Between the Water and the Woods

by Simone Snaith

  A girl about Emeline’s age walked out through the double doors without looking ahead, scribbling on a pamphlet. She tripped on the first step and stumbled the rest of the way; Reese made a quick move toward her, but she righted herself. One of the reading boys looked up and laughed.

  “You’re going to fall into a fountain one of these days!” he called out.

  “It’s this Mechanics lecture! The reading is so dense,” the girl snapped. “And if you studied half as hard as me, you’d know what I meant!”

  Reese led the way around them and up the steps, in through the open doors. Inside, a great stone statue of a man gazing up at the sky—well, at the chamber’s vaulted ceiling—greeted them. Emeline was startled by how lifelike he was: The sculptor had labored over every detail, from the folds in his robe to the veins in his skin. He held a large book in one hand, the other palm up.

  An engraved plaque at his feet read: THE WONDER OF IT ALL: ENGER III, 1214. Emeline felt herself smile. This great man admiring the sky reminded her of Mama.

  They followed Reese into a large chamber full of paintings and tapestries, most of them very old; students they passed tried not to gawk. Above, a circular ceiling of colored glass glowed in the sunlight, shafting reds and greens onto the marble floor.

  “This lobby is a small museum called The Enger,” Reese said, ignoring the students. “It’s a good place to wait for the presentation to start.”

  “Boys, don’t touch anything,” Dada ordered. Even though worry was written in every line of his face, he approached the walls eagerly to examine the artwork.

  Emeline moved toward a large painting of mountains glowing pink from a sunrise. The paint was so thick and soft-looking that she wanted to touch it. A plaque read: “The Spine at Dawn, Lord Saunden, 1003. Saunden was renowned for his landscape paintings, many of which have been lost. The Spine at Dawn is a new addition to the Enger Museum, donated by descendants.”

  She couldn’t believe the painting was that old—it looked so freshly done. She gazed around her again, marveling.

  “Airlinna would’ve loved this place,” Dada said softly. His face was sad and Emeline took his hand, afraid to say anything. He squeezed it.

  Something caught Emeline’s eye. It was a smaller piece, done in charcoal. It showed a man in crude armor, his sword drawn, facing some beast she couldn’t identify. It was made almost entirely of wings—broken, jagged wings that flapped at different angles, keeping it aloft strangely tilted.

  The plaque read: “Answor and the Torment of Hollolen, Unknown, 800s. The town of Hollolen was plagued with an unnamed winged creature for decades before the young Answor finally destroyed it.”

  There was a smaller, newer-looking plaque underneath the first one, which said: “Popular legend. No physical evidence of the monster in Hollolen exists.”

  Added by the Sapients, Emeline thought, amused. She looked for another piece of art that had two plaques and found one quickly. It was an intricate tapestry that showed a dense forest in twilight. Among the branches of the trees, there were several pairs of slanted, yellow eyes, bright as the moon stitched above them. In the foreground, staring up in terror, were two children holding hands.

  The first plaque said: “Beware the Gossings, probably Minane the Wanderer, early 900s. Minane was a popular figure throughout the kingdom for his stories, artwork, and songs.”

  She read the second plaque quickly: “Minane’s tales were highly embellished versions of different legends, none of them based on fact.”

  “Unknown, thought to be 700s,” Dale read aloud from a plaque under a threadbare tapestry. “The 700s? I never heard of anything that old!”

  “It’s before the calendar starts,” a surprised voice interrupted. An older woman in an elegant black-and-silver striped dress stood behind them, her expression rather severe.

  “What do you mean?” Aladane asked, undaunted as ever by intimidating elders.

  “Goodness, child. Don’t you know how the calendar works?” she asked, shocked. “King Kindad set it at 900, marking the number of days it took to build the first border separating the kingdom from the Outer Lands. Everything dated before then is approximate.”

  “I never knew that,” Fish said to Dada, impressed.

  “Madam Professor, do you know what became of the items in that case?” Reese asked the lady. He pointed at a large glass cabinet with mirrored shelves in the opposite corner.

  “Hmmph, yes. Those were the ‘magical’ items the Theurgists displayed,” she said with a frown. “Old rings and silver-work and other such baubles. They have all been placed under the care of the Sapients to determine their authenticity.”

  Reese stared at her, obviously familiar with the “magical items” to which she referred. “Those objects were taken out?”

  “Yes. The Sapients removed them with permission from the king himself,” she told him, amused at his surprise. “And the Theurgists are livid, of course. They are forever bringing in items of dubious origin.”

  “That’s not fair,” Emeline said, looking at Reese. “Do the Theurgists get to take out things that the Sapients bring in?”

  “Oh, yes,” the professor said. “Often.”

  “That’s ridiculous,” Dada said angrily, but the woman had swept out the doors. “The council’s bickering shouldn’t have anything to do with art.”

  “I agree,” Reese muttered as the great clock out front struck one o’clock. “Let’s go see the presentation.”

  Back in the courtyard, the students were moving aside the benches and clearing space. Reese stepped off to one side and the others followed, curious. Several more students came out the academy doors, carrying a table between them, and an elderly man in a Sapient’s cloak strode out behind them.

  “Bless water, there’s one right here,” Fish muttered.

  Dada tensed and put his arm around Emeline.

  Reese frowned, looking back toward the courtyard entrance where a small assembly was filing in. “I assumed it was only a student demonstration. Let’s just stay with the crowd,” he murmured to Dada and Fish.

  Dada put a hand on each of the boys’ shoulders. “Don’t draw attention to yourselves, understand?” They nodded, a little confused.

  Gray-haired and bespectacled, the Sapient was directing a student carrying a box when three more Sapients appeared from inside. They were two women and one man, each wearing spectacles or holding single lenses up to their eyes. None of the lenses were colored, of course.

  Their embroidered cloaks were stunning when they stood together—beautifully detailed and bright blue in the sunlight. Like Rellum, their sharp, focused eyes belied their ages. They held themselves very straight.

  From the box, the students pulled a collection of metal segments: gears, joints, and wires. For a moment, Emeline thought they were parts of a complicated clock, but as the students began to fit them together she realized they were building a figurine of a person, about two feet high.

  “It’s a doll,” she said, astonished. She looked at Reese and saw that he was watching intently. More people were filing into the courtyard now, whispering and shuffling against one another.

  “A doll?” Aladane groaned. “I thought this was going to be important.” Dada shushed him just as one of the Sapients cleared her throat loudly for their attention.

  “Ladies and gentleman, I would like to thank you all for taking the time to attend this latest demonstration from the Royal Sapients,” the woman announced. “As you all know, these demonstrations are intended to spread the latest knowledge and showcase innovations achieved through education and science.”

  The students had finished assembling the metal figurine and were fiddling with something on its back. It was eerily void of expression, with glass eyes, no nose, and a heavy, jointed jaw.

  “I wouldn’t give that doll to the worst child in the kingdom,”
Fish muttered.

  “Today, we are pleased to demonstrate the latest advancements in automation. As some of you may already know, the figure you see before you is an automaton, a mechanical figure that can be commanded to move through the power of electricity. At this moment, instructions are being punched into a panel on its back.” The Sapient tapped the nearest student helper with her eyeglass, impatiently. Flustered, the girl quickly snapped the doll’s panel shut.

  The courtyard had filled up now and Emeline’s view was blocked by several hats. She and Dale bobbed their heads, trying to see. Was the doll really going to move on its own?

  Glancing back into the crowd, she caught sight of two old men in long robes standing near the archway. Their cloaks were like the Sapients’, except they were silver velvet instead of blue, and stitched with stars instead of wheels.

  Theurgists! Emeline gaped at them a moment and then ducked her head. Both sides of the royal council were there—and she was standing in the middle. She took a deep, steadying breath.

  Not one of them knows about your magic, Emeline. Not one. Not one.

  The metal man on the table still stood motionless. The student helpers were glancing at one another nervously, as if afraid that nothing would happen after all.

  Then the glass eyes glowed. The metal man’s hand twitched and it raised its arm stiffly.

  “Bless water,” Dada breathed as Emeline gasped.

  The automaton’s fingers opened in a sudden spasm, and then it saluted the crowd. Several people cheered—in fact, the capital folk seemed more appreciative than surprised.

  The doll moved its legs next, taking two steps forward across the table.

  “Wow!” Dale said. “Al, look!” He dragged Aladane up from where he sat as the crowd murmured its approval. Aladane let out a weird yelp and stared.

  The automaton was walking now, marching slowly and stiffly from one end of the table to the other. Emeline was frozen with shock, and she could see that Dada and Mister Fish were too.

  As the automaton walked, it turned its unsettling face to “look” at the crowd. Several people laughed, but Emeline shuddered, despite her fascination.

  “You can always rely on the Sapients to bring more beauty into the world,” Reese said darkly. His green eyes were bright with interest, however, as he watched the metal man turn itself carefully around.

  “What in the kingdom will they think up next?” Fish said, shaking his head. “What’s it for, anyhow? Children don’t need walking dolls.”

  “I don’t think it’s a toy,” Dada told him, staring at the living machine. “This is just…an example.”

  “As you can see, the automaton can follow simple commands and carry out basic tasks,” the Sapient said in her gravelly voice. “As some of you may be aware, this is simply a few steps forward in a not entirely new technology. Lord Irwind was developing much more sophisticated automation, before his unfortunate departure.”

  The king’s brother, Emeline remembered.

  The automaton stopped strutting back and forth, and stood in the center of the table, its head swiveling left and right. Then it took a careful bow and the crowd applauded. Emeline clapped, too, and the boys cheered—until Dada hushed them.

  “As always, we will leave you with the reminder that, in this, the year 1356, there are many new wondrous areas of study to be found at the A.A.S., as well as the Graybon and Bastine Academies,” the Sapient continued. “And thankfully, these studies discredit much of the superstitions and old wives’ tales that still hold sway over the minds of many an intelligent individual. Thank you, again, for attending.”

  There were a few disgruntled murmurs in the crowd as she and the other Sapients bowed their heads.

  Emeline looked quickly for the two silver-cloaked Theurgists, but she couldn’t find them. Perhaps they had marched out in disgust. The Sapients began directing the students to disassemble the metal man, and people in the front of the crowd turned to one another to chat.

  But then a loud voice floated up from the direction of the archway.

  “Ladies and gentlemen, after that vulgar display, perhaps you’d consider directing your attention to a more elegant discussion!”

  Heads turned swiftly. The two men in silver were standing under the banner, the sun sparkling off their cloaks. One was small, thin, and white-haired, the other tall and balding.

  “The smaller one is Helid Theurgist,” Reese said quietly, in Emeline’s ear. She gasped.

  Everyone strained to see the man that Rellum believed had tried to have him killed. He had tiny dark eyes that glittered fiercely out of a wrinkled, light brown face, and his mouth was a thin line. The crowd readily gave the Theurgists their attention, even as the Sapients glared over their heads.

  “Excuse me! This is our public demonstration!” the lead Sapient called out indignantly.

  “Your chance to sway the public, you mean!” the balding Theurgist retorted.

  “Someone must protect them from your nonsense!” she exclaimed, then cleared her throat, as if embarrassed by her outburst. The student helpers grinned at one another as they gathered up the equipment.

  “So this is how the royal council behaves?” Dada asked, concerned.

  “Like old folks bickering in the market!” Fish exclaimed.

  “A fairly accurate description,” Reese agreed.

  “The Sapients can play with their machinery, but will it protect you from dark magic or Dark Creatures?” Helid called out to the crowd. “My fellow Theurgists and I have committed ourselves of late to research in the mysterious Vindane region, and we have made new discoveries!”

  The crowd murmured excitedly and drew closer. Emeline remembered the Vindane region on the map of the kingdom, so painfully close to dense woods.

  “Oh, please, Helid! Not Vindane again?” the Sapient with spectacles protested. There were some titters from the crowd.

  Helid ignored her. “We’ve been studying the flora and fauna in areas where magical activity has been reported—Dark Creature sightings, curses that have manifested, and the like. As you may or may not know, we believe that magic—especially dark magic—can linger in an area until it curdles and spoils.

  “I am certain that most of you have heard the story of Quilane’s living dolls? The ones who violently avenged him after he was beaten by his neighbors? They were far more efficient than the mechanical one we’ve just seen, unfortunately for the people of Kriln. A Vindane event.”

  “Yeah, but that’s just a story,” someone spoke up. Emeline spotted a young student with green spectacles.

  “No, there are records from witnesses!” another person called out.

  “It’s a folktale to stop people from feuding….”

  “Like the royal council!” someone else hollered, and then there were shouts of laughter. They were followed by a scuffle, as if the speaker had turned and run quickly. Reese chuckled.

  Helid scowled, but he quickly held up his hand. “Rest assured, I have not come here today to repeat that tale! Even if there were many witnesses indeed. Rather, my colleague and I would like to present to you what we discovered when we journeyed to that long-abandoned village of Kriln, and examined the area in which Quilane’s dolls committed their murders.” His eyes gleamed as the crowd fell silent again.

  “Murders?” Fish grunted.

  “It would seem that our theory of lingering magical effects is correct. No one has returned to Kriln after those terrible deaths many years ago—it has sat empty and derelict, slowly overgrown by the great woods around it. But, as we discovered, the plant life there has taken quite an interesting turn.”

  Helid gestured to his companion, who pulled a large satchel from his shoulder. Emeline strained to see what he took from it: a great glass orb the size of a man’s head, filled with something green and black.

  One of the Sapients snapped
with impatience. “Helid, no one present is foolish enough to believe in some doctored specimen—”

  The onlookers gasped as Helid and the other Theurgist held up the orb in full view. Inside the glass was the most contorted plant that Emeline had ever seen. Its long leaves were horned, twisted, and blackened. Bulbous growths on its stem sagged. It was bent so sharply that it seemed to have almost slithered into position.

  “Bless water, what is that thing?” Dada murmured.

  “Behold the schefflera plant of Kriln, poisoned by dark magic!” Helid exclaimed.

  “I’ve never seen anything like it!”

  “Maybe it’s just diseased?”

  “It’s blighted, for sure. You don’t need magic for that!”

  “Is that even a schefflera?”

  “This plant shall be on display shortly in the museum in the King’s Hall!” Helid said. “Everyone will be able to view it on Public Days and decide for themselves!”

  Half the people in the courtyard cheered with a surprising, unsettling enthusiasm. Clearly, the Sapients did not hold as much sway over the capital’s residents as they wanted.

  “Let this be a reminder to you all that the Theurgists are working constantly to learn more about magic and how best to defend the kingdom,” Helid announced, his expression very smug. His companion quickly tucked the plant back into his satchel.

  The Sapients were arguing with one another, indecipherable over the excited voices of the crowd.

  “Is that plant real?” Dale asked Dada eagerly.

  “I have no idea,” Dada answered thinly.

  Reese was frowning, watching the Sapients stomp back up the steps into the academy. “The question is, will that plant actually make it into the museum?” he said quietly. “Or will it mysteriously disappear from Helid’s quarters?”

  “You mean the Sapients might steal it?” Aladane exclaimed loudly.

  “Be quiet!” Fish and Dada whispered, startling him.

  “How come Dale never gets shushed?”