The Autumn Castle

by Kim Wilkins

  Thorsten turned hostile eyes on the wolf. “Perhaps another issue we might discuss is the issue of counsel.”

  “Counsel?” Mayfridh asked, watching Thorsten carefully. “What do you mean?”

  “The issue, my Queen, of an adviser who sees no harm in your being from your home and duties for weeks at a time.”

  Mayfridh quickly examined the faces assembled around her. Each had turned suspicious gazes on Eisengrimm, and she was gripped by guilt. Had Eisengrimm been fending off their questions and accusations all this time, while she enjoyed herself in the Real World? “Eisengrimm’s counsel is not in question,” she said firmly. “It was my own decision to spend time in the Real World. In fact, Eisengrimm discouraged me from being away for so long. But now I am returned.”

  “For good?” Brathr asked.

  “I . . . I believe so.”

  “Majesty,” Thorsten said, taking a penitent step forward, “be not angry with us. We have all been bearing the weight of the many questions asked of your behavior. Your subjects are not happy, but they remain loyal. Some gesture must be made to reward their continued loyalty.”

  Mayfridh nodded. Outside, a fresh wind from the west rattled branches in the dawn half-light.

  “What do you have in mind?”

  “A royal autumn parade, Queen Mayfridh,” Hilda said. “You can distribute the winter magic and the blessings, but more importantly, you can be seen by your people. They will be reassured by your presence.”

  “We all recommend this plan, your Majesty,” Thorsten said firmly.

  The thought made her weary. Dressed in royal garb, waving and smiling and meeting the villagers, when all she wanted to do was curl up in a dusty corner with her fervent imaginings of Jude until the winter erased him from her mind. She turned to Eisengrimm, knew her voice sounded plaintive. “Eisengrimm? Do you also recommend this?”

  He took a few paces forward, transforming to Fox and jumping into her lap. “Yes, Little May. It will be for the best.” Then, secretly, in her ear, he added, “And it will take your mind off other matters.”

  “Very well,” she sighed. “Make the necessary arrangements.”

  The gathered assembly exchanged relaxed smiles.

  “I will go to Hexebart for spells. Eisengrimm, will you come with me?”

  “We will need Eisengrimm for the parade committee, Majesty,” Hilda said.

  Mayfridh groaned. She hated dealing with Hexebart alone.

  “Just be firm and don’t lose your temper,” Eisengrimm said to her softly.

  Mayfridh placed Eisengrimm on the floor and stood, smoothing her skirt. Today was already growing more complicated than she could endure.

  The temporary twilight of evening and morning twined about the garden with the thorns. Mayfridh lingered a moment to watch a spider spin a web amongst the branches of an elder bush, its silvery thread glistening in the dim light. The air was chilled, and deep in her bones she could feel winter nearby. Soon.

  Hexebart’s well cast a long shadow across the grass. Mayfridh approached and called down to her.

  “Witch, come up here. I need blessing spells.”

  Mayfridh was expecting the usual stubborn refusals and abuse but, to her surprise, the cage hoisted itself up immediately. Hexebart sat among the iron bars, smiling a crooked smile.

  “Why are you smiling?” Mayfridh asked, her eyes narrowing instinctively.

  “Perhaps I’m happy to see my queen.”

  “Is this some trickery?”

  “I have a few spells for you. Hold out your bag.”

  Mayfridh paused. Hexebart had never been this compliant.

  “Go on, Queen.” She spat the word like an insult. “Hold out your bag.”

  Suspicious, Mayfridh held out the woven bag. Hexebart gathered up a handful of spells and tipped them in.

  “It’s not enough for all the winter blessings, but I’ll make more soon,” the witch said, all sweet-voiced again.

  “Thank you,” Mayfridh said, grudgingly, moving to tie off the top of the bag. As she did, Hexebart’s bony hand slipped out and clamped around Mayfridh’s wrist. Mayfridh gasped and tried to pull away.

  “What are you doing?”

  “Shh, fool, I shan’t hurt you,” Hexebart said. “Where’s dog-chops?”

  “Eisengrimm is back at the castle. Let me go, what is the meaning of—”

  “I know his secret.”

  Mayfridh was shocked into silence. Surely she couldn’t mean Jude.

  “Well,” Hexebart said, “what do you say about that, little sow?”

  Maybe she’d misunderstood. Maybe Hexebart was talking about a secret Eisengrimm was keeping from her. “What are you talking about? Whose secret?”

  “The boy you love in the Real World.”

  “But you gave me a mind-reading spell. It didn’t work.”

  “You asked for the wrong spell. I made the right spell. And I know his secret.”

  “Then tell me.”

  Hexebart bared her crooked teeth and replied in a singsong voice, “No-oh, I don’t believe I sha-all.”

  Mayfridh’s stomach clutched tight with anger and frustration. “Tell me, you hideous creature.”

  “And why should I? Why should I do you a single favor? You are nothing but a cuckoo in the nest, a dirty little changeling, a pile of perfumed puke. Why, I should be delighted to see you suffer for the rest of your days for what you have done to me, and what you did to the real queen.”

  “I am the real queen. Liesebet disappeared.”

  “Conveniently for you.”

  “Tell me, witch. It is not for you to keep secrets from the queen. You are my servant. You are at my command.”

  “Even the thoughts of slaves are free,” Hexebart spat. Then she leaned back in her cage and closed her eyes. “Hmm, I’m thinking about his secret this very second. Hmm, hmm. What a terrible thing he’s done.”

  Mayfridh could feel her blood growing hot. “Tell me!” she shrieked. “Tell me immediately.”

  Hexebart opened her eyes. “We could, of course, strike some kind of a deal.” Her voice was cool and measured in contrast to Mayfridh’s.

  “How dare you be so—” Mayfridh stopped abruptly. Shouting never got her anywhere with Hexebart. Although it undermined her role and her dignity, she clenched her teeth and said, “What do you want in exchange for Jude’s secret?”

  “I am sick of living in this well.”

  Mayfridh almost laughed. “Witch, I am not setting you free. You have the royal magic. You are doomed to be imprisoned until you return it.”

  “I will return it when Queen Liesebet asks for it.”

  “Then you will be in the well until you die.”

  “Perhaps I don’t mind being imprisoned so much as I mind being in the well,” Hexebart said slyly.

  “What do you mean?”

  “Perhaps the dungeons would be more comfortable. Fewer frogs.”

  Mayfridh considered. Hexebart had been confined to the well as a cruel punishment for her recalcitrance. She could do her spell weaving and be safely incarcerated just as easily in the dungeon, though she hardly deserved the space and shelter. And yet, granting the witch some comfort was a small price to pay if it meant Mayfridh would finally learn Jude’s secret.

  “There would be conditions,” Mayfridh said slowly.

  “Like what?”

  “You would be forbidden to tell Eisengrimm why we have struck this agreement.”

  “I wouldn’t tell him a thing, the pompous dog’s breath.”

  “And I’d need some guarantee that you’d keep your side of the bargain. A magical oath that you would tell me the secret.”

  Hexebart’s hands emerged between the bars once more. Her fingers danced against each other as she spun a spell. When it was complete, she closed her fingers over it and said, “I swear that as soon as the dungeon door is locked behind me, I will tell you the secret.” When she opened her hand, the spell had disappeared. Hexebart was now magically
bound.

  Mayfridh couldn’t help smiling. “We shall organize the transfer immediately.” She turned to leave, but Hexebart’s croaking voice called her back.

  “One other thing,” the witch said.

  “What?” Mayfridh said, turning back with a frown.

  “I should like to see the whole dungeon.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “You swear that you don’t have the real king and queen imprisoned. I should like to prove that for myself.”

  Mayfridh shook her head. “No. The agreement is I transfer you from the well to the dungeon and that’s that.”

  “Perhaps if you can prove they aren’t there, you might not need to imprison me at all. Perhaps when I see with my own eyes, I might be prepared to give the royal magic back.”

  Mayfridh peered at Hexebart closely in the morning gloom. “Are you serious?”

  “Of course. Why would I waste my breath otherwise?”

  “We might arrange it after you’ve been moved to the dungeon. I will consider it.”

  “I won’t tell you the secret.”

  “You’re sworn to tell me the secret.”

  “Only after you’ve locked me in the dungeon. I can refuse to go. I can tell dog-chops what’s really going on and he’ll let me stay here in the well.”

  Mayfridh wanted to grab the cage and shake it until Hexebart bounced around inside. “You can’t add a condition after you’ve sworn to something.”

  “I can. What difference does it make to you? I expect I’ll be bound and you’ll have guards all around me.”

  Mayfridh pressed a hand to her brow. Hexebart was right. She would be bound, there would be no chance of escape, and for years the witch had accused her of imprisoning her parents. Jude’s secret was so large and pressing in her mind, it hardly mattered to Mayfridh whether Hexebart peered into the empty cells or not.

  “Very well, then,” Mayfridh said, “but you will be bound.”

  “I want you to swear on it, as I swore on my end of the bargain.”

  Mayfridh reached into the bag for a spell, held it gently in one hand while considering.

  “Go on,” Hexebart said. “I swore. You’ll get your precious secret.”

  “I swear, then,” Mayfridh said, quickly in case she changed her mind. “I swear that you will be allowed to view all the dungeons before we lock you in one.” She opened her hand to show that the spell was gone.

  “Good,” Hexebart said. “I look forward to you returning soon.” The cage began to lower itself into the well. In the first glimmer of sunrise, Mayfridh thought she saw Hexebart smile, and wondered if she had done the right thing.

  Eisengrimm’s face never gave much away, but Mayfridh could have sworn he looked completely bewildered.

  “But why?” he said, for the fifth time.

  Mayfridh watched him pace in a circle around the bedroom. “Because she’s been living in the well so long it’s making her difficult and bitter,” she said. “Because if we take her to the dungeons we can show her once and for all that my parents are not there.”

  He stopped and turned to face her. “She will simply say that we have them imprisoned elsewhere.”

  “She said she might consider returning the royal magic to me.”

  “Hexebart is dangerous and hostile. I don’t trust her.”

  “It’s too late. I swore to it.”

  Eisengrimm’s ears pricked up in alarm. “You swore?”

  “I didn’t want her to change her mind. She seemed very serious. I thought it would be a chance to regain the magic that’s rightfully mine.”

  “If you have sworn, we have very little choice in the matter,” he said gruffly. “I should never have let you go to Hexebart alone.”

  “What do you mean by that? Do you not think I can manage her alone?”

  “You have done a very foolish thing. I would have counseled you against it.”

  “I am not bound by your counsel, Eisengrimm. I am the queen and may do as I please.”

  Eisengrimm fell silent and bowed his head. “That is true, your Majesty. Meet me in the garden in ten minutes. I will assemble some guards to accompany Hexebart to her new home.”

  He slunk out, leaving Mayfridh sitting on the edge of her bed, fiddling with the keys on her belt. Her heart was hammering and she felt unsafe and unsatisfied. Why did Eisengrimm have to put so many doubts in her mind? She moved to the window and peered down through branches to the leafy slope behind the castle. The well sat silent and remote like a painting. Hexebart was in there, no doubt singing to herself and preparing for the move to her new space. Mayfridh went over the details in her head. Hexebart would be bound so that her hands couldn’t perform magic; Eisengrimm would orga-nize at least four guards; the dungeons were as inescapable as the well. Nothing could go wrong.

  She pulled herself away from the window and headed down the stairs to the garden. At the end of all this, in that moment when she locked Hexebart’s dungeon with her own fingers around the key, she would know Jude’s secret. She was both thrilled and terrified. Hexebart had said Jude had done something terrible. What if she couldn’t bear it? What if he had slept with Gerda, or with a million other women? What if that intense passion she had sensed he felt for her was nothing more than lust, as Eisengrimm suggested? Perhaps Hexebart was lying, and his secret was of some pure and noble nature. Mayfridh would only remember it for little more than a month, but at least she would know it. She would tuck it away with the dark sweet ache of her love for him; the love that could not be realized.

  Eisengrimm was waiting for her with four royal guards. They greeted her dourly and she led them out the gate and down the slope to the well. Hexebart must have heard them coming, for the cage was already above ground when they arrived.

  “Hexebart,” Eisengrimm said in a stern voice, “you must cooperate with us at all times.”

  She nodded solemnly.

  Eisengrimm turned to the chief guard, a burly fellow with a bright yellow beard. “When the queen unlocks the cage, pull the witch out carefully. Never let the fingertips on one hand touch the fingertips on the other. That’s how she works her magic.” Eisengrimm nodded at Mayfridh. “Go on, Little May. Open the cage.”

  Mayfridh unhooked her belt of keys. Unlike ordinary keys, they did not correspond to particular locks and doors. Each key was enchanted, just as each lock in the castle and dungeons was enchanted. No ordinary lock could hold Hexebart. Ironically, it was the witch’s own spell that held her captive; she had built all the enchanted keys and locks while still in Liesebet’s service many years before. Mayfridh stilled her hands as she approached. The cage hadn’t been opened in decades and the lock was flaked with rust.

  “Hexebart, spread your arms apart,” Eisengrimm said. The witch complied.

  The door to the cage sprang open, and two of the guards roughly bundled Hexebart out, keeping her arms spread wide apart. Eisengrimm instructed them as they twisted her arms behind her back, turned her hands knuckle to knuckle inward, then tied a block of wood between them. Then her hands were bound tightly from her fingers to her wrists. Mayfridh watched anxiously. The knots were secure. Hexebart endured it all in angry silence.

  The burly guard gave Hexebart a shove. “Come on, witch,” he said, “time to inspect your new home.”

  With Eisengrimm in front, two guards on either side of Hexebart, and Mayfridh following them and never taking her eyes off Hexebart’s bound hands, they made their way back through the trees and the garden and down the stairs toward the dungeons. The first gate swung open. Hexebart’s feet shuffled and scuffed obediently, a counter-rhythm to the marching guards. Mayfridh’s skin itched with tension; the danger, the secret. The party continued through the other three gates, and finally arrived at the cells.

  “Walk her past them all, one by one,” Eisengrimm instructed. He let the guards go ahead of him with Hexebart, hanging back with Mayfridh.

  “You see,” she said, “it’s all working out.”

&nb
sp; Eisengrimm’s eyes were following the progress of the witch up the corridor as the guards lit each cell for her to peer inside. He returned his attention to Mayfridh. “She is suspiciously silent.”

  “Perhaps she really is considering giving my magic back. Perhaps it’s the penitence we’ve dreamed of for so long.” Mayfridh was still hopeful that this would prove true; then Eisengrimm couldn’t look at her sternly and think her foolish.

  “Perhaps,” Eisengrimm said, sounding not in the least convinced.

  “We’ve looked in all the cells, your Majesty,” the burly guard called from the other end of the corridor.

  “Very well, bring her back and we’ll lock her up.” She took a key between her trembling fingers. As soon as the others were gone, she would know. She would know.

  Guards flanking her tightly, arms bound behind her, the hag shuffled down the corridor with her head hanging down.

  “So, witch,” Eisengrimm said. “You have seen all the cells and they are empty. What do you say now?”

  Hexebart lifted her head and parted her lips. Mayfridh saw the glimmer of light on her tongue too late. There was a horrid spitting noise and a flash of blinding light, and then she was on the floor, confusion and darkness and shouting all around her.

  “Where is she?”

  “What happened?”

  “Run after her!”

  “It’s too late. We’ve all been sleeping for an hour.” This was Eisengrimm’s voice.

  Mayfridh opened her eyes and rolled over. Eisengrimm stood above her.

  “Are you hurt?” he asked.

  “I . . . feel a little bruised.”

  “She had a spell in her mouth.”

  “I saw it. At the last moment.”

  “She’s gone, Mayfridh.”

  Mayfridh sank back on the cold floor and groaned. No secret of Jude’s; no magic for the winter blessings; Hexebart on the loose. She didn’t want to be queen anymore. It was all too hard. She wanted to go shopping with Gerda and drink coffee in Christine’s kitchen.

  “My Queen?” Eisengrimm said.

  “Send out a search party,” she replied. “We have to find her quickly.”

  Hee hee hee, Hexebart is free! Silly little queen. Did she really think Hexebart would be well behaved? Did she not remember how despised she is? Hexebart laughs and laughs, nearly doubles over. Into the Eternal Woods she plunges. They could search for weeks and never find her in here. Hexebart checks all around. There! A hollow in a tree. Hexebart squeezes herself in, leaving her bound hands dangling out behind her. Damn them for the block they tied between her fingers. Just the lightest touch of fingertip to fingertip and Hexebart could work her magic. But the bossy wolf is too smart, too smart.