A Witch in the Garden.
By Jim King
Back in the age before our books or stories, back at the beginning of time, all living things had magic. Every creature could do magic or had magic within them. Some were giants, some were smart, some were fast.
Cats were gods, Dragons filed the skies and ruled the land. Every being had magic from at least one of the ancient elements within them. Earth or Air, Fire or Water. Wood or Metal.
The dwarves were of Earth and Metal, the Gnomes were of Earth, Elves were of Wood though the trees wanted nothing to do with them. Pixies and Fairies were of Air. Every being was tied to one or two elements. Except Men and Cats. No one knows why but Men could be from any element while Cats did not use the Elements at all. Cats just had magic, doing what they wanted and ruling the world.
While the walking Dragons and the flying Dragons covered the land the cats hid in another world, no doubt ruling over many slaves who met their every whim.
But then at the dawn of time the scaly monsters died out and the two legs rose to claim the known world. Dragons became as we know them today and went to sleep in caves deep beneath the hills and mountains.
The ancient mankind was tall. Much taller than today, they were strong and healthy and strode the world as if they owned it, which to be fair they did.
They had magic; every one of them was born to use one or two of the elements. Some could control the winds, some could bring fire. Some could call rain down onto the crops, others could mould the earth or shape wood or metal into tools.
Now as time passed and the magic faded the mankind began to change. Most of them lost all magic and shrunk down to the big ones we all know today, though there are some of the oldest in the realms who say they are getting tall again.
But while most of mankind live their lives without knowing about magic, some have the tiniest spark within them. Some still have the tiniest touch of air and make the very best pilots. Some can start a fire anywhere they wish. Some are great craftsmen. Some can talk the wings off a bird.
Some have the touch of the earth and can bring crops from the ground with a touch and a word, oh and a bit of time and rain.
But such people are rare and not one of them knows they have power of magic.
~
To most of the folk humans are called Mankind, to the gnomes they are the big ones. Gnomes tend to see the world from a different point of view, which is not so very surprising; they are a bit shorter than everyone else.
But to a gnome the big ones come in three sizes. The Big ones are just called the big ones, the small big ones, from the babies to the shouting and screaming little ones that run round the gardens and turn gnomes into toys, they are called youngsters. But there are a group of big ones in between. Too big to be youngsters, too small to be proper big ones. Always angry or moody. The sort of big ones who will kick a poor gnome around a garden or throw him over a hedge just because.
The gnomes call this lot troubles.
There were three troubles, riding on screaming two wheeled devices that big ones called dirt bikes. Every creature within miles had heard them coming, the loud engines and the screaming and whooping of troubles on the lookout for, well, on the lookout for trouble.
The birds had flown off somewhere else for a bit of peace and quiet. Every other creature was hiding deep in a burrow or lair with paws over their ears, waiting till the noise stopped and they could hear themselves think once more.
The troubles should not have been here but they were typical troubles and didn’t care. They rode passed the fences and passed the no entry signs, they crushed flowers and kicked down baby trees across the whole length of the nature preserve. They rode past a dog walker and frightened her dog so badly the poor little thing had to be carried after that, poor little snookums was shivering when those nasty young men had gone.
Then they reached the oldest part of the reserve, the deepest part of the woodland. There were no trails here; big ones did not come here. The undergrowth was old and wild, tangled and twisted. Every bush seemed to catch at trousers or feet, almost as if this part of the woods did not want visitors.
The leading trouble had come this way because the track looked rough, a good place for jumps and showing off. He had never been here before and so when he ran straight through the tangle of bushes and came face to face with the oldest Oak he had ever seen he panicked and froze.
The roots of this tree were old and strong, they snaked across the surface for many feet in every direction and the front wheel of the bike smashed into one such root. Bike and trouble went head over tail and hit the dirt hard, the trouble went splat and lay there, face down, mouth full of dirt, bruises everywhere, trying to work out what had happened.
The dirt bike went crunch as it hit the ground then rolled over and over until it slammed into the trunk of the tree.
The bike was old and well used, the trouble who owned it didn’t worry about the little things like looking after it and so when it hit the poor old tree it fell to pieces as loose bolts came undone. The petrol tank came loose and broke open and petrol was sprayed across the tree and the remains of the bike where it touched the hot metal of the exhaust.
With a whoomf a ball of flame engulfed the bike and the tree and just missed the trouble who was still trying to work out why he was lying down.
The other two troubles had pulled up short of the roots and were shouting at the one on the ground, “get up, fire, run away, oh crap we are in trouble now, let’s get out of here”.
By the time the trouble on the ground had worked out that he was face down in the dirt and rolled over the trunk of the tree, the closest roots and the leaves on the lowest branches were on fire, a thick column of smoke was reaching up into the sky.
The fallen trouble stood up, ran to his friends, jumped on the back of one of their dirt bikes and the three troubles vanished through the woods. The scream of engines and the shouting of a troubles grew quieter and then could no longer be heard.
The local animals could smell burning as they came out of their lairs and burrows. The screaming had gone but something close by was on fire.
Misha was a hedgehog, not the fastest of creatures and by nature afraid of fires. He pocked his nose out of his pile of leaves and peered around. He was short sighted at the best of times but the glow of flames across the old oak tree was clear even to him.
He called and called and called. “Help, over here, help.”
Other animals came to investigate the fire and the smoke and the calls. None could face the fire and so they stood or sat or perched at a distance till the flames went out.
The old oak was badly damaged, its bark was gone, and its lower branches were blackened and burnt. Its roots were cracked by the heat. Its upper branches thrashed back and forth in the windless air. A low moan filled the woods and every tree and bush turned toward the sound.
The ancient tree was dying.
~
Erik Bluelegs was minding his own business watching the butterflies as they fluttered from flower to flower. He was on guard outside the gnome hall but since there was nothing to guard against he was watching the brightly coloured creatures as they flew from plant to plant.
The first message squirrel came past at the run, jumping over his hat and rushing straight down the old rabbit hole that led to the gnome hall. The second squirrel was thirty seconds later and knocked Erik over as it rushed past. Erik sat up and looked around. No more squirrels.
Then the butterflies were scattered by a swallow, two finches and a blue tit, all with wings spread wide as they tried to slow down before they landed by the bird hatch on top of the hall. Erik stood up, this did not look good.
He nearly fell again as a field mouse came running between his legs, panting from a long run and too tired to go round the gnome, the little mouse bounced off his legs and went rolling across the lawn.
Erik looked around to make sure there were no big ones in sight and then walked across to the mouse that lay on the grass. Four little legs in the air and panting frantically.
“Are you alright mouse?”
“Pant pant puff pant.”
“Do you need help?”
“Pant puff pant tree pant wheeze.”
Erik could not understand what the little mouse wanted but it seemed to be important. He gently picked up the little mouse and carried it down the rabbit hole into the gnome hall so that it could meet the gnomes and deliver its message.
~
There was trouble. Gnomes were gathering in the hall. Tales of birds and message squirrels arriving in groups had spread far and wide. Gnome elders were on the way. Gnomes in gardens across the whole estate shuffled closer together and began to talk.
What is going on, what has happened?
By the time all the gnomes in the hall had gathered the squirrels and the birds and the little field mouse had all recovered and as soon as the oldest gnome asked what was wrong they all started talking at once.
It took a while to get the story, each of the birds kept interrupting the squirrels and the squirrels kept correcting the birds. Still finally the story was told. The ancient Oak of the woods was dying. The dwarves would not care, the goblins could not help and would want to be paid anyway, the Fae folk would gather to watch and enjoy the suffering of the Oak.
Only the gnomes could help, only the gnomes would help.
But the gnomes had no magic that could not heal a tree, some of the oldest remembered the Druids of ancient days but they had all gone. A big one druid would help but there were none of them anymore, the big ones no longer had magic.
Then the most ancient of the gnomes stood and spoke. Of a big one, a witch, a woman who tended her gardens and her plants with magic. He spoke of the most powerful witch in the land, a witch of the earth. She could heal the tree.
Oh and she lived across the estate at number five just off the road called Willow close.
The gnomish council spoke and debated and argued. Some said this was not a job for them, others said they could help and therefore should. Some spoke of watching and waiting like good gnomes
But finally they came to a vote and once the counting had been done it was decided.
The gnomes of Eastbury Heights were going to save the tree.
~
Such a mission required a leader and none was more respected than Ebly Bighook, he was given the task of picking his team and so he asked for volunteers. Every gnome in sight took a step backwards, all save one. Erik Bluelegs had been looking down at the mouse in his arms and had missed what was said.
“Well volunteered Erik Bluelegs, I am pleased to have you with me.”
Erik looked up, looked at the gnomes who were now all standing behind him and suddenly all the words he had been ignoring came back to him. Mission, Tree, Witch, Volunteers.
“But, but, but, I’m not a hero!”
The council considered this, such a mission, to find a witch, to ask a witch for help. This was a heroic mission, it called for a hero.
From the back of the room came the clicking of metal as a gnome with shoulders of mechano lifted and dropped his shoulders and sighed loudly. Tavis Cogheart knew where this was going.
So the three had gathered ready to walk across the estate to seek this witch. Each would face many dangers walking in the light of day. Lawns, dogs, cats, Big ones, land dragons, black rock and more.
But they were ready and as one they turned to the ramp that led to the rabbit hole and the garden and the estate.
“Erik Bluelegs”
“Yes Ebly Bighook.”
“Put the mouse down first.”
Erik blue legs stopped and looked down at the field mouse that was still cradled in his arms, it was so tired it had fallen asleep and was snoring little mouse snores.
“Oh.”
~
There were many brave deeds done this day as the three brave little gnomes made their way across the estate.
Until finally they reached the end of the estate and carefully crossed into the little lane, it was one of those strange big one roads that went in a half circle and came back again, crescents they called them. This one was named after a willow tree though there were no trees anywhere to be seen.
Carefully the gnomes made their way into the crescent until they came to the house they sought, they could feel powerful earth magic beneath their feet, the flowers and bushes were flowing with magic. This must be the home of the most powerful witch in the land.
They stopped at the gate and looked at each other, this was it, the end of the search and the beginning of the real problem. Revealing themselves to a big one. Trying to seek the help of a witch.
They looked at each other, they sucked in their little gnomish bellies, puffed out their little gnomish shoulders and stepped through the gate onto the garden of a witch.
~
The front door was closed, the only way they could go was down the side of the house along a stone path and so that was the way they went. Moving slowly, constantly alert. Eyes looking in every direction at once.
They reached the garden at the back of the house and now they could see a vast glass wall that led into the house, the gardens that seemed to go on forever, glowing with magic, the wooden garden sheds at the bottom. The cats basking in the sun on the shed roof.
Cats!
One.
Two.
Three.
Four.
FIVE!
All looking as if they lived here.
This was a problem. Worse that having to help heal a dying tree. Even worse than trying to talk to a big one witch.
The big one was a cat lady!
~
Something happens to an elderly woman who lives alone. Somehow she gets some of her magic back. Not in any way that she can use, old ladies living alone cannot cast spells. Well apart from this one but she was a witch. No the magic came out in other ways, grandmothers and aunties and Nans gained magic through cooking or making things. Every young big one in the land knows that granny’s cooking is the best without ever knowing why, magic is why.
All this magic calls to cats. Cats can feel magic, they remember having it and they want it back. They cannot take it so they do the next best thing and move in with someone who has magic. Old ladies living on their own quickly become surrounded by cats that have moved in and taken over.
Big ones call them cat ladies. Gnomes call them “Oh no, it’s one of them, how many cats, everyone hide”.
Cats are strange creatures. There are myths about them having nine lives, that is not true. What cats have are memories. Cats are born with the memories of previous cat lives, some remember being afraid of dogs or water, others hate cars. Kittens that have never left the house will remember things from a previous life and big one slaves will wonder why the new kitten hisses and spits at the puppy or mums rabbit slippers.
But something all cats remember is being gods. They remember when cats ruled the world; they remember when they ruled the world. Every cat remembers this and from time to time they think they are gods and all big ones are no more than slaves.
The odd thing is that somehow the big ones somehow remember being slaves as well, no one knows how this happens but many in the realms have noted how easily big ones become the servants of cats.
~
Edith Henderson was doing what she loved best. Tending to her garden and talking to her plants. Today the petunias were looking a bit unhappy so she was watering them and talking to them and generally making sure they were happy. The sunflowers in the next bed were feeling jealous about all the attention and after a quick chat had decided they were going to do a mass wilt and try to look pitiful.
“Ahem”
Edith looked up from her petunias; she was kneeling on her gardening mat and had leaned over to reach the furthest plants when a very small voice had come from behind her. Which was odd to say the least? It wasn’t the cats; it hadn’t come from next door.
“AHEM.”
She stood up and stretched to work the kinks out of her back then looked around. There was no one in the garden, no one by the house, no one by the sheds.
“OI DOWN HERE!”
She looked down. Someone had left a gnome in here garden, not a stone gnome or a concrete gnome or a plastic gnome, it was a very realistic gnome. In fact it almost looked.........
“Hello”.
Oh it was real. Wait. It was real? She bent down a little and prodded the gnome with the tip of her little gardening trowel. It was a funny looking gnome; someone had stuck bits of Mechano to its shoulders and chest.
Tavis Cogheart froze as the big one witch waved some great killing tool at him, its broad blade covered in dirt. The garden trowel hit him in the stomach and he went oof. He stepped back with the air knocked out of him, hang on a minute. That shouldn’t happen, he was a gnome and he was standing still, he should be stone!
Oh.
Right.
Powerful witch.
Better and better.
~
Edith was sitting on her favourite chair by the little table just inside the French doors. She had made herself a nice cup of tea to calm her nerves, with just a drop of something extra to help settle her down. Gnomes, how ridiculous.
“Excuse me.”
She looked down, there were three of them now, standing in a line just by the French window. The one with the flat hat and the metal shoulders had been joined by one with a very tall hat and blue trousers and a third who was a bit taller, had a brown jacket and had a funny little curved fishing rod slung over its shoulder.
She looked at the gnomes, then looked at her tea. Then looked at the gnomes again. Then she stood up and walked across to the tall wooden cabinet beside the kitchen door, she opened it, took out a bottle and unscrewed the cap. Then she poured enough of the amber coloured liquid from the bottle into her tea cup to fill it completely.
She went back to her chair and sat down again. She looked down at the gnomes, the three gnomes looked up at her. She took a sip. She looked down at the gnomes. The gnomes looked up at her. She took a much larger sip.
“Gnomes are not real.”
The other two gnomes looked at Tavis, Tavis looked up at the witch and sighed.
“We need your help oh great and mighty big one witch.” Tavis was puzzled, he was sure he was speaking big one, perhaps he had been misunderstood, the witch had started laughing and hitting the table with the flat of her hand. Was it something he had said?
It took several minutes before Edith calmed down, she hadn’t laughed like that for a great many years and her sides hurt. She had a line of real gnomes standing at her door asking for help and calling her a witch. She had been out in the sun far too long today.
“Excuse me oh mighty witch.”
She looked down. They were still there and they were talking again. Perhaps she should call the doctor, seeing and hearing gnomes could not be a good sign.
“Shoo, go away. You don’t exist.”
Tavis looked at the other two and they looked at him.
“We do exist.”
“Don’t be silly, there is no such thing as a gnome. Fairy stories and children’s tales. You don’t exist.
Tavis could see he was getting nowhere so he walked toward the witch, she was sitting at a table that had a big frilly cloth on it. A very big frilly cloth that reached the floor. With big gaps in it that a brave gnome could use to climb up. So he carefully climbed up onto the table and walked across to stand next to the tea cup.
Tavis glanced into the cup and took a sniff. Wow! No wonder the big one was having problems, that much neat gin would have pickled a gnome.
They were both interrupted by a thump. A big black cat had jumped on the table and now lunged at the gnome, claws out and death in its beady eyes.
Edith saw the cat leap and with a shriek of “NOOOOOOOO BAD KITTY” she put her hand in the way and received a nasty little slash from the cat’s claws. She shrieked and glared at the cat, the cat looked at the gnome then looked at the woman then back at the gnome.
It turned and walked to the edge of the table, turned its head with a glare that said I will find you later, then jumped off and went into the kitchen.
Edith was shocked. The scratches from the cat had hurt but the cat could see the gnome, the cat had attacked the gnome. The gnome was really there. Oh dear oh dear.
She picked up her tea cup and took a big gulp.
~
“You are real aren’t you? Gnomes are real?”
Tavis looked at the big one witch and felt pity for her, it’s not every day a big finds out that the world they know is only a tiny part of what really exists. Though to be honest this big one was taking it well, perhaps because she was a witch. Of course the fact that she was taking gulps of Gin may be helping.
“Yes we are real.”
Edith Henderson, most powerful witch in the land looked at her tea cup, now half full, then she looked at the gnome standing on her table.
“Hello Mr Gnome.”
Tavis smiled a gnomish smile and drew himself up to his full height.
“Greetings Lady witch. I am Tavis Cogheart of the gnomes of Eastbury Heights. I am honoured to meet you. We come seeking your help to save a dying tree.”
~
Edith had listened and nodded then stood up and gathered her coat and her gardening tools in a wicker basket. She knew where the woods were and even thought she had seen the ancient oak when she was young. She could walk there easily.
But how would the gnomes get there, a mile along public foot paths. They could hardly walk. Then she had a thought, she looked at her big wicker basket, half full of tools. She looked at the gnomes. The gnomes looked at each other and sighed. She put down the basket and they climbed inside then settled down as the most powerful witch in the land left her house and walked across the estate and into the fields and into the woods.
Then they reached the oldest part of the reserve, the deepest part of the woodland. There were no trails here; most big ones did not come here. The undergrowth was old and wild, tangled and twisted. Every bush would catch at trousers or feet, almost as if this part of the woods did not want visitors.
But today the bushes pulled aside and the roots did not trip. Today the brambles did not catch. Today the nettles did not sting. Today the bushes and the plants and the trees drew back and bowed down for they were in the presence of the most powerful witch in the land.
Edith stepped into the clearing and gasped as she saw the damage the great old Oak had suffered. She dropped her wicker basket in a clatter of tools and gnomes and quickly ran across to the tree.
Somehow she could feel the life of this Oak, somehow she could feel the ages that had become one with the wood.
Somehow she could feel its pain.
Somehow she could feel its dying.
She had to save it somehow, the branches and leaves that were burnt, they would grow back. The bark that was gone, that was a problem but should not be killing the mighty tree. So why..............
The roots, the fire had burned the roots away and somehow the petrol and the oil and the metal from the motorbike was poisoning what remained.
She realised she was kneeling with her hands on the roots and stood, the pain in her back forgotten for one. She needed tools from her basket.
The gnomes had climbed out of the basket and stood watching as she picked up the basket and walked quickly back to the tree. She took out a small saw and set to work cutting the poisoned roots. The saw was small, the witch was old and weak and the oak was ancient and tough. But she severed each root in a handful of cuts.
The remains of the motorbike were still there and she pushed them aside, the metal was heavy and hard to move but suddenly the gnomes were there and the animals were there. A deer stepped carefully past her and lowered its head to push against the frame of the bike.
Badgers began to dig and claw at the poisoned earth to move it away from the severed roots. Every type of creature pushed and pulled and struggled to move aside the Big One wreckage and the poison it carried.
Edith placed her old gnarled hands on the tree, she could feel the poison, she could feel the spark of its life flickering like the embers of a fire. She could not let it die, but how could she save it.
Then it came to her, the embers of a fire. And she blew, gently at first then more and more, not with her breath but with the magic of the earth that was within her and now came forth as she called it. The magic of the most powerful witch in the land flowed through those old hands and into a dying tree.
Every creature for miles felt the magic; every plant in the woods came to full bloom. Overhead the winds began to blow and gust in response to the magic, Air come forth to stand against Earth. But this witch would not be denied and the wind blew in vain.
The poisoned roots blackened and fell away, fresh green shoots began to sprout from the cut ends, branches and leaves began to grow before the eyes of the animals and the birds.
The Trunk of the tree began to roughen as fresh bark began to form and three thousand years of life flowed back into it and into the land around it.
The tree was restored to life once more and not just to life but to the glory of its life, this was a king amongst trees and there was more.
Edith was exhausted, she did not understand what had happened or what she had done but it had worked, the ancient Oak was healed. She sagged and almost fell but a hand caught her shoulder and lifted her back to a kneeling position.
A little girl, no more than seven or eight, wearing in a dress of leaves, with acorns in her hair of deepest green. Her eyes were the brown of oak bark and they gleamed with laughter. The witch’s magic had done more than heal the ancient Oak, it had bought forth a daughter of the Tree, a Dryad.
Animals and birds and plants and trees cheered and laughed and marvelled that they had been present to witness such a thing and a witch of the earth named Edith found herself surrounded by friends and with a new garden to visit and tend.
~
So should you ever go for a walk in the woods and find yourself walking between the oldest of trees where there are no paths of tracks look about you and listen carefully.
If you should happen to find yourself in a wide clearing under the branches of the biggest oak tree you have ever seen and surrounded by flowers that seem to bloom all year round.
If you should happen to see badgers and squirrels and rabbits and mice and birds all watching you carefully.
If you should happen to see a little old lady with a wicker basket or hear the laughter and singing of a young girl.
Then do no more than nod or say hello and then be on your way, do nothing to harm the old lady or the trees and plants, do not try to find the little girl.
For a Witch of the Earth has great power in the woods and many protectors, Dryads have long memories and can hurt you in many strange ways, oh and Gnomes, Gnomes are protectors and woe betide any who seek to harm someone protected by Gnomes.
Very nasty when angry is a Gnome!
By Jim King
Back in the age before our books or stories, back at the beginning of time, all living things had magic. Every creature could do magic or had magic within them. Some were giants, some were smart, some were fast.
Cats were gods, Dragons filed the skies and ruled the land. Every being had magic from at least one of the ancient elements within them. Earth or Air, Fire or Water. Wood or Metal.
The dwarves were of Earth and Metal, the Gnomes were of Earth, Elves were of Wood though the trees wanted nothing to do with them. Pixies and Fairies were of Air. Every being was tied to one or two elements. Except Men and Cats. No one knows why but Men could be from any element while Cats did not use the Elements at all. Cats just had magic, doing what they wanted and ruling the world.
While the walking Dragons and the flying Dragons covered the land the cats hid in another world, no doubt ruling over many slaves who met their every whim.
But then at the dawn of time the scaly monsters died out and the two legs rose to claim the known world. Dragons became as we know them today and went to sleep in caves deep beneath the hills and mountains.
The ancient mankind was tall. Much taller than today, they were strong and healthy and strode the world as if they owned it, which to be fair they did.
They had magic; every one of them was born to use one or two of the elements. Some could control the winds, some could bring fire. Some could call rain down onto the crops, others could mould the earth or shape wood or metal into tools.
Now as time passed and the magic faded the mankind began to change. Most of them lost all magic and shrunk down to the big ones we all know today, though there are some of the oldest in the realms who say they are getting tall again.
But while most of mankind live their lives without knowing about magic, some have the tiniest spark within them. Some still have the tiniest touch of air and make the very best pilots. Some can start a fire anywhere they wish. Some are great craftsmen. Some can talk the wings off a bird.
Some have the touch of the earth and can bring crops from the ground with a touch and a word, oh and a bit of time and rain.
But such people are rare and not one of them knows they have power of magic.
~
To most of the folk humans are called Mankind, to the gnomes they are the big ones. Gnomes tend to see the world from a different point of view, which is not so very surprising; they are a bit shorter than everyone else.
But to a gnome the big ones come in three sizes. The Big ones are just called the big ones, the small big ones, from the babies to the shouting and screaming little ones that run round the gardens and turn gnomes into toys, they are called youngsters. But there are a group of big ones in between. Too big to be youngsters, too small to be proper big ones. Always angry or moody. The sort of big ones who will kick a poor gnome around a garden or throw him over a hedge just because.
The gnomes call this lot troubles.
There were three troubles, riding on screaming two wheeled devices that big ones called dirt bikes. Every creature within miles had heard them coming, the loud engines and the screaming and whooping of troubles on the lookout for, well, on the lookout for trouble.
The birds had flown off somewhere else for a bit of peace and quiet. Every other creature was hiding deep in a burrow or lair with paws over their ears, waiting till the noise stopped and they could hear themselves think once more.
The troubles should not have been here but they were typical troubles and didn’t care. They rode passed the fences and passed the no entry signs, they crushed flowers and kicked down baby trees across the whole length of the nature preserve. They rode past a dog walker and frightened her dog so badly the poor little thing had to be carried after that, poor little snookums was shivering when those nasty young men had gone.
Then they reached the oldest part of the reserve, the deepest part of the woodland. There were no trails here; big ones did not come here. The undergrowth was old and wild, tangled and twisted. Every bush seemed to catch at trousers or feet, almost as if this part of the woods did not want visitors.
The leading trouble had come this way because the track looked rough, a good place for jumps and showing off. He had never been here before and so when he ran straight through the tangle of bushes and came face to face with the oldest Oak he had ever seen he panicked and froze.
The roots of this tree were old and strong, they snaked across the surface for many feet in every direction and the front wheel of the bike smashed into one such root. Bike and trouble went head over tail and hit the dirt hard, the trouble went splat and lay there, face down, mouth full of dirt, bruises everywhere, trying to work out what had happened.
The dirt bike went crunch as it hit the ground then rolled over and over until it slammed into the trunk of the tree.
The bike was old and well used, the trouble who owned it didn’t worry about the little things like looking after it and so when it hit the poor old tree it fell to pieces as loose bolts came undone. The petrol tank came loose and broke open and petrol was sprayed across the tree and the remains of the bike where it touched the hot metal of the exhaust.
With a whoomf a ball of flame engulfed the bike and the tree and just missed the trouble who was still trying to work out why he was lying down.
The other two troubles had pulled up short of the roots and were shouting at the one on the ground, “get up, fire, run away, oh crap we are in trouble now, let’s get out of here”.
By the time the trouble on the ground had worked out that he was face down in the dirt and rolled over the trunk of the tree, the closest roots and the leaves on the lowest branches were on fire, a thick column of smoke was reaching up into the sky.
The fallen trouble stood up, ran to his friends, jumped on the back of one of their dirt bikes and the three troubles vanished through the woods. The scream of engines and the shouting of a troubles grew quieter and then could no longer be heard.
The local animals could smell burning as they came out of their lairs and burrows. The screaming had gone but something close by was on fire.
Misha was a hedgehog, not the fastest of creatures and by nature afraid of fires. He pocked his nose out of his pile of leaves and peered around. He was short sighted at the best of times but the glow of flames across the old oak tree was clear even to him.
He called and called and called. “Help, over here, help.”
Other animals came to investigate the fire and the smoke and the calls. None could face the fire and so they stood or sat or perched at a distance till the flames went out.
The old oak was badly damaged, its bark was gone, and its lower branches were blackened and burnt. Its roots were cracked by the heat. Its upper branches thrashed back and forth in the windless air. A low moan filled the woods and every tree and bush turned toward the sound.
The ancient tree was dying.
~
Erik Bluelegs was minding his own business watching the butterflies as they fluttered from flower to flower. He was on guard outside the gnome hall but since there was nothing to guard against he was watching the brightly coloured creatures as they flew from plant to plant.
The first message squirrel came past at the run, jumping over his hat and rushing straight down the old rabbit hole that led to the gnome hall. The second squirrel was thirty seconds later and knocked Erik over as it rushed past. Erik sat up and looked around. No more squirrels.
Then the butterflies were scattered by a swallow, two finches and a blue tit, all with wings spread wide as they tried to slow down before they landed by the bird hatch on top of the hall. Erik stood up, this did not look good.
He nearly fell again as a field mouse came running between his legs, panting from a long run and too tired to go round the gnome, the little mouse bounced off his legs and went rolling across the lawn.
Erik looked around to make sure there were no big ones in sight and then walked across to the mouse that lay on the grass. Four little legs in the air and panting frantically.
“Are you alright mouse?”
“Pant pant puff pant.”
“Do you need help?”
“Pant puff pant tree pant wheeze.”
Erik could not understand what the little mouse wanted but it seemed to be important. He gently picked up the little mouse and carried it down the rabbit hole into the gnome hall so that it could meet the gnomes and deliver its message.
~
There was trouble. Gnomes were gathering in the hall. Tales of birds and message squirrels arriving in groups had spread far and wide. Gnome elders were on the way. Gnomes in gardens across the whole estate shuffled closer together and began to talk.
What is going on, what has happened?
By the time all the gnomes in the hall had gathered the squirrels and the birds and the little field mouse had all recovered and as soon as the oldest gnome asked what was wrong they all started talking at once.
It took a while to get the story, each of the birds kept interrupting the squirrels and the squirrels kept correcting the birds. Still finally the story was told. The ancient Oak of the woods was dying. The dwarves would not care, the goblins could not help and would want to be paid anyway, the Fae folk would gather to watch and enjoy the suffering of the Oak.
Only the gnomes could help, only the gnomes would help.
But the gnomes had no magic that could not heal a tree, some of the oldest remembered the Druids of ancient days but they had all gone. A big one druid would help but there were none of them anymore, the big ones no longer had magic.
Then the most ancient of the gnomes stood and spoke. Of a big one, a witch, a woman who tended her gardens and her plants with magic. He spoke of the most powerful witch in the land, a witch of the earth. She could heal the tree.
Oh and she lived across the estate at number five just off the road called Willow close.
The gnomish council spoke and debated and argued. Some said this was not a job for them, others said they could help and therefore should. Some spoke of watching and waiting like good gnomes
But finally they came to a vote and once the counting had been done it was decided.
The gnomes of Eastbury Heights were going to save the tree.
~
Such a mission required a leader and none was more respected than Ebly Bighook, he was given the task of picking his team and so he asked for volunteers. Every gnome in sight took a step backwards, all save one. Erik Bluelegs had been looking down at the mouse in his arms and had missed what was said.
“Well volunteered Erik Bluelegs, I am pleased to have you with me.”
Erik looked up, looked at the gnomes who were now all standing behind him and suddenly all the words he had been ignoring came back to him. Mission, Tree, Witch, Volunteers.
“But, but, but, I’m not a hero!”
The council considered this, such a mission, to find a witch, to ask a witch for help. This was a heroic mission, it called for a hero.
From the back of the room came the clicking of metal as a gnome with shoulders of mechano lifted and dropped his shoulders and sighed loudly. Tavis Cogheart knew where this was going.
So the three had gathered ready to walk across the estate to seek this witch. Each would face many dangers walking in the light of day. Lawns, dogs, cats, Big ones, land dragons, black rock and more.
But they were ready and as one they turned to the ramp that led to the rabbit hole and the garden and the estate.
“Erik Bluelegs”
“Yes Ebly Bighook.”
“Put the mouse down first.”
Erik blue legs stopped and looked down at the field mouse that was still cradled in his arms, it was so tired it had fallen asleep and was snoring little mouse snores.
“Oh.”
~
There were many brave deeds done this day as the three brave little gnomes made their way across the estate.
Until finally they reached the end of the estate and carefully crossed into the little lane, it was one of those strange big one roads that went in a half circle and came back again, crescents they called them. This one was named after a willow tree though there were no trees anywhere to be seen.
Carefully the gnomes made their way into the crescent until they came to the house they sought, they could feel powerful earth magic beneath their feet, the flowers and bushes were flowing with magic. This must be the home of the most powerful witch in the land.
They stopped at the gate and looked at each other, this was it, the end of the search and the beginning of the real problem. Revealing themselves to a big one. Trying to seek the help of a witch.
They looked at each other, they sucked in their little gnomish bellies, puffed out their little gnomish shoulders and stepped through the gate onto the garden of a witch.
~
The front door was closed, the only way they could go was down the side of the house along a stone path and so that was the way they went. Moving slowly, constantly alert. Eyes looking in every direction at once.
They reached the garden at the back of the house and now they could see a vast glass wall that led into the house, the gardens that seemed to go on forever, glowing with magic, the wooden garden sheds at the bottom. The cats basking in the sun on the shed roof.
Cats!
One.
Two.
Three.
Four.
FIVE!
All looking as if they lived here.
This was a problem. Worse that having to help heal a dying tree. Even worse than trying to talk to a big one witch.
The big one was a cat lady!
~
Something happens to an elderly woman who lives alone. Somehow she gets some of her magic back. Not in any way that she can use, old ladies living alone cannot cast spells. Well apart from this one but she was a witch. No the magic came out in other ways, grandmothers and aunties and Nans gained magic through cooking or making things. Every young big one in the land knows that granny’s cooking is the best without ever knowing why, magic is why.
All this magic calls to cats. Cats can feel magic, they remember having it and they want it back. They cannot take it so they do the next best thing and move in with someone who has magic. Old ladies living on their own quickly become surrounded by cats that have moved in and taken over.
Big ones call them cat ladies. Gnomes call them “Oh no, it’s one of them, how many cats, everyone hide”.
Cats are strange creatures. There are myths about them having nine lives, that is not true. What cats have are memories. Cats are born with the memories of previous cat lives, some remember being afraid of dogs or water, others hate cars. Kittens that have never left the house will remember things from a previous life and big one slaves will wonder why the new kitten hisses and spits at the puppy or mums rabbit slippers.
But something all cats remember is being gods. They remember when cats ruled the world; they remember when they ruled the world. Every cat remembers this and from time to time they think they are gods and all big ones are no more than slaves.
The odd thing is that somehow the big ones somehow remember being slaves as well, no one knows how this happens but many in the realms have noted how easily big ones become the servants of cats.
~
Edith Henderson was doing what she loved best. Tending to her garden and talking to her plants. Today the petunias were looking a bit unhappy so she was watering them and talking to them and generally making sure they were happy. The sunflowers in the next bed were feeling jealous about all the attention and after a quick chat had decided they were going to do a mass wilt and try to look pitiful.
“Ahem”
Edith looked up from her petunias; she was kneeling on her gardening mat and had leaned over to reach the furthest plants when a very small voice had come from behind her. Which was odd to say the least? It wasn’t the cats; it hadn’t come from next door.
“AHEM.”
She stood up and stretched to work the kinks out of her back then looked around. There was no one in the garden, no one by the house, no one by the sheds.
“OI DOWN HERE!”
She looked down. Someone had left a gnome in here garden, not a stone gnome or a concrete gnome or a plastic gnome, it was a very realistic gnome. In fact it almost looked.........
“Hello”.
Oh it was real. Wait. It was real? She bent down a little and prodded the gnome with the tip of her little gardening trowel. It was a funny looking gnome; someone had stuck bits of Mechano to its shoulders and chest.
Tavis Cogheart froze as the big one witch waved some great killing tool at him, its broad blade covered in dirt. The garden trowel hit him in the stomach and he went oof. He stepped back with the air knocked out of him, hang on a minute. That shouldn’t happen, he was a gnome and he was standing still, he should be stone!
Oh.
Right.
Powerful witch.
Better and better.
~
Edith was sitting on her favourite chair by the little table just inside the French doors. She had made herself a nice cup of tea to calm her nerves, with just a drop of something extra to help settle her down. Gnomes, how ridiculous.
“Excuse me.”
She looked down, there were three of them now, standing in a line just by the French window. The one with the flat hat and the metal shoulders had been joined by one with a very tall hat and blue trousers and a third who was a bit taller, had a brown jacket and had a funny little curved fishing rod slung over its shoulder.
She looked at the gnomes, then looked at her tea. Then looked at the gnomes again. Then she stood up and walked across to the tall wooden cabinet beside the kitchen door, she opened it, took out a bottle and unscrewed the cap. Then she poured enough of the amber coloured liquid from the bottle into her tea cup to fill it completely.
She went back to her chair and sat down again. She looked down at the gnomes, the three gnomes looked up at her. She took a sip. She looked down at the gnomes. The gnomes looked up at her. She took a much larger sip.
“Gnomes are not real.”
The other two gnomes looked at Tavis, Tavis looked up at the witch and sighed.
“We need your help oh great and mighty big one witch.” Tavis was puzzled, he was sure he was speaking big one, perhaps he had been misunderstood, the witch had started laughing and hitting the table with the flat of her hand. Was it something he had said?
It took several minutes before Edith calmed down, she hadn’t laughed like that for a great many years and her sides hurt. She had a line of real gnomes standing at her door asking for help and calling her a witch. She had been out in the sun far too long today.
“Excuse me oh mighty witch.”
She looked down. They were still there and they were talking again. Perhaps she should call the doctor, seeing and hearing gnomes could not be a good sign.
“Shoo, go away. You don’t exist.”
Tavis looked at the other two and they looked at him.
“We do exist.”
“Don’t be silly, there is no such thing as a gnome. Fairy stories and children’s tales. You don’t exist.
Tavis could see he was getting nowhere so he walked toward the witch, she was sitting at a table that had a big frilly cloth on it. A very big frilly cloth that reached the floor. With big gaps in it that a brave gnome could use to climb up. So he carefully climbed up onto the table and walked across to stand next to the tea cup.
Tavis glanced into the cup and took a sniff. Wow! No wonder the big one was having problems, that much neat gin would have pickled a gnome.
They were both interrupted by a thump. A big black cat had jumped on the table and now lunged at the gnome, claws out and death in its beady eyes.
Edith saw the cat leap and with a shriek of “NOOOOOOOO BAD KITTY” she put her hand in the way and received a nasty little slash from the cat’s claws. She shrieked and glared at the cat, the cat looked at the gnome then looked at the woman then back at the gnome.
It turned and walked to the edge of the table, turned its head with a glare that said I will find you later, then jumped off and went into the kitchen.
Edith was shocked. The scratches from the cat had hurt but the cat could see the gnome, the cat had attacked the gnome. The gnome was really there. Oh dear oh dear.
She picked up her tea cup and took a big gulp.
~
“You are real aren’t you? Gnomes are real?”
Tavis looked at the big one witch and felt pity for her, it’s not every day a big finds out that the world they know is only a tiny part of what really exists. Though to be honest this big one was taking it well, perhaps because she was a witch. Of course the fact that she was taking gulps of Gin may be helping.
“Yes we are real.”
Edith Henderson, most powerful witch in the land looked at her tea cup, now half full, then she looked at the gnome standing on her table.
“Hello Mr Gnome.”
Tavis smiled a gnomish smile and drew himself up to his full height.
“Greetings Lady witch. I am Tavis Cogheart of the gnomes of Eastbury Heights. I am honoured to meet you. We come seeking your help to save a dying tree.”
~
Edith had listened and nodded then stood up and gathered her coat and her gardening tools in a wicker basket. She knew where the woods were and even thought she had seen the ancient oak when she was young. She could walk there easily.
But how would the gnomes get there, a mile along public foot paths. They could hardly walk. Then she had a thought, she looked at her big wicker basket, half full of tools. She looked at the gnomes. The gnomes looked at each other and sighed. She put down the basket and they climbed inside then settled down as the most powerful witch in the land left her house and walked across the estate and into the fields and into the woods.
Then they reached the oldest part of the reserve, the deepest part of the woodland. There were no trails here; most big ones did not come here. The undergrowth was old and wild, tangled and twisted. Every bush would catch at trousers or feet, almost as if this part of the woods did not want visitors.
But today the bushes pulled aside and the roots did not trip. Today the brambles did not catch. Today the nettles did not sting. Today the bushes and the plants and the trees drew back and bowed down for they were in the presence of the most powerful witch in the land.
Edith stepped into the clearing and gasped as she saw the damage the great old Oak had suffered. She dropped her wicker basket in a clatter of tools and gnomes and quickly ran across to the tree.
Somehow she could feel the life of this Oak, somehow she could feel the ages that had become one with the wood.
Somehow she could feel its pain.
Somehow she could feel its dying.
She had to save it somehow, the branches and leaves that were burnt, they would grow back. The bark that was gone, that was a problem but should not be killing the mighty tree. So why..............
The roots, the fire had burned the roots away and somehow the petrol and the oil and the metal from the motorbike was poisoning what remained.
She realised she was kneeling with her hands on the roots and stood, the pain in her back forgotten for one. She needed tools from her basket.
The gnomes had climbed out of the basket and stood watching as she picked up the basket and walked quickly back to the tree. She took out a small saw and set to work cutting the poisoned roots. The saw was small, the witch was old and weak and the oak was ancient and tough. But she severed each root in a handful of cuts.
The remains of the motorbike were still there and she pushed them aside, the metal was heavy and hard to move but suddenly the gnomes were there and the animals were there. A deer stepped carefully past her and lowered its head to push against the frame of the bike.
Badgers began to dig and claw at the poisoned earth to move it away from the severed roots. Every type of creature pushed and pulled and struggled to move aside the Big One wreckage and the poison it carried.
Edith placed her old gnarled hands on the tree, she could feel the poison, she could feel the spark of its life flickering like the embers of a fire. She could not let it die, but how could she save it.
Then it came to her, the embers of a fire. And she blew, gently at first then more and more, not with her breath but with the magic of the earth that was within her and now came forth as she called it. The magic of the most powerful witch in the land flowed through those old hands and into a dying tree.
Every creature for miles felt the magic; every plant in the woods came to full bloom. Overhead the winds began to blow and gust in response to the magic, Air come forth to stand against Earth. But this witch would not be denied and the wind blew in vain.
The poisoned roots blackened and fell away, fresh green shoots began to sprout from the cut ends, branches and leaves began to grow before the eyes of the animals and the birds.
The Trunk of the tree began to roughen as fresh bark began to form and three thousand years of life flowed back into it and into the land around it.
The tree was restored to life once more and not just to life but to the glory of its life, this was a king amongst trees and there was more.
Edith was exhausted, she did not understand what had happened or what she had done but it had worked, the ancient Oak was healed. She sagged and almost fell but a hand caught her shoulder and lifted her back to a kneeling position.
A little girl, no more than seven or eight, wearing in a dress of leaves, with acorns in her hair of deepest green. Her eyes were the brown of oak bark and they gleamed with laughter. The witch’s magic had done more than heal the ancient Oak, it had bought forth a daughter of the Tree, a Dryad.
Animals and birds and plants and trees cheered and laughed and marvelled that they had been present to witness such a thing and a witch of the earth named Edith found herself surrounded by friends and with a new garden to visit and tend.
~
So should you ever go for a walk in the woods and find yourself walking between the oldest of trees where there are no paths of tracks look about you and listen carefully.
If you should happen to find yourself in a wide clearing under the branches of the biggest oak tree you have ever seen and surrounded by flowers that seem to bloom all year round.
If you should happen to see badgers and squirrels and rabbits and mice and birds all watching you carefully.
If you should happen to see a little old lady with a wicker basket or hear the laughter and singing of a young girl.
Then do no more than nod or say hello and then be on your way, do nothing to harm the old lady or the trees and plants, do not try to find the little girl.
For a Witch of the Earth has great power in the woods and many protectors, Dryads have long memories and can hurt you in many strange ways, oh and Gnomes, Gnomes are protectors and woe betide any who seek to harm someone protected by Gnomes.
Very nasty when angry is a Gnome!