by Lucia Ashta
Finally, voices came again. It seemed like so long since I’d heard another human being speak that when I first heard Grand-mère’s voice I startled.
“Mordecai, see to your patients. I’ll see to Brave.”
I heard rather than saw Mordecai’s assent. The jangle of the beads in his beard echoed in the overpowering silence that descended upon that roof in the aftermath of speed and wind. Then there was the sound of clothing rasping against the side of a gargantuan creature, followed by the thud of boots against stone.
A cold hand touched mine, and I flinched in surprise the one inch that I could. “It’s all right, my child. You are safe now. I’m going to undo the magic that holds you to the dragon. Are you strong enough to keep yourself from falling?”
I wasn’t sure that I was, but I nodded anyway. Again, my head moved an inch but he saw it. I wasn’t yet ready to speak. I’d been somewhere else, in a dream of some kind, a beautiful one, and speaking would shatter the remnants that still enveloped me and sang to me, stronger than any voice, that magic was real.
Soft mumbling floated up scarlet scales like a melody I couldn’t quite make out. When the mumbling ceased, I flexed my fingers and my toes within my elven shoes. My full range of motion was restored.
The mumbling began again while I attempted to sit up. I took it in intervals until I sat upright with my legs stretched in front of me. I leaned into the palms of my hands behind me, enjoying the view. All it took was for me to see the sea was to hear it.
As if I’d been deaf and my hearing was suddenly restored, the faint crashing sound of waves crept up the stone walls that only they could scale. Designed to be impenetrable to an enemy’s advances, the walls were purposefully smooth. No man could find a foothold. But the sea could.
Her melody wafted up the walls like a fragrant summer breeze to welcome me home. It had been a long time since I’d felt home anywhere.
“Well? Are you coming down, child?” Mordecai said.
I smiled at the sea. I smiled at the setting sun that reflected off of it in flashes as bright as lightning and as colorful as fire. My hair blew behind me, graceful and fiery red. I didn’t want to speak yet. I couldn’t. To speak would be to kill the dream that still was with me. Things were simple and pleasurable within the dream.
“Clara?” Mordecai said.
I captured the view of the sea, ablaze within my mind, forever mine, and swung my legs to the side. As if I’d done it every day of my life, I slid down the scales and landed softly on my feet, as if I, and not Gertrude, were Mina the cat.
Ordinarily, I wouldn’t have done this. But now I had to. I walked passed Mordecai and his bewildered expression. I passed my fiancé and Sylvia without slowing. I didn’t turn to search out Grand-mère or Gertrude or Sir Lancelot. I didn’t spot Mathieu either. I assumed that Grand-mère was keeping watch for Brave below, likely left to return our four horses alone. Still, I didn’t approach to offer assistance, whatever that might be.
I dragged my fingers along the winding satin of scarlet scales until they ended in a pointed, vicious-looking tail. Then I went straight to the edge of the roof, to the exact point where I’d first attempted flight.
I leaned into the parapet and stared out at each swell of waves, into this mesmerizing deep blue, until Grand-mère, behind me, said, “‘He’s here. Can you help him scale the approach to the castle, Mordecai? It’s quite steep.”
Mordecai paused to consider. Magic was how he and Albacus had scaled the approach to their own castle in Irele. The mountain that led up to the castle was also steep—a purposeful defense—but magic made it easy. Yet the mountainside of Irele was shielded from curious glances.
“Why Marcelo’s ancestors chose to build the approach to the castle in plain sight of the town, I’ll never understand,” Mordecai muttered, even while he chose to risk being spotted anyway. Brave had endured a trying ordeal, just as we all had, and it was high time to bring an end to the current trials. The horses too had persisted valiantly. Mordecai was eager to bring everyone’s endurance to an end.
I turned just in time to see the old magician wave his hands in a variety of motions, his cloak accentuating each movement as it always did. His lips moved in concentration, and I realized that he must be attempting to shield his actions from the townspeople. Levitating a young man and a few horses wouldn’t take this much of his focus.
Many mumbled spells later and a few particularly expressive swooshes of his arms, and Mordecai announced, “Brave will be at the gate in a minute. Let’s hurry to meet him.”
Grand-mère slid down the dragon with enviable grace, righted her skirts and her cloak, and whispered something to the dragon. He rubbed his very large head against Grand-mère’s. He bent his knees, whipped his tail out to the side to stretch against one wall of the parapet (almost tripping Mordecai, who moved out of the way just in time and with no small amount of huffing and flustered expressions), and settled to the rooftop for rest. The normally expansive rooftop suddenly became very small.
Mordecai, still flustered, held the door open for Grand-mère and Mathieu, for Sir Lancelot and Gertrude, and for Marcelo and Sylvia’s floating bodies. “Come now, child,” he said to me, and I obliged, but with great hesitancy. There was something I’d managed to touch atop the dragon and later skimming across the surface of the sea. I couldn’t identify it, and perhaps it was incapable of being identified in any true sense, but I didn’t want to let it go just the same.
I walked through the door under Mordecai’s scrutiny. I could feel his gaze studying me through every step until we reached the entry hall. There, startled servants did and said nothing but watch the oddest procession the house had ever seen exit the front door when no one had entered.
When the last of us had exited, the servants followed in time to watch almost three dozen horses, with only one rider, touch down just outside the gates, with the last of the day’s vanishing light.
Chapter 16
Once the sun sank, darkness snaked around Bundry Castle like an unruly ink blot, and thick clouds rose from the sea to shroud the moonlight. Although I was no expert in military defense, it was easy to understand why this castle had never been invaded in its long history. Bundry Castle didn’t possess many of the typical defenses of castles in the region—because it had better ones.
The precipitous gradient of the main approach denied an enemy the chance to attack the castle by surprise. Any attack would be spotted long before it arrived, further hindered by the exhaustion any warrior (and his mount) would experience from the climb. A sheer wall that dropped several stories straight down into the violent sea prevented any chance of attack from behind.
And now a dragon guarded the roof.
Confident we were safe, at least for the night, we lingered at the dining table.
“Excuse me, Milady.” Grand-mère turned to look at Anna, the same servant that had taken on the role of my lady’s maid the last time I was here. Even though I’d soon become the lady of the house, Anna possessed the innate ability to spot someone of high rank just as all good servants did. A bit unkempt from our ordeal, Grand-mère still looked every bit the part of a lady of the high nobility.
“Yes, Anna?”
“Would you like me to draw you a bath before you retire this evening?”
I thought that I would love a bath while Grand-mère declined the offer. She was too tired for a bath, and I supposed that I probably was too. None of us had even changed clothes before dinner. Mother would have been horrified, but we were all too exhausted to take much notice.
Despite the immediate chaos that our unprecedented arrival caused among the staff, the servants responded admirably, both to the unique situation and to the peculiar cast of characters that composed our party. Though a few raised eyebrows dotted the ranks of servants at first, they dissipated rapidly, and none of them asked what had descended upon the roof that was heavy enough to shake the entire fortress. I imagined that whoever was sent to explore later would
be in for a surprise he wouldn’t soon forget.
Mrs. Bumrose prepared a meal that was surprisingly satisfactory given the short notice and the limited supplies on hand. We were easy to satisfy that evening. After coming so close to death, the ordinary rituals of life offered rediscovered pleasure.
“Perhaps we should retire to the parlor for a quick night cap?” Mordecai asked all of us, but he looked only at Grand-mère.
“Oui. A tonic will be good to settle my nerves before bed,” she said, although I hadn’t noticed her being nervous even once.
I was the first to rise. Marcelo was in the parlor. Now that the immediate urgency had passed, anguish for his health came over me with renewed fervor. He hadn’t moved at all since we fled Washur. What was taking so long? Shouldn’t he have responded in some way by now? But then, Sylvia hadn’t either.
I settled on the settee next to Marcelo and looked to where Sylvia lay across the room. Was it possible that we’d lose my fiancé and a friend after all of this? Could we have gone to all this effort and risk to rescue Gertrude and Brave, only to trade their lives for two others that were similarly important to us?
I glanced at Mordecai, who seemed to read some of my thoughts. He too studied the limp forms of his patients—his son and his companion—with concern etched all over his face, as deep as some of age’s wrinkles.
Anna stood at the back of the room, in the place normally occupied by Carlton, waiting to see if the family required anything. We needed many things, but none that a servant, however loyal, could provide.
“Anna?” I said. “Has Carlton not returned then?”
“No, Milady. He hasn’t.” Anna spoke with the decorum required of her station, but sadness filtered through her words. The time when we were in control of our lives was long gone, if it had ever been here at all.
“Has there been any news of him while we were away?” Mordecai said. Has his body been found? was the unspoken second part of the question. It was what we were all thinking.
“No, Milord. The other servants and I have asked around town, but no one seems to know anything about Carlton. We don’t understand what happened to him. He was here one minute and gone the next.” Anna was getting flustered the more she spoke. “We have no idea where he could be. It’s most unlike him to leave without telling anyone. He’s always so responsible, keeping all the rest of us in line.”
Mordecai interrupted. “Don’t worry, Anna. We’ll find him.”
Anna flicked a glance to the true master of the castle, now that his father was dead, unconscious on the settee. “Yes, Milord,” she said, while still looking at Marcelo, with little confidence in Mordecai’s promise.
“In the meantime, please prepare quarters for all of us to retire for the night. Ask whatever staff you need to help you. Rudimentary accommodations will suffice for tonight. Tomorrow we’ll begin to organize ourselves more appropriately.”
“Yes, sir.”
“You may go now, Anna.”
“Yes, sir,” and she was gone.
I sank into the settee next to Marcelo and looked around the room. As different as we all were, we shared one characteristic: exhaustion. Even Sir Lancelot looked tired, when I didn’t know owls could look tired. His wide yellow eyes were at half-mast with a look of defeat, even though I didn’t think we’d been defeated. Surveying our company, however, I saw how we didn’t seem the clear victors either.
I reached a hand to touch Marcelo’s and pulled it away quickly.
“What is it, child?” Mordecai asked from across the room, where he sat in a chair next to a crackling fire.
“His hand is cold.”
“Oh. Well, don’t worry yourself about that, child. He’ll be fine.” Mordecai crossed the parlor to touch the same hand. When he did, his expression betrayed the emptiness of his words. He drew a chair next to him, and he didn’t leave Marcelo’s side again that night.
Gertrude jumped onto my lap. We needed whatever support we could offer one another. It might not be a clear victory yet, but at least my sister was here. I had to make myself remember that.
Many moments passed in quiet. There was so much to say, but none of it would mean enough to make up for the lives that remained imperiled even after all our efforts.
Grand-mère took to staring out the window beyond the silhouette of the pygmy owl. She sat tall and elegantly. It would take much more than this to break her. Still, her posture revealed a stoic sadness. Mathieu stood between her and Sylvia, proud in his firedrake body no matter what the circumstances. But as time passed, he placed his head on Grand-mère’s shoulder. It barely fit, but somehow it looked right—these unlikely friends had offered each other support before this night.
It seemed that the quiet would prolong into forever like this, when Brave, unmoving until then in a straight-backed high chair, cut the silence. “How did you do what you did?” He seemed to ask no one in particular, but I knew he was asking me. His voice was gentle, yet the reminder was strong. We weren’t ordinary people or creatures. We were all possessed of our own kind of magic.
All of a sudden, the fire that crackled in the fireplace was strong enough to warm me, and I thought perhaps even to warm Marcelo’s unnatural chill too. Marcelo and Sylvia would regain their usual vigor again, and Gertrude would regain her human form. The other details, such as Brave’s bound magic, Carlton’s disappearance, Mirvela’s escape, and Count Washur’s constant threat even with his magic bound, would figure themselves out. Somehow, they would. They had to.
In that moment, it was easy to tell Brave the truth, because I’d learned to accept the truth within me. “I did what I did because it’s who I am and who I’m meant to be.”
“But how did you do it? How did you defeat almost twenty soldiers behind us and nearly paralyze ten in front of us?”
“Because magic is part of who I am.”
“And what type of magic did you use?”
“My own.” Brave flashed me a look that made me realize that I was being just as taciturn as Albacus and Mordecai had been with me. Their reticence had frustrated me then, and now I was doing it to someone else. I began to understand why they answered my questions the way they did. There was more to my answers than their simplicity suggested. And they were the right answers. They were the only ones my heart wanted to give.
However, I remembered whom I was speaking to, and I also recalled too well what it felt like to be the one receiving the obtuse answers to let them stand alone. “I’ll explain what I can later, after some rest,” I said with a smile.
Brave smiled back, relieved to be included as one of us, I thought. He smiled the smile of a timid new friend, who was hopeful that he had at last found someone with whom he belonged.
I sighed a bit contentedly, my standards lowered by the exigent circumstances that had governed my life lately, until a thought arrived noisily. I sat up, and Gertrude shifted in my lap. “Wait. Was your father among those that attacked us?” I tried unsuccessfully to keep the hopeful tone out of my voice—after all, Count Washur was the enemy of all of us there, but he was still Brave’s father.
Brave looked at me, eyes wide. He hadn’t thought to look. The murderous intentions of our pursuers were enough to wipe out any thought greater than that of our immediate survival.
Mordecai answered the question for him. “He wasn’t.” I turned to the old magician, who looked as old as ever, but also just as sharp as he had the first time I met him. “I would have known if he was there.”
I gave Mordecai the how-would-you-have-known look. “My child, there’s still much you have to understand about magic,” he said, and ignored my next well-I’ve-been-trying-to-learn-but-you-won’t-teach-me-enough-look. “When you perform particularly powerful magic—how should I describe it? —something akin to ties form between the casting magician and the destination of his magic. Binding another magician’s magic forms a link of sorts between the magicians. Imagine as if a ribbon were tied between Washur and myself. I would have felt
it if his life were in peril. I would have felt the tug on the end of the ribbon that’s attached to me.”
“Do you know where he is now?”
Mordecai shook his head with a jingle from the beads in his beard. “No. It doesn’t work that way. I have no idea where he is, although I hope he’s very far away from us. But no matter how far he traveled, I would know if he died, or if he came close to death.”
“Did those soldiers die?” I asked, and Brave looked to Mordecai too, waiting for the answer.
“No, I don’t think so.”
“They didn’t die when the dragon’s claws released them? The dragon dropped them from pretty far up,” Brave said.
Men dropped from the dragon’s claws? Obviously I’d missed something important after the collision with the attacking soldiers knocked me into unconsciousness.
“The dragon didn’t drop them. He lowered them into a ravine. I suspect that they all survived, although they might still be trapped down there.”
“I hope so. After they tried to kill my granddaughters, I hope it takes them days to get out of there. It would serve them right.” Grand-mère’s spite fogged the cold glass of the window in front of her.
“Do you think Count Washur is already planning another attack on us?” I asked.
“Yes,” Brave answered, and Grand-mère, Sir Lancelot, Mordecai, and I turned to look at him. Marcelo’s younger version just shrugged. “I know how he thinks. No one ever defeats him. He won’t take it lightly. He’ll keep going until he gets what he wants.” Brave spoke matter-of-factly, and I understood that some people, like the Count, were defined by their nature.
But I wasn’t about to let an undead dark lord define mine. “He won’t get what he wants. He won’t get Gertrude, and he won’t get me. I won’t let him.”
Brave nodded. He believed me, even if neither one us had any idea how I might do this. I hoped Grand-mère or Mordecai did.