The Last Spell

by J. A. White

  “But why was the grimoire evil to begin with? And so powerful? Minoth told me you designed it as a bauble, nothing more.”

  “How in the world do you know that?”

  Quickly, Kara summarized her encounters with the Sablethorn headmaster, both in the Well of Witches and in the past. Sordyr hung on every word, thirsting for news of his old mentor.

  “You’ve been busy,” he said, chuckling to himself. “Truth be told, I don’t know why my gift to Evangeline contained such power. Or such darkness. But the fault must be mine. I made it. I was so eager to impress Rygoth, and I never should have attempted something so—”

  “What about the other grimoires?” Kara asked. “The ones that the people of Kala Malta produced in the Bindery? Were they made a different way than the Vulkera?”

  “No,” Sordyr said. “I changed the process a little so the grimoires could be mass produced, but the primary method remained the same.”

  “Then why aren’t they as powerful?”

  “Think of magic as a raging fire. The other grimoires are warmed by its heat. The Vulkera is the fire itself. The source.”

  “I thought the Well of Witches was the source of the grimoires’ power,” Kara said, confused. “Unless”—thoughts inscribed across paperlike ground, parchment sky, borders like leather-bound walls—“is the Well of Witches inside the Vulkera?”

  “No,” Sordyr said. “The physical Well of Witches is where Phadeen used to be, the place where Minoth would train wexari. Much easier for the Vulkera to corrupt a preexisting magical reality than to create a new one. The Vulkera—its role in this is a bit harder to explain, and this is only my theory, mind you—”

  “The Well is the body, the Vulkera is the soul. If the Vulkera is bad, all the grimoires are bad.”

  Sordyr tipped his mug in her direction. “A little simplistic, but probably as close as we’re going to get.”

  “Except that’s impossible,” Kara said.

  “Why’s that?” asked Sordyr with interest.

  Kara smiled, surprised to find that she was enjoying their conversation immensely. Was this what it was like in Sablethorn? Students debating the various intricacies of magic?

  She would have loved it.

  “Once Evangeline cast her Last Spell, the Vulkera became a direct link to the Well of Witches, which makes it more powerful than any other grimoire,” Kara said. “That all makes sense. But if it’s the Well that gives the Vulkera its power, how did the Vulkera have enough power to create the Well in the first place? That’s not the type of magic it should have been capable of.”

  “Ah,” said Sordyr, nodding in appreciation. “Like the chicken and the egg. You’re right, of course. That’s always been the weak point in my little theory. I could never really come up with a satisfactory explanation.” He noted Kara’s wide-eyed expression. “But it looks like you might have a theory of your own to share.”

  Kara stood up and stretched her back. Her shoulder was beginning to throb like mad, but she blocked out the pain and focused on the matter at hand. Answers that had eluded her for far too long finally felt within her grasp, and yet she hesitated, questioning the wild ideas that had seemed so feasible in her head.

  Am I even thinking clearly right now? Will Sordyr laugh at me?

  Only one way to find out.

  “Princess Evangeline was wexari,” Kara said, and Sordyr’s eyes widened with surprise. “Her father knew it, but he wasn’t a supporter of Sablethorn and the last thing he wanted was his beloved daughter becoming one of them. So he built Evangeline a castle way out in the middle of the desert, where her powers could remain a secret. My guess is that somehow Rygoth learned of the girl’s talents. That’s why she traveled to Dolrose Castle to become the king’s adviser after she was expelled. If Sablethorn didn’t want her, Rygoth would just start her own army of witches. Only there was a flaw in Rygoth’s plan. According to those who met her before Rygoth’s arrival, Evangeline was a happy little girl. There was no darkness in her. So Rygoth changed that.”

  Sordyr started to take a sip from his tea and noticed that his mug was empty. He went back to the kettle and refilled it. Kara hesitated a moment, waiting for him to tell her that she was being ridiculous.

  “Go on,” he said instead.

  “Rygoth stole Evangeline’s memories. Not all of them, mind you. Just the happy ones. Imagine what that would be like. If all of a sudden you had no memory of any hugs or laughter or kind words—of anyone having ever loved you. I don’t think Evangeline was evil at all. I think Rygoth tore that poor girl’s mind apart until there was nothing left but a dark, empty shell.”

  “How do you know for sure?” Sordyr asked.

  “Princess Evangeline’s spirit still resides in the Vulkera,” Kara said, wrapping her arms around her chest. “When I touched a section of it, I felt what it was like to be her. It was terrible, like being swallowed by darkness. Her presence became even stronger when I brought two grims close together. She spoke to me.”

  “What did she say?”

  “‘Who are you?’” Kara said, hearing the girl’s haunted voice in her mind. “I didn’t reply. I was too scared.”

  “I doubt she would have heard you anyway,” Sordyr said. “To actually communicate with her spirit, I think you’d need to restore the Vulkera completely.”

  “So I’m right?” Kara asked with rising excitement.

  Sordyr mulled this over. He brought the mug to his lips, his hand shaking slightly. Then he dumped the tea on the ground and filled the mug with liquid from a flask inside his cloak.

  “Do you know why Rygoth is more powerful than other wexari?” he asked.

  The question, seemingly off-topic, caught Kara unawares.

  “She was born with a gift,” Kara said. “Well, a gift for her. A curse for everyone else. I didn’t think it went deeper than that.”

  “It does,” Sordyr said. “And to truly understand Rygoth, you need to understand the source of her abilities.” He paused a moment, as if unsure where to begin. “One of the first things you’re taught at Sablethorn is the importance of the Balance. You must give a piece of yourself in order to cast a spell. That’s how nature guarantees that no one wexari grows too powerful. For some it’s a physical sacrifice. Each spell costs a headache or an upset stomach, minor ailments like that. It gives wexari limits, keeps them humble.” Sordyr held out his two hands, perfectly level. “Balance. Cast an overly ambitious spell, and magic will dig its fangs into you and take all it can. Many wexari, overestimating their own skills, have lost the ability to walk or see. The greater the spell, the greater the cost. Balance.”

  Kara remembered what it was like when she created Topper, the memories spilling out of her like a punctured sack of grain.

  “It isn’t always a physical sacrifice, of course,” Sordyr continued. “Other wexari trade minutes from their life, their ability to think and reason. And some, as you know, trade their memories. One of the most dangerous exchanges, in my opinion.”

  “What about Rygoth?” Kara asked. “What does she exchange?”

  Sordyr turned away from her. Candlelit shadows flickered against his back.

  “Rygoth is a special case,” he said softly. “The rarest. And the most powerful. Each time she casts a spell she exchanges a piece of her soul. I doubt there’s anything human left in her by this point, but she was good once.” He smiled sadly. “That must be so hard for you to believe.”

  Kara shook her head. “I know how magic can change a person.”

  With a weary sigh, Sordyr sat back down and indicated that she should do the same.

  “Your theory about Evangeline being an unidentified wexari is definitely possible,” he said. “If that were the case, her talent certainly would have augmented the power of the grimoire. And I also agree that Rygoth was probably stealing her memories. Corrupting others to suit her needs is how she operates—I think we can both appreciate that. But now I have a question for you. What does it matter if Evang
eline was evil to begin with or another of Rygoth’s victims? It doesn’t change what happened. What’s done is—”

  “Did you make it so that grimoires could only be used by girls, or did that happen after Evangeline?” Kara asked.

  Sordyr stared at her, utterly baffled.

  “I don’t understand why that matters.”

  “Just answer the question. Please.”

  “I have no idea why only girls can use grimoires,” Sordyr said. “I’ve never understood it.”

  Kara clapped her hands with excitement.

  “So that was Evangeline’s doing too!” she exclaimed. “I knew it! That proves I’m right!”

  “I’m a little lost,” Sordyr said, running a hand through his unkempt hair.

  “Minoth told me that magic wasn’t evil,” Kara said. “He said that it was sick—and that I was the one meant to heal it. I think I finally know how.”

  “Tell me.”

  Kara explained her plan. Sordyr listened carefully. In the end, he agreed that there was a possibility that it might work—a minor possibility—but that the risks were far too great.

  “Even if everything else in your mad idea comes to pass, the last spell that you’re suggesting has never been attempted before. It’s not the type of magic that you walk away from unchanged—if you walk away at all.”

  “But if it works . . .”

  “It won’t. Such a spell would take a master wexari—I don’t even know if Minoth Dravania himself could—”

  “But if—”

  “You’ll die, Kara!” Sordyr exclaimed.

  Silence shrouded the room.

  “The Balance, right?” Kara finally asked. “I understand. It doesn’t matter. It has to be me. I feel like everything in my life has led to this point. This is why I was given these powers. This is what I was born to do.” She poked Sordyr’s chest with a single finger. “Don’t you tell my father or brother what I’m planning! You understand me? I’ll turn you back into a Forest Demon, I swear it. I mean, I have no idea how to actually do that, but I’ll figure something out. . . .”

  Sordyr bowed gallantly.

  “You are a true wexari,” he said. “I realize that might not mean much, coming from me, but it’s what I believe.”

  Kara touched her hand to his cheek.

  “It means a lot,” she said. “And no matter what people might think, you are not a monster. You never were. The Forest Demon was just a prison that Rygoth trapped you in. This is the real you . . . my friend.”

  Kara went outside. Night had fallen, and the canopy leaves glowed with stored light, casting the forest in a greenish hue. She mounted Shadowdancer, pausing just a moment to nod to Sordyr in the doorway. He nodded back. It might have just been her imagination, but Kara thought he stood taller than before.

  The morning after speaking to Sordyr, Kara pulled Taff aside and gave him a basic outline of her plan. First, they would convince Rygoth to come to De’Noran. Then they would steal her grims. Finally, Kara would cast a spell from the completed Vulkera powerful enough to destroy the Spider Queen forever.

  Taff could barely contain his excitement. There was no doubt in his mind that they were going to defeat the Spider Queen and save Safi.

  He believed in the plan. He believed in her.

  It made the fact that Kara was lying to him that much worse.

  I don’t have a choice, she told herself. Taff would never go along with this if he knew the risk I was taking.

  Kara assuaged her guilt by focusing on the fact that most of what she had told her brother was the truth. She really did plan on stealing the Vulkera from Rygoth. She just hadn’t worked out how to make this happen yet.

  “I need your help,” Kara told Taff. “I can’t match Rygoth’s power, so it’ll be best if we keep her off-balance, confused. What we need more than anything else are complications.”

  She had never seen Taff smile so wide.

  In two days he had worked out a plan, which he gleefully explained through the use of maps, illustrations, clay models, and several sock puppets. There were even more complications than Kara had anticipated, and though her instinct was to simplify matters, she didn’t change a thing.

  I have no idea how long it will take to cast this spell, and the extra confusion may buy me a few precious minutes.

  Once the plan was settled, they brought it to Mary and Father.

  “I have a task for each of you . . . ,” Kara began.

  Mary agreed without hesitation and marched off to her workshop, anxious to get to work. Father was more reluctant. He still viewed De’Noran as a sanctuary where they could build a new life. Once Rygoth discovered their location, that chance would be lost forever.

  “We have to risk it,” Kara said. “This is the only way to stop her for good.”

  “By leading her straight to the last grim?” Father asked. “That’s madness! We must remain hidden. That’s the safest plan.”

  “Not for the innocent people that Rygoth murders while we do nothing!”

  Father winced, her words striking a nerve.

  “We need to be patient,” he said weakly, as though trying to convince himself. “When Rygoth accepts the treaty that the leaders—”

  “Oh, please,” Kara said. “Once those cravens bend their knees to Rygoth, do you really think she’ll stop searching for the final piece of the Vulkera? The Spider Queen doesn’t care about being in charge. She only cares about the magic. We’ll never be safe. Not as long as she’s alive.”

  Father met Kara’s eyes. At first his expression was defiant, as though he were readying a counterpoint to her argument, but then his eyes suddenly welled up with tears.

  “I only just got you back,” he said. “The thought of losing you again . . . and Taff . . .”

  It’s not that he doesn’t want to stop Rygoth, Kara suddenly realized. He’s not afraid for himself at all. He’s frightened for his children.

  “I don’t need you to protect me,” she said, pressing her head against his chest. “I’m wexari.”

  “You’re my daughter,” Father said. “I’ll always want to protect you. But I also know that you’re the only one who can put an end to this.” He held her close and sighed with resignation. “What do you need me to do?”

  Kara sketched out Father’s role in their plan, and then went to see the last person whose help they required: Breem. Safi’s father had once been a giant of a man, but he had lost weight and gained wrinkles since they last saw him. His eyes were haunted by the loss of his only child, and though he was too kind-hearted to admit it, there was little doubt that he blamed Kara. Nevertheless, Breem was eager to do anything that might return Safi to his arms, and quickly agreed to their odd request.

  After that, all Kara could do was wait until these initial tasks were completed. Long, empty hours stretched into weeks. Her shoulder healed. The pain of losing Lucas did not. She spent her days hiking the beautiful trails of the Thickety, thinking of him while reaching out to animals all over the island.

  Be ready, she told them. I’ll need you soon.

  At long last, just when Kara thought she might go mad from impatience, the tasks were finally completed.

  Now it was her turn.

  She stood alone in an abandoned hut, staring at the only piece of furniture in the room: a full-length mirror, its frame fitted with long candles. Kara checked her reflection in the nimbus of light. She was wearing a cream-colored nightdress and no shoes. Her hair was purposefully mussed and there were quarter-moon shadows beneath her eyes. She looked like a girl who had lost all hope and was unable to sleep.

  Perfect.

  Back in the Hourglass Tower, Rygoth had claimed that Kara would one day come to her after realizing that there was no use resisting anymore. For this to work, it was important for Rygoth to believe that she was right.

  I’m ready. I’ve thought of everything. There won’t be any surprises.

  Someone knocked at the door.

  Kara jumped at th
e unexpected sound. She had given specific directions to the graycloaks posted outside the hut that she was not to be disturbed under any circumstances. More bewildered than upset, she crossed the room and turned the doorknob, only realizing at the last moment the horrifying possibility that Querin had come for payment at last.

  No, Kara thought, her heart racing as the door swung open and began to reveal a small figure in the shadows. Not now, not now . . .

  It was only Taff. Kara gasped with relief.

  “Sorry,” he whispered, and behind him the two guards shrugged, as if to say: What could we do? “I didn’t hear any voices, so I figured you hadn’t started yet.”

  “What is it?” Kara asked.

  “I need you to do something for me,” he said, slipping into the room. Kara closed the door behind them. “It was supposed to be Mary’s job, but Mary is a toddler right now, so I think I better do it. Only my mind keeps racing, jumping from one thing to another, and I’m so afraid that I’ll forget. And that would be really bad.”

  He handed her a small sticky ball that looked like partially chewed taffy. It was a familiar shade of red.

  “Mary tried to make it the same exact color as the Vulkera, so Rygoth wouldn’t notice it. I mean, I’m sure she’d find it eventually, but I figure everything will happen so fast . . .”

  “This goes on our grim, right?” Kara asked, turning the taffy in her fingers. “Any special way to do it?”

  Taff shook his head.

  “Just smoosh it on there. Thanks. I’m just so worried that I’ll forget, and then my part won’t work at all—”

  Taff started toward the door and then smacked himself in the forehead.

  “Oh!” he exclaimed. He tore off half the taffy in Kara’s hands and stuck it in his pocket. “Almost forgot. See what I mean? I can’t think straight. I’m so worried that I’m going to mess up. You’re counting on me and I don’t know if you noticed this but I’m only eight and—”

  “You’ll be brilliant,” Kara said. “Like always.”