The Last Spell

by J. A. White

  “It just seems strange, after what you asked me to do,” Lucas said, referring to a request that Kara had made several nights ago when everyone else had been asleep. “It made me think that you didn’t trust her.”

  “That was just a precaution,” Kara said. “I believe that she’s changed, but . . .”

  “She’s still Grace,” Lucas said.

  “Can we not talk about her anymore?”

  It was the first time that she had been truly alone with Lucas since their reunion. Such privacy should have afforded them the chance to talk about countless matters, but Kara suddenly couldn’t think of a single thing to say. She stared down at his hand: three perfect fingers and two stumps. Did he brush it against mine on purpose? Doesn’t he know that if he wants to hold my hand I’ll let him? Should I reach out and take his?

  “How are you, Kara?” Lucas asked.

  She looked at him strangely. Perhaps he can’t think of anything to say either?

  “Fine,” she said. “How . . . how are you?”

  “Are you really fine?” he asked. “I can’t tell. Back on De’Noran, I always knew what you were thinking. That was the best part of my day, meeting you on that hill at lunch. Except for when that squit almost drilled into my back,” he added with a disgusted expression.

  Kara smiled, though she had no recollection of the incident. I must have used it to build a mind-bridge at some point.

  “Ever since you returned from the Well, you’ve been so focused on the task at hand that there’s been this sort of armor around you. I just want to make sure that everything’s okay.”

  “My feelings don’t matter,” Kara said. “If I don’t stop Rygoth, a lot of people are going to get hurt and—”

  “How about this?” Lucas asked, lacing his fingers behind his head. “Let’s pretend we’re on the hill back on De’Noran. Tell me what’s going on, just like it’s any other day.”

  Kara pushed her hair back. It would have been more convenient to secure it in a bun, but she had spent the first twelve years of her life being forced to wear it that way, and she wasn’t about to go back now.

  “Mostly I feel overwhelmed,” she said. “I beat Rygoth once, but that was only a trick. Magic is so hard for me, but it’s not like that with her—she can destroy entire armies and not break a sweat. I have no right challenging her. I’m just a girl who grew up far away from this place and has no idea what she’s doing. You want to know how I’m feeling? I’m scared, Lucas. All the time. Aren’t you?”

  “No.”

  “Why not?”

  “I’ll show you.” Lucas reached into his pocket and pulled out a large seashell. “Recognize it?”

  “Of course,” Kara said, smiling. “It’s one of Mary Kettle’s toys. I had the other one. We used it to communicate, until . . .”

  “Until you stopped,” he said.

  Kara was shocked to see tears in Lucas’s eyes.

  “I’m sorry,” she said. “We lost all the toys in Sablethorn. There was no way for me to—”

  “I understand,” Lucas said. “It’s not your fault. And it wasn’t your fault that time works so strangely in the Well of Witches. For you, it was only a few days. But for me, it was an entire year.” He turned the shell in his hands. “Every day, I called your name into this shell. Every day, I listened for your voice. For the first few months—it was hard, but I believed that you were okay. I know how strong you are. How brave. But after that? After that, I didn’t think I’d ever hear your voice again. So when you ask me if Rygoth scares me—sure, maybe a little—but nothing could ever be more frightening than those days talking into the seashell, thinking that I would never—”

  Kara leaned forward and kissed him. Lucas was surprised, but only for a moment.

  “I was getting to that,” he said when their lips parted.

  “I know,” replied Kara, resting her forehead against his. “I just got tired of waiting.”

  When the Swoop came to a stop some time later, a dozen men wearing crisp white uniforms were waiting for them on the platform. They had the same light-red skin and pulsing veins as the ticket seller, and stood with the practiced stillness of trained soldiers. Lucas had just started to reach for his bow when the soldiers parted and a tall woman wearing a lush green headscarf stepped forward.

  “Welcome to the Museum of Impossible Things,” she said, smiling wide. “My name is Xindra Ta-Fign.”

  She raised her hands, palms out, and stared at Kara expectantly. The silence grew awkward.

  “I’m sorry,” Kara said. “I don’t know what you want me to do.”

  Xindra laughed.

  “Hold out your hands. Close to my palms, but without making contact.”

  Kara did so, and Xindra nodded enthusiastically.

  “Good! Now we’re friends! This is the standard greeting here in Kutt. We do not shake hands as others do. Our lives are spent battling the contagion that surrounds us, so physical contact is avoided unless absolutely necessary.”

  Xindra spoke each word with precision, her accent short and clipped. She was even taller than Kara and her face was warm and open. Kara liked her instantly.

  “Are you going to show us the museum?” Taff asked.

  Xindra bent down so she could talk to him eye to eye.

  “I could do that, Taff, if you’d like. But first your sister and I have some business to discuss.”

  Kara was instantly on guard.

  “How do you know—”

  “—who you are? We have been waiting for you, Kara Westfall, that’s how! We received a letter from Timoth Clen just two days ago. He told us about the Spider Queen, and how she was gathering the four grims in order to assemble a weapon of unspeakable power. He learned about the one we have here, and told me to give it to you for safekeeping before Rygoth arrives.”

  “Rygoth is coming here?” Grace asked.

  “According to our reports,” Xindra said. “She is still a few days off, but good to hurry anyway, no? I wish you the best of luck on your noble quest, of course, but the faster this grim is out of Kutt, the better. You are to take it and meet the Clen at Naysayer’s Bay. You know this place?”

  “I’ve heard of it,” Lucas said. “But I wouldn’t trust myself to find it.”

  “I will arrange a guide for you,” Xindra said. “Food and water as well. The grim remains in the same place it has been for two thousand years, in the lowest floor of our museum. Let me take you to it now.”

  Kara wanted to trust the woman, but the idea that someone would just hand her the grim was difficult to swallow. She looked at Lucas and saw similar reservations written upon his face.

  This seems too easy.

  “Could I see the letter?” Kara asked. “From my . . . from Timoth Clen?”

  Xindra bowed deeply.

  “It grieves me to say that I destroyed it, knowing that such information could be truly dangerous in the wrong hands.”

  “What about the guards?” Lucas asked. “If we’re friends, as you say, are they really necessary?”

  “It is because we are friends that they are necessary! Rygoth has spies even here in Kutt. I must keep you safe.” Xindra bowed again. “I am so sorry that life has burdened you with suspicion at such a young age. Excuse me for saying that it is very sad.”

  “We’re just being cautious,” Kara said.

  “Of course,” Xindra said. “These are cautious times. And Kutt has not always enjoyed the best reputation. We have had a dark history. Madmen and their experiments, not showing the workings of nature the proper respect. I know this to be true.” She bowed again. “But this is the dawn of a new Kutt! Look at our museum! The white walls! The brightly lit exhibits! Soon thousands will flock here to bask in our wonders.”

  Kara did not think this was very likely as long as the Plague Barrier remained in place, but she did not want to douse the woman’s enthusiasm. Who knows? she thought. Stranger things have happened.

  Xindra clapped her hands together.
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br />   “Follow me! Rygoth is still a good distance away. The grim first. And then, on our return, perhaps I can show you some of our splendid museum.”

  Taff asked, “Are the things here really impossible?”

  “Of course,” Xindra said. “I am so honored to be the curator here. Within these walls you will find exceptions to the natural order that exist nowhere else in the world. A fire freezing to the touch and a block of ice that scalds your skin. A pit that has no bottom. The embalmed corpse of a man who managed to live for one hundred fifty-two years without a heart or any other major organs.”

  “Those things sound like magic to me,” said Taff.

  “Use the word if it pleases you. But there are splendors to be found in nature that would put any wizard to shame.”

  As Xindra continued to dazzle Taff with the wonders of the museum, they followed her into a white corridor so narrow that they were forced to walk single file. The polished walls gleamed brightly, allowing Kara to see her reflection everywhere she turned. Strips that ran just below the ceiling emanated an artificial light that made her slightly dizzy, as though she were walking on a ship bobbing up and down. As they continued to descend she found herself breathing fast.

  “Are you all right?” Lucas asked.

  “I’ll be fine,” Kara said. “I just don’t like going underground. Rygoth’s cave, Sablethorn—same thing. I start thinking about the dirt and rocks above us, and what would happen if they fell.”

  “People have been living here for a long, long time,” Lucas said. “I’m sure it’s safe.”

  “I don’t know how they manage. I would lose my mind if I never saw the sun.”

  “Not if you were born here,” Grace said behind her. “Then you’d never know the difference. People learn to live the life they’re given.”

  Kara looked back over her shoulder.

  “Everyone deserves to see the sun at least once.”

  Grace scoffed.

  “And what happens after that?” she asked, her walking stick clicking against the clean white floor. “They scuttle back to the darkness with a full understanding of what they’re missing? That sounds more like cruelty than anything else.”

  “I just wish things were better for these poor people,” Kara said, her anger beginning to rise now. “That’s all.”

  “‘Poor people,’” Grace said in an exaggerated mockery of Kara’s voice. “You do love to pass judgment, don’t you? Has it ever occurred to you that this might be how they want to live? Why is your way always better?”

  “Stop twisting my—”

  “Besides, we’re Children of the Fold, remember? Wishes are forbidden.”

  “De’Noran is gone, Grace!”

  “De’Noran made us who we are!” Grace exclaimed, an uncharacteristic hint of desperation in her eyes. “Nothing can change that! Not even a glimpse of the sun.”

  Kara started to reply but Lucas touched her elbow and shook his head: It’s not worth it. She exhaled through her nostrils, still steaming. In some ways Kara preferred the old Grace, whose wickedness was as reliable as the ticking of a clock. Now there’s no predicting how she’ll act. You might be able to have something close to a civilized conversation with her one minute, but the next minute she’ll bite your head off. Kara glanced back, befuddled, but Grace’s face betrayed no emotion. She was so nice on the train, watching Taff so Lucas and I could be alone. That was something that a friend would do. I thought we might have turned a corner, but now . . .

  Reviewing their recent history, Kara noticed that Grace usually fell into her darkest moods just following these moments of kindness. Like doing something nice to apologize for losing your temper, only in reverse. Grace needs to do something mean in order to make up for being nice.

  I’ll never understand this girl.

  Through long windows spaced periodically along the corridor Kara glimpsed the brightly lit exhibits of the museum itself: oddly shaped skulls in glass cases; a small Swoop with metal wings, hovering just off the ground; a zoo housing great apes with transparent skin that revealed the inner workings of their bodies. Kara had to keep pushing Taff onward, his face pressed against the glass as though it were the window to a toy maker’s shop.

  “Can’t we just go inside for a little while?” he finally begged, gesturing to an inviting door that read THE NATURE OF INVISIBILITY.

  “This way is much faster,” Xindra said. “It’s crowded in the museum today.”

  She was right. The patrons’ skin varied in color from salmon pink to the angry red of a fresh welt, but other than that the Kuttians acted no differently than a group of villagers enjoying a town fair. An especially large number of children, all wearing white uniforms, were being shepherded by just a few adults. School trip? Kara wondered. She watched as a little boy stepped into a black box and instantly stepped out of an identical box across the room. The other children applauded quietly. Their excitement was subdued, and there was no casual shoulder wringing or shoving between them.

  Since birth they’re taught to avoid contact with others, Kara thought, remembering the odd way that Xindra had greeted her. Being wary of disease is a constant way of life with them.

  They followed the corridor to an older tributary constructed from actual rock. For a little while Kara had managed to forget that they were beneath the ground, but now her original fears returned. She breathed deeply, trying to remain calm.

  “This is part of the original museum,” Xindra said with distaste. “I suppose it has historical value for how Kutt used to be, but we do not allow people to visit it these days. Too dark and gloomy. We haven’t gotten around to modernizing it yet. But we will, we will!”

  They came to an iron gate marked with strange symbols that Kara did not recognize. Xindra fitted a key into its lock and gestured for two guards to push it open; their difficulty in doing so, along with the squeaking hinges, told Kara that it had been a long time since the gate’s last use. The guards shuffled ahead in order to light several braziers beyond the gate in the passageway, which Kara and the others followed to a large chamber with a single stone pedestal at its center.

  On the pedestal was a familiar-looking red chest.

  Words had been engraved into the rock in the same ancient language as the gate. Kara turned to Xindra, hoping to get a translation, and saw that the woman was no longer next to her. She remained with the guards just outside the chamber, looking nervous and out of sorts.

  “It reads, ‘Book fragment from the ruins of Dolrose Castle,’” Xindra said, anticipating her question.

  Kara let a short laugh escape her lips.

  “It’s not wrong,” she said.

  She hesitantly touched the red chest, not sure if she’d be able to sense anything without holding the grim directly, and flinched as the familiar feeling of emptiness washed over her. No light. No hope. No love. It was even more overwhelming than the last time, as though having the two grims in such close vicinity was giving the Vulkera strength, and there was something new: the high-pitched voice of a little girl. For the most part her words were too muffled to understand, like a conversation in another room, but every so often a single word slipped through: “. . . punish . . . forever . . . alone . . .”

  And then, in a sudden rush of breath that tickled Kara’s ear, the girl screamed: “WHO ARE YOU?”

  With a shocked gasp, Kara jerked her hand from the chest.

  The voice vanished.

  “What happened?” Lucas asked.

  “I heard her,” Kara said, wrapping her arms around Lucas, once again craving the warmth of another person. “Evangeline. She talked to me.”

  She looked past Lucas and noticed that the guards had stationed themselves at each exit. They had drawn their weapons, curved blades glowing a faint green.

  Xindra watched the dawning realization in Kara’s eyes with an apologetic expression.

  “I’m sorry,” said Xindra. “I truly am.”

  She pulled a lever on the wall and panes of
glass fell from above, perfectly cut to block each exit. The glass was the color of onyx but still translucent; Xindra and the guards looked like they were draped in gauzy black curtains.

  “Let us out,” Kara said.

  “I wish I could.”

  Lucas pounded on the nearest gate, and when that proved ineffectual he drew his glorb-bow and fired. The arrow bounced off the glass and clattered to the floor, failing to leave the slightest scratch.

  “Glass blown by the winds of a Starlit Tornado,” Xindra said, her voice slightly muffled. “Imported from Lux. Incredibly rare and completely unbreakable.” She smiled sheepishly. “Impossible things.”

  “Why are you doing this?” Kara asked.

  Xindra’s red skin flushed crimson. She bowed deeply.

  “I must apologize again for deceiving you, but this seemed like the most efficient plan for capturing you safely. The guards might have been able to take you back at the Swoop station, of course, but I heard about what you did at the Battle of Clen’s Grave. I know that you are powerful, and I did not want to risk any lives being lost. This is so much cleaner, don’t you think?”

  “You’re helping Rygoth,” Kara said.

  “Oh no,” said Xindra, honestly shocked at the suggestion. “I mean, I’ll be giving Rygoth you and the grim, so from that perspective I suppose what you say has an inkling of truth. But I have no desire to help her. I’ve simply been put in a situation where the only viable solution is to do what Rygoth wants. Surely you understand.”

  Kara stepped closer and pressed her hand against the glass.

  “I really don’t.”

  “I’m so sorry,” Xindra said, bowing again. “I will explain, and this time without duplicity! I received no letter from Timoth Clen. This was a ruse to gain your trust.”

  “Then how did you know we were coming?” asked Taff.

  “There was indeed a letter,” Xindra said. “So part of my story was true! See, not all lies!” She paused, as though waiting for some acknowledgment of her honesty. Looking rather disappointed at Kara’s unaltered expression, Xindra continued. “The only difference was that this letter was from Rygoth and not Timoth Clen. She had recently learned that the grim was stored here. She also knew that you would arrive before her.”