Tangled Magick

by Jennifer Carson

  Tangled

  Magick

  Jennifer Carson

  Copyright © 2015 by Jennifer Carson

  Sale of the paperback edition of this book without its cover is unauthorized.

  Spencer Hill Press Middle Grade:

  An imprint of Spencer Hill Press, LLC

  This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental. All rights reserved, including the right to reproduce this book or portions thereof in any form whatsoever.

  Contact: Spencer Hill Press, PO Box 243, Marlborough, CT 06447

  Please visit our website at www.spencerhillmiddlegrade.com

  Carson, Jennifer, 1975

  Tangled Magick: a novel / by Jennifer Carson - 1st ed.

  p. cm.

  ISBN: 978-1-63392-000-2 paperback

  ISBN: 978-1-63392-001-9 ebook

  Summary: A fourteen-year old hapenny must break a spell on a long-lost princess in order to save her traveling companions from an army of trolls and a mad wizard.

  Cover design and interior illustrations by Patricia Ann Lewis-MacDougall

  Interior layout by Jennifer Carson

  Printed in the United States of America

  For Fritz Pratt, the first knight in the Order of Gilded Hapenny Knights.

  And for Elizabeth Cernek, may you shine brightly, wherever you are.

  Chapter 1

  Mae folded her polka-dot leggings and placed them in the carpetbag Callum had given her for the long journey. There was a special pocket on the side that was magicked to clean her clothes after they were worn. Trina, the little red squirrel who lived in her farmhouse, was curled up on her bed, watching her through half-shut eyes. Her bushy tail thumped against the bed every once in a while, like an impatient finger tapping on a table. The door to Mae’s room squeaked open as she shoved a colorful coat and an extra pair of wool mittens into the bag. The late October nights had turned cold.

  “I’m almost ready,” Mae said.

  Callum stepped into the room and sat on the edge of the bed. The rope base under the straw-and-feather mattress groaned under his weight. He fiddled with the ring on his middle finger. Mae guessed it was to keep from wringing his hands.

  “Are you sure you want to do this?” Callum said. “I could go on my own.”

  “I’m sure. I think the next Protector of the Wedge should know what’s beyond the village, don’t you?” Mae buttoned the flap on the overstuffed bag and gave it a pat. “And there hasn’t been a Great Expedition since…” Mae tried to count the years. “Well, a long time.”

  “I suppose you and Aletta are right. I can’t help but worry if we’re making the right choice, though. Expeditions can be dangerous.” Callum stroked his long beard, eyes unfocused. “It’s been twelve years since the last one, to be precise, and you know how that ended.”

  Mae leaned against the bed frame. She didn’t really want to think about the last expedition. Not a single hapenny had returned to the Wedge. Her father was one of them. She touched the blue orb pendant hanging on a ribbon around her neck. Inside was a lock of her father’s hair. She didn’t remember much about him, only small things, like the crinkles around his blue eyes when he smiled. She’d been pretty little when he’d gone missing. Butterflies flittered in her stomach. Would she return to the Wedge? Mae shook off her nervousness. “We need to get more corley thistles to make the remedy for the Bricklebear Fever. Too many have fallen ill already. Besides, any trolls should be hibernating in their caves by now—that’s why the Great Expeditions are always in the late fall, right? And I’ll be safe with you, Callum.”

  Mae put her hand over his. The wizard’s brown skin had darkened during the summer months, and it made a stark contrast to her freckled, but fair, hand. After the troll invasion two years ago, Callum and Aletta had moved into the house that Mae used to share with her guardian, Gelbane, until Mae discovered that Gelbane was a troll and the one behind the plans to invade the village. It wasn’t customary for humans to live in the Wedge, but the villagers had made an exception for the two wizards, who were the official Protectors, Mae’s mentors, and the closest thing she had to family.

  The wizard clasped her hand between his. “Yes, you are correct, Maewyn, as usual.”

  Outside her home, the supply wagon rumbled to a stop. Mae peered out the window. Mr. Whiteknoll, the village tailor, climbed down from the driver’s bench and checked the harnesses on the ponies. Aletta joined him and stroked their manes and muzzles.

  Mae slipped from Callum’s grasp and peered out the window, searching the gathering crowd outside. Ms. Gnarlroot had come to say goodbye, toting little Mabel on her hip, along with some of the village children—those who weren’t home ill in bed. Mae’s nose twitched as tears prickled in her eyes.

  “Don’t worry. Leif won’t let you leave without saying goodbye,” Callum said.

  Smiling, Mae nodded and turned from the window. She heaved her bag over her shoulder while Callum struggled to rise from the edge of her low bed. She took a last look around. Since Callum and Aletta had moved into her mother’s house, her dreaming nook, which was a large round basket given to her mother by a giant, had been moved from the main room and nestled in the corner of her bedroom. Mae would’ve been fine sleeping in the basket as she always had, but Aletta had insisted she have a bed.

  Aletta and Mae, with Callum’s help of course, had painted the room a soft butter color, like her room in the wizard’s cottage. A large, low dresser perched under the small row of windows. Aletta had made her promise that she wouldn’t use the dresser as a stepping stool to sneak out, and Mae had agreed. The last time she’d snuck out of a window, she’d almost become dinner for a couple of nasty trolls.

  “Where’d Trina go?” she asked. The squirrel was no longer curled up on the bed. She searched the small bookcase and swept the top of the dresser with a glance.

  “You know Trina,” Callum said. “She’s probably hiding because she doesn’t want to say goodbye.”

  Mae bit her lip and nodded. She understood, but she really would’ve liked to say goodbye to Trina. She’d been so busy packing this morning that she really hadn’t given the little squirrel very much attention. Mae patted the deep pocket in her breeches to make sure both her wand and flute were secure. “I’m going to miss the Wedge,” she said.

  “I am too,” Callum answered. “But it won’t be too long before we return.” Laying his hand on Mae’s shoulder, he led her through the house and out the front door. Callum’s height forced him to stoop so that he wouldn’t hit his head on the casing. Thankfully, her home had high ceilings because it was built under the trunk of an ancient redwood tree, and not a hill like most hapenny homes.

  The supply wagon was weighed down with casks, barrels, and crates. Cages of chickens clucked from their high perches on top of the towering contents, and piglets squealed beneath them. A large oilskin cover was thrown over the cargo and tied with crisscrossed rope. Taking Mae’s bag from her shoulder, Callum shoved it under the driver’s bench and patted the ponies’ rumps, whispering soothing words.

  “Should be a good journey,” Mae overheard Mr. Whiteknoll say to Aletta. “The skies are blue, the river is calm, and we have two wizards traveling with us. I don’t remember ever having one wizard with us on a Great Expedition, let alone two.” He cast a big smile at Mae, the newest wizard in the Wedge, and Callum.

  “How long has it been since you’ve been on a trading journey?” Aletta asked.

  “Quite a number of years, mum.” Mr. Whiteknoll smoothed his stark white hair. It didn’t do any good; his hair stuck right back up. “I was qui
te the adventurer in my day. But I’m not getting any younger. Better take the chance to take a last expedition while I can.”

  Mae scanned the crowd for Leif again. It seemed the whole village had shown up to wish them a good—and speedy—journey, except the one person she truly wanted to see.

  Aletta, having pulled herself away from the old tailor’s pleasantries, embraced Mae. “I’m going to be worried sick while you two are away.”

  “Can’t you come with us, Aletta?” Mae squeezed her tightly. Tears trembled on her eyelashes.

  “Now, let’s not talk about this again.” Aletta smoothed Mae’s unruly curls from her forehead and tipped Mae’s chin up with a finger. “We can’t leave the Wedge without a Protector, especially with so many ill.”

  Tears made tracks down Mae’s cheeks. “But we haven’t seen even a hair of a troll since I put the new spells on the bridge.”

  “We promised to guard the Wedge, Mae. Promises should not be broken.”

  Mae nodded and wiped her tears on Aletta’s dress. Sighing, she nodded. “I know you’re right. I’m just going to miss you terribly.”

  “And I’ll miss you.”

  Nine villagers leading ponies rounded the bend in the road. They were dressed for travel. It seemed the remainder of the trading party had arrived. Mae’s nerves jangled like a dinner bell. She really was leaving the Wedge.

  Aletta scooped up Mae beneath her arms and set her on the edge of the wagon bed. “Sit here for a while and dangle your feet off the back. When you get tired of watching the trees roll by, you can climb up to the driver’s seat and sit with Callum and Mr. Whiteknoll. They’ll be sure to talk your ears off your head.”

  Mae smiled and threw her arms around Aletta’s neck. “I love you, Aletta.”

  “I love you too. Take care of Callum for me. He’s not the spring chicken he once was.”

  “He never told me he could turn into a chicken!” Mae gasped.

  Aletta laughed. “No, dear. It means he’s not as young as he used to be. Stay alert. Watch the road. Be friendly, but wary of those you come across. Most people are good and decent, but there are some who would sell their mother for a pint of wedgeberry rum.”

  Mae giggled as Callum rounded the wagon corner.

  “Are we ready, then?” Callum asked, his eyes sparkling.

  Mae nodded, but she searched over his shoulder. No sign of Leif. Where could he be?

  Callum drew Aletta close and whispered in her ear. Tears formed in Aletta’s eyes. She nodded and buried her face in his shoulder. Mae bent her head, throat tight, as she held back more tears. She had been so excited about the Great Expedition, but now that it was here, she was sad to leave the Wedge behind.

  Callum cupped Aletta’s chin in his hand and kissed her forehead. Then he moved toward the front of the wagon. It shifted as he pulled himself up onto the driver’s bench. The crates, caskets, and ropes tying it all together creaked and moaned. The hapenny traders mounted up in unison. Some were old, long-bearded men, taking their last chance for adventure; some were middle-aged, with bellies like muffin tops over their belts; and three were young, their beards barely growing. Only one woman besides Mae joined the traders, and that was Leif’s cousin, Poppy Vale Burrbridge. Her hair was as red as the flower she was named after and wound into two long braids that bounced against her back as the pony shifted under her. She wore a riding coat made of many layers of colorful cloth, and tan riding breeches.

  “Roll call!” Mr. Whiteknoll barked. He untied the red ribbon on the scroll he held in his hand and unrolled the parchment. “Callum and Maewyn are present.” He nodded to the wizards. “Bailey Bluehill?”

  Mae scanned the crowd. One of the younger hapennies nodded. “Aye! Present and accounted for.”

  “Horace Brightpath?”

  “Yes, sir, I’m here and rarin’ to go.” Horace chewed on his pipe as his pony shifted under his substantial weight.

  “Dale Fullmeadow?” Mr. Whiteknoll called.

  When no answer came, Mr. Whiteknoll peered into the crowd. “Dale Fullmeadow?”

  “His head is full of flowers!” Someone in the crowd yelled. “Must’ve grown roots!” Everyone giggled and hooted.

  “Dale Fullmeadow?” Mr. Whiteknoll said again, his voice carrying a note of exasperation.

  Someone pushed through the crowd. “I’m here! I’m here!”

  A hapenny with a very round face and a large knapsack strapped to his back emerged. He smiled a crooked smile. “Just a bit late, that’s all.”

  “I hope you won’t be making a habit of it,” Callum said sternly.

  Dale shook his head and made his way to a pony with no rider as Mr. Whiteknoll called out the names of Arwen Creekbed and Gilby Rosethorn.

  Two hapennies with long white beards nodded as their gazes met Mr. Whiteknoll’s glance into the crowd.

  “Poppy Vale is here, I see,” Mr. Whiteknoll said with a twinkle in his eye. “Welcome, Poppy.”

  Poppy waved and snuck a peek at the young man next to her.

  “Tory Longbridge?” Mr. Whiteknoll asked.

  The young man next to Leif’s cousin smiled. “Aren’t you going to welcome me to the group too, you old flirt?”

  The crowd laughed and tittered.

  “Yes, yes, welcome, all of you,” Mr. Whiteknoll said. “And last but not least, Cook Barley and our beast master, Thorain Grumblebrook.”

  Cook Barley tipped his hat.

  “Mount up!” Thorain ordered.

  The hapennies all settled themselves on their mounts, and the crack of the wagon whip drove the harnessed ponies forward. The wagon jerked into motion, the wheels leaving twin tracks in the dirt.

  And still no sign of Leif.

  Mae waved to the crowd as the wagon pulled away and headed for the bridge that would take them over the river and to the lands beyond the Wedge. She pulled her wand from her pocket and gave it a flick. “Straumer!”

  Streams of colorful ribbons, like dragons zigzagging through the clouds, shot into the sky to the delight of the crowd. The children squealed and held up their hands to catch the falling ribbons.

  “Wait!” a voice cried.

  Mae’s ears perked up. They swiveled to and fro, locating the voice in the crowd.

  “Wait!” Leif cried as he broke through the gathered villagers. “Mae!”

  “Leif!” Mae’s relief was so great that her legs felt like warm jelly. Leif ran to catch up with the travelers. The wagon tilted back as Mr. Whiteknoll drove it onto the bridge that crossed the river bordering the Wedge. Leif scrambled up the sidewalls and leapt into the bed of the wagon.

  “Mae.” He gasped for breath.

  “I thought you were going to let me leave without saying goodbye,” Mae said.

  Leif grabbed her hands. “Never. I’m sorry I was late. My neighbor Mr. Undertoll has come down with the Bricklebear Fever. His face just broke out into hairy little spots all of a sudden. I’ve never seen anything like it!” He let go of her hands and dug into his pocket. When he opened his fist, a pocket-sized owl stared at her from his palm. “This is for you.”

  Mae scooped the owl up and studied the details. “Oh, she’s beautiful. Look at her tiny beak and her big eyes. And you can even see her little ear tufts!” Mae put her forehead against Leif’s and nuzzled his nose with hers. “Thank you from the bottom of my teacup.”

  “I’ll miss you every day,” Leif whispered.

  “I’ll miss you every minute,” Mae whispered back.

  “Well, I’ll miss you every second.” Leif smiled.

  “But I’ll miss you every moment.” Mae giggled. Then she bit her quivering lip as tears sprang into her eyes. “I will miss you every moment, you know.” She threw her arms around him and squeezed. “Goodbye.”

  “I’m so sorry my parents forbade me to come with you. I argued until the pigs came home, but no luck. I want to go with all my heart,” Leif whispered in her ear as he squeezed her back.

  “At least I’ll know you are sa
fe,” Mae said.

  Leif scoffed. “If only I was a couple of months older, I wouldn’t have to obey. I could come with you and they couldn’t stop me.”

  “I’ll be home soon. Goodbye, Leif.” Mae sniffled.

  “My father said it’s not goodbye. He said the old traders used to say, ‘until the stack of pancakes grows short.’”

  Mae pulled back so she could look at his face. “Yes, well, that doesn’t take too long, does it?”

  “You’ll be back before Winter’s Gluttony.” Leif cleared the huskiness from his throat. “At least, that’s what Mr. Whiteknoll said.”

  “Until the stack of pancakes grows short, then,” Mae agreed. “Take care of Reed and Aletta and the Wedge.”

  Leif rose from the wagon and perched on the edge, one hand on the side, one foot dangling off. “I will.”

  He jumped from the wagon and ran down the path toward the bridge. When he was safe on its planks, he turned and waved. Mae waved back until the forest swallowed the wagon into its colorful autumn canopy. The dusty road twined through the trees. Mae peered into the shadows but saw no sign of trolls. A chipmunk, his cheeks stuffed full, scrambled across the road and disappeared into his underground nest. A ring of toadstools reminded Mae of the hobgoblins she’d created the day Luisliu, a rowan tree, had gifted her with a twig, which was now her wand. The hobgoblins lived at the edge of the Wedge; they helped Farmer Burrbridge herd the sheep up to the high grazing hills in the summer and helped Mrs. Lowknoll make cheese in the winter.

  All afternoon, the forest grew darker as clouds piled up in the gray sky. As the sun crept lower in the sky, raindrops splashed on Mae’s nose whenever the canopy thinned enough to let them through. She curled up under the tarp covering the cargo. At least the road would lose its dustiness if it got a good soaking. She studied the other hapenny traders plodding along on their ponies. Most of them had donned long oilskin jackets, which separated at the waist in order to protect their legs from the rain. Callum had a jacket like that stowed away in his bag too.

  The men in the caravan had started out a boisterous group. As they began the journey, they had cracked jokes and sung the old traveling songs. Now their faces were long, eyebrows pinched together as the wind picked up and drove the rain past their hat brims and into their eyes. Mae pulled her flute from her pocket and played something that would cheer them up.