The Book from Baden Dark

by James Moloney

  ‘Marcel!’ came a call from behind him.

  He swivelled sharply to see Gannimere standing in the archway beneath Arminsel’s massive trunk. The wizard splashed across the stream and came quickly towards them with an air about him that forced Marcel to sit up.

  ‘What magic is this you’ve conjured? Are love spells worthy of your powers?’

  Stung by the accusation in Gannimere’s voice, Marcel already regretted his rashness. Had he really done it? He’d known it was wrong; at least, he knew it now.

  ‘Love spells?’ said Fergus, his brow beginning to furrow.

  Marcel wriggled uncomfortably. Fergus might guess what he’d done! He hoped Gannimere would say no more; a hope that quickly died when the wizard passed his hand before his own face.

  ‘There, your magic is spent. Half-hearted at best, but still, to set your will on a friend so dear to you!’ Gannimere’s eyes were set firmly on Bea’s startled face, leaving no doubt who he was referring to. ‘This isn’t what I expected of you, Marcel. Magic isn’t for such whims, not the magic you carry in you.’

  ‘What did you do?’ Bea asked.

  ‘Nothing.’

  ‘You’ve worked some spell on me.’ She stood up suddenly and began to inspect herself, slapping at her dress as though her legs might have been stolen from her.

  ‘No, nothing’s changed. You’re the same as you’ve always been.’

  ‘But only because Gannimere stopped you,’ said Fergus, who had also jumped to his feet. His words were as hard as a punch and hurt even more because they were true.

  ‘You worked a spell, didn’t you?’ Bea said. ‘A love spell. On me!’

  ‘Very disappointing, Marcel,’ said Gannimere. ‘This makes me wonder whether you’re the one I’d hoped for, the one I’ve waited so long to see here in Baden Dark.’

  Shame began to leak through Marcel’s pores and settle foul and unwanted on his skin. He’d used magic against his closest friend. Gannimere had already countermanded the spell, but what difference did that make? He winced whichever way he looked. Fergus turned a cold and furious eye on him; the ancient wizard glared with the same contempt, softened only by a sadness around the eyes Marcel couldn’t name.

  He dared let his gaze wander towards Bea and found a dozen emotions fighting for command of her features. It was what he couldn’t find that disturbed him most. His magic had sparked a brightness in her face when she looked at him, but now that light had died.

  Fixing his eyes with her own, she asked softly, ‘Why, Marcel?’

  If she was ever to forgive him, he had to be honest.

  ‘When I came out of the forest,’ he stammered miserably, ‘the way you were hugging Fergus …’

  The words mocked him and he wished he’d stayed silent.

  ‘You were jealous — jealous of Fergus?’

  Was that it? The word hadn’t entered his mind until now. But he couldn’t deny it. His anguish had a name. He’d conjured the spell because he wanted Bea to look at him the way she looked at Fergus, because he wanted her to slip her arms around his waist when she needed comfort, because he hadn’t known until that moment how much he wanted her affection for himself.

  The shame moved to the pit of his stomach. The weight of it kept him slumped on the grass, round-shouldered and wishing that he was once again invisible.

  ‘You had no right,’ said Bea.

  ‘It was wrong, I know. Just forget it, please. Forget I was so stupid.’

  ‘No, Marcel. I can’t forget it. I’m fed up with you. It’s not just the love spell you tried to put on me.’ A dismissive flick of her hand showed what she thought of it. The gesture made Marcel cringe from his toes to the tip of every hair on his head. ‘It’s the way you’ve been going on about magic that makes me so angry, ever since I saw you on the mountain. I’d waited so long for you to come, and then I found myself talking to Fergus more than you. You went on as if you were the only one who could rescue my grandfather, then you wanted to die in Baden Dark like some crazy hero. No wonder Fergus and I shared a hug just now. It’s the only way we can put up with you. You’re so obsessed with the magic inside you you’ve forgotten about the life that’s in there too. You think they’re the same thing, don’t you? Do you remember what Lord Alwyn was like? He had nothing but his magic. Do you remember what an unhappy old man he was? Well, that’s you, Marcel. You’re just like him!’

  Marcel barely heard Bea’s words. It was her fury that barked into his mind as savagely as any dog. And he deserved it. He could feel the shame burning from inside and the searing heat of their eyes on his skin. It was too much. He had to get away by himself. The forest would remind him too much of his mistakes. The only alternative was Arminsel. He could lose himself among its unknown passageways and they would never find him.

  ‘Where are you going?’ Bea shouted.

  He didn’t answer.

  ‘You can’t go. You have to listen, Marcel.’

  But he was gone before any of them could stop him.

  THE SPIRITS OF THE dead moved through the random twists and turns of Arminsel’s roots. He couldn’t see them, but the voices told of their presence, some speaking in words he could understand, but most in the peculiar language of Arminsel that the spirit learned only after death. He was sure they would not harm him, but even so the downy hairs on the back of his neck stiffened in fear.

  Was it so strange that he’d come to hide among the dead when it felt as though part of him had died out there on the grassy slope? The deeper he went into Arminsel, the more he sensed the peace that came to these spirits once they had surrendered the cares of life. What he would give for the peace of the dead right now.

  He flopped down on one of the nodes that grew from Arminsel’s roots, head between his hands. He was still slumped like that when Gannimere found him.

  ‘You’re waiting for my answer,’ Marcel muttered without looking up.

  ‘I’ve done all I can to bring you here and said all I need to explain why. You are the one for this task, Marcel. Will you remain in Baden Dark with me? When I pass into eternity, will you take my place as Arminsel’s guardian?’

  Bea and Fergus weren’t here to argue, and would they bother after the way he’d betrayed them? There was nothing more to consider.

  ‘Yes, Gannimere, I’ll stay.’

  CHAPTER 28

  The First Spell of a Guardian

  ALONG SILENCE FOLLOWED Marcel’s announcement. Marcel wondered whether he had spoken the words out loud. He wondered, too, whether he should have. Finally he looked up, expecting a smile or a solemn nod of approval from his new master. What he found in the man’s face was relief; the kind of peace Marcel himself had envied among the dead, the peace that neither of them seemed to have the magic to conjure for themselves.

  ‘Your companions must leave Baden Dark immediately,’ Gannimere said.

  ‘No, I —’

  ‘It’s you I am thinking of,’ cut in the wizard with compassion in his voice. ‘It won’t be easy to see them go, I know, but the longer they remain, the more difficult the parting. I’ll speak to them now. There’s no need for you to come. They will only try to dissuade you.’

  Would they, Marcel asked himself, then snatched the thought away. Such a question reeked of self-pity and that was no way to begin his new life. It had seemed so simple moments earlier when he had agreed to stay. All the arguments had finally found their place, the path had appeared clearly before him, yet already doubt was gnawing at his stomach.

  ‘I’ll have to say goodbye. They can’t just leave without a word from me.’

  ‘Yes, but you might find it easier if you let matters take their course first.’

  What did that mean? He thought he knew.

  ‘What will you do if they won’t leave without me?’

  ‘Then I’ll have to kill them.’

  ‘You’ll have to kill me first,’ he said.

  It felt good to say it. He’d done nothing but argue with those he loved wi
thout a moment to use his formidable magic in anything but shameful spells. His hand rose quickly from his side, only to find itself locked in place before he could pass it before his nose. Gannimere had reacted faster than the eyes could see, grabbing Marcel’s wrist and holding it there while he stared straight into the young wizard’s face. His breath drifted into Marcel’s nostrils mixed with the smell of skin that hadn’t aged in five hundred years.

  ‘There’s no need for this, Marcel. You’d never let your friends die — I guessed as much from the start — but think of what they have seen. I even allowed the girl to share the wisdom her mother had left in Arminsel’s fibres. They must not speak of Baden Dark from the moment they leave here. Should even one person hear what truly lies beneath the mountain, word would quickly spread until everyone knew and intruders invaded the land of the elves. Some would find a way in, no matter how clever we are and no matter what powers we use to keep them out.’

  ‘You won’t harm them?’

  ‘No, you love them too much, and five centuries amid the wisdom of Arminsel has shown me what a force that can be. They may leave with their lives.’

  Marcel relaxed and only then did Gannimere release his wrist.

  ‘They won’t let you down,’ said Marcel as he worked his hand back and forth painfully to get the blood flowing. ‘They’ve already pledged their silence to Long Beard.’ He even managed a chuckle. ‘He was ready to kill Fergus and me to protect Baden Dark’s secrets. Like you, he changed his mind.’

  ‘I’m glad to hear it, and I’m heartened to know how much you trust your companions,’ said Gannimere, his face softening with sincerity. Then the same features turned to stone and his voice became a chill breeze. ‘But that’s not enough. I have a better way to be sure they never speak of Baden Dark’s secrets.’

  Marcel’s suspicion sparked again. ‘You promised not to harm them.’

  ‘And I won’t. But they cannot leave here with the memory of what they have witnessed. We must take it from them.’

  Marcel felt the blood drain from his face. ‘Magic like that was worked on me once. The pain it caused was terrible.’

  ‘I’m sure it was difficult, but you are still alive,’ said Gannimere, holding Marcel’s gaze to be sure he understood the alternative.

  ‘WHERE’S MARCEL?’ SHOUTED FERGUS as Gannimere approached. Marcel, obeying the wizard’s command to stay in the arch of Arminsel’s trunk, couldn’t hear what Bea said. He could only watch. Since their faces were turned towards him, he picked the very instant when Gannimere told them of his decision. The shock he saw there made him turn away.

  How much of their memories would Gannimere take, he wondered. Would he sweep away Bea’s memory of their first meeting after three years? In the blush of reunion, they’d been as happy together as they’d ever been. His mouth opened and a groan escaped, as though a fist had slammed against his chest. In his talks with Gannimere and his arguments with Bea and Fergus, he had thought only of what he would gain if he stayed in Baden Dark. He hadn’t taken a moment to consider what he would lose.

  He could see that Bea had heard enough from Gannimere. She slipped past him and raced towards Marcel, determined to invade the netherworld and its half-light. Fergus followed on her heels. Marcel saw Gannimere’s hand move and when his friends came no closer, he knew why. Magic had barred their bodies from Arminsel. A far greater magic would soon act on their minds.

  ‘Marcel, can you hear us?’ Bea cried. ‘Come out here where we can see you. You can’t stay in Baden Dark. It’s not what you were born to do. Come with us, Marcel, and we’ll go together, all three of us, back to the Mortal Kingdoms where we belong.’

  Marcel barely noticed Gannimere arrive at his side; he was caught up in watching his two friends fight against the simple magic that kept them away from him.

  ‘I can see in your face how hard this moment is,’ said the wizard. ‘But you have made the right choice. Arminsel needs you more than these two do. The Mortal Kingdoms teem with millions like them whose lives will be richer, safer, because of what you’ve decided.’

  Finally, the words came that Marcel dreaded; from Fergus, as he’d expected. ‘We won’t leave without you. Do you hear that, Marcel?’

  Marcel glanced fearfully at the figure beside him.

  ‘Don’t worry. This heroic defiance will cease once he and the girl have no memory of you at all.’

  ‘None at all!’

  ‘It is the nature of this magic,’ said Gannimere, unconcerned. ‘And in the circumstances, we can’t leave anything to chance.’

  ‘But how much of their memories must you wipe clean?’

  ‘It’s not a simple spell. It comes from Arminsel; in fact, from the fibres that make the tree what it is. Its great gift is that it takes everything from the spirits who come here for that very purpose.’

  ‘You mean this magic will take everything? They won’t even know their own names?’

  ‘They will become new people, yes. It will be as though their lives have started over.’

  ‘It is the same spell Lord Alwyn used against us.’

  ‘Is that so surprising, Marcel? He came here after all, didn’t he? I gave him a part of Arminsel to take back with him to the Mortal Kingdoms. He must have learned the spell in the same way I did.’

  ‘The same magic,’ Marcel muttered miserably. ‘He used it against Nicola too, and Fergus. It’s not right.’

  ‘It’s what I must do. What we must do, Marcel. You see that, don’t you?’

  So he was part of this. It wasn’t just something Gannimere was going to do to his friends; it was something he would do as well, as though he were casting the spell with his own hand, his own will.

  This was the magic that had brought Bea into his life. She had been the first to fight against it, and in a way they had been fighting against it ever since. Now their story had come in a mocking circle, back to where they had begun in Fallside. Except this time the sorcerer wasn’t Lord Alwyn; it was Marcel himself.

  CHAPTER 29

  A Princess as Brave as a King

  ‘SHOULD I BRING YOUR riding clothes, my lady?’ the maid asked as Nicola burst through the door of her chamber.

  So word was spreading through the palace faster than she could move herself. It was hardly surprising. Everyone from the highest lord to the grimiest scullery girl felt the excitement whenever King Pelham called for his hunting dogs.

  ‘Yes, the special one. And don’t look so shocked,’ the princess added when the maid’s eyebrows dared shoot upwards. ‘You look like the chancellor when you make a face like that. If you wanted to keep up with the leading riders, you wouldn’t wear a dress either.’

  The riding suit, as Nicola’s outfit had become known throughout the capital, allowed her to sit in the saddle like a man — something the chancellor had disapproved of at first, though he had changed his tune when she began to outpace her father. As she’d come to expect, the chancellor had his own, practical reasons for this change of heart.

  ‘It takes more than skill to ride a horse at such speeds,’ he told her. ‘It takes courage. This way the people can see that their princess is as brave as their king and that’s no bad thing.’

  The afternoon sun made the hunting party sweat as they rode through the gates of the city and towards the open plains. The flat expanse was dotted here and there by woods and copses of small trees and it was towards one of these copses that they headed first. Nicola stayed close to Pelham as the hounds did their work, skirting the scattered thickets to sniff out the game. Each dog had its own handler, tugged along by a stout leather leash, and seemed to take special delight in seeing the man as muddy as itself.

  Rabbits darted to and fro in fright, desperate to reach their burrows.

  ‘Leave them,’ the king shouted when the dogs tried to chase them down. ‘I’m in the mood for more than rabbit pie.’

  He was happy today. Since Marcel and Fergus had flown off to Bea’s mountain, the king had tried to hide his
worry and failed — to Nicola’s eye anyway. So she was especially pleased to see his spirits ignited by this hunt.

  Before long, they had a quarry more worthy of the chase. A wild boar had been hiding in a thicket, hoping the party would pass by, no doubt. But the dogs picked up its scent and forced it to run.

  ‘Keep a firm hold of those dogs,’ Nicola shouted.

  It was cruel to set a pack of dogs onto a desperate animal. All too often they would tear the poor thing to pieces before the hunters arrived on horseback. The king agreed with her, which was why each of them carried a light lance, more a spear really. This was the weapon the pig should fear.

  The chase was on and Nicola quickly had her horse in stride, only a bound or two behind her father’s. The rest of the party could take care of themselves. This was a contest between king and princess, and if Nicola wanted any reminding of this, she need only look ahead to see her father’s grin as he glanced at her over his shoulder. ‘You won’t get this one, my girl,’ he cried in delight.

  The boar was beginning to tire, but the wood’s thick edge lay not far away and they would have to slow their horses among the trees. It was the boar’s best chance to stay alive and he knew it.

  Pelham hurled his lance, more in desperate hope than cool judgement. His aim was true nonetheless and the deadly blade sliced into the boar’s side, bringing a squeal of pain and terror. The wound wasn’t enough to kill though, and the beast hurried on towards the safety of the woods.

  ‘We have to cut it off!’ Pelham shouted.

  Nicola responded to the thrill. She might have overtaken her father if her horse hadn’t slowed suddenly, reluctant to gallop where the reins demanded. What was wrong? After Gadfly, this was her favourite mare, much more handsome and almost as clever, so she slackened her pace and looked ahead. What had made her mount so …

  The words left her lips at the very instant her eyes saw the danger. ‘Rabbits! Father, the ground isn’t safe.’

  Too late. She could only watch as the front leg of her father’s horse broke through a crust of soil weakened by the many burrows beneath. The horse stumbled and, in a desperate effort to right itself, threw the king from his saddle. Pelham was tossed helplessly into the air, first upwards, then down, down, until he landed with a brutal thump on the flat of his back.