While hedge-witch Mama Grace tends to the needs of the poorer denizens of Bellamdale, respect for her power does not extend to her foster daughter, Sally Founder. Trying to save a cat from local bullies, Sally finds herself in dire straits, until rescued by the Nephilim Samdriel. In exchange, the young girl becomes the host for his disembodied spirit.
Their merging grants Sally some of Samdriel's power, as long as their relationship remains secret—even as other spirits grow restless and call for blood. When evil omens spur new violence, Sally is granted sanctuary by Lady Bellingham of Briarstone Manor with promises of protection and an education. Yet, the young girl's new home holds secrets of its own, and pretty gowns and fancy balls cannot keep the growing darkness at bay. Sally unwittingly becomes part of a broader game that has been played for untold centuries. Could even Samdriel's power be enough to save the witch's foundling and those she loves as an ancient evil comes searching for a prize that threatens the world?
While hedge-witch Mama Grace tends to the needs of the poorer denizens of Bellamdale, respect for her power does not extend to her foster daughter, Sally Founder. Trying to save a cat from local bullies, Sally finds herself in dire straits, until rescued by the Nephilim Samdriel. In exchange, the young girl becomes the host for his disembodied spirit.
Their merging grants Sally some of Samdriel's power, as long as their relationship remains secret—even as other spirits grow restless and call for blood. When evil omens spur new violence, Sally is granted sanctuary by Lady Bellingham of Briarstone Manor with promises of protection and an education. Yet, the young girl's new home holds secrets of its own, and pretty gowns and fancy balls cannot keep the growing darkness at bay. Sally unwittingly becomes part of a broader game that has been played for untold centuries. Could even Samdriel's power be enough to save the witch's foundling and those she loves as an ancient evil comes searching for a prize that threatens the world?
S tanding on a soggy patch of ground looking through a patch of milkweed, I beheld a trio of town boys throwing twigs and pebbles at a small grey cat perched on the branch of a large willow tree. Seeking to avoid the trouble to which I was prone, I began to creep away as silently as I was capable when the indignant yowls of the cat brought me up short. Despite my better judgment, a strange affinity for the painful cries resonated through my chest.
Gritting my teeth, I emerged from the shrubs around the riverbank. At every movement of the cat to escape further up the tree, the pelting of objects increased and kept him trapped on the spot within the reach of their throws. It was obvious their object was to force the poor animal to fall from the branch into the river over which the tree-limb swayed. Outrage began to bubble through my shaking frame.
Though all the boys were larger and older, I charged at them swinging my basket, its carefully gathered contents flying in all directions. Two of the boys had received a sharp thwacking before the third even became aware on me. They cursed and yelped, swiftly stepping aside which permitted me to confront their leader.
Laughing derisively, Robbie Renfield swatted my basket aside and shoved me against the trunk of the willow.
“Ha! Look here chaps!” he crowed, “It’s the puny foundling that lives with the old witch!”
His cronies joined him in laughing and flinging twigs at me.
“Leave that poor cat alone, you … you … Barbarians! And don’t you call Mama Grace a witch!” Once more I brandished my basket at him but he wrenched it from my hands.
With a sneer he threw any remaining contents to the ground, saving only a few remaining strawberries to pop into his mouth. The other boys stomped the comfrey and goose grass into mucky pulp while chanting the old refrain I had heard so many times before: “Little Sally Founder! Her mother never loved her!”
The words stung deeply and I felt the temper that Mama Grace had so recently advised me against burn out of control. That I was left on Mama Grace’s doorstep, most likely by Travellers that had been in the area at the time casting further disgrace on my position, had always left me a target for unprovoked attack. Almost as much as living with the local witch.
I tried to reclaim my basket but my burning tears of frustration only encouraged the louts to throw it higher.
“Give it back!” I yelled.
“Look, Robbie!” one of his compatriots with fair hair called out, “The cat’s trying to get away! Little sneak!”
Robbie spun around and spied the animal partway down the trunk. A few well-aimed rocks sent the poor creature back out onto the swaying tree limb. It hissed impotently at its wicked persecutors. I took advantage of the distraction to make another snatch for my basket from Robbie’s hand. He skillfully stepped aside as I stumbled passed him. I managed to pull myself to a stop beneath the suffering cat’s position. The spot was at the edge of the soft, crumbling bank of the river over which the willow’s branches outstretched.
Twirling the basket in his hand, I recognized a deeper darkness grow in Robbie’s stormy grey eyes. A familiar chill clawed up my spine. He was the leader of the children who had chased me through the streets of Bellamdale for as long as I could remember.
“Little Sally Founder!” he grated, though his lips were twisted in a nauseating smile. “Her mother never loved her.”
“Shut up, Robbie!” I stammered as I felt a cold threat grow within my stomach. “You don’t know what you’re talking about!”
“Ooh, listen to her, now!” the fair-haired boy mocked.
“Are you going to cry baby?” the other boy with a smattering of dark freckles, prodded maliciously.
Robbie said nothing but only continued to hum the insulting chant and stare at me with scheming, vengeful eyes. The other boys continued with their jeers but I did not take my gaze off Robbie.
Suddenly an inspiration came to me and I cried, “You better watch yourselves or Mama Grace will put a curse on all of you! You won’t be laughing then!”
The mention of ‘Mama Grace’ and ‘curse’ stopped the boys in their tracks. I enjoyed the flickers of fear that arose on their faces. Mama Grace’s reputation was a complicated and shadowy thing amongst the townspeople of Bellamdale. The 1785 Royal Edict of Inclusion, where the Guild of Witches was recognized as beneficial and granted royal protection, was not yet a century old but superstition ran deep in certain parts of England. Such old beliefs definitely held an intimidating power over the town-children. Watching the boys exchange nervous looks as they shifted back and forth, emboldened me enough to tear my gaze from Robbie. Turning, I held out my arms to the harassed cat.
“Please come with me,” I entreated soothingly, “I’ll take care of you.”
“Careful he doesn’t scratch your mismatched eyes out,” the freckled-faced boy jeered, though with less enthusiasm than before. The jibe was directed at the fact I had eyes of different colors – a fact that bothered me not the least. I paid him no mind, as I was certain from looking into the poor cat’s golden eyes that it understood me. There was the slightest relaxing to its small body and a little tremor ran through it. I stretched out as far as my small frame could reach. A surprised yelp from one of the boys rang out. The cat howled at the very moment a hard shove caught me in my back and I tumbled down the bank into the rushing water.
The cold waves tumbled and tossed me about preventing me from gaining any purchase on the riverbed. I heard a concerned cry but not for my welfare. “Robbie! What are you doing? The old witch will curse us for certain now!”
I struggled to get upright but my soaked garments pulled me down and I was small enough that the waters were a true danger to me. As my little body was sent bobbing along the river with my arms flailing desperately for any object to which I might cling, I heard faintly Robbie’s disdainful reply: “Who’s to know? I’m not frightened of that old hag.”
I tried to call out but water filled my mouth and I could only gasp and sputter. The river swept me away and I felt as though clawing, icy hands were trying to pull me down. Images of the kelpies and Green Jennies that lived in rivers and preyed on unwary children beleaguered my mind amidst warnings from Mama Grace. My struggles became more and more frantic; the more I fought to get to the bank the stronger the watery hands seemed to grasp at my skirt. In my panic I managed to grab hold of a large rock that rose from the water. My grip was tenuous and I felt a dreadful weight of the cold and the water trying to press me under again. Shivering and with chattering teeth, I looked about desperately for some hope of safety. On the bank directly across from me sat the little grey cat, staring almost indifferently, at the calamity his rescue had caused me.
“W-Why don’t you r-run?” I stuttered weakly, “S-s-save yourself at l-least.”
“Well, I was hoping to save you,” the cat replied, “If you wish me to do so.” Its bright golden eyes seemed to glow with a light that reached out to envelop me in an aura of warmth. It was the only thing that prevented me from succumbing to shock and losing my grip on the rock. Raised by a witch I may have been but even I had never heard a cat speak or even heard its voice in my head.
I coughed and sputtered. The warmth began to recede from my numb fingers and my meager strength dissolved. I began to slip back into the hungry water.
“Yes! Yes! Save me!” I wailed.
“Most certainly,” the cat answered. Or so I thought for at that moment my head sank beneath the surface and a primitive panic ejected the air from my lungs.
Suddenly my head emerged from the water as though pulled and a golden glow shone so brightly, I was near blinded and could only feel myself being lifted beyond the menacing water and placed gently upon the bank. The light faded and I collapsed to my knees and vomited up the water I had inadvertently swallowed. Trembling, I raised my shaky head and pushed my sopping brown curls out of my eyes. The grey cat sat a few feet away regarding me with curiosity. Something had changed about him. Then, I realized it was as if I were regarding him from a different perspective than I had before. Looking down at my small hands I found them glowing like the ebbing embers of a fire with the same golden energy I had first beheld emanating from the cat. My heart began to race and all my former bravado was forgotten and I started to cry like the ten-year-old that I was.
“Hush,” the cat’s voice said inside my head, “Don’t give up now. You’ve been quite brave thus far. I can help you get home but you’re going to have to do most of the work yourself at this time. A merging is always draining.”
“A ‘m-merging’ ?” I asked as I staggered to my feet.
“Concentrate on getting home,” the voice in my head responded, “We shall become better acquainted later.”
My head began to throb acutely and my knees shook so fiercely I had great difficulty moving my trembling legs. The little grey cat rubbed against my limbs and without thinking I awkwardly picked him up and strangely, he did not object to my dripping embrace. He felt warm, soft and real in a way that calmed my swirling mind enough to permit me to totter forward. Overhead, darkening clouds tumbled in threatening masses and a cold wind began to pick up speed and force. My teeth began to chatter in response.
The path back to my home was one I knew well but the lowering light, my aching head and limping step hindered my progress considerably. I fell, I know not how many times but it was enough that the cat, indulgent as he had been, gave up and leapt from my arms. The new voice in my head tried to encourage me but for now it only seemed to whisper from a distance as though it were not in control any more than I was. Sniffling and whimpering, I staggered on. However, the cat did return to my arms when the rain began to fall, seeking a protection from the elements I was to be denied.
In this miserable, pathetic state I fumbled along until while trying to blink the rain out of my eyes I saw a globe of light approaching. Between my aching head and shaking body I recalled stories of the Will O’ the Wisp. It had obviously come to lead me further astray into some enchanted fairyland and perhaps even replace me with a changeling. I froze in place overcome with indecision; all rational thought was pushed aside and I awaited the fate of all travellers caught unawares in the forest at night. Mama Grace had warned me about the Wee Folk and how they especially loved to bedevil naughty children. I must have been cursed due to my horrible temper but it wasn’t fair!
“You have not been naughty, little one,” the voice whispered from far away. “Have no fear. The light is no Will O’ the Wisp, as you call it.”
Despite the voice’s attempts at comfort my fear increased so that the cat yowled in protest at the tightening of my grip. I’d be lost forever underground, never to be seen again! The sprites would pinch my ears and make me dance until I died! Or perhaps they would eat me, roasted like the rabbit we had for supper last week or make me their slave or … a hundred other dreadful things! Why oh, why would my feet not run away from the growing, dazzling light?
“Sally, child, is that you?” a loved and familiar voice inquired.
“M-Mama G-Grace, it is me!” I quavered in response.
Immediately a thick felted blanket was thrown over my shoulders and I was heartily embraced – much to the cat’s dismay.
“M-mama, I-I lost my b-basket,” I began.
“Hush,” she interrupted, “You can explain everything at home. Though I’m sure it has something to do with this yowling vagrant.”
Her last statement was accompanied by a flick of her finger at the growling beast under my arm as she hurried me along.
“H-He’s magic I think,” I muttered. I did not try to describe any of the other occurrences of the day. I was consumed by an obsession to return home.
“Is he now?” Mama Grace answered dryly in direct opposition to how wet we both now were. “It’s unfortunate he did not ‘magic’ you home before the rain started.”
“I-I don’t think it works that w-way. He said I had to get home on my own.”
“Hmph! That sounds like something a cat would say,” she rejoined grumpily. “Ah! At last! Just a few more steps my little mouse and you will be snug and safe in your own little hole.”
The mention of home spurred me onward with a slightly quicker step from my drained store of energy. Mama Grace hustled me over the threshold and I felt surrounded by a wave of warmth. The cat leapt instantly from my arms and through a blurring view I observed him settle by the glowing hearth. The golden glow set my aching head spinning. I felt my body begin to sway.
“Those stupid boys,” I complained, “Shoving me in the river like that.”
“What was that? What did you say?” Mama Grace’s alarmed voice questioned me.
I could not find the breath to answer her. My last thought was one of gratitude for feeling her hands catching me as I fell.
***
I cannot recall with any clarity what occurred within my body; as from a distance, I knew I was in some way insensible, struggling with the effects of a strange fever and shock after all I had experienced. Though small, I had generally been hearty and I knew Mama Grace would be disturbed by my illness. However, all these feelings seemed removed and distant from my inner self. My spirit travelled in another realm, floated on a golden river.
Effortlessly, I bobbed along the rippling surface, a warm and welcoming light suffusing my surroundings. My journey was not at all akin to the terrifying experience I had endured before but one of gentle calm. This golden water did not leave me drenched and miserable but refreshed and supported. Beside me floated beautiful lotus blossoms and the heady aroma of jasmine wafted on the air; though how I could recognize either having never encountered them, I could not explain. A low laugh greeted my mild confusion as I came to rest at the riverbank. Standing up, I was dry and felt no motivation to shiver and my simple smock was imbued with a luminous quality it did not normally possess. This time I scrambled nimbly up the bank toward the tree nearby that bore a significant resemblance to the willow in which the grey cat had sought refuge.
Within the shadows cast by the swaying boughs of the tree a tall and glittering figure stood. Laughing, he stepped forth into the light and left me speechless with wonder.
“Welcome to our dreamscape,” he said cheerfully, “I am Samdriel.”
At times Mama Grace had read to me from a book of fairy stories and I had marveled at the images that were portrayed within it. Yet, none of those shallow, lifeless drawings could remotely have prepared me for the person that stood before me. He was impressively tall, at least from my young vantage point. A pair of enormous golden wings that rose from his back accentuated his height. He kept them folded sedately though they fluttered and rustled almost with a life of their own that produced a subtle music like soft chimes.
The gold of his wings was a bright contrast to his beautiful brown skin that was adorned by a sparkling, jeweled collar and gold and blue cuffs at his wrists. A band of copper sat upon his brow with a twinkling emerald set in its center and bound back some of the lustrous black tresses that extended to well past his shoulders. No shirt covered his broad muscular chest but from the waist down a skirt of red silk with shining gold trim fell to his ankles. On his feet were gold and silver laced sandals that sparkled as he stepped forward. His smile flashed brilliantly and he gave me a chivalrous bow that sent a ripple through the great wings.
“I thought you might like a glimpse of my homeland,” he stated rather proudly and gestured to the scenery around us with a sweep of his wings. I was incapable of an intelligible reply. He smiled indulgently. I took his smile to be somewhat mocking so that my tongue was loosened by a touch of pique.
“That tree is the willow from my river,” I quipped tartly, “That is not from your homeland.”
He laughed again. “How observant of you and quite correct. Well, it did offer me some sanctuary and I like to add things to this place from time to time.”
“How can you add things to your homeland?” I puzzled.
“My homeland, like myself, does not exist in the physical realm like you and your Mama Grace. So, it is malleable and responds to the direction of my will. It displays what I wish to see. Some of those things, such as lotus blossoms, I remember from the age when I had a body like you.”
At just the mention of ‘lotus blossom’ a great and luminous flower appeared in his hand and then dissolved in a sparkling cloud that blew away on the jasmine-scented breeze.
“A body like me?”
“A physical body I mean,” he clarified. “I once appeared to the world at large as I appear to you here now.”
It took some moments for comprehension to form within my child’s mind but then abruptly the obvious answer occurred to me.
“I know! You’re an angel!” I exclaimed. I chided myself silently; the wings should have made the observation a simple one.
A strange twist suddenly played across his smiling lips when I uttered my cry and a shadow fell across his gold-flecked eyes. A chill crept over me despite the perfume-scented air and warm summer light.
“No, little one, I am not an angel,” he sighed, “Though my father was one.”
“I don’t understand.”
“My father was an angel. My mother was a mortal woman, the fairest of all her people in an age so long ago their name is not even a whisper in the dreams of your most knowledgeable scholars,” he mused. The gold flecks in his eyes seemed to spin and whirl like dancing stars; his wings unfurled and rustled like a fierce rainstorm. His voice deepened as he spoke and carried a rumble beneath it that threatened thunder. I was hard pressed to follow his words as I felt he no longer addressed me alone but a larger, more prestigious company.
“I am of that race that trod the earth with godly power and arrogance, expecting all to bow or be crushed beneath our heel.
Such was our blindness to our weakness and the betrayal of our fathers.”
I trembled in awe and my body quaked in fear. I began to sniffle and wish to be back home with Mama Grace.
Immediately, the wings folded back and the thunder faded. Carefully, he knelt before me and took hold of my hands from where they had covered my eyes. His smile was gentle and apologetic.
“Do not be afraid, Sally,” he soothed, “I am still a Nephilim but I am not what I once was.”
“A … a … neff-neff … a what?”
“A Nephilim,” he annunciated wryly, “The offspring of an angel and a mortal woman. We were spoken of in your bible. You would remember if you had paid attention.”
“Mama Grace has read me my bible lessons many times,” I protested, “I do not remember neph-nephim or any such nonsense.”
He laughed at my scolding and this time his wings rustled like a tree in the wind. The strange music arose from their fluttering to match his mirth. It stung my young pride acutely.
“Stop laughing at me!” I snapped, stomping my foot, “I am not a fool!” However, even in childish anger, I understood my rage was impotent; I could no easier stand up to this golden paragon than a blind mole to one of Hannibal’s elephants. Frustration squeezed tears from my eyes and I began to cry. I wanted to go home! I wanted Mama Grace!
His laughter ceased and my shining companion addressed me in a voice rife with contrition.
“No, no, my little friend,” he pleaded, “It is at my own foolish self that I laugh. I would never mock the one who saved my last vessel from harm with such courage.”
His tone calmed my roused nerves and I stopped my hot tears. Sniffling, I asked, “Last vessel? D-do you mean you were the cat I saved?”
“To be accurate, I dwelt within the cat,” he stated, “As I now dwell within you.”
I stared at him, open-mouthed. For the first time I thought I detected a faltering in his confidence; as though a slender strain of child-like fear, that my personal experience allowed me to identify, lay behind his golden eyes.
“D-dwell within … me?” I squeaked.
“Yes. That is what is meant by merging. We two are now one, if you will,” he continued with trepidation, “By this joining I was able to save you from the river and heal your more grievous injuries. Though this fever you are having is … something new to me.”
His last statement was murmured more to himself than to me and I felt disturbed by his puzzlement as much as by his explanation.
“Fever? Am I sick? I don’t feel sick.”
“In this place you will not feel anything you do not wish to feel. It is our special place. Here, I have consulted with each of my Hosts over the centuries -.”
“You talked to the cat here?” I interrupted with a giggle.
“Of course, I did not talk with the cat,” he huffed. He stood and regarded me from his great height with an expression of sardonic attention. “It is different when a Nephilim possesses an animal. Most importantly there is no merging of our souls. For this reason, we may leave an animal host whenever we wish. A human host must grant us permission to join with them and then we are bound to them until their death.”
“Their death? Do you not die too?”
“Well, obviously not or we would not be having this conversation,” he rejoined, laughter tugging at his lips again. “No, the Nephilim must wander the world as disembodied spirits in exile from heaven until they expiate the sins they committed against the Creator.”
“Spirits? Sins?” I gasped in fearful surprise. “Are … are you devils then?”
Some other of Mama Grace’s bible stories asserted themselves in my memory; stories of rebellious angels that followed Lucifer in a mighty and failed battle against the righteous will of Heaven. I began to sense an ominous fate rising before me.
“No, Sally, no!” Samdriel exclaimed as he recognized my growing anxiety, “I am a Penitent. What sins I, and some of my fellow Nephilim committed I have sought to redress. You will find no greater friend and protector than I. I can grant you some of my power so that you will live a life unlike other people. Even your Mama Grace.”
“Truly? You are truly that powerful?”
“For millennia I have wandered the world from Host to Host since after the Great Flood hoping to advance the cause of the kin I once denied. I swear I shall protect you.”
“The Great Flood?” I gaped, “You’re that old?”
“Yes. I am that old,” he replied with a smile.
But how have you managed for so long?”
“Well, for one thing, time flows differently for a spirit or in this place too, for that matter. Time in our dreamscape will sometimes seem to pass faster or slower depending on you. You will learn how to visit me here whenever you like though we may speak at all times. No one else will hear my voice unless we wish it.”
“Like Mama Grace?” I asked eagerly. This time the anxiety was clear on his face.
“No, you must not mention me to Mama Grace,” Samdriel pronounced, “Promise me you will never say anything about me to her. Swear to me Sally.”
“B-but why? Mama Grace is -.”
“A powerful witch and Nephilim do not have a … good reputation with witches like your Mama Grace. She would not understand our relationship. She might … hurt me if she knew.”
I thought again of Mama Grace and some of her sister-witches. Mistress Wyndham and Mistress Adelaide. Their power had exuded a sharper edge than what I had always felt from Mama Grace; she was different than the others, I knew.
“But Mama Grace is a wise woman, a good witch who honors nature and healing and supports all righteousness,” I protested as I recited the rules she had taught me. Samdriel shook his head nervously.
“No Sally! Swear you will keep our connection secret for now at least. Please, I beg of you!”
“V-very well. I suppose so ….”
“You will not regret it,” he rejoined with fresh cheer. “To prove it you can awaken now if you wish. I have extinguished your fever at last and you are as well as ever. Better even! You will see.”
“The fever is gone? Did it take very long?”
“About two days. Mama Grace has tended your physical body with admirable skill. She will be pleased to speak with you again.
“Two days! Oh, I must speak with her. She will be so worried for me!”
“Remember your promise. No one must know about me.”
“Of course,” I whispered. My eyes opened and I found myself lying in my little cot in our modest cottage.
Salome Deborah Founder, better known as Sally, is a foundling who resides with Mama Grace, a hedge witch who lives in Bellamdale. While trying to rescue a cat being tortured by a group of boys, she is thrown into the river and nearly drowns. The reason she doesn't drown is that, in reality, the cat is occupied by a being called Nephilim Samdriel saves her life by joining with her spirit and giving her supernatural powers. Nephilim is the offspring of an angel and a human mother. He has wings like an angel but is destined to remain between heaven and earth to atone for sins. As Sally grows, she must keep Nephilim Samdriel a secret, in addition to the strengths she receives from him from hosting this entity. She is rightly concerned about the danger to her safety should villagers consider her unnatural or possessed. Sally soon gets an incredible opportunity to become the ward of Lady Bellingham, where she will be educated and raised to the life of a respectable lady. While at the grand house, she soon experiences some ghostly activity, leading her on a twisty adventure.
A lot is going on in this book, and I found myself having to flip back and forth between pages because I was missing some of the nuances and implications of certain characters. It is a book that you need to take your time with to catch all the plot twists. This book keeps you intrigued, and I can't say I ultimately figured it out before the end.
Alison Williams has pulled together a solid novel that will be a great read on a spooky Hallowe'en night, curled up with a spicy tea and some candy corn. I recommend this to readers who enjoy books like Diane Setterfield's Bellman and Black or the Thirteenth Tale.