The Wealding Word

by A C Gogolski

  Lady Zel sighed, “Black magic, death, and a rumor.” The candles in the hovel dripped wax on the floor, guttering in a slight draft. “Well, we know the Malady has to be present for anything to work. That’s something at least. First we have to come up with a sure-fire way to attract it.”

  The hermit chuckled darkly. “The creature comes only when its host’s suffering is greatest. What will you do, dangle the girl off of a cliff? Torture her? You can’t seriously consider placing Nell in real danger. And unless you’ve been taking lessons from the Widow, you don’t possess the power to banish. So where does that leave us?”

  The sorceress swirled her teacup, considering. “It’s true. I have never studied the art of banishing, for Isolet magic is against my Order. It is not an option.” Lady Zel looked sadly at the girl across the table.

  Nell kept her head lowered to hide her tear-streaked face. There were incalculable forces in the world that meant her harm, and the reality of it was only just setting in. For reasons that she might never understand, a demon had singled her out for a life of misery, sentencing her and everyone around her to suffering without end. The senseless malice of it was more terrifying than the black tunnels she faced beneath the earth. Nell was numb, petrified by the truth laid before her.

  The sorceress sighed. “Still, we won’t give up hope. Short of finding this Stair of Stars, other solutions must be possible. We just need time.”

  CHAPTER 17

  THE CANDLESTONE

  Nell stayed with Lady Zel as spring turned to summer. She spent her days wandering among the sheep and goats in the shadow of the tower, gathering bouquets of fragrant Bee Balm and blue Lobelia, handfuls of long-plumbed Cohosh and purple Skullcap. Lady Zel had more flowers than Nell had names for – so many colors crowding around the base of her tower and quivering with the breeze in small, sunlit gardens. Four peacocks presided over the grounds, looking upon Nell with distant curiosity. Though there was no fence of any kind, all of Lady Zel’s animals stayed close. On one occasion Nell asked whether it was the Wealding Word that bound them to the tower.

  The sorceress laughed as though she had heard a joke. “Wealding magic only frees things, never binds.”

  “But the grumlins in the weald – they stopped when I told them to,” Nell protested.

  “I think it is time you gave Miss Elder a hand in the kitchen. Learn to cook. It will help you to follow directions.” Remembering Lady Zel’s second rule concerning idle speculation, Nell stopped asking about magic after that. She continued practicing how to listen, however, following rule three.

  The sorceress took tea every afternoon, and she often invited Nell to join her on a wide, marble-columned patio overlooking the forest. She used the time as an opportunity to “see” Nell, as she called it, and conversation usually turned to teaching the girl items of practical interest. Nell sat beside the ageless woman, learning the shape and sounds of each letter, the names of the seas, or how to keep knots out of her hair. Some days however, Lady Zel simply let Nell tell her stories, listening with interest as she described falling into the well, speaking with the dragon, or enduring the torments of her sister. During these times, Nell asked questions of the sorceress as well – that is, questions that didn’t conflict with rules number one and two. Getting Lady Zel to speak about herself quickly became Nell’s favorite game.

  Unlike most adults, Nell found that the sorceress answered every question quite candidly, without softening the truth or weaving some tired moral into her responses. Nell examined her closely. She learned that Lady Zel liked to sing more than anything; she preferred the company of cats over dogs; her favorite flower was wild honeysuckle – which Nell thought far too common a selection; Lady Zel got married when she was seventeen and she had two children, twins, the very same year; she was queen for 56 years, though she only ruled the realm for eleven of them; she had two husbands, but not at the same time; and she will be one hundred and eighteen years old the day before the Feast of St. Camillus.

  Nell remembered her own grandmother, a woman completely shriveled by time, who sometimes hobbled by for a visit when Nell was small. She died a few years ago, and was probably half of Lady Zel’s current age. Nevertheless, her frail and stooped Nan came to mind when Nell thought of an old person. In contrast, at one hundred and seventeen, Lady Zel was tall and straight. She had wrinkles of course, and her hair was white as snow, but she did not fit Nell’s definition of ‘old.’ Old people groaned about their aches and forgot words so that you had to finish what they were saying. But even when the sorceress was being vague, there was still something precise about her. Lady Zel’s exactness of presence made other people, young or old, seem blurry by comparison.

  “Were you really a prisoner in this tower? My dad used to tell me stories about a maiden who was locked in the weald and saved by a prince.”

  The sorceress gave a sigh. “It amazes me that people still tell that tale. Yes,” she said. “I was taken at birth by the witch who once lived here. She raised me as if I was her own child, and I loved her dearly.”

  “You loved someone who kept you locked away? Didn’t you ever want to leave?” Nell took offense at the thought of never being allowed to walk outside.

  “Well you’ve been through the tower, Nell. It has more rooms than most castles. Anyway, I had everything I needed right here. And I was incredibly naive to the world. It had to be that way. You see, the witch was using a barbaric practice to stave off her death. The spell siphoned my life, but it worked only if I was completely trusting – willingly under her power. So, she was very kind, and very protective.” Rapunzel recalled her old mentor, her hand drifting up to stroke a long white braid. “And something of an eccentric too. But unlike most who keep thralls, she was not truly wicked. She even taught me a few Words of Power.”

  “And that’s how you became a sorceress?”

  “Not quite, but it’s how I learned my first Words. Remember the prince from your father’s story? He did indeed find me locked away in a tower – this tower in fact. Night after night he returned to keep me company, and we eventually fell in love. This, of course, led to plotting my escape.”

  Nell leaned forward, eyes wide. “But what about the witch? Did she know?”

  “Well, I was not one for secrets in those days. I was so innocent; I could keep nothing from her for very long. When she found out, her anger was swift and fierce. She knew that my heart was now with the prince, and I would not willingly stay in her tower. The necromancy she had invested upon me was wasted. So, in utter frustration she banished me to the wilderness. I was only seventeen years old, all alone, and completely ignorant to the realities of life.”

  Nell gulped. “That really happened? What did you do?”

  “I wandered the weald. Lucky for me, the sorceress had taught me the Wealding Word, and I found my way to the Aureate Oak. It was he who cared for me until Prince Roland came and took me back to the castle on the hill. Years later he went on to become King Roland, and I, Queen Rapunzel.”

  “You don’t keep anybody as… as thralls do you?” Nell had a sinking feeling in her chest.

  “Heaven preserve us! No child!”

  “But you look…” Nell paused, knowing it was improper to speak of a lady’s age, but unable to restrain herself. “You look… good for someone as old as you are!”

  The sorceress smoothed her long white hair, smiling at Nell’s inadvertent compliment. “Thank you Nell.” And it was true: at one hundred and seventeen, Lady Zel looked not a day past sixty. “I wish I could say it was natural, but you see, I am mistress of the Word Eternis. It is one of the rarest and most powerful Words, and it keeps me as young as I like. This look seems to suit me well though.”

  “The Word Eternis… so you can’t die? I mean, is that why you don’t keep thralls?”

  “Keeping thralls is repugnant,” Lady Zel said sharply. But after a pause, she began again. “The Word Eternis prolongs life, Nell. It keeps you healthy and even young-looking. Bu
t it can only be given to people with an important task to achieve: one that could take lifetimes. The quest and the Word are one. When the quest is over, the power of the Word Eternis fades. There are many who have come to beg or demand I give it to them, but it is not something to be granted lightly. I’ve learned that lesson all too well.” The sorceress sighed and looked at the sun dipping toward mountains to the west. Nell could almost see the lines of age lengthening over her features like shadows across the forest, and then the moment was gone.

  Every evening after helping Miss Elder clean up in the kitchen, Nell was free to do as she wished. She spent most nights exploring Rapunzel’s old prison. Though Nell could walk around the entire base of the tower in ninety eight steps, the interior was immeasurably large, and the rooms were all unlocked. Just like her conversations with Lady Zel, wherein no subjects ever seemed taboo, every room in the sorceress’ tower was similarly open to her. All she needed was a light to see them by.

  Roaming the place by night reminded Nell of the darkness underground. She found it exciting and somehow comforting at the same time. Of course, she now had Rawley by her side, and for light, Nell gripped the stone that had dropped at her feet when the dragon went up in smoke. The shining marble reminded her of Swst, the candlewisp. So in honor of the kindly spirit, she called the jewel a ‘candlestone.’ It shone green and blue in her hand, and Nell found it could brighten intensely whenever she willed it.

  Most chambers that she explored were similar to rooms that she used to clean back at the castle. There was even an ornate mirror, carved with a serpent border, which she was sure she had also seen in the castle. Every room had some assortment of curious objects to examine: statues, wooden carvings, trinkets, bowls, globes, tapestries, carpets, clocks, mirrors, and even fountains. However, though there were plenty of books, Rapunzel’s tower contained no vast library as she might have expected.

  Occasionally Nell met Mr. Lambert roaming the halls: his wooden toolbox in one hand, a lantern in the other. He never questioned why she was out of her room at night, and always had a kind word to say. The old handyman was about the same age as Peter Domani, but much more vigorous and youthful. A thick shock of salt-and-pepper hair framed his red, smiling face, making him appear boyish. Lambert had his own room in the tower, and fixed whatever needed repair – seemingly at all hours of the day. Long after dinner he puttered about, measuring, straightening pictures, replacing lamp oil and fixing clogged sinks. “I love this tower,” he once told Nell, “Besides, I’d rather spend my days trying to be useful than waiting around to die.” He often made comments like that about death, always laughing at the prospect of his demise. Nell learned that Lady Zel permitted the man’s daughter and grandchildren to stay in the tower as well, but they were away for several months on pilgrimage.

  Miss Elder, the plump woman who did the cooking, promptly retreated to her own quarters after dinner. She was never much for conversation, but in her quiet way she taught Nell quite a lot about how to prepare a meal: which herbs go together, how to discern flavors, and the elements that must be in harmony for the proper presentation of food. Though polite, she made no attempts at befriending Nell. Once the plates were washed and the crockery put away, Miss Elder bade Nell goodnight and was not seen again until morning.

  One evening, while wandering in some of the lower levels, Nell heard Lady Zel’s voice. The words were muffled, yet there was concern in them. Nell hushed Rawley and tiptoed closer to the door. Pushing gently, she clenched her teeth lest it should squeak, but the door inched open without a sound. Covering Swsty, she peeked into the room.

  The sorceress sat below one of the few windows found in the tower. Stars twinkled in the night sky behind her head. To her left sat Miss Elder, daintily holding a cup and saucer, and studying the carpet at her feet. Though she had never seen them together outside of mealtimes, Nell realized at once that the quiet cook must be Lady Zel’s apprentice. Both women shared an unnamable quality, but there was no time to consider it now. Across from Rapunzel sat the hermit, looking none-too-pleased. He rubbed his gray-stubbled chin, arms crossed, as an unknown woman to his left spoke.

  Here was a person of obvious nobility. Fine and slender, the lady seated next to Peter wore a dress of silver silk, with a necklace of sapphire and diamond. Her eyes were a deep peacock blue with flecks of emerald, brilliant against her pale skin. She reminded Nell of Ryan, and suddenly she recalled the noble lady on the docks, the day the king returned. Was it truly Queen Pharisij speaking to the hermit? Nell couldn’t think of anyone else who could be as beautiful.

  In a measured tone, the lady was saying, “…I doubt Rhiannon would be so careless as to let the Aureate perish in flames. She knows he is the only one who might give over the Word she so desires. Destroying the tree would be madness.”

  Lady Zel tapped her finger on her chin, “According to an eyewitness, she is now quite mad.”

  Peter shook his head. “I have been to see the tree many times this season, and I can tell you that there are no buds on his branches, no leaves, no life. It’s well past mid-summer and the burned parts of the weald are starting to recover. But everything within the great circle of stones is dead – including the Aureate.”

  Everyone was silent, contemplating the loss of the old tree and the recklessness of the fire. Finally the exotic woman asked Lady Zel, “What about your guest and her parasite? Last time we met, Peter presented a suggestion that none of us were comfortable with. We agreed to meet tonight in hopes that this course could be avoided.” She sighed. “I can say that over the past six weeks I’ve had the castle library scoured, but there is no information on the Stair of Stars.”

  Miss Elder spoke next, “I have sat for six hours each night, waiting in silence, but no answer has come. Even the Word Occulynt has shown me nothing.”

  “It was so with me as well.” Lady Zel replied. She looked to the hermit, “Peter, are you sure want to go through with this?”

  The old man snorted. “Well, are you? If we succeed, you’re the one who has to give Rhiannon the Word, and a task that fits her disposition. I only need to get Nell to the Keep.”

  At the mention of her name, Nell tensed, leaning closer. The Keep? Did Peter mean to take her to the Widow’s castle? Her heart pounded in her chest.

  “Did you hear something?” asked Miss Elder. Everyone turned toward the door, which hung slightly ajar.

  Nell fell back from the opening in horror. She squealed as she stumbled over Rawley lying at her feet. Uncovering Swsty, she rolled off the dog and leapt up to race away – but Lady Zel suddenly stood in the hallway behind her. “Nell,” the sorceress said, her long silver hair glowing green in the light of the stone. But when she saw what the girl was holding, the edge in her voice disappeared. “What is that in your hand?”

  “A candlestone. Well, I don’t know what it is really, but that’s what I call it.”

  Lady Zel took Nell by the shoulder and marched her into the meeting chamber. “Let’s have a closer look at that, shall we?”

  Everyone stood as Nell was shown into the room. “We were just discussing a few plans. Would you like a cup of tea?” The sorceress posed the question in an even tone, as if she hadn’t just caught the girl eavesdropping.

  Nell wasn’t sure what to do. There was the splendid Queen Pharisij – straight from one of her childhood daydreams – standing ten feet away, and Lady Zel was asking about tea. After a moment of awkward fidgeting on Nell’s part, the sorceress said, “Oh, of course. You haven’t been introduced. Queen Pharisij, this is Nell, my houseguest for the summer. Nell, this is your queen.”

  “A pleasure,” the queen smiled.

  Nell curtsied as best she could. Oddly, something about the woman seemed familiar. “Did I ever meet you before? I mean, I guess that’s not really possible.”

  “Yes, we met once, Nell. I didn’t know you then, and so I masked myself to your vision.”

  “The unicorn!” Nell exclaimed. “That was you!”
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br />   The queen laughed. “You are very perceptive.”

  “Yes, well done child,” Lady Zel said detachedly. “You know everyone else here, so now you can tell us where you got this stone of yours.” She held it up to a candle and suddenly a kaleidoscope of color turned on her face. “It trembles in my hand, like it’s alive.”

  “Don’t you remember?” Nell asked. “I said that after I answered the dragon’s questions, a little stone fell down at my feet. I think it’s a gift from the candlewisp that led me from the well. That’s why I call it a candlestone.”

  “Possibly,” Lady Zel mused. “Have you ever heard the legend of the candlewisps that haunt the marsh?”

  Seeing Nell shake her head, the sorceress said, “Long ago, little people like Tomkin didn’t have to hide in the woods. They lived all over, though they kept mostly out of the affairs of men. They were called the Groomlanen. A good people, mostly, and quite magical. Each was born with a Word that came innately to him or her.”

  “You mean they were born able to use the Wealding Word?” Nell asked.

  “Yes, some were. The Wealding Word is just one of many Words of power. There are thousands of Words, and hundreds of variations of each. Imagine, an entire vocabulary of magic, embodied in a single race. Just like mankind, some of the Groomlanen were noble and worked tirelessly,” she paused, “and some were selfish and destructive.”

  Peter took over. “But the bad ones ruined things for the good ones, three hundred years past. So as punishment, they were forced underground, and there they drowned in darkness, exiled from the sun.”

  “Even the good ones?” Nell asked.

  “Even the good ones,” Lady Zel said. “A few escaped into the weald though.” The candlestone in the sorceress’ hand burned a bright blue like the stars outside her window. “The Groomlanen who remain, like Tomkin, now use their magic mostly to hide. And the ones who have died… they too continue on in their own way, as candlewisps. Always the spirits try to show people their sunken kingdoms, as if bringing new eyes could repair the past.”