by A C Gogolski
Nell’s mother clasped her arms around Nell. Her father rose, dumbstruck by the king’s decree. He managed, “But your majesty, she is so young…”
Umbrage snapped, “You can toil in the fields with her if you choose, churl. Otherwise, hold your tongue.” He placed his hand on Ryan’s shoulder, confident his prince was now safe from Nell’s witchery.
“I think not.” A clear voice cut through the chatter of the hall. A woman dressed in a long purple gown pushed through the throng of nobles, brazenly stepping into the aisle. Lady Zel addressed the king as she walked toward him, stately, and still every bit a queen. “My apologies to Lord Magult, but the girl will be coming with me instead.” She came to stand next to Nell.
Reginald wore a mask of cold contempt before the sorceress. “Lady Zel,” he said, keeping his anger in check. “Did you only now arrive, that you missed our demonstration? This girl is a harvestmaiden – a most valuable asset. She will serve the realm, our realm, with her gifts. Besides,” he said with a smile, “she is no apprentice of yours. The power is her own, she said so herself.” He looked squarely at Nell. “And if she has lied to me, then her penalty will be that of anyone who misleads the will of the realm.” Death, everyone knew, was the cost for lying to a king.
The sorceress replied lightly, “You are correct, she is not my apprentice. But she is in fact cursed.” Lady Zel put her hands on Nell’s head and jerked it to the side, peering in her ear. “Hmmm, yes indeed. I have reason to believe this girl is plagued by a Malady.” A whisper went through the court. “You do not want such a creature hexing the workings of our realm, do you? Maladies are true horrors, bringing ills upon anyone in contact with their hosts. Even now, you are at risk. All of you,” she cast her gaze around the court.
Talk of the Malady made more than a few nobles push their way toward the doors. The chamber buzzed in alarm, and the king’s speaker had to quiet the hall several times. When the din settled, King Reginald waved away the warning. “Boogiemen and bad luck – you can’t prove any of it. We all saw her power today. That we can be sure of. She will go to Granlevin, and my harvest will thrive,” he decreed.
“Dear child,” Rapunzel crooned. The sorceress tossed her head to the side, and a wave rippled down the long white fall of her hair. “It seems you do not understand the seriousness of this issue. I claim the girl as mine to protect, and you would do well not to interfere with matters that you cannot fathom. A Malady means more than bad luck. Pestilence, sickness, drought… Against these would you stand? No, the humble boons of a harvestmaiden are not worth the fall of the realm. When she is cured, I assure you that she will be returned to you,” the sorceress said, leaving no room for debate.
Reginald was a viper coiled on his throne. No one dared speak as the hall waited for his reply. Finally he made a quick, dismissive motion, flinging the silver bracelet to the floor. “Phaa, meddling crone,” he hissed. “So be it. But when she is cured, she’s mine.” With that, he stalked out of the room, Lord Umbrage following close behind.
As the door slammed shut, the speaker of the court called, “Today’s audience is finished. All hail the king!” The room cleared almost at once, everyone hastening to get away from Nell.
Before she departed the audience chamber, Lady Zel spoke with Chase and Danielle. The Shoemakers were dumbstruck, nodding vaguely at the sorceress’ words. “Your daughter will be in my care, but she won’t be far, and you will see her as much as possible. Have her things packed, I will come for her in the morning.” Seeing the grief in their faces, Lady Zel softened. “I do not wish for this any more than you. But it is for Nell’s own safety, and your own.”
Nell passed what was left of the day without registering any of it. Why was she in the middle of so many plans? Lady Zel, King Reginald, even the shadowy Widow of the Sea – everyone seemed to want her for something, and she had no idea why.
CHAPTER 16
WRITINGS OF THE MOST ANCIENT ORDER
Early the next morning Lady Zel knocked upon the Shoemaker’s door. Dreary clouds rumbled in the distance. The sorceress’ hair was fixed in a complicated knot that twined down to the middle of her back. On her finger perched Rake, the crow, who bobbed and croaked as the door opened. Nell’s mother curtsied nervously to the sorceress, unsure what else to do. Lady Zel curtsied back with a gracious smile. Blushing, Danielle showed her in.
Nell sat at the kitchen table, watching her spoon slowly sink into a bowl of porridge. Her thoughts revolved around the unfairness of her life, and how much she would miss home. Rawley’s wounds were healing. The other children had stopped calling her ‘Hexi.’ A farmer had even asked whether she could help his fields bloom – two chickens were offered if his harvest improved. And now, just when things were starting to look up, she had to leave.
She didn’t bother to rise when Lady Zel entered, but the beating of wings startled her out of her doldrums. The crow flapped about the small cottage, landing on Nell’s shoulder with a CAW. “That tickles! Get off me!” she said. The bird merely hopped from one shoulder to the other, and Nell ended up finishing her porridge with it fanning its wings over her head.
Lady Zel, a cup of tea now in hand, reassured Chase and Danielle of their daughter’s safety. “She won’t be far, and you will see her again soon. For now though, she needs a special kind of protection that only I can provide.” Not daring to dispute the Witch of the Weald, Nell’s parents trusted in her words. Soon they were saying goodbye to Nell, tears running down their cheeks. Going off to the forest tower was better than sending her to Granlevin, but not by much.
While Nell was with her parents, the sorceress turned to Lexi. The girl was still upset that the king hadn’t given them any reward. “You were taken by the grumlins, yes?” Lady Zel asked.
Lexi sniffed. “I don’t want to talk about it.”
“Very good,” Lady Zel agreed, “we won’t talk about it. Won’t talk about grumlins. Won’t talk about them.” Her voice bent with a queer rhythm. “Let’s talk about the big tree. Old tree. Some say it has a face. Old face. Did you see the old face?”
Lexi nodded, her hands going limp on her flour-spotted apron. Her voice came quiet and slow. “It did have a face. I saw it. It looked sad.” Staring at the hearth she said, “And there was a hag. She was so wrinkled and old.” By now, Nell and her parents had stopped their goodbyes to listen. It was the first time Lexi had spoken about what happened during the kidnapping. “She was mean and smelled like bad meat. She wanted me to talk to a big tree. She was crazy. She made me pour things at its roots – gifts, she said. Then she got angry when the tree didn’t talk. She really thought it was going to talk.”
Rapunzel spoke softly. “And why did she want the tree to talk?”
“A word,” Lexi said. “She wanted it to give her a word. She was completely mad.”
“Yes, you mentioned that,” Lady Zel replied. “Thank you dear. Now hug your sister and wish her well.” Lexi did exactly as she was told, giving Nell a long, mechanical embrace.
When she was able to extract herself from her sister’s arms, Nell went to Sola and stroked the cat for as long as she could. She looked about but couldn’t find Rawley, and by then there was no more delaying. Just a few moments later, she was running to keep pace with Lady Zel. Nell’s parents stood solemnly on the cottage stoop. Arm in arm they watched their wild-haired young daughter dash behind the sorceress, down the muddy lane, and out of sight.
It didn’t take long before Rawley was jogging behind Nell. “Rawley, go home!” she said, but he wouldn’t turn. Lady Zel hummed softly as they walked through the rain. She made no comment about the dog. Nell tentatively took this as a sign of approval: the first bright spot on this most dismal of days. “Are we going back to your tower?” Nell ventured, recalling the fine food and chocolates from the last visit.
Lady Zel continued to hum.
“Are you going to teach me more magic?” the girl pressed on. “Can you turn people into sheep?”
Ov
er one hundred years ago, the witch who had raised Lady Zel had led her down a similar muddy road. Zel was called Rapunzel at the time. She was twelve years old, and rather more sheltered than Nell. In those days she never thought to ask the witch where they were going, or why. Rapunzel’s faith in her “stepmother” was complete, and the magic tower that was to be her prison seemed a wonderful new adventure.
“Good,” said Lady Zel, shaking herself out of her musings. “You’re curious. But curiosity isn’t everything. You are with me now, and we should discuss some ground rules. First, you are not my apprentice, so no, you will not be learning magic. Can you even read?”
“Yes,” Nell said, but it was not the truth. “I know my letters, I mean. Anyway, you gave me magic, Wealding magic, before you knew anything about me. How come?”
“I knew enough about you. Besides, Words of power need to be given to someone. If I died,” the crow squawked loudly at that moment, “which many seem to think is long overdue, my Words would die with me, and some of them might be lost forever. So, now you have this one too.” She stepped over a puddle swarming with pollywogs. “That brings me to my second rule: you are not to intentionally use the Wealding Word to idle ends. That includes useless speculation about its powers. Do you understand?”
Nell did not. “But Peter said I need to practice it! Not practicing is why I can’t talk to Sola and Rawley anymore.”
“That is not completely accurate. Mr. Domani is a master speculator. If he knew half as much as he thinks he knows, he’d say a lot less. The magic won’t vanish from your mind when you’re not looking, Nell.”
“But if I was able to practice, I could use its full power.”
The sorceress raised an eyebrow. “Full power? Heaven preserve us! What do you know of its full power? Talking to dogs is just about the least of it. The Word has many secrets, and none of them will be lost to you – including the speech of animals, the wind, and even the earth itself. But a Word needs time to sink into a person. You will change, and it too will change as your understanding deepens. Sometimes some of its power seems to go away, and the reason isn’t always clear. Something new will always take its place though.”
They passed under dank branches, and Nell’s shoulders were quickly soaked through from the constant drip. The sorceress continued, “If practice is what you crave, then you will enjoy rule number three. That is: pay attention. Listen to what is happening inside and out. This will not only help you with the Wealding Word, it can also protect you from needless accidents.” She looked shrewdly at the young girl, wondering if any of her words were getting through.
Soon they left the trees of the wood and were squishing their way through Murkly Marsh. The journey here should have taken half the day, but it was still well before noon, if Nell was any judge of time. How they reached Peter’s house so quickly was a mystery. “I thought we were going to your tower. Why are we here?”
“Your friend the hermit has more books than most, and we need the information that’s in them.” The sorceress didn’t seem much enthused to call upon her old student, however.
“So he’s… still alive?” Nell ventured. “I wasn’t sure he would survive the fire. He found me after the dragon let me go, and then went off to save the old tree.”
“Dragon? You have had more adventures than I knew,” Lady Zel said. “Yes, he survived, though perhaps he might have learned something if he didn’t. Ah, there he is now,” she waved at him.
In the distance, the hermit was hoeing mud beside the glowing tree. His left arm was wrapped close in a sling. Setting down the tool stiffly, he disappeared inside his hovel, leaving the door open for the sorceress and Nell. “What do you want now?” was his greeting when they entered. He had water on the boil though, and had cleared enough clutter to accommodate his guests. The smell of moldy books and bergamot hung in the air.
“Hello Professor Domani,” greeted Lady Zel in a neutral voice. “I see your capers in the weald have earned you a reward,” she said, motioning to his arm.
He snorted. “Well, given the place it started, I suspected Rhiannon was behind the fire. Someone had to see to the old oak.”
Hearing the accusation, the sorceress countered, “Oh, I’m sorry Peter, but someone had to see to the entire weald. Do you think it’s an easy thing to bargain with the rain?”
Glancing at Nell, the old man thought better of his reply and gulped down some tea, grumbling into his cup.
Lady Zel began again, her voice composed. “We’re not here to argue. In case you weren’t aware, this child may have a serious problem.”
The hermit snorted, “Serious problem. Oh yes, I’m aware,” he said. “I’m aware she was given a magic word though she’s far too young. I’m aware she’s a greenspeaker and was set to roam the weald ignorant of her power – the power you gave her. And I’m aware, as you are, that the Widow has wanted someone who can sweet talk the Aureate for many, many years now. Did you think Rhiannon would let a chance like this go by? Hardly! As always, Zel, the root of any serious problem is you.”
Her voice still mild, the sorceress asked, “How was I to know she’d be a greenspeaker? That, at least, is a blessing. But I was thinking of another problem, Peter. I believe Nell is afflicted by a Malady.”
“How can that be? She’s a… a twelve-year-old!” He put aside his anger with Zel at this news. “Why would a Malady choose her? Why not the king, or you?”
Here Nell piped in, “I’m thirteen! And how come no one has ever told me what a Malady is?” Adults had a lot of bad habits, but none so vile as discussing the lives of young people as though they weren’t present and listening.
The sorceress turned to Nell saying, “You’ve heard of guardian angels, yes? A Malady is like that, but in reverse.”
The hermit quickly took over, “Instead of protecting you and bringing joy, a Malady brings misfortune, feeds off of it, and adds to the suffering of everyone around you. They’re called by many names: sowers of sorrow, hungry ghosts, woemongers, angels of suffering, and dozens of others. Typically they attach themselves only to very unusual or very influential people. Not much more is known about them.”
“Well, we are here to find out everything we can.” Lady Zel said. “I assume you still have my books on the subject, Peter?”
The old man scowled. “You’re probably sitting on them.” Lady Zel promptly stood and found that she was not. Peter began pushing piles of books, restacking, and muttering as he tried to locate the appropriate volumes. While he searched, Lady Zel poked about, inspecting the hovel with some disdain.
“Look at this: mildew on the whole stack! Peter!” She was genuinely scandalized. “I trusted these books would at least be safe with you, and they’re rotting at the seams!” She held up one particularly mottled folio which poured dark sheaves of parchment onto the floor.
“If you wanted them, you should have come and got them. Was I to carry the whole library back to you in a cart?”
“Yes! After all, it’s how you took them from me,” Lady Zel said.
It sounded to Nell a lot like her own parents when they quarreled. Their accusations made her head hurt. What’s worse, they were bickering about books when her life was at stake. Frustration got the better of her. At once she pushed hard at a big pile and it crashed down, moldy papers flying everywhere.
Peter and Lady Zel looked at her in surprise. “Why did it pick me?” Nell cried. “Why am I the one with the Malady? I didn’t do anything to deserve it!”
The sorceress and hermit shared a glance, and Lady Zel said, “Nell, we don’t even know if it is indeed a Malady that has come. Chances are, such a creature would not pick a thirteen year old girl to hex.”
“But you told the king I had a Malady,” Nell said.
Lady Zel shrugged sadly. “True, and I’m afraid it’s still my best guess, at this point. But we need to be sure.”
The old man finally found the book he needed, saying, “Here it is: Writings of the Most Ancient Order
. Let me see.” He flipped through a number of pages and came to one with a creature sketched at the top. It had the long head of a pig and a fat, misshapen body.
“I’ve seen that before,” Nell said, pointing to the drawing. As she spoke the words, an instinctive fear crept upon her. “In the well, I saw something like that by the light of a candlewisp.”
“You saw this creature?” The hermit asked. He looked to Lady Zel. “Well, that confirms it.”
The sorceress made no response. She peered at Nell, but the girl’s face was downcast, lost beneath russet tangles.
Peter squinted down at the page and began reading, “…the wordless Woemonger stands above me like a clod of earth-spew. It grows larger with my every misfortune, and by its power the ills of the world bleed me day and night. As always, it comes to feed when danger and misery are greatest. Today my children were…” The old man paused, “We don’t need to get into that.” Skipping ahead, he read on, “I have come to discover that ridding myself of the creature is impossible. There are but three ways. They are known as The Forbidden Path, The Void, and The Stair of Stars. For any of them to work, the creature must be near.
“If spoken by one of great power, the Word Isolet may be sufficient to break its hold, but this magic is forbidden to those in my Order. The second way, the Void, requires a human life as sacrifice. The third way is, I believe, only a rumor. I have traveled many years searching for the Stair of Stars, but I have found very few who know its story, and none who know its secret. If truly it exists, it is too well hidden, and too late for me to find. The Void awaits. It is the only way open to me now.’” Nell gripped Rawley’s neck as the old man finished the passage. “’Tomorrow I shall rid myself of this demon and be done, once and for all, with the curse that is my life.’” Peter closed the book. “That’s where it ends. The writer, Genivi Dulio, does not appear to have made any further entries in the book.”
