The Last Spell

by J. A. White

  “I’m really scared. More scared than I’ve ever been in my entire life.”

  “I’m scared too,” Kara said, “but here’s the good news. You’ve been absurdly brave for so long now—you only have to keep it up a little longer. After this, I give you permission to be a coward for the rest of your life. Seriously. No one will think any worse of you. Speaking for myself, I plan to whimper during thunderstorms and sleep with a hundred candles burning every night. I’ve earned it!”

  Taff grinned.

  “I’m going to scream silly at the sight of snakes,” he said. “And run away from my own shadow.”

  “That’s the spirit!” Kara exclaimed. “Though snakes are actually rather nice.” She kissed him on the cheek. “Try and get some sleep.”

  Taff left the hut with a renewed spring in his step.

  Kara returned to the mirror. While picturing Bethany’s face, she pressed two fingers against the glass. Roiling mist slammed so violently against the other side of the mirror that Kara was certain it would crack.

  The mist dissipated. Bethany appeared.

  Her face was streaked with dirt and tiny scratches. Instead of the black cloak embroidered with a double-fanged spider, she now wore a filthy gray frock.

  Her left ankle was chained to a stake in the ground.

  “Bethany,” Kara said. “Are you all right? What has she done to you?”

  Bethany touched the surface of the mirror in wonder.

  “At last,” Bethany said, scratching at a clump of matted hair. “Rygoth said I had to wait right here next to my grimoire until you contacted me. I tried to escape at first, but . . . since then, I’ve done only as she’s asked. I’ve watched. And waited.”

  “I’m sorry,” Kara said.

  Bethany clasped her hand over her mouth.

  “I’m not allowed to talk to you,” she said. “Rygoth was very clear about that.” She cupped a hand to her mouth and called out, “Guards! Guards!”

  Kara heard footsteps approaching in the distance.

  “Stay strong, Bethany,” Kara whispered. “I’m going to get you out of there. Safi too. It won’t be long now.”

  Bethany met her eyes and gave the slightest of nods. Then the grimoire was lifted into the air and carried for some time—carefully angled upward so that only the night sky was revealed—before being positioned before Rygoth.

  Tonight the Spider Queen wore an emerald-green gown beneath a sheer layer of black lace. Her obsidian throne glimmered in the moonlight. Kara could hear Rygoth’s followers talking and laughing just outside her field of vision.

  Rygoth raised her hand and all talking stopped.

  “I knew it was only a matter of time,” she said. “Have you finally accepted the truth?”

  Though Rygoth’s arrogance made Kara burn with anger, she tried to look as downtrodden as possible.

  “You were right,” she said. “I thought I could defeat you. But after what happened at Kutt—I know it’s pointless to keep fighting. I’m not powerful enough. You’re a far greater wexari than I can ever hope to be.”

  Kara instantly regretted that last sentence. Too much, she thought. Rygoth was vain enough to believe Kara’s sudden obeisance, but not if she made the turnaround too drastic.

  The Spider Queen, however, showed no sign of suspicion, nodding at Kara’s words as though they were expected.

  “I’m pleased to hear that you’ve finally learned your place,” Rygoth said, and Kara quickly looked down, hiding her anger beneath feigned servitude. “But I’m not sure what you hope to gain by telling me this. Soon the Vulkera will be mine. If you’re seeking clemency in the new world to come, I’m afraid you’ve switched sides too late.” She crossed one leg over the other. “This might come as a surprise, but I’m not exactly the forgiving sort.”

  Rygoth’s cronies burst into obsequious laughter. It reminded Kara of the baying of wolves.

  “I have the last grim,” she said.

  The laughter stopped.

  Rygoth sat up in her throne and pointed a single finger at the mirror.

  “Prove it,” she hissed.

  Kara, who had anticipated this request and thus taken the grim into the hut with her, pressed the flap of leather against the mirror. Upon seeing it, Rygoth’s beautiful features contorted into those of a petulant child.

  “What are you doing with that?” she asked. “That’s mine.”

  “Not yet,” Kara replied. “It can be. But there’s something I want in exchange.”

  “What?”

  “My friends. Safi and Bethany.”

  Rygoth waited, assuming that this couldn’t possibly be the sum total of Kara’s request.

  “That’s all?” Rygoth asked. “The seer and a common witch?”

  I’m not asking for enough, Kara thought. She’s going to sense a trap. . . .

  “And I also want your solemn vow that you will allow all of us to live our lives in peace afterward. Not just Safi and Bethany, but my family and me, too. Do what you want to the world, but leave us alone.”

  “What happened to the good little witch who always put others before herself?” Rygoth asked.

  Kara looked away, as though embarrassed to admit the truth.

  “I grew up. The world doesn’t care about me. Why should I return the favor?”

  Rygoth spent a long time staring at Kara before finally nodding with approval.

  “I agree to your terms,” she said. “Where are you?”

  “Swear on it,” Kara said.

  “I could say the words,” she said, “but why would you believe me? You’ll just have to hope I’m telling the truth. Don’t worry. Once I have the Vulkera in my hands, I’ll forget about you and your friends completely. I have no interest in revenge.”

  The lie was so obvious that Kara had to bite back a laugh.

  “I understand,” Kara said. “I can’t keep hiding forever. You’ll find me eventually—I know you will. At least this way I have a chance.” She bowed her head in deference. “I pray that you’ll be merciful.”

  “Yes, yes,” Rygoth said, her patience growing short. “Where are you?”

  Kara took a deep breath. This was the point of no return.

  “The Thickety,” she said.

  The Spider Queen raised her eyebrows.

  “Is that some kind of joke?”

  “It’s the truth,” Kara said. “Auren sold their grim to the Children of the Fold, who brought it to De’Noran. It was buried beneath the Fenroot tree at the center of my old village—which has since been overtaken by the Thickety itself.”

  The details fit, and Rygoth knew it. Kara had been waiting for an opportunity to share this information, hoping that her honesty here would make her earlier claims more believable.

  As Grace had once said, lies went down smoother with a spoonful of truth.

  “Are you in that cursed place right now?” Rygoth asked.

  Kara was gratified to hear the slightest trepidation in the Spider Queen’s voice. It was clear that she had no desire to return to the Thickety, where for two millennia she had been trapped in the body of a giant spider and imprisoned underground.

  Good, Kara thought, remembering what she had told Taff: We have to keep her off-balance, confused.

  “I’m here with the graycloaks,” Kara said. “What’s left of them, at least. They have no desire to fight you, but . . .” Kara shifted from foot to foot and wrung her hands, trying to look as nervous as possible. “I think their presence can only make things . . . I just think it’s important . . . that others . . .”

  “You’re too frightened to face me alone,” Rygoth said, smirking.

  Kara covered her mouth in shock, as though stunned that Rygoth had figured out the truth.

  “But why would the graycloaks help you?” Rygoth asked. “Surely they realize that the grim is not worth the lives of two measly girls.”

  Kara, having anticipated this question, had a response ready.

  “The graycloaks beli
eve that this is a peace treaty between us,” she whispered conspiratorially. “In exchange for the grim, they think you’re going to leave Sentium forever.”

  “Is that so?” asked Rygoth. “They’re not going to be pleased when they find out you’ve lied.”

  “I can handle a few angry graycloaks,” Kara said, shrugging dismissively. “There’s a village near the center of the Thickety. Used to be inhabited, but it was overtaken by notsuns. You know it?”

  “I do.”

  “That’s where we’ll be. How fast can you get to De’Noran?”

  “A few days,” Rygoth said. “Maybe longer.”

  It’ll be tight, Kara thought, but that should give our new arrivals time to prepare. They need to learn the terrain of the Thickety, and also how to work together—

  “Oh!” Rygoth exclaimed, furrowing her brow as though she had just remembered something. “There is just one thing.”

  The Spider Queen rose from her throne and glided toward the mirror with an elegant stride. Beyond her limited field of vision Kara heard dozens—maybe hundreds—of her followers rise to their feet as well.

  Rygoth kept coming closer until her face filled the entire mirror.

  “On the off chance that you might be planning some sort of childish trick, I want you to know that I will not hesitate to kill your friends.”

  “Safi and Bethany remain unharmed,” Kara said. “Or I’ll make sure you never—”

  “Not the girls,” Rygoth said. “Your other friend. The handsome boy who fell from the sky.”

  For a few moments, Kara forgot to breathe.

  “Lucas is alive?” she asked.

  “You didn’t know?” Rygoth asked in mock surprise. “One of my witches snatched him in midair. Didn’t even break a fingernail, lucky boy.”

  Lucas is alive!

  Warmth and energy flowed through her body as the colors of the world grew sharp again. She felt as though she had been returned to life.

  “Look at you,” Rygoth said with a thin smile. “So happy. That’s good. That means you’ll listen closely to what I’m about to say.” Rygoth’s variegated eyes grew as hard as crystals. “I don’t trust you. And if I sense, even for a moment, that you are trying to trick me in some way, the first thing I will do is tear that boy open from head to toe. You think it was hard to lose him once? Imagine what it will be like to lose him again.”

  Rygoth arrived the next morning.

  “No!” Kara exclaimed when Father came to tell her the news. “That’s not possible. She said it would take her days to get—”

  “She lied,” Father said.

  Of course she did, Kara thought, amazed at her own foolishness. Why would she tell the truth about anything?

  This thought led to another, like a crash of thunder after lightning.

  Is Lucas really alive? Or was that a lie too?

  She couldn’t allow herself to think about that now. She needed to remain focused.

  Don’t get distracted. Stick to the plan.

  While Father organized the surprised soldiers as best he could, Kara and Taff rode Shadowdancer up a path that wound even higher than the trees. From here they had a clear view of the shore. Even from this distance they could see the mountainous beast that had landed in the ocean, flooding the beach with its impact.

  “Niersook,” Taff said.

  The creature was perhaps Rygoth’s greatest creation. A drop of its venom could steal a wexari’s magic, and it was capable of transforming into anything from a wagon to a tent. Today, Rygoth was using the carmine-scaled leviathan as a means of transport. Niersook’s spiny head rested on the sand, like a dog on its owner’s knee, and an endless stream of men, women, and monsters marched out its open mouth and joined their allies already standing in the sandy muck.

  “There’s so many of them,” Taff said, his voice trembling. “We don’t have anywhere close to that—”

  “I know,” Kara said.

  Taff had recently received a spyglass from Father, and he now raised the handheld scope to his eye.

  “Who are those people?” he asked, pointing down at an entire squadron shoving and arguing with one another. They wore the same black cloaks as the witches but bore swords and axes instead of grimoires. “Why are they helping Rygoth?”

  “Father warned me this might happen,” Kara said, borrowing the spyglass for a look of her own. “They’re mercenaries. They fight for whoever pays them.”

  “But Rygoth’s bad,” Taff said. “I don’t understand.”

  “Neither do I.”

  More mercenaries were exiting Niersook’s mouth now, these in padded armor, as though Rygoth’s numbers had swelled to such an extent that she had run out of cloaks. Their faces were scarred and tattooed with strange symbols; their eyes glowed with violent anticipation. Kara did not fear them. The graycloaks were accomplished soldiers, and she was certain that they could hold their own against such ruffians.

  What worried her were the monsters.

  Rygoth had been hard at work, and her manufactured army slunk, slithered, and flew onto shore. Kara had monsters of her own, of course, but the recent changes in the Thickety had gentled many dispositions, and truly fearsome creatures were few and far between. Rygoth’s creations, on the other hand, had been engineered for death. Claws hooked like scythes. Wings lined with razor-sharp feathers. Gaping eyes that could swallow as well as blink.

  “This isn’t so bad,” Taff said. “The graycloaks can fight the mercenaries. The monsters can fight one another.”

  “Which means all we have to worry about is the most powerful wexari in the world and her army of witches.”

  “Exactly,” said Taff. “Besides, this isn’t about winning a battle. We just have to hold them off long enough to get the Vulkera. Surprise is our weapon.”

  Kara nodded, though she wondered if they were truly fooling Rygoth. What if she has already anticipated our plan? What if she didn’t even bring the grims? How many will die today because of me?

  She knew they should head back—for there was much to do and little time in which to do it—but she kept watching, refusing to return the spyglass to Taff despite his efforts to snatch it away. Finally she saw Safi, her hands manacled to a single long chain that allowed the twins to drag her through the muck. She saw Bethany, too, flanked by stern-looking witches.

  “Kara,” Taff said. “We really have to go.”

  It was the desperation in her brother’s voice that brought Kara back to reality. He’s right. She handed him the spyglass and pulled herself astride Shadowdancer without looking back.

  It doesn’t mean anything, she thought as they rode away. There were still people coming out of Niersook. It doesn’t mean that Rygoth lied.

  And yet there was no reason to believe that she had told the truth, either. All Kara had to go by right now was a single, terrifying observation.

  She had seen Safi. She had seen Bethany.

  She had not seen Lucas.

  Sordyr was the one who had chosen the notsun village as the rendezvous point. “It’s about as far inland as you can get,” he had explained. “Even if Rygoth lands on the nearest shore, the narrow paths are going to make traveling in such large numbers extremely difficult. It’ll slow her down, maybe even slim her numbers a bit.”

  So far, Sordyr’s plan seemed to be working. Watcher tracked the approaching army carefully, giving Kara constant updates on their torturous progress. The witches stayed close to their queen, but the mercenaries were less focused and tended to wander off. Sometimes they never came back.

  The Thickety was not so dark and scary anymore, but its inhabitants still had to eat.

  Two days had passed by the time Rygoth’s army finally arrived, filing into the clearing just outside the village. They were tired and hungry and in bad spirits.

  Kara’s army was waiting for them.

  She had sent her call for assistance throughout the Thickety, and all manner of creatures had responded: two-headed snakes with acid-b
leached fangs, tall bears with long slashing tentacles instead of claws, tiny balls of venomous fur that floated along the wind like dandelion puffs. Hundreds of birds circled above them, ready to swoop downward and sink their talons into Kara’s enemies. Beneath the ground, razor-toothed worms dug tunnels in preparation for the coming battle; Kara planned to use beetles and fire ants and wanted a clear path.

  Behind Kara’s animals the remaining graycloaks stood in six perfect rows, their ball-staffs clenched across their chests. Some of them rode gnostors, big-bellied beasts that threw their weight from side to side to remain balanced. They were silly-looking but deceptively fast.

  Kara herself sat on Shadowdancer, with Taff astride Darno. Father, Mary Kettle, and Sordyr were right behind them on mounts of their own. All of them wore gray cloaks. Kara hadn’t liked donning the attire of her former enemy, but it was necessary for their plan to work.

  “When should I release this?” Mary asked.

  She held a kite in her hands whose magic was controlled by a wind-spun needle that would stop at one of four pictures. Taff called the kite his “favorite complication.”

  “When the fighting starts. We want things to be as chaotic as possible.”

  Tightly packed trees created borders to either side of them. The clearing was immense. It would take an hour’s walk to traverse it, and yet the distant figures of Rygoth’s army still managed to stretch from one end to the other, in more rows that Kara could count.

  They were badly outnumbered.

  For now, Kara thought.

  A black flag bearing a double-fanged spider rose high over Rygoth’s forces, flapping madly in the wind.

  “How come we don’t have a flag?” Taff asked.

  “Next time,” Kara said. “How close do you have to get to do your part?”

  “A lot closer than this. On the other side of the field.”

  “I’ll get you there,” Kara said. “You’re only going to get one chance, so make it count.”

  “Don’t worry. I’ve been practicing!”

  “Father,” Kara said, glancing over her shoulder, “did Breem give all the graycloaks—”

  “They’re ready,” he said. “As ready as they’re going to be, at any rate.”