by J. A. White
“There’s a man name Querin Fyndrake,” Father said. “He’s old—older than Timoth Clen, even—and he should be dead, but he’s not. ‘A heathen frozen in time, cowering in his Hourglass Tower’ was the way Timoth described him, whatever that means. I was going to—I mean, Timoth was going to mine this man for information. He knows where the four sections of the princess’s grimoire are located. Timoth was certain of it. Even so, he wasn’t in a huge hurry to talk to the man. The Clen showed no hesitation running headlong into battle with Rygoth, but this Querin Fyndrake frightened him.”
“Then he must be a good guy,” said Taff. “Right?”
Father clasped his son’s shoulder.
“I think it’s more complicated than that.”
“We need to talk to him,” Kara said. “If he can tell us where the grimoire pieces are, we can keep them away from Rygoth. Where do we find him?”
“That’s the hard part,” Father said. “See, the Hourglass Tower isn’t on any map, because its location is not a where. It’s a when. ‘The hour without a toll.’”
“That doesn’t make any sense,” Kara said.
Father shrugged his shoulders. “I wish I could tell you more, but I don’t even think that Timoth knew exactly what it meant.”
Taff turned to Kara, grinning madly.
“A riddle!” he exclaimed with glee.
During the next few weeks, they had considered all sorts of theories about the unusual phrase: The hour without a toll. Perhaps the “toll” was money that had to be paid in order to gain entrance to the tower. Or maybe Querin was living near a church whose bell was broken.
In the end, however, they had returned to Timoth’s description of the elusive man as “a heathen frozen in time.”
“A bell tolls every hour,” Taff said. “So if it never tolls, it means the hour never ends. Time has stopped. So all we have to do is freeze time and take a look around, see if we can find this Querin guy.”
“You make it sound as easy as a carriage stop on a long journey,” Kara said. “How do you propose we actually do such a thing?”
“When Rygoth needed an elixir to take away Sordyr’s powers, she created Niersook,” Taff replied, shrugging his shoulders. “All you need to do is create an animal that can stop time. Easy!”
At first Kara had balked at the idea, but then she remembered how Minoth Dravania, sitting beneath his tree in the Well of Witches, had playfully scolded her for still using the word “impossible.”
Is it crazier than anything else I’ve done? she thought.
“Remember when you created the Jabenhook to save my life?” Taff asked. “Just do that. Only instead of a big bird who heals people, make one that stops time.”
“Two problems,” Kara said. “That spell used a grimoire, which I don’t have . . .”
“Or need,” Taff said. “You’re wexari, remember?”
“. . . and the Jabenhook was easy to imagine into being because it was part of a story that I had been telling you for years.”
Taff, who had just recently learned how to snap his fingers, relished the chance to do so now.
“That’s it!” he exclaimed. “We’ll just come up with a story so that our creature feels like it could really exist. And then you can build a mind-bridge to it and pull it into the real world.”
“You want me to build a mind-bridge to a figment of my imagination?” Kara asked.
Taff crossed his arms over his chest.
“Got any better ideas?”
Kara had not. Every night since then they had told their story, and Kara had tried to make a connection with their fictional creation. She hadn’t expected it to work right away, and in truth revising and improving the story—in an attempt to make the creature seem even more realistic—had been fun.
Five tries later, however, they seemed no closer to succeeding, and Kara was beginning to wonder if their plan had any possibility of working at all.
As usual, Taff did not share her doubts.
“Tonight’s the night,” he said, smudging a charcoal line with the tip of his finger. “It’s going to work. I can feel it.”
Kara pondered his latest rendering.
They had decided to use a real animal as a basis for their imaginary one—which they had been calling a yonstaff—thinking that it would be easier for Kara to picture it this way. After much debate they had compromised on a large dog with red fur and black spots. At first glance, Taff’s latest rendition of the yonstaff didn’t look much different from the dozens of other drawings that covered the floor, but upon closer inspection Kara saw that Taff had added meticulously detailed gears to the joints of the legs, giving the dog a half-mechanical appearance.
“Why the change?” Kara asked.
Taff got to his feet. There were black patches on his knees and his forehead was smudged with charcoal.
“I think the spell hasn’t worked yet because the creature we’ve been trying to bring into the world doesn’t make any sense.”
Kara couldn’t help but smile at this.
“We’re trying to create an animal that can stop time, and you’re worried about it making sense?”
“Exactly,” Taff said. “The creature has to fit its purpose. Like, let’s say bears didn’t really exist, and you tried to imagine one, but without claws and fur. It wouldn’t really be a bear, would it?”
“Please don’t take this the wrong way,” Kara said. “But how long has it been since you slept?”
“All I’m saying is that our little guy needs to be more than just a funny-looking dog. It has to look like it can control time. I made some changes to the story, too,” he said, pointing toward the words scribbled across the opposite wall. “It’s not a question of magic. It’s a question of imagination. We can’t just say a creature called a yonstaff can control time and expect that to be enough. Your imagination has to be convinced that he actually exists. That’s the only way Topper will become real enough for you to build a—”
“Topper?” Kara asked.
Taff blushed. “I gave him a name.”
“He had a name, didn’t he? Yonstaff.”
“That’s just his species,” Taff said, “which was part of the problem. Instead of thinking of any old yonstaff you should be trying to imagine a specific one. It will be easier to build a mind-bridge that way. Naming something always makes it more real.”
“There’s sense in that,” Kara said, willing to give anything a try. Her previous attempts to cast the spell had been like cupping a handful of mist. “But Topper?”
“I combined time and stopper!” Taff exclaimed. “Get it?”
Kara laughed.
“Topper it is.”
She walked across the room to read Taff’s changes to the story. Grievous errors in spelling and grammar made Kara feel guilty that she had not stayed on top of his lessons, but overall the revisions were good ones. The story felt fuller now, as though the characters were not just imaginary figments but living people dressed in words.
“This could work,” Kara admitted. “We’ll try it your way tonight. Maybe we could even—”
“Kara,” Taff said, his voice a strained gasp. “I think we have a problem here.”
She turned around. Grace Stone was standing behind her brother, a dagger to his throat.
“For once the little whelp’s right,” Grace said, smiling brightly. “You do have a problem.”
When Kara thought of Grace, she didn’t picture the red-robed Whisperer from the Well of Witches but Fen’de Stone’s daughter, the perfectly dressed angel who always wore a brightly colored ribbon in her hair and had found new ways to torment Kara each and every day.
That girl was gone.
Grace’s white hair had been shorn clean, leaving bristly stubble. Her clothes hung off her emaciated body like rags. Dirt streaked her face and encrusted her fingernails. Even her eyes had changed. They were the same stunning shade of blue, but now they twitched from side to side with a mind of their own, as thou
gh looking for a way to escape their failing mistress altogether.
“Does it please you, seeing what I’ve become?” Grace asked. She leaned heavily on a wooden walking stick, keeping the weight off her bad leg. “I bet you always dreamed of this moment.”
“Don’t hurt him.”
“I’ve no interest in harming the whelp. I only want to talk.”
“That’s all?”
“That’s all,” replied Grace, lifting the dagger from Taff’s throat. “But I can’t have you conjuring one of your little monsters and attacking me before I say my piece. There’s not much time, and I need your immediate attention if we’re all going to live through the night.”
Darno, having registered Kara’s need for help, slunk into the room. The wolf’s eyes remained fastened on Grace as he paced back and forth.
“Our new visitor does not make me feel very safe,” Grace said.
“Free my brother and no harm will come to you,” Kara replied. “I give you my word.”
“And what word is yours, Kara Westfall? Sunshine? Happiness? Butterflies? You are just so good, after all. How can I possibly doubt you?” Grace shoved Taff away. “Here, take him!”
Kara stepped in front of Taff protectively as Darno knocked Grace to the floor. The wolf pressed his teeth against the soft flesh of Grace’s neck and awaited further orders.
“No harm would come to me!” Grace exclaimed, her eyes wide with terror. “You promised!”
“And you threatened my brother’s life. I’m not the forgiving girl you knew back in De’Noran, Grace. Now tell me why you’re here, and maybe I can convince Darno not to tear your throat out.”
“As much as it might surprise you,” Grace said, “I’m actually here to save your lives.”
Taff rubbed his neck.
“You have a strange way of showing it.”
“I needed to get your attention. Quickly. That’s all. Now get this thing off of me and stop wasting time.”
“Release her, Darno,” Kara said.
The wolf, with some reluctance, slid his teeth from Grace’s throat.
Just a nibble? he asked. Hunting has been so scarce. . . .
“I’m sorry, my friend.” Kara could feel the burning pangs of Darno’s hunger and felt guilty for teasing him with a meal. “But it’s not safe to dine on this one. There’s something inside her that’s rotten and foul.”
Rising to a sitting position, Grace took in the attic with a bemused expression: the drawings on the floor, the words scrawled across the walls.
“Have you two gone mad?” she asked brightly.
“Just say what you want to say,” Kara said.
“Fine,” replied Grace. “You trust me, right?”
“There aren’t enough nos in the world for me to answer that question.”
“You will, though. After tonight you’ll never doubt me again.” Grace brushed back hair that was no longer there. “It wasn’t wise to stay in the same spot for so long. The twins have learned of your location. They’ll be here any minute.”
“How do you know?”
“Because I’ve been following you and I saw their approach.”
“Following me? Why?”
“You’re focused on the wrong part of the story. We need to leave right now, otherwise we’ll be trapped in this farmhouse.”
“Too late,” Taff said, looking out the window.
Kara joined him. Falling snow obscured her view, but she could still make out two figures sharing a grimoire. Behind them, at the bottom of the knoll, loomed an additional four witches. The twins were taking no chances.
“How do I know you didn’t lead them here?” Kara asked, turning on Grace. “This could be some sort of trick.”
“Then why would I warn you?”
Kara shrugged. “I don’t know. To gain our trust, maybe?”
“That doesn’t make any sense at all. I’m putting myself in danger just standing here talking to you. Why would I risk—”
“I’m sure you have your reasons,” Kara snapped. “You always do.”
“Things are different now,” Grace said in an overly calm voice. “I’m different.”
Kara scoffed.
“Maybe we should sort this out later,” Taff said, peering nervously through the window. “Where’s Rygoth? I don’t see her.”
“She’s not there,” said Grace, ushering them toward the door. “And why does it matter, anyway? Let’s just hop on that flying caterpillar of yours and get out of here.”
Taff, hands on hips, spun to face Kara.
“Great idea!” he exclaimed. “Why don’t we do that?”
“Is there a problem?” Grace asked.
“I sent Rattle away,” Kara said. “She wasn’t exactly inconspicuous, and I thought that after all that time trapped in the Well of Witches she deserved her freedom.”
“Who said that was a terrible plan?” Taff asked, pointing to himself. “Who said we should keep Rattle close by in case of an emergency?”
“Is now really the time?” Kara asked.
Outside, the black-cloaked witches had gathered in a tightly knit circle, an eclipse of bodies against the snow. They spoke words from their grimoires. Kara couldn’t hear what they were saying, but she felt her muscles tense in anticipation just before a flash of violet light illuminated the nighttime sky. The entire house jerked upward, as though a giant had torn it from its foundation and lifted it into the air—and then dropped it. Attic windows shattered. Beams split. Columns of crates fell over like catapult-struck towers, spilling their contents across the floor.
After helping Taff to his feet, Kara held up her arm against the snow now swirling into the attic and looked out the broken window. A wall of violet light enclosed the farmhouse and the approaching witches.
“What’s that?” Taff asked.
“Not sure,” Kara said, “but I have a guess.”
She quickly built a mind-bridge to a nearby pack of wolves and gave them an order: Flank the witches and attack them from behind. They were all too eager to comply, given the gnawing emptiness in their stomachs—but this bloodlust quickly changed to frustration as they crashed into the purple wall.
“It’s a magical barrier,” Kara said, her initial suspicion confirmed. “I’m cut off from the animals in the forest. They can’t help us.”
“What about the ones already inside the dome?” Taff asked.
Kara shrugged. “Sheep and chickens. And Shadowdancer. Nothing that can do much harm.”
“What about rats?” Taff asked. “There’s always rats.”
Kara nodded. “In the basement. I’ll send them. Maybe that will buy us a few minutes.”
Don’t forget about me, Darno said.
“No,” Kara started. “There’re too many of—”
But Darno was already out the door. Kara could have forced him to come back, but such a breach of trust would have ruined things between them.
Besides, Darno can take care of himself.
“We need to try the time-freezing spell again,” Taff said. “It’s our only chance.”
Kara shook her head.
“Too risky. There must be another way.”
“How about you surrender and tell everyone I captured you so they go easy on me?” Grace asked. “This way one of us lives.”
Kara and Taff ignored her.
“We can do this,” Taff said, grabbing Kara’s hands. “I’ll tell the story. You do your witch thing. The spell will work this time. I can feel it.”
“But if it doesn’t—”
“It will!” Taff exclaimed. “Don’t you believe it?”
If Taff had asked her this question just a few months ago, Kara would have said no. But things were different now. She had braved the queth’nondra and regained her powers. She had faced Rygoth in battle and survived.
“Start reading the story,” she said.
“What story?” Grace asked. “What are you two babbling about?”
“I need to concentra
te,” Kara said. “That means you need to hold the twins back for a few minutes. Think you can do that?”
Grace could barely restrain her laughter.
“Are you asking for my help?”
“If you want to survive,” Kara said, “I don’t see what choice you have. I’m sure Rygoth knows exactly who undid the curse on my father and helped her prisoner escape. Do you really think she’ll let that go unpunished?”
“You haven’t noticed yet, have you?” Grace asked with an asymmetric tilt of her lips. “Then again, you never were the most observant sort.”
It took Kara another moment before she realized what was missing.
“Where’s your grimoire?” she asked.
Another flash of light shook the house. Two floors beneath them, something fell over with a giant thud. Grace nearly lost her balance, but Kara caught her before she fell.
“I tossed the evil thing to the bottom of an old well,” Grace said. “I’m done with magic. Done!” She sighed with displeasure. “I will, however, do what I can to make a barricade. See how helpful I am!”
Grace limped away, her staff tap-tap-tapping against the wooden floor, and began stacking crates against the attic door.
What was that all about? Kara wondered.
There was no time to think about it now; Taff was starting the story. Kara sat on the floor—trying to ignore the worrisome zigzags now splitting the boards—and kept her gaze focused on Taff’s most recent drawing of the yonstaff.
Not just any yonstaff, she corrected herself. Topper. If it has a name it must be real.
“Long before the remembrance of the oldest man on earth,” Taff said, reciting the words from the wall, “Time was still a fresh-faced babe that hadn’t yet learned to control its domain. Day and night fought for supremacy, hours would forget their order, and the minutes would sleep through their shifts. Needless to say, this caused all sorts of trouble for the humans, and so in order to help young Time until it mastered its duties, the gods created creatures called yonstaffs. They were hard workers who quickly settled the debate between day and night and taught the hours some good tricks to remember who came first. The real problem, however, was the minutes. They were ridiculously lazy. Every day the yonstaffs had to nudge them all awake so they would be ready when their turn came. This was a lot of work, as you could imagine, and sometimes the yonstaffs fell behind and would have to stop the gears of time altogether while they caught up on their minute-waking duties. And this task of stopping time, when it arose, fell to the youngest yonstaff, whose name was Topper.”