Callum and Mae made it to the shelter of the porch as the storm began in earnest. Mae wasn’t about to admit it, but she was a little tired. She rested in the bed in the room that was now hers. It wasn’t her dreaming nook, but it was cozy enough. A half-drained cup of tea and three biscuits were sitting on a plate next to her. Her new wand rested on the table by the bed.
She reached for the wand and twirled it in her hand, this time being very careful to stop any images from forming in her mind. “Callum, should I whittle the bumps down on my wand?”
“Oh, no.” The wizard shook his head. “You must never use metal on a rowan tree or you will hurt its magick. The bumps will smooth in time from use.”
Callum picked up the large tome at the end of her bed and settled the heavy book in Mae’s lap. “Knowing about the past helps us avoid mistakes in the future.”
Placing her wand by her side, Mae flipped open the cover of A Historie of Magickal People. Some of the pages had corners worn from the many fingers turning them through the years. She ran her hand over the yellowed paper, soft with age, and then she began to read.
Chapter Ten
The storm pounded the Wedge for two days and nights, plenty of time for Mae to worry about Aletta, who still hadn’t returned.
She’d been reading, too, moving on from the Historie of Magickal People to Bits and Baubles for Beginners. The soft crackle in the hearth was a nice accompaniment to the rain drumming against the roof.
Callum was tying fishing flies. Downy black feathers were stuck to his beard. Mae heard him muttering curses under his breath more than once at the tangled red thread. With a big sigh, Callum put the flies aside and put another log on the fire. He glanced at the door and sighed again. The wizard hadn’t said so, but Mae was sure he was worried, too.
Mae wiggled in the small, overstuffed chair Callum had magicked for her and snapped her book closed. Trina startled and unwound from her nest in Mae’s curls where she had taken up residence. She climbed down to Mae’s shoulder, her whiskers tickling the girl’s neck. Mae gathered the squirrel in her hands and set Trina on the arm of the chair. “Callum, can you tell me what it feels like to change shape? Does it hurt?” She hadn’t only been worried about Aletta; she’d been worried about the toadstools turned into hobgoblins, too.
The wizard sank into his chair before the fire. He rubbed his hands over his eyes. “It doesn’t hurt, exactly…and Aletta says you get used to it. She once explained the feeling as a bit like the popping sensation when your knuckles crack.”
“It would be awfully useful to be able to change into something different than a hapenny.” Mae peeked at Callum through her eyelashes.
“Aletta has called Verdan Gripora useful as well, but she’s not especially fond of her magickal strength.” He chuckled, lost in thought for a moment. “I suppose she would feel differently if she transformed into a nobler creature.”
Mae shrugged her shoulders. “I like pigs. Do you think Aletta will teach me?”
Callum rubbed his whiskery chin. “I don’t know, Maewyn; it’s tough magick. Perhaps we should stick to the more basic spells for now.” Callum tapped his finger on the end of his nose. Mae bit her lip with anticipation. She turned her ears forward and made her eyes as round as possible.
The wizard sighed and smiled. “How can I say no with you looking at me like that?” A belly laugh rippled through the cottage. “I guess it won’t hurt to see if you have a tendency toward a Verdan Gripora or a Kiptar Liftan. It does seem to fit with the blossoms turning into moths and such.” Callum clapped his hand on the arm of the chair. “You’re feeling well enough for this?”
Mae nodded. Her stomach flip-flopped with excitement… or maybe it was hunger. Breakfast had been quite a while ago.
Callum pointed to the kindling pile. “Hand me that twig there.”
Mae jumped from her seat—her ankle didn’t even twinge today—and pulled the stick out of the pile. She handed it to the wizard.
He held it up in the firelight. “What does it look like to you?”
Mae raised her eyebrows skeptically. “It’s a twig.”
Shaking his head, Callum clicked his tongue. “No, I asked what it looks like, not what it is.”
Mae scanned the dips and swells of the bark on the twig. At first the twig looked like an ordinary twig, but then she found a couple of bumps and a little knothole. If she let her imagination go free, she could almost see the face of a weasel, the bumps being brow ridges and the knothole a cute, black nose.
The twig twinged in Callum’s grasp. “Yes, that’s it,” he whispered. “Now use your wand.”
Mae pulled her wand from her apron pocket and settled the tip on the twig. Two beady eyes stared out from the rough surface, blinking at the firelight.
A furry paw swiped at the knothole nose. One end of the twig waved like a tail.
Trina scampered up the wizard’s arm and hid in the brim of his hat, where Beau was watching with wary eyes and shivering whiskers.
The front door jolted in its casing and then blew open. The weasel squirmed from Callum’s grip and scrambled up the bookshelves.
Aletta swept in on the rain-laden wind. The raven followed, gliding to the top of Callum’s chair. The stormy entrance of her two friends made Mae forget about the weasel. Aletta’s usually neat hair was frizzy and sticking out from under her hat in every direction. The tail of her cap drooped sadly to the ground.
“What we need,” Aletta announced, “is a weather wizard!” She seized her hat and flipped it onto a peg behind the door. “I don’t suppose Mae is one of those?”
The wizard wrung her hair in the doorway and snapped her fingers at the mop in the corner. The mop sprang to life and sopped up the rain from the entryway, then went after the dripping woman.
“No, no!” Aletta said in a singsong voice. “Go away, you twig-brained mop!”
Mae giggled as Aletta shooed the mop away and latched the front door. She was relieved Aletta had finally returned.
Callum gestured to the weasel peering out at them from the bookshelves. “We were just doing a little test. Seems our Maewyn has many talents. Though Vedar Frodliker, or a weather wizard as you so plainly put it, doesn’t seem to be one of them. Kiptar Liftan, however, may be on the top of the list.”
“That’s a wizard that can bring something to life,” Mae said. She cringed at the thought of the toadstool creatures running around the forest. Had they found shelter from the storm? She hadn’t thought about that when she’d left them behind. “I read about some famous Kiptar Liftans in A Historie of Magickal People.” She patted the red book in her chair. “I didn’t read about any Hybilia Frodlikers in the book though, Callum.”
Red splotches grew on Callum’s cheeks. “That’s because Hybilia Frodlikers rarely do anything noteworthy.”
Aletta kissed the tip of his nose and ruffled his hair on her way to the hearth. “I wouldn’t give up yet, my pet.” The sopping hem of her dress left a wet trail behind her, like one a snail leaves on a rock.
“We were getting worried about you,” Callum grumbled. “Did you run into trouble?”
“Well, Gelbane managed to corral the pigs back up in the barn, poor things. The chickens, however, are loose and roosting in the trees at the edge of the forest.” Aletta turned and frowned. The dark smudges under her sunken eyes told Mae she had not rested well during her foray into the Wedge.
“Did you happen to hear if Mother Underknoll has been found yet?” Mae asked hopefully.
The wizard held her hands out to the fire and shook her head. “I’m sorry, Mae. There’s been no news of her.”
Aletta took a deep breath. “I did hear Ms. Gnarlroot is taking care of the newlyborn for Mr. Underknoll until Mother Underknoll can be found. Many in the Wedge are worried…”
“And?” Mae asked.
“And…” Aletta hesitated. “The Burrbridge brothers were sent to the market a few days ago, the day we first met you, I believe, and they never returned
.”
Mae bolted to her feet and stomped to the window. “Now Leif is missing? I have to find him!” She stared out the window, nose pressing against the cold glass pane. The petals of the night-blooming flowers were pulled closed against the wind and blowing rain. Farther off, the creek, now full to bursting over its bed, rushed by. Sorrow and worry found a place to settle in her chest, like a bird roosting in a bush. She turned to face the wizards. “Something isn’t right. That’s three hapennies missing: first Mother Underknoll and now Leif and Reed.”
“I’m sure it is just coincidence,” Callum said.
A shadow passed through Aletta’s eyes. Mae was sure Aletta wasn’t convinced that the disappearances were coincidence. And neither was she.
Mae let out a keening wail. The weasel jumped from the bookshelf to the floor and slunk under Callum’s chair. Aletta rushed to her side. “Not many creatures will be wandering around in a storm like this,” Aletta said, trying to console her. “Hopefully that will mean no more disappearances. We know you are anxious to help your friend, his brother, and Mother Underknoll. But more than likely, we are dealing with some very dark magick, and we want you to be safe.” The wizard smoothed Mae’s hair from her face. “We should eat and form a plan of action. That will make you feel better, won’t it? I’m starving. You must be hungry, too.”
Mae took a calming breath. “Leif always says it is better to form a plan on a full stomach.”
“That’s my girl.” Callum grabbed the end of his beard and gave his wand a twirl. On the small table next to his chair a plate appeared piled high with cheese, round slices of sausage, and some chunks of warm bread. Garnishing the plate was a clump of plum-colored grapes. Three cups of tea appeared on shiny copper saucers.
Mae eyed the tea suspiciously.
“It’s not sleeping tea, Maewyn,” Aletta said. “Dig in.”
Callum sighed. “The Wedge is right to be worried. There haven’t been any disappearances since the Great Invasion.”
The flute trembled in Mae’s pocket. “The Great Invasion?”
“Remember I told you that knowing about the past helps us avoid mistakes in the future? The Great Invasion was a time of great concern in the Wedge. Hapennies were disappearing,” Callum said.
“Just like now,” Aletta added. “The hapennies banded together and caught the troll responsible. Unfortunately, many were lost.”
“The Great Protector, Remington Gythal, helped guard the people of the Wedge from another troll attack by putting a spell on the bridge,” Mae said. “I read about him. No trolls can cross the bridge or they will change into stone.”
“That’s right.” Callum reached up to stroke the raven. “I was his apprentice when I was young. It seems many trolls have attempted to cross the bridge, from the stones I’ve had to clear away when I patrol the borders.” Callum pointed to his head. “Some of them are lacking in wit.”
“Perhaps.” Aletta sat on the hearth. “But when you are a pig, you’ve got a lot of time to think. What if the trolls aren’t as dim-witted as we presume? What if they have found a way around the spell?”
Mae startled as her flute burst forth in urgent sound. She snatched it from her pocket. “I think my flute is trying to tell us something!”
The flute twittered happily.
Aletta’s eyes widened. “I think you are right.”
Plopping next to the wizard, Mae propped her elbows on her knees and stuck her chin in one hand. She held the singing flute up to the firelight with the other. “I’ve been thinking about the song the flute played the other day.”
As if the instrument understood Mae’s words, it switched tunes. Mae let the melody run through her mind, then started to sing the words that formed on her lips.
Two hapennies, their carts in tow,
Hi, hi, lo, lo
Crossed a bridge and met a foe,
Hi, hi, lo, lo
The troll arose from deep below,
Hi, hi, no, no
With black eyes and fangs aglow,
Hi, hi, no, no
Will the hapennies’ heads a’ roll?
Hi, hi, no, no
The spell will turn the troll to coal,
Hi, hi, yo, ho!
Mae shrugged. “That’s all I can remember.” She sighed as the music faded. Firelight winked on the flute’s warm wooden surface. She dropped the flute back in her pocket. “Why were the hapennies crossing the bridge in the song? Hapennies don’t leave the Wedge.”
“Hapennies don’t leave the Wedge anymore,” Callum said. “But there were some who were great traders before all the troll business. You’ve heard of them, I’m sure. The Great Expeditions, the hapennies used to call them. Fond of the word great, they are. Of course, I guess everything seems great when you are only the height of a miniature pony.” Callum chuckled and then cleared his throat when Mae scowled.
“The travelers would journey great distances and return with wondrous goods. But the last trading expedition left before the troll invasion and never returned.” Callum rose and walked to the bookshelves. “Perhaps I can find the other verses. I seem to remember a certain book…”
“My father was one of those that never returned from the last expedition. My mother writes in her letters that she is searching for him and that’s why she’s been gone so long.”
Callum ran his finger over the leather spines. “Does she always write the same thing? That she is searching for your father?”
“Yes,” Mae said. “And to do Gelbane’s bidding and not cause trouble. The same be-good-until-I-get-back message in every letter.”
“Don’t you find that a bit odd?”
“Well, I do wish she’d tell me what she’s seen and where she’s been. What kind of adventures she’s been having.” Mae lifted her hand to stroke the blue orb necklace, forgetting that it had been lost. Momma had always kept the hope alive that her father would return, lighting a candle every night in the window—a beacon of light for him to find his way.
Aletta interrupted her thoughts. “Well, I have been thinking about your flute, too,” she said. “About how it plays all by itself.”
“You think it is enchanted, then?” Mae wound her arm around Aletta’s, leaning against the warmth of her solid friend. She held her other hand out and made kissy noises at the weasel. When he ignored her, she plucked a few grapes off the stems and popped them in her mouth.
The weasel slowly appeared from under the chair and crept closer. Standing on his back legs, he sniffed at the table of snacks. Mae tossed him a grape and watched as he chased the fruit across the wooden floor. Catching the grape between his paws, the weasel smacked his lips as he ate it.
“Well, in a way I think your flute is enchanted, yes.” Aletta lowered her voice. “It was something you said that night in the barn. You said playing your flute always soothed you when you were troubled with wishes.”
The weasel padded back across the room for another snack. Mae scratched his head. His whiskers tickled her wrist. “What do wishes have to do with anything?”
“Every time you play, you infuse the flute with your dreams, hopes, and wishes. I think you are the one who has enchanted the flute, without even knowing it.”
The weasel jumped into Mae’s lap and curled up, shifting to show her his belly, like a cat. She petted his smooth fur. His ears were silky soft.
Callum turned from the shelves with a book in his hand. “I think you’ve surprised us both with how much magick you possess in that little body.”
A funny feeling grew in Mae’s belly. Her lap was warm from her new friend, but it wasn’t that. She wasn’t hungry, or perhaps she was, but it felt different from hunger. Possibility fluttered like butterfly wings. But it wasn’t taking flight just yet. Mae pointed to the book in the wizard’s hand. “Did you find the other verses?”
“What? Oh, no.” Callum looked down at the opened book, scanning the page. “No, but I found something else that might help us…” The wizard lost himself in the wo
rds on the page.
Mae shrugged. The nursery song lingered in her thoughts. She hummed to herself.
Two Hapennies, their carts in tow
Hi, hi, lo, lo
They crossed a bridge and met a foe…
Bridge. She plucked another handful of grapes from the stem, popping one in her mouth.
Bridge…Gelbane…Mae crunched down on the firm fruit.
Gelbane hadn’t followed Mae across the bridge when she fled the farm.
The remaining grapes in her hand fell to the floor.
“Gelbane is a troll,” Mae whispered.
Chapter Eleven
“What did you say?” Callum asked. His brows furrowed over his hazel eyes. The book dropped from his hands.
“Gelbane is a troll!” Mae shouted, jumping up from her seat on the hearth. Her elbow caught the edge of the platter, and the food went flying.
The raven squawked and flapped his wings. The weasel batted a piece of sausage across the floor.
“Let’s not jump to conclusions, Maewyn.” Callum placed a settling hand on her shoulder, but Mae shook it off. Aletta’s eyes were as big as mushrooms. Mae pointed at her. “You think so, too! It’s the truth, Callum. Isn’t it? That’s what you were arguing about the other day.”
Pacing between the hearth and the worktable, Mae uncurled her hand and pointed one finger each time she listed a reason. “Gelbane didn’t follow me across the bridge. The scratches from her fingernails infected my leg. She doesn’t like magick! The missing hapennies…” Mae’s chest constricted as she grasped Callum’s suspenders. “Trolls eat hapennies!”
Hapenny Magick Page 6
