The Language of Spells

by Garret Weyr

She looked up at his long neck and huge chin, thinking of how wonderful it would be when the dragons were freed.

  “Try to sleep,” Grisha said.

  She pretended to sleep, yet struggled to stay awake. She wanted her body to memorize the sound of Grisha’s breathing and the forest’s smell of spoiled oranges and cinnamon. It was important that she not forget a thing about her time with him—even the feel of damp air upon her skin. If everything went according to plan, memories would be all she had of him.

  In the morning, as if by agreement, they neither ate nor spoke, but filled the clay bottles. Maggie put them carefully into a canvas book bag and held it against her chest after taking her seat up on Grisha’s back. For now, there was nothing to be done but hold on and close her eyes.

  Grisha wasn’t sure if he was more worried about the potion working or not working. Either way, the outcome concerned all of Vienna’s dragons, so he knew he should tell their leader. Lennox might be old, his scales all white and silver, but he still served as their unofficial yet steady guide.

  If Grisha and Maggie’s plan worked, all those buried dragons would need help from those who’d stayed aboveground. If the plan didn’t work, Grisha would want to try again, but he’d want Vienna’s dragons to be involved.

  Lennox liked to sleep outside, as all dragons did, but he claimed to be too old to crave a high point. He preferred, he said, to wrap himself around the base of one of the many fountains or sculptures in the elaborate gardens of the Belvedere. He could stay there even during the day and, with his silver-white color, looked part of the marble.

  Grisha scaled down to almost human size and sat on one of the benches near the old dragon. He knew that as soon as he told someone what he and Maggie were hoping to do, their private quest would become very real. And he would be that much closer to never seeing her again.

  There was a slight movement at the corner of the fountain, and Lennox, in his soft yet mighty voice, said, “Benevolentia Gaudium, are you going to sit there all night or are you going to tell me why you’re here?”

  Grisha looked into the ancient dragon’s gold eyes and realized he was about to do something he’d never done before. In fact, the burning on his face announced that he was already doing it. He was crying.

  Lennox unwound himself from the fountain, but did not scale down enough to sit on the bench. Instead he curved around it, making a protective barrier and looking away so that Grisha might have some privacy as his grief burned its way out of his eyes. He could feel little blisters forming on the inside edges of his eyes and along his nose. That fact that his face now hurt made him cry even more.

  Ever so delicately, Lennox unfolded a wing and wrapped it around Grisha’s shoulders.

  “I’m sorry,” Grisha said, when the tears finally stopped. “I didn’t come here to weep like a baby.”

  “In point of fact, baby dragons don’t weep,” Lennox said. “It is generally only done by warriors who have suffered in battle.”

  “I didn’t know that,” Grisha said.

  “Yes, I imagine a lot of your education was cut short by that teapot.”

  Now the older dragon scaled down enough to sit on the bench. “Indomitus Ignis says you have been absent from your castle for several days,” he said. “Have you received a punishment from the D.E.E?”

  “No, that’s not it at all,” Grisha said. “It’s . . . Do you remember the other dragons? The ones whose eyes aren’t gold?”

  “Best not to think of them,” Lennox said. “Their fate has been sealed.”

  “Maybe not,” Grisha said, and told him all that he and Maggie had done and what they hoped would happen the next day. “I came here to ask that if she and I can free them, then will those of us with gold eyes protect and guide them?”

  Lennox was very still. Grisha could tell he understood the gravity of the request.

  “It would be a remarkable thing to have them back with us,” Lennox said. He spoke slowly and with care. “You were right to come. I will see that we take care of them.”

  “Thank you. I’ve been worrying over it all. They must be freed, no matter . . .” Grisha trailed off, not sure exactly how to phrase his hesitation.

  “But it is a lot to give up,” Lennox said. “We have all seen you and the girl child together. It used to be only on the battlefield that such a bond existed between us and a creature from the world of men.”

  “She would hate to fail,” Grisha said. “So I must hope.”

  “It’s a brave thing to do,” Lennox said. “It has been unbearable to think of our buried brothers and sisters.”

  Grisha shook his head against the idea that he was in any way brave.

  “Even if you and the girl child—” Lennox said, and Grisha interrupted.

  “Maggie,” he said. “If Maggie and me.”

  “Yes, of course. It is very unlikely that you and Maggie can free those tragic beasts. She has no training in magic. And you are both attempting to undo the work of an experienced practitioner.”

  “The water is the source of the forest’s magic,” Grisha said. “It will work. It must.”

  As hard as it would be never to see Maggie again, Grisha knew that failing to free the dragons would be worse.

  “And she is giving something up,” he said. “We know the rules.”

  “Sometimes those rules work for a novice and sometimes not,” Lennox said. “But no matter what happens tomorrow, you have already shown your special purpose.”

  “I haven’t done anything,” Grisha said. “If our plan works, it will be because of what Maggie does.”

  “Your father once came to me for advice,” Lennox said. “You had taken an extra twenty years to arrive, but your appearance gave no clue of special ability or fate. He was worried and wondered if he should hire a special teacher.”

  Grisha already knew that his birth had simply been one of magic’s odd turns. “They didn’t hire anyone,” he said.

  “I told him to wait and see,” Lennox said. “If magic had made you for a special purpose, it would present itself.”

  Grisha did not feel like talking about his parents. Or the fact that what had presented itself was a sorcerer and a teapot.

  “Of all of us, you are the only one who managed to remember,” Lennox said. “Of all of us, only you have really looked at this world of men instead of looking back on a world that used to be.”

  “Every one of us can look at the world,” Grisha said. “It’s not a special ability.”

  “Everyone can look at the world,” Lennox said. “But only those who pause to see what is wrong can change it.”

  That night, Grisha didn’t go home. Lennox remained in the garden and Grisha found his way to the Belvedere’s roof. He could see the Bristol and, just past it, tucked behind the Opera House, the Sacher. He thought of the many times when, as a teapot, he had stood guard in Ella and Rachel’s bedroom. Keeping watch didn’t mean that the person you loved knew you were there.

  “Good night,” he whispered, and, quite gently, blew out some smoke.

  He watched it float this way and that, until it faded, and disappeared.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

  THE EXCHANGE

  THEY HAD ARRANGED TO MEET TYR IN THE SMALL room at the U4 metro stop. Maggie carried one of the liters of water and an espresso cup. Grisha took charge of the other bottles. To carry them he had to scale down to a small-enough size that he could navigate the maze of hallways without walking on all fours. Under different circumstances, Maggie would have been amused by how short her friend was.

  When they arrived at the open, hot space, Maggie hardly noticed the heat. The dragons were all so beautiful. And soon, if all went well, they would be just as beautiful, but free.

  “How will they drink if they’re asleep?” she asked.

  “Our scales have a lot to do with our breath,” Grisha told her, “so if you pour the water on the dragons, it should work.”

  “I’d worry less about where to put the wat
er and more about what to do with all of them once they’re up,” Tyr said.

  “They’re going to be able to dig their way out, right?” Maggie asked.

  “Digging your way out of a place can be very upsetting,” Grisha told her, scaling back up to his normal size. “We’ll probably lead them out through the tunnels and then to the Stadtpark. They’ll adjust to the air and practice scaling. And then we can get dinner at the bar.”

  “You’ll have to feed them in shifts,” Maggie said. She tried to imagine so many dragons crammed up against the bar ordering drinks and food. It seemed impossible that she wouldn’t get to see it.

  “I want you to phrase your intention very carefully,” Tyr told her. “When you put the water on them, be very specific about what you want.”

  “I want the dragons to wake up and be free,” Maggie said.

  “Yes, of course,” Tyr said. “What I meant is that you should describe what you are giving up very carefully.”

  “Why? What do you mean?”

  “I mean exactly what I said,” Tyr told her, reminding Maggie of how annoying cats could be.

  “Only you know what is precious to you,” Grisha explained, “so in order for the water to work, only you can say what is being given away.”

  “I see,” Maggie said, afraid she might not be able to make the water work.

  “Just be honest,” Grisha said. “Magic can always sense deceit.”

  Maggie looked at all of the colors spread upon the ground and wondered if the dragons would be sorry not to have a chance to thank her. Or to tell her their stories. She desperately wanted to hear them, but unless she gave up that possibility, no one ever would.

  She would not think right now. Nothing good would come of thinking. “Let’s start.”

  “Wait,” Grisha said. “Wait. We have to say goodbye.”

  “No,” she said. “I won’t do that. You will always be with me, no matter what.”

  “We’re not going to be able to see each other again,” he said. “It’ll be as if I’m not there.”

  “It will never be like that,” Maggie said. “You will always be there because I know you’re there.”

  “You can’t take a part of my heart,” he told her. “You are a part of my heart.”

  Maggie simply looked at him. There was so much to say, but not nearly enough time. Grisha leaned forward and put his head gently against hers; first one side and then the other.

  “Thank you,” Maggie whispered to him. “Thank you.”

  “You’re going to have to help her start,” Tyr said, impatient with both of them.

  Grisha picked up one of the bottles.

  “Promise me you’ll make sure they’re all safe,” Maggie said.

  He nodded and poured water into the espresso cup while she looked carefully at the creatures on the floor. Silently at first, and then aloud, she offered up her intention.

  “To the world of magic: In return for freeing the dragons, I give you my first and only friend.”

  She watched the water slip from the cup over the first dragon, who was a marvelous combination of blue, yellow, and green. Slowly, she and Grisha moved among the sleeping dragons, pouring and placing and hoping that her offered exchange was as careful and honest as it needed to be.

  For the first twenty or so dragons, nothing changed. Maggie could still see Grisha, and none of the sleeping creatures had woken up. In spite of her very real disappointment, she couldn’t help but be relieved. There was no way to imagine a life without Grisha. Because of him, she had traveled without her father and remembered her mother. Plus, she had talked to enchanted cats and one ancient artisan. Along the way, Grisha had somehow helped her to be exactly who she was. She was sorry about the buried dragons, of course, but it was okay that the potion wasn’t working. Now she would spend her life as Grisha’s friend.

  Just as she was turning to tell him this, she saw a movement from the corner of her eye, and a blur of blue and yellowish green.

  The room was now completely empty save for a small cat and four clay bottles, one of them hovering in midair. She saw water pour from the bottle into the cup she held. She knew that Grisha’s paws held the bottle and what not being able to see those paws meant.

  “I guess it’s working,” Maggie said to Tyr.

  The bottle moved from just above her hand to two feet above the ground. Maggie saw how the water she released did not fall straight to the ground, but dispersed as if running over something solid.

  “Are they all moving, or only one at a time?” she asked Tyr, holding the cup out for more water.

  Tyr was silent.

  “Can you describe it to me?” Maggie asked. She felt her throat tighten. There was still no answer, so she took her hands away from the bottle and looked at the cat.

  “What’s wrong with you? Cat got your tongue?” She laughed, quite pleased with herself, but Tyr remained silent.

  Of course. Why hadn’t she realized that might happen? In giving away her ability to see dragons, she’d also given up being able to talk to cats, enchanted and otherwise. The world of magic was no longer open to her.

  The bottle nudged her and slowly she went back to the task at hand, working until all four bottles were empty and the last one was placed gently on the ground.

  When she found herself just outside of the Stadtpark, leaning against a gate and with no idea of how she had gotten there, Maggie wasn’t too terribly surprised. Girls who can’t talk to cats or see dragons probably can’t remain in rooms and tunnels built by those same dragons. Her eyes stung and there was a terrible tightness in her chest.

  Someday, she told herself, she would travel to London and look for Yakov Merdinger’s great-grandchild. With any luck, Nadia would turn out to be like Ella and able to spot a dragon no matter how old she got. The two of them would sit over a pot of tea every afternoon and eat biscuits. Eventually, Grisha would find them and Maggie would talk to him through Nadia. He would tell her all of his stories and she would tell him hers.

  In spite of or maybe even because of this imagined rosy picture, Maggie put her hands over her face and cried until her head hurt. It was the sort of crying that makes it hard to breathe and causes headaches that throb and stab.

  Not one person walking by seemed to notice, and for once she was glad that so few people paid attention to things they didn’t care about. She wiped her eyes and a feeling of softness settled over her. She was reminded of when she’d seen her mother’s paintings in Rome and Grisha had put his paw on her shoulder.

  “Grisha?” she asked in a quiet voice. How still would she have to be in order to sense the presence of a creature she could no longer see?

  Maggie knew that she might be able to ask Alexander to find Grisha, but for now she needed to keep private what she’d done. Giving up her ability to see or talk with Grisha was the first decision she’d made without asking her father’s advice.

  The consequences would be hers to face alone.

  Slowly, Maggie made her way to the lobby of the Sacher and asked that a pitcher of ice water and two aspirin be sent to her room. Once upstairs, she opened all the windows to let in some fresh air. She stood in front of her pajama drawer for a long time before deciding to leave her stuffed rabbit in peace.

  From her window, she could see the tops of the trees lining the Kärntner Ring. The leaves no longer held the rich, deep green of summer, but they had yet to turn the brilliant colors of fall. She watched as the last bit of light left Vienna’s sky and a soft, mournful blue-gray blanketed the city’s buildings and boulevards.

  When Alexander opened her door, asking if she wanted to come down to the bar with him, she shook her head, saying she was too tired.

  “What shall I tell Grisha?” he asked.

  “Grisha will understand,” she said. “Good night.”

  She imagined Thisbe on the roof of the D.E.E., looking at the very same sky, wishing she could see Tyr. Maybe news of Leopold’s death had reached Thisbe and she was alr
eady packing up and planning a new life for herself and Theodora.

  Or Leopold might still be alive, and Thisbe still at the D.E.E. Maggie hoped that whatever the cat’s fate, Thisbe was pleased that what she and Tyr had tried to do forty years ago was now done.

  Eventually, when tiredness and hunger finally overcame her, Maggie put herself to bed for the first time since Alexander had hired Grisha. She drew her knees up under her chin and leaned against the pillows on her bed.

  Somewhere, because of her, seventy-two dragons were awake and alive in a world not quite willing or ready to accept them. They would settle in bits of forest or empty buildings.

  Maggie would never know exactly what became of Vienna’s dragons, and because of that she’d always be less herself, but also so much more.

  “Good night, Grisha,” she said.

  After all, even when you can’t see it, magic is still there, tucked into shadows and corners. It’s visible, but only if you look.

  ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

  Holly McGhee helped me to find the story, Taylor Norman created a viable structure, Katie Harnett captured Vienna, and Jennifer Tolo Pierce pulled it all together. Tara Nicole Weyr, Katie Smythe Newman, and Christine Marshall each provided places to write. I am grateful beyond measure. Mary Ciuk reminded me that I knew dragons. For that and much else, thank you.

  GARRET WEYR is the author of six novels, some of which have been banned, translated into a multitude of languages, and/or included in college curricula. She has an MFA from NYU and grew up in New York City. She now lives in Venice, California, with lots of books and too many teacups.

  KATIE HARNETT is an illustrator based in the UK. She was the recipient of the Bologna Children’s Book Fair Ars in Fabula Grant Award in 2015, and her work has twice been selected to be exhibited in the Illustrators’ Exhibition at the Bologna Children’s Book Fair.