by A C Gogolski
“I said I would take you to her, and I will. But every time I pass this way, I bring Peter some bread. It’s my favor to him… even though he’s a miserable lump of sod.”
“Why doesn’t he live somewhere better?” Nell asked, rubbing her shoulders against the chill. “The swamp is so dark.”
“He’s a stubborn fool, that’s why. Poor as dirt, and not much for conversation.” The troll scratched his bald head. “I’d say the marsh suits him just fine.”
“Sounds mad,” Sola quipped.
“Oh hush, cat,” said Rawley. The gloom of the swamp was seeping into him too. It seemed to Nell that Rawley said something more, but at that moment the dog’s voice was lost to her. Perhaps the heavy air was clouding her ears as well.
They approached the hermit’s hovel: a squat, one-roomed structure slumped on a barren plot of mud. A timid thread of smoke laced from its chimney. Tomkin banged on the door with his walking stick and then waited. Sola licked her paws, Rawley scratched his ear, and Nell clutched her arms, doubtful the hermit was even home. Tomkin rapped again.
Nothing happened for a long time.
After a third set of knocks, the door creaked open and an old man peeked out. Bent and frail, he had wispy gray hair and several days’ white stubble on his face. He squinted at them all until Tomkin grumped, “Peter, it’s me you blind fool! I have a basket.”
“Eh, why didn’t you say so?” The hermit’s voice was cracked and nasally, like it came from his head, not his chest. He had the weary look of a man long afflicted with a toothache. “Come in then.”
Peter Domani’s home had but a single candle for light, and a few red embers blinking in the fireplace. Towers of stacked books formed a labyrinth tottering from floor to ceiling. A few piles of smaller books supported the larger ones, creating low tables for other books to sit on. Rawley would have knocked down more than one wobbling tower if Nell didn’t hurry behind, steadying them at the last moment. “Be careful,” she whispered at the border collie. “If you knock one down, they might all go.”
The hermit stared at Nell with murky eyes, wondering why she wasted her breath explaining things to a dog. Stiffly he shuffled a few books so that Nell and Tomkin could sit around a table – though it was really another enormous book. Its blackened goatskin cover, thoroughly stained with water rings and grease, gave no hint as to what its pages might contain. Having never finished learning her letters, Nell was unimpressed by the hermit’s leaning library.
They all shared Tomkin’s basket of bread and gooseberry jam. After dolling out lunch, the troll seemed content with his own thoughts. Peter opened a small book and buried his face in it, occasionally licking jam from his fingers. Nell considered the scholarly hermit as she chewed her bread in the silence. He wasn’t scary after all, just very poor, and all alone. In fact, she felt sad for him. It seemed that he had lost something important long ago, and had given up on ever finding it again. Or maybe he thought he might find it in a book.
After everyone finished, Peter put aside his reading. It was clear he hadn’t spoken to many adults lately, much less to a young girl. He tried to bring Nell into focus, scrunching up his cheeks to see her properly in the dim. “Emm, well… Tomkin’s new friend, are you? Perhaps come to borrow a book?”
When she merely shrugged, the old man quickly lost interest in her. Turning to Tomkin he said, “I thought your kind could keep out of sight with your binviziling and whatnot. Not so spritely these days, eh Tom?”
“It’s the wind’s fault,” grumbled Tomkin.
“Tomkin is leading me to the witch’s tower,” Nell offered after a pause.
“Eh? Which witch?” Peter asked.
“The sorceress Zel, the one who lives in the tower. I lost her bracelet, but I have this to make up for it.” She held out her hand, flashing the golden acorn as though it gave her the credentials for such an undertaking.
The hermit squinted at Nell’s outstretched palm, but in the dim light he soon gave up trying to see what she held. “Yeeesss… I’m sure she would like that very much,” he replied, speaking to Nell as though she were three, not thirteen.
Silence prevailed once again. Sola went to the door, rubbing against the jamb as Peter began clearing crockery. Sighing, Nell looked around the ramshackle house, and at the rags the hermit wore. He was so thin and hungry, so blind and bitter. And very poor, just like her. She remembered the sorceress’ fine purple shawl, and her tall, white tower shining in the middle of the forest. Lady Zel could afford to lose a bracelet of pure silver without noticing, but the old hermit hadn’t enough money even for a loaf of bread. Surely he could use a gift of gold more than Zel. “Mr. Domani,” she said. “I… maybe you should have it instead.”
“But it’s for the witch!” Rawley barked.
“I-I know that’s what the old tree said.”
“Old tree? Said?” Peter poked up a fluffy white eyebrow at Nell’s words.
Nell knew she was supposed to give the acorn to the sorceress, but something told her it was better to give to the hermit. “I want you to have it,” she repeated.
“Well, it that’s what you want, then I accept your gift,” he said, still unsure what he was being given. “The sorceress and me go back a long way. Too long. Any gift that’s good enough for her is good enough for me.” Reaching out a papery hand, Peter took the token Nell offered, now quite interested in what this gift intended for Lady Zel might be. “Hmmm? You say you got this from an old tree? You can’t mean the Aureate Oak?” He brought the acorn up close to inspect.
Tomkin piped in, a queer look on his face. “The Aureate gave that to you?”
“I don’t know,” said Nell. “A tree with golden leaves gave it to me. He thought the witch might like the acorn.”
Peter cackled, “The old tree! The Oak is talking again!” It was the first real sign of life she’d seen in him. “You spoke to the Aureate!” he said, laughing with Tomkin. Suddenly the old man got up and threw on his patchwork coat. “Well now, this is news!”
“Where are you going?” Nell asked in alarm.
“Outside! Outside! To plant your gift!” he said. “We’ll see what Lady Zel thinks of that.”
Nell couldn’t believe he would throw away real gold! “Wait!” She chased after him, upsetting a pile of books in the process. “Wait!”
Peter was determined to complete his plan, however. Then and there he dug a small hole in the mud and placed the acorn inside. Bending low, gray-stubbled lips just above the ground, he whispered to the mound of earth. Nell couldn’t make out his words, but the sound was gentle, as though waking a child from a deep sleep. The hermit gave her a gap-toothed grin as he hoisted himself up, hands and knees black with mud. “Now, let’s see what happens!”
Nell hung her head, letting her copper-streaked hair fall about her face. Her gift for the sorceress was now buried in the dirt, and she was back where she started. “But it’s gold,” she said feebly. “You could buy lots of food, a real house in town…” Her words died on her lips as a slender shoot suddenly popped up from the earth, a leaf of gold uncurling itself atop it.
“It worked!” Tomkin exclaimed. Nell was surprised to see a similar look of shock on the hermit’s face, as though he too was trying to believe the wonder of it. Higher and higher the sapling grew, with new leaves and branches spiraling out all around. They made a tinkling music, reflecting the scant light of the marsh and growing brighter every moment. The somber clouds overhead quickly shredded to reveal the blue beyond, and a great smothering weight seemed to lift from the swamp.
Peter shouted, “There’s no explaining it, but the Widow’s curse upon the marsh… I believe it’s broken!” Soon birds warbled in the air and the twisted trees around the hovel straightened. Even the hermit stood taller than before, like he had just reclaimed a missing part of himself.
As the light of the golden tree spread through the marsh, tiny white flowers poked up beneath Nell’s feet. Staring down at them, she asked, “What’
s the Widow’s curse?” But the hermit was already racing back into his shack, shouting that he needed to “confirm some-ill-attitude” or something.
As Peter searched inside for books, Tomkin grew impatient. Angrily he chased after Rawley, waving his stick in the air. “Now where’s that cat? We need to move if we’re to reach Lady Zel before nightfall,” he muttered.
The hermit soon returned with an armload of books. Ignoring the others, he began eagerly comparing the leaves of the sapling with an old illustration. Of course, Nell could have told him that the tiny tree was just like the old oak – but Peter needed to “verify” all the same.
Tomkin glanced up at the sun. “Come along,” he said to Nell. “It’s time to leave this fool. The day is short, and we have a long walk to Lady Zel’s tower. Our host has forgotten about us anyway!”
Nell knew he was right: she still had the witch ahead of her. But, now that both the bracelet and the acorn were gone, what was the point? She tried not to think about it. Instead, she said a sad goodbye to the hermit.
The old man poked his nose up out of the book, staring blankly for a moment before remembering his guests. “Ah, erm, leaving? Well, this was a most splendid visit! If you like, come see me again in the spring. And as for the sorceress,” he chuckled, “tell her about the tree we planted.”
“I will,” Nell said, rather unsure of his motives. “Goodbye Mr. Domani.”
“Young lady, you can call me Peter.”
With a deep breath, Nell headed back toward the woods behind Tomkin.
CHAPTER 5
THE TOWER
Though small of stature, Tomkin was a tireless traveler. The troll led his friends out of the marsh and back into the forest at a relentless pace. Nell and the animals asked often for a rest, but he pushed on, saying always, “Almost there now!” Just when the girl was about to slump down into a pile of leaves, Tomkin pointed.
Through the branches Nell spotted a steep rooftop piercing the blue winter sky. In a moment, they left the trees to stand upon a path winding past stately gardens and animal pens. The bleating of sheep filled the air, but the animals seemed far too common to live beneath such a structure.
Rising tall and slender, the witch’s tower overshadowed everything in sight. As Nell gazed upon it, with its marble accents and brightly painted columns, she realized there was no going back now. “I… I don’t think we should bother her,” she said, fearful that the sorceress turn her into a sheep.
“You asked me to bring you to the witch!” the troll squealed. “A promise is a promise!” Striding up to the tower, he pulled at a bell. CLANG! Clang.
High above, a wooden shutter crashed open and a face peered out, wide and black and furry. Now it was Tomkin’s turn for alarm. “Ahhhh! The bear! He’s here! Maybe we should be going now!”
But it was too late. The stone wall with the bell suddenly rippled back on itself, pouring into stairs and an arched entrance. The sorceress appeared on the top step, dressed in her purple shawl. Long white hair swept down to her feet.
“Well Tomkin, I see you’ve brought my guest of honor,” she said in a strong, polished voice.
Sola wailed, “Will she feed us to the bear?”
“Is it good to be a guest of honor?” Rawley asked.
“I brought her as a favor! She made me do it!” Tomkin pleaded.
Nell stood quietly. If she was turned into a sheep, at least she’d have a coat to keep her warm. “I’m sorry for losing your bracelet, Mrs. Witch,” she said through chattering teeth.
The sorceress looked upon her with clear gray eyes, her stern face warming into a smile. “There is nothing to be sorry for.” She descended the stairs and took Nell’s hands in hers. “I am called Lady Zel.”
“But I gave away your magic bracelet – the one that let me talk to Sola and Rawley!” It was an uncanny relief to reveal her guilt before the sorceress.
Lady Zel laughed, “I don’t remember losing a bracelet that could do that. Never mind it now. Come, join us.” Nell followed her inside, still wondering whether she was in trouble or not.
The tower was huge and lovely beyond imagining, its countless rooms connected by a stair winding like a mahogany serpent up through its core. Each chamber was well furnished, housing an exquisite array of antiques and effects: splashing fountains, alabaster statues, divans of supple leather, hanging crystal globes, and rugs so finely knotted they looked like paintings on the floor. Lady Zel led the group up the steps and past several ornate doors accented with marble. Finally they came to the dining hall, and there at one end of a long table sat the dreaded bear. He had a cupcake in one enormous paw, and a dainty napkin in the other.
“Just couldn’t wait, could you?” the sorceress scolded. Licking icing from his furry lips, the bear simply shrugged and pawed for another treat. Lady Zel introduced Nell to everyone at the table. There was a crow called Rake who liked to sit on the sorceress’ shoulder. A silver-blue unicorn named Queen thanked Nell for helping the forest, while a plump woman named Miss Elder served tea, giving Nell as much honey as she pleased. Everyone seemed to know about the golden acorn. Even the grumpy bear grunted, “Good for you,” when they were introduced.
The girl’s boots were laid by the fire to steam. Nearby, Rawley dried his fur and Sola soothed her paws on the toasty bricks. When Nell was finally warm, Lady Zel began, “Nell, you did a very great thing today – for all of us. Have you ever heard of the Widow of the Sea?”
Nell shrugged. “No, but I heard the Queen of the Grumlins lives on the sea.”
“They are one and the same. The Widow of the Sea is a rival of mine, a sorceress who keeps Vodvani – grumlins, as you say – under her spell. Years ago, she enchanted the upper reaches of the marsh as well.”
“Enchanted? Cursed is more like it,” growled the bear.
“Call it what you like,” the sorceress conceded. “The curse drained the life from the land, and made the Widow’s own magics stronger. Over time, the borders of the enchantment grew and grew, and her grumlins were able to sneak farther into the forest. None of us could prevent it from spreading. But the spell is broken now, I can feel it. And it’s all thanks to you.”
“Help springs from an unexpected source,” came a regal voice. Turning, Nell realized at once that it belonged to the unicorn, Queen.
Lady Zel nodded. “As we know, the power to break an enchantment always rests with the one under the spell. In this case, it was the weald itself.”
“Hmmph. Rhiannon’s fortune-telling tiles missed that one,” the bear rumbled.
Lady Zel said to Nell, “We have all heard about your conversation with the Aureate Oak – it’s been the talk of the weald for weeks now. By giving you the acorn, the old tree made it possible to unravel the Widow’s curse, though Rake here was not able to explain how Peter made it grow.” The crow cawed, hopping onto the back of Nell’s seat.
Queen spoke next, “The golden tree hasn’t given an acorn away in at least a hundred years. For as long any anyone can remember, he has only ever spoken to Lady Zel, and he’s not done that in a very long time.”
The sorceress was perusing a tray of candied ginger and chocolate. “It’s true,” she sighed, “Though I wish it were otherwise, I could use his wisdom now.”
Nell thought for a moment. “But if you want to talk to trees, why don’t you make another magic bracelet?”
Lady Zel laughed at the notion. “It wasn’t the bracelet Nell. Do you recall the day we met?”
Nell thought hard, but shook her head. She remembered little else beside the silver bracelet shining on her wrist that day. The sorceress continued, “I gave you a gift better than any bracelet: the Wealding Word.”
Queen and Miss Elder shared a look as if some suspicion had been confirmed. Lady Zel went on, “I whispered the Word in your ear that day. It quieted something in you, and awoke something very rare instead. It’s why you can hear the voices of the animals and trees. Magic can be a fickle thing though. Its power may take
different forms as time goes on.”
Nell vaguely recalled Lady Zel speaking to her when they met, but she couldn’t remember her words, and even now she was not certain she understood what the sorceress was saying. Perhaps that was the way with magic. “I-I guess I understand,” she stammered. She was no longer terrified, however, and part of her conversation with the oak came back to her. “Lady Zel, is it true you were once a queen? The tree told me so.”
“That old tree breaks a century of silence for gossip?” The sorceress laughed, her hair a cascade of shimmering silver. “Yes, I was once a queen. But the woods suit me better than the walls of a castle. After all, I grew up in this tower. It’s where I started learning sorcery, long ago while in thrall to my mentor.”
Shadows of the day flowed quickly about the tower as they spoke, and Nell began to yawn despite herself. Getting here had been a very long journey.
Lady Zel tisked her lips at the slanting light. “So early to be getting late. Well, I imagine you will be needing to get home for dinner.” She showed Nell to the large, open window in the room. “Can you tell me where you live?”
Nell’s eyes flitted far over the forest. In the distance perched the castle on the hill, a bright orange moon climbing just above its highest tower. “There across the weald, in the town beneath the castle,” Nell said.
The sorceress nodded her approval. “In that case, getting home will be quite simple. You’ll fly in the shape of a dove, and your pets can follow tomorrow.”
“A dove? Yes please!”
Nell said her farewells to Tomkin, the bear, and Miss Elder. Last, she raised the hem of her homespun dress to curtsy before Queen.
“I suspect we will meet again,” the unicorn said in parting.
Gathering her powers for the spell, Lady Zel offered one final caution. “The Wealding Word is a part of you, Nell, and the world is your teacher now. It may open you in ways that I cannot begin to explain. Keep the Word alive by listening with more than just your ears. If you persist, someday you may return here to learn more.”
