Cinder Ellie

by J. M. Stengl

  Without missing a beat, Ellie started talking. “Don’t you wish to express your feelings to someone? How wonderful it would be to explain clearly to a human how upset you are and why you must make these cinder sprites go ember! I am here, and I am a very good listener. I can see pixies, and I understand that they have feelings too.” She put empathy into her voice and aimed it directly at the pixie lingering near.

  A high-pitched buzz rewarded her effort. The pixie hovered just within the doorway, glaring at her, at the charred table, and at the puddle of sprite goo. “Why did you put out the fire?” it shrilled.

  “Because a friend of mine lives here and would be sorry to lose his home and possessions,” Ellie answered quietly. “Just as you would be sorry to lose your home.”

  Her answer seemed to startle the pixie, for it landed abruptly on the back of a chair in the tiny sitting room just inside the front door. “You know about our homes?”

  “I guessed that you must be in trouble. What is happening to your homes?”

  To her surprise, the pixie sat down on the chairback and swung its thin legs as it spoke. Ellie sensed that it was female, though she would not have guessed this from its appearance. “Cinder sprites steal our homes and eat our food and invade our world,” it said. “They are evil vermin, so we pixies are determined to eliminate them entirely from the forest. Or make them eliminate themselves,” it amended with an unpleasant giggle.

  Ellie sat on another chair, summoned her magic, and explained carefully: “Cinder sprites are sentient magical beings, ranked by the magic council as benevolent or harmless entities. I suppose it is inevitable that two creatures competing naturally for the same living space would view each other as enemies, but I don’t think it needs to be this way. Do you eat dandelion greens?”

  The pixie gave her a scornful look. “No! Disgusting.”

  “Do pixies graze on grass or nibble carrots and grains?” Thanks to A to Z: Magical Creatures, she could sound like an expert.

  “Not if we can help it.”

  “Then you do not actually compete with sprites for food. Now, living space is a different question. Where do you usually sleep?”

  “In a hollow tree or in a flower,” it answered, sounding surprisingly open and friendly.

  “Cinder sprites cannot fly or climb, and they certainly would not fit into a flower. So you do not compete with sprites for living space.”

  The pixie’s expression turned sulky. “Our feud is a time-honored tradition,” she said.

  “How would you like it if imps or ogres decided that pixies should be eliminated from the forest?”

  The tiny eyes went wide. “They never would!”

  “But doesn’t the idea frighten you? It would frighten me! Magical creatures—including magical humans like me—need to help each other and find ways to exist alongside each other and normal humans without causing harm.”

  To her surprise, the pixie nodded. “You are right. Humans cause us more harm than cinder sprites do, but we have no way to fight against them. They don’t self-combust when teased or terrified.”

  The pixie’s precise diction amused Ellie. The creature was somewhat charming, in a shrewd and aggressive sort of way. “Most humans have no intention of harming you; they cannot see you so don’t realize you exist,” she explained. “But pixies and other magic creatures are better off unseen, I think. You have coexisted with humans for thousands of years and might as well keep up the good work.”

  A subtle movement caught Ellie’s eye, and she turned her head to see the puddle of goo begin to shift and roll. With each passing second, it regained more of its former shape and appeared more alive.

  The pixie got to her feet, spread her wings, and hovered over Ellie’s shoulder. “What is that?”

  “It is the cinder sprite recovering from its heat tantrum.”

  The pixie’s mouth dropped open. “But they always die!” she shrieked, sounding more frightened than angry.

  “Not always,” Ellie said, unable to keep the satisfaction from her voice. “This one will live. Aren’t you glad you’re not responsible for the tragic death of someone’s child or parent or sibling?”

  Silence from the pixie, then an infinitesimal “Yes. But I’m in so much trouble!” And in the blink of an eye, it was out the door.

  Ellie wasn’t sure what to do about the cottage or the cinder sprite. Bence would be most upset to return to such a mess and would most likely sweep the blob of cinder sprite out the door or into a waste bin. After a brief search, she found a pancake turner in a kitchen drawer. Using this, she scooped up the cinder sprite, deposited it on a clean handkerchief from her knapsack, then tucked it into the bag.

  Just as she zipped the bag shut, Ellie heard a deep voice calling her name outside. She left the cottage, ran up the path to the road, and caught sight of a dwarf—she couldn’t tell which one—running toward the castle. “Hello! I’m here,” she called, but he was shouting and didn’t hear, so she began to run after her pursuer, still calling to him.

  At last the dwarf heard her and turned around. “Ellie! I’ve been searching everywhere for you. We caught it! We caught the exterminator! It’s in the gatehouse, and we need you. Come quickly!”

  The dwarf was Sten, and he looked frightened.

  Since dwarfs do not frighten easily, this observation slowed Ellie to a stiff walk. “It?” she echoed. “What is it?”

  “It’s a babau. I mean, that’s what they call it where I come from. Bugbear, boggart, babau—whatever you call it, it’s bad. Your spell confused it, which is the only reason we caught it, I think.” Sten trotted along beside her, and the fear in his voice urged her to move faster. She wanted a better description but realized he wasn’t about to give it.

  This was not the time of day Ellie would have chosen for running down Faraway Castle’s winding drive to face a strange creature. An hour ago it had been a pleasant run. But now the sun had almost set, and although its light still touched the mountain peaks and the sky above was still blue, the forest around them looked dark and forbidding.

  Once again the gatehouse loomed ahead, a relic of the castle’s past built into the thick stone wall that still partially marked the property’s perimeter. The light above the gate’s arch had a dim look about it, as did the light inside the house’s open door. Ellie, breathing hard, almost skidded to a stop outside that door.

  But Sten urged her on. “You’ve got to use your magic on it,” he said. “If you don’t, it will scoop all of the sprites into its sack and be gone before the Gamekeeper returns.” Fear laced his voice, yet he led the way inside.

  Ellie followed him, her heart hammering both from the run and from terror. They entered a sort of office with a desk and chairs. Several dwarfs lined its perimeter, their normally ruddy faces strangely livid. In a leather executive chair behind the desk sat a hooded figure that would have been extremely tall if standing. Its cloaked arms were draped on the chair’s arms, and its head leaned back on the headrest to reveal . . . or not reveal . . . a face. Ellie’s heart jolted to a sudden halt, and her breath stopped in her throat.

  Sten caught her arm and pulled her down so he could whisper in her ear: “Don’t look under the hood.” When she still couldn’t look away, he reached up to cover her eyes with his thick hand. Slowly she turned her head to meet his frowning gaze, and her heart resumed beating as if to make up for lost time.

  He grabbed her chin and turned her head so he could whisper to her again. “Get a grip on yourself—we need you! It is relaxed for now. Study the trap and reinforce your spells to keep the babau believing that it is completely in charge.”

  Ellie obediently examined the trap and realized that her spell was being eaten away from the inside, a horrifying thought. “Trap,” she said, barely managing to keep her voice firm, “you did an amazing job capturing this creature, but now you need to make your prisoner believe that it is free and very much in charge of the situation. Otherwise it will soon escape.”

 
She felt the trap struggle to reinforce its aura of liberty and glory, but it strained against a powerful opponent.

  The babau’s head turned toward Ellie. “Human director, I am ready to collect the vermin.”

  Had Ellie allowed herself to focus on that eager, ghastly voice, she would have crumbled to pieces—possibly bodily. Instead, she thought of these dwarf friends who depended on her, of the guests, staff, and magical creatures of Faraway Castle who little knew what horror even now waited at its gate. Of Prince Omar and his baby sister.

  A familiar shrill voice spoke at her shoulder—the pixie from Bence’s cabin must have followed them. “Boggart, this is not the director who hired you!” it shouted. “This is an enemy who caught you in a trap and tries to prevent you from capturing cinder sprites!”

  The babau seemed to darken and grow, and an infernally glowing cavity appeared where its mouth should be.

  Ellie had no time to think of a plan—or to think at all. She snatched up her spray bottle, leaped forward, and sprayed her potion straight into that gaping maw, shouting, “Never fear! You can be jolly and have plenty of good things to eat.” It was complete nonsense, but she put her all into soothing the nightmare, guessing at its desires.

  The babau appeared to shrink and solidify, now fitting neatly into the chair. It leaned back, parked its boots on top of the desk, and said in that voice from the tomb: “Might you have any sweets about you, luv?”

  In lieu of sweets, Ellie imagined licorice allsorts and gave the babau another squirt of potion, which it seemed to savor. If such a creature had lips, she would have said it smacked them.

  “Well, that was weird,” said Kai. “But it worked.”

  They were safe for another few minutes. She glanced around at the dwarfs, pleased to see that Tea had snagged the pixie and gagged it with a small rubber band.

  They heard quick footsteps outside, and Madame Genevieve stepped into the gatehouse, panting hard, then dropped into a chair, kicked off her shoes, and began to rub her feet. “What is going on here?” she demanded, unable to generate her usual level of situational command.

  The dwarfs and Ellie exchanged glances. How had Madame discovered their plot?

  “Why have you dwarfs . . . and you”—she directed a quelling stare at Ellie—“intercepted the exterminator? Surely you must know that your positions at the resort will be terminated for such blatant insubordination!”

  While the director was speaking, Ellie saw another large, indistinct cloaked figure slip through the doorway and stand against the room’s stone wall so that she and the dwarfs could see it but Madame could not. Ellie would have yelled in fright had Sten not kicked her ankle then given her a warning glare. Did he know this person? Without looking at the newcomer, she tried to sense its magical aura, but then that corner seemed empty. Certainly it was empty of a babau’s vileness.

  So Ellie focused on the director. “Madame Genevieve, we have discovered the reason behind the sudden outbreak of fires. Pixies, believing that cinder sprites threaten their existence by stealing their food and nests, have been tormenting the sprites until they go ember and die. The pixies want all cinder sprites to die, so they are delighted that an exterminator has been called to do the job for them. I heard this confession from the mouth of that pixie only this evening.” She pointed at the furious pixie in Tea’s grasp.

  Madame sat upright on her chair. “That is the most ridiculous tale I’ve ever heard. As if cinder sprites and pixies compete for food or beds! You are displaying your ignorance as well as an appalling lack of respect for authority.”

  “But it’s true, Madame,” Sten spoke at last, and several voices backed him up. “Not true that they compete, but that pixies believe they do. We just caught this one trying to free your exterminator so that he would complete the massacre.”

  “Which is exactly what any reasonable person would do,” the director snapped without so much as a glance at the captive pixie. “Cinder sprites are a danger to Faraway Castle Resort. I cannot imperil the lives of our guests for the sake of a few magical pests. The castle could burn down around our ears! Already we have lost a garden shed and a cottage. If news of these pests running loose was to reach our guests, we would be ruined.”

  Ellie felt something wiggle inside her knapsack then heard a little squeak. She lowered her sack to the floor, unzipped it, then carefully lifted out a damp creature blinking huge liquid eyes. It had two slender, spiraling horns between its pointed ears, and small clawed feet supported its plump body. “Look, Madame Genevieve!” she cried in delight. “This cinder sprite went ember in one of the staff cottages this evening. I sprayed it with my potion, and look now!”

  Madame’s expression hardened. “Child, I see a wet cinder sprite, nothing more. Hand that creature over to the exterminator.”

  Ellie saw the babau swell to its former proportions and hold out a sack, its rapacious nature fully restored, the trap finally broken.

  She clutched the dazed sprite to her heart and turned her shoulder to the babau. “No! Until pixies began tormenting them, the sprites caused no trouble.” In her distress, Ellie unconsciously used her persuasive powers on the director. “Madame, please let me try! I can calm sprites to keep them from going ember, or I can extinguish then revive them if they do. I want to experiment on an herbal spray that will repair the damage caused by their heat. Exterminating cinder sprites on Faraway Castle property would be a crime. They’re an endangered magical species, mostly because they tend to spontaneously combust, but I can bring them back! I mean, I can save other sprites that go ember like this one did, and if I keep doing that, it helps the whole species. Even if some sprites keep causing trouble for the resort, they should be removed to a safe place, not killed.”

  The director had remained silent and attentive throughout this speech, raising Ellie’s hopes. But now she laughed, and it was not a pleasant sound. “Ellie Calmer, you must be mad. You’re just one more ordinary hembez who imagines herself to be a carovna with amazing powers. If you believe I would endanger the lives of our patrons on the word of a deluded child, you had best—”

  “Hush, Genevieve.”

  The words were spoken in a voice so deep that Ellie was not entirely sure she heard it with her ears. Blinking, she realized that the lamplight was now bright and the babau had shrunk to the size of a hobgoblin, looking dirty, shriveled, and cowed.

  There was a stir among the dwarfs, and Ellie heard someone breathe, “The Gamekeeper, at last!”

  Madame Genevieve slowly turned on her chair, saw the cloaked figure, and blenched. “But the resort . . . the guests . . . I thought first of my duty to protect our loyal customers—”

  “A wiser first thought would have been to notify me of the problem with cinder sprites. Your role is managing resort business and guests, not making life-and-death decisions regarding the creatures that live on castle property, particularly not the magical creatures.”

  Ellie studied the speaker but could not quite make him out. Male, for certain, and immensely powerful in both physical strength and magical authority. She thought she saw clawed paws where feet should be, but the cloak covered all else, and she sensed an illusion that her magic was barely able to ignore. Ordinary humans would find him difficult to perceive at all.

  But what exactly was he? She could not begin to guess.

  The Gamekeeper turned to the shrunken babau and suddenly loomed even more terrifying and mysterious than the evil creature at its worst. “Boggart!”

  It cringed, moaning something that sounded frightfully like “Sweets?”

  “Be off and lose all memory of this place.” The Gamekeeper gestured briefly, and the exterminator vanished with a shriek.

  As the terrible sound and brimstone reek faded away, the Gamekeeper resumed his normal appearance, intimidating but not threatening, and Madame Genevieve sat slumped in her chair, her face in her palms, elbows on her knees. She looked strangely forlorn.

  “Dwarfs, you have excelled in faithful
service tonight,” the Gamekeeper said. “Well done. You may go, but leave your captive behind.”

  Tea set the pixie on the desk and filed out of the room with the other dwarfs.

  Ellie went tense. The pixie could vanish!

  Chuck gave her a wink in passing. “Chill,” he whispered. But she kept a wary eye on that pixie.

  “Madame Genevieve,” said the Gamekeeper, “since the pixies are becoming a problem, I will appoint an elder sprite to keep them under control.”

  The pixie, still gagged and seated on the desk, gave a muffled screech.

  “An elder sprite on castle property?” The director sounded incredulous, and her voice trembled. “But who will control the cinder sprites?”

  The Gamekeeper turned toward Ellie. For the first time, a hint of his magic swept over her, and she knew that he was benevolent as well as powerful. Shivering, she tried to meet his gaze, but the hood still concealed his face. She cradled the sprite in her arms and felt it shiver too.

  “Ellie Calmer, both your valiant efforts to save the cinder sprites and your remarkable success at restraining both the pixie and the boggart—creatures which are not easily overpowered, particularly not with kindness—are impressive. Furthermore, this revelation of your ability is timely, to say the least.”

  She tried to curtsy, but her knees shook too hard. To her relief, he turned his attention back to the director. “Madame Genevieve, clearly this girl’s abilities are far beyond those of an ordinary hembez. Your refusal to recognize her power raises questions regarding your fitness to maintain your current position of authority over the resort’s staff. I advise you to appoint Ellie Calmer as official Controller of Magical Creatures at Faraway Castle. She will work year-round and receive training under my direct authority. This promotion includes a pay raise and a private cottage.”

  The director turned a fiery stare upon Ellie but did not protest. Apparently “advice” from the Gamekeeper equaled a decree. Although Ellie felt mildly surprised that he spoke no further of Madame’s attempt to eradicate a magical species, she sensed that the acquaintance between the director and this mysterious Gamekeeper was of long duration. No doubt the offense would be dealt with at another time.