The Little Grey Girl

Over the Border to the Glittering Land

The old queen was not dead. That much was certain. No one knew where she was or how many of her witches were with her or what her plans might be — but everyone agreed that she could not be far away.
Some said she had become a storm cloud above Witches Borough, spying on everyone who spoke against her. Some said she hid behind the faces of ordinary animals, listening and watching and remembering.
Her defeat had been a trick, they said.
She was only testing them.
She would be back.
And when she returned, woe betide anyone foolish enough to have sided with her daughter.
 
***
Mam would not allow any of these rumours to stop her. In the weeks that followed the queen’s defeat, she strode through all the doubts and fear with grave determination, coming and going across the border, carrying on with her plans. Finally it was time to move, and Mam came home one last time, ready to bring Mup and Dad and Tipper across the border. Ready to start their new life in the Glittering Land.
She had told Mup to bring her favourite things with her when she moved. “My mother’s castle is a strange, cold place, Mup. If we are to live there, you should take some of your old life with you — to make things easier.”
Mup chose her pink-and-yellow bed. She chose the writing desk and chair that Dad had made for her and that were painted with butterflies and flowers. She chose her bookcase and all her many books. She chose a mountain of multicoloured cushions and her wardrobe overflowing with rainbow-bright clothes.
That should be enough, she thought, staring at the colourful jumble piled in the frosty garden. Enough things to fill a bedroom and make a place of my very own.
But was it enough? Would any cushion be comfy enough to soften the cold rooms of the old queen’s palace? Would any painted chair be bright enough to cancel out the darkness there?
Dad squeezed her shoulder and smiled his warm smile. “Come on, Mup. Lots to do.”
He and Mup and Mam spent that whole morning staggering up and down the lawn, carrying all their things. They brought them through the dark trees at the end of their garden and down to the edge of the river, which Mup had once thought was just a stream, but which she now knew was the border to Witches Borough.
There was a raft floating there and they heaped their belongings onto it. The two steers-folk — natives of Witches Borough — leaned on their poles and eyed the growing pile as if the beds and chairs and books and blankets were the strangest things they’d ever seen.
Overhead, the branches rustled with sharp-eyed ravens. All around them the shadows flowed with watchful cats. Mup knew these were Clann’n Cheoil — the music people. She knew they were there to protect Mam and keep her safe. But on this side of the border the clann insisted on staying in their animal forms, and — ashamed as she was to admit it — Mup couldn’t tell one of them from the other.
You could be anyone, she thought, eyeing each cat
and raven as she approached them. You could even be a raggedy witch.
Mup’s newfound suspicion gave her friend Crow no end of grumpy amusement. But Mup wasn’t willing to take any chances. Particularly when her little brother, Tipper, was still so young and her dog, Badger, was so old. Particularly when Dad hadn’t a trace of magic with which to defend himself. (And as for Crow, he needed protecting too; no matter how loudly he protested otherwise.)
Just let someone try something, Mup thought. Just let them try. Me and Mam will sort them out. After everything that had happened, Mup was determined her family would never be hurt again.
 
At last, there was only Tipper’s cot left to carry and all his baby things.
Mup helped Dad with them while Mam stood by the back door of their house, speaking with Fírinne, the leader of Clann’n Cheoil.
“People will never accept you as queen if you insist on lugging your own furniture about,” grumbled Fírinne.
“I’ve told you before,” said Mam. “I am not a queen.”
Fírinne tutted in impatience. “If they can’t bow to you, Stella, they’ll look for someone else to bow to. You
need to take control. Now. While they’re all still afraid of you.”
Carrying Tipper’s cot down the garden with Dad, Mup craned her neck to keep Fírinne in sight. The tall, silver-haired woman was the first friend Mup could ever remember Mam having. For all her talk of bowing, there was something fierce and proud and unbending about her. Mup liked her.
Mam gestured as if to assure her friend that she would be all right. With another tut, Fírinne stretched, transformed into a cat, and prowled grouchily off into the shadows.
Mam was left on her own, looking thoughtful.
She’ll be OK, thought Mup with a twist of pride. She’s Mam. Nothing can hurt her.
 
Down on the raft, Tipper was sitting to attention with Badger, ostentatiously guarding the heap of belongings. When Mup and Dad emerged into the sunshine, carrying his things, he barked excitedly.
“I don’t needs any of them stuffs now, Daddy!” he barked. “Remember? I’m’s a dog!”
Dad chuckled and bent from his great height to scratch his son between his ears. “You never know what you might want to be, Tip. Don’t limit your possibilities.”