by J. A. White
Instead he produced a key and unlocked her manacles.
“What’s going on?” she asked, rubbing her wrists.
“Oh, Kara,” he said, wrapping her in a tight embrace. “How can you ever forgive me?”
“Father?”
He hugged her tighter.
“It’s not . . . some kind of trick . . . a spell . . . an enchantment . . .”
“Shh,” he said. “It’s me. Just me. Your father who loves you more than anything in the world.”
He unlocked Taff’s shackles and embraced him as well.
“I’m confused,” Taff said. “Delighted, but confused. I never saw Grace cast a spell on you.”
“Grace helped you?” Father asked.
“It’s a really long story.”
Father squeezed his head between two hands.
“I don’t know what happened. One of the witches we captured cut me—her name was Holly, if I remember true—and the next thing I remember I was in the graycloak camp.”
Kara laughed.
“The first spell that Grace cast worked,” Kara said. “But Grace wanted an entire grimoire, so she pretended that it didn’t. She probably tore the page in two herself.”
“So she did help us,” Taff said.
“In her fashion.”
And now she’s out there in the world, with a grimoire. I set her free, just like Rygoth. . . .
But those thoughts could wait. Her father had returned to them. Right now that was all that mattered.
“I wanted to tell you right away,” he said, gathering them into his arms. “But if the graycloaks knew that I wasn’t the real Timoth Clen, they wouldn’t listen to my orders. They might think Kara had bewitched their leader. They would probably kill you two, and—”
“They might kill you as well,” Taff said.
Father nodded.
“We have to go,” Kara said. “Before the guards come back. Where’s Rattle? The creature I was riding?”
“She flew off before the graycloaks could restrain her.”
“That’s good,” Kara said. “She’s free. Once I’m strong enough I can call her back and she can carry us anywhere we want.”
Kara had no idea where they would go, and she really didn’t care. The thought of being a family again filled her with warmth.
“No,” Father said.
“I don’t understand.”
“I can’t come with you. I have to stay here and pretend to be Timoth Clen. If I leave, the graycloaks will be without a leader. They’ll scatter, fall apart. I can’t allow that to happen. Someone has to stand up against Rygoth.”
“Let me fight her,” Kara said. “I’m the wexari. It’s my duty. I got the best of her tonight. I can do it again.”
The words sounded brave, but even Kara could hear the doubt in her voice. I escaped tonight mostly because of tricks and luck. It won’t be as easy next time.
“You have a more important task to perform,” Father said. “When Timoth Clen was controlling me he saw my memories, but I saw his as well. I know what Rygoth’s plan is. She’s after a grimoire so powerful that it was split into—”
“—four parts and hidden across Sentium,” Taff said. He shrugged. “Sorry. We know these sorts of things.”
“I see,” said Father, holding back a smile. “Well, if Timoth’s memories can be trusted, there’s a man who may know the location of all four pieces. A dangerous man.”
“He’s a wexari?” Kara asked.
“I don’t know what he is, exactly. But it’s important that you talk to him. If we can find out where the pieces of the grimoire are we can stop Rygoth from getting them.”
Father told Kara where she could find this man—or rather, when. It didn’t make a lot of sense. In fact, it made her wonder if Father had not gone mad after all.
When he was done explaining, Father placed the shackles back around their wrists but did not lock them.
“You need to wait until dawn before leaving,” Father said. “I’m going to drug the morning gruel. Should knock everyone out until noon at least.”
“Won’t they be suspicious afterward?” Kara asked.
“Absolutely not,” Father said, a hint of Taff in his grin. “As their leader, I always eat along with my men. I’ll wake up with the rest of them, and we’ll all blame magic for our unusual slumber. By then you should have gotten a good head start. Your mare is waiting at the edge of camp with supplies for your trip.”
The thought of seeing Shadowdancer again brought a smile to Kara’s face.
Father said, “I’ll lead the search team east.”
“And we’ll go west,” said Taff.
Father nodded. He placed his hands on his son’s shoulders.
“Kara will go west,” he said. “Your place is with me. We can convince the graycloaks that you were under some kind of spell and—”
But Taff was already shaking his head.
“I go where Kara goes.”
Father looked deeply into his son’s eyes for a moment and nodded.
“You’ve grown older,” he said.
“What about Lucas?” asked Kara. “Is he coming with us?”
“I haven’t told him,” Father said, shifting uncomfortably. “He still thinks I’m Timoth Clen and you two are scheduled for death. I had to lock him up for the time being. He’d insist on coming with you if he knew the truth, but that wouldn’t be wise. His sudden disappearance would create a cloud of suspicion that could undo the whole plan. If the graycloaks realize I’m not really their leader—”
“Of course,” said Kara, trying to ignore the quivering in her voice, the sudden certainty that she would never see Lucas Walker again. Don’t be so selfish. It’s safer for both of them this way. “Just watch over him, okay? Keep him safe.”
Father nodded and rose to his feet.
“Wait—” Kara started.
“We’ve no time for long good-byes. Let’s not make this more difficult than it already is.”
“It’s not that,” Kara said. “It’s just—there’s something I don’t understand. I saw you in my dreams. The cornfield.”
Father’s face twitched.
“I remember that place,” he said.
“I was told you would go mad if you stayed there long enough. And yet here you are, right as rain. I’m happy, of course, but I don’t know how that happened. Last time I saw you—in a dream, at least—you were talking to empty air.”
“You’re wrong,” Father said. “You must not have been able to see her, but I was talking to your mother. It was her love and companionship that kept me from losing my mind.”
“But Mother’s dead,” Taff said.
Kara remembered the moment just before she had lost consciousness in Kala Malta, the feeling that Mother had been right there beside her.
I wonder . . .
“What did you talk about?” Kara asked.
“All sorts of things,” Father said, and in his sad eyes she saw that part of him regretted coming back at all. Her absence is a hole that can never be filled. “We talked of how we first met, our friends, the days we shared. But mostly we talked of you and Taff. She’s so proud of the two of you. We both are.”
He reached out to hug them again, his eyes brimming with tears, but pulled away the moment he heard footsteps in the distance. The guards were returning. Setting his face into a look of cold disdain, Father marched away to meet them.
The children sat in silence for a long time.
“It’s not fair,” Taff finally said. “We saved him. We should get to stay together.”
“It’s just for a little while,” Kara said. “We’ll be a family again when all this is over. I promise.”
Taff smiled.
“What?”
“I’ve always believed that,” he said. “But for the first time, I think you believe it too!”
Taff rested his head on Kara’s shoulder. Together they waited for the sun to rise and wash away the stains of night—for the worl
d, in all its resilient glory, to begin anew.
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ABOUT THE AUTHOR
J. A. WHITE is the author of The Thickety: A Path Begins and The Thickety: The Whispering Trees. He lives in New Jersey with his wife, three sons, and the ghost of their hamster, Ophelia. When he’s not making up stories, he teaches a bunch of kids how to make up stories (along with math and science and other important stuff). He wishes dragons were real because it would be a much cooler way to get to work. You can visit him online at www.jawhitebooks.com.
Discover more about the Thickety at www.thethicketybooks.com.
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BOOKS BY J. A. WHITE
The Thickety: A Path Begins
The Thickety: The Whispering Trees
CREDITS
Cover art © 2016 by Andrea Offermann
Hand lettering by David Coulson
Cover design by Amy Ryan
COPYRIGHT
Katherine Tegen Books
is an imprint of HarperCollins Publishers.
THE THICKETY: WELL OF WITCHES. Text copyright © 2016 by J. A. White. Illustrations copyright © 2016 by Andrea Offermann. All rights reserved under International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. By payment of the required fees, you have been granted the nonexclusive, nontransferable right to access and read the text of this e-book on-screen. No part of this text may be reproduced, transmitted, downloaded, decompiled, reverse-engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereafter invented, without the express written permission of HarperCollins e-books.
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