Normal, that is, until I saw the salamander that was stretched out luxuriously on a hot rock in the aloe bed. The aloes were radiating with a gentle glow of warmth that became scorchingly hot once I reached my hand between them, and the salamander churred contentedly up at me, flicking a white-hot tongue lazily at my fingers. I snatched my hand back with a yelp and put my burnt fingers in my mouth, feeling aggrieved, but the salamander only purred at me again. It sounded smug. I left it to sun itself in peace and moved around the garden to check on the other plants. The climate controlled garden beds were each more than half in the land of their origin and fuzzy round the edges, but the rest of the garden was only a little more active than usual. I thought, puffing out my cheeks in relief, that at least I knew how to fix that. As Akiva had said, it required nothing more than a steady hand and not too much power. I made my way purposefully around the garden again, setting things briskly to rights: beans to their poles, tomatoes to their stakes, and cucumbers to their frames, wary not to come too close to the salamander again.
When I finished my rounds of the more everyday plants I found that the salamander had left its garden patch completely, and that it was not the only animal to do so. Two young, unsteady, deer-like creatures were prancing down the middle stretch of the back garden, all gangling legs and knobbly knees. Their hide was mossy green and feathery rather than hairy, and two little horns rose atop each delicate head, radiating a pale, pearly green that reminded me of young saplings. I stared at them for a long, perplexed moment. I didn’t know which garden bed they had come from, much less how to get them back into their original habitat.
I pushed past the deer-things, discovering to my cost that they had a goat-like appetite for foliage and the cotton of my shift alike, and stopped in dismay when I came upon the patches of garden that they had already passed. They had mown a great swathe of destruction through the garden as they played, leaving broken twigs and torn up plants strewn in a trail behind them. I followed it backwards in the calm of despair and at last found the section of garden that began the carnage. So that was where they’d come from!
I tried to herd the deer into it as they leapt and bleated, springing to impossible heights whenever I thought I had them cornered, or skipping nimbly through a gap that I’d thought much too small for escape. There was simply no containing their exuberance. They kicked up their heels at the salamander, who seemed to laugh at me, and as I chased them madly round the garden, exotic birdcalls and growls multiplied in the morning air. Patches of the garden snowed on me as I dashed through them, while others blasted with hot, dry desert air. Plots of humidity left droplets of moisture on my skin as I dodged through them, and at one stage, a huge, brightly-coloured bird flew past my head, squawking in a manner most truly piratical. My shift grew steadily dirtier and more ragged, but I didn’t dare take the time to dress fully because the garden gave the impression that it would wait for nothing in its bombastic growth.
Giving up on herding the two green deer, I tried instead to concentrate on containment, but the animals didn’t want to stay in the back garden. The garden fence had begun sneakily to meld with the forest. Already one section was more akin to long, oddly pale grass than the original white picket fence, and the entire back section had turned into a row of milky ash saplings. As I watched, a fist-sized marmoset leapt for them with an excited chattering, and promptly disappeared.
I flopped down on my back with a yell of despair. Unfortunately, I was just a little too close to the salamander, which seemed to be following me, and promptly burned off a chunk of my hair. There was a moment of heat and fire and mad beating at my hair before I flopped back into the grass with a groan, ignoring the nasty smell of burnt hair. There was no fixing this: Akiva would come home to a madhouse. Even the cottage itself was beginning to show signs of disappearing into the forest. I contemplated the sky above me in dumb resignation, surrounded by a cacophony of tropical and subtropical animal sounds, and felt hot breeze tickle my neck. I sat up, wide awake and elated all at once. Of course! Bastian! If anyone but Akiva knew how to bring things to rights, it was Bastian. The last I had seen of him, he was swimming in a deceptively placid-looking stream three wardships away; but with Akiva’s wardship in such a state of excitement and powerful disorder, it shouldn’t be too difficult to send a call that would pass through several wardships. And I had Akiva’s hood, now.
I leaned forward, propping myself on my palms, and felt a tracing burn along my wrist as the salamander’s tail brushed my arm. I barely felt it. I punched into the system of forest lines that bunched in a tangling mass beneath me, sending out the call for Bastian. The garden bucked and seethed under me, and in the confusion I felt the power of Akiva’s hood stretch and sharpen as though it were waking from a deep sleep. The forest was masterless, furling its tendrils out wildly, and I understood in a flash of grim inspiration that the wardship was mine for the taking. The hood belonged to the warden of the forest, and the lines around me were reaching mindlessly for a warden to tend them. The realization left me breathless and suddenly frightened. Akiva hadn’t left me the hood to keep me safe. She had left it because she was prepared for the possibility that she wouldn’t be able to return as soon as she hoped.
I abandoned my call and gathered the threads to myself, straightening and then sending them back out again, bringing order from confusion. It was almost like dismantling one of Cassandra’s traps, or fixing a knotted piece of forest. I didn’t notice that I’d closed my eyes until I saw a figure in glowing gold magic standing before me, highlighted against the velvet darkness of my closed lids. I opened confusingly heavy eyelids to see its outer form. A dirty face, growing with corn-gold stubble, grew fuzzily into focus before me, its hazel eyes narrowed with concern.
“Bastian!” I slurred. I seemed to be floating a foot above the ground but I was too weary for the fact to make as much of an impression on me as it should have. Horned hedgepigs, but I was tired!
Bastian’s brows had a crease between them. “Gently now, little witch.”
I tried to tell him not to be silly, but my mouth wouldn’t make real words. The world swayed once, and I swayed with it. I felt Bastian’s hands seize me about the waist just as I lost concentration and fell, then there was only deep darkness.
There was something tickling my nose. I squinched my eyes and wrinkled my nose as Bastian’s voice said: “It’s going to have to come off, you know.”
I opened my eyes to find that my head was resting in the crook of Bastian’s arm, and that he was tickling my nose with the tail of my plait. As I glared up at him he gave my nose one final tickle, and let go of my plait.
“What will have to come off?” I asked, wriggling to sit up. Bastian seized my plait again and yanked me back down.
“Stop wriggling,” he commanded.
I subsided back into the crook of his arm, from whence I could conveniently glare at him.
“It’s no good scowling at me after you’ve sent a shockwave through half the forest after me. I thought that Cassandra had got to you.”
I gazed up at him unblinkingly and said: “I had a problem, but I fixed it.”
“That’s one thing,” Bastian told me grimly, and held my left arm to the light where the salamander burn was an angry red; “But this is another. Who did this to you?”
“The salamander,” I told him pertly, misliking his tone. “That’s why there’s a hole in my hair.”
The grimness went away from Bastian’s face, and he laughed. “You look like a scarecrow, little witch. The whole lot will have to come off.”
I felt the damage with tentative fingers and cheerfully acquiesced.
“Now,” I said buoyantly, “I can finally start being a pirate.” It made me laugh, because now at fifteen my childish dreams of piracy on the high seas were fading to amusing memories, impractical and nonsensical. I had begged Mother for years to cut my hair to a more piratically practical length, but now that it would finally have to be cut, I had outgrown th
e dreams.
“I should have thought of this years ago,” I told Bastian.
“I’ve been meaning to ask you about that. Why piracy?”
“It’s how I’m going to keep Gwendolen in pearls and satin,” I explained, allowing myself the nonsense of pretending. “That was before she decided she wanted to get married as well as have fine dresses and jewels.”
“What a shame,” Bastian mocked, turning my head away and gently untangling my plait. His long fingers tugged softly at knots, and singed portions of hair wafted to the grass. “You’ll have to get married, too.”
I shook my head vigorously, sending burnt strands of hair flying, and Bastian seized my head with one hand. “Oh, no. I’m not going to marry. Pirates don’t.”
“Very true,” he agreed. His fingers held my head firmly while he unravelled the last of the plait, and the remaining whole strands fell about my waist. “Very sensible of you. Now, little witch: scissors.”
We used Akiva’s sewing scissors; and great, long hanks of butter-coloured hair fell to the grass to join the burnt strands as Bastian snipped. His fingers threaded through my hair, carefully and surprisingly proficiently; and before long my hair swished in an excitingly short way just below my ears. Bastian stepped back to critically survey his handiwork, and nodded.
“That will do, I think. You scrub up quite nicely when your hair isn’t in great big tangles and you’ve gone to the trouble of washing your face. It’s a pity we had to cut it, though.”
“I like it this way,” I said. I felt daring and oddly free. I shook my head until I was dizzy and my hair floated around my face like thistledown.
“Ah, well, it will grow back,” Bastian murmured, more to himself than me. “Stop tossing your hair, little witch; you make me dizzy. You look like a proper urchin.”
I tossed my head once more to show him that I could do as I chose. “Well, so I am.”
“So I see.” Bastian’s voice was dry. He gathered the strands of my hair from the grass, ignoring my head toss. “Now, little witch– what does Akiva mean by leaving you alone?”
“I’m not alone,” I said absently, turning away from him to gaze around the garden. Now that I was not half fainting or otherwise distracted, I realised that I was feeling rather queer.
Bastian threw an impatient look at the two green deer that were cowering behind a tree, and said: “That’s hardly the point. Where’s Akiva?”
“Hush,” I told him, tentatively exploring the change I could feel not only in the garden but in myself. I shook off the hand that Bastian laid on my arm and walked away, stretching out both hands as if I could physically feel the difference.
Behind me, Bastian said, as if stunned: “Did you just hush me?”
“You’re distracting me,” I complained. “Stop talking.”
“I hardly know whether to be offended or to congratulate you,” said Bastian, his voice particularly growly.
“Don’t do either,” I murmured. “Just be quiet.” There was a lightness and clearness to the forest air that was both distracting and invigorating me.
Horned hedgepigs! I had done it. I was warden of the forest. Order had been re-established all around me, bringing with it an odd sensation of weight about my shoulders. I could sense the lines that ran through the forest without trying, as if they were a constant thought in the back of my mind. The garden was back to normal even if it was riddled with exotic animals, and the back fence was white picket once more. I felt a rare sense of accomplishment that caused a smile of grim triumph to curve my lips.
Then fingers closed firmly on my wrist, and I was swung around to face Bastian, who seemed to be struggling between amusement and impatience.
“Little witch, although I appreciate the fact that you’re the first woman ever to hush me, I want a straight answer. Where is Akiva, and why did she leave you alone? You could have run into any amount of trouble.”
“I’m not a woman,” I pointed out, but since this didn’t seem to placate him at all, I added: “Akiva had to go because a warden disappeared. And I’m perfectly capable of being left alone by myself, thank you.”
“Of course! Which is why a call for help threw me off my feet half an hour ago and left me thinking you were dead or dying!”
“Anyway,” I said, ignoring what seemed to me to be unjustifiable anger; “You can’t tell off Akiva for leaving me by myself when I only met you because she did.”
Bastian looked down at me a little grimly. “That, Rose my lovely, is the point. There are more dangerous things in the forest than I.”
I gave a crack of laughter, again surprising myself at how much I sounded like Akiva. “You’re not dangerous at all!”
“Once again, I don’t know whether to be offended or to congratulate you,” remarked Bastian, but his eyes were amused. “I don’t think I’ve ever been so insulted.”
I looked up at him with narrowed eyes. “I don’t understand.”
“I know,” Bastian said, grinning. “That’s what makes it so insulting.”
“You’re having a joke at me,” I accused, hands on hips.
“The joke is entirely on me, believe me, little witch. Now, suppose you tell me just what you were doing when I arrived posthaste to rescue you.”
“The garden tried to merge with the forest,” I explained. “The other wardens seem to think Akiva had something to do with her friend disappearing and I think they’ve put her somewhere inside where she can’t reach the energy lines. I called for you because everything was collapsing and I didn’t know what to do.”
“You were doing well enough when I got here,” Bastian pointed out. “Well, if we discount the floating and fainting.”
“I think that was because it was bigger than I expected,” I said thoughtfully, creasing my brow. “I only understood it properly when I punched into the forest lines to call you. I was going to send out another call to tell you not to bother coming but you got here too quickly.”
“Quickly?” The ghost of a smile played about Bastian’s mouth. “No, I didn’t get here quickly. The forest was standing still– or at least, so it seemed to me. Akiva does not look after you nearly well enough.”
“I don’t need looking after,” I said again, impatiently.
Bastian gave a short laugh and said grimly: “That’s the biggest piece of nonsense I’ve ever heard. You’re as helpless as a babe in arms.”
“I broke part of your curse!”
Bastian’s grin was pointed. “And for your pains you were very nearly eaten.”
“But I didn’t get eaten!” I said triumphantly. “So there!”
“The point remains valid,” Bastian said indifferently. He had crossed his arms and was leaning his hips against the picket fence. “You need looking after. Or perhaps locking away where you can’t get up to mischief–” he broke off suddenly, and tipped his head to one side, wolf-like, before sharpening his gaze toward the front of the cottage. “Someone’s coming.”
I looked around the side of the cottage without much interest. “It’s probably Kelsey Hale. Akiva had some medicine for her.”
“It doesn’t look like a Kelsey Hale,” Bastian said, and there was something of a growl in his voice.
I craned my neck to see, and exclaimed in surprise: “It’s that boy again!”
Bastian’s eyes narrowed. “What boy?”
“The stupid one who was trying to cut down a tree too near to deep forest,” I told him, starting toward the front gate, my interest piqued. “I’d better go see what he wants.”
Bastian hauled me back by the collar of Akiva’s hood. “Not so fast, little witch.”
“I have to see what he wants,” I argued, wriggling vainly.
Bastian’s fingers didn’t loosen. “Not like that, you don’t.”
“Like what?” I demanded, still struggling.
Bastian looked pointedly down at my dirty shift, and raised his brows. “Go put some clothes on, little witch.”
I stopped wriggli
ng and glared up at him instead. While my shift was certainly grubby and tattered from my exertions this morning, it was of sturdy, decent cotton, and it was a very far stretch to imply that it was indecent. Even my bare arms were covered by the hood.
“You’re a fine one to talk!” I told him indignantly, bare chested as he was. “Besides, I’ve been standing here with you half the morning dressed like this.”
“That’s different,” said Bastian, but he looked goaded.
“It’s not at all! Let me go!”
“You, Rose, are going to go and get properly dressed.”
Before I knew what was happening, Bastian had seized me by each shoulder. I was pushed toward the cottage door at a forced march.
“Horned hedgepigs! Let me go or you’ll be sorry!” I yelled, but Bastian only laughed, and advised: “You may as well stop wriggling. I’m not going to let go.”
I was being pushed through the back door when bright threads of gold began to trace through Bastian. Linked to the wardship now, I saw them with startling clarity although Bastian was behind me. His hands dropped from my shoulders, and braced against them as I was, I fell backwards into him. We tumbled back into the garden and I heard Bastian howl: “Not now!” as a blinding surge of glittering gold energy shocked through the garden. When my sight cleared Bastian was back in his wolf shape, with traces of gold still glinting in his pelt. He looked annoyed, and I couldn’t help chuckling my glee.
“Rose,” he said warningly; “Into the house, now.”
I laughed again, this time a gurgle of mirth deep in my throat, and took to my heels, because he couldn’t stop me now.
As I ran, giggling, Bastian called threateningly after me: “Rose! Come back here, you pestilent child!”
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