty when they reached it. Melody didn’t fancy explaining all that had happened in front of Tamar. She knew it would make him sulky again, just when she felt she’d managed to make some kind of contact with him. She smiled to herself, realising that she’d been doing what Corann had told her to do. She’d been building bridges, even if she’d had no intention of doing so. Oh well, he’d be pleased about that, and there were a lot of questions she wanted to ask him privately. She’d tell him about the dryad, and try to remember what the dryad had said. She’d also ask him about the wolf, and whether there truly could be one around. And she’d ask him about Tamar if she could. She’d like to know whether he was always like this, or whether it was her arrival that had pushed him into such extreme attitudes.

  Melody made an excuse and went up the narrow stairs to her haven in the attic. She needed to be alone for a while, to think through all the things that had happened in the short space of time since she’d arrived. She made herself comfortable on the settee, stretching out at full length and resting her head on her hands in what she thought of as her ‘thinking’ position.

  Breaking the door in a moment of anger seemed an age ago, as if it had happened to someone else. She realised how tense she’d been, how uncertain of herself and her right to be here. But less than a day later she knew that this was where she had to be. And more than that. She felt she was needed, that there was something going on of which she was already a part, and which would soon become clearer to her. It was why her father had sent her to London.

  The tree-spirit, the dryad, was proof of that. She’d made light of it to Tamar, but she knew that the events of the morning had been no accident. There was the tree itself, standing in the middle of the common, evidently on an old straight track that led into the heart of London. She’d encountered such a track before, one of the invisible lines that connected centres of power like an electricity grid. The dryad was a sentinel or guardian, set there to ensure that any approach to the secret places of London was monitored or challenged. Her presence had alerted the creature. He’d actually used the words, ‘Tell
me what you’re doing here’, and he’d known where she was going, although she didn’t know that herself. Yet.

  Clearly she was meant to go into London, to Hyde Park first, although what was there she had no idea. She knew it was a famous old park, and had been preserved when the city had grown around it, just as Ealing Common had, but there must be more to it than that. She wondered whether Corann knew, and whether he’d tell her. She put it on her mental list of things to ask him. It was a long list. There was the dryad, who had reacted to her, but not to Tamar who must have visited the common before. There was the track, where it led from and where it went to. There was the difference between her and Tamar, why he was here and what he was hoping to learn. And there was the wolf.

  The wolf puzzled her more than anything else. That it was a wolf she had no doubt. She couldn’t be mistaken, after her experience with her father. But Tamar was right, they no longer roamed free in London – so what was it doing there? Following her in some way? And if so, for what purpose? She’d only caught a glimpse of it, and it had slunk away from her rather than coming forward. Also, Tamar hadn’t been able to recognise it. How could he think it was a dog? It wasn’t even vaguely like one. Was he just mistaken, or didn’t he want to admit the existence of wolves? How could one person see a wolf and another person see a dog? She added the question to the list.

  Tamar himself was another enigma. She understood him, could see that there were private sorrows and private anger eating at him, but he didn’t seem aware of what she was. It was as if he were locked in a separate world, and hardly acknowledged others at all. Yet he was obviously intelligent, perceptive in his way, and certainly powerful. She hadn’t been flattering him when she told him how powerful he was. His ability to set things alight was easily as great as hers to break things down, although he wouldn’t recognise it. She’d need to keep a close eye on him, to see what else he was capable of. She only hoped he would begin to be less aggressive towards her.

  Lastly there were the dryad’s words. She’d been ignoring them, pushing them to the back of her mind, but they forced themselves forward and demanded her attention.

  Not in the air,

  Not in the ground,

  Not on water,

  Not on land,

  Not in fire,

  Not in the sun,

  Not in all,

  Not in one.

  She said them over to herself. A magical formula, of course. An incantation, or a prophecy. She couldn’t make any sense of it at all. She could ask Corann or Ruric, but she knew instinctively that they would shake their heads. They’d have no more idea than she had. Even the dryad seemed unaware of the meaning. Her presence had triggered the dryad’s memory. He’d been entrusted to say them to a creature that came along the straight track. Probably not any creature, perhaps only her, or someone like her. It was no use asking the dryad himself. She’d have to find out some other way what the words meant.

  Her reverie was interrupted by the sounds of doors opening and closing downstairs. Not the front door, she smiled to herself. The back door, and the kitchen door. Corann and Ruric had returned and were talking quietly downstairs. She resolved to speak to Corann alone later in the day, to see if he could shed light on the mysteries surrounding her.

  Poles

  Lunch was another tense affair, and Melody began to wonder whether the four of them would ever be able to relax in each other’s company. They were so different, all motivated by different impulses and driven by different purposes. She felt they were like the four points of a compass, facing in exactly opposite directions from each other, and even if they started at the same spot they would always end up far apart within minutes. She idly wondered which was which. Ruric and Corann were north and south perhaps, the one cold and dark, the other warm and sunny. Tamar was the west, rich but veiled, clouded by a sorrow like the setting sun. She was the east. She was drawn to it, was setting out, was searching for something which would only be found where the sun rose. She thought of herself as looking forwards, while the others looked aside or back. The image gave her an insight into Tamar’s character. He was looking, always, to something in his past. She wondered whether she could find out what that was, and whether it would help him.

  Her desire to talk to Corann was easily satisfied, because he clearly wanted to talk to her. He suggested it straight after the meal, and sent her to the lounge while he made coffee. She made herself comfortable in an armchair and relaxed, aware of the tension unravelling now that the four of them were apart. They were not a happy group together.

  Corann brought coffee for himself and tea for her. Melody’s mother had taught her to like tea, but she’d never got used to the strong bitter coffee that her father insisted on. It was another of her rare and happy memories of her childhood, the bond between mother and daughter against her father’s habits. Meanwhile Corann had settled into his chair, and began to ask her about the morning’s adventures. He didn’t seem surprised by anything she had to tell him. He knew of the straight track, and although he hadn’t seen the dryad himself he thought there would be a guardian somewhere along it. It was the way such power worked, he said. He couldn’t explain the dryad’s words, but she hadn’t expected him to. Such sayings were personal, he told her, often meant for a single creature, and she’d find out what they meant when she needed to know. It was enough, he joked, that she was on the right track. That made her laugh, and she felt easier with him than with either of the others. When she mentioned Hyde Park and Tower Bridge, however, he grew serious.

  ‘I’m not sure about Tower Bridge,’ he said. ‘It’s an ancient crossing point of the Thames. That’s why William the Conqueror built his castle there, although he wasn’t aware why he chose that particular site. The ravens still guard the crossing. Hyde Park is a different matter altogether.’ He paused.

  ‘Why?’ prompted Melody.

  Corann seemed reluctant to speak of it.

  ‘Hyde Park is one of the centres of power in this land,’ he said at last. ‘It contains one of the gateways to the other world, what is called Faërie. It’s a very special place, but it can be a dangerous place too, especially for people like us. We don’t go to the park very often, and we don’t go there casually. Many tracks lead to it, like the one on the common, and you might meet more than dryads if you go there.’

  ‘Like wolves?’

  ‘Why wolves?’

  Melody explained about her encounter both the day before and that morning. Corann looked troubled.

  ‘I can’t say. Wolves are exactly the creatures you’ll find near the tracks, but I wouldn’t have expected one out here. It didn’t attack you?’

  ‘Not at all. We only caught a glimpse of it each time, and it didn’t seem aware of us. Tamar thought it was a dog.’

  Corann grinned. ‘He would.’

  ‘But why couldn’t he see it was a wolf? It was obvious enough.’

  ‘Obvious to you. People see what they want to see. You were ready to see a wolf, and you saw one. Tamar doesn’t want to see wolves, he’d be frightened of them, so he disguised it as a dog. That way it wasn’t a threat.’

  ‘So it was a wolf?’

  ‘I should think so.’

  ‘But I’m frightened of wolves, just as much as Tamar could be.’

  ‘Not in the same way. You’re frightened of wolves, naturally, because of what they can do. They’re dangerous animals. But you’re not frightened by the idea of wolves. You weren’t frightened of the dryad, or what that represents. Tamar is.’

  ‘Frightened of magic?’

  ‘Sure. Just because he’s got power, he doesn’t have to like it. He knows it’s there and that he’s got to learn to control it, but in many ways he’d rather be without it.’

  ‘I wouldn’t.’

  ‘I know. That’s why you’re so different. To you power is natural; you accept it in all its forms. It’s not to him, so he resists it. You’re opposites, like poles of a magnet, north and south.’

 
; ‘Or east and west?’

  ‘Magnets don’t come in easts and wests, but yes, if you like.’

  Melody was happy to find Corann’s own judgment so similar to hers. She wanted to ask about Ruric, but was more interested in Tamar.

  ‘Tell me about him,’ she asked. ‘I can see he’s got some problem, something in his past he can’t let go of, but I can’t see what it is.’

  Corann thought for a moment. ‘You’re a shrewd girl. Very shrewd. That’s your gift, I suspect. But I’m not sure you need to know about Tamar. He’s had a difficult life, yes, and it’s left its scars upon him, but I don’t think it’s for me to tell you the details. He’ll tell you himself, if he wants to. Anyway, you’ve recognised enough without being told, so you hardly need to ask. Let him have his secrets, like you have yours, and I have mine. We can’t pry into everybody’s lives.’

  Melody didn’t want to pry, but she did want to understand Tamar better.

  ‘Just tell me why he’s so against girls.’

  ‘That’s because of his background. He isn’t really against girls, though.’

  ‘He gives a good impression.’

  ‘Slow down. Think. Why does he dislike you so much?’

  ‘Because he believes I’ve got power that he hasn’t.’

  ‘Exactly. He despises most girls because he thinks they’re weak. He doesn’t think they’re worth anything, because often their power is in healing and mending, and he wants to damage and destroy. You’re doubly offensive, because you’re a girl, and then because you have the very power he wants.’

  ‘But he’s an arsonist. He’s got all the power he needs.’

  ‘Maybe, but that’s not how he sees it. He sees you as a rival, a threat, and he’ll sulk about it until you prove that you aren’t.’

  ‘I’m not likely to manage that,’ said Melody with a scowl. ‘He doesn’t seem to understand me at all. He can’t make sense of what I am.’

  ‘He’s not alone in that,’ said Corann earnestly, and Melody looked at him, startled. He was leaning forward in his seat, studying the backs of his hands, concentrating on some idea which was troubling him.