I don’t remember falling asleep. I remember the gentle whispering of the branches on the workbench, and then I was dreaming that I was in deep forest while the trees whispered around me. The sky was red as blood, and there was a small animal lying on the ground, still and silent. A moment of tense quiet fell as I knelt to touch it, all stiff and cold in the grass, then a great disembodied screaming began. When I woke, whimpering, Bastian was human and his arms were wrapped around me, his voice whispering comfort and nonsense in my ear. I gave a smothered sob of relief and turned in his arms so that I could cling with one arm around his neck while I buried my face in his chest again. It was less hairy and comforting than wolf-Bastian’s chest, but it was warm and I could feel his heart beating.
I fell asleep again with his voice murmuring in my ear. This time, my dreams were clear.
The salamander was sitting amidst the glowing embers when I woke the next morning. I was uncomfortably warm. The fire had heated the room considerably overnight, and I was still curled up with Bastian, who seemed to radiate heat from his fur. His snout snuffled somewhere in my hair as I shifted, tickling my neck, and I hunched my shoulders, giggling.
Bastian groaned and said: “Stop fidgeting, little witch,” without opening his eyes. I extricated myself from the one, heavy paw that was flopping over my stomach, and tugged sleepily at the tapes of Akiva’s hood. They untied easily, and the hood slipped from my shoulders. It made a little pile beside me, but it was only after I heard someone shuffling in the kitchen that I realised what this meant. I sprang to my feet with a yell, and Bastian rolled over with a startled yelp of his own.
“Akiva!”
“Who else?” said Akiva irritably.
“Mara let you go?”
Her brows rose. “You’re well informed. Child, is that any way to treat my hood?”
As she shook it out, she cast a sharp glance at Bastian. “I see you’ve made yourself quite at home, wolf.”
“Last night was a seventh year at full moon,” Bastian said, between his teeth. “If you don’t know better than to let a child wander deep forest on that particular anniversary, I do.”
Akiva eyed him narrowly, then nodded. “I’m in your debt, wolf. I was unavoidably absent, and I’m grateful you happened to be near. But my injunction still stands, as of dusk tonight. I’ll thank you to be off my wardship by then.”
To my surprise, Bastian took this in perfectly good grace. I did not.
“Why does Bastian have to leave?” I demanded. It wasn’t fair.
“You, my child,” said Akiva briefly and crushingly: “Will be told what you need to know, when you need to know it. Sit down. Eat. I suppose the wolf had better have something, too.”
As she’d done that first morning after I used magic, Akiva had cooked bacon and eggs and sausages. I beamed and took my place at the table with aplomb, but Bastian said: “I’ve used my allotted time already. The food wouldn’t agree with my wolf stomach.”
“I think something can be arranged,” Akiva said, and twitched a great big something in the room. The next moment, Bastian was standing and in his human form, looking exceedingly surprised and not a little bewildered. Akiva drew a deep breath, let it out in an unladylike huff, and said: “There you go. Consider it a thank you. Just be warned: it won’t last as long as it usually does.”
When we were done with breakfast, Akiva sat back with a satisfied sigh and said briskly: “Very well, child; let us see the extent of the damage. You can do the dishes, wolf.”
I couldn’t help glancing apprehensively over at the peach-tree workbench, and Akiva followed my gaze sardonically.
“That’s as good a place to start as any. What on earth possessed you to quicken dead wood?”
I reddened and explained about the vial, but Akiva began to snort with laughter halfway through my explanation, and I stopped short, unsure whether to be offended or sheepish.
“You foolish child!” she said, cackling to herself. “I expected at the very least that the house would have vanished into deep forest, and that I would have to pull it out again, not to mention all the garden beds that are only half there. As far as I can see, the worst casualties are the bench and your hair. I was expecting to be let go a little sooner, I must admit.”
I curled the toes of one foot thoughtfully against the floorboards and frowned. “But what about the salamander and the little green deer? Your workbench is flowering and growing peaches.”
“Yes, the bench could have been better thought out. You must have pushed a lot of life into that old thing to make it flower like that. As I’ve told you before, child: everything in moderation. You don’t have to bellow to be heard.”
My face was hot, then cold. “You mean you’re not going to send me away?”
“I’d only have to train somebody new,” Akiva told me, giving her own peculiarly dry chuckle. “And goodness only knows what mistakes they’d make: I’m too old and set in my ways to start out again. Better the devil you know, as they say. Now, let’s see about getting rid of some of the more exotic animals in the garden.”
We spent the rest of the morning chasing queer creatures around the garden while Akiva set magic-laced traps to send them back to their original habitats. Only the salamander and the two green deer refused absolutely to be sent back. Leaping high and nimbly, the deer refused to allow themselves to be caught. Even when Bastian reverted to wolf before them they were unafraid, and capered around him until I was breathless with laughing.
Bastian was stiff with outrage. He growled at one of the deer, but it only sailed over his head with a gleeful leap, and he sat back with a snarl.
“I give up. The creatures are incorrigible!”
He stared balefully at me as I wheezed with laughter, but Akiva said briskly: “No matter. They give an uncommon milk I’ll be glad to have.”
Neither would the salamander be displaced: it would not leave the fireplace, and when Akiva attempted to pick it up, it began exuding a truly scorching heat. Now that I was no longer warden I couldn’t see exactly what happened, but Akiva seemed to be trying to counter the heat with her own magic, her hands steady around the salamander’s glowing skin. The salamander clicked in annoyance, turning almost translucently white, and Akiva dropped it with a grunt of surprise.
“Cheeky!” she scolded, examining her heat-pinked hand. The salamander curled up again smugly. It knew very well that she was more amused than annoyed.
She sat back on her heels and said matter-of-factly: “That’s that, then. It could have been worse, I suppose. You do seem to attract the more dangerous of the magical entities.”
But she seemed rather approving than otherwise, and I wasn’t crushed. Besides, I liked the salamander: and later that day, when we were drinking our tea in front of the fireplace, Akiva stretched out her feet to the warm glow of the salamander with every sign of enjoyment.
Bastian had gone by then, leaving me feeling oddly lonely. I think it was that slightly forlorn feeling that made me do what I hadn’t really intended to do, and ask about going to Gilbert’s party.
Akiva looked momentarily surprised, and then said: “Ah. Kelsey’s nephew. Well, why not? You can take a basket from me to Gillian– Gilbert’s mother,” she added, at my inquiring look. “You may stay on as long as you like: after last night nothing in the forest should frighten you too much. I do apologize for that, child; I was locked in stone, away from anything live. I couldn’t so much as send Gwydion to help.”
“Bastian helped me,” I said, swirling lukewarm tea in my sturdy little mug. I wanted very badly to know why Akiva had sent Bastian away. Instead, I said curiously: “Why did they let you go so soon?” Mara had seemed as though she were prepared to incarcerate Akiva until the culprit was caught, or Akiva actually proved to be the culprit.
“Gwydion found traces of Kendra in two other wardships as well as mine, and Mara can’t imprison Gwydion and Tancred as well as David and I. That’s too much forest for Mara to care for alone.”
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br /> “Not to mention crazy Cassandra darting about,” I added, suddenly even more thankful that Akiva was back. I had been too busy these last two days for idle speculation, but now I found myself wondering: if Akiva had been gone much longer, just how long would it have taken for Cassandra to pay me another visit?
Chapter Nine
Akiva began to teach me magic the next day. She called it learning a thing or two, but we both knew it for what it was, regardless.
First it was learning to raise witchlight, then how to keep the balance in Akiva’s multi-layered garden; and finally, how to keep the cottage in its place in the forest. It was in this way that I learned just how far into deep forest we were if the paths were gone, and how frightened I should have been when the paths disappeared that first time.
When I asked Akiva about the sudden change in routine, she said: “Something’s brewing and I may not be able to be here as often as I would like.”
To my great joy, she added: “Besides, it’s about time I made up my mind if you’re to be my successor or not, and I rather think you will be.”
But by the time Gilbert’s party was drawing near and I could still only raise the dimmest and most elementary of witchlight, I was feeling sulky and decidedly sorry for myself. In a fit of petulance, I exploded my latest, pitiful attempt into sparks, and demanded to know why she had chosen me as her successor.
“Oh, you’ll never be an enchantress,” Akiva said coolly, twitching something in my magic into the correct position. “You’ll just have to resign yourself to being ordinary, my child: you’ve a small talent and no more. Fortunately great magical talent is not a necessity for wardens.”
“But you and Cassandra are so strong.”
“It helps, but it is not absolutely necessary. Which,” she added frankly, “Is a very good thing for you.”
I nodded glumly, not really surprised. I knew that I would never achieve more than mediocrity when it came to practical magic. I had seen in both Akiva and Cassandra a depth and talent that I couldn’t ever hope to equal.
“Then why did you choose me?”
“Tell me, child: how many deep forest creatures have you encountered?”
“If you count the salamander and the deer things; three,” I told her, frowning. “Why is that important?”
“Three encounters in two years,” Akiva said, and she was smiling wryly. “Child, do you know how long it was before I saw my first deep forest creature?”
I shook my head soundlessly.
“Five years. I took me five years to catch a glimpse – and only a glimpse, mind you – of a mythic. You’ve seen three in two years, and you’re not a warden yet. They seem to seek you out, goodness knows why! I know of only one other person who had that many encounters previous to being a warden.”
“Cassandra,” I guessed. Only Cassandra could be beautiful, talented, and loved by the forest. Horned hedgepigs, but sometimes I wanted to kick her in the shins!
“That’s right,” Akiva agreed briskly. “I may pick my apprentices, but it’s the forest that choses wardens. Wash up and dress for your party, child. Never mind the witchlight; you can try again tomorrow.”
It hadn’t occurred to me before that day that I hadn’t got anything to wear to a party. I stood in my shift, looking down at my meagre (and mostly grubby) collection of clothing in mixed satisfaction and helplessness. The part of me that was still largely pirate was unashamedly proud that I owned no Gwendolen-frocks. The helpless, oddly longing part of me that was no longer pirate but not quite yet lady, felt curiously dissatisfied. I almost opened the package that Mother had given me a year ago, when Gwendolen had had new party clothes and insisted on me having some too, but something stopped my hand on the strings. When I set off for the party that evening I had on one of my everyday dresses, set off only by the little blue jumper Mother had made me.
Akiva nodded approvingly and gave me a basket at the door.
“Enjoy yourself. You’re to be up as usual tomorrow morning.”
I nodded wordlessly, struck suddenly and inexplicably with butterflies in my stomach. All at once, I wasn’t so sure that I wanted to go to the party. If Akiva hadn’t bundled me out into the forest without giving me a chance to renege, I might have slunk back to my room and sulked with my witchlight all evening.
It was a cool summers’ night outside, clear and untroubled by gnats, and it wasn’t long before I began to enjoy my walk despite the butterflies in my stomach.
I went home first to see Mother and Gwendolen. I knew that if there was a party anywhere in the village, Gwendolen was sure to be going, and I wasn’t entirely certain I knew how to find Gilbert’s house.
I’d only just laid my foot on the steps when Gwendolen opened the door in a flurry of silk and fell into my arms.
“Rose! Oh, Rose, I’m so glad to see you! What are you doing here and whatever have you done to your hair!”
I grinned naughtily, because her tone was accusatory. “I don’t believe you’re glad to see me at all,” I said.
“But what happened? Your beautiful hair! It’s all gone! Just you wait until Mother sees you!”
“You’re only cross because you want to go to your party,” I said, refusing to bewail the freedom of my shorter hair.
“How did you know about– Rose! You’re going too, aren’t you?”
The open astonishment in her voice brought a touch of colour into my face.
I shoved her through the door as I retorted: “Of course! You aren’t the only one who was invited, you know!”
“But– but–” Gwendolen stammered. “But you can’t go dressed like that! Oh, Rose!”
“Don’t ‘Oh Rose!’ me,” I said, grinning to find that my transgressions had been swept away in the all-consuming importance of my dress. “Of course I can go dressed like this. Horned hedgepigs, you’re fine enough for the two of us.”
“Mother!” Gwendolen protested, appealing to higher authority. “Mother, tell her that she can’t go to a party dressed like that!”
Mother emerged from the kitchen to close the front door and kiss my cheek. She stood back to observe my hair and said: “Not as bad as could have been expected, and it will grow back. I’m glad you’re here, Rose. Gwen is going without me tonight, and I’ll be glad to know you’re with her.”
Gwendolen gave an exaggerated, world-weary sigh, admitting defeat, and said: “At least let me do your hair, Rose.”
I let her do my hair if only to distract her attention from my bare feet, and we set out for the party together. Gwendolen’s hair was put up high and loose, very grownup. Mine was festooned in a wildly improbable wreath of little blue flowers that sat lopsidedly on my shorn locks and matched my blue cardigan. We went arm in arm, cotton rustling against silk as Gwendolen tripped along at my side, skipping lightly with every other step. Even the loose curls around her neck bounced with exuberance. I guessed that she was expecting an exhilarating night, especially in the intoxicating freedom from Mother’s guiding and sobering hand.
“You will meet Archen and Robert and George and William,” she chanted, twirling a step to make her draperies fly out prettily. “And you will dance and laugh and flirt with all the boys!”
“I won’t,” I warned, scowling, and added darkly: “You’re more excited about me being here than I am.”
Gwendolen put her nose in the air, turning pink.
“I’m not one of your dolls, Gwen.”
She huffed. “Well, but you never come along to parties! I want you to enjoy yourself.”
“So I will,” I said, only half believing it; and added as a hasty afterthought: “But not every dance!”
Gwendolen opened her mouth to protest, but by then we had swept into sight of Gilbert’s house, where a group of eager young men were waiting. They must have been waiting for Gwendolen to arrive, because when they saw us we were promptly mobbed. I tried to detach myself from the group, but Gwendolen wouldn’t let go of my hand, and clung to me like a small blonde limp
et as we were swept through the gates, determined that I would enjoy the party despite myself. I couldn’t help being amused despite the discomfort: Gwendolen was in her element here. She bossed and flirted and pouted, ordering this one to get her a drink, and that one to take her shawl, and adjuring still another to dance with me.
Greatly to my relief, Gilbert appeared shortly afterwards. He successfully parted me from Gwendolen, who gave me a coy, sideways smile as I left. I scowled back.
“There had better be a lot of caramel apples,” I told him irritably. “That’s the only thing that would make being mobbed by Gwendolen’s beaux worthwhile. She was ordering them all to dance with me!”
Gilbert grinned, and said: “Dance with me the whole night, that’ll confound ‘em! I’ll look after you, Rose.”
“Not every dance,” I said again, determined to sit down in peace for at least some part of the evening. “Maybe one. Or two. That will give your feet time to recover from being trod on.”
“We might as well get some pie and find somewhere to hide, then,” Gilbert suggested cheerfully, and we retreated to a low-hanging branch with loaded plates and no regard to our clothes.
We ate in companionable silence, breaking it only to laugh at any particularly ugly dresses that danced within our orbit, and by the time the first dance was finished I was sitting back with a contented sigh, my belly full.
“Shouldn’t you be out there dancing?” I enquired. My experience of parties had taught me that the sons of the house, like the daughters, were almost religiously expected to be constantly on the dancing green.
“If you’ll dance with me, I will,” Gilbert said promptly, setting his empty plate down on a wobbly trestle that was conveniently near.
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