“You don’t want a love spell,” I told her.
“Of course I do. I need it.”
“Magic doesn’t always turn out the way you expect.”
“What do you mean?”
I sighed. No one ever considered the consequences.
“If you were to get a love spell, it might work, but it might do other things, too, like make the person you love very sick.” Once, a girl named Nancy gave a love potion to Hans Jacob, and it made him so sick he couldn’t even propose, he was so busy retching. Granny gave him an antidote, which made Nancy furious.
“I should love for someone to be lovesick over me,” sighed Goldie.
“Or it could make them extremely ugly.”
Goldie’s cheek twitched, but she stuck out her chin and said, “That doesn’t matter to me. Mummy says real beauty is on the inside.”
I was not being forceful enough. I needed to think of the worst consequence possible. It came to me quickly. “It could kill the one you love,” I said gravely. “A spell, especially a strong one like a love spell, can be too much for someone to endure, and they could die. So could you.”
“Oh,” said Goldie, “yes, that would be terrible.” I thought I had gotten to her at last, but after a moment she perked up. “But there’s a risk in everything, isn’t there? And I’d risk everything for love. Even death! Wouldn’t you?”
I didn’t reply. A leaf fluttered in front of me and then swirled away. No, not a leaf. A nymph! I followed it.
“Where are you going?” asked Goldie.
“Nowhere,” I said, keeping my eyes locked on the nymph. It was so close I could see its twiggy legs, the slight fuzz on its leaflike wings, yellow with red tinges on the edges.
“It’s a very pretty leaf,” said Goldie. “Red and gold always look so lovely together, don’t you think?”
“It’s not a leaf,” I said. “It’s a nymph.” The nymph landed on a stone covered with moss. I moved silently and hovered over the stone. The nymph opened and closed its wings.
“Great gourds!” shouted Goldie just as I pounced, and the nymph flew away. “Did you see that? It was alive! It had legs and eyes!”
“Yes,” I said, grinding my teeth. “I told you, it’s a tree nymph.”
“I’ve never seen one before, or if I have, I always thought it was a leaf. Did you want it for a pet?”
“No. I need its wings.”
“What for?”
“To make a potion.”
“A potion! What kind of potion?”
“One to give boils to people who get on my nerves.” I glared at her.
Goldie screwed up her face. “That doesn’t sound as nice as a love potion, but I’ll help you catch it.”
“No thank you,” I said, and started walking as quickly as possible. I wound in and out of the trees to try to get rid of Goldie, but all that seemed to accomplish was to confuse my path as it tried to anticipate my movements. Goldie skipped right alongside me. When she got too close to my path, she got a small shock that made her jump and stumble sideways. She batted at the air.
“I think there are still bees following me. Where are we going again?”
“I need to catch a tree nymph,” I said, hoping she would get the hint that we weren’t going anywhere. No such luck.
“Right,” Goldie said in a determined voice. “Nymphs for boils. Oh, look! There’s one!” Goldie pointed right behind me.
“That’s only a leaf,” I said.
“No! It’s right by your head!”
I kept still. I felt wings brushing ever so gently against my cheek, and then the nymph crawled into my hair right by my ear. It made strange little sounds, a series of clicks and soft whistling, like wind through a crack in the door. It was saying something. I strained to understand.
“Don’t move,” said Goldie. “I got it. I’m very good at catching grasshoppers.” She crouched, ready to pounce like a cat.
“No. Don’t—”
Goldie sprang toward me. My path exuded a blast of air so strong that Goldie’s frilly cap blew clean off her head and she tumbled to her rear. But the blast scared off the nymph, too.
Goldie shook herself. “Great gourds, what a wind! That came out of nowhere. Didn’t you feel it?”
I clenched my teeth and my fists. It was taking every ounce of my control not to punch Goldie in the nose. I’d punched people for lesser offenses. I spun around and started walking fast, but Goldie ran to keep up with me and chattered away.
“Don’t worry. I’m sure we can catch another. We just have to keep trying. Mummy always says you should never give up. Unless, of course, you’re doing something wrong, in which case you should give up entirely, and it has occurred to me that trying to make a potion to give people boils could be wrong, don’t you think?”
“I’m not trying to poison people!” I blurted. “I needed those nymph wings to make a medicine for my granny, who is ill.” I trembled with rage, but Goldie mistook it for sadness.
“Oh, Red.” She reached out and took hold of my hands. “I am so sorry. My granny died when I was little, and I cried and cried.”
I tore my hands out of her grasp and folded my arms. The last thing I wanted was for Goldie to think she understood me. “She’s not dying,” I said. “And I never cry.”
“Don’t worry,” said Goldie. “My mummy always knows what to do in these situations. Maybe your mummy would know what to do?”
As much as I didn’t want to take any help or advice from Goldie, she had a point. Mama and Papa would know what to do. If I could find a gnome to take them a message, then they’d come home. They could be back by nightfall.
I ran through the trees so fast my path could barely keep up with me, and I spooked the birds and other creatures, who scattered before me, twittering warnings.
“Message!” I called. “Message!” I shouted as loud as I could into bushes and burrows. These were the most likely places to find gnomes, but like pixies, they had mostly fled The Mountain. They preferred to live near crowds, where they could deliver lots of messages. But there had to be at least one!
“I NEED TO SEND A MESSAGE NOW, YOU STUPID GNOMES!” I stomped my foot and punched a tree, which accomplished nothing, but hurt my hand.
“Are you trying to catch a gnome now? I can help.”
“I don’t need help,” I said.
“I’m really good at finding gnomes,” she said.
“Good for you. Message!” I called again.
“Message!” Goldie echoed. “I think we’d do better if we went this way.” She pointed toward the stream.
I nodded. “Go ahead, then,” I said. Goldie skipped ahead, while I turned and quickly went in the other direction.
“Oh, look! I found one!”
I nearly crashed into a tree to stop myself. I whipped around and ran back toward Goldie. “Where?” I asked.
“There!” Goldie pointed toward some tall grass.
“I don’t see—”
The grass moved. Then it grunted. A head bobbed above it.
Gnome!
I lunged forward and snatched up the gnome by the scruff of his neck. The gnome immediately started kicking and grunting, which is normal behavior for gnomes until you tell them you want them to send a message. Then they calm down and listen.
“I want to send a message to my parents, Agnes and Thomas.”
But the gnome did not calm down. “Lemme go! Lemme go!” He thrashed and flailed his little limbs, and then he bit me.
“Ouch!” I let go and he fell to the ground. There were teeth marks on my pointer finger. Blood dripped down my hand. Never, ever would a gnome bite a person who wanted to send a message.
I looked down at the creature and inspected him more closely. He was slightly bigger than most gnomes, and his features were sharp and shrewd. He was all points: pointy nose, pointy ears, pointy beard. He wore a pointy hat, too, and long, pointy shoes. He glared at me, pointedly, with dark intelligent eyes. This was not the blank star
e of a gnome.
“You’re a dwarf!” I said.
“And you’re a big ugly girl!” The dwarf kicked me in the shin and ran away.
CHAPTER SEVEN
By the Beard
I rubbed my shin and pressed my bleeding hand into my apron. I’d searched for a dwarf for years, but my first encounter was not as magical as I’d imagined. Little brute!
“A dwarf!” Goldie was astonished. “I’ve never seen a dwarf before! He wasn’t very friendly, was he?”
No. He wasn’t. But then I remembered what Granny had taught me about dwarves. If you caught one by the beard, it had to do whatever you asked—guide you wherever you wished to go.
I sucked in my pain and ran after the dwarf.
“Where are you going?” Goldie asked.
“To catch a dwarf!”
“Goodness, you certainly like chasing things, don’t you?”
I ignored Goldie and instead focused on my pursuit. Curses, the dwarf was fast! Much faster than a gnome. I chased him over a rock and around a tree. I leapt over shrubs. He was just about to escape down a hole when I dove and caught him by the foot. The dwarf spat insults and tried to bite me again, until I grasped him by his pointy black beard.
“Lemme go! Gerroff! Gerroff, you stinking human!” He flailed and twisted and kicked, but I held fast to his beard. What now? Was there something I had to say? A spell or incantation? Granny had never said.
“Oh, Dwarf,” I proclaimed. “I take thee by the beard and—er—request your assistance on my journey.”
The dwarf stopped his flailing. He turned red as a radish and glared at me. “You nasty little witch!” He took a small ax from his waist and smacked my arm with the flat side, right on my funny bone. I dropped the dwarf.
“Ouch! You little monster!” I rubbed my elbow and shook my arm.
The dwarf stood with his ax over his shoulder, glaring up at me as though he wanted to chop me to bits.
“I don’t think he appreciated you grabbing his beard,” Goldie whispered.
“What do you want?” the dwarf asked sharply.
“A love potion, please,” said Goldie.
The dwarf eyed Goldie as though she were a cockroach. “I wasn’t asking you.” He turned back to me, impatiently waiting for my answer. I opened my mouth and shut it again.
Goldie’s request gave me an idea. I had planned to ask the dwarf how to catch a nymph, but even if I succeeded in making the Cure-All, Granny could get sick again.
Everyone dies.
But did everyone have to die?
Granny always says that life is magic. Everyone has magic, even if they don’t know it. Magic is what makes them alive. So if life is magic, and Granny was dying, then what was really dying was her magic. It was fading from her. But did it have to fade? What if that magic could be replenished? What if there was a way to live forever?
I’d seen death on The Mountain. I’d heard the bell chime thirteen times and the endless cries and wails of those who mourned the loss of loved ones. Some people never recovered from their grief. Some people were lost without their loved ones. Death was awful, and all these thoughts came down to one simple fact:
I didn’t want Granny to die. Not ever.
And now I had within my grasp a possible key to saving her. Dwarves knew things. Secret things. Magic things.
“My granny is very sick,” I began.
“I can give you directions to an apothecary, herbalist, physician—” The dwarf rattled off different options with a glazed expression.
“No,” I interrupted, “I don’t need any of those. I want to know…That is, could you possibly…Do you know of some magic that could keep someone alive? Forever?”
The dwarf’s eyebrows rose to two sharp points. “Ah, death. The human tragedy. Your pitifully short existence is not enough for you. You fear the end.”
I put my hands on my hips. “I’m not afraid. I’m just trying to help my granny and you’re not helping. You’re supposed to do as I ask. Or do I need to snatch your beard again?”
The dwarf stepped back and grabbed his beard protectively. “Oh, begging your pardon, master,” he said in a poisonous voice. “I can tell you of magic that could make you live forever, but it all depends on how far you’re willing to go.”
I thought of Granny, how miserable and alone I would be if I didn’t have her. “To the ends of the earth,” I said.
“That’s what they all say,” said the dwarf with a smile, but not a friendly one. His teeth were too large for his face. It made him look rather sinister. But I refused to be frightened of him. I had taken him by the beard, and he had to do as I said. He had to help.
“Tell me what you know,” I commanded.
“Of course, of course,” he said. “I know of three ways to stop death, but I am only obligated to direct you to one.”
Three ways to stop death! This was fortunate. Even if I couldn’t find one, or it didn’t work for some reason, I could search for the others.
“Tell me,” I said.
“The first magic can be found in a well,” he began. “At first glance, it seems an ordinary well, except it contains not water but wine, red wine. Any who drink this wine will have their youth restored to them.”
“That sounds lovely!” said Goldie. “Can you imagine always being young and beautiful?” Goldie sighed. I tried to ignore her and focus on what the dwarf had said.
A well of wine. I imagined Granny drinking wine that brought back not only her strength but all her youth and beauty. She was always talking about how beautiful she used to be. Wouldn’t she love to be young and beautiful again?
“The second magic,” said the dwarf, “can be found at an enchanted castle. Within the very center of its garden are Red Roses. Magic roses that bloom all year round. Prick your finger on a thorn, give a drop of blood to the earth, and you will never die.”
A rose. Yes. Granny’s name was Rose Red. Red roses would suit her very well.
“I like roses,” spouted Goldie, “but I shouldn’t like to prick my finger. Mummy told me a story of a girl who pricked her finger and she fell asleep for a hundred years!”
“But that wasn’t a rose, was it?” I said.
“No, it was a spindle, of course,” said Goldie.
“Right. Thorns are different from spindles.” I turned back to the dwarf, who was tapping his pointed shoe impatiently. “And the third magic?” I asked.
“It is called The Magic Hearts.”
“Magic Hearts?” It sounded sappy, like something from old tales about how the best magic comes from the heart, but that wouldn’t be useful to my situation.
The dwarf nodded. “Those who possess The Magic Hearts will never die, but only grow stronger. This magic is possibly the most powerful of the three.”
Powerful. I did like the sound of that, but I needed to know more before I could decide. “Exactly how does one possess these hearts? Do you collect them like tokens or charms?”
The dwarf shrugged. “Few know of this magic’s existence, and I cannot say where it is found. I can only tell you that it exists.”
“Why tell me about it if you can’t tell me where it is?”
“You demanded the information, so it is my obligation to tell you,” the dwarf sneered.
“Um, excuse me, Mr. Dwarf,” chirped Goldie, “but are these Magic Hearts by chance similar to a love potion? Because they sound very much like one.”
The dwarf acted like he could neither see nor hear Goldie. “Now you must choose, master.” His voice dripped with disdain. “To which magic shall I direct you?”
Which magic? Wine. Roses. Hearts. Each sounded equally promising and equally elusive. I liked the sound of The Wine Well, because Granny would love being young again. What if we could be girls together? She could be like my sister. We’d race through The Woods, climb trees, and talk to all the animals.
I liked the sound of the roses because Granny loved roses, and she was Rose. It made sense, but what if she
had to pick the rose herself for it to work? And The Magic Hearts…the dwarf said they were the most powerful of the three, but I had no idea what I’d be searching for, and he said even he didn’t know where to find them, so it really wouldn’t help me to request directions to that one.
“I like the hearts one the best,” Goldie whispered in my ear. “Pick that one.”
I brushed her off like a buzzing insect. “I’ll pick whichever one I please, thank you.”
“Well?” said the dwarf. “Which is it?”
I took a breath. “The Wine Well,” I said. “Tell me where the well is.”
The dwarf smiled his big, unnerving smile. “A fine choice.” He pointed a stubby finger downstream. “Follow the stream until it becomes a river. When the river bends to the east, you go west and up the mountainside until you come to a large boulder shaped like a fish jumping out of the water. From the fish boulder, you travel north until you come to a graveyard.”
“A graveyard!” Goldie shivered.
I didn’t like it, either, but I wasn’t about to say so. I tried to sound brave. “And is the well in the graveyard?”
“No,” said the dwarf. “But in the graveyard, the trees whisper.”
“Whisper?” I asked. “Are the trees full of nymphs?”
The dwarf seemed almost impressed. “A human who knows of tree nymphs!”
“We’ve been trying to catch one,” said Goldie. “But it’s very difficult.”
“Yes,” said the dwarf. “Slippery as a memory, those nymphs, but they will lead you the rest of the way.”
“To the well?” I asked.
The dwarf nodded. “Tree nymphs are fond of the well and fond of sharing it with others.”
I nodded. Perhaps the tree nymphs had been trying to lead me there all along. Maybe they themselves drank from The Wine Well and that’s why their wings had curing powers. Now instead of catching a nymph, I could go directly to the source of power.
“Thank you, Dwarf,” I said. “You’ve been very helpful. I hope to catch your beard again someday.”
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