The Thorn Queen

by Elise Holland

Hope nodded. Grimorex scooped Meylyne up and the four of them went outside. A smell of roses wafted by her nose and she opened her eyes, looking for the snake. Grimorex’s rose-garden was right there. That was all that she had smelled.

  “Well?” Blue demanded.

  “Give her time!” Grimorex scolded.

  Meylyne closed her eyes again. In the distance a pecking bird drilled away. It all seemed so peaceful that her whole encounter with Borghesia felt like a dream.

  “I was in the Beneath-World.”

  Grimorex, Hope, and Blue sat in stunned silence as Meylyne told them everything, from the snake that had been guiding them, to meeting Borghesia and finally to the debt that she had had to repay.

  “Well I’ll be,” Grimorex murmured when she had finished. “To think that all this time the Rose’s betrayal has been rotting in Glendoch’s core. No wonder Glendoch has been plagued with troubles.”

  “Yeah—troubles that we’ve been trying to fix, that Meylyne could’ve fixed all along!” Blue exclaimed. “I mean, seriously? We’ve been chasing Anzulla, when your feathers have the same powers?”

  Meylyne managed a weak smile.

  “I know! It’s like they have a mind of their own when they’re spread out. I’m telling you—they showed me that grytch!” She shifted and groaned as pain shot through her shoulder blades. “I don’t see why they can’t heal themselves though.”

  Grimorex stroked his chin. “You’re in charge of them, Meylyne. You’re going to have to heal them yourself.”

  Meylyne stared up at him.

  “But Anzulla was descended from Trisdyan! How would my feathers have those sorts of powers?”

  Blue rolled his eyes. “Er, well, clearly they do! You healed Hope didn’t you?”

  “Yes. You fix me, and you can heal Great Oaken Mother, Meylyne.” Hope pushed himself to his feet. “And we need go now.”

  For a second everyone looked at Hope as if he’d sprouted horns.

  “Dude, you’ve just come back from, like, the brink of death. Are you sure you’re okay?” Blue asked.

  “Never been better. Come!”

  “Surely we can wait a few minutes,” Meylyne pleaded. The leadenness in her body had lifted. Now she just felt like jelly.

  “Not really,” Hope replied.

  Meylyne eyed him. His tone was a warning.

  “Why not?”

  For a moment, Hope did not reply. Then he sighed. “Remember before, when I stay behind to search in Diamond Chariot for clues? Well I see Hyldas flying toward Glendoch.”

  No one said a word. The wind rustled the spiky hollybush leaves and again the smell of roses washed over Meylyne. She thought of the snake. Time is not on your side, it had said. Now she knew why—the battle was already on its way.

  “Why didn’t you say so before?” she demanded.

  “No point! Only worry you more. You need mind clear to take on Thorn Queen!”

  “He’s perfectly right, Meylyne, and there’s no time for arguing,” Grimorex interrupted. “Let’s take the diamond chariot. We’ll be in Glendoch by sundown!”

  23

  Restoring the Balance

  MEYLYNE SAT AT THE FRONT OF THE CHARIOT WITH her eyes closed. The others were somewhere behind her, huddling together for warmth. They had set off for Glendoch about an hour ago; a restless wind starting up minutes after they left. It smacked them from all directions, rocking the chariot and whipping Meylyne’s hair into rat-tails. Despite all the roiling and lurching, the cold air invigorated her. She opened her eyes to find Hope standing there.

  “You angry with me?” he asked, mistaking that as the reason for her aloofness.

  Shaking her head, Meylyne told him what the snake had said about her feathers’ powers weakening when she used them.

  “I feel a bit less mangled now than I did earlier, but what if my wings aren’t strong enough to heal the Great Oaken Mother any more?” she finished.

  “They will be,” Hope said after a moment’s consideration. “You only used once. They got lots power. That obvious. Real question—who is snake? What its role in all this?”

  At that moment, Blue and Grimorex came over. Grimorex had a platter of dates and cheese, drizzled with honey. He held it out to Meylyne, who grabbed a handful and began munching, smearing honey over her mouth. She hadn’t realized how hungry she was.

  “Yeah, I’ve been wondering the same thing,” Blue replied, having overheard what Hope had said. “Do you remember how we got magicked here so quickly when we were trying to get to the Valley of Half-Light? It must’ve been the snake that did that!”

  “Yes, and it gave me back my real incantation book,” Meylyne replied, licking her sticky fingers.

  “How would the snake even have that? I thought you said that book was bound to you,” Blue said.

  Before Meylyne could reply, the chariot flew into a cloud, drenching the four of them. Grimorex bundled them into an alcove, wrapping them with an enormous quilted blanket he had stowed away.

  “Many unanswered questions remain,” he mused. “I am curious about the Relic that has possessed your mother, Meylyne. Why is it so determined to destroy Glendoch?”

  Shrugging, Meylyne felt a sharp twinge in her wing and remembered that it was still fractured. She pulled out her incantation book.

  “I don’t know but Borghesia said that by giving her the whereabouts to the tunnel to Aardverd, I would also release Trisdyan from his curse. If she was right, then that Relic’s got no chance now!”

  “Curse? What curse?” Grimorex said sharply.

  “I don’t know—something to do with how Trisdyan was supposed to keep the balance between light and dark. He wasn’t supposed to let the Roses deceive Borghesia like they did, and he got cursed as a result.”

  Grimorex stared at her for a minute.

  “Cursed by whom? Although that would certainly explain how your mother was able to poison the Great Oaken Mother—Trisdyan wasn’t around to protect her.”

  An idea occurred to Meylyne and she grabbed Grimorex’s wrist.

  “Do you think Trisdyan’s around now? Because then he could heal the Great Oaken Mother! I’d be off the hook, right?”

  “Wrong—we are not going to count on that,” Blue retorted.

  “I’m afraid he’s right, Meylyne. Trisdyan has been absent a long time. We really can’t count on his presence now,” Grimorex said.

  Deflated, Meylyne folded her arms and another sharp pain stabbed into her shoulder blade. She really had to mend those snapped bones. Scooting out from underneath the blanket, she unfurled her wings.

  “Fine. Whatever. Now if you’ll excuse me for a minute, I need to fix this broken wing of mine,” she muttered, flicking through the pages of her book. “This should be a pretty basic healing spell—it’s just a Level Three. For everyone’s sake, I hope it works.”

  Eyeing the others, she moved back a little further. It wouldn’t do to catch them in the crosswind of her incantation. She murmured the words from her book, all the while focusing her thoughts on her wing and nothing but her wing. There was a series of ripples and pops as the delicate bones fused together.

  An incredulous smile spread over her face.

  “It’s working! I can actually feel my wing mending. I love this Book of Incantations! Look!”

  She stretched out her wing for her friends to see.

  “Wow—check that out,” Blue marveled. “All better!”

  “Well done Meylyne,” Hope said admiringly.

  Grimorex, however, was miles away. Meylyne prodded him.

  “Grimorex, look!”

  “What? Oh yes, very good.”

  Meylyne frowned. He was obviously still distracted. Before she could find out why, however, the chariot emerged from the clouds. Now the air was still and warm. The wind must have found someone else to torment. Scrambling to their feet, the friends ran to the front of the chariot.

  “It’s Glendoch!” Meylyne cried.

  The sun-drenched glacier
sparkled like an enormous diamond. Its golden Titons shimmered and, beyond them the bridge to the Valley of Half-Light twisted and turned like a giant snake. Meylyne remembered the last time they were there. It felt like a lifetime ago.

  “Wow—we’re almost there!” Blue said. He bit his cheek and a troubled look stole over his face. “You know, assuming that Trisdyan hasn’t made a miraculous reappearance, then that tree mother will have gotten sicker, in which case more sphers will have escaped. They could be all around her now.”

  Meylyne paled. Healing the Great Oaken Mother would be hard enough—she didn’t need an army of sphers to battle too.

  “Oh sweet Trisdyan,” Grimorex murmured.

  “I know! That’s the last thing we need—”

  “No—look!” Grimorex interrupted Meylyne.

  Her eyes followed his gaze to a spot in the distance, where they rested upon a decrepit, dying tree. Dread swelled inside her like a lead balloon.

  “Is that—?”

  “Yes,” Grimorex replied. “That is the Great Oaken Mother.”

  The color of ash, the Great Oaken Mother had no leaves left at all and the few branches that remained drooped to the ground. But what was worse was the cloud of smoke—or at least what looked like smoke—that hung around her.

  “Are . . . are those sphers?” Blue gasped.

  Meylyne nodded. “There’s no saving her now. We’re too late.” Tears pricked at the back of her eyes. Then she jumped as Blue smacked her on the shin.

  “It is not too late! This is the perfect opportunity for you to use your wings. Don’t you see? That whole ‘restoring the balance’ thing? Now is the time for that! Those sphers are no match against you!”

  Meylyne blinked at him. No match against her? Her wing still ached and her bones felt like sand. She wasn’t sure she could fly, let alone fight off sphers and save the tree while she was at it.

  “It’s too risky. One or two sphers would be a problem. That—” Grimorex pointed at the wall of sphers. “—is a non-starter.”

  “How can you say that? You saw what her wings did to Hope!” Blue cried. “We didn’t come this far to give up like this!” He clutched Meylyne’s arm. “I’ll go with you—you can fly me on your back!”

  Meylyne shook her head. “I’m not sure I can fly at all. I don’t need you on my back as well!”

  “Well try at least! And fast—we don’t have all day here!”

  Meylyne swallowed. Blue was right. They were out of time and out of options.

  Hope nudged her arm and she turned to face him. His eyes bore into hers. Of all of them, he knew her the best.

  “What you think, Meylyne—you up to it?” he asked, watching her closely.

  “If I can fly off this chariot, then yes—”

  “Atta girl!”

  Blue slapped her again and she winced at how it jarred her. At this rate, she’d say her chances were fifty-fifty. Judging by the dubious looks on Hope’s and Grimorex’s faces, they felt the same way.

  “But I’m not taking you with me! I mean it.” She held up her finger to stop Blue from protesting. “If I can fly myself off this chariot it will be a miracle. I’ll never do it with you on my back.”

  “But—”

  “No.”

  Climbing up on the side of the chariot, Meylyne took a last look at her friends. Blue’s mouth was set in a grim line. Grimorex’s eyes glistened with tears. Only Hope looked calm.

  “We right behind you. If you start fall, chariot catch you,” he said.

  “Yes, and remember, it’s not just your wings that must be strong—it is also your mind. Sphers prey upon fear. When they invade your thoughts, recall the ones you love,” Grimorex said, his voice catching.

  Nodding, Meylyne unfurled her wings. She was only half listening. If she was going to do this, she had to do it now before she completely lost her nerve.

  Taking a deep breath, she pushed her wing muscles down.

  The air pushed back and in a flash she was above the chariot. Lifting her knees, she dove down toward the tree, soaring with the wind like the paper airplanes she used to make. Once again, the air was holding her up.

  Despite the dire circumstances, exhilaration flooded her, suffusing her muscles with energy all the way to her fingers and toes. If her wings could fly, they could heal the Great Oaken Mother, she was sure of it! She headed toward the tree and crashed head first into the wall of sphers.

  Everything changed. Her strength vanished. Her confidence shriveled. All she felt now was a gripping terror, as if she had plunged into a pit of hairy spiders. The wispy beings wound around her and worse, through her. She opened her mouth to scream and gagged at the putrid taste of decay and rot. Retching, she tried to fly away but her wings felt like they were trapped in glue. She could not get out.

  Then the images seeped into her mind—her mother waiting for her on the bed, smiling as she admitted she had deceived Meylyne her whole life . . .

  Meylyne moaned. Dread, cold and sick spread throughout her like mold. Grimorex had warned her about this. She tried to remember what he had said but it was as if her mind was full of fungus.

  I should have listened better. She stifled a sob. Dear Grimorex with his thigh-high boots and his love of life . . . all his hidden goodness . . .

  Through the suffocating misery her wings tingled. Just a fraction but it was all she needed. In a flash, Grimorex’s words came back to her.

  Recall the ones you love.

  The images were hazy at first. Slowly they came together. Hope with his brown, loyal eyes. Blue, always smiling. Trin and Train—the happiness on their faces when she finally saw them again . . .

  Everything that happened next was a blur. Energy like lightening crackled through her wings. The gray fog turned red. Sphers writhed and shrieked, glowing like embers and then falling away . . .

  Through the waning mist, Meylyne caught sight of the Great Oaken Mother. She flew to it, her wings pulsing with alchemy as she wrapped them around its trunk. Her stomach lurched—

  The tree is tipping over!

  The Great Oaken Mother howled in agony as her enormous roots ripped up from the ground. Meylyne shrieked. A vision came into her mind—a giant hand rising up from the earth, catching the tree before it fell.

  A shower of red sparks shot down from her wings. The tree gathered speed and Meylyne braced herself for the crash . . .

  . . . that never came.

  Looking down, Meylyne saw that something had grabbed the tree by its trunk. At first she thought it was the tree’s own roots but then she realized it was other trees’ roots, curled around its trunk like giant fingers. With a great deal of creaking and groaning, the Great Oaken Mother slowly stood upright again.

  As she heard the sounds of cheering from above, her world went topsy-turvy. Next thing she knew she was sprawled on the ground like a glob of pudding. Beside her, the trunk pulsed with life.

  “Thank you Meylyne,” whispered the Great Oaken Mother. “I knew you could heal me!”

  Meylyne mustered up her strength to reply but could only mumble incoherently. She managed to sit up as footsteps crunched toward her.

  “You did it Meylyne!”

  Skidding across the ice, Blue almost landed on her lap. “You healed the Tree-Mother! I knew you could. You saved Glendoch!”

  A smile flickered over Meylyne’s face but then she heard the tree sigh. Something was wrong.

  “What?” she rasped.

  “I’m afraid your work is not quite done. You have healed me, it is true, but you have not yet saved Glendoch. War still brews,” the Great Oaken Mother murmured. “You must hasten to Glendoch’s Wishing Well before it is too late!”

  Grimorex and Hope appeared at her side, Grimorex beaming from ear to ear.

  “Well done—” he started but Meylyne cut him off.

  “Save it,” she wheezed. “Not done. Great Oaken Mother says still a chance of war. Must go to the Wishing Well. Now!”

  She tried to push
herself to her feet but her limbs refused to move.

  “I can’t—”

  Grabbing her arms, Grimorex lifted her into the air and slung her over his shoulder.

  “Come on! I had a feeling this would happen. Back to the chariot. It will get us to the Wishing Well in no time.”

  “Wait! Why? What’s happening at the well?” Blue panted, running behind them.

  Grimorex leapt aboard the chariot.

  “We’ll find out soon enough!””

  24

  The Peaceweaver

  GLENDOCH’S WISHING WELL WAS ANCIENT. NESTLED between the mountains ringing the east side of Glendoch Proper, rumor had it that all Glendoch had been born from wishes thrown into it. Over the years, the well had filled with snow and all that remained was a ring of stones protruding from the ice like broken teeth. Hardly anyone visited there any more, even though the frozen lake behind it was perfect for ice skating. It was too close to the Outlands for people to feel safe there, except for those days when a special occasion drew a crowd.

  Today was one of those days. Hundreds of Glendochians were gathered around the well, Tyrians to one side, Francescans to another. A cloud of tense anticipation hung around them while the sun beat down upon their heads from an azure, cloudless sky. Sweat trickled down their necks and pockets of midges buzzed around their shoulders, biting uncovered patches of skin. Without a breeze, it was as if the air itself was waiting.

  At the center of it all stood the royals and their guards. All wore their house uniforms—the crimson and turquoise silks a sharp contrast to the blur of colors around them. Looking stiff in her Cardinal House garb, Queen Emery read from a roll of parchment, her voice high and strained.

  “You know we have searched for many years for a Rose peaceweaver to unite our two houses and put all this strife to rest. We are crushingly aware that many of you have suffered as—”

  Queen Emery stopped in the middle of her speech.

  Prince Piam, standing to her right, peered at her from underneath his helmet.

  “Go on Mother! People are waiting!” he hissed.

  Her eyes were riveted on a spot in the sky.