Master gripped the bridge of his nose as if pained by her logic.
“And despite what you might think,” she added mulishly. “I was not in danger out here.”
He gave her quite the look for that. “Oh really. Do tell, sweetling.”
“Baby’s with me.” She pointed at the lounging cat confidently. Baby looked up from grooming his right paw, flicked his tail, and went right back to it.
“Sevana,” Master’s tone indicated he was fast losing patience with her, “the cat does not count.”
“He knows Noppers Woods better than anyone, he’s in and out of them all the time,” she argued. “If there’s danger approaching, he’ll be able to hear it and warn me. I can run away if I need to.”
“That’s if you can react fast enough,” Master denied with a firm shake of the head. “That’s if you’re strong enough to fight off whatever comes for you. The Fae alone are more than you can possibly handle and they would be delighted to get their hands on you.” Not quite under his breath he muttered, “For at least the first few hours. Then they’d be begging me to take you back.”
She humphed and looked away, pretending not to hear that last part.
“Regardless, you’re done for tonight.” His tone brooked no disagreement.
Letting out a long sigh, she scooped everything back into her bag, slung it on, and motioned for Baby to follow. The cat leaped lithely to the ground and trailed along at her side, tail swishing happily as he moved. But then, he wasn’t the one in trouble.
They left the ruins in a heavy silence, only their own footsteps against the ground and gravel making any noise. Sevana didn’t know which one to worry about most: the fact that Master would likely punish her severely for this, or that her tests hadn’t really helped her get closer to a solution before he’d shown up. If she had to be in trouble, she’d rather it have been worth it.
“Sweetling.” Master sounded calmer now, more like he usually did, although he didn’t look at her at all. “I have never once encouraged my students to endanger their own lives when taking on a job. So why did you do that tonight?”
Her voice came out in a threadbare whisper. “You said you wouldn’t help him.”
Master stopped dead in his tracks, head snapping around. “What?”
“You said you wouldn’t help him,” she repeated, only slightly stronger.
With a completely blank expression he demanded, “When did I say that?”
“Before we left.” He really didn’t remember that? “You said you were too expensive for them, remember? You said they couldn’t afford you to fix the problem so it would have to be me that did it. You said you’d only oversee me as I worked.”
He started pinching his nose again, as if trying to ward off a headache. “Sweetling, I didn’t mean that literally. Of course I was going to step in if you couldn’t find the solution. You should know that.”
“How?” she retorted, half-angry, half-relieved at this. “You always give me impossible jobs and then walk away, leaving me to figure it out!”
“I do that so you learn how to troubleshoot. But I don’t expect you to do that when a person’s life is on the line!” He dropped his hand and stared at her for a long moment. “Finally. Now your actions make perfect sense. You really believed that you were that boy’s only hope of living, didn’t you? You thought that if you didn’t figure it out, or didn’t do so quickly enough, he’d die on you.”
She nodded and looked at the ground, unable to say anything past her tight throat. Just the thought of that was too painful for her to dwell on.
“Well, I suppose in that light, what you did tonight was very heroic.”
She peeked up at him under her lashes. “You said it was stupid.”
“It was stupid,” he told her bluntly. But he smiled when he said it. “But you put your safety, your life, on the line in order to save a friend. And that, sweetling, is heroism.”
Her? A hero? Nonsense. She just wanted Morgan to wake up, was all. Thinking that he might not ever do so had made her a little crazy. Master was right, she really had pushed the line of stupidity by going to the ruins. “Don’t the heroes in tales usually die young?”
“They certainly do. So don’t make a habit of it, sweetling. I want you around for a long, long time.” He reached out a hand and took hers, pulling her along toward Milby. “Now let’s go back to bed. That’s where anyone with sense should be at this time of night.”
Normally she would have pulled free and told him to go bald, but not this time. This time it felt reassuring to leave her hand in his. That hand was so much larger and more capable than her own. If she couldn’t break this curse, Master would, and that knowledge alone erased her desperate panic. It didn’t erase her desire to break the curse herself, of course. But she felt better knowing that even if she couldn’t find a solution fast enough, Morgan wouldn’t be left to slowly die.
Smiling, she returned the grip Master had on her, put her free hand on Baby’s back, and walked steadily back toward a waiting bed.
Probably because Master didn’t want to encourage her to return to those ruins, he decided the next morning that he should dispel the lingering traces of the curse. In demonstration (and probably to keep an eye on her), he had her go along. Master had her stick close to him as they hiked in, and Sevana understood why without him having to explain. Several races liked children, some of them to eat, others to adopt. She, at the ripe old age of nine years old, would be a prime target.
They went into the woods for the missing elements he needed to form a counter-spell, but not far in. After a short hike around the base of the mountain, they went directly to a sprawling oak tree that seemed even older than the mountains. It spread out in every direction, some of its branches so long and heavy that they dipped to touch the ground before rising again. The very strength and age of the tree seemed to radiate in front of her eyes. In a hushed voice she asked, “How old is it?”
“I estimate it to be nearly 800 years old,” Master responded quietly. He flashed her a quick smile before stepping forward and gently carving a small branch from a nearby limb.
She watched him harvest the limb, mind whirling with numbers and elements, and frowned when she reached the result. “As a benign earth element, wouldn’t that branch directly conflict with the harpy’s egg?”
“Indeed it would,” he answered calmly, opening the pouch at his belt and stowing the branch away. “Which is why my solution for removing the curse from the ruins won’t work for curing young Morgan. I’m afraid you can’t borrow my solution.”
Her frown morphed into an outright scowl. At times like these, she could never figure out if the old man could read minds or if he could simply read her like an open book. She’d lay odds on the former, though. “I never said I wanted to. I want to know why you can use this anti-spell to break the curse on the ruins but not on a person.”
“Oh, is that all?” he smiled at her, eyes twinkling in a way that said he knew very well that was only half the reason why she asked. “Well, you see, with the ingredients I will use in my spell, it’ll likely cause quite the explosion.”
She blinked. And blinked again. “Explosion? You’re planning to destroy the ruins?”
“Only a little bit,” he assured her, mouth quirked up in a mischievous way.
Sevana didn’t for one minute believe that. “Can I at least look at the residue of the spell before you blow it sky high?”
“Of course, sweetling. Just don’t get close to it yourself. You are, after all, more susceptible to it than any of the boys would be.”
Rolling her eyes, she decided not to comment on that. It’s not like she was planning to hug the stones or lick something. After all, she was here last night and avoided getting cursed just fine, thank you very much.
They turned about and walked back out of the woods, eyes peeled for trouble as they left. But nothing chose to bother them, and for that she was thankful. She had enough to worry about without having to
deal with something that wanted her for a dinner snack.
The sun had lowered considerably, coming onto late afternoon, by the time they’d rounded the mountain to the other side and taken the first few steps into Nickerchen Ruins. Sevana looked around her as they walked, taking the place in. It hadn’t changed much in the past three years since she’d been there. At one time, this had been the capitol of Windamere, the castle a massive structure that stretched out in every direction, with towers that reached into the sky and an impressive wall that surrounded and protected the area from invaders. Now, it remained only as a relic to a very tragic past. The walls had crumbled so that even a child could climb over them, the towers nothing more than stubs, and the main building exposed to the elements though the gaping windows and doors. This late in the afternoon, the sun didn’t quite reach past the main hall, so the area stay shadowed. The air felt cooler here because of it, with snow lingering in the corners, never getting warm enough to melt away completely. It even smelled cold, somehow.
“This was quite the place in its day,” Master said quietly, head turning in every direction as he looked about. “I can see how it was the capital of the country. Shame the curse changed everything.”
The Sleeping Princess curse was named because of who it had cursed—Princess Siobhan Grae, the last of the Grae family ruling Windamere a good eight hundred years ago. No one broke her curse and so she died under its effects, opening Windamere to anarchy and, eventually, to invasion. At least until Gadon Dragonmanovich, First King of Windamere, rose up and re-conquered his home country, driving Kindin back out again. Sevana felt a brief moment of pride that she actually remembered all of that, despite almost falling asleep during Master’s last history lecture.
“Alright, sweetling, where’s the curse’s origin?” Master gave her a benign smile, eyebrows slightly quirked.
Trust the old goat to turn this into another lesson/test of his. Shaking her head, she hopped up onto the nearest section of wall and then scrambled up a little higher, bending forward so that her hands were against the cold and gritty stone as she climbed. When she’d gotten to a good elevation, she took a slow look around her, eyes squinting a little against the sun. It took a moment, but she eventually spotted it, glowing dimly some stone’s throw away. Pointing she said, “There.”
“How strong is it?”
“Not at all,” she answered instantly, almost instinctively. The strength of a spell could be judged at least somewhat by how strongly it radiated. “It’s very weak. In fact, I’m surprised it cursed Morgan, it’s so weak.”
“It could be that it’s because it cursed Morgan that it’s so weak,” Master corrected. “A rooted spell, like this one, loses power with every person it curses.”
Ah. She hadn’t thought of it that way, but he was right.
Leaving him to find his own way, she kept walking on the wall, maneuvering her way from one pile of stone to another, hopping lightly so that she never touched the ground. When she did reach the right area, she stopped and hunkered down onto her haunches, still a good three feet away from solid earth, and stared at the residual spot of the curse still imbued in the stone. It didn’t look like a proper spell anymore, with almost half the incantation worn away past the point of readability.
She tugged her worn, leather notebook from her back pouch and took a quick sketch of it, also writing down what she could discern with her naked eye. By the time Master rounded the wall, she had her diagnostic wand out, taking as careful of a reading as she could. After all, Master intended to completely destroy it, so she wouldn’t get a second chance at this.
He made his own preparations as she worked, taking two small, glass vials out of his side pouch and un-stoppering them with a slight clink as the glass tops slid free. She snuck a peek out of the corner of her eye as she finished up. Even a novice apprentice could recognize what he had in those vials—captured sunlight and moonlight. Hmmm. Granted, he had the right combination of elements to break this curse. The combined power of those two elements plus the limb off that ancient oak tree would give his spell a powerful level of eight. More than strong enough to break the curse with. Because they were purely benign elements, it would react badly with the harpy’s egg in the curse, and it would leave quite the spectacular hole in the wall.
Master was right. She couldn’t use his method on Morgan. Not without killing him.
“Done, sweetling?”
“Done.” She put her notebook and wand back into the pouch and stepped off the wall before she could get blasted off it. Then she moved so she stood behind Master, letting him shield her from what would happen next.
Master used his oak limb and dipped it first in one bottle, then the other, causing the branch to glow under the combined elements. It flowed and ebbed like living white fire, bathing them both gently in the glow. With deliberate motions, he drew a circle into the air, wrote out a simple incantation inside of it, and then a smaller circle to enclose it. Dipping the branch into the vials again, he drew out the rest of the moonlight and sunlight before raising it to the exact center of the glowing circle that stayed so obediently still in the air.
“DENE NE FOLE .”
In less than a heartbeat, the wall in front of them cracked and exploded outward, throwing small—and not so small—chunks of stone in every direction, some of which bounced off the charm shield Master always wore. Despite that, a fine dust found its way into Sevana’s mouth, and she spat it back out again. “Gone?” she asked, even as she stepped around him to see for herself.
“Gone,” he confirmed, although they could both plainly see that not a trace of the curse’s malignant glow remained. “What do you say we head back and get dinner?”
She glanced up at the sky. By the time they made it back to the house, it would likely be time for it. “Lead the way, Master.”
As they walked, she tailed along behind him, eyeing his coat. Master had said that he’d stowed a few things into his pockets. She didn’t believe for one minute he meant the pockets in his trousers. His coat had a multitude of pockets in it, which he put everything from spell elements to his leftover lunch into. He’d meant those pockets. Now how could she get into them without his suspecting anything….
By the time they reached the village streets, a scheme had been hatched. She bided her time until they stepped into the doorway of the house. Then with her best guileless expression, she held out both hands toward Master. “Here, Master, I’ll take your coat,” she offered in her best helpful-apprentice manner.
Master gave her a suspicious look, but obediently turned so she could help him out of it. Smiling to herself in victory, she carried it over to the coat rack, arms full. This coat had not just the outer pockets, but the inner ones as well, the lining of thick wool reinforced with leather to hold up to the weight. To describe it as heavy would be putting it mildly. So she truly did have to struggle with it as she went to the coat rack. But she fumbled with it more than she needed to, covertly checking the pockets as she walked. Or at least, trying to. She couldn’t get her hand in any of them.
Wait…by any chance, had he spelled these so that no one could put a hand in a pocket except him? Most magicians of some sort did, to prevent pickpockets from laying hands on something dangerous. She’d failed to consider Master would do the same. Thwarted, she flipped the top of the coat off her shoulder and swung it sharply up, managing to catch the hood on a hook that was a good foot above her head. Glumly, she turned around, intending to head back to Morgan’s room, but the smirk on Master’s face stopped her in her tracks.
That…that…that old goat! He’d known what she had in mind. He really does read minds, she fumed to herself. Sticking her tongue out at him—which made him laugh outright—she gathered her tattered dignity about herself and stomped back to Morgan’s room.
She worked the whole of the next day trying to find non-magical solutions. She dumped icy cold water on him, stuck leeks up his nose, bounced around on the bed wildly to jar him, and eve
n had Baby sit on his chest for a full minute to see if the threat of suffocation would snap him awake. Nothing worked. (She’d gotten in trouble again about the leeks and the icy cold water for her trouble though.)
Sevana still didn’t have a solution. Well, a solution that wouldn’t kill Morgan in the process. She went to bed that night completely exhausted, so mentally drained that she couldn’t string two thoughts together. But the next morning, she went right back at it, not anywhere near ready to admit defeat yet.
But by mid-afternoon, she’d hit a wall. She’d run through every spell element that she knew of, every combination she could think to try, and not one would work. They either didn’t have the power necessary to break the curse, or would be damaging somehow.
“Stone the crows!” she snarled, slamming the book shut and throwing it hard to the ground. Of course, Morgan didn’t stir even though she’d made such a racket. Pointing a finger at him, she threatened, “Just wait until I wake you up again. I’m going to give you an earful for playing up there. You know we’re not supposed to.”
She sat there and steamed for a good minute, beyond frustrated. But eventually it wore off as she realized that she hadn’t spent any real time on the first hint that Master had given her. He’d suggested that there was a non-magical solution to this. So far, she’d been looking for a purely magical solution (excluding what she’d tried yesterday).
Alright, time to think about that instead. She pulled out the diagnostic wand again, this time paying careful attention to the curse’s design instead of the elements used in it. All spells had three parts to them: intention, method, and limitation. The intention was obvious: to make someone sleep until death overcame them. The method was equally obvious, as absolutely nothing could wake Morgan, the spell cutting off his senses so he couldn’t react to the world. The limitation, of course, was that someone would have to directly touch the curse to be affected and they would be released from the curse when they died. Not that death was much of a ‘release.’
Heroes: A Raconteur House Anthology Page 4