Page 98 of The Heart and the Hawthorn

But Lucky was sobbing. ‘I don’t want to go!’

‘I do not want you to go either, little one,’ his father said. ‘But sometimes there are things we must do.’ His voice was a hammer, and it was high wings and swollen skies, it was molten silver and fire-dusted clouds. It was love. It washed over Frida, washed through the jungle, soothing the tumultuous thunder that rumbled above their heads, and eventually, it soothed Lucky too. He dipped his massive boxy head, acceptance settling over him.

At the silver dragon’s nod, Frida started to crawl up Lucky’s back.

‘I know I don’t need to tell you this,’ she called with a shaky voice once she’d reached the peak of Lucky’s quivering spine, watching her friend’s scales shimmer beneath her, ‘but your son is magnificent! And I will look after him, I swear. We will look after each other.’

The silver dragon inclined his chin, and said softly, ‘I know, Frida Rose.’

His eyes flared with golden fire, the scent of furnaces rising.

An electric hum filled the air. But she wasn’t afraid, not this time.

‘Are you ready?’ she asked, wrapping her arms around Lucky’s scales.

He shook his massive head. ‘No, I’m not.’

She pressed her damp cheek into his neck. ‘Then we’ll do it together, fire-spoken-and-soaring-on-exalted-sky-and-deep-notched-trees-with-great-hope-in-many-veined-hearts.’

His dada raised his wings in parting.

The earth creaked.

The black rock split open.

Darkness and starlight beckoned.

The silver dragon roared.

The last thing she saw was the promise in his fire-bright gaze, which went something along the lines of, If you don’t keep him safe, I’ll come back from the fiery pits of molten eternity and roast you where you stand, until you have no brains left, no bones, no eyes, no skin, no feet, no little stink hands. You’ll just be a pile of dust, which will blow away in the wind, destined to be tormented for the rest of times.

Frida’s mouth quirked in a grin, and then they were gone.

Chapter Fifty-Three

Frida knew they were back in the LEZ. She came back to consciousness as Lucky whimpered softly beneath her. She’d concocted so many scenarios for what they’d find – death, destruction, despair, that for as long as she could bear, she stayed with her cheeks pressed into his frosty scales, her arms wrapped around the back of his neck, not wanting to look. It felt as if they’d been pushed back through the earth, the pockets, and the space-time continuum like they’d been lubricated like hangferns and sent through a slip ’n’ slide. She held all the pockets close to her, taking a moment to cherish the memories, and then she shelved them for later. For a pitcher of margaritas at the Crown and Anchor.

‘We’re back, my love,’ she whispered.

Lucky slowly lifted his head, his whimpering subsiding. Pearlescent light rippled under his scales, and she could smell animals, manure, hay and sweat, along with pine trees and the heady aroma of flowers. It was familiar, but also different. Smaller. Staler. The smell of plywood, rather than woodland.

She swallowed hard, listening.

The creaking of trees seemed quieter – everything did. Placing a gentle kiss to Lucky’s muddy neck, she raised herself up and looked around. All was dark and still. There was no longer the eternal presence of the Narnian lamps. The only light came from Lucky’s inner fire and an uncanny drifting glitter, that shimmered like embers from a fire. It sparked a feeling of recognition that settled deep in her bones. Everything is as it needs to be.

They were back in Forest. She would have known it anywhere.

A familiar carved wooden sign greeted her. Nailed beneath the branches of an old oak, it said: ‘Welcome and beware. All who enter this wood, prepare to be enchanted.’ The oak and sign were still standing.

‘It’s the same,’ she said to herself.

Lucky gazed back at her, his mercurial eyes guttering as he placed his head on his oversized paws. He looked exhausted. Here and there, zealous tree roots had broken out of the yellow cobbles, upturned benches, wrapped around bushes. Her gaze trailed over the sleeping bodies spooning the capsized rubbish bins. She expected to be afraid, like she’d been before. Before, the wood had felt like a horror movie alien parasite. Now, she only saw peace in her friends’ faces. Cliff starfished over the grass, Gloria curled around the vines of a white rose bush, Zuzka’s pink hair entwined with ivy, Sora, cuddling one of the exposed leathery roots. There was—

She let out a cry and slipped off Lucky’s back. Her boots hit the uneven cobbles with a slap, jarring her knees, but she was running, leaping bushes, benches and bins.

‘Antony!’ she cried, falling to her knees. ‘Hamish!’

Her two friends lay amongst the others, snuggled up together in a way that almost broke her heart. Hamish’s leg thrown over Antony’s, Antony’s arm tucked around Hamish’s willowy shoulders, Hamish’s cheek soft against Antony’s broad chest. As if they’d always been there, like that. She pressed her face to Hamish’s, breathed in Antony’s familiar scent of laundry powder and mint. She touched Hamish’s soft pale hair. Patted Antony’s neat brown beard. ‘You’re here,’ she gasped as snotty tears ran down her nose. ‘You’re here!’