The Winter Riddle

by Sam Hooker

  Not bad, cawed Redcrow, even if it is utter rubbish.

  “No one,” said Loki, the ridiculous gleam of self-absorption shining brightly in his eyes once again. “None of the other gods could have bested me in this, only I could! Thor couldn’t rival my intellect, the half-wit. Nor Tyr, Heimdall, not even Odin himself! I’m the smartest of them all! Ha ha! Ow.”

  “Tho tell uth,” said Volgha, “what did you do?”

  Loki smiled and giggled. “I moved the sun,” he answered. “Just an inch! Just enough to warm things up a bit, just barely—no one would notice, no one who wasn’t exceptionally clever.”

  “The frost giants must be exceptionally clever then.” Santa rose to his feet. “You warmed the peak of Niflheim enough that one of them is very close to laying his hands on the Horn of Frost. You’ve brought war down upon us, Loki.”

  Loki burst into laughter. “What are the chances? Ha ha! Ha ha ha! Ow.”

  “It’th no laughing matter!”

  “Not if you’re Odin, it’s not,” said Loki. “He told the Vikings that he’d gotten rid of the frost giants for good. Oh, won’t his face be red?”

  “You have to put the sun back where it belongs,” demanded Santa.

  “And if I don’t?”

  “We’ll tell the Vikings that you brought the frost giants back.”

  “The embarrassment will be Odin’s alone. This is just the sort of mischief that’s expected of a delightful scamp such as myself!”

  “Not if we tell them that you accidentally brought the frost giants back,” said Matilda.

  “What?”

  “I can hear them now,” said Matilda. “The Vikings will say ‘dumb old Loki, can’t pull off a prank without releasing the frost giants by mistake.’ They’ll laugh about it for years.”

  “It’ll be worthe than that,” said Volgha. “Your name will be thynonymouth with bungling. They’ll thay ‘oopth, I really pulled a Loki and raided the wrong village,’ or ‘thorry, dear, I’ve Loki’d the roatht, can we go out for thupper?’”

  Oh come on, cawed Redcrow, you don’t actually expect this to bother—

  “No, they won’t!” Loki snarled. “Ugh, fine! I’ll go fix it. But only because I’m bored of this game. I’ve already won it anyway!”

  “If you say so,” said Santa.

  Idiot.

  “I do say so, mortal.” Loki walked behind a cask of wine and disappeared.

  “I hope he hurrieth,” said Volgha.

  “Good thinking, Krespo,” said Santa, “telling him that he’d actually won.”

  Krespo shrugged. “Everyone likes to think of themselves as the hero of their own story. Besides, whether he solved it or not, he could have viewed either outcome as a win or a loss. If he didn’t see that all along, he’s not as clever as all that.”

  Santa laughed. “Well said. You’ve certainly proven your worth today, Krespo.”

  Krespo smiled.

  You should congratulate Matilda as well, suggested Osgrey.

  “Right,” said Volgha. “Well done to you ath well, Matilda. That wath quick thinking.”

  “Glad I could pitch in,” said Matilda. “Now what about the queen?”

  Volgha said a swear word. It lost its veracity without her front teeth. Sibilant swear words are like that.

  “We have to find her,” she said.

  “If she’s still alive,” said Santa.

  Volgha’s heart sank. She realized that since they’d first been thrown into the dungeon, she never once considered her sister’s well-being. The two of them had never gotten along, but dislike and disregard are very different. She’d always thought that she’d have been perfectly happy if she never had to speak to her sister again, but that scenario always assumed that Alexia was alive somewhere, ruling her kingdom, drunk and braying like a donkey, eating sausages that she’d found in other people’s pockets. She never wanted her sister to die—she was all the family Volgha had left.

  “The withard’th tower,” she said. “It hath everything I need to thcry through the cathle, I’ll be able to find her in no time.”

  What about Ghasterly? asked Osgrey.

  Volgha shuddered. “We all have to fathe our fearth thometime.”

  * * *

  Getting to the base of the wizard’s tower was easy. Getting to the top was nearly impossible unless you knew the trick to it. Fortunately for Volgha, she did—and Ghasterly had never bothered to change it, out of arrogance or laziness or both.

  It was a spiral stone staircase. If you climbed it incorrectly, you could find yourself spiraling endlessly up or down until someone came and got you—or you died of starvation, which had happened on more than one occasion.

  The trick was to skip every third step, unless it had a green brick on it, in which case you’d step on it and skip the one after that; unless that one had a green brick on it, in which case you’d need to skip the step preceding the first one with the green brick on it. Of course, if that one had a brown brick on it, you’d need to step on it with both feet and then hop over both of the ones with the green bricks. Any steps with a green brick and a brown brick on them should never be stepped on under any circumstances—unless, of course, it was flanked on both sides by steps with red bricks on them. In that case, any steps with green bricks should be ignored entirely. Simple.

  Once they’d traversed the stairs, made it past the fake door, the other fake door, the hedge maze, and the final fake door, they took a running start at the real door—which wasn’t really there—passed through it with only a modicum of motion sickness, and marveled at the wonders within.

  The whole place hummed with magical energy. Bookshelves lined the circular walls of the tower, stretching as high as the eye could see. There were sitting areas, lecterns supporting very old and odd-looking volumes, some of which were leafing through their own pages leisurely, passing the time while waiting for someone who knew what they were doing to come and read them with intent.

  Ghasterly was nowhere to be seen. That was good. Maybe Volgha could get in, do what needed to be done, and get out before he returned from the mausoleum he was rooting through, or whatever other detestable business he enjoyed. She knew she’d have to deal with him eventually, but without her basket or her teeth, her powers were rather limited.

  What was she thinking, barging into the tower like that? Ghasterly could have been waiting for her! She’d better hurry then, and standing there gawking wasn’t helping at all.

  Time to move, then. Right foot first, go on. Why was nothing happening? She looked down, and saw a shadowy ichor puddling at her feet, holding her in place. Santa, Krespo, and Matilda were stuck in it as well. Krespo was crying. Volgha’s blood went cold.

  “Tsk, tsk, tsk,” came a sickly, chiding echo from everywhere all at once. “You’ve broken your promise, girl. Now you’ll have to be punished.”

  There was a stirring in the ichor beneath them. Volgha felt something crawling over her boots. She looked down and saw fingers. Pale, dead fingers.

  “I don’t have time for thith,” said Volgha. “Jutht give me my bathket, and I’ll be on my way.”

  Just go get it, cawed Redcrow. What’s stopping you?

  “Whothe thide are you on?” Volgha spat at Redcrow. “Do thomething, will you?”

  “Talking to birds, are we?” said Ghasterly, suddenly appearing inches from Volgha’s face. She cringed.

  “Stop this,” said Santa. “Leave us alone, or you’ll regret it!”

  “Big words from the frightened deer.” Ghasterly strolled lazily over to Santa, but stayed carefully out of arm’s reach. “Well done, running from the former queen. If I’d been hunting you, your organs would be in alphabetized jars by now.”

  “Release me, and we can test that theory.” Santa showed no fear at all. Volgha envied that. Their last encounter had left her feeling utterly helpless against Ghasterly. She couldn’t think of anything but her desire to live through this.

  Why are you screaming like that
?

  “I’m not thcreaming, that’th Krethpo!”

  “Not yet, you’re not,” said Ghasterly, not taking his eyes off Santa.

  Volgha squirmed. The dead fingers rose from the ichor to become dead hands, clawing their way up her legs. Whether they were trying to climb up or pull her down didn’t matter. She was in the midst of the only reasonable reaction, mentally screaming, No no no no no no no no no no no …

  Your thoughts are screaming! cawed Redcrow, as forcefully as possible. Why don’t you all just rush him, and give him the beating of his life?

  “I’d love to, but I can’t move!” said Volgha.

  “Wait a minute,” said Matilda, her brow all furrowed.

  What?

  “I thaid I can’t move!”

  It’s no good, I can’t hear you over your screaming! You need to quiet your mind!

  “It’s not real!” said Matilda.

  “Quiet, girl,” said Ghasterly. Volgha watched in horror as he took Matilda’s face in his hands and opened his mouth. A black serpent emerged, hissing and baring its fangs.

  Krespo screamed.

  “Leave her alone!” shouted Santa. He twisted his hips and pulled against the grasping corpses below him, trying to break free.

  “What are you doing?” asked Matilda, squinting at Ghasterly. The serpent struck at her face, it’s jaw snapping an inch from her nose. She didn’t even blink.

  Oh, I get it, cawed Redcrow. Volgha, whatever you’re seeing, it isn’t real! If you can quiet your mind, I can show you!

  But how? How could she quiet her mind? She was being dragged into a black and hopeless void, which is exactly the sort of situation in which the mind is expected to work as hard as possible!

  “Let go!” yelled Matilda, struggling against Ghasterly. She was shaking her head and grasping at his hands. “And close your mouth, your breath is rancid!”

  Matilda managed to get a foot free from the grasping dead things, and planted it firmly on Ghasterly’s knee. He stumbled and fell, and Matilda ran away from him.

  “Curse you, child!” Ghasterly rose to his feet sneering, and started limping toward her. “I don’t have to use magic to choke the life from you!”

  Redcrow cawed a swear word. He leapt from the bookcase where he was perched and went after Ghasterly, flapping and clawing at his face.

  Feel the fury of the Warden, cur!

  When a person has never been in a physical altercation, there are several tell-tale signs that emerge during their first fight. While a seasoned brawler will put their head down and move toward their opponent, the novice will tend to lean backward, flail their arms wildly, and rely on their opponent eventually getting tired of fighting them and concede victory.

  While Redcrow’s anatomy left him incapable of making a martially effective fist, he’d been in a few dust-ups in his time. Ghasterly, on the other hand, obviously had not. He also seemed incapable of forming a martially effective fist, proper anatomy notwithstanding.

  Unfortunately, though his flapping and clawing were able to drive Ghasterly backward, the necromancer seemed to figure out that he vastly outweighed the bird. Luckily, Redcrow had managed to put enough distance between Ghasterly and Matilda for her to get a running start at him. She leapt and collided with Ghasterly’s midsection, catching him off-balance and bringing him to the floor. His head struck the cold stone roughly, and he was out cold. The ichor and the clutching dead things vanished instantly, though the force and speed of Volgha’s heartbeat did not relent. Neither did Krespo’s crying until he opened his eyes.

  That’s right, cawed Redcrow, now hopping on Ghasterly’s chest, you see what happens when you go in against the Warden?

  “It wath all an illuthion!” said Volgha, her voice quavering.

  That’s what I was trying to tell you, cawed Redcrow.

  “Good job, Matilda,” said Santa. “How did you see through the spell?”

  “It just didn’t seem likely,” she replied, dusting herself off. “I could still feel solid ground under me, but it looked like I was standing in a bog or something. Plus, I remember from burying the old Tickler that it doesn’t take long for the dead to start stinking. Dozens of rotting hands with no smell?”

  “I should have thought of that.” Krespo began drying tears away from his face.

  You all should have, cawed Redcrow. It was painfully obvious.

  “It wathn’t directed at you,” said Volgha. “Thtop acting tho thuperior.”

  “You were here, Krespo,” said Santa. “That took courage.”

  “Courage to what?” asked Krespo, new tears welling in his eyes. “To cry myself to death?”

  Santa shook his head. “Courage isn’t the absence of fear, Krespo. It’s gritting your teeth and charging in anyway. You’re every bit as brave as the rest of us.”

  “I agree. Good job, Krespo. Good job, everyone.” Matilda wiped her hands on her pants. “Now, what do we do with him?”

  “Find me a rope,” said Santa.

  When Ghasterly awoke, he was bound to a chair and gagged. The first thing he saw was Volgha leafing through one of his books, and he started writhing and trying to shout.

  “Good,” Santa moved to crouch in front of him, “you’re awake. You remember our last staring match, don’t you? The one right before you threatened to strangle a little girl?”

  “Young woman,” corrected Matilda. “The young woman who took him down, for those keeping score.”

  “Right,” said Santa, “sorry.”

  “Caw!” said Redcrow aloud, in a way that seemed to mean “ahem.”

  “Yes,” said Matilda, “it was a team effort. Well done, Redcrow.”

  Redcrow ruffled his feathers and affected a stately pose on his perch.

  “You’re only alive right now because you were defeated by the young woman and the crow,” Santa said to Ghasterly. “If you’d been a few inches closer to me, I’d have squashed your head to soup.”

  Santa put his hands on Ghasterly’s shoulders. He spent a long moment just staring at him. Ghasterly seemed to know that he’d been defeated, though his sneer soldiered on unabated. He’d nurtured it for so long that it had taken on a life of its own. According to Aurorian law, he could start charging it property taxes for the use of his face.

  Volgha was sitting at a desk piled high with books, scrolls, potions, ingredients, and all manner of strange and wonderful implements that defied description. She was flipping through a big red book with illuminated pages.

  “Are you going to cast a spell from that book to find the queen?” asked Matilda.

  “No thpellth in thith book,” said Volgha. “Thith one ith jutht a directory.”

  The others made themselves comfortable in the overstuffed chairs and waited while Volgha found everything that she needed. She ground herbs together in a mortar, added some oils, then found a bit of fire living in the cragflower she’d mixed in, and set the concoction alight. The distillation took a long time, but once she was satisfied with the color and clarity of the potion, she waved her hand over it and mumbled a few words.

  “Here goeth nothing,” she said, a phrase that almost never came after “a lot of proper planning went onto this,” or was followed by “that went well, I’m glad we did it.” She drank the whole thing down, set the bottle on the desk, and quickly took a seat on the steps. Staring at the floor, she took a few deep breaths.

  Krespo looked at Santa. “What do you suppose was in that—”

  Volgha started screaming and rolling around on the floor, with her hands covering her face.

  “Oh no,” exclaimed Matilda, “something’s gone wrong!”

  “Caw!” said Redcrow. He appeared to shake his head and waited patiently on his perch.

  “Give it a moment.” Santa was staring at Volgha.

  “Not like we have much choice.” Krespo was right, of course. Short of throwing whatever magic-looking ingredients that were within reach at her, what could they do? There was no clearly labeled Mag
ic Extinguisher that any of them could see.

  After a moment, Volgha’s screaming subsided. She sat up and ran her tongue around the inside of her mouth with her lips closed. Then her lips parted, and she bared two full rows of teeth at her comrades. Her eyes held a questioning look.

  “Your teeth are fixed!” said Krespo.

  “Oh, thank goodness,” said Volgha.

  “I thought you were worried about your sister,” said Santa.

  “I am,” replied Volgha. “It’s just that most of the incantations that I need to perform to find her are rather precise. If I get them wrong, bad things can happen.”

  Santa nodded. “Painful process, then?”

  “All the pain of teething packed into several seconds,” said Volgha. “I don’t recommend it.”

  Volgha smiled when she saw it. It was sitting right where she left it, on the floor between two bookcases. No doubt Ghasterly hadn’t thought enough of the basket to do anything with it, and that was his folly. There were quite a lot of valuable spell components in there, not to mention some powdered spices that would really stand out in the stew.

  She was a bit low on a few things, though, so she rifled through Ghasterly’s shelves and filled the basket with herbs, roots, powders, and the like. She gave herself a little nod, satisfied that she was fully equipped now to take on Chamberlain and put this whole thing to rest.

  “Right,” said Volgha, “time to find my sister. Redcrow, would you help with the Seeking, please?”

  I suppose so, cawed Redcrow, since you asked so nicely. A little humility looks good on you.

  “Thanks, I guess.”

  Redcrow flew out through the window and into the darkening sky with a, “Caw!” while Volgha ground salt and rockwort together. She made her circle on the floor, sat in the middle of it, closed her eyes, and began chanting and gesturing. Precise or not, it was quite sibilant.

  It didn’t take long to find Alexia, alive and well.

  Thanks, Redcrow, she thought to him. You can come back now.

  And you can stop shouting! Anyway, getting back in through that window gives me a headache. I’ll just meet you in the kitchens later.