by J. A. White
“Aren’t you afraid?”
Safi stared straight into his eyes. “I used to be. But not anymore.”
“I don’t know,” Kara said. “From below, what looks like a jump we can make might be really far.”
“We can make it,” said Safi.
Kara flinched at the word we but decided not to make an issue of it. Not yet, at least.
She can’t come. It’s far too dangerous.
“For now that sounds like our best idea,” said Kara, “but it doesn’t solve our other problem. We still don’t know where Niersook is. Once we’re outside, I’ll ask some of the creatures if they—”
Taff leaned forward.
“We need Mary’s toy,” he said. “The rabbit riding the bicycle.”
“Rabbit?” asked Safi. “Bicycle?”
Kara shook her head. “That’s not an option,” she said. “I’m sure once Mary got her grimoire she left Kala Malta. That’s all she ever cared about.”
“She helped you,” Taff said.
“Because she was following Sordyr’s orders!”
“Not always. Remember what happened at the Draye’varg?”
“Yes, Taff. I do. She left us behind to fight those water creatures and we only barely escaped with our lives!”
“Not that part. The part after. She didn’t make you kill that . . . thing . . . that looked like me. Mary did it herself, even though Sordyr would have wanted you to do it.”
“Why would Sordyr even care about that?”
“He wants you to turn evil, Kara. And something like that could have really changed you. Killing your own brother? I mean, I know it wasn’t really me, but—Sordyr is always trying to get you to do bad things, and what could be worse than that? But Mary, she insisted on doing it herself. And then before you faced Imogen she gave you the clue that helped you escape. I’m sure she wasn’t supposed to interfere like that.”
Kara shook her head. “Even if you’re right, it doesn’t excuse what she did.”
“Wait,” said Safi. “Is this Mary person the old woman who’s always carrying a sack over her shoulder?”
“That’s her,” said Kara.
“Is she still here?” Taff asked, and Kara winced at the hope in his voice.
After all she’s done, why does he continue to believe in her?
“No,” said Safi. “She stayed in an empty hut the first few days you were here, but no one has seen her since then. Her granddaughter says she has some sort of business in the Thickety, but she’ll be back again soon.”
“Her granddaughter?” Kara asked, shaking her head.
Taff burst into laughter.
“That’s right, her granddaughter,” Safi said, giving him a strange look. “If you need to find where your friend went, maybe she can help you.”
The hut sat off from the others in the village as though it were being ostracized for its decrepit appearance. Kara was considering whether or not she should knock when Taff walked past her and through the front door.
“Mary!” he called. “Mary!”
Nobody answered. Against the far wall a hammock swung gently. A half-burned candle waited on an uneven table. Pressed into the dirt floor were two sets of footprints: one big, one small.
“She’s been here,” said Kara.
They stepped outside, where a funnel of smoke swirled into the sky. As quick as lightning it flashed midnight blue before returning to its original color.
Magic, thought Kara.
Taff started in the direction of the smoke but Kara caught his arm, pulling him back.
“We have to be careful. She has a grimoire again.”
“Mary won’t hurt us.”
“Taff, this is Mary Kettle. Think about what that name meant before we entered the Thickety. Forget the woman we thought was our friend. That was just a trick. Remember the stories instead.”
“We just have to let her explain.”
“I think you should go back to the hut.”
Taff sat on the grass and stared up at her defiantly. “No.”
The word, only one syllable long, struck Kara as sharply as a blow.
“Taff,” Kara said, speaking slowly now, “go back to the hut. Now.”
“I need to talk to her.”
“Why? Why can’t you just accept that she betrayed us?”
Taff took a deep breath and ran a hand through his sandy hair.
“I gave up on you,” he muttered.
Kara sat on the grass next to him.
“What are you talking about?” she asked.
“When I was sick, after what happened with Simon. So many days went by. And . . . you had been acting so strange. You were scary, Kara.”
She watched the next plume of smoke spiral into the sky. It flashed the color of overripe eggplant.
Finally, she said, “You know what happened. The grimoire was making me act—”
“I know. I know everything now. But lying there, I was so confused. I felt like you had abandoned me. And then you saved me, and there was part of me that didn’t feel happy like I should have. I felt guilty. I had given up on you, Kara. I stopped believing. And I promised myself that I would never do that to anyone again.”
Kara stretched her feet across the grass. Taff linked his legs over her knees.
“I’m not stupid, Kara. I know that Mary Kettle might just be . . . evil. But she did help us. Can’t we give her the chance to explain? I think we owe her that at least.”
Kara got to her feet and reached down for her brother. When he grabbed her hands she pulled him into the air and spun him around once, twice, three times. It was a game they had often played back in De’Noran, and his laughter now was a soft reminder of simpler times.
“You win,” she said.
They found Mary standing in front of a bonfire in a field behind the hut. She was no longer a child; gray hair flowed unchecked down her back, and the skin of her deeply creviced face sagged with age. There was a slight tremor in her right hand, which held the wooden top that could make people forget things.
Mary tossed it into the fire.
The flame flashed yellow, and for just a moment its crackling noise changed to something different.
It sounded like a child’s scream.
“Mary?” Taff asked.
The old woman nodded in his direction and smiled. Her gray eyes were distant, seeing them without seeing anything at all.
“Children,” she said.
She reached into her sack and withdrew a tiny porcelain teacup spiderwebbed with cracks.
“I never told you about this one,” Mary said, running her torn and bitten fingernail along one of the chinks. “One of my first creations. In its prime, you could fill it with water and wish any potion at all into existence. Invisibility. Death. Love. There are kings who would have given their entire kingdom for such a prize.”
She tossed the teacup into the fire, producing a flash of red followed by a high-pitched scream.
“What are you doing?” Taff asked.
“Something that should have been done ages ago,” Mary said. “The only thing I never tried. I was always too afraid.”
“Afraid of what?” Taff asked.
As she replied, Mary dug in her sack. She was able to reach her arms to the very bottom now; the sack was much emptier than before.
“I was afraid that if I destroyed the toys it might also destroy the souls that fueled them. I didn’t want that. Or at least, that’s what I told myself. Probably I was just afraid of losing what little magic I had left.”
She withdrew a stick with a small cup at its end. From this dangled a wooden ball attached by a frayed piece of string.
“I don’t even remember what this one does,” Mary said. “Something with the weather, I think. But I remember the boy. Chubby little thing, headed for a lifetime of plainness but cute because he was a child. Only five years old. You figured he had what—fifty, sixty birthdays left? But no—I spoke the words, and this toy swallowed them a
ll, every single uneaten birthday cake.” She squeezed the wooden ball between two fingers. “And I don’t even remember what it does!”
She dropped it into the fire.
“Did Sordyr give you your grimoire?” Kara asked, scanning the area near the bonfire. I don’t see it anywhere. She would keep it close. Maybe it’s in the sack?
“Oh yes,” said Mary. “Say what you want about the Forest Demon, but he keeps his promises.”
“Where is it?”
“You’re nervous,” Mary said. “You’re afraid that I’m not thinking straight. That I might use my new grimoire to do terrible things. But you don’t have to worry. The grimoire is useless.”
“It doesn’t work?” Kara asked.
“That’s right. I needed it to do one thing—one thing!—and it refused.”
From within the sack Mary withdrew the rabbit on the bicycle. She raised her hand, intending to throw it into the fire.
“No!” Taff exclaimed. “Please! Not that one!”
Mary turned to Taff. A long strand of gray hair dangled in front of her eyes.
“I’m sorry,” she said, “I never meant to hurt you. Either of you. But I owed them. I had to at least try.”
And suddenly, Kara understood.
“You wanted to bring them back,” Kara said. “The children trapped inside the toys. That’s why you needed the grimoire.”
Mary slumped to the ground as though Kara’s words had taken the last of her energy. The toy bicycle rolled down a sharp decline before clattering to its side.
“I’m just a foolish old witch,” Mary said. “I don’t know what I was thinking. I betrayed the two of you on some ridiculous notion that . . . a grimoire can’t bring the dead back to life without changing them in horrible ways. Nothing can undo the terrible things I’ve done!” She stared deep into the flames of the bonfire. “I was good once, you know. I really was.”
Taff threw his arms around the old woman. At first she stiffened, but slowly she placed her wrinkled hand over Taff’s.
“You’ll be good again,” Taff said.
“Can you find it in your heart to forgive me?” she asked.
“Of course,” Taff said.
Mary’s eyes found Kara’s.
“And you?” she asked.
Kara shook her head. “You lied to us. You put my brother and me in grave danger. That’s not something I can easily forgive. But I understand your reasons. I know that you meant to do a good thing. A noble thing, even.”
“Sordyr told me you were a creature of darkness,” said Mary. “I thought I would be training just another minion for the Forest Demon. I didn’t know who you were, Kara—who you really were. And I didn’t know about you at all, Taff. If I had—”
“It doesn’t matter,” Kara said. “We have more pressing concerns. Sordyr is planning to unleash thousands of grimoires upon the World. Do you know what will happen then?”
From Mary’s horrified reaction, Kara saw that she did.
“We need your help,” said Taff.
The old witch straightened.
“What can I do?” she asked.
Kara hesitated. If I tell her our plan, she might go to Sordyr. For all I know, this entire scene could be a ruse to learn the truth. Another test.
But then she looked at her brother, his head on Mary’s shoulder. There was no doubt in his eyes. No doubt at all.
Kara still did not trust the old witch. But she trusted Taff more than anyone in the world.
“To start,” Kara began, “we need to borrow one of your toys.”
Back at the hut, Taff whispered “Niersook” into the rabbit’s ear and its tiny feet pumped the bicycle forward. Safi gasped with delight and clapped her hands.
This is all new to her, thought Kara. I keep forgetting that.
Stretching his arm across the dirt floor, Taff measured the distance between the bike’s starting and ending points.
“From the tips of my fingers to my elbow,” he said. “A little less, actually.”
“How far is that?”
“Mary said an arm’s distance is about half a day by foot. So . . . a few hours?”
Kara grunted in frustration.
“Too long,” she said. “And that’s assuming we’re able to find Niersook right away.”
“And don’t run into any trouble,” Taff pointed out. “Sometimes that happens to us.”
Kara slid a hand beneath her long hair and scratched the nape of her neck.
Why can’t this ever be easy?
Breem had left for work just after dinner and would surely be gone until morning; Sordyr was pushing his workers to complete as many grimoires as possible before he left for the World. The children had exactly one night to sneak out of the village, find Niersook, get the venom, and sneak back. That plan had seemed unlikely to succeed from the very start, but now Kara knew it was completely impossible. The body of Niersook was simply too far away.
“It doesn’t matter,” Taff said when Kara expressed her concern. “We have to try anyway.”
“If Sordyr finds out what we’re doing, we’ll never get close enough to use the venom. This whole thing will be a waste of time.”
“Why can’t you just fight him?” Safi asked. The diminutive girl’s eyes glowed with a fierceness that Kara had never seen before. “I mean, not you. That would be foolish. But the monsters of the Thickety. Make them fight for you.”
Kara shook her head. “I won’t do that. I’ve forced animals to do my bidding in the past, and they’ve gotten hurt, even killed. I won’t put another living thing in jeopardy again. Not just to help me.”
“But they’re not just helping you. They’re helping everyone. Sordyr is destroying their home. They want to stop him. All they’re missing is someone to lead them.”
Kara knew Safi was right; reaching out with her mind she heard the animals surrounding the village, hundreds of voices awaiting her command. Word of Kara’s victories against the notsuns and Imogen had made its way through the Thickety, and creatures once too frightened to turn against Sordyr were now emboldened and eager to fight.
All I have to do is call them. . . .
“No,” Kara said, closing her mind to their voices. “I don’t want to be responsible for any more deaths.”
“Then you need to do everything in your power to stop Sordyr,” said Safi. “Everything. Otherwise all those people who die in the World will be your fault.” Safi paused as a new thought occurred to her. “Maybe that’s what my vision meant. You’d never really help Sordyr. I know that now. But if you have the power to stop him and refuse to use it? That might be even worse.”
Kara picked up the toy bicycle. A thin new crack had emerged, running down the center of the rabbit’s face along the left edge of the nose. Gently, so that she might not do any further harm, Kara placed the bicycle on the table.
“You’re right,” she said softly. “If my powers can save these people, I have to use them. Even if animals die.”
“What if we don’t walk?” Taff suggested. He turned to Kara, a sly smile tweaking the edges of his lips. “I know you worry about these creatures risking their lives,” he said, “but surely you wouldn’t mind asking one for a ride?”
They set out at nightfall.
Kara had begged Safi to stay behind, but she stubbornly insisted on coming with them. There was nothing Kara could do. Safi was the only one who knew the location of the tree that extended over the Divide, and every minute spent arguing was a minute wasted. They packed small satchels with food and water and made their way through the quiet village. There were surprisingly few Devoted patrolling the roads; Kara wondered if they had been recruited into grimoire-making as well. In the distance axes struck trees in a rhythm as steady as a beating heart.
It wasn’t long before Safi stopped. The section of the Divide before them was taller than anywhere else. Deep within the mass of branches a pair of eyes opened, a hint of blue in the darkness.
“This will work,”
she said.
“Where’s the tree?” Taff asked.
“What tree?”
“The one we can climb. You told us there was a tree that crossed over to the other side. . . .”
“That tree,” said Safi. “Right. I made that all up.”
Kara was too shocked to even reply. Taff, however, managed a soft, “There’s no tree?”
“There’s lots of trees,” said Safi. “Just none that we can use to climb over the Divide.”
“Then how are we going to get into the Thickety?”
Safi burst into a radiant smile. “That’s the best part! That’s the surprise! You ready?”
She withdrew a large object from her satchel.
“No!” Kara exclaimed, but Safi had already opened the grimoire. Strange words flowed from her mouth. Kara felt herself jerked and tugged. Nausea clenched her stomach.
“What just happened?” Kara asked. Next to her Taff was bent over on his knees, his hands on his thighs. Kara gently rubbed his back.
“What did you do?” she asked Safi. “And where did you get—”
“Look!” Safi said, beaming.
She pointed toward the Divide. Kara examined it for a hole or other opening, but nothing was different.
“What?” asked Kara.
Safi rolled her eyes.
“Look!” she said.
Kara took in their surroundings, more carefully this time. The huts of Kala Malta were now in the distance, behind the fence.
The Divide hadn’t changed at all. They were just on the other side of it.
“Safi,” Kara began. She took a step forward, her arms outstretched. “You need to give me the grimoire.”
“Why? I can help you now!”
“You don’t understand.”
“Sure I do!” Safi exclaimed brightly. “I’m a witch too! Isn’t that wonderful?”
Clutching the grimoire in two arms, Safi skipped along the path, deeper into the Thickety.
They found the gnostors playfully chasing one another just over the rise. Kara knew that the fast, ostrichlike creatures were a perfect choice to carry them to the resting place of Niersook, but it was dishearteningly difficult to make a connection with them. The fault was hers. Gnostors were an innocent species that responded best to simple amusement, and Kara struggled to find memories of fun strong enough to build a mind-bridge. Those moments felt so distant now, as though they had happened to a different person.