After about an hour of walking, Almaric pointed between the two moors they were approaching. “Just over these hills, my lady. Not an hour’s walk more, and we shall be at the Wandwright’s doorstep.”
Holly doubted they could be over the moors in an hour’s time. They were considerably higher than any they’d hiked the day before, and covered in slippery moss and large stones. At times Holly bent nearly to the ground, grasping rocks to haul herself up. Even Almaric, who seemed to mind nothing, huffed and blew, driving his walking staff deep into the ground with every step.
The woods disappeared. The landscape grew harsh. The rocky hills were covered with a coarse, spiky grass. Even the tiny white flowers of heather were gone. Overhead, clouds hung low and dark. The wind picked up.
At the summit Holly pulled off her flimsy leather shoes to massage her feet. Almaric sat down too.
“See there, Lady Holly,” he said, pointing into the valley. Off to the north another bleak hill loomed. “Just near the foot, on the eastern side of the moor. That is the Wandwright’s home.”
“Are you certain, Almaric?” Ranulf said. “The crystal shows this very spot?”
“Oh, I am sure of it.”
“But how can you tell?” Holly asked. “All these hills look the same. Why couldn’t it be farther on, over another rise, in another valley?”
“Well . . . ”
“The crystal must mark the way,” Holly prompted. “Right? Like on a map?”
“Not . . . not exactly.”
The others stared at the old man. Ranulf swished his tail.
“That is, certain points, landmarks, were indicated. . . . For example, the wood where we spent the night . . . and then not much more after that. This does look like the spot. . . . ”
“As could a dozen others. Her Ladyship speaks rightly,” said Jade. “We will waste time traversing the east side of the moor if the Wandwright is not there. I propose that I make haste to the far rise alone and seek her out. If her home be there.”
“It’s not a bad plan,” Almaric admitted.
“But how will you signal us if she’s there?” Holly asked. “We need a flare gun or something.”
“Take the firestarter,” Almaric suggested, digging through his rucksack.
“He can’t use that,” said Holly. “His paws can’t pull those tinsel things.”
“Humans have their ways of manipulating magic,” said Jade. “We cats have our own.” He took the little gray egg in his mouth (being careful to avoid touching the bright ends with his whiskers) and bowed to her. Then, in a flash of black fur, he was gone over the rise and across the open moorland. After a moment, Holly couldn’t see him anymore.
She picked up her shoes to lace them on again, but when Ranulf noticed the cuts and blisters on her heels, he insisted that she ride. She felt guilty—a centaur hardly seemed the same as a regular horse—but Holly didn’t see how she could refuse. She gripped Ranulf’s flanks with her knees and leaned back to help him balance on the steep hill.
The descent took all their attention, Ranulf zigzagging this way and that to find the safest path. Almaric followed their steps, sometimes grabbing on to a scrubby tree to steady himself. At one point, his foot found a rock that tumbled loose, and he slid several yards in front of them. Holly cried out, but he righted himself and smiled back at her. “No fear, Lady Holly! It would appear I found the fleetest route!”
It was just as the ground began to level out, with the vast moorland stretched before them, that Holly saw something bright and orange against the far hill on the right side, just barely grazing its top.
“Was that the signal? Ranulf, did you see?”
“Aye, my lady.” The centaur sounded skeptical. “It appears Jade has found the Wandwright.”
“Splendid!” said Almaric. “I was certain this was the right way.”
Holly squinted. “But didn’t you say she was on the other side of the hill? That signal came from this side, near the south end.”
“No doubt Jade came back round to cast the signal, in case it carried not high enough. Eh, Ranulf?”
“If in fact it was the signal.”
“Of course it was! What else could it be? We must press on. Flat land ahead—we shall make good time.”
Jade had streaked through the valley, but it was slower going for the rest of them, for parts of the ground were marshy and Ranulf had to divert them a good bit to the east. After half an hour they had gotten no closer, but at least the ground had dried out. Almaric sighed and said, “There now, I think we’re coming to the end of it.”
Another orange spark flared against the moor’s mud-colored sides. Holly remembered the firebursts she had seen that morning and the day before, with the knights. “Could someone be making camp over there?” Holly asked.
“There is no smoke,” said Ranulf.
Holly wrapped her arms around her chest. The sun had faded behind the clouds, and a stiff breeze whipped around the stark moorland. She kept her eyes on the hillside as they approached it. Soon they were within a ten-minute hike of its base, and again she saw two bursts of flame, just together.
“That can’t be Jade,” she said in a low voice in Ranulf’s ear.
“Aye, my lady, it appears to be something else altogether.”
“Then what’s happened to him?”
“That was not the firestarter, by the crystal,” Almaric exclaimed as another fireball erupted.
“It is perchance an enemy. Lady Adept, pray—”
“Right behind you.” Holly slipped from Ranulf’s back and pulled the bow from her shoulder. She fitted an arrow to the string.
“We are too exposed here,” said Ranulf.
Almaric moved closer to them, shielding Holly from the other side. “Whoever it is, they’ve seen us by now,” she said. She glanced around. There was no cover, no woods to run to.
“Then we have no choice but to face them. Lady Holly, you should ride, for if we need flee—”
“I’m an easy target if I do,” she said, crouching low. Her dun-colored clothes blended—she hoped—into the high grasses.
They crept stealthily now, though nothing could shield the centaur from plain view. Holly walked behind the others, her bow aimed between them. Her hands grew stiff holding it steady, but she didn’t dare relax. The fireballs shot into the air like small, silent explosions every minute or two. And still, even within fifty yards, they couldn’t tell what was making them.
“It is a campfire,” Holly said doubtfully as they came upon it.
But it was no ordinary fire. The stones ringing it were large and smooth, like river rocks, each marked with a rune like those carved into the trees back in Hawkesbury. The flames fed on some invisible fuel, changing color from amber to red to indigo. Occasionally, a lick of flame geysered into the air. These were the fireballs they had seen from across the valley.
The three stood silent for a moment, though it felt like much longer. It was hard to look away from the flames. They were so bright they stung Holly’s eyes, but after a little bit she adjusted to them. The next moment, she thought she saw . . .
“Something moved in there! Did you see?”
“What is it, Almaric?” Ranulf whispered. “A firenest? The Cináed?”
“It doesn’t look like the one Ignata tried to take me to,” said Holly.
“They are always concealed in the wood,” said Almaric. “This is . . . meant for us, I think.”
“Then the more care be taken,” said Ranulf.
Holly gazed into the center of the flames. “I’m sure I can see something moving. And can’t you hear that?”
The others quieted, listening to the roar as the fire devoured the air around it. They glanced at each other and shrugged, but Holly could hear something more—a song. The longer she stared into the ring of stones, the louder the song grew. The mournful notes sounded like Uilleann pipes. She walked closer.
“My lady! Take care!” Ranulf called sharply.
T
he urgency in his voice seemed unimportant. The song was so beautiful. Holly stared into the fire’s white-hot center. There, as the music swelled, she saw it quite clearly: a creature.
It looked like a gecko, perhaps six inches long, with a whiplike tail. As Holly watched, its sparkly white scales blossomed to a deep gold. The lizard faded to white again, then gold, like a pulse, or no: like breath. The creature was changing color in rhythm to Holly’s own lungs.
It crawled about in the flames as naturally as a dog turning around in its bed. Holly leaned in closer. The gecko turned its triangular head toward her. Its bulbous eyes glittered in a hundred different variants of gold and amber. It wanted something from her.
Holly had the vague notion that both Ranulf and Almaric were shouting now, but they sounded far away. She heard the words test and magic and Adept, then help and aid. The five words circled her ears, but after a moment, a strange thing happened: She forgot what they meant.
The firesong changed. The notes became a kind of language, more ancient than the ground she stood upon, and they called to Holly. As she stared at it, the fire creature’s eyes started to grow. They expanded to fill her entire field of vision. Nothing was left in the world but the stones and the flame and the song and the great eyes of the creature. Holly reached out her hands, though she couldn’t see them in front of her.
The breeze, the gray moorland, the others’ voices all vanished. She had walked into the fire, she supposed, but the thought didn’t frighten her. The dancing flames rose in a great circle around her in violet and gold. A pleasant warm wind blew back her hood.
The creature was the size of a small dog now. Its iridescent scales pulsed white-hot to gold in time to her breathing, deep and slow, as if she were asleep.
Somewhere in her brain buzzed the idea that she should be afraid, but the warm air spread through her like summer sun, soothing her. Still, the song was asking for something. The creature needed her. She crouched and held out her arms. The lizard crawled into her lap and she stood up, cradling it. At once the song grew louder, triumphant, and Holly closed her eyes. The glow deep inside her, the warmth that seemed to be waiting for a wand, intensified. It was like being bathed in the sun. She took a few steps forward.
A chill, harsh breeze washed over her, and her eyes flew open. She stood again on the open moorland. Her arms were empty; the creature had disappeared. What was worse, so had everyone else.
Chapter 32
* * *
The Wandwright
Holly whirled around. “Ranulf? Almaric? Is anyone here?” Her voice bounced off the nearby hills. The valley was deserted.
The fire had gone out. Not even a whisper of ash remained. Holly knelt and touched one of the stones. It felt cold, and when she drew back, it vanished. The other stones followed, each disappearing in turn. Soon nothing remained but dust.
You might think Holly would begin running around in hysterics, screaming for help. But the moorland had an odd effect on her. She was quite tired from all the walking and the fire and now the desolate feeling of being alone; so she sat down on the coarse grass and pulled off her thin shoes to inspect her feet.
The soles of her feet were smooth and pink. She peeled off the bloody bandages, but the skin was perfect underneath. The fire did it, she thought, though that made no sense.
“What’s happened here?”
She spoke this aloud, and at the same instant, something grabbed onto her right shoulder. She yelped and spun around, but no one was there.
Then she felt it: a weight clinging to her shoulder blade. Something huge, bigger than a bee or a spider, but she couldn’t quite see it. “Get off me!” she cried, batting at it. Finally she heard a thump as it hit the ground behind her. She whirled around.
It was the creature from the fire.
Quite small now, and harmless looking, its amber scales glittered as if covered in sequins. It blinked enormous, golden eyes at her. And—Holly blinked back—could those be tears?
A pang of remorse stung Holly. She sat down, and the creature immediately crawled onto her lap. Gingerly, she touched its smooth back. One of its feet splayed its long, sticky toes on her upturned palm.
“You came from the fire,” she said. “I know what you are. You’re a salamander.”
The creature flicked out its thin, orange tongue.
“Do you understand me? Show me. Walk in a circle.”
The creature bowed its head, stepped out of Holly’s lap, and traced a circle in the dust.
Holly picked it up and stood, finally considering her situation. She spoke aloud to the salamander. “All right, I was standing right here, with Almaric and Ranulf. We saw you in the fire, and I guess I walked into the fire, but I can’t see how. . . . But then what happened? Did I go through to some other place?”
It wasn’t as strange an idea as you might think, since Holly had come into Anglielle through a kind of doorway, and she thought the fire might be a portal as well. But the fire was gone. She shivered in the cold breeze. The salamander crawled up and perched on her shoulder, warming her neck. The sun was a thin silver disk behind the clouds. It was clearly still morning, yet it felt like hours had passed.
She tightened the leather lacings of her shoes. Almaric had said the Wandwright lived on the other side of the moor. Holly would have to find her.
She had not taken two steps before the ground trembled with hoofbeats. She tensed. There wasn’t a tree or even a shrub to hide behind. The salamander tightened its grip on her shoulder. Holly flattened herself against the swell of the hillside, not making a noise.
A moment later relief flooded through her as Ranulf galloped up through the valley. But before she could call out to him, something jolted her shoulder. She glanced at the salamander. It extended a foreleg toward the centaur, and at once flames sprung up in front of Holly. She whirled around. They enclosed her on every side.
“Lady Holly!”
“I think it’s all right, Ranulf,” she said. She realized what the creature was trying to do. “He’s a friend,” she told the salamander. “Let me go.”
The flames shot into the sky with a roar, fused into a ball, and fell straight toward her. She staggered as the fireball flew back into the creature. It glowed brightly for a moment, then faded.
“Lady Holly!” Ranulf stepped closer. “Are you well?”
“Yes, I’m fine. I’m so glad to see you! I went into the fire, and when I came out, you were all gone.” She hugged the centaur around his waist.
“Apologies, my lady. We essayed to call you out, and when we could not, we went for aid. Come and see.”
Holly’s knees trembled a little. She hadn’t realized how frightened she’d been, finding herself alone. She took Ranulf’s hand and followed him around the slope into a deep valley on the other side. The centaur turned her to face the moor.
Holly knew right away that this was the home of the Wandwright. The thatched cottage nestled against the slope above a steep drop into the valley below, where a river had cut a shallow gorge. But while the moorland was gray and cold, the Wandwright’s cottage glowed on a carpet of bluebells and soft green grass. Gentle wisps of pink rosebay willowherb grew on either side of the arched wooden door. Though well kept, the house had an air of being long abandoned; yet smoke rose from the thick stone chimney, and the path was swept.
“Is . . . Is anyone here?” Holly asked, confused.
“ ’Tis a trick of the mind. Most who pass here scarce take note of this cottage, for it seems a part of the moor itself.”
Holly dropped the centaur’s hand and stepped around the stone path, following the gentle cataract. She glanced behind her. “We didn’t see a river on our way here. Where’s it coming from?” she asked.
“The land itself is a servant of the Wandwright,” Ranulf said, as if that explained it.
“The Lady Holly at last! We had near given up hope for you!” Almaric scurried out of the cottage with Jade in his wake. “By the king’s beard!” Almar
ic blinked at the creature on Holly’s shoulder. “You have captured it! Well done, Lady!”
“Do you know what it is, Almaric?”
“It is an ancient creature, much sought after. Very rare indeed. It is called . . . A moment now, I shall think of it. . . . ”
“It is the Golden Salamander.”
The voice that spoke was soft, but it silenced everyone. The air itself became still, and even the river was quiet. At the door of the cottage stood the Wandwright.
She was at least seven feet tall, and very thin. She wore a long gown that looked like liquid silver poured over her head. Holly blinked. However regal, the Wandwright seemed not quite present, like a hologram. Her silver hair was wound on top of her head, and though her face was smooth, her gray eyes were ancient.
Without thinking, Holly dropped to one knee.
“Rise, Adept.”
“I’m Holly,” she said, wishing her voice didn’t sound so small.
“Welcome. I am the Lady Belisanne, called the Wandwright.” The lady inclined her head. She spoke in a soft, measured tone, treating each word with care. “Curious,” she said. “You have knowledge outside this realm, yet you are of this realm.”
“But I’m not,” Holly blurted, then blushed. “I mean, I came from somewhere else.”
“And yet not,” the Wandwright insisted. “Come. I would hear the tale of this Adept.” The Wandwright passed under an arbor that stood on one side of the cottage. She glided rather than walked, as if her feet hardly needed to touch the ground.
“Have no fear, my lady,” Jade said in a low voice, following Holly. “The Wandwright is not an enemy.”
But as Almaric had said, she wasn’t exactly a friend, either. On the other side of the arbor Holly was surprised to find a garden ringed by trees. A small table set with a tea service sat on a stone patio. “Sit,” Belisanne told her, pouring a cup of tea. “Tell your tale.”
Holly settled on one of the benches with Jade at her feet. She hardly knew how to begin.
The Key & the Flame Page 21
