The Thickety: A Path Begins

by J. A. White

  The clinking slowed and then stopped altogether as the storm of glass ended. Before Grace could retaliate, Kara set the silverworms free. She felt responsible for the creatures and wanted to keep them safe.

  Shielding her eyes against the harsh sunlight, Kara scanned the empty street.

  Grace was nowhere to be seen.

  She stepped over a ring of broken glass as high as her knees. It was more difficult than it should have been. Kara’s neck throbbed with pain, and countless scrapes and abrasions weakened her body. These physical injuries, however, were minor in comparison to the mental strain of casting one spell after another. Her head felt foggy, out of sorts. She looked over at the Fenroot tree and saw that the people of De’Noran had risen. This seemed important for some reason, though Kara couldn’t figure out why. She continued to stare. There was something she wasn’t seeing, something that would have been obvious had her mind been clear.

  It snapped into place, then. And as it did, panic cleared Kara’s mind of any lingering fog.

  The sitting stones are missing!

  By the time the first stone thudded into the earth just a few steps to her left, Kara was already running. Two more followed, landing where she had just been standing. Thunk! Another one fell directly in front of her, not just embedding itself in the dirt but plummeting through it, leaving a crater in its wake. She risked a quick look at the sky and saw gray dots in the distance, some hovering above her and others already on a downward trajectory, growing into their real size before her eyes.

  A dozen rocks crashed through the roof of the general store. At first Kara thought Grace had missed, but she knew better. This was a message: If they can do that to solid wood, imagine what they’re going to do to you.

  Kara ran for the schoolhouse.

  Its roof had been fortified to provide safe shelter for the entire village during a storm. Kara wasn’t sure if it was strong enough to withstand something like this, but it seemed the best option.

  All she had to do was make it there alive.

  Physical ailments forgotten, Kara found the will to sprint, zigzagging along the road in what she hoped was an unpredictable pattern. Rocks fell around her in a deadly hail, their impact sending giant clouds of dirt into the air. Soon it was difficult to see, and Kara had to slow down to avoid the new holes in the ground. A fragment of rock passed close, the angry whiz of its descent buzzing along her ear. Two inches to the right and she would have been dead.

  I won’t make it this way, Kara thought. She’s toying with me, but as soon as she gets bored her aim will improve. She’ll never let me reach safety.

  Kara touched the battered notebook in her pocket. The spell she wanted, inscribed on the penultimate page, was far more complicated than the others. Even if her mind was fresh—and she was not trying to dodge instant death at every turn—it would be a difficult spell. She searched her thoughts for the words, finding a trail of them and then losing it again when she realized it was the middle of the spell, not the beginning. She began anew, from the right place this time, but just as she neared the end, she inhaled a mouthful of dust and the unfinished spell broke into pieces.

  Kara rounded a bend and saw the schoolhouse in the distance, sheltered by a copse of evergreens. The trees were small and pretty, their purpose to provide rest and shade, not protection from falling rocks.

  She thought of Father. She thought of Taff.

  Would Grace really allow them to escape the island unharmed?

  In one long breath, the spell spilled from her mouth. Kara knew she had said the words correctly, because she instantly felt dazed and wobbly, like someone had peeled her head open and removed a week of sleep.

  She ran into the copse.

  The rock storm was louder beneath the trees, accentuated by snapping branches and wailing wind. A tree crashed to the ground, blocking her path. Kara leaped over it just before a stone split it in two.

  Her left foot landed in a hole, twisting in an unfortunate direction.

  There was no pain—not yet—but a quick-setting numbness promised plenty of that in the near future. Kara tried to lift her leg, but it wouldn’t budge. Looking closer she saw that her ankle was wedged between a stone and packed dirt. Bracing her right leg firmly against the ground, she pushed forward, succeeding only in driving a fresh splinter of pain into her calf.

  All at once the sky grew darker.

  Directly overhead a gray blur was falling, far larger than any simple rock. At first Kara thought Grace had enlisted one of the boulders closer to shore, but then she recognized the singular shape of the falling object, the sharp rise at the top she had seen at every Service since birth.

  The Speaking Stone.

  Kara pulled at her left foot once again, hoping for a miracle. It wouldn’t budge. There was no time to do anything else. She watched the Speaking Stone fall, spinning slightly, until it was so close she could make out the first words of the Path etched into its base.

  At the last moment, on pure reflex, she raised her hands over her head.

  The stone stopped in midair.

  Kara stared at her hands in wonderment. What kind of magic is this? she thought. But then she looked again and saw the purplish strands of web wound about four nearby trees, holding the boulder like a hammock. From the branches above, a webspinner chittered a greeting, its boneless arms flapping up and down with what might have been a wave. It wasn’t the only one. There were at least a dozen more of the creatures, playfully crawling up and down the unfamiliar trees on their spiderlike legs.

  They came! she thought. The spell worked!

  Just as Kara allowed herself a sigh of relief, the Speaking Stone started to fall again: slowly this time but still quite sufficiently to crush her. With a loud groaning sound, the four trees bent forward, unable to sustain this new weight. Kara dug her fingers into the hole, frantically searching for some kind of purchase around the rock, some way to shift it just enough. No luck. The first tree snapped, and the Speaking Stone, unbalanced, swayed back and forth, so close that Kara could have reached out and touched it. Instead she unlaced her boot, sliding her left foot free and crawling backward, just before the telltale snap of the remaining trees. The Speaking Stone crashed to the ground, missing her by inches.

  The webspinners, clearly entertained, chittered their appreciation.

  Kara limped toward the schoolhouse. Above her a deluge of stones rained down from the sky in an attempt to keep her from shelter. She couldn’t dodge them all, so she simply moved in a straight line, trusting the webspinners in the trees above her to catch the rocks in time. Soon the copse was filled with web baskets, each hanging low with a rock that could have killed her. Kara continued, pausing only when she heard a high-pitched squeal and, at the same moment, felt a stabbing pain in her side. One of the webspinners had perished trying to save her. She would grieve for it later. Right now there was only the door of the schoolhouse, so close, right within her grasp. . . .

  Made it!

  Kara immediately slammed the door shut. She waited for the sitting stones to hit the roof above her—surely Grace would test the fortifications—but it never happened. Possibly she had run out of stones. Or maybe, like Kara, she was too tired to use magic anymore.

  For now Kara was safe.

  In the sudden silence, she heard a different noise: the click-clacking of chalk against blackboard. Its familiarity should have been comforting, a reminder of less dangerous times, but instead it sent a chill through her body.

  Kara turned around.

  No light shone through the windows. She could see the sunlight just outside the school; it was simply prohibited from entering the room. Instead a single candle sat in the center of each desk, which were arranged in perfect rows.

  She knew I was coming here. She prepared this for me.

  Master Blackwood stood at the front of the room, writing on the blackboard. His hand was a blur of violent motion, nothing like his usual precise penmanship. The same three words filled the ent
ire blackboard:

  MAGIC IS GOOD. MAGIC IS GOOD. MAGIC IS GOOD.

  Master Blackwood’s wrinkled face was caked with chalk dust and dried tears.

  “Class is so much better now,” Grace said. “Wouldn’t you agree?”

  Kara turned to find Grace sitting in her usual seat near the front of the room. Grace slid her hand playfully through the candle flame as she spoke.

  “There’s someone waiting for you,” she said, pointing toward a dark corner of the room that seemed immune to candlelight. “Over there. A surprise.”

  “I think I’ve had enough surprises.”

  “But this one is so good. I used my next-to-last spell on it.” There was a hint of regret in her tone. “They get more powerful as you near the end. Or maybe I’m getting stronger. I think, with my Last Spell, I’m going to destroy De’Noran and everyone in it.” Grace squeezed the flame between two fingers. “Yes. I think that’s something I’d like to do.”

  “Why?” Kara asked.

  Grace tilted her head to one side, deeply confused by the question. Then her eyes brightened as she saw something behind Kara. “Oh look! He grew tired of waiting for you.”

  Kara did not have time to turn around. The smell of decay hit her first, and then she was picked up by two impossibly cold hands and hurled across the room. She collided with a desk, overturning it. Ignoring the fresh blood running down her temple, Kara scrambled to her feet and faced her attacker.

  “No,” Kara said.

  Simon Loder had not been improved by death. His muscular frame was encased in a thick layer of mud and grass. Only the vague impression of facial features poked through, like an unfinished sculpture.

  “How could you do this?” Kara asked Grace. “He was your friend.”

  Grace shrugged. “You’re the one who killed him. I gave him life.”

  Simon took a step toward her. Kara slid to the right, toward the exit, but although Simon’s eyes were obscured by mud, he managed to block her path anyway. Kara tried the other direction with the same result. It didn’t matter how quietly she moved; somehow Simon could sense her.

  So she ran instead.

  Simon pursued her, wooden desks slamming into the walls as he tossed them out of his way. One by one each candle was extinguished, plunging the room into a preternatural darkness. Grace watched from her seat, smirking with amusement.

  Kara had her hand on the doorknob when Simon pulled her back and pinned her to the floor, his eyes seeing her and yet also somewhere else, somewhere distant. His dirt-encrusted hand wrapped around her neck and squeezed. Kara knew she should feel horror and revulsion, but all she felt was pity. This was her fault. Grace might have cast the unthinkable spell that brought him back, but she had killed him in the first place. She was the one who had turned him into a monster.

  I’m sorry, Simon.

  She summoned the Jabenhook with more energy than her exhausted body was capable of producing, unleashing a river of ice deep through her veins. The creature came quickly this time, filling the dark schoolhouse with its golden light. All she had to do was call it to her. It could restore her to perfect health, give her the strength she needed to fight again.

  She sent it to Simon instead.

  The Jabenhook took him in its great talons and started its work. Simon struggled, but even he was tiny in comparison to the magnificent bird, and it wasn’t long before a dark cloud hovered between them. Simon’s Death was older than Taff’s, a miasma of corruption that twisted and screamed in the air. Upon leaving Simon’s body, it immediately darted toward Kara, looking for a new body to occupy: This Death had no respect for the rules. Before it could reach her, however, the Jabenhook snapped its beak and removed it from the world.

  And then vanished.

  Kara tried to get up, but her body wouldn’t cooperate. The skin of her right hand was numb and blue. With each spell it felt like a little more life was being pressed out of her. I have to stop. Another spell like that will kill me. She heard Grace slide out of her seat. Kara concentrated hard, willing her feet to move. Nothing. She watched Grace’s footsteps come closer, saw her kick all that remained of Simon’s body: a pathetic mound of dirt.

  “That was a magnificent spell!” she exclaimed. “Stole the life right from him.”

  Kara spoke through numb, unmoving lips. “It healed him. From his suffering. From what we did.”

  “Oh,” said Grace. “That’s not nearly as impressive.” She poked Kara’s stomach with her foot. “Get up.”

  “I can’t.”

  Another kick. Harder this time.

  “Get. Up. We’re not done yet.”

  Kara felt her eyes closing. Sleep—wonderful, blissful sleep—pulled her toward its warm embrace. “I’m not like you,” she mumbled as she fell. “The magic makes me weak.”

  “Just one more.” Grace leaned forward, positively beaming. “The Last Spell. I want to see what happens.”

  Kara opened her eyes. Wide.

  “You can’t, Grace. It’s not worth the price.”

  “Are you still trying to save me, Kara Westfall?” Grace leaned forward and whispered in Kara’s ear. “Let me tell you a secret. I don’t want to be saved.”

  She kissed Kara tenderly.

  “My graycloaks found your family,” Grace said. “They’re outside waiting for you.”

  Kara pushed her away. The sudden movement almost made her vomit.

  “Look at that,” Grace said. “Are we feeling a little more mobile all of a sudden?”

  “If you hurt them, I’ll kill you!”

  “Yes, Kara! Yes! Kill me! Or at least try.”

  Though her right side felt as though it were encased in ice and even the slightest movement made her want to scream, Kara got to her feet. As soon as she stepped forward, however, the room tipped to one side. Grace caught her before she could fall and began walking her to the door. “It’s going to be like a story from the Path,” Grace said. “A witches’ duel! Maybe they’ll talk about us in years to come. Wouldn’t that be something? Wouldn’t that make it all worthwhile in the end?”

  Kara was too tired to respond, and Grace finally stopped talking. The only sound as they exited the building was the clack of Master Blackwood’s chalk as he continued to write his message.

  MAGIC IS GOOD. MAGIC IS GOOD. MAGIC IS GOOD.

  The Shadow Festival had come again. Everyone Kara had ever known—all those who remained alive, at least—lined the main road of the village, waiting patiently for the entertainment to begin. She was the Leaf Girl. Grace was the Forest Demon. Or perhaps it was the other way around. Kara saw Father and Taff standing in the front row, spines straight and shoulder to shoulder, faces devoid of expression.

  She did not see Lucas. She thought it might be better that way.

  Grace remained where she was as Kara, a bit steadier on her feet now, walked slowly to the other end of the road. The eyes of the villagers followed her as she passed. Other than that, there was no movement. No whispers, muffled coughs, baby cries. The silence was so absolute that Kara could hear her footsteps in the dirt. This was Grace’s moment, and she would not permit any interruptions.

  When she reached the end of the line, Kara turned around. Knowing that there was no more use for pretense, she removed the grimoire and held it in two hands. Grace had already done the same.

  What will it be like? Kara wondered. To suffer for all eternity. After the first few years, will I even remember who I am anymore? Will I even be capable of thought? Or will I know only pain?

  “Children of De’Noran,” Grace announced, “all your lives you’ve been told that magic is wrong. Evil. Ungodly. But this evening, I am going to give you the greatest of all gifts. Enlightenment.”

  Kara looked down at the blank page before her. Her hands trembled.

  I don’t want to do this. Why does it have to be me?

  “You are going to witness the true power of magic. You are going to learn that everything you’ve been taught in your pathetic littl
e lives has been a lie. And then you’re going to die.” Grace shrugged. “Sorry.”

  Mother! Why didn’t you warn me? Why didn’t you tell me this would happen?

  Grace faced Kara and curtsied.

  “We cast on three,” she said.

  Kara looked past Grace to her brother, his eyes blank but somehow seeing her as he always did. He would remember. He would know the sacrifice she made.

  And, most important: He would live.

  “One,” Grace said, but Kara had already summoned what she needed. She smiled with relief as its likeness appeared in the grimoire. It had been a long time, and she feared the memory wouldn’t be strong enough.

  Grace spoke the second word distantly: “Two.” Her mouth trembled, eager to say the words forming in the book . . . but then she jerked up her head, sensing something.

  Kara’s grimoire burst into flames.

  She tossed it away, but not before its heat singed her fingers and turned the palms of her hands an angry crimson. The fire swirled high, a cone of blinding light that split the sky and scattered the neat lines of villagers. In it crackled words just beyond Kara’s understanding.

  Is this how it works? Will I burn forever?

  The flames made no attempt to envelop her. Not yet. She heard screams, shouts for help. Kara tore her eyes away for just a moment and saw that Grace’s enchantment had been broken. Confused villagers were fleeing this nightmare as quickly as they could. The crazed mob pushed past Grace, knocking her to the ground.

  Only one figure was actually moving toward the flames.

  “Kara!” shouted Lucas. He held a hand to his eyes, shielding them from the light. “Run!”

  “I can’t!” Kara said. It hasn’t taken me yet. “Get my family out of here!”

  They faced each other, the spiraling flames between them. Lucas took a step toward her.

  “Please, Lucas,” she said.

  “I’m not going to leave you!”