“But there’s still no sense to it,” Autumn said. “For one thing, there’s nothing low about Cai. He’s the most famous magician in Eryree.”
“You should ask him about that one,” Gran said in an unreadable voice. “You know what the Gentlewood is, don’t you, child?”
Autumn frowned. The question had the air of a riddle, like the prophecy.
“It’s more alive than other forests,” Gran went on. “It lives in the monsters, you see, as much as they live in it. They’re not the same, but they’re connected, like mushrooms growing on a log.” She let out a stream of smoke. “They feed each other. The Hollow Dragon is all cruelty and malice, and he’s strong. Ever since he came down from the north, the forest’s been darker. Angrier. He’s changing it, bit by bit.”
“I know,” Autumn said. She was well aware that the Gentlewood grew more ferocious with each new season—she felt it whenever she stepped beneath the boughs. The paths were more slippery, the trees more inclined to close in on you just when you needed to run away. Poison berries crowded out all the edible ones. “What does that have to do with Cai?”
Gran snorted. “What doesn’t it have to with Cai? He’s supposed to slay the Hollow Dragon, which is all well and good. But when he does, he won’t just be fighting a dragon—he’ll be fighting the forest itself.”
Autumn fell silent, overwhelmed by the enormity of it all. She felt a stab of pity for Cai—poor silly, blushing boy that he was. He was going to get flattened. There wouldn’t be anything left of him at all, not even a Cai-shaped scorch mark on the forest floor.
“Away with you, child,” Gran said gruffly. “I’ve a mind to have a few moments’ peace from both monsters and munchkins.”
Gran went back to her pipe. Autumn hastened into the light and warmth of the cottage, glad to leave the prophecy to the shadows.
Autumn tossed and turned all night and rose an hour before dawn, before even Gran was up. She climbed up to the castle in a sleepy half-daze, pretending she had another housekeeping errand.
Winter wasn’t in the window. She tried shouting his name, tried pounding on the thick glass until the cracks spread like ripples. She even searched the other windows in the hallway, as well as you could search a window. When she went back to the cottage, her throat ached with disappointment.
She clung to Cai’s promise. She would see him tonight. Surely if anyone could rescue Winter from the enchantment he’d fallen into, it was Cai Morrigan.
The rain picked up that morning, entangling the mountain in ribbons of drifting mist. But neither sun nor rain had any effect on the jobs that needed doing, and so after breakfast Autumn ventured out into the weather. She and Kyffin were in for it that day, for it was time to wash the menagerie with seawater again. The fisherfolk from Yr Aurymor were waiting down on the road at the base of the mountain, their cart laden with buckets.
As Autumn hauled seawater up the mountain path, her head bent to keep her hood from blowing back, Cai and their pact felt like a dream. Had he really stood there in Gran’s cabbages, glittering with magic? She would have doubted her sanity if Emys hadn’t spent the better part of the morning bemoaning the scarcity of leftovers, which he blamed on Cai.
“What’s afoot, Malog girl?” called one of the fisherfolk, an old salt named Anurin.
Autumn lifted another bucket from the cart, dashing rain from her eyes. “Same as always.”
“That so, that so?” the man crowed. “What’s that on your hands?”
Autumn looked down. Her hands were a little muddy, which was hardly unusual.
“You’re gleaming, girl,” Anurin said. “Like fresh snow, like candy apples. Like trout under the waves …”
His voice trailed off into muttering. Anurin was a nice man, but quite mad. Autumn exchanged a look with his daughter, Seren, who smiled.
“He’s been so good today,” she said with a sigh, and took something out of her pack. “Here we are. Thought you kids might like a break from that awful black stuff your gran bakes.”
She handed Autumn a package wrapped in paper, and Autumn caught the scent of Seren’s seabread, soft as foam and sprinkled with the rough salt the fisherfolk pulled from the tide. Her stomach gave a rumble. Seren often brought treats for the Malogs when she visited, and her seabread was legendary.
Seren leaned down and whispered, “Put half in your pocket and tell Emys I gave it to the chickens. Else you won’t get a bite.”
Autumn smiled. She liked Seren and Anurin. Yr Aurymor was a poor, ramshackle village set on a bay like a jagged mouth. It was also nearly surrounded by the Gentlewood, apart from a narrow sliver that gave passage to the southern road. Gran said the forest would swallow it one day, and often told Seren to move to one of the southern fishing towns. Autumn hoped she would listen.
Autumn turned, but Anurin’s hand darted out and caught her wrist. “They’re not like us,” he said.
Autumn blinked. “What?”
“We’re the earth, and they’re the mountains. You get yourself tangled up in their world, you may never get untangled.”
“I—I don’t know what you mean,” Autumn said.
“I can see it,” he murmured. There was no madness in his gaze, only an odd intensity. “Magic. Not just the magic, but the trail it leaves, where it brushes the rest of us. It’s on you like dew. People say I’m raving, but I’m not—not about this, at least.”
Autumn shivered. She thought of her pact with Cai—surely the old man couldn’t know about that. She looked down at her hands, as if she might catch a glimmer there among the mud and calluses.
“Da, leave the poor girl be,” Seren said. “I’m sorry, love.”
Autumn shook her head, smiling. As she walked away, the old man called, “We’re the earth, girl! Mud’s not meant to gleam.”
It took most of the morning to get all the buckets lined up in the menagerie, and then there was the business of dousing the stalls. Monsters had to be moved, straw replaced, blankets washed in the river and hung optimistically from a clothesline. The Malogs cleaned the stalls weekly, but seawater was only applied once a month, spread in thin layers so it could soak into the stones. The Hounds of Arawn howled and Amfidzel fretted over her pressed flowers, which she kept lined up on a shelf. Autumn had to move the flowers herself, one by one, while Amfidzel hovered like a hawk over its fledglings.
Autumn’s method of cleaning the stalls was haphazard but, in her view, effective. She liked to line up several buckets and then hurl their contents across the floor, after which she would slide and splash over the stones with her mop, spreading all the seawater out. Her brothers, on the other hand, would dip their mops into the buckets and then rub the seawater into the flagstones—tidier, it was true, but Autumn didn’t hold with tidiness if it got in the way of efficiency. By the afternoon, Autumn had covered everyone with seawater at least once, even managing to get it up Emys’s nose (or so he claimed). The two of them ended the day in a raging argument. Their bickering rose to such a volume that Amfidzel tucked her head under her wings.
“Gah!” Emys said finally, tossing his mop aside. “It’s like arguing with a thunderstorm wearing boots. Do what you want, Autumn. Just keep my nose out of it next time.”
Full of thwarted fury, Autumn turned to Jack for support, but he only unplugged his ears and got back to mopping.
At the end of the day, Autumn was soaked from head to foot, her fingers as wrinkled as an old woman’s and blistered from the metal bucket handles. After dinner, she washed up as well as she could. She didn’t have the energy to heat water, so she took a bar of soap to the wooden tub of cold rainwater out back by the privy.
Shivering, she changed into clean clothes, combed her wet hair back, and hoped for the best. She was gazing up at Inglenook, trying to settle her stomach, when a pair of arms wrapped around her.
Autumn gave Jack a shove. “What’s that for?”
“Nothing.” He gave her one of his vague smiles. “Only I could tell you were thinkin
g about Winter today. I miss him, too.”
Autumn was too surprised to answer. Gran had told the other Malogs not to talk about Winter when Autumn was around—she seemed to think Autumn would fall apart if they did, or maybe she was worried about starting an argument. Autumn supposed she meant well, but it just made her feel even lonelier. For the first time since she could remember, she thought about hugging Jack. It wasn’t that she disliked the experience, but offering Jack a hug was like offering up your arm to a hungry mosquito—it was probably already on you before the thought occurred. Jack, though, just gave her another smile and disappeared back into the cottage.
Autumn marched up to the castle. She was nervous. She was excited. She was terrified. With the help of Cai Morrigan’s magic and his experience with strange quests, she could have Winter back by morning. Or—
Or she would watch Cai shake his head sadly and tell her there was nothing he could do. And if the most famous magician in the kingdom couldn’t help her, what hope did she have?
She felt as if she might throw up.
Autumn never visited the castle at night, and the other servants shot her odd looks. The corridors were warm with lanternlight and the smell of supper. Roast pork and scalloped potatoes, Autumn guessed. Apple pudding with hard sauce for dessert. Her mouth watered—it had been potato stew with barley for the Malogs that night, as it always was when Gran was trying to stretch the last of their wages.
She waited outside the library, nervously checking and rechecking her fingernails. She was wearing last year’s cloak, and the sleeves didn’t quite reach her wrists. A few students blinked at her as they passed. They couldn’t have looked more befuddled if one of the dragons was there, slavering all over the carpet.
Autumn eyed a girl teetering under a stack of grimoires. The girl looked flustered, and Autumn stepped forward to help her. But another girl appeared and laughingly took a few books from her hands. They linked arms and hurried down the hall, cloaks billowing.
Autumn felt a familiar longing rap against her heart like an unwelcome guest at the door. What she wouldn’t give to be hurrying off to those cozy dormitories in the North Tower, every room lined with windows of stars. She’d helped Mrs. Hawes change the linens once—or, rather, she’d tangled the linens into knots and left behind stabby little pine needles, which must have been in her hair, then been banished to the corner while Mrs. Hawes struggled to undo her mess. The older students had their own rooms strewn with fur rugs and chests and lovely wardrobes carved with interlocking bluebells, Inglenook’s crest.
She wondered if Cai would ever show up. The library would be closing soon.
Autumn’s hands clenched. If Cai had forgotten his promise, she’d make him remember. She’d shove him into the gorse the next time she saw him. She’d send the boggart to lurk under his bed and make growly dragon noises in the night. She’d—
The library doors swung open again, and Headmaster Neath emerged. Autumn shrank back as if from a wolf—she’d only ever seen the headmaster from a distance, during ceremonies or banquets.
Headmaster Neath was a large man, olive-skinned with a mane of graying golden hair and a craggy, handsome face. He was also a star magician, and like a star, he drew others into his orbit as he passed. Most of the students fell silent, while some of the braver ones called out greetings. The headmaster turned his warm smile upon them.
Autumn was so stunned by the headmaster’s appearance that at first she didn’t notice Cai at his side. The two of them stopped a little distance away. Cai was speaking, and the headmaster listened, fixing Cai with the full weight of his bright gaze. Autumn was convinced she would melt under that sort of attention. Cai, though, didn’t seem bothered. His gaze drifted away and found Autumn, and he gave her a small smile—as if he found conversation with the most powerful magician in the kingdom a bit dull. The headmaster touched his shoulder in goodbye, the gesture warm and familiar. The two of them looked as if they’d stepped out of an old ballad.
Autumn sank into a bow as the headmaster passed, but he spared her as little notice as the pattern in the carpet. She watched openmouthed as he strode away.
“There you are!” Cai said, and Autumn nearly leaped out of her boots.
She gestured weakly down the corridor. “Were you talking to the headmaster?”
It was a silly thing to say, but Cai didn’t poke fun at her. “He wants my help with a spell he’s working on. You know how crops can’t grow in soil touched by dragonflame? The headmaster thinks starlight could draw the heat from the earth.”
“He wants your help. The headmaster.”
Cai didn’t seem to notice Autumn’s tone. He gave her an anxious look. “I’m sorry. I didn’t realize you were out here. Why didn’t you come in?”
“I’m not allowed.” In addition to being a wuss, Cai was the most oblivious boy she’d ever met.
Cai’s ears went pink. “Oh, right. Sorry.”
Several students had stared at Autumn before. Now it seemed that everyone was. Cai took no notice whatsoever.
“Come on,” he said, seizing her hand and drawing her through the doors, which swung open on their own. “You’re with me, so it’s all right.”
Autumn only had a second to feel strange about Cai holding her hand before the sight of the library drove every thought from her head.
She first thought of a cathedral—not the tiny church many of the servants went to in Lumen Far, but a proper cathedral, like the kind they had in the big southern towns. The Main Library of Inglenook was near the size of Lumen Far itself. Pillars of marble reached into the shadows, and stained-glass windows took up the whole southern wall. Moonlight streamed through the intricate portrait of four magicians, each with a staff in their right hand and a raven in their left. A ghost tree loomed above them, ornamented with small dragons like Christmas baubles. The walls of the library were lined with shelves so high, she wondered if they had an end. Golden ladders leaned against them nonchalantly.
“Winter would faint,” Autumn said, marveling. “He loves books. Taught himself to read—he’s not too good at it, but he got through all the kids’ books Gran gave him.”
Cai stopped short. “You mean you can’t read?”
“Nah.” Autumn could sound out some of the words in Winter’s books, but it took forever. Winter had made her try, though she hadn’t bothered since he disappeared. Why should she, when beastkeepers didn’t need to read? She told Cai as much.
Cai gave her a thoughtful look. “Is that what you want to be? A beastkeeper?”
Autumn narrowed her eyes. Was Cai teasing her? All servants kept the jobs they were born into. If your parents were cooks, well, so were you. “What I want doesn’t enter into it. Though I wouldn’t expect you to understand that.”
Cai didn’t seem offended. “I might be able to.”
“Oh, no!” Autumn cried. Behind her was a trail of muddy footprints. She could have sworn her boots had been clean when she put them on. “Gran always says I draw mud like a lantern draws moths,” she said mournfully.
One of the librarians had noticed Autumn’s trail. She stood with her hand over her mouth like a witness at a grisly murder scene.
“Er—let’s hurry.” Cai pulled her deeper into the library. It was worse than being dragged into the Gentlewood—heads swiveled at every desk to gawp at her. Or, rather, at her and Cai. It was the and, Autumn understood, that was the true cause of the gawping.
“Where are we going?” she hissed.
Cai replied something over his shoulder that sounded like “skybrary.” Autumn was certain she’d misheard. She hoped she’d misheard.
Unfortunately, they’d only gone a few steps when a voice called, “Cai!”
To Autumn’s dismay, a girl was waving at Cai from one of the tables. Next to her, to Autumn’s further dismay, was Gawain.
Cai made his way over, and Autumn trailed behind, not knowing what else to do.
“There you are,” the girl said. She was the one Autum
n had seen Cai with on the stairs. She playfully threw a crumpled piece of paper at him. “Come help me with this essay on reaving enchantments. It’s a nightmare.”
“I would,” Cai said. “But I have—ah, something to do.”
“Oh, something.” The girl nodded. “It’s nice that you’re trying to be less mysterious, Cai.”
Gawain was balancing his chair on its back legs. “Who’s that?”
Autumn wasn’t surprised he’d forgotten her. He seemed to forget her again the moment he looked back at Cai.
“This is Autumn Malog,” Cai said. “Autumn, this is Winifred Greenfallow. And you know Gawain.”
Autumn bowed. Winifred was one of those people who seemed more sharply drawn than everyone else. She was plump and auburn-haired, with a golden flush in her pale cheeks. A sun magician, without question.
She leaned forward conspiratorially. “He’s not bothering you, is he?” she hissed at Autumn.
Autumn shook her head, tongue-tied. Winifred was joking, but she could tell the joke was meant for Cai—she wasn’t really part of it. “Not at present, miss.”
Winifred laughed. Even Gawain cracked a smile.
“What are you up to, Cai?” Winifred said. Autumn was relieved that she didn’t point out that Autumn wasn’t allowed there. She was still half-expecting to be hooked around the neck by a librarian’s cane at any moment.
Cai blushed, fumbling for words. Autumn grew alarmed. Was Cai too polite to lie to his friends?
She stepped forward. “Begging your pardon, miss, but he’s helping me with a project,” she said. “You see, one of the dragons is sick. Master Morrigan found a book of dragon tonics. He offered to sign it out for me if I thought it of use to my gran.”
Winifred’s expression cleared and she gave Cai a teasing smile. “Of course he did. Doesn’t Master Morrigan have enough homework of his own? Now he’s helping the servants with theirs? Next he’ll be out helping the hounds hunt rabbits.”
Autumn forced herself to smile along, though her cheeks prickled.
The School between Winter and Fairyland Page 6