The Key & the Flame

by Claire M. Caterer

  Everett started to argue, then remembered the staircase that Sol had conjured from the tower window. “You can help us escape, you said. And find Holly?”

  “All in good time. I fly shielded by fire and have seen the Adept on her journeys. She will attempt to forge another wand this day, in the company of allies. If she be successful, she will essay to rescue you as hath been foretold.”

  “Hang on. Holly’s got another wand now?” Everett bristled a little. No matter where Holly went, people just gave her whatever she wanted. But it didn’t really matter, he thought; after all, he would be learning magic too. “Does she know about the tournament?” he asked.

  “ ’Tis at that very hour she will strike.”

  “But that’s brilliant!” Everett said. “Holly can use her new wand to take us home. She’s the one who’s so clever with it.”

  “But take heed, my lord,” said the fairy. “You have promised the prince a journey to your world. This vow you must not break.”

  Everett cleared his throat, remembering how sensitive she was. “But I’ll need your help . . . please? I would be honored to have someone so beautiful as a teacher.”

  She flew from his knee and hovered again by his ear. “You have learnt well the art of flattery. Take this token of your lady’s favor, my lord.” From the air, the fairy produced a long scarf of red silk. “This you must keep with you always. It will grant you the power you seek over the wand.”

  Everett caught the fabric as it wafted through the air. “What do I do with it?”

  “Wrap it round the hand that wields the wand, and you shall be guided in all your endeavors, as I guided you in the prince’s chamber.”

  “You helped me make those fireworks?”

  “Alas, I cannot touch the wand,” said the fairy. “I only grant power to others.”

  Everett’s heart beat faster. He could make this whole thing work—the magic, the joust, Holly’s rescue, getting them home.

  “But there is a price, my lord.”

  In the distance, he saw Ben at the well, rubbing his runny nose on his sleeve. Ben would be dead if Everett couldn’t manage to pull this off. “Anything, I’ll do anything,” he said.

  Sol’s pointed face broke into a wide smile, but her eyes were cold. “I require the Adept.”

  “Hang on, what’s this?” said Everett, suddenly afraid. “You require her?”

  “She has power. And soon, a newly forged wand. She has a destiny to fulfill with the Good Folk. Deliver her to me, and all you desire shall be yours.”

  The little fairy’s eyes locked on to Everett’s own. He struggled to speak. In his head floated the words: Forget it, that’s rubbish, I won’t do it. Holly’s my friend, and Ben’s sister, and . . .

  The sounds around him faded—the chatter of Avery and Loverian; the rhythmic thumping of horses’ hooves; the clash of swords as the knights practiced their skills—a thousand summer noises silenced. Sol’s golden eyes filled his, and her hair swam through his fingers, soft as gossamer.

  In his hands, he could feel the power she had offered him. It would be so easy to accept. She only wanted a promise. They were just words, that’s all. One word, really, a word that slipped through his lips, sighing into the air almost before he realized it, before he recoiled, horrified at himself: “Yes,” he whispered.

  Something cold and wet splashed on Everett’s foot. He blinked and glanced around. Sol had vanished.

  “Sorry,” Ben said, putting down the sloshing bucket. “I figured we’d want something to drink.”

  “You were supposed to stay there awhile,” Everett said.

  “I was gone fifteen minutes.” Ben checked his watch, then frowned, pointing at the red scarf Everett was winding around his hand. “Is that a bandage? Did you get hurt?”

  “It’s nothing—I’m fine. I just found it in my pouch, is all.” But he felt strange, like a wild animal was caged deep in his chest. He tucked the end of the scarf into his sleeve. Already he felt different. Stronger. Something brushed his earlobe. He stayed very still, held his breath, and then he heard it, soft as a baby’s whisper:

  “The power is yours.”

  —

  Everett sat up straight on Buttercup’s back at one end of the tilt. He held the wand in his right hand, wrapped in the red scarf. A warm strength flowered in his chest, as if he had drunk something hot on a very cold day. It snaked down to the hand that held the wand. He would trust his instincts. He knew they would lead him right.

  “I want to try it with just the wand, no lance,” said Everett to Ben. “Oh, and I won’t need this.” He handed him the shield.

  Ben gaped at him. “You’ll get creamed!”

  Everett shrugged.

  “Everett, think on thy squire’s advice,” Avery said, glancing from Everett to Loverian, whose horse pawed the ground at the other end of the tilt.

  “I know what I’m doing.”

  Everett took a deep breath. His whole body tingled. Loverian leaned forward in the saddle, taller, stronger, and better trained. “Please don’t let me get knocked off,” Everett whispered.

  He swallowed and nodded to his opponent. Loverian spurred his horse, his lance held high in his right hand.

  Everett kicked Buttercup. She tensed, then broke into a gallop. He heard Ben and Avery gasp. No one had ever seen the little mare run like this.

  He could almost hear instructions in his head, coming from somewhere in that fire in his chest. Raise the wand. Strike the shield.

  He raised the wand high above his head. Loverian lowered his lance, his horse at a full gallop. Only ten yards away. His horse’s flanks glistened.

  Everett’s heart thundered in his chest.

  Now!

  He swung the wand in an arc like a lasso, then flung his wrist out, aiming the wand at the knight’s shield.

  The tip of Loverian’s lance sparked, and flames blazed down its length. The knight dropped it; his horse reared, its eyes rolling back. The flames billowed against the shield, then rebounded into the air, turning blue, then amber, trickling down in a shower of sparks. The knight’s horse threw its rider and galloped toward the stables.

  Through all of this, Everett was calm, as if watching someone else wield the wand. He wasn’t surprised when Loverian fell, but it was still alarming. Everett leaped off Buttercup and jumped over the tilt to where Loverian lay, not moving.

  Ben had run up too, his face very white. “What did you do to him?”

  “Is he all right?”

  “Hardly.” Ben patted the knight’s white face. “Can you hear me, Loverian? Wake up!”

  The other squires and knights gathered nearby, eyeing Everett. “Get me the bucket,” Ben said, and when Everett returned, Ben splashed the knight with cold water. “Come on, come on . . . ”

  After a moment, a groan came from Loverian’s chest. His eyelids fluttered.

  “You’re okay. You just got knocked out,” Ben said. “Careful, now. Not so fast.”

  But the knight was already sitting up. “My thanks, squire. I am not ill.” But he grimaced as he spoke. Ben soaked his handkerchief with well water.

  “Here, hold this against your head. Gosh, it’s a dangerous world without ice cubes.”

  Loverian did as he was told. He was in no hurry to stand up. Still, it could have been worse. Everett was surprised someone hadn’t already beheaded him for disabling the knight. He looked around for the prince and saw him hanging back under the poplar.

  “I’m sorry, Your Highness,” Everett said, running over to him. “I wasn’t trying to kill him.”

  Avery stared at him, his face a mask. Was he angry? Afraid? Impressed? “I—I just did the best I could. Sire.” It seemed a good time to bow.

  “Peace, Everett. Thou hast done what I have asked.” Avery took a deep breath, and his features relaxed. “Thy magic is formidable.”

  “Ben’s looking after him, I think he’ll be all right. See, he’s already come round—”

  “The knight
is not my concern.” The prince held out his hand, and Everett, understanding at once, handed him the wand. “It puzzles me. It is naught but wood.” Avery turned it over in his hands. “Thou wilt best every knight at the tournament, Sir Everett. And when the Adept comes, we shall follow her into the wood and she will lead us to this Other Place.” He fell silent, then spoke again, as if to himself. “I was told magic was foolish, a fairy tale. But such wonders do exist. I have long dreamt of magical worlds such as thine, but they were always denied me. The hours I spent studying my father’s nautical maps have come to nothing. I am not permitted even to travel the seas of my own world.” He slipped the wand carefully into his own pouch and fixed Everett with his blue eyes. “I have never tasted freedom. At last shall I see someplace beyond the walls of this castle. And thou, Sir Everett, shalt take me there.”

  Chapter 34

  * * *

  Forging the Wand

  Everett may have thought that magic rained on Holly like so much confetti, but she didn’t feel that way at all. Even now, as she prepared to forge her wand in the late-morning sun, the idea of being a real Adept made little sense to her. She was a bit frightened of the Wandwright, and not sure if even the others entirely trusted her. Ranulf seemed disappointed that Holly just wanted to use her wand to free the boys, not to overthrow the king. But perhaps once she had the wand, the Wandwright would initiate her somehow and she’d finally feel that she was ready to take on whatever task lay ahead.

  She could not have been more wrong.

  “It is vital,” said Lady Belisanne, “that the Adept choose her own herbs. It is my task to formulate them, but yours to choose them.”

  Holly and Jade stood with the Wandwright in the jumbled garden behind the cottage, where trees grew nearly as thick as a forest. Belisanne had consented to Jade’s presence, because he was Holly’s familiar, and Áedán’s, because he was bound to her. Almaric and Ranulf were not allowed.

  “One herb is chosen for each of the four elements,” said the Wandwright. “The stone, representing the fifth element, I have chosen myself. We begin with fire, as this is its season, and it is an element well suited to you.” She indicated the ground at Holly’s feet. “In fire’s garden, the herbs include blackthorn, gorse, juniper . . . ”

  They all sounded prickly and difficult, Holly thought.

  “All suited to Her Ladyship,” Jade commented.

  “ . . . and the holly.”

  “Shouldn’t that be it, Jade?” It was the only plant she recognized. “I pick this one.”

  The Wandwright handed her a drawstring pouch made of black silk, and a small pair of silver scissors. Holly clipped a sprig off the bush. “Is this enough?”

  “It is the choice of the Adept.”

  She took a deep breath. “Okay then.”

  The Wandwright led Holly into another section of the garden. “Here dwell the herbs of the water.”

  Holly snipped a long stem from a plant with tiny purple flowers. “Curious,” the Wandwright said. “Heather’s blooms do not oft appear before the sun’s zenith.” Holly took this as a good omen.

  They walked on to two more gardens. For the element of earth, Holly chose two pointy leaves and a yellow flower from the mugwort plant. For the element of air, she picked a long sprig of lavender, which the Wandwright called elf leaf. The farther they walked, the darker the forest grew, as if it were expanding with their every step. They stopped in a small clearing surrounded by a circle of seven trees. They looked like people frozen in a contra dance.

  “Wands are forged from wood, Lady Adept. Choose the wood with care.” The Wandwright stood aside and let Holly enter the clearing alone.

  She walked around the circle of trees. Her neck prickled where Áedán clung to it. Though the air was still, the trees’ leaves rustled. Holly placed her palm on one thin, sturdy trunk. The smooth bark swelled, then shrank, under her fingers. The change was small, but Holly recognized it: The tree was breathing.

  The seven trees clustered close enough together that Holly could reach out to touch the next before letting go of the first, and in this way she made her way around the entire circle. But how to choose? Some were very tall, others hardly more than a sapling. They all seemed to speak to her, but who was she to hear them? She’d have to just pick one and trust it to be right.

  Holly stood in the middle of the circle, closed her eyes, and listened. She heard nothing but the leaves of the trees rustling, but then the warmth in her chest spread to her limbs. She reached out her right hand and opened her eyes.

  She was pointing at an evergreen tree at the edge of the circle. It was at least thirty feet taller than all the others, and its bark was a rough reddish hue. Holly frowned, stunned for a moment. “Is that . . . ?”

  “It is the Redwood,” said the Wandwright behind her. “A very young specimen. Because it reaches such heights, it draws the powers of heaven to heal the earth.”

  “But . . . ” How could a redwood tree grow here, on the moorland? But Holly knew there was no answer that would satisfy a herbologist or university professor.

  “It offers protection, endurance, and survival. Its province is great wisdom and experience, which shall serve you well, Lady Holly.” Belisanne held out a very sharp, black-handled knife. “Cut a thin switch with great care, so as not to harm the tree.”

  Holly hesitated with the knife raised to the Redwood tree. Then quickly—like ripping off a Band-Aid—she sliced off a small branch. She closed her palm gently over the wound.

  The Redwood needles rustled in response.

  “The trees understand you, Lady Adept. They shall be your friends in your hour of need.”

  Holly stretched, feeling dizzy. “I’m sorry . . . Is there much more to do? I’m just so tired.”

  “Come and rest.”

  Holly’s limbs dragged as she followed the Wandwright back to the cottage garden, where Almaric sat talking with Ranulf. Belisanne walked to the sideboard under the eaves of the cottage and pulled out supplies, mixing something in a tall earthenware pitcher shaped like a tulip.

  “This is the nectar of the fireblossom,” said Belisanne, pouring Holly a cup from the pitcher. “It shall restore you. Sit and drink, but do not tarry long. The process cannot be interrupted.”

  Before Holly could take a sip, Jade thrust his whiskered face into the cup and sniffed. He glanced up at her and nodded, then withdrew. “Fireblossom.”

  Holly blushed, hoping the Wandwright wasn’t offended, but she only gave one of her almost-smiles. “Your familiar is most loyal,” she commented, and waited for Holly to finish the drink. It was cool and sweet going down, but once in her stomach its heat was almost painful. Still, that lasted only a moment, and the fatigue seeped from her bones.

  “Are you quite ready, Lady Holly?” Almaric asked, laying a wrinkled hand on hers.

  Holly had no idea how to answer, since she wasn’t sure what she was getting ready for, but the Wandwright nodded. “Come. We do not have the luxury of time.” As Jade leaped down from the table, Belisanne raised her hand. “I am afraid none but the salamander may join the Lady on this journey,” she said, and Holly cast a wistful glance back at him as she followed the Wandwright. She felt safer, somehow, with the black cat at her heels.

  The Wandwright led the way back through the garden into a forest glade. At first, Holly thought they had come back to the wandwood grove, but this circle contained only five trees, and they grew so dense that their intertwined branches blocked the sun overhead. The Wandwright laid a hand on Holly’s arm.

  “Lady Adept, together we shall forge the wand that is to be yours. The task is complex and dangerous. I cannot give you advance instruction, for this ritual is a guarded secret, and part of its trial is how well you adapt to it. Take my hands.”

  The Wandwright faced her at about arm’s length and held both of Holly’s hands in her own thin, cool ones. Belisanne closed her eyes, breathing deeply, and Holly, not sure what else to do, imitated her. As she breath
ed, a hundred thoughts raced through her head. What would everyone expect of her when this was finished? That she’d lead them into battle? Rid the kingdom of the hated Sorcerer? How would she get the boys out of the castle when it was overrun with tournament knights? But when she sensed the Wandwright’s breathing had eased, she opened her eyes.

  “Once traveled upon, this road cannot be retread. The ritual must be followed exactly. You shall come to no harm . . . if indeed you are a true Adept.”

  If.

  Together they entered the circle. It was dark and cool within. As they stood, it grew darker still.

  “Is it a storm coming on?” Holly asked.

  “It is the forging of an Adept’s wand,” said the Wandwright. They stood in the center of the ring near a low tree stump. The Wandwright took the Redwood switch Holly had cut along with the pouch of herbs and placed them in Holly’s left hand. Holly stepped back. She felt like the center of a large clock.

  The Wandwright’s voice deepened until it was nearly unrecognizable. “Look thou to the elements, Adept, for each serves thee, and thou shalt return their service.” The Wandwright approached one of the trees. At its base lay a cut log.

  “From the element of Fire, we seize passion and strength,” said Belisanne as she retrieved the log, then moved clockwise around the circle. She took a log from each tree in turn. “From the element of Water, we take clarity and intuition. From the element of Earth, the fertility of birth and death. From the element of Air, intellect and wisdom.”

  The Wandwright cradled four logs in her arms now, and stood before the fifth tree. “And from the Power of the Aether, we call up the magic of the Adepts, that most ancient of races, and we ask that power be granted to this initiate.”

  Lady Belisanne opened her arms. Holly waited for the logs to fall, but instead they floated in midair, then flew to the tree stump in the center of the circle, settling around it in a teepee shape. The Lady stood opposite Holly on the other side of the stump and bowed low to her. Holly bowed as well.

  “And now commences the Forging of the Wand, by the powers of Deas, Iar, Tuath, Airt, and Aethyr.” The Wandwright reached long white arms to the sky, and as she spoke, the tree stump burst into flames. Holly blinked at the bright golden light. As she watched, the fire’s core changed from red to orange, to green, blue, and a deep indigo, then back to red. It hurt her eyes to look at it.