by Amy Neftzger
“Well, there’s that action where she stole a piece of my soul,” Kelsey pointed out offhandedly.
“You signed it away. It was never stolen,” Roland replied firmly. “So let’s not dwell on the things we’ve lost and focus on the task at hand.”
“OK, so I’ll just forget that my soul is gone and focus on the task at hand. Easy enough.” Kelsey’s sarcasm was exaggerated as she spoke. She had stayed awake at night several times, wondering why she didn’t feel as if her soul was missing a piece, but she knew it was gone, and it made her angry whenever she thought about it.
“Good,” Roland said with approval, ignoring Kelsey’s tone.
“What do I do?” Kelsey asked.
“First eliminate all the frustration and hostility you’re feeling. It’s counterproductive to healing and will only get in the way,” he said. “Don’t rush. It won’t help. Be sure to clear your mind. Once you’ve gotten your head into a calm state, gently pick up the bird.” After a few minutes of deep breathing Kelsey reached forward and carefully scooped up the bird.
“Don’t talk,” Roland instructed her. “Continue to keep your mind clear and have only positive things dwelling there. Think about the bird being whole again. Imagine the enlarged tongue decreasing in size as you gently touch the bird. You can stroke it, but be very gentle.”
Kelsey followed his instructions. She wanted to be able to do this, and she was worried that her desire to achieve would get in the way. So instead of thinking about how much she desired to accomplish the task, she thought about the bird and about it being successful and able to speak clearly again. She was so focused on the bird’s health that it startled her when the bird spoke and she understood it.
“Thank you, Giraffe-Girl,” the dove said.
“Giraffe-Girl?” Kelsey asked with confusion as she bent over and set the bird down on the ground. She wondered if she had misinterpreted the bird’s statement.
“You talk like a giraffe,” the bird said as he strutted around, bobbing his head as he walked back and forth.
“I thought so,” Maggie said with conviction.
“Look,” Kelsey replied, “I don’t even know what a giraffe sounds like.”
“Sure you do,” said the bird. “It sounds like you. Thanks for helping me out. Would you like me to fly up to the top of a tall tree and get you some leaves for payment? That’s what your kind eats, right?”
“That won’t be necessary,” said Kelsey as politely as she could manage. The dove quickly said goodbye and flew off. The sun had nearly set by this time, and Kelsey could feel the temperature dropping.
“Well done,” Roland said once the bird had gone. “That went extremely well, and I think Megan will be pleased. You do seem to have some natural healing talent within you.”
“Me? I don’t think so. It must have been a fluke,” Kelsey insisted. “I’m a killer.”
“He looked like he was healed, and he sounded better, too,” Maggie said with enthusiasm. “That was really cool!”
“Thanks,” Kelsey replied with some embarrassment. She wasn’t used to being good at anything that wasn’t violent. This was completely new to her. She was still feeling awkward when she heard a faint sound that caught her ear and made the hair on her arms prickle. It wasn’t much – perhaps the breaking of a twig or the sound of something brushing through branches. It was subtle but alarming to her. Kelsey suddenly turned her head when she heard it again. Now she could feel the hair on the back of her neck rising in alarm.
“I hear something,” she said in a whisper.
“I don’t hear anything, but I feel creepy,” Maggie added as she looked around cautiously. “Like someone or something is watching us.”
Chapter
14
Watching, Waiting and Scrying
“He didn’t see you,” Moss insisted. “He couldn’t have. It’s impossible.” He waved his hand in the air dramatically with each statement. He looked as if he was erasing an imaginary chalkboard. Moss appeared even sillier because he was wearing a green and purple striped sock over one ear and a red and white polka dot sock over the other.
“But Maggie and Kelsey could hear me when I carried the flame,” Nicholas said. “Maybe I was impressing myself into the sorcerer’s laboratory without realizing that I was doing it.”
“I can’t hear you,” Moss replied as he leaned forward. “Talk louder.”
“Perhaps it’s the wool socks, sir,” Nicholas said as Newton slowly raised his eyebrows and nodded.
“Nonsense. I rarely use my feet to listen.”
Nicholas gave up trying to reason with Moss and repeated his statements in a louder voice. He also spoke more slowly to make sure Moss heard him.
“Could I have been impressing myself into the sorcerer’s lab without knowing what I was doing?”
“No,” Moss replied. “That’s far too difficult. You’ve never been to his lab or met him. It would take a far greater power to impress yourself on the unknown.” Moss stroked his green beard and then quickly glanced at Nicholas before adding, “No offense.”
“None taken,” Nicholas replied. But he did feel as if the sorcerer had seen him. Perhaps he hadn’t seen Nicholas specifically, but the sorcerer knew that someone was watching him. “Although, if it’s all the same to you, I’d rather not spy on the sorcerer again.”
“Scry, not spy,” Moss retorted. “It’s not the same thing, and we will have to scry on him again. We have no choice.”
“Isn’t there something safer we could try, instead?” Nicholas clasped his hands together in his lap. His palms felt slippery as they met.
“Safe doesn’t always get results, and we need results if we’re going to win this war. This isn’t just about us, you know. It’s about the whole kingdom.”
Nicholas thought through the situation. He tried to think of a way to convince Moss that this wasn’t a good idea when he remembered something Newton had said.
“Aren’t gargoyles very good at scrying? Couldn’t we have Newton do this?”
“Leave me out of it!” Newton exclaimed as he took a few steps backward. “That’s not safe at all — for any of us!”
“Why?” Nicholas asked. “Why is it OK for me to do this and not you?”
“Because the sorcerer knows him,” Moss explained.
Nicholas was shocked. “How?”
“Some other time. Right now we have work to do.”
Nicholas felt an imaginary lead weight in his stomach fall to the floor, pulling his spirit down with it. Not only was he doing something he dreaded, but he also felt that it was too invasive and that the sorcerer knew there was someone watching. Besides, the sorcerer’s castle was a very creepy place to be, even if you weren’t actually physically there. The atmosphere could be felt, and it was disturbing. Nicholas always had the impression that something was wrong – or about to go terribly wrong – when he was scrying there.
“I just don’t see how this is safe for any of us. I really think he saw me looking at him last time.”
“He doesn’t know you,” Newton said. “So even if he could see you, there’s no way he would know where you were or who you are. Remember how scrying works: you needed something that belonged to the sorcerer to be able to find him.”
Nicholas nodded silently. He didn’t know why he trusted the gargoyle, but he did. There was something about what Newton had said that made more sense than all of Moss' arguments. Moss was supposed to be a genius, but he always seemed to be so far away, and Nicholas often felt alone when he was with Moss. Besides, Moss looked ridiculous with those two unmatched socks over his ears. It was difficult to take anything he said seriously.
“Shall we try again?” Moss asked as he leaned forward and pushed the scrying bowl toward Nicholas. Nicholas nodded, but he still didn’t feel right about what he was doing. Even if the sorcerer was evil, it seemed wrong to be watching him.
“Do you have the glove?” Nicholas asked after hesitating for a brief period.
“I wonder how the sorcerer will get through winter if you have all of his warm clothing,” Nicholas remarked. Newton chuckled, while Moss considered the statement.
“He will need to have more clothing made, I suppose,” Moss replied with a thoughtful expression.
Nicholas took the scarf and held it in his hands. He put it around his own neck and inhaled the earthy scent. It didn’t smell like the gloves. The scarf had a more grounded fragrance. It was also very soft and fuzzy – not the sort of thing Nicholas expected the sorcerer to wear. For some reason he thought of the sorcerer as being tough and rugged. Perhaps that was just the impression from the leather gloves.
Nicholas looked the scarf over one more time and then settled into the scrying basin to concentrate. He had just turned the basin for the fifth time when the image immediately came up clearly, and he jumped back in horror.
“I saw us! I was watching this room!” Nicholas exclaimed. “I knew it! He saw me yesterday, and now I’m seeing what he’s seeing. He’s watching us! Or he’s deflecting me somehow so that I see myself when I try to spy on him!” He felt his pulse quickening along with his breath. He started to gasp and felt like he couldn’t get enough air into his lungs to fill them adequately.
“Oh, my!” Moss exclaimed. “That is brilliant! A mirroring spell to deflect scrying. I must begin working on one immediately.” He smiled thoughtfully as he stared into space for a moment.
“You’re not worried about this? How can you admire the work of someone who knows where we are and wants to destroy us?”
“Calm down, calm down,” Moss said dismissively as he took the scarf. He put on his large silver-rimmed glasses and studied the object. “This is my scarf. I brought the wrong one.”
“You what?” Nicholas asked.
“I’ll take that,” Newton said as he snatched the scarf with one of his talons. “I’ll get the correct one.” He took off in flight, his large wings flapping as he sailed quickly across the floor and down the hallway.
“You have quite an imagination to think up such a spell in a moment of panic,” Moss said pleasantly. “You’re going to be a fine sorcerer!”
“If my heart can take it.”
“It’s good exercise to get the heart going like that,” Moss said as he patted Nicholas on the back. “I’ll bet you feel really alive right now!”
“Alive? I feel as if I nearly had a heart attack. I didn’t know what was happening.”
“But did you see how fast you made the connection? And you didn’t know that you were looking for me. This is excellent progress.”
“Moss, I’m not sure we’re on the same page here.”
“Oh, we’re not on any pages. Pages belong in books. We’re in the castle,” Moss replied. “Besides, pages get very soggy when scrying. Trust me, I’ve tried it before.” Nicholas had concerns about Moss' ability to keep him safe while he was learning, and he made a mental note to speak to the king about it.
Just then Newton arrived with what looked like the exact same scarf and draped it around Nicholas' neck. He patted Nicholas affectionately on both shoulders a few times before sitting down on the table without speaking.
“Thank you, Newton,” Moss said politely, and Newton nodded.
Nicholas felt the scarf with his fingers. It looked almost identical to the one he had just held, but this one had a coarser texture. It wasn’t soft and felt more as if it belonged to the same person as the glove that Nicholas had held the day before. It also smelled similar. It had a musty scent, but it contained a hint of a smoky fragrance, as if someone had been sitting too close to a wood fire while wearing it. Nicholas took a deep breath and leaned forward to begin the exercise.
After only a few minutes, he located the sorcerer. He was in a different place. Nicholas knew it wasn’t the sorcerer’s home, but he couldn’t say why. The sorcerer was with a group of other people at what appeared to be an informal meeting. There was a long table in the middle of the room, and people were milling about and talking with one another.
“What do you see?” Moss asked.
“People,” Nicholas replied, “He’s with a lot of people.”
“Where?”
“I don’t know. It’s a large room, like a private dining room at an inn. It has a huge table and terrible blue wallpaper with a print of teacups on it. It looks like he’s at a business meeting of some sort. Everyone is talking and exchanging business cards.”
“Can you hear anything?”
Nicholas leaned close to the water and could hear garbled bits of speech. It sounded like everyone was under the water.
“I can’t make out what they’re saying.”
“We don’t care what everyone is saying,” Moss replied. “Focus on the scarf. You need to hear his voice, the sorcerer’s voice.”
Nicholas did as he was told and listened. He relayed everything he heard to Moss, and Newton took notes by dipping one of his talons into an inkwell and writing with it on a pad of paper. The sorcerer was telling everyone the same story, but it didn’t make sense to Nicholas.
“There once was a wolf who was eating a chicken, but he was eating much too quickly, and one of the chicken’s bones became caught in the wolf’s throat,” the sorcerer said. “The wolf tried to swallow the bone, but the bone was stuck and wouldn’t budge, so he became very worried that he would choke on it. Each time the wolf turned his head he felt the pain of the bone poking him in the throat, and so he began to search for a way to remove it. At first he tried using a stick, but that only pushed the bone farther down and made the wolf yelp with pain. He begged for help from every rabbit, squirrel, skunk, and other creature he saw. All of the animals refused, stating that the wolf was likely to eat them once they had retrieved the bone and the wolf was able to eat again.
“Finally, the wolf came across a crane. The bird quickly saw the advantage of having a wolf for a friend, so she agreed to remove the bone in exchange for a favor. The crane could fit her long beak down the wolf’s neck without putting her whole head inside the wolf’s mouth, and she quickly loosened the bone to remove it.” The sorcerer paused here and then added, “So to this day the wolf owes the crane a favor.” The sorcerer handed his business card to the listener, who laughed and then moved on to speak with someone else.
After two hours of observing the sorcerer at this meeting, Nicholas was very tired and a little bored with hearing the same story over and over. He asked to stop the lesson. Moss agreed that it was more than enough work for one day. He smiled as he slumped down in his chair, his fingers playing with his green beard as he reflected on the information.
“I’ve been watching him, and he’s told the same story to at least four different people,” Nicholas explained. “It’s the exact same story every time. Almost every word is identical.”
“But he’s telling different people. The audience isn’t the same.”
“Why is he doing that?” Nicholas asked. “He could have told everyone at once. They were already in the same room together.”
“It wouldn’t be the same for him if he only told it once. Sometimes a story needs to be told a second or third time, or even more. It’s not because the person listening needs to hear it again. It’s because the person telling the story needs to speak it aloud to keep it alive. Words are powerful things, Nicholas.”
“So perhaps we need to study the story a bit more closely,” Nicholas suggested. “I don’t understand why it would be important to him or why he’d want to keep it alive. It’s a children’s story.”
“Stories aren’t just for children,” Moss insisted.
“This one is,” Nicholas replied. “It’s told to children all the time.”
“But that doesn’t mean it can’t have other meanings,” Moss said. He started to mindlessly braid and unbraid his beard as he thought. “Or other purposes,” he added.
“Al
though,” Nicholas added thoughtfully, “he’s changed the ending. In the original story the wolf was ungracious and replied that not eating the crane was enough of a favor. So the wolf never did actually repay the favor.”
“That’s an important point,” Moss said and then added, “Is it hot in here?”
“Take the socks off your ears,” Newton replied. “They look silly, anyway.”
“You’ve never experienced cold ears.” Moss swatted the air in Newton’s direction as he spoke.
“Try being made of stone and sitting on the roof of a 12-story gothic cathedral in the winter,” Newton retorted. “You don’t know what cold is until you don’t have a circulation system to keep you warm.”
“Well, you’re alive now,” Moss replied. “And we don’t need to debate about being cold when it’s hot in here.”
“It’s not hot. Take off the socks,” Newton said again. Moss reached up and snatched the socks from his ears as he glared at Newton.
“What’s he doing right now?” Moss asked the next day when Nicholas was scrying again.
“He’s telling that story again, but there’s no one there to hear it.” Nicholas could feel the darkness from the sorcerer’s castle. He wasn’t there physically, but the darkness felt tangible, and it made Nicholas uncomfortable.
“And what do you see? What’s he doing?”
“There are huge bottles of foaming things. He has thin glass tubes that spiral in circles and connect the glass bottles. He also has some giant silver cauldrons.” Nicholas could hear the liquid bubbling through the glass tubes. It created an effect of white noise.
“Cauldrons? Or kettles? It makes a huge difference.”
“Cauldrons. He’s cooking something and watching the temperature very closely. It’s thick, but not like oatmeal. It’s more like a scummy pudding with bits floating in it. After he cooks it, he strains out the stuff floating in it and puts the liquid into the big glass bottles where it stays for several days or weeks.”
“How big are these bottles?”
