The Wealding Word

by A C Gogolski

  It was on the fourth day that their neighbor Mr. Gall stopped by looking for Nell. He knocked upon their door, showing his teeth and smelling like a burned fleece. With his good hand he held a small red bag secured with a drawstring. “A gift for the harvestmaiden herself,” he said. Its contents clicked when he shook it, as though it were filled with glass marbles. “It’s a Trigoria, for seeing the future. The answer to any question you can think of is in these thirty-odd tiles – if you know how to read them.” His voice had a strange echo to it, like he was speaking through a hollow tree, but Nell was too interested in the gift to take note.

  With his maimed right hand, Gall clasped the bag between his palm and thumb. “I hope you’ll see that my own crop does well this year,” he said, but he didn’t seem that interested in whether she would bless his field or not. He managed to release the knot using his other hand and his front teeth. Once it was opened, he gave Nell a yellow grin and shoved the bag at her face. “Take one.” Hesitantly, she reached in, running her fingers through the tiles and making them click. The man looked on impatiently. “Go on, take one,” he goaded.

  She pulled one out at random: it was rather light, chipped at the corner, and as long as her index finger. Onyx on one side, the other showed a simple rendering of a woman stepping into a boat. Three yellow stars crowned her head.

  “Of course, you’ll need to find someone who can teach you to do readings.” Gall leaned close to observe which tile it was that Nell drew. When he saw it, a frown crossed his features. “My old mum used to see much in the tiles, but she’s in no condition for reading them now. Still, I can give you the basics. There’s money to be made from it if you do it right.”

  From the kitchen Lexi piped, “You should learn how, Nell. Then you could tell me who I’ll marry.”

  Nell shook her head, suddenly suspicious of the man. “No,” she said, “It’s okay.”

  Gall edged closer. His voice suddenly reminded her of the visitor she had the night the animal tracks appeared on her rooftop. “You’ve had strange dreams, yes? The tiles can help you understand the things that come to you in the dead of night.” The wormy grin slipped, and his eyes narrowed. Nell gripped the painted stone tile, taking a quick step backward. How did he know?

  It was then that Rawley lumbered into the room a few steps in front of Chase. Immediately the dog began to growl, stalking forward with his tail straight back. Rawley’s sudden threat surprised Gall so much that he dropped the Trigoria. The bag clattered to the floor, scattering painted tiles at Nell’s feet.

  Nell’s father held no love for Mr. Gall, and moved to stand over his younger daughter. “What are you doing here?” he demanded. Clearly the herder was not welcome.

  Gall already had his hand on the door handle. “Well, I must be getting along then. I hope those tiles bring you luck.” He nodded to Nell and Mr. Shoemaker, and then hurried from the cottage with Rawley snarling at his heels.

  “Rawley, you know old man Gall. He won’t hurt you,” Nell said. Something about him made Nell nervous though. Rawley had felt it too. Despite her words, Nell sensed she really didn’t know Mr. Gall at all.

  Her father seemed unwilling to discuss the man from down the road, and today was no exception. When Nell asked, Chase said only, “He’s no good, and I don’t like him in my house.”

  The next day, Nell heard Lexi talking loudly to another stranger at the door. “No, old man, Nell isn’t here today and neither is my father… I don’t know when they’ll be back. Just go away!”

  Nell saw a wizened fellow with a sparse gray beard and ratty, patchwork coat standing on the stoop. He had a crutch propped under his arm. “Mr. Domani!” Nell cried. Laughing, she pushed past her sister to greet Peter.

  Like all the children of the village, Lexi heard stories about the crazy old hermit of Murkly Marsh, and she had no wish to let the man himself into her cottage. Quickly she closed the door, leaving Nell and Peter outside.

  It was a sublime fall day, however, and the two ignored Lexi without a second thought. “Your leg, does it hurt?” Nell asked.

  “Oh, it’s fine now. I’ll survive a few more years,” Peter chuckled. “But it’s your adventure I came to hear about. Tell me, did you really escape the pirate ship all by yourself?” They sat together on the front wall, with the family’s stone dragon statue rearing at their feet. As a brisk autumn wind pulled leaves down around them, Nell told the hermit about her journey to the sea, and her new apprenticeship.

  Peter nodded at the news. “No surprise that she’s taken you on. You have the greenspeech, so there must be a goodly bit of magic in your blood. You’ll do well, Nell. Anyway, you must!” His tone grew determined. “A Malady has chosen you. You can’t afford to be a poor student, or it will siphon your life away. Remember that whenever your mind wanders from your studies.”

  The night before Lady Zel was to return, Nell lay in bed with Sola and Rawley. “I heard the cats at the fortress. Just for a minute, but I did.” She became quiet inside, opening to the Word as though waiting to hear a secret; but the voices of the animals still did not reach her ears. Pulling the covers up to her chin she sighed, “I’ll stick with talking to plants for now.”

  The week at home had helped Nell remember the best parts of her old life, and the comforts of her family. The Shoemakers were doing well now, helped by the money from the gifts and her father’s sudden popularity. Even Lexi had been kind to her, and it made having to leave in the morning so much more difficult. She wondered what lay ahead. The life of an apprentice seemed a dangerous existence – one fit for someone smarter, braver, or older at least. But there in the darkness, Nell remembered Lady Zel’s words: No one deserves her fate. “We’ll make the best of what comes,” she whispered to Rawley, and the dog licked her hand in reply.

  The sorceress returned at noon on the seventh day, with the castle bells ringing in the distance. When Nell inquired why Evelyn was not with her, Lady Zel said, “Mr. Lambert has her digging holes for the new pigpen. Perhaps if her hands work more, her tongue will work less.” It seemed the first week of Evelyn’s apprenticeship had not gone well.

  Nell never recovered the bag she abandoned to the gray beast, but her father had stitched a new one for her out of fine leather. The materials were among those given to the family by a wealthy knight – yet another man interested in harnessing Nell’s power. Danielle packed the satchel with one spare dress, mittens, a scarf, and Evelyn’s new boots. As her mother went over her list of necessities, Nell noticed the red drawstring bag among the pile of farmers’ gifts near the hearth. She had almost forgotten about the Trigoria. On impulse, she stashed Gall’s curious picture-tiles in her pack, beneath the boots. Last of all, Nell stowed Swsty in her pocket.

  It wasn’t long before sorceress and apprentice were walking past the outlying farms, heading toward the weald. For Nell, everything seemed clearer, more sharply in focus. Orange and red leaves showed like sparks against the crystal blue sky, and at times she thought she might almost touch the clouds sweeping overhead.

  Travelers they passed on the road often stopped to stare at them, tipping their hats or even daring to speak. Lady Zel was not one for chit chat though. Occasionally the salutations of sun-browned workers drifted to them from the fields and orchards: “Harvestmaiden! Good day!” or “Come visit us over the holidays, my mother will cook you a fine meal!” Some were more direct, wanting to confirm their gifts did some good: “Cropspeaker! I left two stone of flour with your sister! Tell me when you’ll come this spring!” Blushing at all the attention, Nell hastened on beside the sorceress.

  It was only after they crossed beyond the last stunted orchard that Lady Zel spoke. “I shouldn’t have to tell you this, but the power of greenspeech is not a business. I won’t have you interrupting your studies to whisper to the mud come spring. You are my apprentice: a sorceress in training, not some country harvestmaiden for hire.”

  This would be a problem, Nell knew it already. The unexpected gifts delive
red since she had returned had made her feel like she was really helping her family. The Shoemakers were quickly growing used to the extra money, food, and goods – especially Lexi. Her sister wondered daily at the price she could charge for people to touch Nell’s broken-toothed comb. What’s more, Chase was making connections with important men wanting to ensure a profit on their fields. Many seemed willing to do him a favor in return, offering the Shoemakers a way out of the poverty Nell had known all her life.

  People believed Nell would instill fecundity upon the land, that the whispers of a young girl would finally ease their days of backbreaking toil. A harvestmaiden! All over the kingdom, old men debated the scope of her powers, and their speculation fanned the flames of hope clear through the winter. What would happen in the spring, when she was locked away with Evelyn and Lady Zel? Nell decided not to think about it.

  CHAPTER 27

  LADY ZEL

  Only after they had walked for some time did Nell realize they were heading in the wrong direction. “Lady Zel, I think your tower is that way,” she said, pointing. Though some enchantment made it impossible to see the tower from the forest floor, Nell knew instinctively that it was not in this part of the woods.

  “True enough. But we aren’t going to the tower yet. First, I thought we would go and see your friend, the Aureate Oak,” she replied. “It has been a century since he last spoke to anyone, except for you, and if he survived Rhiannon’s fire, I thought perhaps you might soften him up for a chat.”

  “I thought he was dead!”

  Lady Zel walked on without answering, and Nell followed silently. She was starting to learn that a sorceress sometimes needed space before her answers could appear. Squirrels crashed through the undergrowth, and overhead, geese labored southward in tattered diagonals. Finally the lady began to speak. “When the old witch cast me out of her tower, one hundred years ago, I had nowhere to go. I knew nothing of the land, nor how real people lived. I wandered lost in the wilderness for a time. Back then, there were not so many people as there are today, and you could go days without meeting a soul. I was sixteen, all alone, and more naive than you could imagine.” She shook her head, remembering her younger self. “The witch had given me the Wealding Word though, and with it I heard the old tree’s song. He cared for me through that first winter.”

  On they strode – not using magic to speed their travel – but simply taking a brisk walk through the fall afternoon. Nell could hear the vespers of coming winter among the trees. But silence fell as, up ahead, she saw gnarled black fingers clutching the sky: they had come to the outskirts of the area ravaged Rhiannon’s fire.

  Peering at the dead trunks, Lady Zel continued her tale. “You may have guessed, people aren’t the only ones who hold Words of Power. The Aureate kept many. When I met him, I was still reeling from the awful effects of thralldom, hemorrhaging away my soul. I would not have lasted long. The oak wanted to ease my pain, but there was only one way to truly heal me.” She looked at Nell, “Only one Word could return all the life the old witch had stolen from me: The Word Eternis.”

  “He gave it to you?” Nell spluttered. “So that’s why Rhiannon stole my sister! She thought Lexi was me, and wanted to use her to get the Word. But why did she think the Oak would just tell it to me – or to anyone?”

  “With her charms Rhiannon could beguile man, beast, or plant. She knew the Aureate was a kindly creature, and would have used that to her advantage. Given enough time and an innocent greenspeaker at her command, I suspect she would have succeeded.” Lady Zel scanned the treetops, spotting the small rise where the oak overlooked the rest of the forest. “Even still, the Word Eternis is an ancient and rare power: one that cannot be given lightly. When the Aureate shared it with me, he made me promise to keep it secret until I had accomplished a very specific task, which he assigned.

  “Not long after that, Prince Roland heard me singing in the wilderness, and we found each other again. He brought me to his castle where I lived as a princess for many years. But over that time, my promise to the tree diminished, and my devotion to Roland grew. We shared all of our secrets, like any husband and wife. What harm could come from sharing this secret too?”

  At that point the sun fell behind a cloud, taking the bright colors of autumn with it. Trees scorched to death provided drear scenery from there on for Lady Zel’s tale. The odor of charcoal and smoke still lingered as they crossed into the fire-damaged lands around the oak. The sorceress continued, “Something in Roland changed when he learned what I possessed, and he tried every means to coax me into giving it to him. I finally gave in to my husband’s demand, though I hadn’t even begun the task that the Aureate set me. I told myself it would make him a better king. I dreamed that he and I would rule the realm together for generations, ageless and wise. It seemed like a perfect plan. Little did I know he would soon be slain in battle.”

  “He died? But I thought that Word let you live forever,” Nell said.

  Lady Zel shook her head sadly. “The Word Eternis grants its keeper a very long life, but not forever. A person may still perish by any of a thousand accidents, the same as anyone else. The magic prevents three very specific types of death: death by disease, death by aging, and death by one’s own hand.” Nell furrowed her brow at the last, but the sorceress went on. “What’s more, it is the nature of Eternity magic that its keeper must have something to live for. An express purpose or sworn task is what fuels the spell as kindling fuels a fire. It will only function so long as one’s life-quest one is unfulfilled. The tree revealed mine to me. In turn, I presumed to assign my husband his. It was that reckless task which led Roland to his end.” Lady Zel was silent for a time, her shawl brushing lightly over the burnt earth.

  “In any case, when a person achieves the undertaking set for them, the effects of old age resume and the Word becomes inert. Many years after Roland died, I came to see the tree again – as a widow and a queen. The Aureate was sorely hurt at my long absence. He knew that I had broken his trust. He went into a deep slumber after that, and I can only assume he wanted nothing more to do with our kind. Until you came, that is.”

  Nell remembered how lonely the tree seemed when she met him. After he gave her the golden acorn, he asked only that she return to visit him again. A year had passed since that day, and never once had she found time to sit beneath his branches.

  Now that the fire had scoured away the undergrowth, several sets of dolmans were visible upon the hill where the oak grew. Many had a third stone spanning them, positioned in a series of grand arches circling up to the tree. A year ago, the holly and oak were so dense here that Nell hadn’t even noticed the standing stones, but Rhiannon had burned all the green away.

  Nell thought about the agreement between Lady Zel and the Widow of the Sea. Something wasn’t right about it. “But didn’t you promise Rhiannon that you’d give her the Word if she got rid of the Malady? Would you really give it to her? I mean, why would you?”

  “Of course I would. Over the years I’ve learned the importance of keeping my oaths, and I would very much have liked to give the Word to her, if only to see her one more time.”

  The sorceress’ sentiments toward Rhiannon irked Nell. Sometimes Lady Zel sounded fond, loving almost, toward the witch, and it seemed absurd to speak like that about a murderous thrall-keeper. “Good riddance!” Nell said. “I’m glad I’ll never have to see her again.”

  Lady Zel turned to face her apprentice with clear gray eyes. “Nell, it’s time you learned a secret that few know.” They stopped beside the far end of the angular pond, with the reflection of the dead oak quavering up at them. “Over the summer, you asked about my husband, my children, and my past. You know that old King Rhys was my son, but you never asked about Rhys’ twin sister… Rhiannon was her name.”

  “What?” Nell choked. “She – Rhiannon was your daughter?”

  “Yes, and I have always held out hope that she might change. But from the beginning she hungered for the things
I could not offer. The Word Isolet was one of them. It’s what led her to seek a different teacher, long ago.” They came to stand just outside the outer branches of the Aureate. “What does the Word tell you of the tree?” Lady Zel asked.

  As Nell feared, the scorched boughs of the Aureate were void of life, just like all the other trees. She could not bear to see the Oak standing so abject and naked. Now it was just a dead shape poking from the ground, no longer a tree at all. She slowed beside the pond. “I don’t want to go there. He’s dead,” Nell cried. Memories from the day of the hailstorm came rushing back to Nell. The oak had shielded her from the downpour then. He eased her fears about meeting Lady Zel and asked only that she return and be his friend. Nell shut her eyes. “I can’t hear anything.”

  Lady Zel put her arm around the girl’s shoulder. “We will see for ourselves.”

  They came beneath the umbrella of black, creaking branches, their eyes upon the trunk. All the smaller twigs and boughs were completely gone, leaving only stumpy arms overhead. Lady Zel walked toward the tree, stepping around his fire-scorched roots. As she approached, she began to hum. Rising and falling, her melody slowly merged into the words of an ancient hymn.

  Sun loving

  Earth loving

  Root of all Being,

  Ever nourishing

  Shaper of life,

  Enliven me.

  Ever changing

  Breath of life,

  Nourish me.

  Ever beginning

  Limb of life.

  Transform me.

  Sun loving

  Earth loving

  Root of all Being,

  Light loving

  Life loving

  Source of all sound,

  I am thee. Thou art me.

  The sorceress quieted, speaking softly to the scarred bark. “I’m sorry I let you down, my old friend. I’m still making mistakes, still trying to understand.”