by A C Gogolski
The grumlins stopped at the sound of her call – but not because she commanded them. Many cast long-fanged grins at her. “Nell? Nell!” Lexi screamed. Two grumlins broke away from the group, clutching spears in their webbed hands.
“What are you doing?” Ryan hissed.
Tomkin recognized the shift in Nell’s voice however, and a small smile crept across his face. “Just watch, boy.”
“Stop!” Nell commanded a second time. Once more the advancing creatures snapped to a halt, but now it was not by their own will. Inside, they were suddenly disconnected from their thoughts. They stood dumbly, blind in mind to what they had been doing. “You can’t take my sister,” Nell shouted. “And you shouldn’t have come here. You’ve ruined the weald!” She deepened her connection with the forest, and it filled her in turn with a wild fury. Wealding magic streamed in her veins. From her its power radiated like the pulse of a bell.
The grumlins around Lexi looked at each other, their placoderm jaws bleating wordlessly.
Just then the forest let out an ear-splitting groan, and the nearby stand of sycamores suddenly lurched into motion. Waist-thick branches thrashed and slammed the ground with deadly accuracy. Splintered wood flew everywhere. Grumlins too slow to move were pounded senseless, or flung into the burning treetops. They dove to get away from the angry trees, but the boughs were quick and long. Lexi ran screaming as her captors were pummeled by the deadly assault. The confusion lasted for just a moment. Then, in a rain of sycamore leaves, the great trunks collapsed in on themselves, twining and clasping round one another. No grumlins would be escaping the forest so easily today. Nell and Lexi hugged each other, staring blankly at the trees as they settled back to stillness. Now hidden under tons of living wood, the trapdoor beneath was completely sealed.
Seeing the sisters huddled together, Ryan remembered that he too, could help. He stepped forward, sword raised in defiance. It didn’t take long for the remaining grumlins to slink out of the trees. Rain pounding off their plated heads, they crept toward the group. The prince waved his sword, but one boy against a half dozen grumlins made for terrible odds. Ryan tightened his grip against the downpour. He tried to imagine he was sparring in the yard with nothing to lose, but their pointy fins and dripping teeth rattled his courage. Bright red lids slid down over their eyes. Unlike the knights of the castle, the servants of the Widow would show the young man no mercy. “What do we do now,” he yelled over his shoulder.
Behind him, Nell felt the green strength of the Wealding Word run down her legs and out her feet, back to the earth. She and Lexi clutched each other, both of them exhausted. How could it end like this? After everything that had happened, would Lady Zel leave them to die at the hands of grumlins?
Tomkin pushed forward to stand beside Ryan, his small fists held high at the approaching spearmen. “Have at you!” he yelled, though he barely reached their knees.
The nearest grumlins bolted at them, spears ready to skewer the two defenders – but the sound of snapping branches made them freeze in place. Their cold eyes widened and suddenly they raised their spears high in front of them. Ryan whipped his sword about too, desperate to know this new and unknown menace.
Lexi shrieked as a low, hungry growl rumbled just over her shoulder. Standing on his hind legs, a great black bear reared behind the group. Eyes bloodshot and claws outstretched, the beast crashed past the prince, smashing into the grumlins. Nell turned away as the bear raged, muscles rippling beneath wet fur. She recognized it from Lady Zel’s tower – though she never imagined the bear could be so ferocious. In seconds, the remaining creatures had thrown down their spears and were fleeing for their lives.
Then a horn blared above the downpour, and a few heartbeats later someone from the trees shouted, “Prince Ryan! He found the missing girls!” Other calls joined in, “Hurrah for the prince!” Nell lost track of the bear as the riders poured forth. It was just as well he was gone. Soldiers netted two of the grumlins, and as for the rest, they disappeared into the hazy woods.
Spying the prince, Lord Umbrage crashed down from his horse. He pulled his sword from its scabbard, shouting, “And the prince has captured the troll. Grab hold of it, boy! It won’t be causing us any more trouble.”
Ryan stepped forward, placing himself between Tomkin and the knight. “No,” he said. “You will not be touching him. Put your weapon away. I… I command it!”
“My prince,” Umbrage growled, “Step back. Your mother has filled your head with fairy tales and witchlore, but this is not the nursery. Now, step back!” The knight had a dangerous look in his eyes.
Ryan held his ground though, and Tomkin skirted behind him. The prince and advisor faced each other for a long moment, rain spattering on their naked swords. It was then that Ward appeared from out of the smoke, taking in the scene at once. Unsheathing his own sword, he dismounted, ready to protect the prince at any cost. One of the soldiers broke the tension, calling, “Lord Umbrage, have a look at this!” A group of men stood gaping at the five massive sycamores twisted together over the trapdoor. “Wound together like a tangle of rope,” someone marveled.
Umbrage turned his head to the distant trees. When he saw what his men were looking at, he yelled, “Come away from that!” The advisor knew for certain what the soldiers only guessed at. “Those trees are a product of sorcery. Back to your horses!” He cast another look at the prince, then his eyes flicked to Nell. “Young witch, you had best keep your charms to yourself. I will not have our prince made into your puppet.” He slammed his sword into its sheath and whipped around, stalking back to his muddy steed. Ryan slumped with relief.
As the soldiers dispersed, Nell felt a tug at her hand. Tomkin winked at her, “Lady Zel could not have tied a trunk better herself! You did well my dear.” With a sooty smile, the troll disappeared into the hazy underbrush.
His confidence restored, Prince Ryan said, “Nell, I will tell my father what you did. It was you who routed the grumlins, not me.”
To Nell, it didn’t matter anymore. Chase and Rawley were there among the guards, and she wanted only to return home with them. If she never saw the prince or Lord Umbrage again, she would be content.
That night, heavy downpours quenched the remaining flames. Many trees still smoldered in the morning, but the worst of the fires had been extinguished. The lanes ran like rivers through the village, and the nearby fields turned to lakes, but the weald was saved.
The next day, Nell’s father returned to work at his shoeshop, and Nell found herself helping Lexi in the cottage after a deep and dreamless sleep. Her sister said nothing to her about the twining trees, or the control Nell seemed to have over the grumlins. If Nell was cursed, it was now a matter that Lexi wanted no part of. The older girl was an expert at ignoring things, and the events of the previous day were perfect for such a gift.
As the sisters negotiated their peace in silence, Rawley curled in the corner by the hearth. He had a fresh bandage tied around his ribs, and a bone to gnaw. The dog sighed deeply. He was home at last, and would live to fight another day.
PART 3
WORDS AND SILENCE
CHAPTER 15
KING REGINALD
Five days after the fire, a messenger from the king was seen riding through the village. Dressed in a red doublet and triangular black cap, he knocked sharply on the Shoemakers’ door. Seeing King Reginald’s own servant on her step, Danielle welcomed him in.
“No, madam,” the man replied, stepping back a few paces as if threatened by a wild dog. “It is my honor merely to relay the words of his majesty the king. You are invited to accompany your daughter,” he pointed to Nell with a rolled up sheaf of parchment, “to a short audience with his highness, tomorrow after the third morning bell. Good day!” Before the man was back on his horse, talk of the royal visit was already spreading from neighbor to neighbor in the town.
Nell’s father came home beaming that evening. “What a day – no end of people hanging on the bell. Seems we’re
going to the castle tomorrow, eh? And you said we were cursed.” His last comment was directed toward Lexi. She shrugged, smiling in anticipation of what tomorrow might bring. “Are you excited Nell?” he asked.
Nell had the look of someone facing the gallows. She placed crockery around the table with trembling hands. “I guess,” she said. After the messenger’s visit this morning, the thought of Lord Umbrage consumed her mind. He was King Reginald’s closest advisor, and the last time she saw him, he blamed her for bewitching the prince.
“Cheer up Nelly,” Danielle said. “Getting to see the king is a real honor.” She soon began to fret, however, considering her appearance at court. “But I have nothing to wear. And everyone will need a bath tonight!” Suddenly another idea occurred to her. “Do you think his majesty will give Nell a reward?”
The words quickly ignited Lexi’s imagination, “Yes! I think the king wants to give us gold for saving the prince. How much do you think it’ll be?”
“Who knows?” Chase laughed. “Show me another girl who can send grumlins running the way Nell did! That’s worth something, I’ll wager.”
With the rest of the family so merry, Nell tried to forget her concerns for the evening.
The next morning the Shoemakers walked to the castle, each of the girls sporting freshly mended stockings and dresses still damp from an overnight cleaning. Though the first bell had only just sounded, there was no reason not to be early, and early they were.
They sat alone in a room designated for guests of the king. Nell’s mother had cleaned that very chamber many times, and could hardly keep still for wanting to straighten pictures and inspect windowsills for dust. All the while, Lexi chatted busily, wondering at the king’s reasons for inviting them. She had progressed beyond simple rewards, and was now contemplating marriage proposals – for her, of course.
The third bell of the morning clanged over the castle, and the time of their audience was at hand. The family sat together in silence. The wait was hard to bear. No one spoke until the forth bell sounded, when Danielle stated, “The king is a busy man, we need to respect his time.” Lunch came and went, stomachs growled, and hearts sagged.
The mean, swarthy face of Umbrage haunted Nell. He had called her a witch. What’s more, Ryan had made clear the king’s own dislike of sorcery when they were together in the forest; yet here she was waiting to have an audience with Reginald himself. Her insides twisted like the sycamores above the trapdoor.
Lexi’s enthusiasm inevitably soured to complaints, “Won’t someone at least bring some water? It’s past ninth bell!” Her mother hushed her, as though the walls were listening. Not long after that, the door opened and an attendant motioned them to follow, showing them to a long, pillared hall.
On either side, at least two hundred well-to-do lords and ladies stood hushed and waiting. An enormous stained glass window shone at the far end of the room, depicting a great serpent held by the haft of a knight’s spear. The mosaic clothed the afternoon sun in color, brightening the chamber with dusty shafts of red, blue, purple, and yellow. Below the window sat the king on his throne, wearing a smirk that wavered somewhere between amusement and annoyance. Around his finger whirled a silver bracelet. The packed chamber had a carnival atmosphere, but people quieted when the Shoemaker family started down the aisle.
Nell gripped her mother’s hand. There were too many people in attendance for this to be an ordinary audience. Even Nell recognized that something was amiss. Somehow, however, she managed to walk without stumbling.
Reginald’s throne rested on a circular platform set three steps above the common hall. The queen’s chair stood empty at his right. Her sapphire banner, embroidered with a white unicorn, was draped over the high wooden back. Prince Ryan stood on the lower step of the platform, his expression drawn and forlorn. Next to him, but on the higher step nearer the king, stood Lord Umbrage. The advisor sneered down at the Shoemaker family, so out of place amidst the nobles.
Following her father’s lead, Nell kneeled and bowed her head, keeping it lowered as the king began to speak. “Which of you is the girl from the weald? Stand up.”
Though both she and her sister were mixed up in the events in the forest, Nell knew the king was speaking to her. She lifted her head enough to look at his feet, and rose.
The king’s expression darkened as he weighed her with his eyes. Her dishevelment clearly irritated him. Briskly he began, “My son tells me that you stopped the grumlins’ retreat quite ingeniously; and there is speculation that you are cursed. Whatever the case, you have some secret power, is that right?”
Nell could only shake her head.
The obnoxious voice of the king’s attendant rang out, “You will answer the king!”
“Y-yes, your majesty,” Nell said.
Reginald nodded. Of course, from village ragamuffins to the wealthiest lords, everyone had heard of “the girl from the weald.”
“Then I would very much like to see a demonstration of this power,” he mused.
Lord Umbrage snapped his fingers, and in a moment two men were wheeling a cart of dirt toward Nell. A murmur of excitement washed over the assembly. It seemed many came today hoping to be convinced of her gifts for themselves.
“Quiet before the king!” The same sharp, official voice called out, and the chatter died instantly.
Nell looked to Prince Ryan, but he only frowned and shook his head. The meaning of the movement was lost on her, so Nell focused on the cart instead. From the heap of earth sagged six small plants, hastily transplanted just this morning. “Show us this power of yours,” said the king, still toying with the bracelet.
Nell stood frozen, staring at the dirt. Moments passed before Chase nudged her. “Go on Nell,” he whispered.
With a nervous quiver, Nell stepped forward, opening to the Wealding Word inside her. She could sense the delicate roots of each plant struggling to take hold after having been so clumsily moved to the cart. The sprouts would never survive if someone didn’t water them.
“They’re thirsty,” Nell said, mostly to herself, but a wave of laughter broke out among those within earshot.
The king himself gave a gravelly laugh. “Water, yes. The girl can see the plants have not been watered today. By all means, someone water our garden.” Two men rushed in carrying buckets, carefully pouring them into the cart. In moments, muddy water was streaming from the wide openings in the wood, spattering over the fine carpet that lay in front of the throne. Nell gulped.
“Is that the extent of your powers?” Umbrage demanded. “Befouling his majesty’s rugs?”
Nell couldn’t speak. Rather, she shook her head in terror. The exquisite carpet on the floor squished as she shifted from foot to foot. The king stared down at her, his humor having evaporated. She had to prove herself now.
Quickly stepping beside the cart, she put her hands near the plants and worked them into the dirt, feeling wet earth cake beneath her fingernails. Then, ever so gently, she opened to the pulse of the tiny sprouts, and something finer than water poured from her – an invisible stream.
The hall was breathless, everyone straining to see what the girl was up to. Nell whispered to the soil, as she had once whispered to the flowers outside her window.
A shudder ran through each plant and then, with a soft rustle, leaves began to sprout from quickly elongating stalks. Yellow and white flowers popped from buds, swelling before the eyes of the court into ripe fruit. A hundred plump cherry tomatoes ballooned, causing the still-growing plant to sag. Another had its tendrils pulled off the cart as six summer squash tumbled to the carpet, straining their vines. Eggplants sprouted and darkened in the light of Nell’s nourishment, and a small mountain of basil reared over her head, filling the air with its comforting tang.
Tomatoes continued to drop onto the rug with wet plops, but otherwise the chamber was silent – stunned by the display. Reginald sat with his finger on his chin, marveling with the rest of the court. As Nell took a soggy step away fro
m the cart, the king straightened in his chair. He nodded to Umbrage, giving three slow claps and breaking the spell upon the hall. Everyone else joined the applause, and soon it became a roar.
The cart spilled globs of mud and vegetables as two attendants pulled it from the hall. Despite the mess, Nell allowed herself a shy smile. She looked to the king with some measure of pride.
“Bravo,” he said, “bravo. So the rumors are true. A woodwitch, in my kingdom. What a peculiar gift.” His surveyed Nell anew. “Tell me, girl, how did you come across such a power as this?”
Nell saw Lord Umbrage scowl at her, and could feel the attention of the court straining to catch her reply. Lady Zel had not instructed her to keep the Word a secret, but Nell had never told anyone about it. She feared what others would say if they knew she had dealings with the Witch of the Weald. And after Lexi labeled her cursed, revealing the truth seemed like it would only make matters worse.
“I… I have always had it, I think,” she lied. “But only this year have I known to use it, your majesty.”
The king did not seem convinced. Umbrage leaned down and whispered something in his ear. “Don’t be shy,” Reginald said. “Sorcery does not come on its own. No one bequeathed this power to you?”
Nell shook her head dumbly, answering aloud only after another crisp reminder. “N-no, your majesty.” She could not help remembering how Ryan spoke about Lady Zel in the woods. The king hated magic, and was no friend of the sorceress. Nell felt herself caught in a trap.
“Very well then,” King Reginald said. He tapped the bracelet smartly on the arm of his throne. “If the power to make things grow simply came to you, then you have no obligations except to use it for the good of the kingdom. Perhaps you can even imbue others with it. My soldiers need to eat, and you will see to it that this year’s harvest is bountiful.” He turned to another advisor, a portly man with a beard, standing nearby. “Lord Magult, this girl is now at your command. Take her with you to the plantations at Granlevin.” It was the name of a rural province far to the west, where the king’s harvests grew. “I shall look forward to an excellent crop this season, and every year hereafter.”
