"Maman," she said with a sniffle. Her final view of her grandmother as an ashen faced soulless taunted her. It capered in circles in her mind, revealing her weakness. How could she have let that happen? Her fists gathered at the edges of her shirt and she almost ripped the hem. There in the gloom, alone and cold, she cried. Without Cedric, she knew nothing of where she was. Without Maman...without Maman, she wasn't even sure who she was. Hiccuping sobs threatened to cut off her breath. Emma wrapped her arms around herself and shuddered.
Alone.
She would have to go on alone.
The thought terrified her. Yet she wiped away her tears and took several cleansing breathes. She was alone. A circumstance immutable. However, she didn't have to cry and be afraid. Those were things she could change. The words of her master intruded on her low thoughts. Center yourself and you can see the universe. Putting her hands on the floor, she touched the card. It slid away from her fingers. Emma picked it up and put it before her eyes.
Four ingredients. Two deciphered. Two to go. The puzzle awaited her. On the floor, she drew the symbols for the two unknowns.
Someone walked by the door to the room and she stopped waiting for them to come in and find her. No one came. With a sniffle, she went back to writing. The symbols curled beneath her fingers, perched waiting for her to understand.
"It's a tincture," she said. "There has to be a liquid." The whorls of the symbol floated under her eyes. Then it came to her. "Blusaga. Of course." One more.
The light grew dimmer as she worked. Beyond the door, a torch was lit and then whomever lit it walked on. Every time someone neared, she held her breath. Yet no one entered to see about the mirror room. So she continued in quiet secret. One of the symbols she was certain meant flower, but there were dozens of possible flowers. What in concert with Lamia's hair, Charmot, and Blusaga would give her a deep purple liquid capable of curing what ails? One came to mind and her heart sank.
"Royal rose."
Royal rose, the finickiest flower she knew of. It required cultivation, so unless somewhere in the castle grew it, she would never find it. Despair crawled out of its cage and tears fell again. "Why did it have to be that? Why couldn't it be a weed like Lamia's hair?" she lamented. The idea of trying to find it seemed impossible.
The more she looked at the card, the more she knew it meant royal rose. Without a doubt, the hardest flower to find. If she had known that before, she could have raided Mr. Amon's small stash. However, she had no recourse. If she wanted to make the potion, she would have to find it.
Determination poked its way out from under the despair and forced her to wipe her eyes. Where was one most likely to find a cultivated flower? In a garden. Maybe the castle had one. Better to try than not.
Instead of trying to find her way in the dark, she curled up as tight as she could in the corner and tried not to think of the things waiting for her in sleep. Maman's face floated before her vision for some time before the oblivion of sleep finally took her and wisked her off to the possibilities of morning.
Early Emma uncurled and started to stalk through the castle. In her mind, she stayed only a step away from capture, but what she sought could perhaps change everything. A heady idea to be sure, but one she held onto for dear life. Skulking through the castle, she tried to stay out of sight. She slid around corners and hid in alcoves as she searched for what she hoped would be the answer to Cedric's prayers.
The fact that she didn't know how she was going to get home came back to her now and again but she contented herself with considering what would be the best thing for them all. Reopening the well had to be done. She could consider what would happen to her afterwards.
Morning's young light made its way into the close corridors and Emma breathed in the hope it brought. Finally, she came to a hall that ended in an open door. Sunshine poured in the door and Emma made her way through it. Around her, green reigned. Taking in a deep breath, she walked through the trellis near the entrance. Several star-shaped flowers opened nearby, but they weren't what she looked for. Passing them by, she heard someone lightly snoring. When she rounded a curve in the path, she came to a full bush and a man napping in a chair near it.
The Chancellor napped in the chair. Emma ducked back around the curve certain he'd seen her. Then she let out a slow breath. Emma crept back around the corner and looked at the vegetation there. Above the Chancellor's head, a rose hung heavy. There were other plants on the bush, but that appeared to be the only mature bloom. Emma bit her lip. It would have to be that one.
Of course, it was that one. The one which dared her to get caught. As she looked for alternatives, she realized a guard stood with his back to her only feet from the Chancellor. Yes, she would certainly dare to get caught. However, it was a royal rose. With it, she could fix everything. Or at least the King. Without it, she had nothing.
She would have to get close enough to pluck the flower, preserving most of the petals, not fall on the Chancellor and not alert the guard.
Her palms sweat. In spite of the chill, she flushed. Someone was coming up the path behind her, she ducked to one side and hid. A woman with a basket passed her and went to the guard. Emma wasn't close enough to hear their conversation, but the woman went away a few moments later. If she was going to do this, she needed to be fast. Getting back on the path, she sidled forward. At the Chancellor, she put one hand on the arm of the chair and leaned over him. Cedric's medallion hung off her neck and swung. Emma moved back and tucked the medallion away before trying again. One hand on the chair arm, she extended her other hand to grab a hold of the rose. The stem bent toward her as she pulled.
Below her, the Chancellor reached up to scratch his nose in his repose. Emma held her breath and waited for him to quiet. Nearby the guard shifted and Emma froze. When he didn't turn her way, she tugged on the flower. Further up the stalk, thorns waited. She didn't dare grab any further back. Her hand around the bloom itself, she tugged a little harder.
A branch cracked. Her eyes snapped shut and she waited for judgment to come.
She let her breath out slow.
The flower began to pull off in her hand. Easing back, she let it come to her. Her feet slid to the ground and she let her weight settle. Finally, it came off in her hand.
She added the bloom to the pocket of Lamia's hair she had. Together she had half the ingredients. She would have to go down into the dungeon and find the Charmot again. Emma didn't look forward to that, but it had to be done. The Chancellor snuffled and shifted. Emma tiptoed away. Once she was back among the stones, she let out a sigh. Now to find her way downstairs.
Hours later, after an uneventful trip into the dungeon which gave her flashbacks to their escape, Emma stood at the edge of the kitchen. Servants moved back and forth without noticing her, too busy about their own business. She could substitute red wine for the Blusaga, which might effect the efficacy of the potion, but not much. The people thinned out some as time went on and she watched. All she needed was a pot and some wine.
She sneaked into the kitchen.
An empty pot swung on a hook off the edge of one of the fires and she pushed it back onto the flame. Nearby, she grabbed a jug of wine and poured it in. Then she added the powder and flowers. The heat would be enough; at least, she hoped. The wine came to a boil and the fragrance changed as everything incorporated. Finding a spoon, she poked the flowers down into the liquid. A smell not unlike lavender and vanilla exploded from the pot as the flames licked the sides.
"I hope that's what supposed to happen."
A plume of saffron yellow smoke welled up from the bottom with the scent. She checked the card again to see if it said what it should look and smell like when it was done.
A shout got her attention.
The woman running toward her wore a long skirt and an apron. She yelled, then grabbed a spoon off a table to beat at Emma with.
"Stop," Emma said. "Please."
The spoon came down on her arms and she shielded her
face from the blows.
"Stop!"
The woman grabbed her by her wrist and dragged at her. Emma planted her feet then jerked backward, pulling the woman off her feet. The woman yelled at her again and tried to bring Emma along.
"Come here!"
"No."
They had a tug of war. Another woman entered, then left. Emma pushed the older woman away and grabbed a cup off the table. Dipping it in, Emma came up with 2/3rds of a cup.
"Take me to the King," Emma said.
The woman looked at her as if she had lost her mind. The other woman came back with a guardsman at her elbow.
"Take me to the King," Emma said again. Careful not to spill the cup, she let the guard take her by the arm.
Before she had seen the king in nothing but her nightshirt; however, she had known little fear. Now, dragged before him fully clothed with an almost full cup of elixir, fear stood out in the hairs on her neck. The guard jerked her to a rough stop at the foot of the royal bed. Her need to see the King had brought her once more into his private chambers. Behind her, more commotion started as the Chancellor strode into the room with several choice oaths. When he saw Emma, he said,
"Seize her, she is one of the conspirators who escaped."
The guard, who already had her by the arm, looked at him without moving. The Chancellor sidled up to the edge of the bed and seemed to hold a quiet conference with the King who also said nothing.
"Yes, she'll be taken once more to the dungeon. This time, we will be sure she does not escape," Chancellor Lawrence said.
"Wait. I have the potion to cure the King," Emma said as she group gathered closer around her.
"You mean only to poison him in his already weakened state, we cannot allow that." Chancellor Lawrence stalked around her, his gaze quick.
"I think you only wish to keep the gate closed," Emma said. "Otherwise, you would let me heal him and go about my business."
She held onto the cup with both hands. A polite cough came from the bed. Lawrence moved quickly to attend to it.
"Your majesty?"
"Let her approach," came the gaspy whisper.
"Certainly, I will have her taken away," the Chancellor said.
"But his majesty asked that she approach," a guard said. He cringed away from Chancellor Lawrence's gaze. The guard at Emma's elbow pushed her forward and she walked past the Chancellor so close she could feel his presence emanating off him. Then she stood at the side of the King who looked up at her from his bed with pale face and watery eyes.
"Have you peace for me in that cup?" the King asked.
"Yes, your majesty." In her mind, Emma kept her fingers crossed. If this didn't work... It had to work. She had followed the directions and brewed it up while the King still had strength. Emma drew back the curtain as the old man struggled to sit up. Finally, he took the cup in both hands and first sipped from it. His mouth curled into a smile before he drank more deeply and as he did so, color infused his cheeks. He drained the cup to the dregs, a boiled petal or two in the bottom. Already he seemed stronger. His face appeared fuller and his eyes no longer dripped water.
"Your majesty," Emma said. "Can you stand?"
"It has been some time since I stood."
"May I help you?"
As the assembled watched, Emma helped the old King out of his bed and onto his feet. He stood a bit shaky at first, but held his ground. He stood fully as tall as the Chancellor, who had retired to the edge of the room. The King took one unsure step, but his next was straight legged. He grew confident in his body as they looked on.
The guards each took a knee before their sovereign. Chancellor Lawrence alone stood. Emma ducked her head in deference to her position.
"Will you not kneel to your King?" the King asked. The Chancellor ducked his head and bent his knee.
"Send for my servant. I will dress and greet my people."
Emma bit her lip.
"Your majesty," she began, dragging the medallion out from under her shirt. "If I may."
He said,
"Ask anything. The Kingdom is yours to have." His voice had taken on a strong timbre, undoubtedly the voice with which he addressed those he took charge of. Then he looked at the medallion.
"Cedric," he said. "Where is he? Not languishing in the dungeon."
"No sir, after I confronted him on his dastardly plot to kill you, he escaped along with her."
"Seeing that her plan was not to kill me, I doubt his was either." He turned back to Emma. "Where is he?"
"He's beyond the mirror at my home, I think."
"You don't know?"
"We parted ways under the threat of death." She tried to remember the word Cedric had used when confronted with the creature her Maman had become. A tear trickled out of her eye. "A soulless was near and an evil man."
"Where are my servants? I would dress now, not later. This must be dealt with immediately."
At that, Chancellor Lawrence jerked to his feet. "Of course, immediately. All other things must be left by the wayside."
"No, we have to reopen the well," Emma said, remembering the problem which had first brought her to them. Cedric needed the well reopened. After all this, to see it not done would be horrid.
"I will reopen the well, child," the King said. "But first, let us find my retainer who has risked so much to bring you to us."
"Sire, you can't reopen the well, remember the problems we were having before, being overrun with new souls. Certainly you understand why it must remain closed."
"Without the souls from the well, our kingdom dries up, Lawrence. That cannot be allowed. To slow its flood is one thing, to keep it closed is another."
"But sire--"
"No, Lawrence. It has been closed too long as it is. It must be reopened and I will do so."
Tall though he was, the Chancellor was no match for the King who had regained his power. The standoff lasted moments before Lawrence dropped his eyes.
"It was what Cedric wanted," Emma said.
"And he will have it."
A pair of servants hustled in, between them they carried a plate of food and a goblet.
"And what color would his majesty like to wear today?"
They then shooed everyone from the room. None needed to watch his royal highness dress.
When the King emerged from his rooms a half-hour later, he wore deep red. The cloth looked velvety, but Emma couldn't be certain. She had waited in the hall for him to come out along with the rest of his party. A few nobles joined them in their vigil.
"Come," he said making an expansive arm gesture. "We shall see to the well and poor Cedric."
They trooped together to the garden, past the royal rose bush Emma snagged the blossom from, to a dry fountain in a central court. The fountain rose from scarlet paving stones in the shape of an elegant plant. The pool beneath it was cracked and empty. The King came to the edge of the stones and genuflected. Everyone with him, except Emma, bowed. He stepped over the wall and went up to the flower's stem. It was then that Emma saw the skull hidden in the flower staring down at him. Raising his hands, he cupped the stone bloom. As he touched it, the petals softened and flexed. The skull became more prominent. Traces of water trickled out and landed on the King's shoulders.
Around them, the stones hummed a low tone. Water poured from the skull's mouth and the King stepped under the flow as it strengthened. Then he climbed out. His wet shoes left prints on the stones. The humming grew to a crescendo before it disappeared. Water poured through the skull in torrents and took on a spectral quality, becoming nearly translucent.
A servant brought forth a bottle and dipped it in the waters. When it was full, he withdrew it and handed it to Emma.
"For your service to the King, you are offered water from the well of souls. With it, you may restore a soulless to its prior state."
Emma took the bottle, her mind reeling. Restore a soulless. Maman. Excitement coated her nerves.
"How, what do I do?"
"You must only pour it on them," the servant said with a smile. "The scent of the well water draws the soul back into the body."
She would make Maman bathe in it if possible to bring her back.
Together the entourage left the well, but Emma looked back to see Chancellor Lawrence standing there alone. He looked into the water with slumped shoulders. Though she had nothing to say to him, she wondered what he could be thinking.
When they reached the room of mirrors, Emma and the King were alone. With Cedric's medallion in her hand, she watched the polished surfaces for any sign of something being amiss.
"You'll have to open the way," the King said.
"How? I don't know how."
"Cedric's medallion is a part of him, it wants to be reunited. You need only focus on where it leads to see him again."
Emma placed one hand against the edge of a mirror and thought about Cedric, his warmth, his smile, his strength. The image flickered and she once again looked into her own bedroom. Cedric lay slumped against the foot of her bed with his legs splayed.
"CEDRIC!" Emma cried. The man in the mirror stirred, but did not move. She reached out to him, trying to press her hand through. The hand without the medallion could not go through. The hand with it however stretched the metal and found its way through. She called his name again.
So far away, his eyes opened.
"Emma?"
His voice sounded like a distant whisper. She fought to hear it.
"I'm here," Emma said. "I'm here."
He crawled the distance to the mirror on his hands and knees. When he put his hand over hers, she grabbed him and began to pull him through. He fell into the room at her feet and stood up slowly.
"Cedric." Emma wrapped her arms around his neck. He hugged her close. When he let her go, he dropped to one knee.
"Your majesty."
"Rise, Cedric, you have done well."
October Sky Page 5