Path of Light - a sequel to Picnic at Hanging Rock
Picnic at Hanging Rock: Chapter 3 & 18 | Disappearance @ Hanging Rock | Path of Light | Picnic & the Faërie Realm | Faerie in Australia |
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| Sophie Gengembre Anderson, Take the fair face of woman ..... 1869. |
- Goondawinda
- Friday the 13th
- St. Valentine's Day
- Picnic Ground
- Into the Faerie Realm
- The Disappearance
- Finding Irma
- Trieste
- The Path of Light
- Kingdom of Arn
- A Different Plane
- Rescue
- Love
- Narwan's Castle
- The Garden of the Pleiades
- Leaving
- Making Things Right
- St. Valentine's Day again
- Avron Knows
4.55pm, Saturday, 22nd December 1889.
“Miranda! ... Miranda!” shouted Charlotte Reed, scanning for her daughter amongst the backyard detritus. “It’s dinner time.”
Charlotte possessed a voice so strong and clear that down the end of the road a pack of pink and grey galahs rose from their pecking on the tarred road and scattered in all directions, fearful that a horse-pulled wagon was about to run them down without warning.
Charlotte was a tall, slender woman in her mid’ forties, with light brown hair and the typical features of her sex: independent of thought, determined, protective and loving. She stood on the back deck of the Goondawinda homestead, looking out at the lush forest and rolling hills of the 50,000 acre property she shared with her husband Jack and their six children, consisting of five boisterous boys and, the youngest of them all, a daughter. To Charlotte’s left were the ordered rows of trees and plantings which supplemented their dinner table. It was a garden full of lemons and oranges, apples and pears, beans and potatoes, tomatoes and lettuce, coriander, and mint. To the right were the horse stables, grain storage sheds and sorting yards. Beyond, amongst the trees and ferns and grasses and bush were the sheep and cattle, roaming all day with heads down chewing grasses, or just lolling about. In the distance was a patchwork quilt landscape of alternating green and brownish-yellow, as the corn and wheat stalks reached to the sky and called out ready for harvesting.
It was summer holiday time, and the children were home from school, near and far, some local, some boarding. Dinner was ready, and they all knew cook would serve it up dead on the stroke of five, even if their seat at the table was vacant.
As Charlotte stared into the garden, she saw the golden hair of Miranda half hidden behind one of the tomato bushes.
“Miranda. It’s dinner time,” she called out to her.
“Coming mother,” came a sweet voice in reply.
The young girl, aged just seven, ran excitedly up through the little path between two rows of green beans. Her radiant smile brought the same to her mother’s somewhat weary face.
“Where have you been all afternoon?” Charlotte asked.
“Playing with my friends,” came the nonchalant response.
“What friends?” she wondered aloud, though of course knowing the answer.
“My fairy friends – Arian, Aylah and Zoot. They live in the forest, but do so like to play in our garden. Hide and seek is a favourite, though it is not really fair, as they can hide better than anyone else I know! Better than Tom and Harry even.”
“Okay darling, we can talk about that later,” said her mother. “Come inside and get ready for dinner. By the way young girl, let me or your father, or your brothers, know where you are next time. We don’t want you getting lost now, do we?”
“How can I get lost?” said Miranda. “This is my home. My friends would never let that happen.”
Charlotte always found it difficult to bear any ill will for more than a moment to a sweet, intelligent, thoughtful daughter who some would consider wild and wanton. A brief chastisement could never displace their mutual love.
Miranda shuffled inside, washed her hands, and joined the family at the dinner table. As usual it was boisterous and busy, with dishes of food and jugs of water criss-crossing the table like some game of snakes and ladders. To Miranda’s constant amazement there was never a spill of liquid or clash of earthenware and glass. She loved the scene, for it reminded her of the story her parents read about Snow White and the seven dwarves, as the young girl served up dinner to a rabble of diminutive miners, home from work and ravenous, though each in their own distinct manner, and ever grateful for the domesticity and feminine aura she bought to their rough and tumble lives.
“Hey sis, what have you been up to today?’ asked her oldest brother Tom. “Playing with some of those faerie friends of yours again I suppose? What’s his name – Zeb?”
“No. It’s Zoot!” said Miranda, as she spooned a wad of warm mash potato from the dish in front of her and plopped it down on a small mound of peas in the middle of the plate. “And he’s a girl.”
Though Miranda talked endlessly of faerie and friends, nobody ever really took her seriously, mainly because they never saw any evidence to. She accepted that, and it did not bother her, for she knew what she knew, and was only sad that they did not see what she saw. Sometimes, though rarely, she would take a plate of leftovers – small, boiled potatoes, apple slices, pieces of cake - and place it at the far edge of the garden as night fell. The next morning, she would find it empty and washed clean, with a small, fragrant flower placed neatly at its centre.
"I'm going to fairy land one day Tom!" said Miranda with a grave look on her face.
"Sure sis. And I'm going to the moon, on Santa Claus's sleigh!" he said, with a big guffaw. "Now pass the mashed potato, please."
Miranda smiled. She loved her family, and her friends.
11pm, Friday, 13th February 1900.
A full moon rose over Mount Macedon, throwing its light through the second storey bedroom window of Appleyard College, a grand 1860s sandstone mansion located in the bush seventy miles north-east of Melbourne and twenty from the mount. In her bed, forty-five-year-old mathematics teacher Greta McCraw read a new book on calculus, whilst a candle flame flickered on the bedside table. Curtains swayed as a warm breeze came in through the open window.
Greta heard a faint noise at the end of her bed. She looked up towards the window, into the dark moonlight.
“Hello?’ she asked. “Is anybody there?”
Nothing was seen in the blackness.
The curtains fluttered to a standstill and the room was silent. Greta quickly looked away towards the door, then back at the window. A figure was now present in shadow, where none existed a couple of seconds before. As it emerged into the dull light a young man was revealed. Aged in his late twenties, his face was radiant and features exquisite. He stood there, to the right of the window, about six feet tall, with dark black hair, green eyes, a slim figure, and wearing a coat of the deepest mauve.
Greta was startled, but quickly drew a smile, relaxing at the sight of the beautiful, though strange creature now in her room. He approached the end of the bed and spoke to her in a soft, enchanting voice.
“Do not fear me. My name is Avron. What do they call you?”
“Greta,” she replied.
Avron knew that once she had given him her name, the process of enchantment would be much easier.
“Greta, will you come with me?” said the mysterious figure, offering his hand to her.
“Where to?” Greta asked.
“A place to read .... to rest and fulfill your deepest desires. A place you have long dreamt of.”
Avron’s words flowed like honey and removed any fears or doubts in Greta’s mind as regards placing her fate in his hands. This was not something a quiet, methodical and solitary Miss McCraw would ever have allowed. But tonight it appeared to her the logical path to follow. She hopped out of bed and walked over towards Avron, because there was now no reason not to.
Greta was dressed only in a nightgown. Her movement was slow and silent, her feet did not seem to touch the ground. Her enchantment was as in a lucid dream. It was light, ethereal and open to any possibility, yet totally within her control. There was nothing to fear.
Avron pointed Greta towards the now open door, where beyond there appeared a bright light.
“Follow me,” he said.
Before she entered, Greta turned her head. She looked once more at him, and then at her room. In her bed she noticed a woman asleep. It looked very much like her.
“Who is that?” she asked Avron.
“That is a changeling. Your stand-in whilst on this journey,” he answered.
Greta nonchalantly turned back towards the door and followed Avron as they passed through. It closed of its own volition, though she did notice Avron make a strange movement with his hand a moment before. All that could now be heard in the bedroom was the heavy breathing of the changeling. The bedside candle was extinguished by a slight breeze. Darkness returned. It was as if nothing had happened.
Greta and Avron now walked down a long corridor with a light at the far end, visible through an open door. “Am I still in Appleyard College?” she wondered as the walls grew increasingly unfamiliar.
They came to the door, and as they passed through it the bright light dissolved into a forested area, bathed in the warm orange of a new dawn.
“How can this be,” Greta thought to herself, “as we have only been gone a few minutes and the midnight moon was low in the sky as we left my room?”
She did not bother to ask Avron for an explanation as the nature which now surrounded her was so intriguing. The trees and bush were a vivid green, like the rainforests of the north that she had heard Miranda speak about to her friends. Insects and small human-like creatures flittered by amidst the vegetation, drinking from the nectar of flowers in bloom and upon the morning dew.
They walked along a dirt path through the dense forest for an hour or so. Greta could not tell precisely as she had no watch and time felt different here. The path was well-worn and skirted a large creek which was flowing silently over rock and swampy, half-buried trees. At one point a couple passed them by, going in the opposite direction. They were smallish, both dressed in green with red trim and reddish hair. The couple bowed their heads to Avron as they passed by, uttering a respectful “Sir” in unison. Behind them they pulled a small cart, full of fruit and vegetables.
“Is it far now?” asked Greta, as Avron had not uttered a word since entering the forest. Nor had she, totally consumed in observing everything about, and considering what was happening to her. No rational answers were forthcoming.
“Not far,” said Avron. “It is just beyond that circle of trees. We can rest then.”
Unbeknownst to Greta, the group of trees was a faerie circle, another faerie realm portal similar to the one which had taken her and Avron from the college. Avron's ultimate destination was Arn, the kingdom from whence he came.
As they got closer to the trees, Greta heard a rustle sound above. Avron immediately stiffened. He looked around and then upwards. A a small, hairy creature jumped down upon him from amongst the branches and foliage. It landed on the back of his neck, screeching and clawing at his face.
Avron took his right hand, drew it up behind his head, grabbed the creature, and threw it to the ground. It was only a few feet tall, and landed with a thud. For a moment it did not move, as though knocked unconscious. However, its eyes suddenly opened, whereupon it hopped up and ran off into the bush.
"What was that?" asked Greta, somewhat stunned. "Are you alright?"
Avron took a deep breath, brushed and straightened his clothes with both his hands, and turned towards her.
"Yes. I am fine," said Avron. "It was just a wallanthagang. More of a nuisance than a danger really, though our children have to be weary of them. Anyway, let's keep walking, as there are probably others about."
They walked further into the forest and into the circle of trees. For a moment Greta closed her eyes and felt a strange giddiness. When she opened them she saw a whole new landscape of cultivated fields, distant mountains and tree covered hills.
“This is Arn,” said Avron, extending his arm in a wide, sweeping motion. “Welcome to your new home. Does it seem familiar?”
Greta looked at him, with a quizzical frown, unsure what he meant.
"It is the land of your people," he said quietly, unheard by Greta. "Follow me."
As they entered the circle of trees, the two disappeared from anyone who may have seen them, or followed. There was no one there that they could see, just as there was no visible entry to an exit within the faerie ring.
8am, Saturday, 14th February 1900.
Mrs Appleyard walked out of the front of the college and placed herself at the head of the sandstone steps.
“Good morning girls," came the booming voice of the headmistress.
"Good morning ladies,” she said to secure their undivided attention and let them all know that escape was not now far off.
Her deep voice, so familiar to the students and teachers, began a speech which was perfect in its prose and presentation, strident in its delivery, yet lacked any joy or emotion befitting the occasion of St. Valentine’s Day and the uplifted mood of those she now stood before.
“Young Miss Waybourne will not be joining you today girls,” said Mrs Appleyard nonchalantly in the middle of her lecture, “due to a laxity in scholarly pursuit, and on the recommendation of Miss Lumley. I hope you all understand that privileges such as today are earned and should not be taken for granted.”
Miranda stood silent, a tear running down her cheek as she pondered the special treatment handed out by the headmistress on a regular basis to her roommate Sara Waybourne, the youngest student at the college. Aware of her background as an orphan, and separation from a beloved older brother, Miranda felt a special big-sister attachment and unaccustomed anger as the words were spoken.
"It's not fair," whispered Irma as she stood close next to Miranda. "After all, she's only thirteen. I never thought Mrs. A. would be be so cruel."
"Poor little Sara," sighed Miranda. "She wanted so much to go to the picnic."
"My father says the little, stupid cruelties are often the worst. Luke sparks that set the whole forest on fire," said Irma.
She had rarely seen Miranda so shaken out of her usual serenity.
Appleyard directed a stern look towards the two girls. She then went on to deliver a concise set of instructions which outlined what was allowed, and what was not allowed, during the excursion to, picnic at, and return from Hanging Rock. They would be expected back at eight pm, followed by a brief dinner and bed.
Mademoiselle de Poitiers stood on the right side of the girls, and the McCraw changeling on the left, the latter covered head to toe in high boots, drab, olive-coloured long dress, dark jacket, and dark hat. She carried a bag and umbrella. The weather was warm and sunny. Mademoiselle was dressed in soft, frilly white, with a white parasol held in her left hand. Her translucent beauty, and positive demeanor, was adored by the student body.
With the painful, fifteen-minute speech done, Mrs Appleyard turn and walked back into the sandstone fortress that was her college. The group of students and teachers let out a sigh of relief and skipped on over to Mr Hussy’s coach. They hopped into the rear and front seats quick smart. Before Appleyard could complete her climb of the grand stairway to her office on the first floor, there was a cloud of dust as the horses’ hooves lifted in unison and the coach departed down the road to Hanging Rock. The journey would be a relatively long one, up to three hours, which hopefully included a brief stop for drink and biscuit. It would be near lunch time before Hanging Rock would come into view.
Inside the coach en route, Mademoiselle de Poitiers was seated next to the McCraw changeling. The journey progressed relatively smoothly for the next two hours, over roads of dirt and stone, with a brief stop just outside of Woodend for a drink of water and some shortbread. The students gathered in their usual friendship groups, whilst Mademoiselle took the opportunity to raise with Miranda her growing concerns over the progress of Sara.
“She appears to be drawing more and more into herself,” she said. “This is so unlike her natural, cheeky and mischievous demeanor.”
“I know,” said Miranda. “I am keeping an eye on her. I think a lot of it has to do with how Miss Lumley and Mrs Appleyard are treating her. They defer to punitive measures, rather than letting Sara be herself, which is loving, playful and harmless. After all, she is only a child.”
Meanwhile, the McCraw stood away from everybody else, keeping out of the sun under a large tree. She appeared to be looking down at a bird on the ground.
“Humans,” she confided to the magpie picking up crumbs of shortbread at her feet, “are obsessed with the notion of perfectly useless movement. Nobody but an idiot ever seems to want to sit still for a change!”
The magpie took no notice, and merely kept moving about, pecking at the crumbs in a manner which revealed its familiarity with humans.
“Time to get back on the road,” shouted Mr Hussy.
After they all got on board, the journey became at times bumpy and dusty inside the carriage, with flapping canvas sides letting the black, basaltic dirt in, but also keeping those inside cool. The McCraw coughed and brushed the dust away from its face as, on occasion, the summer breeze blew the dark particles into the carriage and allowed them to swirl about for a moment before exiting or landing on the clothing.
“And this we do for pleasure!” said the McCraw, “so that we may shortly be at the mercy of venomous snakes and poisonous ants. How foolish can human creatures be!”
Mademoiselle frowned at the human creatures comment, never having heard Greta speak this way before.
Mr. Hussey shouted from the front seat, seeking to move the conversation away from the dust and dirt during the journey to the Rock and any criticism of his rig.
“It must be nearly twelve o'clock. We haven't done too badly so far, ladies .... I swore black and blue to your boss I'd have you back at the college by eight o'clock.”
“Don't worry Mr. Hussey,” responded Mademoiselle. “We have plenty of time. There is no rush.”
McCraw sought to interject. She was unusually talkative as they got closer to their final destination. This was compared to Greta McCraw, who rarely spoke outside of class. But the McCraw had Mademoiselle’s ear and was going to make use of the opportunity, whether the latter liked it or not. Its critical analysis of human creatures continued.
“There is no reason why we should be late," said the McCraw. "Even if we stay an extra hour at the Rock. Mr Hussey knows as well as I do that two sides of a triangle are together greater than the third. This morning we have driven along two sides of a triangle .... am I correct, Mr Hussey?”
Mr Hussey shook his head and shrugged his shoulders in confusion, to defer any necessity for a verbal response.
“Very well then,” she replied. “You have only to change your route this afternoon by the third side. In this case, since we entered this road at Woodend at right angles the return journey will be along the hypotenuse.”
“I don't know about a hippopotamus, ma'am,” said Mr Hussey. “But if you're thinking of the Camel's Hump, it's a bloomin' sight longer road than the one we came by, arithmetic or not. You might be interested to know there isn't even a made road - only a sort of rough track over the back of the Mount.”
“I was not referring to the Camel's Hump, Mr Hussey. Thank you for your explanation all the same. Knowing little of horses and roads I tend to become theoretical. Marion, can you hear me up there in front? You understand what I mean, I hope?”
“Yes miss,” said Marion, McCraw’s mathematical protegee, in a soft, squeaky voice.
The coach now approached Hanging Rock, leaving a trail of dust behind. The Rock rose majestically from the surrounding plain, a commanding, if roughly hewn structure, like a spiney anteater with its spines worn down over time.
“There she is ladies ... only about a mile and a half to go!” boomed Mr Hussey to everyone in the coach. “Over 500 feet in height ... volcanic ... several monoliths ... thousands of years old. Pardon me, Miss McCraw, I should say millions.”
The McCraw smiled at Mr Hussey with a strange, crooked smile, whilst Mademoiselle looked on with some confusion at the out-of-character behaviour of her fellow teacher.
“The mountain comes to Mahommed,” proclaimed the McCraw. “The Hanging Rock comes to Mr. Hussey.”
Mademoiselle winked at Hussey in recognition of the strangeness of the McCraw's speech. On the front seat of the carriage, Marion turned to Miranda and whispered in her ear.
“Miss McCraw is very strange today, don't you think?”
Miranda shook her head in agreement.
“It's not like her at all .... she is usually so quiet,” said Miranda. “I hope she is not unwell.”
The carriage suddenly slowed down as it approached a gate. As it got nearer, an unusually strong breeze appeared out of nowhere and blew the canvas on the sides of the carriage. It suddenly jolted to a halt, severely shaking those inside, with numerous hats falling to the floor of the carriage. The road was smooth, and the shaking unaccountable, for the breeze passed quickly.
Unbeknownst to them, they had now entered the first stage of the faerie realm, where spells of enchantment and illusion abound. All of which added to the eerie nature of the Rock, known far and wide. According to local legend, spirits frequented the place and were most active between sunset and sunrise. It was said that these corporeal and other dimensional beings and entities could, at times, be unwelcoming. The shaking and wind which greeted the carriage was, in this instance, the work of faerie.
Amongst all the dust and shaking, the McCraw now made a strange croaking noise.
“Croak, croak,” she uttered, as though settling into a new language, rather than a throat clearing exercise.
Mademoiselle noticed a slight change in her fellow teacher’s physical appearance, with eyes starting to bulge and face fatten somewhat. The changeling degenerative process had begun to take effect, not only in voice, but also in outward features. The installment of the changeling in Greta’s room the evening prior was a temporary transformation, meant to last a couple of days at the most. The McCraw would look, act and sound less and less like the original as time passed. At this stage the change in outward behaviour was noticed by those in the carriage, as against the slow physical transformation seen by a fellow teacher who knew her best.
The coach stopped at the gate. Miranda hopped out and opened it, as she had done on numerous occasions back at Goondawinda. She watched as it passed through, then hopped back onto the front seat beside her friends. They arrived shortly thereafter at the picnic ground, relieved one and all to hop out of their cramped confines and feel the freedom of the bush, observe the picturesque picnic ground, and appreciate the grandeur of Hanging Rock as it rose majestically above them.
The Appleyard College party arrived at the picnic ground just after midday. They settled into their various groups about the area where Mr Hussey had started a camp fire and the two teachers were seated. The girls being hungry, lunch was served and Hussey boiled the billy. By 2pm most of the schoolgirls were starting to feel weary, having eaten the various pies and cakes specially prepared by cook for the occasion. Their weariness was encouraged by the warmness of the day, with the sun shining amidst a cloudless sky. It was also due to the impact of a faerie spell, to which they would forever remain oblivious. The spell came upon them quite suddenly, and as a singular group. To an outside observer it may have appeared that the girls were dropping like flies, but to them it all seemed normal.
Four of the girls remained awake - Miranda, Marion, Irma and Edith – though they later came under the influence of a spell of enchantment. As their colleagues lay down on the grass to sleep, they in turn discussed exploring the Rock, where, unknown to them, there existed a faerie ring, or portal, into the faerie realm.
Miranda, Marion and Irma, their plan in place, approached Mademoiselle de Poitiers and Miss McCraw, both of whom were resting by the fire, with the McCraw seemingly buried in her book on calculus. De Poitiers, reclining against a small, natural incline, like the rest of the students, dreamily fell in and out of sleep. As she heard Miranda approach, she slowly opened her eyes, using the small umbrella to ensure protection from the glare of the sun.
“Excuse me miss,” said Miranda. “May we take a walk to the lower slope of the Rock before afternoon tea?”
“And I should like to take a few measurements at its base if we have time,” chipped in Marion.
Mademoiselle de Poitiers, though still half asleep, smiled and shook her head in affirmation.
“Oui. Vous pouvez aller,” she uttered in the distinctive French accent which the girls had grown so accustomed to. Yes, they could go.
McCraw lifted her head from the book.
“How far is it as the cock crows?” she uttered in her ever-croakier voice.
“Only a few hundred yards,” said Marion. “We shall have to walk along by the creek and find a way over, which will take a bit longer.”
The young student Edith looked on with interest, all the while yawning and surrounded by sleeping colleagues.
“May I come too?” she asked with the enthusiasm of someone suffering the effects of too much sugar. “I ate so much pie at lunch I can hardly keep awake.”
Miranda smiled dreamily and nodded her head.
“Okay,” she said, before turning back to Mademoiselle.
“Don't worry about us, Mam'selle dear. We shall be gone a very little while.”
With that, the four schoolgirls headed off towards the bush and grassy area leading to a rocky cliff. The three older students led the way. Edith noticed that they appeared as though they were gliding along on air, not leaving any tracks, or disturbing the long grass as they went. For her it was different. She found it a hard grind through the thick grass and spikey ferns which scraped at her skin through the thin black stockings. Perhaps she was not welcome on this journey.
As Miranda left the grass and entered the forested area she turned and gravely smiled at Mademoiselle. She had a strange feeling about their decision to leave the group, as though an exciting adventure was around the corner, potentially of lightness and joy. Yet the consequences for those not directly involved would be, unbeknownst to her at the time, only dark and malevolent.
“What to do?” she thought as a confliction of actions swirled around in her head, with “Go on! Go on!” dominant. Miranda therefore remained still for a moment, deep in thought. The gravity of the decision to leave the group briefly bore down upon her. But just as quickly she was overwhelmed with a strange feeling of lightness and ecstasy, as in a dream. A voice in her head was now telling her that she must follow a path of light which would take her to a magical realm, free from the constraints of the college and just like at her beloved Goondawinda. Precisely what all these feelings were, and where they came from, she did not know.
Mademoiselle smiled in return and kept waving as Miranda turned back towards her friends and disappeared in amongst the trees. For a moment the teacher was overwhelmed by Miranda’s beauty. She found her aura enchanting, and could not help herself exclaim loudly, to no one in particular, “Mon Dieu! Now I know .....”
The McCraw, somewhat startled, looked up from her book.
“What do you know, Mademoiselle?” she asked.
“That Miranda .... Elle est un Botticelli ange, an angel, from the Uffizi.”
Mademoiselle then rolled over and went back to sleep, a radiant smile now upon her own face. In short shrift everyone at the picnic ground was asleep, all except for the McCraw.
In the early afternoon light the four schoolgirls walked along the grassy plain interspersed with trees and bush. They came to a creek crossing. Each gingerly stepped on rock and leapt, with only Edith stumbling. They all survived dry, thanking the heat of the day for that fact.
On the side of the stream a little to their left, and out of plain sight, Michael and Albert looked on, unobserved. The latter shared his youthful lust with words, whilst Michael stared intently at the figures in the near distance. To one, Marion was the quest, with black ringlets and tanned complexion, highlighted amidst the whiteness of her dress; to the other it was Miranda, fairest of the fair, her golden strands falling and flailing as she undertook that leap of faith, that ballerina glide across the crystal-clear water, landing clear of its mossy edge.
“I’m just going to stretch my legs,” said Michael to Albert as he leapt up and followed the girls at a discreet distance. Michael was quietly reticent when it came to the fairer sex, and exhibited what some suspected was an attraction to his own. His youthfulness was still in flower, and that attraction was strong, though at the same time he could not take his eyes off of Miranda when he first saw her at the creek. As yet he was not sure where that path would lead, in the arms of one such as Albert, or father to a family with the fair, swan-like Miranda. Such images swam about his waking thoughts and nightly dreams. “Is this strange?” he wondered, hoping that the flow of time would reveal an ultimate attraction and mating.
The schoolgirls never realised that for a brief period Michael was looking on, as they floated through the bush increasingly fascinated by everything around them, seeking out the Rock and never looking back.
At last, the base of the cliff was reached. Miranda saw the rocky monoliths above her. They were striking, scary, and one or two bore a face-like weathering with dark, grim eyes and upturned mouth. She turned around and noticed Edith looking down on the ground, scratching at her legs as she moved through the tall grass. Miranda called out to her.
“No, no, Edith! Not down at your boots! Away up there in the sky. Look!”
Miranda wondered why the young girl was not looking up and ahead like her and the two others. Did she not see how wonderful everything was around them?
The sun shone on the side of the rocks as the afternoon wore on, its white light turning gold, illuminating the cliff face with yellow and purple hues, as the crystals therein began to sparkle. The three seniors looked on in wonder at everything around them, whilst focussed on reaching the top. They were protected from the ominous thoughts now bearing down on Edith; thoughts of hunger, fear, uncomfortable feelings in her body, her stomach aching. She looked on as the others smiled, happy, as though in some sort of drug-induced trance. They appeared to be looking nowhere but everywhere, whilst ever moving onward. It was as though Edith no longer existed to them.
“Where are we?” Edith wondered to herself. There was now no sound, as if time had stood still. How could Miranda walk through grass and fern and bush, yet leave no mark?
“Is this some sort of faerie land?” Edith asked herself, to which a voice only she could hear answered, “You are not welcome at this place.”
Edith began to sweat. The silent fear inside her rose and she now wondered what to do.
The girls continued to climb over rock and through bush, towards the first tier. As they moved forward in single file there was no sound of scraping, of sandy dirt being pushed aside, or sticks broken under foot. There was only the eerie silence, the three enchanted schoolgirls, and a simpering minor. Edith appeared exempt from any spell, though nevertheless felt dazed and confused. As she struggled to keep up, her anxiety became palpable.
“Those peaks … they must be a million years old,” Marion said with that sense of wonder which was present in her every day demeanor.
“A million. Oh, how horrible!” was Edith’s only response.
“Miranda! Did you hear that?” she asked, hoping that at least the leader of the group would show some compassion for her plight, or some connection with her.
Miranda smiled back at Edith for a second, then turned and kept walking, without uttering a consoling word.
“Miranda! It's not true, is it?” was Edith’s plaintive cry.
Irma looked on, wondering what was wrong with their now red-faced companion. “How can she not see how wonderful the day is; how exquisite are the rocks, of dark brown and whitish crystal, purple in the sun and with dark green moss around the hidden edges? Doesn’t she see all these wonderful colours?” Irma thought to herself.
“My Papa made a million out of a mine once - in Brazil,” she said to her friends. “He bought Mama a ruby ring.”
“Money's quite different,” answered Edith. “It’s not the same as time. How could any clock show a million minutes?”
“Whether Edith likes it or not, that fat little body of hers is made up of millions and millions of cells,” Marion informed them.
Edith put her hands over her ears, not wanting to hear any more mentions of millions, as the thoughts running through her head only created more confusion.
“Stop it, Marion!” she screamed. “I don't want to hear about such things.”
Marion’s anger rose as Edith failed to take on board her logical response to the topic. “How could she be so ignorant?” she wondered to herself.
“And what's more, you little goose,” Marion hit back. “You have already lived for millions and millions of seconds.”
Edith went white in the face, as her stomach churned over once more, and she realised she was now alone on the Rock.
“Stop it! You're making me feel giddy,” she said, sitting down on a log for a moment to recover.
Miranda looked back and, seeing Edith’s distress, felt the need to intervene.
“Don't tease her, Marion. The poor child's overtired.”
“Yes, and those nasty ferns are pricking my legs,” sobbed Edith. “Why can’t we all sit down on this log and look at the ugly old Rock from here?”
Marion felt no sympathy. Her words continued to bite.
“Because you insisted on coming with us, and we three seniors want a closer view of the Hanging Rock before we go home.”
Edith began to whimper like a puppy dog that had just been kicked.
“It's nasty here … I never thought it would be so nasty or I wouldn't have come …”
Marion turned towards her two friends and spoke softly so that Edith could not hear.
“I always thought she was a stupid child and now I know.”
Irma moved away for a moment, towards Edith. She felt some of the hazy enchantment fade as she looked upon the unfortunate young girl.
“Never mind, Edith,” consoled Irma. “You can go home soon and have some more of Saint Valentine's lovely cake and be happy.”
They continue to walk and climb, past rocks and through bush.
“I have a feeling there used to be a track somewhere up there,” said Miranda. “I remember my father showing me a picture of people in old-fashioned dresses having a picnic at the Rock. I wish I knew where it was painted.”
“They may have approached it from the opposite side,” wondered Marion. “In those days they probably drove from Mount Macedon. The thing I should like to see are those queer balancing boulders we noticed this morning, from the drag.”
Miranda looked up towards the sky. The sun was now low in the west and twilight was approaching. Time had passed faster than she realised.
“We can’t go much further,” she said. “Remember, girls, I promised Mademoiselle we wouldn't be long away.”
Despite this, Miranda was keen to keep moving. Her and Marion had unknowingly become more enchanted as they walked along, getting closer and closer to the roof of Hanging Rock. They had been singled out by the faerie responsible for the spell. With that enchantment came a heightened sense of what was around them, both regarding earth and vegetation, and with it an increased sense of elation. The two began not to worry about time as they had done before. Surprisingly it was Irma who voiced the desire not to turn back at this point.
“Well, at least let us see what it looks like over this first little rise,” she said, stepping over a large, flat rock, and gathering up her skirt to help move more easily.
“Whoever invented female fashions for 1900 should be made to walk through bracken fern in three layers of petticoats,” Irma huffed as she reached the first upper tier of the rock.
The four girls now exited the bush and reached a circular, rocky shelf, surrounded by monoliths and large boulders. Miranda helped the other two up onto this area. It possessed the typical form of a faerie circle – a clear space surround by a circular arrangement of rocks or trees, either natural or meaningfully put in place as signifiers. Within this space access could be gained to the faerie realm.
Irma walked over to the edge of the rock and gazed down at the picnic ground below. She saw her fellow students and teacher, Mademoiselle de Poitiers, walking around upon having awaken. Feeling tired after the steep climb, Irma walked back to her friends.
“Let's rest here awhile,” she said.
Miranda agreed and they sat down in the shade of some rocks.
“If only we could stay out all night and watch the moon rise,” wondered Irma.
Miranda looked back at her rather gravely, still cognisant of the spirits and other dangers said to be present on the Rock after sundown.
“Now don't look so serious, Miranda, darling,” said Irma. “We don't often have a chance to enjoy ourselves out of school.”
“And without being watched and spied on by that little rat of Lumley,” interjected Marion.
Hoping to regain the notice of the older girls, Edith chimed in with her own loosely connected tale.
“Blanche says she knows for a fact Miss Lumley only cleans her teeth on Sundays,” she said.
Marion was not impressed.
“Blanche is a disgusting little know-all, and so are you,” she said with an evil stare towards Edith.
“Blanche says Sara writes poetry. In the dunnie, you know. She found one on the floor all about Miranda,” said Edith, hoping to get some support from the other two girls and divert the attacks from Marion.
“Poor little Sara. I don't believe she loves anyone in the world except you, Miranda,” said Irma.
“I can't think why,” rebutted Marion, by this stage unable to show empathy for anyone or anything.
Miranda replied in a soft, gentle, voice.
“She's an orphan.”
Irma was similarly empathetic to Edith’s plight.
“Sara reminds me of a little deer Papa brought home once. The same big, frightened eyes,” she said. “I looked after it for weeks, but Mama said it would never survive in captivity.”
“And did it?” asked Marion.
“It died,” responded Irma with a far-off look. “Mama always said it was doomed.”
“Doomed?” asked Edith. “What does that mean, Irma?”
“Doomed to die, of course!” came Irma’s emphatic response. “Like that boy who ‘stood on the burning deck, whence all but he had fled, tra … la la ..’ I forget the rest of it.”
“Oh, how nasty!” said Edith. “Do you think I'm doomed, girls? I'm not feeling at all well, myself. Do you think that boy felt sick in the stomach like me?”
“Certainly,” chimed in Marion, not willing to let up on Edith. “If he'd eaten too much chicken pie for his lunch.”
Finally, Marion had had enough.
“Edith, I do wish you would stop talking for once,” she spat out.
Edith began to cry, feeling very much alone and ignored.
Seemingly now oblivious to her distressed state, Miranda and Marion removed their stockings and shoes. They cast them to the side, got up, and silently began to walk towards a crevice in the rocks.
Edith looked up, shocked they should leave without saying anything. She turned towards Irma, then pointed to the others as they made their way up the next little rise.
“Irma. Just look at them. Where in the world do they think they're going without their shoes? They must be mad,” said Edith, unaware that as she looked away towards Miranda and Marion, Irma was also removing her stockings and shoes. Slinging them to her waist, she hopped up and headed in their direction.
Seeing Irma depart, Edith was horrified. She was now very scared, and shouted out to Miranda in her loudest voice.
“Oh, Miranda, I feel awful! When are we going home?”
Miranda stopped for a moment and turned to look back at Edith. Her gaze was strange, almost as if she could not see her, or could see right through her.
“When are we going home?” cried out Edith.
Miranda said nothing and her body indicated less. She then turned her back to Edith and continued to walk away up the rise, with the other two girls following close behind. All three appeared to be sliding, or floating, over the stones, on their bare feet, rather than walking in a struggle, as one would expect.
“Miranda! Miranda!” cried Edith again.
There was silence apart from the sound of her now croaky voice echoing off the rocks.
“Come back, all of you! Don't go up there - come back!” she screamed.
Edith suddenly felt like she was choking, or being choked. She tore at her frilled lace collar as she struggled to breathe. Panic now set in.
“Miranda!” was the forlorn sound heard echoing amongst the rocks, with Edith’s strangled cry coming out as only a whisper.
All three girls disappeared out of sight behind a large monolith.
“Miranda! Come back!”
Edith took a few unsteady steps towards the rise, saw the girls disappear, and was overcome by a feeling of terror.
“Miranda …!” she said as she fell to the ground, hitting her head on a rock, whereupon everything went black. There was now silence for a long moment. Edith did not move, as though unconscious.
A wallaby sprang out of the bush onto the rocky flat near the young girl. It moved close and for a minute sniffed at the blood trickling from her hair line, before moving off.
Edith opened her eyes and saw the animal standing close by, now nibbling on a piece of grass. She jumped up and screamed. The wallaby turned, looked at her, and ran into the bush.
Edith stood up and could only think of one thing. “I must escape, or I will die here!” With that she turned towards the wallaby and followed it into the bush as it headed down the mountain towards the direction of the picnic ground and nearby creek. All the while Edith stumbled, grazing her knees on exposed rock, brushing against bush which scratched her arms and face, and screaming in order to feel her lungs working.
Upon reaching the first tier she stopped momentarily to catch her breath. Briefly looking up, she saw an ominous, nasty red cloud in the sky. “Is there a fire nearby,” she wondered, “or perhaps a storm approaching; and why is this place so nasty to me?” She kept running, fearful of being trapped in the ever-darkening orange twilight.
Edith finally reached the lower level of the grassy plain. She looked away into the bush for a moment to get her bearings and saw a partially dressed Miss McCraw, heading in the other direction towards the upper levels of the Rock.
This was not the real Greta McCraw, but her doppelganger. It had partially disrobed after secreting away from those asleep at the picnic ground.
Edith did not linger. She ran on and reached the safety of the others around 5pm, though in an extreme state of terror. By this time, and with the McCraw now safely en route to meet up with the three girls, the sleeping spell was lifted, and the picnic area was abuzz with chatter. As the screaming Edith exited the bush alone, everyone began to wonder what had happened to the other three schoolgirls. Unfortunately, nobody was able to get any information from her about them. Edith was insensible and inconsolable.
“Miranda! Miranda! She didn’t come back,” she kept repeating until she was no longer able to speak due to exhaustion.
Mademoiselle lay her down to rest by the fire and covered her with a blanket. Immediately she consulted with Mr Hussey, suddenly aware that Greta McCraw was missing as well. It was agreed that a brief search within site of the picnic ground would be carried out until the setting of the sun, and they would then head on back to the College. Hopefully everyone would return by then.
Their hopes were dashed, however, as by 8pm darkness had set in and, despite the numerous calls of “Cooee!!, Miranda!!, Marion!! Irma!! Miss McCraw!!” there was never any response, and no sign of any direction they may have taken. Mr Hussey observed that afternoon, as did later searchers, that the area was largely devoid of footprints.
With the search now abandoned, the coach headed back to the College, full of distressed students, a frantic teacher and worried coachman. They arrived there around 11pm. Mrs Appleyard and a group of staff dressed in bedclothes stood at the top of the stairs ready to query their lateness. They quickly realised, upon seeing the distraught, exhausted face of Mademoiselle de Poitiers and hearing the whimpering cries of numerous girls, that something serious had happened.
“Where is Miss McCraw?” asked the headmistress sternly. “”And why are the girls distraught?”
“We left her back at the Rock, madam,” she answered, her voice shaking, “and three of our girls – Miranda, Marion and Irma.”
A collective moan of shock went out amongst all those on the steps. They immediately set into action helping everyone inside and gleaning as much information as they could as to what had taken place at the picnic ground that afternoon. The reception was a sign of things to come, and the sheer incredulity by all at the thought that four of their colleagues should simply disappear without a trace.
“There must be a reasonable explanation,” Mrs Appleyard said to Mr Hussey. “I am sure they will be found in the morning, a bit the worse for wear, but safe and sound nevertheless.”
Miranda led her two friends through the rock and bush to the top level of Hanging Rock, as the sun set in the west. An eagle hovered overhead, looking down upon them. They arrived at a plateau containing boulders, loose stones, occasional stunted trees and rubbery ferns. Walking to the edge of the cliff, they were able to get a panoramic view of the surrounding countryside, including the bush immediately below them. Irma noticed a difference from the view less than an hour earlier. The picnic ground was now covered with tiny figures coming and going, through drifts of rosy smoke. A dark shape that might have been a vehicle stood beside the glint of water flowing in the creek.
“Whatever can those people be doing down there?” wondered Irma. “They are scuttling about like a lot of busy little ants.”
Marion looked over Irma's shoulder to get a better view.
Unbeknownst to those on the Rock, the ants were a search party, looking for the girls and Miss McCraw in the days ahead. Time had slipped, and what was just an hour or two on the Rock, was actually now Wednesday or Thursday down below.
“A surprising number of human beings are without purpose,” muttered Marion, oblivious to the important role now being played out by a collection of police officers, Black trackers and locals searching every nook and cranny of Hanging Rock for a sign of those missing.
Irma giggled euphorically at Marion’s comment.
“I dare say they think themselves quite important,” Marion carried on, as though in the middle of a lecture. “Although it's probable, of course, that they are performing some necessary function unknown to themselves.”
Irma heard a curious sound coming up from the plain, like the beating of far-off drums. It was the search party, banging on pieces of tin, shaking rattles and calling out their names. For some reason the faerie had distorted it, transforming it into a cacophony rather than anything distinct and meaningful. She heard no cries of “Miranda” or “Irma” amongst the sound as it echoed off the rocks surrounding them.
Miranda looked about her and noticed a single, large stone monolith like a monstrous egg, rising out of the rocks and standing proudly above a precipitous drop to the plain. Both her and Marion suddenly stopped as they got nearer to it. They began to sway a little, with heads bent and hands pressed to their breasts as if to steady themselves against a gale.
“What is it, Marion?” asked Irma, who felt nothing unusual. “Is anything the matter?”
Marion stood by the monolith with eyes fixed and brilliant, nostrils dilated. To Irma she looked vaguely like a greyhound.
“Irma! Don't you feel it?” shouted Marion.
“Feel what, Marion?” replied Irma.
Everything was silent and still. There was nothing to see or hear.
“The monolith,” said Marion. “Pulling, like a tide. It's just about pulling me inside out, if you want to know.”
Irma was becoming fearful at Marion's seriousness. “What was she talking about?” she wondered. Meanwhile, Miranda moved around to stand next to Irma and call out over her shoulder, drawing her deeper into the conversation.
“What side do you feel it strongest, Marion?” she asked.
“I can't make it out. We seem to be spiralling on the surface of a cone, in all directions at once.”
“It sounds to me more like a circus!” said Irma, with ferris wheel in mind. “Come on, girls - we don't want to stand staring at that great thing forever.”
The three now walked away from the monolith towards an area of flat rock. Miranda and Irma lay down on the warm rock to rest. At this point Marion pulled out a pencil and notebook, ready to write some observations down. However, as she began to put pencil to paper, she also became overpowered by a drowsiness. The notebook and pencil were immediately tossed into the nearby ferns. Marion then yawned and lay down with the other two in a row on the smooth floor of a little plateau. They then all fell into a deep sleep.
A medium-sized lizard darted out from under a nearby rock and found a space in the hollow of Marion's outflung arm. Meanwhile, several beetles in bronze armour crawled over Miranda's yellow hair.
Nobody knew how long they were asleep for, but it was at least an hour. Miranda was the first to wake up to the colourless twilight. Despite this, every detail about her appeared intensified, with each object clearly defined and separate. “Is it just me, or has something changed?” Miranda thought to herself.
They had gone to sleep in the fairy ring portal and were now within the faerie realm. The dark orange of the setting sun had disappeared, replaced by pale white light.
Miranda looked at a forsaken nest wedged in the fork of a long-dead tree, with every straw and feather intricately laced and woven; she saw Marion's torn muslin skirts fluted like a shell; she noticed Irma's dark ringlets standing away from her face in exquisite wiry confusion, the eyelashes drawn in bold sweeps on the cheek-bones. Everything seemed to her and complete, with it's own perfection.
Miranda fell victim to the faerie glamour enchantment spell, oblivious to human reality and now open to a faerie hyper-reality. She saw a little brown snake dragging its scaly body across the gravel, and heard a sound like wind passing over the ground. To her, the air was full of clamorous microscopic life. She could see things as she had never seen them before, feel things and hear with clarity the minutest of sounds. As Irma and Marion slept, Miranda's heightened senses exposed her to the separate beating of their two hearts, like two little drums, and each at a different tempo. She also knew that they would awaken soon.
Meanwhile, in the undergrowth beyond the clearing, a crackling and snapping of twigs was heard. A living creature moved towards the girls through the scrub. As it drew nearer, crunching and crackling split the silence as the bushes wielded. All of a sudden, they were pushed violently apart and a heavy object was propelled from the undergrowth, landing on Miranda's lap.
It was a woman with a gaunt, raddled face trimmed with bushy black eyebrows. The clown-like figure was dressed in a torn calico camisole and long calico drawers, frilled below the knees of two stick-like legs, feebly kicking out in black lace-up boots. Miranda did not recognise the strange creature, which was in fact the McCraw changeling.
“Through! ... Through!” the stranger shouted, then fell to the ground with eyes closed.
Irma and Marion were awoken by the commotion. Irma sat up, wiped the sleep from her eyes, and looked at the woman now laying on the ground beside her.
“Poor thing! She looks ill. Where does she come from?” said Irma, moving closer to help.
“Put your arm under her head,” said Miranda, “while I unlace her stays.”
Miranda removed the stranger's corset. Her head was placed on a folded petticoat. Her breath became regular and the strained expression on her face disappeared. She rolled over on the rock and went to sleep.
The changeling had been guided by Avron up the cliff, past and through the rock crevices and bush to the top section. Here he left her, pushing the now exhausted creature out of the bushes and onto Miranda’s lap. Her original form, a near perfect replication of Greta, was now degraded, and unrecognisable to the girls as a doppelganger of their former mathematics teacher. This was not helped by the fact that Miranda and Marion, and to a lesser degree Irma, were under an enchantment spell and not necessarily retaining their full faculties, such as memory of the immediate past.
The semi-naked stranger lay sleeping on the ground as Marion looked on.
“Why don't we all get out of these absurd garments?” she said. “After all, we have plenty of ribs to keep us vertical.”
With this, the three girls helped each other remove their outer garments and corsets, just as they had done earlier that day in putting the various layers on. The four pairs of corsets, which included the stranger’s, were then discarded separately on the stones.
The girls were immediately overwhelmed with a delightful coolness and sense of freedom as they stood on the edge of Hanging Rock, with a cool breeze blowing through their hair. Their bodies tingled and their sense of being close to nature like never before was heightened. Despite this, Marion's inherent sense of order and tidiness was now affronted, and in conflict with her burgeoning youthful desires.
“Everything in the universe has its appointed place,” she said, “beginning with the plants.”
Irma looked on, giggling at the thought of her friend presenting another lecture during this time of ecstatic release.
“Yes, Irma, I meant it. You needn't giggle,” Marion continued. “Even our corsets on the Hanging Rock. It was meant to be!”
“Well, you won't find a wardrobe here,” said Irma, “however hard you look. Where can we put them, Miranda?”
“We could throw them over the precipice,” she replied. “Give them to me.”
Miranda took the corsets and threw them over the cliff. They quickly disappeared from her sight.”
She stepped back onto the rock, next to Marion.
“Which way did they fall?” asked Marion. “I'm standing right beside you, but I cannot tell.”
The strange clown-woman now intervened. She had woken and was now sitting up, perfectly comfortable, close behind them. She spoke trumpet-like with a precise, croaky voice.
“You didn't see them fall because they didn't fall,” she said. “I think, girl, that if you turn your head to the right and look about level with your waist . . . “
They all turned their heads and to their great surprise saw the corsets floating in the windless air before them, like a fleet of little ships becalmed.
Miranda picked up a dead branch, and moving towards the edge of the cliff, lashed out at the corsets as they hung in the grey air. She was not successful. They did not move.
"Stupid things!" cried Miranda.
“Let me try!’ said Marion.
She struck them a number of times with solid whacks, but to no avail. They merely fluttered in the air, but remained in place.
“They must be stuck fast in something I can't see,” she wondered to her friends.
“If you want my opinion,” croaked the stranger, “they are stuck fast in time.”
The girls looked on bemused, wondering what on earth she could be talking about.
“You with the curls,” said the stranger to Irma. “What are you staring at?”
Irma looked thoughtfully back at the stranger.
“I didn't mean to stare. Only when you said that about time, I had such a funny feeling I had met you somewhere. A long time ago.”
“Anything is possible, unless it is proved impossible,” replied the changeling, in a scratchy voice with a convincing ring of authority. “And sometimes even then.”
She looked around, at the rocks and monoliths and bush and three young women. It was time, she thought to herself, to take the final step and complete the task allocated her by Avron. She was to take two girls through the portal and into the faerie realm of Arn, where Avron and Greta would be waiting for them. This was all she knew. In a loud, croaky voice, she began to issue instructions.
“And now, since we seem to be thrown together on a plane of common experience - I have no idea why - may I have your names?” said the stranger. “I have apparently left my own particular label somewhere over there.”
She waved towards the blank wall of scrub. Her fading memory recalled that prior to leaving Avron she had been aware of much more.
The girls remained mute, unsure who should go first, and why she would need to know their names at this stage.
“No matter,” said the stranger. “I perceive that I have discarded a good deal of clothing. However, here I am. The pressure on my physical body must have been very severe.”
She passed a hand over her eyes, as though there was some difficulty in seeing.
“Do you suggest we should go on before the light fades?” asked Marion, concerned that they were being held up, but also in deference to the plight of the changeling.
“For a person of your intelligence - I can see your brain quite distinctly - you are not very observant,” the stranger responded. “Since there are no shadows here, the light too is unchanging.”
Irma looked on, now more worried and confused than ever. With twilight came darkness, yet the changeling was right, and she noticed that the light was not getting darker.
“I don't understand,” she said. “Please, does that mean that if there are caves, they are filled with light or darkness? I am terrified of bats.”
An answer came from Miranda who was standing next to Irma, her face now radiant, as though in a state of ecstasy and knowing.
“Irma, darling - don't you see? It means we arrive in the light!” said Miranda.
“Arrive? But Miranda .... where are we going?”
The stranger intervened, not wanting Miranda to slip out of her enchantment, or Irma to know their destination.
“The girl Miranda is correct,” said the changeling. “I can see her heart, and it is full of understanding.”
The stranger for a moment then stood silent. The gaunt, rattled face was now transformed, and for a moment she appeared almost beautiful to the three girls.
“Every living creature is due to arrive somewhere,” said the stranger. “If I know nothing else, at least I know that.”
Marion now understood, like Miranda. It was the faerie realm that awaited them.
“Actually, I think we are arriving. Now,” she said.
Marion felt a sudden giddiness which set her whole being spinning like a top. It passed, and before her she saw a hole floating in the air. It was large as a summer moon, fading in and out. A portal possibly. She immediately felt she could look at it forever in wonder and delight, from above, from below and from the other side. She perceived it as a presence, not an absence - a concrete affirmation of truth. It was as solid as the globe, as transparent as an air-bubble, an opening, easily passed through, and yet not concave at all. Marion felt she had passed a lifetime asking questions and now they were answered, simply by looking at the hole. In another moment it faded out and disappeared, though Marion felt she was now at peace.
On the ground beside Miranda the brown snake suddenly appeared again. It was lying beside a crack that extended underneath an enormous boulder. It had not been there before. She now bent down and touched the snake. It quickly slithered away into a tangle of giant vines.
Marion looked on. She then knelt beside Miranda and together they began tearing away the loose gravel and the tangled cables of the vine, trying to reveal the crack.
“It went down there,” she said.
Their scraping at the dirt stopped.
“Look, Miranda - down that opening,” said Marion.
They now saw a large hole in the ground which they thought to themselves was perhaps the lip of a cave or tunnel. It was rimmed with bruised, heart-shaped leaves. Marion smiled as she realised it was the hole she had seen a moment before, floating in the air.
“You'll agree it's my privilege to enter first?” the stranger said to the girls.
“To enter?” Miranda and Marion asked in unison as they looked up from the narrow lip of the cave to the wide, angular hips of the changeling.
“But how?” asked Marion.
“Quite simple,” said the stranger. “You are thinking in terms of linear measurements, girl Marion.”
With that, the stranger approached the hole and prepared to enter.
“When I give you the signal - probably a tap on the rock - you may follow me, and the girl Miranda can follow you. Is that clearly understood?”
The stranger did not mention Irma. It’s face and bright staring eyes now became radiant. Her body then began to transform. The long-boned torso flattened itself on the ground in order to be able to enter the hole and creep and burrow under the earth. The thin arms crossed behind her head and became the pincers of a giant crab.
The changeling then dragged itself into the hole. The head vanished, then the shoulder-blades, the frilled pantaloons, and finally the long black sticks of the legs welded together like a tail, ending in two black boots.
The three girls watched as the stranger disappeared.
“I can hardly wait for the signal,” said Marion excitedly.
The sound of a few firm raps was heard from under the rock. Marion squatted down on the ground and entered the hole, headfirst. Miranda then turned to Irma.
“My turn next,” she said.
Irma looked at Miranda kneeling beside the hole. Her bare feet were now embedded in vine leaves. She looked calm, beautiful, and unafraid. Irma, on the other hand, was free of enchantment and reticent.
“Oh, Miranda, darling Miranda, don't go down there - I'm frightened. Let's go home!” cried Irma, reaching down to grab hold of her friend.
Miranda turned around, and looked up at her.
“Home? I don't understand, my little love,” she said. “Why are you crying? Listen! Is that Marion tapping? I must go.”
Miranda's eyes shone like stars as she turned away towards the hole. The sound of tapping came again. She now entered the hole head first, like Marion, pulling her long, lovely legs after her. In a moment she was gone.
Irma collapsed on the rock, distraught at the departure of her friends. She decided to wait, rather than follow them down the hole.
A procession of tiny insects was now winding through a wilderness of dry moss about the entrance. “Where had they come from?” Irma thought to herself. “Where were they going? Where was anyone going? Why, oh why, had Miranda thrust her bright head into a dark hole in the ground?”
Thoughts raced through Irma’s head as to the fate of her friends. She looked up at the colourless grey sky, at the drab, rubbery ferns, and sobbed aloud.
Irma sat for a long time listening and staring, hoping to see Miranda and Marion pop up out of the hole in the ground and return back to the picnic ground with her. Finally, after an hour or so, streams of loose sand came pattering down the boulder on to the flat upturned leaves of the vine surrounding the hole. The boulder slowly tilted forward and then sank with a sickening precision directly over the entrance, sealing it.
Irma threw herself down on the rocks and tore at the gritty face of the boulder with her bare hands, trying to reopen the entrance. Her fingers and nails were badly cut and bruised as she dug away for an eternity, before collapsing in darkness. Fatigue gave way to sleep and she remembered no more….
5.30pm, Friday, 20th February 1900.
Michael and Albert searched the mountain alone. Hanging Rock was silent, apart from the sound of nature – trees moving in the wind, bush and ferns rustling, wallabies hopping here and there, the slide across sandy ground of a snake, and all manner of bird song. They had been searching, separately, since midday. It was getting late, and the light was fading fast, with low-lying grey clouds on the western horizon moving ever closer to the Rock. Albert finally found Michael, after shouting and cooees for about half an hour.
“It’s time to head off mate. Nothing to find here,” he said rather gloomily.
“No. I’m not prepared to give up,” said Michael. “I’m staying.”
“What? Why? The coppers and every spare man and woman in the country has been combing this place for a week now, and found nothing. Zero.”
“Don’t you think I know that!” screamed Michael, now in a state Albert had never seen him in before.
“I’ve just spent four hours looking high and low, and then another retracing my steps. Only this time I have been tearing out pages from my notebook and sticking them on rocks and branches to mark my way, so that I don’t keep going over the same ground,” said Michael. “I think that has been the problem. As a result, certain areas on the Rock were missed by all the other searchers. I am sure of it!”
“That’s all well and good mate,” said Albert. “But we have to get goin’, otherwise I’ll be in big trouble from the governor and his missus.”
“Don’t worry about that. Just make up some sort of story. I’m staying,” Michael replied.
Albert knew it was now too late to change his mind.
“All right then. I’ll be off. I’ll tell ‘em you’re staying at the pub or something, and leave what’s left of the food for you and the horse. Stock the campfire here, and find a place to keep warm, otherwise you’re going to freeze to death.”
With that, Albert headed off to where the horses were tied up, unroped and mounted his, then rode off into the diminishing light.
Michael set about putting some wood on the fire and making a leafy bed for himself next to it, with his jacket as a blanket and some ferns and twigs as a pillow.
Albert arrived back at Lake View around ten. He stumbled and stuttered as he told the rather sleepy, though inquisitive, elder Fitzhubert a story of Michael’s fatigue and stay overnight at a local hotel. He assured the old man that he would be up at the crack of dawn to rejoin his friend in the search. Albert then quickly skulked away before he could be interrogated further, hoping to get a good night’s rest ahead of another long ride.
For Michael the night was disturbed and noisy, interrupted by sounds he could not identify. Shadows appeared as reflections off nearby rocks and tall trees, animated by the flickering flame of fire. Taking the shape of spindly stick creatures or giant, hooded phantoms, they terrorised Michael as he slipped in and out of nightmarish dreams conjuring the fate of those missing. Between the chill of the night, a constant cacophony, shadows, and lucid dreaming, Michael did not get much sleep.
7.30am, Saturday, 21stFebruary 1900.
Michael nibbled on some stale bread left by Albert, in between gingerly leaning over the edge of the creek to take a couple of sips of water. He had splashed some on his face to help wake himself up, and was surprised by the red liquid residue which appeared on his hands as it mixed with the dry blood on his forehead. He then moved his stiff, aching body and headed off from his camp site to continue the search on the Rock. He travelled along the flat, grassy section, then climbed to the first and second tiers, all the while placing bits of notebook on branches and rocks along the way and making sure he steered clear of any previously placed.
Upon reaching the upper level he noticed an especially large monolith which, from a distance, appeared to have a grim face weathered into it. Though repulsed, he nevertheless walked over towards it, paper flag in hand. As he passed by, he was overcome by a giddiness and sweat-inducing sense of dread. The spirits and faeries were not in a mood to welcome him this day. He posted the flag, and quickly moved on.
Michael diligently crawled through several crevices not hitherto explored, walked between some large boulders separated by less than a shoe or two, and climbed on all fours across often slippery and sharp surfaces. As the sun rose higher in the sky, and the coolness of the morning changed to a windless, sultry heat, the tiredness began to take effect. He fell more than once and again felt the warm, red liquid flowing down his face. He wiped it from his eyes and kept moving, the blood mixed with sweat and the glare of the sun to distort his clarity of view.
Unwilling to give in to tiredness and aching head from the concussions, Michael found himself in a section of the top tier where a number of large boulders coalesced. He crawled to the top edge of one of them, and looked down into the crevice. There he saw the pale white lower limbs of a girl, partially exposed below the white pantaloons which had been pulled up to just near the knees.
“Is it Miranda?” was the first thought that entered his mind.
He quickly slid down the side of the rock towards where the body was laying. As he knelt down to cradle her head, he saw that it was Irma. Michael’s heart sank. She was unconscious, but alive. As he was not easily able to wake her from the deep sleep brought on by faerie and fatigue, even if he had wanted to, he removed his jacket and rested her head upon it. He then immediately headed back down the mountain to get help.
It was late morning when Michael arrived back at his camp. By now his head was splitting, his vision starting to blur and he was feeling as though about to collapse. Realising this, he reached for his notebook and began to write some lines for Albert, who he knew would arrive shortly at the Rock:
Before he could finish, Michael collapsed onto the ground near the still smoking fire. The pencil fell to the dirt beside him, as did the notebook, slamming shut as it hit the ground.
About an hour later, around midday, Albert arrived at the picnic ground. He found Michael unconscious, lying near the spent fire, covered in cuts and bruises, and his clothes torn. Albert did a quick check of his friend and in the process turned him over so that he was in a more comfortable position. He then rode off in haste to get help. Fortunately, Dr Mackenzie and his carriage happened to be on the road near Hanging Rock, on his way back to Woodend after assisting with a birth nearby. The group now turned around, returned to the picnic ground, and retrieved the hapless young man.
“There does not appear to be any serious injuries,” said the doctor to Albert. “No broken bones, possibly just exhaustion, the effects of exposure, and a mild concussion judging from the lump on his head here. We’d best get him home as soon as possible.”
Albert and the doctor loaded the groggy Michael into the wagon and by 4pm he was on his way to Lake View, semi-conscious but in good hands.
Sunrise, Sunday, 22nd February 1900.
Albert rose from his bed with the dawn, after a restless night. He sensed he needed to do something, return to the Rock. “But why?” he thought to himself. “I can’t do anything that hasn’t already been done.”
He knew that Michael was in no state to tell him what had happened, or give him any instructions. Yet the voice telling him to go back to the mountain lingered.
“The notebook …… the notebook,” these words kept floating about in his mind. “What could they mean?” he thought. Then it came to him.
Albert jumped up out of bed and ran into the house. Most of the people were asleep, apart from cook, the cleaners and a few servants. Breakfast was being prepared and the house tidied for another day, accommodating the visitors from the city who occupied it during the summer months.
Albert walked up the stairs towards Michael’s room as quietly as he could, so as not to wake the Fitzhuberts in the room opposite to Michael’s. He slowly opened the door and saw his friend sound asleep. With the utmost stealth he moved over to the chair upon which his pants from yesterday were draped. The notebook was hanging half in and half out of a backside pocket. He lifted it gently out, put it in his own pocket, and walked out the door, but this time in haste. The exit to the front was without incident. He then got on his horse and rode back to the stables. There he dismounted and checked the notebook’s content. On the last page he found a note, scribbled in rough hand. Hurry …. Foun ….
Albert knew immediately that Michael had found something, or perhaps someone. He then gathered his bag with a few supplies, ran out the door, mounted his pony and headed off to Hanging Rock, riding as fast as he could. The sun was still rising over the plains as he reached the picnic ground. Hitching his horse to a tree near Michael’s campfire, he set off to follow his friend’s paper trail. The task was made easy by the stillness of the previous night and the fact that the majority of the flags were hanging where Michael had originally placed them. Before he knew it, he was now lying on top of a large rock, looking down into a crevice.
“Jesus!” he uttered to himself as he saw Irma’s still body lying in the flat rock below.
Albert reached her with no delay. She was still in a deep sleep, unconscious and immobile. He checked that she was not suffering, cushioned her head, and immediately left to get help. Riding into Woodend, he notified the police and in short shrift a party was following him back to the Rock. By late afternoon Irma had been stretchered out and was on her way to Lake View.
It was now just over a week since she had walked up to the top of the Rock with her two friends and disappeared. Her survival that long was something inexplicable to the authorities and those others who had been following the disappearances. Why had she survived? Why were her feet spotless, yet her fingers and hands bloodied? Where were the other two girls and their teacher? What state was she in? Had she been defiled? Dr. Mackenzie was able to answer the last question in the negative, but no answers to the rest were forthcoming, at least, the police thought, until they could question Irma. That opportunity came two days later. Interrogated in her bedroom by Constable Bumpher of Woodend, accompanied by Mademoiselle de Poitiers, there were no answers from the traumatised Irma, then or later, and no evidence found on the Rock to assist with the case. Her memory of what had happened had been wiped, or so she told everyone who inquired.
“Let's rest here for a moment,” said Avron. “Our destination is just over that hill. It won't be long now. Would you like something to eat?”
“Yes, thank you,” said Greta.
They sat down on a stump beside a creek. Avron filled two cups with some water, then opened a small bag he had been carrying removed from it some bread, fruit and greens.
“Tell me about yourself, Greta,” he said.
“There's not much to tell really. I grew up on a little farm a couple of miles out of Woodend, with my father Jim. He's got sheep and a few acres of wheat to sell, which helped us survive. After school I became a teacher, and that is how I ended up at Appleyard College. My father still lives on the farm.”
“What about your mother?” Avron asked.
“I never knew my mother,” said Greta. “Dad told me she had died shortly after I was born. He never really spoke of her. I suspect it was just too painful, or perhaps there was just nothing to say....”
Avron looked at her with a frown, obviously concerned at what he had just heard.
“Well, that's not true, actually” he said.
“What? What do you mean?” asked Greta, as she choked on part of the sandwich she had just bitten into.
“Answer me this: Have you ever felt that you were in any way different? That you perhaps belonged somewhere else, or there was some other life that you should have been part of?” asked Avron.
“Not really. Well, at least, not that I can recall or that I overly worried about. But then how can anyone know whether they are different, unless they are told? Different to what? We all want to be ‘normal’, and fit into society around us, or at least not stand out as some sort of freak. But I think we all have our own individual sense of who we are, and where we fit in, or should fit in, and whether we are part of something or not. My father and I were, you could say, loners, and that was fine. It remains fine. There was love there, and no criticism of who we are. But I suppose that loneliness did indicate a distance from the social reality around us. I never really felt connected to that, or the need to fit in. That is just what is known as being an introvert, I guess. Dad did tell me stories about what I used to get up to when I was a kid, and the games I used to play with invisible friends. But I don’t remember any of that. I must have been four or five at the time. As I got older I mostly kept to myself, and saw no problem with that either,” she said.
“Well, I'd like to tell you a story if you don't mind,’ said Avron. “It might explain some of what you have experienced, or felt."
Avron took a deep breath.
"Once there was a young girl. Her name was Trieste. She was about eighteen; a very lively, vivacious, active, independent – you could say wild - individual. She was the daughter of our Queen Illaria, and her husband, King Evo. And she had a younger sister, Narwan. One day, Trieste disappeared. She did not return until a couple of months later.”
“What happened? What do you mean ‘disappeared’?” asked Greta.
“No one really knew where she went, because she never spoke about it, or what had happened while she was away. Her family had looked far and wide for her, but found nothing. It was suspected she visited the human realm, or some other realm, but there was no way to find out. So, they never knew. Not then, anyway. After her return she married a soldier from our army named Skilion, and they had three children – Ariane, Arista and myself, Avron. Trieste passed away just last year, and my father died in battle when I was very young.”
“I’m sorry to hear that,” said Greta.
“On her deathbed my mother confided in her sister, Narwan, about what took place when she had disappeared those many years ago. She did indeed visit the human realm – your realm, actually – and met a man called Jim McCraw. They had a young child – you, Greta – and Trieste returned here shortly thereafter.
Greta sat quietly, eating her bread and listening intently to Avron’s account. A lot of what he was saying made sense. It helped explain why she had felt a part of her was missing, though was never able to fully understand that feeling.
“It all seems very clear now,” said Greta. “Why my father told me what he did. He could not tell the truth, even though I would have believed him, and nobody else would. I also can understand what was behind his sadness. But tell me Avron, why did Trieste leave us?”
“That I cannot tell you. She was young and had to weigh up her responsibilities here, I guess, with those in the human realm, to you and your father. She made a choice and kept it to herself for the rest of her life. My sisters and I never knew until Narwan told us recently. And that is why we have provided you with the opportunity to meet your family. Whether you stay with us, or return is up to you, of course,” said Avron.
“We should go now,” he said.
Avron and Greta washed the utensils in the creek, packed up the gear, such as it was, and headed down the track towards Narwan’s castle. A million thoughts ran through Greta’s mind as they walked through the forest, over the hill, and down towards a life she had never suspected was part of her's.
"Tell me about this place," said Greta.
"You are in the land of Arn. It is what you human's sometimes refer to as the faerie realm. But, as you can see, I look just like you, and you like me, though of course there is a lot here that is very different from whence you came. Here you will find a freedom unlike that you left behind. We are just as advanced, as civilised, a complex as your own society. Though, at the same time, in our own unique way," said Avron.
Miranda, Marion, and the stranger walked through the tunnel in the rock. It was dark and long, but the light at its end shone brightly. They soon reached the exit, which was partially covered in vines, like the entry on Hanging Rock. The changeling led the way, and they came out to a forested area, rich in vegetation and strange wildlife.
“Look Marion!” exclaimed Miranda. “A herd of unicorn. Aren’t they beautiful!”
She turned to the stranger.
“Do they let themselves be ridden, by any chance?”
“Mostly they are left alone, but on occasion, yes, they are ridden” it replied. “But they must choose the rider, and it is a lengthy process. Perhaps you may become one of the lucky few. Though who would want to ride such strange creatures?”
The sun was shining, and the two girls realised they were now in a magical land very different from the one from which they came. The topography was similar, and the forests and plains much the same. Their spell-induced heightened sensibilities had diminished, though the clarity with which they now saw everything around them reflected the intensity they had experienced prior to going down the hole. It was as though they had moved on to a higher level of consciousness, by some means they were unaware of.
“Follow me,” croaked the changeling, as it crawled along the ground, pincers extended.
In the light of day, the two girls found the crab-like creature guiding them on their way strange to say the least. They were not afraid of it, or of their new circumstances. Marion felt the peace that had overwhelmed her at the monolith, and Miranda was still displaying the ecstatic nature provided by the enchantment, which was close to her natural state of joyous rapture with life. Though no longer under any faerie spell, the very nature of the realm they were now in provided a similar level of enchantment.
They walked along the path towards a small hill by a creek. It seemed to be artificially lit, with no shadows cast by overhanging woods, hills or cliffs. Yet no lighting such as lamps could be seen. They stopped by the creek and took a drink of water. Their path diverged from here - west towards a range of mountains, or north towards rolling fields. The stranger pointed to the west.
“I must go now, but your friend is here and will join with you on your journey,” said the changeling as it walked into the water and seemed to just dissolve, like jelly crystals. A pile of clothes floated to the surface, though they also disappeared into the water as it flowed towards a small lake in the distance. Nothing remained of the strange clown-woman thrust upon them on the Rock.
“What do you suppose she meant by friend?” Marion asked Miranda.
The girls looked around, and to their amazement, off ahead to the left they saw Greta McCraw sitting on a log by the creek, dressed in pyjamas and nightgown. Standing by the log was Avron. He smiled at the two girls and called them over. Miranda and Marion held hands and walked towards them.
“Welcome,” he said. “Welcome to Arn, the realm of Queen Narwan. My name is Avron. I will be your guide from here.”
“This is all so beautiful. Can we stay?” asked Miranda.
“Yes,” answered Greta. “This can be our new home girls. And Miranda, you can run as free as you like, or ride. There are no corsets or heavy skirts here, no rule to be seen and not heard, no staying inside out of the fresh air and sun, no studying and memorising meaningless verse. You can swim in the creek on a hot summer's day, walk in the forest without stockings and stays, talk to the animals and trees and the earth, ride like the wind. There are friends here, and foes. Avron and others will protect us.”
Marion smiled at Miranda. She walked over to Greta, held her hand, and said in a quiet, plaintive voice, “Thank you.”
“Where are we headed now?” asked Miranda.
“Avron knows,” said Greta.
“Your journey is not yet at its end – this is a mere beginning,” said Avron. “There is much to see, and to learn. We must follow the path of light and meet with Narwan, our queen. She will be waiting for you. But we need be careful. The road ahead is full of danger, of demons and folk who would take you from me. I can protect you, and I see that you are strong of spirit.”
“Thank you, sir,” said Marion. “Please lead the way.”
The group headed off down the path, through the forest towards the mountains and Narwan’s castle, the heart of the kingdom of Arn.
Narwan had a problem. The world of humans was getting too big, and too busy. Since the dawn of time or, in the case of faerie, since the creation of reality, the two realms, or dimensions, had shared the planet – same place, different space and time. But that solid distinction was fraying at the edges, as though each bubble was pushing against the other, and whereas in the past any overlap was accidental, brief, and righted itself, now that was not the case. The problem was not one-sided. Individual faerie were becoming increasingly inquisitive, especially the young. The human realm was in chaos, to a degree hitherto never experienced. Their numbers had swelled, their impact upon the precious environment they both shared was getting out of control, and their knowledge of faerie was no longer one of fantasy, but of fact. More of them each day were tuning out of their realm and into faerie. This was not good. Narwan had to find a way for faerie to remain hidden, out of touch and protected. She owed that to her kingdom of Arn, just as faerie in every part of earth would now, or at some point soon, face the same enemy, as in an incursion from beyond its borders.
Narwan sat in her Story Room, writing a draft declaration that would warn her people against incursions, against revealing one’s self to any dimension beyond faerie, human or other. There was a knock on the door.
“Come,” she said, resting her quill next to the parchment. She had been expecting the newcomers.
Laya, her attendant, appeared before her, carrying a small diary containing the queen’s activities for the day ahead.
“They are here ma’am. The three, and Avron. I have ushered them into the throne room.”
“Thank you, Laya. Now is a good time,” said the queen. She stood up from her chair, moved around to the other side of the desk, stood still for a moment as her clothes changed from royal casual to official, and in an instant was seated upon her throne.
 |
| Joseph Noel Paton, The quarrel of Oberon and Titania, 1849. |
Miranda looked around as Avron ushered them into a large room near the entrance of what he called Narwan’s castle. From the outside it looked like an ordinary hill, rocky and green, just another part of the landscape, blended with nature. The entrance, like every portal they had encountered so far, was distinguished by vines and sweet smelling flowers.
“The queen is ready to see you now,” he said. “You may address her as Narwan. That is her name.”
The room was full of light, the walls radiant. Various creatures, familiar and not, were gathered there, in groups talking, seated at tables working away, or just watching and listening, perhaps waiting for their own opportunity to meet with Narwan. The newcomers were ushered towards the throne by Laya. Three seats had been placed in front of the queen, who was seated upon a throne of ancient wood and curling vines. They lined up in front, with Avron to their left.
The queen rose to her feet, and the whole room fell silent.
“Welcome to Arn, Miranda, Greta and Marion,” said Narwan. “Please be seated.”
Avron remained standing beside his wards.
“You may be wondering,” said Narwan, “why you are here; why you have left your world and joined with us?”
“Do not be surprised, but it was of your own choice, your own mind that brought you to Arn. You, Miranda, who has engaged with our kind since you were a child; you, Marion, who always felt like a stranger in the human world; and you, Greta, daughter of my late sister.”
“You are here of your own volition. In the kingdom of Arn we do not take, like others, or steal; we receive, retrieve, and welcome. Each of you had encountered us in the past, as children; encounters you may or may not recall. Your desire for freedom, for more than the reality you inhabited, was strong. And you happened to choose us, though you may not have been fully aware of that. Nevertheless, you accepted it when the offer was made. Is that correct?”
In unison they responded in the affirmative, with words or gestures.
“I am very interested to be here your highness,” said Marion. “I look forward to discovering all I can about Arn, if you will allow it?”
“And I,” said Greta. “I have seen your library and Avron has already provided me with an interesting text on the mathematical dimensions of time as they exist in your dimension and differ from the human’s.”
The queen listened intently, briefly turning to an aid and whispering an instruction as they set out their understanding and desires.
“And what of you, Miranda? What are your thoughts?” asked Narwan.
She hesitated for a moment, looked to some notes she had already made, and rose before the queen.
“I welcome the opportunity you have given me, for this great adventure in your world, which is both strange yet familiar. I already feel at home here, as we speak. I do not know your world, apart from what my friends Arian, Aylah and Zoot once told me. But I look forward to whatever should be presented. If there is a role I am to play, a service I can undertake, then I feel it is my duty at this moment in time to do so. I am open to your world, your highness, and thank you for your kind welcome.”
With that, Narwan rose from her throne and looked towards Avron.
“Avron, please take our friends to the town of Whye. Settle them there, and at the next full moon I will come to visit. I wish you all well.”
With that, the room was once again full of chatter. Avron quietly gathered the three and ushered them out of the hall as Narwan continued her business of receiving petitioners.
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Chapter 11
A Different Plane
Over the next year, or what seemed like that to Marion, as time was not linear in Arn and seemed to slip and dilate, the three were allocated a small dwelling each, next to one another, and integrated within the local community.
The daily life of a resident of Whye was much like that of one at Goondawinda or Woodend. There were jobs to do, food to secure, friends to make, and stories to learn. Their education in the faerie realm would last a lifetime. During this period Avron remained close, checking in every week and taking them for journeys around Arn and to meet various people. Marion, for example, was introduced to a local school and asked if she would like to become a teacher, specialising in numbers and observations. Greta was allowed to ‘retire’ and enjoy the handsome library which was located in the large town of Ninyvay, adjacent to Narwan’s castle, whilst also becoming acquainted with her extended family. Avron paid special attention to Miranda, showing her various farms where food was grown and animals raised, though none were killed in Arn. He also passed on to her many aspects of their culture and the workings of everyday life.
"I have so many questions," Miranda said to Avron one day as the pair were walking through the forest between Whye and Ninyvay. "How do you travel between realms, for example?"
"That is simple, and something we learn from earliest childhood. It is an ability which is inherent, and even shared by some of the creatures of Arn, such the one you call the black panther. It is also why your faerie friends were able to play with you as a child, and never be seen by others," said Avron.
"I don't understand...," replied Miranda.
"Have you ever had a premonition, or a sense of deja vu, where you felt the presence of something from the past, or the future?"
"Yes. In fact we all experienced some of that on Hanging Rock prior to coming here," Miranda said, trying to recall in her some of strange feelings of that day.
"Exactly! Using our mind, and the physical world around us, such as rocks and trees, we can tap into that interdimensionality of our existence, our presence. We can travel through space and time. Doesn't that ability exist in your plane?" he asked.
"Not that I am aware," answered Miranda.
"For example, Hanging Rock is a natural portal, or doorway if you like, between realms. The rocks, weathered and exposed, have over time become a kind of sponge for those energies and frequencies which differentiate us, and separate one realm from another. You may have felt some of that when you first approached the Rock ...."
"Yes," said Miranda.
".... and in certain areas as you climbed it," said Avron.
"Yes! When we got near the top there was a monolith that was especially strong. In fact, it made us feel giddy," remembered Miranda.
"Indeed," he replied. "And did only some of you experience this, whilst others appeared oblivious?"
Miranda nodded in agreement.
"Some of us are naturally attuned to the various planes of existence and can, with practice, move between them. We can also identify localities where those so-called sponges of energy naturally exist and enable beings such as yourself to move through space and time without prior experience or knowledge. Hanging Rock is such a place, and you may have heard of faerie circles which are similar, composed of trees or rocks?"
"Yes. I remember now .... At the back of my house, in Goondawinda, next to the garden where I used to play with Arian, Aylah and Zoot, there was a forest and within it a collection of small rocks, arranged in a circle," said Miranda. "That must have been how they were able to travel between our two worlds."
Avron smiled, aware the Miranda was quickly coming to realise why she had come to Arn, and her connection with the faerie realm.
"In addition, some of us can develop and enhance our ability to replicate those natural localities, such that we can create temporary portals," said Avron. "That was how I was able to bring Greta here from Appleyard College."
Miranda’s mind began to wander with thoughts she did not at that point want to share with her colleague. Could she develop such an ability? If so, how would it be used? And what of the implications if humans were able to freely enter the faerie realm - surely, this would be problematic? No, now was not the time....
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Chapter 12
Rescue
"Miranda! Miranda! Are you there?" shouted Avron.
He stood outside of her small house in Whye, banging on the front door. It was early in the afternoon and Avron was accompanied by a contingent of about twelve of Narwan's army - soldier's on horses, armed with swords and armour.
Miranda was in her kitchen, preparing something for dinner, when she heard the knocking on the door, and Avron's calling. She immediately knew that something was wrong. She rushed to the door and flung it open.
"It's Miranda, and some of her class. They have been taken by a group of the unseelie and we need to rescue them. Come, I have brought you a horse."
Miranda quickly mounted a mare and, riding beside Avron, they sped off into the forest towards the western border of Arn where it abutted against the kings of Regis.
"Who are they, and why would they do this?" asked Miranda.
"The unseelie are a group of evil, wicked creatures who roam our borders and the borders of others, stealing, kidnapping, taking hostages and selling faerie into slavery. They are a mixture of faerie like us, but also goblins, trolls, ghoulish spirits and other assorted beings. They had been relatively quiet in recent times and we thought we had successfully banished them from Arn. But we were mistaken ...."
It did not take long to reach the party, as they were being walked through the bush towards Regis where, it seemed likely, the group of hostage takers would find refuge. There were approximately ten of them, three at the front, four in amongst the group of children and Marion, and three at the rear. Upon first sighting them, Avron called his troops together.
"We will ride straight up to them, Miranda and I and two others with go to the front and call them to stop. The rest of you will come in from the sides and back to surround them," said Avron. "This way, hopefully the issue will be settled swiftly, with nobody harmed.
In a moment the plan was put into place, as Narwan's army pounced and caught the unseelie unawares.
"Halt!" shouted Avron. "Stand down, of suffer the consequences. Leave your prisoners and you will not be harmed. This is your only warning. There will be no negotiation."
As he said this, the perpetrators looked around to see themselves surrounded by a group of soldiers on horses with bows and arrows drawn.
"Sir, the day is yours," said Tyler, the leader of the group, a goblin of extreme features and the scars of many encounters. "We submit, but only if you are true to your word and will leave us on our way?"
"I am true," said Avron. "Now, be gone!".
With that the unseelie released their prisoners and began to move away. Avron and Miranda dismounted and rushed over to secure Marion and her six students. For a moment there was a tense standoff between Tyler's group and the soldiers, but the former realised their situation and in a moment headed off towards their stronghold near the Regis border.
"Are you alright?" asked Miranda of her friend.
Marion was speechless, pale and shaken. She began to cry as Miranda drew her arms around her and held her tight. Avron and the soldiers gathered up the children onto their horses and prepared to spirit them away back to the safety of their homes.
"We went on a little excursion to gather some rock," said Marion. "And all of a sudden those horrible creatures pounced upon us. Luckily two of my boys escaped and raised the alarm, but the rest of us were trapped. They were horrible - smelly, ugly, cruel and said such awful things. I dread to think what would have happened to us if you had not come along...."
With that, Marion collapsed onto the ground. Miranda and one of the soldiers who was of a medical persuasion by the name of Fernly, gathered around her. He pulled a vial of liquid from his shoulder bag, opened it, and placed it under Marion's nose. Within a few seconds she gained consciousness. A couple of minutes later she had revived enough to mount Fernly's horse and together with the rest of the party they rode off to safety.
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Chapter 13
Love
Twelve months had passed since her arrival in Arn, and despite the numerous activities, the never ending things to do and faerie to meet, Miranda began to wonder what Narwan and Avron had in store for her. Up to then she had felt happy that she was free to learn as much as she could and explore the new world around her. She was too busy to think of much else. However, when Marion began to speak of her joy at being a teacher, and Greta disappeared into her world of books, Miranda’s mind began to wander. “What is the shape of things to come?” she asked herself. Invariably her thoughts came back to family, and Goondawinda.
"Why am I here?" Miranda asked Avron as they walked by the river's edge in the forest of Whye.
"Because you were lost; because you wanted to live in the world of your faerie friends; because you sought adventure?" Avron answered. "I really do not know. Can you tell me?"
"I suppose all of that is correct, from my perspective at least. But what about from that of Arn, and Narwan - what do I offer this plane of existence?" Miranda asked.
Avron paused for a while before answering, unsure how much to tell her for fear of her reaction, and not fully aware of the reasons and circumstances currently in play.
"Miranda, you arrived here a year ago for some of the reasons I have outlined. Since then Narwan and I have come to know you, to see the caring, compassionate, adventurous and intelligent person that you are. We have come to care for, and even love you. As such, and as is the way for all, the future is unlimited, unknown and to be created. For example, you may be aware that Narwan has no child, no heir. She may have a role for you in guiding our kingdom through the turmoil to come - threats on our borders, dissent amongst our people, incursions from the human realm. Or, she may just want you to find your own path, without any interference. I do not know.
Miranda took Avron’s hand as they came to a grassy area by the river.
"Let's rest here for a moment," she said. "By this tree."
It was around midday and the sun shone in the deep blue sky as thin white clouds slowly came and went. A slight, cooling breeze, blew in from the west, pushing the clouds towards Narwan’s castle and beyond. Miranda and Avron spread out a blanket of fine cotton and silk, and lay close together, starring skyward through branches and leaves.
"Look at that one - it's like that troll we fought last month - all soft and round," said Miranda with a giggle.
"And there's another," responded Avron. "It's the three-headed serpent of Chromos."
Miranda closed her eyes and drifted off into a vision where she rode Phylos, a winged unicorn, into battle with Avron and his legion.
The vision faded into nothingness... She opened her eyes, leaned over towards Avron, and with eyes once again closed, put her lips to his. A warmth came over her, and a lightness in her head. She felt for a moment that everything she wanted, everything she needed, was here, in Arn. But ...
Chapter 14
Narwan’s Castle
9am, Monday, 14th December 1900.
Miranda knocked on the door of Narwan’s Story Room. It was here, next to the throne room, that the queen spent many of her days, reading and recording stories of faerie. The walls were lined with books, ancient texts in manuscript on papyrus and parchment. They were gathered from all corners of the human and faerie realms.
“Come in,” said the queen. “I’ve been expecting you.”
The room was deep within the unseen castle of dirt, rock and vines, roots and branches which, from outside, looked just like another hill in the forest of Arn. Yet Narwan’s palace was as magical as her domain. There was light and warmth in the air, and people went about their business with nary a flutter of conflict. Of course, Miranda did not frequent the castle, and her starry-eyed view was probably way off the mark. Avron had hinted to her how, on occasion, Narwan faced opposition both from within Arn and without. As a soldier in her army, he was always alert to intra-faerie intrusions.
This was Miranda’s third visit to the Story Room, with the previous two having provided her with an opportunity to get to know Narwan. Though she was of an extreme age in human terms, she appeared to Miranda around her late thirties, like her mother Charlotte. She was tall and slender, with dark hair and dark features and intense blue eyes. The only suggestions of faerie were her long, rather pointed ears and thin, extended nose. Miranda always enjoyed the room’s soft, warm yellow glow which both relaxed the body and stimulated the mind and soul. This day she entered quietly with a determined, though strained, smile upon her face and sat down on the chair in front of Narwan's desk.
“Can I help you, my child?” asked Narwan.
“Yes, your majesty. I want to thank you, so very, very much, for what you have given us here,” said Miranda with a quiver in her voice and as a tear began to flow down her left cheek.
“Marion and I are truly happy. We have everything we need. Nature is all around, and I could not ask for more. I speak of truth, and not of glamour. I am under no spell, apart from that of the reality you provide to us all through your compassion. You protect and defend; you encourage and discourage. But there is one thing, one thing missing, one thing I crave deep in my soul.”
“And what would that be, Miranda?” asked the queen.
“My family. My dearest mother and father, my wild and crazy brothers. I miss them dearly,” she said, her voice breaking.
Narwan got up from her seat behind the desk and pulled up a chair next to Miranda. She sat down, held her hand, and moved in close.
“Tell me what you would like to do,” she said.
“I ask you, recognising all the love I have for you and for my friends here in Arn, and the love that I have received: Can I go back? Not to Appleyard College, but home, to my country, to that place, to the forests of Goondawinda. To my fairy friends there. Can I return?”
Narwan thought quietly for a moment and nodded her head slightly.
“Yes. Yes, my dear. You can go back. And I will help you do that. But what of your friends? What of Marion and Miss Greta?”
Miranda realised she could not answer the queen, because she did not know, and felt she had no right to speak for them anyway.
“I don't know,” she replied thoughtfully. “I know Marion only has a guardian, and that she is very happy here, especially now that she has a school and a future. As also is Miss McCraw, whose only family that we knew of was an ageing father that she had little contact with. But that has now changed, as has she. As you may be aware, my former mathematics teacher was very independent and did not seek social interaction like some I know. But she has changed since arriving in Arn, and as such I can well understand why she would not want to leave your kingdom, and her family here.”
“Okay,” said Narwan. “It is possible to take you back. But let me think some more about this. I will summon you in a couple of days when I have a clearer picture of what is the best way to proceed.”
“Thank you,” responded Miranda.
“I will miss you, my dear,” said Narwan. “You have brought much to my kingdom, with your compassion, your independent spirit, and your quiet, determined energy. And I know that Avron is very fond of you.”
“Yes, your majesty. And I of him,” said Miranda with a smile. “He is from another world, yet it does not seem to matter.”
With that, she got up, gave a brief bow to the queen, and left the room. She was pleased that there was a possibility of once again seeing her family, though she also realised what she would be giving up if she should leave the faerie realm. Miranda, Marion, and Greta had been in Arn for almost a year, though it seemed like a lifetime. There were no clocks here, and time just flowed – sometimes fast, sometimes slow, and sometimes slipping, back and forth. Miranda felt as though she was in a bubble, and that whichever way she turned, her experience of time could vary. So, though she suspected it was December back home, there was in fact no December here. And she wondered: What month or year was it back at Goondawinda? How long had passed since she left? Were her family still alive? And what of her friends at Appleyard College, especially Sara, dearest Sara?
She knew she would have to wait for the meeting with Narwan to ultimately find answers to some of these questions.
Chapter 15
The Garden of the Pleiades
11am, Tuesday, 22nd December 1900.
Narwan and Miranda walked, side by side, through the garden of the Pleiades, located just outside of the Story Room and within an open circular area situated in the middle of the castle. Ten days had passed, and the queen had called Miranda to discuss with her the request to return to the human realm.
“Miranda, I have thought long and deeply about what you have asked of me, and I have a few questions that you need to answer first. Is that okay?” she asked.
“Yes,” said Miranda. “Of course.”
“In the faerie realm, as in the human, life is not always light,” opened the queen. “Sometimes there is darkness – always there is darkness – and decisions need to be made as to how we deal with that. On this occasion, such a decision is required of you, and anyone else who may happen to follow in your path. I would ask that you listen to the story I now tell you, and consider it well before answering.”
Narwan directed Miranda to a seat by a large tree. It was carved out of wood, with soft cushions and flanked by vines and sweet-smelling flowers. Multi-coloured elemental lights moved about the tree, not bothering the two women, but as though keeping sentry.
“What I say is based on my visit to Appleyard College the day after our meeting. What I am about to tell you has already happened. However, the past, like the present and future, is fluid. We can travel about within it. But, and this is important, there are consequences, and we need to manage those if we take that path.”
Miranda moved about in the seat, for some unknown reason anxious at what the queen had just told her, and unsure of what she was implying.
“You mean to say, you actually went to Appleyard?” she said, somewhat in amazement.
“Yes,” Narwan replied, before drawing a deep breath.
“Much has happened there since you departed. It is now coming up to a year in human time. The college is no more, having closed a month or so after your disappearance, around the time of what you called the Easter holidays. The students left and never came back. What I must tell you now is something very, very dark. However, we may be able to bring some light to it.”
Miranda’s face grew grave. She had always felt the darkness of Mrs Appleyard and the college, this being one of the main reasons she went looking for, and found, solace in the faerie realm, just as she had done as a child when playing in the garden and forest at Goondawinda. But since leaving she knew nothing of what took place there. Narwan continued.
“The disappearance of yourself, Marion, Irma, and Greta on the Rock that Saturday, St. Valentine’s Day, affected all those at the school, including parents, friends, and staff. It became a national scandal and something that Mrs Appleyard could not handle. Many students were pulled out in fear; public talk was of murder, rape, kidnapping, and all the worst things that can come to mind in such a situation. Knowing nothing of the faerie realm, and never willing to even consider it as a possible explanation, they remained distraught, questioning, and suspicious. Fortunately, and as you know, Irma was eventually found, and not the next day, but a week later. She was deeply traumatised and told nobody of what she knew or what she had experienced that afternoon. Of course, she remembered much of it, but even then, she did not truly know what was happening to you all. She would have needed to follow you and Marion for that to have been revealed. But that was not meant to be. Unfortunately, this did not protect her, and some of the students took their anger at what had happened out on her.”
“Oh no! That’s awful,” pined Miranda. “Poor Irma.”
“Anyway, after she was rescued, and all the investigations were carried out, by the end of what you call March, Mrs Appleyard realised that she would have to close the college. She did not handle this well. You would also be aware that she took many of her drunken frustrations out on your dear friend Sara. This, sadly, culminated in her murdering the child in the week before Easter, by throwing her off the college tower. She was only found in the gardener’s shed below a couple of days later.”
“No!” cried Miranda. “No….”
“When Mademoiselle de Poitiers inquired of Sara, Mrs Appleyard told her that her guardian had taken her away. Mademoiselle was, of course, suspicious, and eventually notified the police. However, before they could intervene, the headmistress received a letter from Sara’s guardian that he would be arriving to pick her up on Easter Sunday. Mrs Appleyard realised that she could not hide the deed any longer. She asked Mr Hussey to take her to Hanging Rock and committed suicide there and then, by leaping off the top tier precipice.”
Miranda sat quietly by her queen, tears now streaming down her cheeks.
“This is all my fault. I should have been there. I could have saved her…. My dear, sweet, Sara…. I could have saved her…” she said, inconsolable at the thought of what Mrs Appleyard had done.
“You can save her, my dear. You can,” said Narwan, holding her tight in a hug.
Miranda pulled back, in a start.
“What do you mean?”
The queen looked at her sternly.
“You have a decision to make, Miranda, and it affects not only you, but also Marion and Greta. I have to ask you: Do you want to return to your family, in the present, which is a year or so after your disappearance; or do you want to go back to Appleyard College and be present on the morning of St Valentine’s Day? Would you like to see if you can make things right?” the queen asked.
“Of course, St Valentine’s Day. I have to save Sara, I have to…” she said, in a voice quivering with emotion. “Please …. Please….”
The queen held Miranda tightly, and with a slow nod of her head consoled her as was needed.
“Okay. But there is a complication. If it were just you, returning to the present, after disappearing, that is a relatively easy task. We would merely take you back through the portal to Goondawinda and leave you there to knock on the front door and present yourself to your family. It would be that simple,” said Narwan.
“Yes, I understand,” said Miranda.
“However, in order to go back in time, to time slip, a day before St Valentine’s Day – to reset the clock as you in the human realm would say – you need to be at one with your old self, for there is only one you. If I just take you through the portal and drop you off in the past, then there would be two Miranda’s in the same place at the same time. We can’t have that. Also, if we wish to reset, then not just you need to go back, but also Marion and Greta. Is that clear?”
“Yes. No, we can’t have that. We have to save Sara. All of us need to go!” said Miranda, her head spinning at the implications. “I understand, I think. Can you help? Can it be done.”
“Yes. It can be done,” said Narwan. “This is what will happen. Avron and I will gather you all together. We will take you through the portal to Hanging Rock and then on to the college. You will remain in our realm of existence for a brief period. That is, you will be there, but not seen or heard by those present in the human realm, including your other selves. We will then, for each of you, perform the necessary transformation process to bring both of your forms together as one. We can do this whilst your other selves are asleep. We will put you under the necessary spell so that when you awake, in your bed, it will be as one Miranda. Is that clear?”
“Yes,” said Miranda.
“You will wake up on the morning of the day before St Valentine’s Day, and you will remember everything that has happened to you, as will Marion and Greta. In the bed next to you in the room will be young Sara. In order to save her, you must be strong – stronger than you have ever been – and you must ensure that Mrs Appleyard is not able to follow her instincts. This will be no easy task.”
“Yes, I understand….” said Miranda, her spirit slowly lifted by the opportunity now on offer.
“We must prepare. Go now. Speak to Marion and Greta. Prepare them, and tomorrow we will bid our farewells. I suspect we will see Greta in Arn again, but it may be a final farewell to Arn for you and Marion.”
The queen and Miranda headed back to the Story Room, and Miranda immediately set off to speak with Marion and Greta concerning what she had learnt.
Chapter 16
Greta's house, Whye.
Greta and Marion sat close to Miranda as she told them the sad fate of Appleyard College and of Sara’s murder. They were both shocked and horrified.
“That poor girl,” said Greta. “And all the others, including Mademoiselle. My heart goes out to them.”
She held Miranda’s hand and felt its warmth.
“I did not tell you both this, but I had previously spoken to Narwan about wishing to return to my family, at Goondawinda,” said Miranda. “This was why she visited Appleyard College and discovered what had happened. As a result, I now feel the need to try to save Sara. And Narwan has told me that this can be done. But it is only possible if we all three are taken back in time to the day before St Valentine’s Day, and if we put in place things which will ensure Sara’s survival and protection from Mrs Appleyard.”
“You mean, we have to come as well?” said Marion.
“Yes,” answered Miranda. “But you can return to Arn if you like. I will not be returning. Once Sara is safe, I am going back home.”
“The choice is an easy one, Miranda,” said Greta. “We must save Sara. When do we leave?”
“Tomorrow,” said Miranda. “Narwan and Avron will take us back and carry out the necessary transformations.”
“I will return with them when the task is done,” said Greta. “There is nothing back there for me, but sadness and heartache. Arn provides everything I need.”
“I will return with you as well, Greta,” said Marion. “I know you are strong, Miranda, and will get to see your family eventually. But together, the three of us can save Sara and as promised, you can take her for that visit to Goondawinda.”
"Thank you," said Miranda. "I cannot promise anything, but I feel we have chance to save Sara."
They smiled at each other amongst the tears. Marion and Miranda hugged, whilst the older Greta shared the moment as best she was able, sitting there with her former students.
Midday, Wednesday, 23rd December 1900.
Marion, Miranda, and Greta stood in the Garden of the Pleiades. In front of them Narwan and Avron had entered a circle of small stones around a large, flat area of rock. They called the women over to them. They were dressed in the undergarments they had worn upon leaving the human realm back on St Valentine’s Day. Over these were their faerie clothes, comprising pale green dresses and light brown jackets. Their shoes were of leather. They did not look like Appleyard College schoolgirls or teacher, but that was no matter.
“Are you ready?” asked Narwan.
“Yes,” they answered.
With that, they followed the two faeries into the circle and exited onto a path of light which shortly brought them out onto the roof of Hanging Rock, at the point just past the monolith where they had rested, seen their corsets float in the sky – all except Greta of course – and followed the changeling down the hole in the ground. From here, they turned and, in an instant, found themselves in the main second story corridor of the college, with their various bedrooms located along the hall. It was around midnight. Avron took Greta and placed her with her other self. Narwan did the same with Miranda and Marion. The two faerie then returned to Arn.
Chapter 17
Making things right
7.22am, Friday, 13th February 1900.
The first thing Miranda did upon waking and checking that Sara was safe and asleep in her bed was walk over to the door separating her and Sara’s room from Marion and Irma’s. She gently opened it and, much to her relief, found Marion sitting up in bed busily writing in her diary, with Irma sound asleep nearby. She quietly tip toed over to her bed and plonked herself down on the edge of the blankets.
“Did it really happen?” Miranda asked her.
“Yes,” was Marion’s singular response. “We actually entered another dimension of time and space wherein the faerie live. Do you believe that!” she said with a muted laugh.
“It wasn’t a dream then …..” smiled Miranda.
“Of course it was a dream,” whispered Marion. “A wonderful dream within a dream. Yet so terribly real. But who would believe us if we ever told them. I know I wouldn’t!”
Miranda nodded in agreement.
“We have much to do today,” she said with that grave look on her face. “You and I, and we best not tell Irma anything really. I will ask Greta to speak with Mademoiselle about a few things, though I know she has already made some moves to help Sara.”
“What things do we need to do?” asked Marion.
“Well, first off, I need to confront Mrs Appleyard about her treatment of Sara. We also need to get Mademoiselle to contact Mrs Valange, her music teacher, about the offer to take care of Sara in the interim until we can find another school for her. Following that big argument she had with Mrs Appleyard over Sara, and the way she was treated by her, I am sure Mrs Valange will be keen to help. If possible, we also need to let her guardian, Mr Jasper Cosgrove, know what has been going on, and I think Mrs Valange can help there as well.”
“Is that all?” asked Marion.
“Don’t forget Greta,” said Miranda. “She will be here until tonight when Avron will come and take her back to Arn. There will be no need to replace her with that horrible changeling this time. I am sure Mrs Appleyard will be able to cover her mysterious disappearance. As regards your own return, what should we do? We don’t want a repeat of the picnic ground disappearance.”
“I have an idea,” said Marion. “I will arrange with my legal guardian, an old solicitor friend of my late father’s, to visit him in New Zealand at Easter. At some point I will arrange with Avron to collect me from there, thereby protecting the college from any scandal, and returning to my beloved students at Arn.”
“That sounds perfect,” said Miranda. “Now let’s get dressed then and go and speak with Mademoiselle. She might just have a few more things for us to do!”
The two girls hopped up and began their morning ritual, soon joined by Sara and Irma, oblivious to the plans filling the minds of their dearest friends. Miranda gave Sara the biggest of hugs as soon as she was able.
“I’m so happy to see you, Sara,” she said as the tears began to flow.
“But you saw me last night, when we went to sleep,” said the young girl, happy at the show of affection on the part of Miranda, but somewhat confused.
“Don’t worry about me,” said Miranda. “It’s time to get dressed and ready for class. Today is going to be a good day, and tomorrow even better!”
11.55am, Outside Mrs Appleyard’s office.
Miranda gathered her thoughts, stiffened her back, and knocked on the door.
“Come”, came the deep throated response from inside.
Miranda entered and walked slowly up to the desk of the headmistress. She was seated there, penning another letter seeking payment of fees for the upcoming term. Appleyard was in no mood to deal with one of her more recalcitrant senior students.
“What can I do for you, Miss Miranda? But make it quick, as I have a lot on my plate today, as usual,” she said brusquely, with a stern glare straight into the eyes of the young girl.
“Mrs Appleyard, I wish to inform you that I will be taking young Sara home with me to Goondawinda during the upcoming Easter break. Also, tomorrow she will be accompanying us on the picnic to Hanging Rock.”
Mrs Appleyard frowned.
“Will she now,” she said. “You may not be aware, young lady, that Sara has been lax in her studies recently, and her guardian late in his payments, so I have been forced to consider taking some rather extreme measures. These include removing her art class privileges. I recently spoke with Mrs Valange and she is very supportive of my decision, noting that Sara had little talent in that area. I have also contacted a local orphanage to see if there is a place for her. Strangely, as I have not informed her of this as yet, I will be restricting her privileges, including participation in the picnic tomorrow, in order for her to continue her work in memorising an important piece of prose which Miss Lumley has informed me she is falling behind in. So no, she will not be going to Hanging Rock tomorrow, nor, I suspect, will the orphanage allow her to accompany you to Goondawinda. Is that clear? If so, you may now leave, and do not bother me with this subject again.”
Miranda felt a fire within her ignite. She was prepared for this, and acted accordingly, keeping in mind the lessons learnt from Narwan and her faerie friends.
“I will repeat myself, Mrs Appleyard, so that you are not unaware of my intention,” Miranda said, as she stepped closer to the headmistress’s desk and lent down towards her seated foe.
“Miss Sara will be coming with me, tomorrow and thereafter. We are aware of the special treatment you have been giving her, or should I say mistreatment, and have arranged to speak with Mrs Valange and her guardian about this matter. We know that Mrs Valange is keen to take Sara under her wing whilst her guardian is away. We also know that she considers Sara her most talented student. As a result of your lies, and your constant bullying of Sara, you will cease this abhorrent behaviour immediately. Mademoiselle de Poitiers and I have already raised our concerns with Constable Bumpher at Woodend. You are now on notice, Mrs Appleyard. I will walk out the door in a moment, and nothing more will be said of this. If, however, you do not agree, I suggest, the consequences will be severe for you and the college. I now merely ask you to nod that you understand, and I can leave.”
Mrs Appleyard, now red in the face, begrudgingly nodded. She then looked down and returned to her letter writing.
Miranda exited in silence, floating out of the room as she had done when first climbing Hanging Rock.
As the door closed, the headmistress opened one of the side drawers in her desk, pulled out a flask containing whiskey, and took a deep swig. She then let out a sigh of relief, both at the thought of not bringing scandal upon the college, but also of being rid of the young girl Sara, who, for some unknown reason, she found extremely difficult to deal with. Mrs Appleyard may have been stern, but she was not stupid, and having had extensive dealings with the English constabulary prior to coming to Australia, she knew when the game was up. It was time, she realised, for a change in how things were managed at the college. She was on a good thing, and did not want to loose it.
Marion, Greta, and Mademoiselle de Poitiers sat together on the outside bench near the college entrance. It was lunch time, and they were mulling over their various tasks at hand. Miranda strode out of the front door, a smile on her face.
“How did it go with the headmistress?” Marion asked.
“Good,” said Miranda. “I think that matter of the mistreatment of Sara has now been dealt with, though we must remain on our guard. We now need to address the issues of Mrs Valange and Sara’s guardian.”
“Don’t worry, Miss Miranda,” chimed in Mademoiselle. “I have spoken to Mrs Valange and she is so happy to know that we are working to take care of Sara. She loves the girl and is ready to help. She has had correspondence with Sara’s guardian on a number of previous occasions and informed me this morning that she will telegraph him and bring him up to date. I understand he will be here on Easter Sunday.”
“That’s terrific,” said Miranda.
“But I also have some wonderful new news from her. She had contacted the Ballarat orphanage to see if she could locate Sara’s older brother. Sara often talked to her friends about him, including Mrs Valange. She told me just this morning of information received that his name is Albert Crundall, not Waybourne.”
“Oh my God, its Bertie!” said Miranda. She then lent over to Marion and whispered in her ear. “He is the one who found Irma!”
“Yes, yes!” said Marion excitedly.
“Who?” asked Mademoiselle.
“Bertie, Bertie! Sara is always telling us stories about her brother, and how she misses him,” said Marion.
“Well,” said Mademoiselle, “apparently he is the young man who works at Lake View and manages the horses for the Fitzhuberts. I have seen him about on a number of occasions, often accompanying the young Michael Fitzhubert who is currently visiting from England. We have to let him know that Sara is here. I am sure he will want to see her, especially considering the present dire circumstances.”
“I have a feeling he might be at the picnic grounds tomorrow, Miss,” said Miranda. “If not, we can make arrangements for them to meet up next week. But please keep this quiet. I would like to surprise Sara. It will bring her so much joy to see him at last.”
-------------------
Chapter 18
St. Valentine’s Day again
7am, 14th February 1900.
Miranda woke, full of the knowledge of where she was and what she had to do that day. Beside her, in her own bed, Sara was already awake, writing in her book and occasionally looking over to Miranda as she slowly woke to the new day.
“Happy St Valentine’s Day,” said Sara. “I’ve written you a poem, and made a card with a drawing of us on the front.”
She raised the card in the air, and Miranda looked over toward her, so happy that she was alive, and the same Sara she had left what now seemed so long ago.
Miranda pulled back her sheets and called her over.
“Come. There is something I need to tell you, but first you must read me your poem.”
Sara jumped up and ran over to the bed. She opened her notebook and stood erect, ready to present as best she could.
“It’s not finished yet, but I’ll read you what I’ve written anyway,” she said. “Here goes.”
My Valentine
I know someone who is so sweet
She’s like a sister when ‘ere we meet
She’ll brush my hair, and give me time
I hope she’ll be my Valentine.
I love her most, apart from Bertie
She plays with me, and we get dirty
No shoes or socks, no time that binds
I know she is my Valentine.
“What do you think?” asked Sara, her cheeks now red with embarrassment.
“It’s beautiful, my dear,” said Miranda. “Now hop in here quick smart. We have a busy day ahead.”
Sara put the notebook down on the bedside table, and moved in beside Miranda.
“You know I love you too, Sara, like a sister, now and forever,” Miranda said. “But you will have to learn to love another, as I will not be here, by your side, forever.”
“I understand,” said Sara. “We all have to grow up sometime.”
“Alright then. Now listen – I am going to tell you a story. It is a true story, but a story that has not yet happened, and hopefully never will. It is a story that will stay with you forever and is about travelling to Hanging Rock, and entering the faerie realm there. Do you believe in faeries?” asked Miranda.
“Yes, of course,” answered Sara. “I love to draw the one’s I see in our garden. Would you like to see some of them?”
“Maybe later,” Miranda smiled, and continued.
“Anyway, it is a story about living in a magical kingdom called Arn for a year or so; about what the faerie queen told the young girl of the sorry fate of Appleyard College following the disappearance of some students, and a teacher, and of dreadful things that the headmistress did, resulting in the closure of the school and sadness thereafter.”
Miranda stopped there. She did not want to tell Sara of what happened after they all disappeared, for she hoped that would no longer take place. It was neither in the past, present or future outside of the faerie realm but a mere shadow, a memory, that existed now only in the minds of those who knew of it.
“But there is no sadness here now. As of this day, the sadness that you have had to bear, and that I have shared with you, and the abuse by Mrs Appleyard, and the unknown future you face, all of that will all come to an end. Today, St. Valentine’s Day, is the first day of your new life. Do you believe me, Sara?”
“Yes, of course Miranda,” she responded. “It is my dream.”
“Now listen. Today Mrs Appleyard might try to make you stay here and not go to the picnic tomorrow. I am not going to allow that, and neither is Marion. So you will need to stay close to me in order for it not to happen. Do you understand? No matter what the headmistress says or does, I will protect you.”
Sara shook her head in agreement.
“Now I have some more good news for you. Your guardian will be arriving in Woodend on Easter Sunday, which is only a week away. In the interim, Mademoiselle de Poitiers has spoken with your art teacher Mrs Valange. She wants to take you away from Mrs Appleyard pending a discussion with your guardian. She will be here on Sunday morning to pick you up. She is very keen for your art lessons to continue. She will also bring you back here for the final week of school.”
“Yes, I like Mrs Valange,” said Sara with a smile on her face.
“Once again, we need to ensure that Mrs Appleyard does not intervene in any of this. I have spoken to her and I do not think she will. I have also told Mrs Valange that I will be taking you home with me to Goondawinda during the Easter break. I am sure your guardian will also support that.”
“Wow! That’s great Miranda! This is the best St. Valentine’s Day ever,” said Sara. She jumped out of the bed and began dancing a jig on the carpet at the end of the bed. She started to sing.
I’m going on a picnic, a picnic, a picnic
I’m going on a picnic, and Appleyard’s gone away.
She’s gone away, she’s gone away
She will not get me today.
‘Cause I’m going on a picnic
On St Valentine’s Day!
“Alright. Now settle down for a minute,” said Miranda.
Sara ran back over to the bed and sat down on the edge.
“Finally,” said Miranda, “and perhaps the best news of all, Mademoiselle and I have arranged for a special St Valentine’s Day present. But you have to wait until we get to the picnic ground.”
“Okay. I can do that,” said Sara.
“Alright. Let’s go. We all need to get ready, listen to what Mrs Appleyard has to say, then hop on board Mr Hussey’s coach to Hanging Rock.”
Marion and Irma, in the room next to them, had been listening by the half-open door. They now rushed in and together, the four girls got dressed and ready for the day ahead. Every now and then the young Sara would look up and see the three girls in a huddle, talking and scheming. Irma, oblivious to the events Miranda had outlined in her story to Sara, was excited by the fact of subverting the intentions of the headmistress. Marion, fully au fait with what had happened prior to, and in consequence of, their journey to the faerie realm, was excited at the thought that history would not repeat itself.
When the girls had finished dressing, they joined their fellow students in the euphoria of St Valentine’s Day card giving. Expressions of love abounded, as cards flowed freely. Miranda, loved by all, received the most.
With that over, and breakfast dealt with in an unusual speedy manner, the girls and teacher headed out the door. They formed up on the front lawn for a final talk from Mrs Appleyard. As she warned them against climbing the Rock and any tomfoolery, they heard in the distance the sound of horses hooves.
Mr Hussey’s coach came through the college gates and round the closely manicured drive.
“All right girls. Stay in your places and keep close attention to all instructions given by Mademoiselle de Poitiers and Mr Hussey,” said Mrs Appleyard. “Miss McCraw will not be coming today as she has taken sick.”
She gave Miranda a stern glare then turned around and headed back inside the college. Of course, her last statement was a lie. McCraw had disappeared and the headmistress had not as yet had time to investigate.
Mademoiselle stepped forward and addressed the girls as the coach pulled up on the side of the drive.
“Miranda and Miss Sara, can you please join me?” she said.
The two girls stepped forward, as senior girls Marion and Irma marched the rest of them over to Mr Hussey’s coach and helped everyone board.
“You two can sit close to me,” said Mademoiselle. “I am sure we will have much fun today girls.”
“Yes miss,” said Sara, as she squeezed in between her two favourite people, Miranda and Mademoiselle.
The trip to Hanging Rock was long and largely uneventful. Miranda noted how it appeared to almost replicate the former trip perfectly, only this time the absence of the McCraw changeling was replaced by the wonderfully excited chatter and storytelling of Sara. Once again, they arrived around midday and set about running around close to the camp site for half an hour or so, followed by lunch. The four girls settled down on the edge of the picnic ground, close to the creek.
“Look over there,” Marion said to Miranda, making sure that Sara and Irma did not hear. “Isn’t that Albert and Michael from Lake View?”
“Yes, I believe it is,” said Miranda. “When lunch is over, we can take Sara for a walk to the creek, and hopefully she can see her Bertie at last.”
“I can’t wait,” Marion replied with an uncharacteristic expansive smile as she finished off the last piece of the special St Valentine’s Day cake she had been served.
Lunch was over, the time must have been around 2pm, and all the students at the picnic ground suddenly felt sleepy, except for Miranda, Marion, Irma and Sara. It was as though they were in a special bubble, or a ring where faerie spells were not as strong.
“Let's go for a walk up the Rock,” said Irma. “It might help us stay awake. It is a shame to waste such an opportunity sleeping.”
Irma’s sense of adventure knew no bounds, especially when set free in the fresh air, as during their daily walk along the road outside the college. She would always lead the pack, encouraging them on. Marion, on the other hand, ever inquisitive, lagged behind, picking up interesting rocks, or creatures in puddles, such as tadpoles, and taking them back to her room to watch them grow into frogs.
Miranda shook her head. “No, I don't think so. Everyone else has fallen asleep, and it would be a good idea if we rested too. After all, it’s a big day today and we won’t get to bed until at least midnight!”
Irma’s dejected look took immediate effect.
“How about we just walk over to that creek, and see if there are any tadpoles or frogs?” said Marion, knowing that that would be safe, and the effect of any enchantment spell minimal.
“Okay,” said Miranda. “But only to the creek, and no further.”
Irma frowned. This wasn’t the normal, sweet, adventurous Miranda she knew, who would at the drop of a hat run off into the bush, out of sight, self-assured that her natural instincts would always bring her back home.
“Alright then” she said, somewhat dejectedly. “Let’s go.”
“We have to ask Mademoiselle first though,” Marion reminded them.
The four girls hopped up and walked over to Mademoiselle de Poitiers, resting by Mr Hussey’s camp fire. Like the rest of the students at the picnic ground, she was dreamily falling in and out of sleep. As she heard Miranda approach, she slowly opened her eyes, using the small umbrella to ensure protection from the glare of the sun.
“Excuse me miss,” said Miranda. “May we take a walk over to the little creek before afternoon tea? Marion would like to look for some tadpoles and frogs.”
“And I should like to have a closer look at those pretty ferns,” chipped in Irma.
“And I can draw some of them in my sketchbook,” said Sara.
Mademoiselle de Poitiers, though still half asleep, smiled and shook her head slightly in affirmation.
“Oui. Vous pouvez aller,” she uttered in the distinctive French accent which the girls had grown so accustomed to. Yes, they could go.
The young student Edith looked on with interest, all the while yawning and surrounded by sleeping colleagues. For some reason she was as irritatingly as bright and bubbly as ever, and wanted to join the group, even though her and Sara did not get on at all.
“May I come too?” she asked with the enthusiasm of someone suffering the effects of too much sugar. “I ate so much pie at lunch I can hardly keep awake.”
Miranda smiled dreamily and nodded her head.
“Okay,” she said, before turning back to Mademoiselle.
“Don't worry about us, Mam'selle dear. We shall be gone a very little while.”
With that, the schoolgirls headed off towards the creek. The three older students led the way, with Sara staying close to Miranda and Edith straggling behind.
As Miranda left the picnic ground she turned and smiled at de Poitiers. She once again had that strange feeling about the decision to leave the group, even for such a short excursion, mindful of the power of faerie enchantment. But just as quickly she was overwhelmed with a strange feeling, like a dream. A voice in her head was telling her that it was okay, they would be safe this time. She knew immediately that Avron was there, somewhere, reassuring her.
Mademoiselle smiled and kept waving as they walked away, until Miranda had stopped at the halfway point, by the shade of a tall tree. She leaned against it, stretching down to lift her dress and adjust her stockings. For a moment Mademoiselle was overwhelmed by Miranda’s beauty. She found herself exclaiming loudly, to no one in particular.
“Mon Dieu! Now I know .....”
“What do you know?” asked Mr Hussey.
“That Miranda .... Elle est un Botticelli ange, an angel, from the Uffizi.”
Mademoiselle then rolled over and went back to sleep, a radiant smile now upon her own face. In short shrift everyone at the picnic ground was asleep.
Miranda looked on as the girls reached the edge of the creek and encountered the slimy moss covering the rocks along its edge.
“Be careful now,” she said. “It gets slippery here.”
There were little pools of water there about, and the main creek stream of clear water trickled silently over the partially exposed rocks. Marion squatted down next to the nearest pond and found it crawling with tadpoles.
“Irma,” she exclaimed. “Look here! Baby frogs.”
“Oooh,” said Edith. “Frogs are so slimy, and that awful noise they make. Yuk.”
The girls now frolicked by the creek edge for about half an hour as Miranda looked on. Edith slipped on one of the rocks and fell, wetting the bottom of her dress and her shoes and stockings. The noise she made in protest would, at any other time, awaken those asleep in the nearby picnic ground. But nobody stirred amongst the schoolgirls. However, Edith’s loud protests caught the attention of the Fitzhubert camp, picnicking on the opposite side of the creek to the Appleyard College party.
Albert had wandered down to the edge of the creek, to wash clean some of the plates from lunch. As he did so he was talking to Michael Fitzhubert as he sat leaning against a tree. Albert looked up towards Michael.
“Them girls sure are making a racket,” he said, scrubbing away at one of the greasy dishes.
“It looks like it’s the dumpy one,” said Michael. “She just slipped and fell in the water. Have a look. Her friends are having a bit of difficulty getting her out.”
Albert put the plate on the ground and stood up to have a good look. The girls were only about fifty feet away, further down the creek from them and on the opposite side.
“Geez, that one with the black curls is a looker, don’t ya think?” said Albert.
Michael was mute, focussed on Miranda, the tallest of the group, with her long, golden hair sparkling in the early afternoon sun.
On the edge of the creek, Miranda and Irma were struggling to get Edith out of the creek and on her feet. Marion and Sara stood by laughing, enjoying every moment of her distress.
Albert had a thought.
“Hey Michael, what’s say we go down and offer them a hand. Come on.”
With that he started to head down toward the unfortunate Edith. As he got closer, he noted the small girl standing next to the older one on the side of the creek, both laughing. In a second it flashed in his head – Sara! He quickened his pace.
“Sara, Sara,” he shouted.
The young Sara looked away from the struggling Edith towards the sound of her name. She saw a young man running along the far side of the creek towards her.
“Bertie. Bertie!” she cried.
The three older girls looked up, and stood there, immobile. Miranda turned away from Edith, dropping her back in the water, and instead picked up Sara and set her down on the other side of the creek, without saying a word. Immediately the young girl sprinted along the creek’s grassy edge towards her brother.
Everyone looked on, as the two siblings met and embraced. Albert fell to the ground, with Sara holding on, as they rolled about for a moment, laughing.
“I’ve missed you so much, Bertie,” said Sara as she cuddled against the chest of her brother.
“You too sis,” said Albert. “If only I had of known you were at Appleyard, I would have been there in a flash.”
“Bertie, don’t ever leave me. Please,” she said, looking up at him.
“Never, sis, never again,” was all he could say, as he choked up.
Michael and the three older girls now joined them.
“So, this is your sister Albert?” Michael said in his usual formal manner. “It is very nice to meet you. Albert talks about you often.”
“Sara, how about introducing us?” said Irma with the widest of smiles on her face.
Sara turned and pulled the now embarrassed Albert over towards the three seniors.
“Albert, this is Marion, Irma and my best friend Miranda,” said Sara. “They have been very kind to me, and have all sorts of plans to get me away from the horrible Mrs Appleyard.”
The three girls smiled as they noticed the extreme embarrassment of Albert, not used to being so close to young ladies from the college. He tipped his head in recognition, and stepped back, closer to his friend Michael.
“Albert, can I invite you over to meet our teacher, Mademoiselle de Poitiers?” said Miranda. “She will be very glad to meet you at last, and also outline some of the plans we have for your much-loved sister.”
Albert looked to Michael for permission.
“Sure,” he said. “Off you go. I will tell the old folks of your wonderful fortune this St Valentine’s Day.”
After retrieving the now sodden Edith from the edge of the creek, the girls and Albert returned to the little section of the picnic ground where they had been sitting. Edith was cleaned as best she could be and wandered over to her own group of younger students. She lay down next to them and in a short moment was in a deep sleep.
Marion and Irma were similarly yawning, though they excitedly followed as Miranda introduced Albert to Mademoiselle and sat in as they discussed Sara’s immediate future. Albert was not informed at this stage of the mistreatment his sister had suffered at the hands of Mrs Appleyard, but down the track Sara did not hold back in letting him know. Fortunately, by then she was being taken care of by Mrs Valange, and her guardian was not so lack in ensuring that she received a good education, and her art lessons continued. Arrangements were made to meet up with them all on Easter Sunday, to not only celebrate, but also settle Sara’s immediate future.
Miranda and her two friends went back to their little area of the picnic ground whilst Sara, Albert and Mademoiselle continued to chat. They were all very tired.
“You rest now,” said Miranda. “I am just going over to speak with Mr Hussey about arrangements for the trip back to the college, and see when he is planning to leave. I understand the timepieces are not working today, so we will be guided by the sun in the sky.”
She walked past Mademoiselle towards where Mr Hussey was seated by the campfire, drinking a cup of tea. She nodded to him as she kept walking, towards the edge of the picnic ground where there was a small section of fencing and a large tree near a gate. As she got closer, she could see the familiar mauve coat of Avron.
 |
| Walter Crane, The guilefull great Enchaunter, 1895. |
“Hello,” she said as their eyes met. “Have you kept up to date? We have had a good day, and I think that Sara is now safe.”
“How are you feeling?” he asked. “You must be exhausted?”
“Yes,” responded Miranda. “But also elated. And especially happy to see you. Did you get Greta alright last night?”
“Yes, she is safely back at Whye. It was only a day or two that she was away, so all is fine on her end.”
Avron moved himself and Miranda behind the tree so as not to be seen by the picnickers.
“The queen has asked me to tell you that you can return to Arn at any time. We will welcome you,” he said.
“I know, and I know that Greta is happy,” was all Miranda could say, trying to deflect any words that would reveal her true feelings for Arn, and for Avron in particular. She was aware that Narwan hoped that she and Avron would wed, but the circumstances of her needing to leave were front and centre in her mind now. She knew she could not turn back at this stage, though the thought of never saying never was a phrase she found difficult to shake from her conscious thoughts.
“Marion and I have spoken of how she, too, can return to Arn, but will leave that to the holidays when she returns to New Zealand and you meet up with her,” said Miranda.
They both stood there for a long moment, looking at each other, with not a word said. Their hands joined and they felt a squeeze, with neither certain who had instigated it. They came together. Their kiss was long and as ecstatic as the first, just a few days previous. She welcomed it, as a warm feeling spread throughout her body.
“I must go,” said Miranda, breaking the silence. “Please thank Narwan for giving us back Sara, or, for at least not letting that horrible Mrs Appleyard take her away.”
She felt a tear trickle down her left cheek.
“Perhaps I will see you again sometime, at Goondawinda, with my friends up there.”
“Perhaps,” answered Avron. “My duties keep me busy, especially on the frontier. We have a troll problem at the moment.”
Miranda turned to walk away.
“Should I wait for you, Miranda?” he asked.
She turned back towards him, and with the slightest nod of her head, she mouthed the word “Yes.”
They parted and their eyes were opened once again to the events around them. They both moved out from behind the tree and, as Miranda looked ahead, she saw that everybody was now asleep, including her friends. Mademoiselle and Sara had walked off with Albert to talk to the Fitzhubert’s on the other side of the creek where the picnic ground extended.
Miranda walked back to where her friends were. She lay down beside them and, before too long, fell into a deep sleep. She dreamt of faeries, paths of light, magical realms, and a prince called Avron …..
Afterword
The Australian faerie tradition brings to mind Ida Rentoul Outhwaite's illustrated stories from the early 1900s, May Gibbs’ Gumnut Babies, Pixie O'Harris’ fairies, and a host of appropriated Indigenous myths and legends. Joan Lindsay’s Picnic at Hanging Rock has never been considered for inclusion. At least until now.
Published during 1967 without its original final chapter which featured a crab-like changeling, Picnic at Hanging Rock is now considered a classic of modern Australian literature. It is studied in school and at the tertiary level, and has been scrutinised, dissected, and discussed ad nauseam, from the halls of academia to the foyers of local cinema, often with the aim of solving the unsolved mystery, or simply to critically analyse the text regarding its origins, themes, and impact. This will surely continue, spurred on by the various filmed, television and stage adaptations and the iconic nature of Lindsay’s original publication. But the 1967 edition did not tell the whole truth.
The climactic final chapter was deleted due to censorial intervention by the publisher, who saw no place for it in an historical drama centred around the disappearance of three schoolgirls and their teacher from Hanging Rock on St Valentine’s Day, 1900. The above text redresses that deletion. It takes material from both the original 1967 Picnic at Hanging Rock and the deleted final chapter, published as The Secret of Hanging Rock in 1987, following the death of the author. The intriguing mystery surrounding the disappearances supposedly remained unsolved at the hands of Lindsay, despite the added information contained within the original manuscript written in a single week during the winter of 1966. The present author has taken the liberty of combining elements of both publications and, consistent with what was contained therein, extending the story by placing it in the context of an encounter with the faerie realm. This aligns with the foundation Lindsay put in place, and the very reason her publisher’s editorial team rejected the final chapter. What is presented here is a fantastical extension, a fairy tale if you like, but one based on what the current author believes was Lindsay’s original intent. Of course, it substantially derives from the present author’s imagination, based on the seeds of truth planted by Lindsay.
Joan Lindsay never specifically referred to the faerie realm in Picnic at Hanging Rock or The Secret of Hanging Rock, though elements are clearly present. Even her somewhat conservative literary agent tweaked to the mystical aspects at the centre of the novel, before becoming aware of the deleted chapter. The faerie element is most obvious in the appearance of the crab-like changeling, encounters with an energy-emitting monolith and floating hole in space, the discovery of the schoolgirl Irma a week later in a condition which reflected a single night in the bush, and the inexplicable nature of the disappearances. Lindsay’s recognition by friends as a person with psychic abilities, her engagement since early childhood with spirits of other dimensions, and a belief in, and understanding of, the fluidity of time, point to knowledge of faerie, nature spirits, and the extra-dimensional nature of the faerie realm. In the tradition of J.R.R. Tolkien’s The Lord of the Rings, the Australian author offered a version of her own real and lucid experiences in the form of a novel, digestible for all. Yet, buried in amongst the pages of the original Picnic at Hanging Rock manuscript was a truth visible only to those few who knew it, or had experienced it themselves. It was literally hidden in plain sight.
Picnic at Hanging Rock as faerie is presented within Path of Light as both personal reaction to the original text, and fantastically logical explanation for all that happens within. The veritable grain of salt offered by the present author is, in this instance, a grain of sand, flowing down from a boulder atop Hanging Rock and covering a hole through which two girls and a changeling disappear into the faerie realm, supposedly forever. What other explanation could there possibly be that addresses who Joan Lindsay was, and what she wrote……
Last updated: 11 October 2023
Michael Organ, Australia
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