Part 4.....

Ears forward and eyes fixed, Trisk watched his mistress, following her every movement.  Using a blunt knife, Crelda raked out the dry mortar binding the rough clay and straw bricks of the exposed wall.  Her fingers raw and bleeding, she slowly prised each one out, laying them on the floor.  Gradually, brick by brick, a dark cavity began to form.  As soon as it was large enough to take both her hands, she reached in and carefully lifted out a small ornate box, its lid intricately etched with the image of an ancient tree, still just visible through a thick film of undisturbed dust.

Placing the box on the table, Crelda wiped the lid with the palm of her hand and released the small metal catch which kept it closed.  Cautiously lifting it, she peered inside.  Nestled in a bed of faded blue velvet was a leaf, beautifully carved from a single piece of wood, its surface perfectly smooth rand heavily streaked with rich, dark veins.  Lost in thought, she gently ran her fingers over it, tracing its smooth curves and the reddish swirls that deepened into nutty brown knots.

A quiet whimper from behind her caused her to turn around and she saw that Trisk was trembling.  Beckoning the dog with her outstretched hand, she walked to the door and, silently lifting the latch, opened it.  Pausing for a brief moment to survey the surrounding woods, she walked on to the grassy clearing in front of the cottage.  Crelda knelt down, cupped her hands under Trisk’s chin, and softly kissed the top of his head.  Then, embracing his neck and burying her face in his thick fur, she began to sob softly.  After a short while she leaned back, wiping her face with her apron, and stared into the dog’s blue eyes.

The time is drawing near, my dear companion, when I fear our lives must follow separate paths.  Harmful spirits are close at hand and will soon be upon us.  You have fulfilled your duties well. You have been my protector, not just from danger, but from that awful enemy loneliness…Akin would be so proud of you.

Trisk threw back his head and, continuing to shake, let out a defiant howl.

I will not leave.  My place is here with you.

Crelda’s eyes again reddened, stinging through barely withheld tears, and she once more fixed her gaze on the dog’s frightened face.

There is no choice in this matter, Trisk.  You must leave now.  We are both in terrible danger and time is cruelly short.  I command you to go from this place at once.  Go to Pirin.  He is still a fledgling and needs your protection.  He has powers that he cannot yet understand, let alone use.  Now go!

Embracing him one final time, she stood upright and gestured for him to leave.  Reluctantly, Trisk turned and walked slowly along the track in the direction of Crowfoot, eventually visible only as a pale speck against the dark forest.  Crelda looked uneasily towards the trees and hurriedly returned to the cottage.  Stopping outside the door, she pulled a short knife from her pocket and cut several sprigs from the containers around it before going inside and bolting the door behind her.   At the sound, Trisk distantly re-emerged on the track and sprinted back towards the cottage, until finally settling into his favourite hiding place behind the water butt.

Now alone, Crelda hastily tossed the herbs into a shallow bowl and ground them with a pestle into a pungent, dark green paste.  This she then smeared on the palms of her hands, between her fingers and also on the surface of the table around the wooden leaf.  Pulling up a high-backed wooden chair, Crelda sat herself upright at the table, placing her hands either side of the leaf.  Taking a deep breath, she closed her eyes and silence filled the cottage.

For a short while nothing happened.  Then, very slowly, the temperature in the room started to drop.  Ice crystals formed on the windows and the water in the pitcher solidified, creaking and wheezing as it did so.  Crelda’s eyelids flickered.

Oh great Creator, Supreme Lord of all Being, release my human form and return me to the mouldering roots of the forest whence I came.  Let the Earth Mother consume my essence so that I may once again dance with my brothers and sisters.

Crelda’s body swayed as she spoke, her hands remaining firmly on the table.  Slowly the veins in the leaf began to pulse and move, merging and flowing into the table, meandering outwards like fungal filaments embedding themselves in the wood.  Reaching Crelda’s fingertips, they penetrated under her nails and progressed under the skin, spreading up both arms in a purple flush.  As they did so, her skin hardened, roughened and split; writhing green tendrils emerged and spiralled downwards to the earthen floor.  All around Crelda, a thick crust of ice had formed on everything, long shafts extending downwards from the ceiling.

Outside, a cool green light emanated from the cottage, seeping under the door and from behind the shutters; the whole building seemed to groan, as if being tested to its foundations.  From the darkening wood a spidery figure ran at high speed towards the door, bowling into it with tremendous force.  The door splintered but did not give way, a thick layer of ice having formed a protected second layer behind it.  Screaming with frustrated rage, the creech leapt upwards, swinging acrobatically to land on the thatched roof.  Immediately it plunged downwards, hacking and flailing at the straw which soon started to disintegrate.  More creeches ran from the woods, converging on the cottage, battering into the shutters, pounding and clawing at the brittle wood and yelping in an excited frenzy.  From out of the darkness a pale form also pounced forward, thudding into one of them, catching it off balance and sending it spinning to the ground.  In an instant, Trisk’s jaws closed on its throat and the two wrestled in the grass, the creech desperately trying to kick away the unyielding dog.  With a sudden flick of his neck, Trisk wrenched himself away, a large clump of fur between his teeth.  The creech writhed on the ground, frantically trying to stem the blood bubbling from its severed jugular.  Another creech sprang onto Trisk’s back, the dog staggering under its weight.  As it leaned forward to administer a paralysing bite to the back of the neck, Trisk rolled onto his side, smashing the creech into a stack of earthenware pots, which crashed loudly to the ground.  Before the creech could relaunch its attack, Trisk was upon it and bit deeply into its face, crushing the cartilage of its nose as his head instinctively jerked backwards.  Turning to face the cottage, Trisk stood still, his rib cage heaving as he fought to catch his breath.  He watched as a third creech descended carefully from the roof, its staring eyes fixed on his own.  In its hand it held a spiked club, which it manipulated slowly in its grasp.  Behind it a chorus of whoops accompanied the collapse of the roof into the cottage itself.  With a defiant, guttural growl, Trisk launched himself into the air.