The Five-Petal Knot (The Witching World Book 2)

by Lucia Ashta

  “I’m from a place called Norland. I’m the daughter of the Count of Norland,” I said, although it sounded like I was talking about someone else instead of myself.

  “Wow. It must be wonderful to be the daughter of a count. My mother was only an ordinary middle-class owl, though she raised me as best she could. She made a lot of sacrifices for me.”

  “There’s nothing ordinary about you though,” Marcelo said with a chuckle behind me. I didn’t realize he’d been listening to our conversation.

  “Very right you are, Count of Bundry. I’m extraordinary.” He said it as if he were stating a fact. I was ready to agree, as I’d never heard a bird, or an animal of any kind, talk before, whether in a painting or not.

  But I turned on Marcelo. “Why did he call you the Count of Bundry?”

  Marcelo ignored me. Instead of answering, he continued his discussion with the owl, knowing that it would be interesting enough to make me move on. “How have you been this last year, Sir Lancelot?”

  I swung my head back to the little owl.

  “I’ve been quite bored, stuck in this painting all that time. It seems that Albacus and Mordecai have completely forgotten me. They haven’t spoken with me in months.”

  “Your name’s Sir Lancelot?” I asked the pygmy. “As in Sir Lancelot du Lac? Of the Arthurian legend?”

  “Exactly the one!” Sir Lancelot seemed excited that I could identify his namesake. “I’d just read Chrétien de Troyes’ The Knight of the Cart when my mother was debating what to name me. Sir Lancelot had struck me with his magnanimous and romantic charm, and I asked her to name me after him. Now, I realize those were infantile notions, as Sir Lancelot is not as dignified a character as I believed him to be. But I was young then, and that must excuse my folly.”

  “You mean you were reading when you were first born? And speaking?”

  “Yes. I told you, I’m not an ordinary bird.”

  “By no means,” I said.

  Sir Lancelot approved of my admiration and puffed out his diminutive chest.

  “Where are Albacus and Mordecai?” Sir Lancelot asked Marcelo. “It’s most unlike them to be late for dinner.”

  “I agree, Sir Lancelot. This isn’t like them.” The worry was heavy in Marcelo’s voice. “Perhaps I should go look for them.”

  But Marcelo wouldn’t have the chance. Albacus rounded the corner at the far end of the hall just then, running across the cavernous, arched corridor. His braided beard bounced against the sash that held his robe tight to his waist. He was much faster than I would have anticipated, and he would have reached the dining room quickly if Marcelo, alarmed, hadn’t run to meet him halfway.

  I took Marcelo’s place at the threshold to the dining room.

  “What’s wrong, Albacus?” Marcelo asked. Albacus crouched over with his hands against his thighs, panting heavily, trying to catch his breath. He was an old man after all, and he’d run from the other side of the castle, which had really been like running the distance three times due to all the detours the castle forced him to take.

  “Albacus, is Mordecai all right?” Marcelo asked. Albacus couldn’t talk, but he nodded, his beaded beard jingling in affirmation.

  Albacus stood, resting a spotted hand on Marcelo’s shoulder. “Mordecai’s found something… he wants to show you.” He turned to head back the way he’d come. “Come on. Both of you,” he called as he walked away.

  Marcelo looked to me, but I didn’t move. He came over to me, grabbed my hand and pulled me toward him. “Let’s go,” he said. As had become my habit, I followed him closely, and so I bumped into his back when he stopped.

  “What is it?” I asked, flustered. All this sense of urgency unsettled me.

  “Hold on,” Marcelo said, walking back to the dining room. “Sir Lancelot, are you in the mood for a little outing?”

  “I thought you’d never ask, my dear magician,” Sir Lancelot said.

  “Image, painting, you contain a pygmy owl quite unplain. Give him home, give him rest, but right now let him go, for it is best.”

  Sir Lancelot listened to Marcelo raptly, and as the magician neared the end of his spell, the pygmy owl prepared his wings for flight. The very moment Marcelo silenced, Sir Lancelot flew out of the painting, straight toward Marcelo’s shoulder. The owl was little, but he was fast. He gripped Marcelo’s shoulder and gestured with his wing. “Thank you, Count Bundry. I feel much better free of that stuffy painting. Now hurry, we mustn’t lose Albacus.”

  Wizard, apprentice witch, and pygmy owl chased after the old magician.

  Chapter 17

  By the time we arrived at the other end of the tower, I marveled at the brothers’ regular punctuality for dinner. We took far more turns than I ever did with Marcelo. I couldn’t imagine how anyone could ever be sure to find his way from one end of the castle to the other without risking delay, at the very least.

  Albacus was remarkably fast and sure in his steps, and he lost us along the way. When Marcelo, Sir Lancelot, and I approached a large door with a symbol I didn’t recognize—a circle encasing a square with a single eye in its center—carved into the stone lintel, Sir Lancelot gave a sigh of relief.

  “It’s been so long since I’ve come here, I’d forgotten how dangerous the trek is,” he said. “Really, Albacus or Mordecai should do something about this. I don’t know why they let the castle play games like this. Those monkeys in the tunnel almost got me. One of them hooked its tail around my neck. The horror.”

  I watched Sir Lancelot dip his head to the left and to the right and then circle it nearly the entire way around his neck. “I get itchy just thinking about those dirty monkeys touching me. Imagine if they’d managed to take me captive?” Sir Lancelot went on excitedly. “Thank you, Count Bundry, for your quick thinking. I’m grateful you learned that blasting magic as well as you did.”

  I had a feeling this was the same blasting magic that allowed Marcelo to rescue me from Mirvela and the rest of the merpeople. I understood Sir Lancelot’s gratitude quite well.

  “You’re welcome, Sir Lancelot. Now, you may want to prepare yourself.” Surprised, I realized Marcelo was now addressing me. Sir Lancelot was looking forward uninterestedly. “The brothers’ study is—how shall I put it?—unique. You can be certain you’ve never seen anything like it before.”

  “Quite certain, I’d imagine,” Sir Lancelot added. “Onward!” the little owl said, gesturing Marcelo forward with the signal of an outstretched wing. Like a little military commander, he led the troops.

  I took one last look at the obscure symbol above my head before Marcelo pulled me into the brothers’ study.

  Immediately, I clung to his hand as tightly as I ever had while in the castle’s corridors, though this time it was not out of fear of getting lost, it was from fear of everything else that could get me in here.

  Chapter 18

  The very second we crossed the threshold, the diminutive military commander yelled, “Duck!” As if he were in battle, skirting cannon fire and volleys, Marcelo obeyed the shouted orders and pulled me down with him.

  A winged creature flew through the space where we’d stood a mere second before. Then it perched above the doorway, on the exposed lintel that marked the edge of a small alcove, and looked down at us. I turned, shocked, to look at its wide, veined wings and its large claws. The creature was iridescent white with red eyes. It puffed its chest and pulled back its neck.

  “Step forward!” came Sir Lancelot’s command. This time, Marcelo didn’t have to take me with him. I practically jumped forward before I felt the singeing heat of fire.

  I turned to look accusingly at the creature above the doorway, but it looked quite happy with itself. Smoke still streamed from its nostrils in two lonely plumes, and it, like Sir Lancelot, began to primp. It crouched down in the alcove, arranging itself symmetrically, before looking toward Mordecai for approval.

  However, despite our near death experience, Mordecai was distracted. He was looking do
wn at something on a table, oblivious to our presence.

  The creature cried out, demanding its master’s recognition. Mordecai looked to her, his long braids tied up in a big knot. His eyes moved from the creature to us, and then back. In an instant, he summed up what had happened.

  “You silly girl,” he said while he approached. “These are our friends. You shouldn’t hurt them.”

  The animal looked dejected.

  “Come down here,” he told her, extending his arm for her to land on. I watched as the dragon-looking creature flew over to perch on the old magician’s arm, wrapping her monstrous talons around his cloaked arm gently. He cooed to her. “You did a very good job defending us, a very good job indeed. You’re a good girl, keeping your master safe.”

  As Mordecai rubbed behind her ears, the beast purred contentedly. Mordecai nuzzled her with his face and the creature looked as if she’d burst from delight. “Now go on, girl. Keep watch, Sylvia. Remember, you must prevent anyone other than these three creatures from entering the study, through window or door.”

  Sylvia nodded and took flight. Even in the short distance from her master’s arm to the alcove that was apparently hers, I admired her wings. They spanned to an impressive length, an intricate weaving of veins and tissue.

  “Don’t mind her,” Mordecai said to us. “She’ll be perfectly pleasant now, won’t you Sylvia?”

  Sylvia purred in response.

  Marcelo advanced, unconcerned, but I continued to check over my shoulder.

  “She’s gotten big. Last time I saw her, she was just a hatchling,” Marcelo said.

  “Firedrakes grow up quickly.” Mordecai looked over at Sylvia fondly. “She’s not as large as her parents, but she’s a remarkable specimen nonetheless.” Sylvia extended her wings so we could admire them, but otherwise gave no indication that she knew we were talking about her.

  “I didn’t know firedrakes were real,” I said, my voice muted by awe. I’d read about firedrakes before, but only in books of mythical creatures. It hadn’t occurred to me that they might actually exist. But then, I’d spent three years of my life with merpeople, another presumed mythical race. I supposed the firedrake shouldn’t surprise me.

  I suspected that prolonged time at the castle would neutralize all surprises. Just looking around this room made me rethink many notions of impossibility.

  “My child, if you’ve heard of it, then it’s likely real,” Mordecai said.

  “I can see that,” I said, my eyes darting across shelves that held boxes that shook on their own; jars with an assortment of incredible things, including eyeballs that floated in liquid while swiveling to look at me; two books that appeared to be in deep conversation with each other; and shoes that looked suspiciously like ordinary shoes.

  “Come on now, Mordecai,” Albacus said from over at the table. “You didn’t make me run all the way across the castle and back just to chatter, did you?”

  Mordecai smiled and walked toward the table to join his brother. We followed.

  “Now what is it that’s so important?” Albacus asked. Mordecai had been so frantic with his information that he’d dispatched his brother hurriedly without telling him what it was about.

  “It’s the runes.”

  Albacus groaned. “I thought it was something truly urgent.”

  “It is truly urgent, Albacus,” Mordecai snapped, enunciating each syllable of his brother’s name in clipped fashion.

  “Look.” He pointed to little stones laid out on the table haphazardly. We all looked at the stones and then we looked back to Mordecai.

  He huffed. “Don’t you see what’s there?”

  I didn’t, and it didn’t look as if Albacus or Marcelo did either.

  “Come on, brother, you studied the use of runes just as I did.”

  Albacus peered more closely at the stones with cryptic markings on them. Marcelo and I waited while moments of careful study passed, but ultimately Albacus found nothing.

  “I see what you’ve already talked about. Darkness,” Albacus said while he pointed to one rune. “And death,” he said while he pointed to another. “I see power and magic. But Mordecai, this is nothing new. You’ve told us this before.”

  “No, brother, really look at the runes. Come on. You’re a magician. There’s always more than meets the eye. You know that as well as I do.”

  Marcelo and I watched Albacus study the stones again, waiting, but it wasn’t he that first spotted what Mordecai was talking about.

  “Tssst. Tssst. There’s something here about a magician that’s come to life after death. That doesn’t sound good.”

  “Yes! Thank you, Sir Lancelot. Finally someone truly sees. I’m glad you’ve joined us.”

  “Where do you see that?” Albacus asked.

  “Right here,” Mordecai said, swinging his hand across several of the stones.

  One look up at his brother, and Mordecai groaned. “Look. Here. See the angle of this stone, and see how it relates to the angle of this other stone? And then look at this one. Look at what it’s next to, and what this one is next to.”

  Albacus looked up, eyes wide. He finally saw what Mordecai and Sir Lancelot had seen.

  “And there’s something else too, apart from the person who was once dead and is now alive. Look.” Mordecai pointed to two runes and then drew another line with his finger to a third. Albacus followed his brother’s move. Then his eyes flicked to Marcelo in realization. Mordecai’s eyes followed Albacus’ gaze.

  They were both looking at Marcelo, so I turned to look at him too.

  But no one said anything, not even Marcelo. Finally, I couldn’t take the suspense anymore. “What is it?” I asked.

  “The once-dead-now-alive traitor is connected to Marcelo. Closely. The runes show that he’s so close to Marcelo that it may even be him. But I know that it’s not.”

  Mordecai and Marcelo shared a look, and it was the first time that I saw Mordecai look at Marcelo as if he were his son. Trust and love ran between them.

  “Then who is it?” Albacus asked.

  Mordecai shook his head, beads jangling. “Unfortunately, I don’t know. The runes can only say so much.”

  Mordecai shifted his eyes toward me now. “But they do say that whatever’s to happen will happen very soon. You need to learn as much as you can between now and then. You, too, are somehow an intrinsic part of this all.”

  “But I’m just beginning to learn magic. I know next to nothing. How can I possibly be a part of this or do anything to help?”

  “That I don’t know, child. But the runes have been very clear on this.” Mordecai scooped up the runes, placed them in a worn leather pouch, and shook the pouch. Then he drew the runes from the pouch into his hand and threw them on the table. The runes landed in a disorderly fashion.

  But they didn’t stay that way.

  The runes flipped, rotated, and scooted around until they arranged themselves precisely as they’d been when we entered the brothers’ study.

  Mordecai repeated the process, this time shaking the runes in the pouch heartily. When he threw them, the result was the same. Mordecai looked from them to Marcelo and me pointedly. “You have very little time. Marcelo, do what you can to teach her to protect herself. It will be difficult to skip over the basics, and it may not work at all, but we need to try. Proceed directly to teaching her advanced skills that can keep her from death.”

  Marcelo ran the hand nearest me through his hair, ruffling it, frustrated. “I’ll do what I can.”

  “I hope that’s enough,” Mordecai said.

  “The runes have also spoken of the girl’s latent power. Perhaps there’s hope,” Albacus said.

  “There must always be hope. It’s the bastion of humanity,” said the owl.

  “Yes, you’re right, Sir Lancelot. Perhaps you’d be well advised to take Sir Lancelot with you,” Albacus said to Marcelo, “if he’d like.” Then to the owl, “Would that be agreeable to you, Sir Lancelot?”

 
“Indeed it would, Albacus. I’ll serve as I can,” said the petite advisor.

  “Now off with you. Don’t waste a second unless you can spare it,” said Mordecai. “My brother and I have much to do to make the fortress battle worthy before the time arrives.”

  Even as Marcelo, Sir Lancelot, and I walked beneath Sylvia, who only pretended to be asleep with one watchful red eye open, the racket of preparations sounded behind us. I turned just before Marcelo pulled me through the door, and I caught a fleeting glimpse of Albacus animating gargoyles. The stone guardians—that before I’d only seen on the outside of buildings—creaked and groaned, stretching out centuries of unmoving stone.

  Marcelo pulled me down the hallway before I could see them jump to the ground, but I felt them. The impact rumbled across the stone floor and sent us navigating already dangerous hallways through earthquake conditions.

  Chapter 19

  Marcelo and I didn’t even bother returning to the dining room. Instead, he took us to the kitchen, where Elsa prepared a tray for us to take upstairs. We wound our way back to the turret that had become our dedicated study, with Marcelo, tray in hand, leading the way. I held onto his sweater, and Sir Lancelot clutched my shoulder. He’d transferred to me, concerned that one of his feathers might accidentally land on the food if he were to ride on Marcelo’s shoulder.

  “I can’t control my shedding, you know, Lady Clara. At times, it’s most awkward for me,” said the owl, who seemed more human than many humans I’d met, especially Winston, my former fiancé.

  Sir Lancelot talked almost nonstop while we walked, particularly about the woman with the wild hair. When she died, her will commanded that Sir Lancelot should be confined to the painting with her, and he’d been stuck there ever since.

  “She punished me for being smarter than her,” Sir Lancelot said. “She never did like that about me. In fact, I don’t think she liked me at all.”