by Lucia Ashta
“He might not be able to feel at all anymore. He doesn’t care if he kills, because he’s already dead inside. He’s dead, but not. He’s undead.”
I recognized that Mordecai’s purpose in sharing this research with us was to empower us to face our opponent with knowledge. Knowledge was power, always.
But I didn’t feel even a bit stronger. It was bad enough having seen what Count Washur was capable of first hand. Now, I knew we’d be facing the undead.
My heart sank to my feet, where I kicked it around, shuffling my feet about to give my nerves something to do until they’d forget about the ghastly image Mordecai had just painted for us.
Chapter 13
“Sir Lancelot? Did I forget to mention anything?”
“No, Lord Mordecai. I think you pretty much summed it up.” Even the owl sounded glum.
“Good. So let’s begin planning our rescue then.”
“How can you be so cheery after what you just told us?” Marcelo asked.
“My son, I’ve taught you better than this. It’s not what happens to us in life that matters. It’s how we react to it that does. It’s what we have control over.
“You’ll see. Somehow, this knowledge will serve us. And Washur is no more fearful than we already understood him to be.”
Mordecai could speak for himself on this point. I was more unnerved than I’d been any other time I thought of the man that held my little sister captive.
“The fear you feel now will pass, just as it always does. This is our appointed path. For whatever reason, this is the path that’s been carved out for us. We can’t hesitate now. Our decisions have been made.”
“But why do you think he wants Clara? I understand he’d want to control Clarissa’s son. He’s just another pawn in his game. He’s shaped him to be someone he can manipulate and control. I understand that. After he killed Clarissa, it was the logical next step for someone like him. But why Clara?” Marcelo was shaking his head. “I haven’t been able to figure out what it is about her specifically that Count Washur wants.”
“Haven’t you, my son? Surely you’ve seen it already. Clara isn’t like anyone else. Do you doubt that Washur sees this too? With how powerful he is? Do you not think that he senses that Clara’s magic could shift the magical world?”
Marcelo stopped shaking his head to look up at Mordecai, realization evident across eyes filled with sudden alertness.
“Do you remember what the runes said, my son?”
“No, not precisely. Something about a shift in power of the magical world.”
“Yes, that’s the idea. They said that a magician was coming who would lead the magical world to a new age of enlightenment.”
Mordecai, Marcelo, and Sir Lancelot stared at me. “The runes never lie. I believe she’s the one.”
I blinked.
Chapter 14
“By ‘the one,’ you don’t mean that I’m the one, right? It’s not like I’m expected to be some kind of prophet or savior, right? Because I’m not. I’m definitely not. I don’t know what I’m doing half the time. No, more than that. I don’t know what I’m doing almost all the time. Whatever magic I manage is pure luck.”
“Well, my child, I’ll argue with you on one point. Your magic isn’t ‘pure luck,’ and I don’t conceive you’d actually believe that yourself. If the runes tell me someone is to come that will lead the magical world into an age of enlightenment, all that might mean is that this person—you—will discover a new way of doing magic. That might be very important to the magical world.
“I realize you’re relatively new to the world of magic, and despite Sir Lancelot’s wonderful lessons in magical history, there’s still much you don’t understand. The magical world has become somewhat stagnant, complacent, and corrupt. I’ve watched you closely. I believe your ability to access magic in the natural and automatic way you do is tied to how you are. You operate from a place that isn’t controlled by thoughts, and that’s a new way of doing magic for most magicians. For most witches and wizards, magic is something learned from books and teachers. I can’t say I blame them. That’s how it’s always been done.
“Your ability to focus in on the elements is particularly fascinating. Your appreciation for each element, and for them all combined, pushes anything else away.” Mordecai leveled his gaze at the center of my chest, where I could already feel the five-petal knot of the elements thrumming contentedly. “Everything about how you are combines to provide you with the ability to perform magic in a novel way. You give yourself to magic, and it gives itself to you.”
I couldn’t help but see the irony in what Mordecai said. All my childhood, Mother scolded me for being the way I was. Being spirited and a dreamer with ideas of my own served no purpose for a lady, she’d say. The sooner I rid myself of these ridiculous notions of a life that meant something more than tradition and lineage, the sooner I’d be happy with my good fortune at having been born into a line as noble as the House of Norland. The everyday activities of a lady should be more than enough to satisfy me, and the fact that teas with insipid conversation about the latest fashion or wedding engagements didn’t fascinate me was incomprehensible to her.
And now it was evident that those very things that she tried to breed out of me were what gave me an advantage in the magical realm. Life never ceased to surprise me.
“Clara, once other magicians become aware that there’s a more—what’s the word? It’s not gentle, because your magic is powerful. That’s it, graceful, yes—a more graceful and natural way to do magic, many of the witches and wizards might accept the idea of instinctual magic. All sorts of positive changes are possible. When people honor who and how they are, everything goes more smoothly, for them and everyone else around them. The age of enlightenment the runes speak of can be this.”
“I suppose that’s nice then.”
“My child, it’s quite a bit more than nice. You’ll soon see. At least, I hope you will. We better get to figuring things out if we are to survive this rescue mission. My son, will you hand me the runes? That’s always the best place to start, and now my brother’s not here to argue with me about that.”
Marcelo rose from the settee. “They are right there, atop the piano.”
Mordecai was never far from his runes.
I rose too. From the times when I saw Mordecai using them at the castle in Irele, I knew these were no ordinary runes.
Marcelo loosened the string on the bag, faded and worn from ages of use, and handed it to Mordecai, who smiled his thanks. The old man cleared a space on the table next to him with a sweep of his arm. Books and parchment were relegated to the background in an inelegant mess.
Mordecai didn’t even look at the bag. Instead, he was concentrating on something else—a spell, I guessed. Then he put his hand inside the pouch, pulled some of the runes out, and flung them on the table. His hand went back in the bag and emerged with a second handful that he sprinkled atop the others.
Then he waited. And we waited.
Only a minute passed before the runes began moving of their own will, or Mordecai’s spell, or both. This was magic no one had taught me. If it wouldn’t help me to battle the undead Count Washur, then no one bothered with it, and they’d barely bothered with what I did need to know.
The runes, small flat stones with a single carving on each one, slid around on the wooden table, not caring about its carefully polished surface any more than Mordecai did. A few sat atop another, and they slid off the one they were on to join the shuffle. Eventually, they made final adjustments and predicted their version of the future.
I waited for a few beats patiently. But my present company had worn my patience thin. “Well? What is it?”
“I don’t understand,” Marcelo said. “How can it be that this is showing up again?”
“What’s showing up again?”
“I don’t know, my son. It does seem peculiar, doesn’t it? That what the runes predict is a situation so similar to Count Was
hur’s attack on Irele. And though it’s not quite the same, there are clearly some similarities here.”
“But what can it possibly mean, Mordecai? There can’t be another Salazar, can there? My sister didn’t have twins, did she?”
“I suppose it’s possible. But I don’t believe that’s what the runes are saying. Although, as you know, nothing with runes is precise.”
I didn’t know this. I knew next to nothing about the runes, and I certainly didn’t know what these particular runes were saying right now. Yet, Mordecai continued. “In hindsight, it’s always clear what the runes predicted.”
“Will someone please tell me what’s going on?”
“Lady Clara,” Sir Lancelot began, coming to my rescue yet another time. “The runes are showing that there’s someone involved, who resembles one of us. Similarly to how the runes predicted that someone like Lord Bundry, but not Lord Bundry, would be involved in the attack on Irele, if you recall.”
Of course I recalled. The runes predicted Salazar as another version of Marcelo, and I had visions that showed me both a younger and an older version of Marcelo. This was all quite confusing at the time. But, as Mordecai just pointed out, hindsight clarified these points.
“Lord Mordecai, is there an indication that there will be a blood connection as well?” Sir Lancelot gestured imprecisely with a wingtip.
“Hmm, perhaps, Sir Lancelot.” Mordecai ran fingertips across the undulations of the single braid that contained his long beard. “You know, I think you might be right, my little owl friend. That looks like a signal of blood as well as similarity in other ways.”
Magician and owl, who both lived outside of the normal rules of life and death, peered down at the runes. Marcelo looked out the window.
“What does it mean?” Marcelo said to no one in particular.
“It’s Gertrude,” I said.
Three sets of eyes took me in, until Mordecai began to laugh a low rumble of a chuckle that shook the braid of his beard. “Why of course! It must be.”
“She looks very much like me. And we are, of course, related by blood.”
“That makes perfect sense, child.”
“I’m not so sure, Mordecai,” Marcelo said. “The runes seem to be telling about something else. Maybe Gertrude is part of it, but I’m not sure that’s all of it.”
“Well, son. You know how this works. We’ll find out soon enough.” But Mordecai wouldn’t let the message of the runes drop there. He’d continue to spin possibilities long after we stepped away from the table.
Mordecai stood. He pulled a timepiece from the folds of his cloak. Despite the antiquated quality of his dress, he preferred it to the tailored waistcoat Marcelo wore. “It’s almost time for luncheon. Let’s break here and gather our energy and wits. Afterward, let’s begin our attack plan in earnest.” He met eyes with Marcelo, and then Sir Lancelot. It was obvious that they’d be doing the planning. I didn’t take offense. I realized I was no master of war strategy.
“And that should give me just enough time to arrange for Sylvia to join us.”
“Sylvia?” I brightened. I’d become fond of the firedrake and had thought of her more than once since Mordecai left her behind in Irele to help the butler, Robert, guard the castle.
“Yes. I’d already thought of calling her to us anyway. But now I’m sure that I absolutely must. If we’re to face a dragon, we’ll need her.”
“A dragon? We’ll face a… dragon?”
Mordecai traced a path across the runes with a crooked pointer finger. “Right there. Without a doubt, we’ll come across a dragon.”
I leaned in to see what he was signaling, even though I suspected it wouldn’t mean anything to me. A two-sided squiggly line touched a rectangular one.
“Wasn’t an undead magician who’s a master of the forbidden dark arts enough?” I muttered mostly to myself. Still, Mordecai answered. “I guess not, my child.”
He clapped another hand on my shoulder. “Now, we must trust that the course is what it should be. Our job’s not to question it, but to do our best to take the wisest steps down its path.”
Then he walked off to call his firedrake. From the window, Marcelo stared down at the treacherous ascent to the castle. Only Sir Lancelot offered me doleful eyes and an endearing owl smile.
Chapter 15
The afternoon had been a series of back-and-forths between Mordecai and Marcelo. They debated options, rejecting the extremely far-fetched ones, entertaining some I didn’t even imagine possible, and, finally, accepting the uncomplicated.
We weren’t an army, nor did we have the support of one. The Castle of Bundry didn’t possess a makeshift force sworn to defend it and its inhabits like Irele did.
We accepted that we were in for surprises and that any plan might turn out to be irrelevant in the end. The final strategy was simple. We’d gather our strength and approach at the break of daylight.
Departure for Washur was scheduled for as soon as Sylvia arrived, which Mordecai assured us would take no more than three days’ time. Apparently, he’d entrusted her with additional responsibilities on her way over here.
“Will Sylvia not need to rest before we take off?” I asked. It was the first time I’d spoken since the deliberations of war planning had begun in earnest.
Mordecai flicked me a look. “Of course not. She’s a firedrake.”
Of course. I made a mental note to read up on firedrakes at my earliest opportunity. One of the books in this huge castle must have relevant information. At this point, I’d given up on relying on my teachers to, well, teach me.
I paused for a beat, but then asked anyway. “And why would we attack in the daytime instead of at night as they attacked us? Isn’t darkness an advantage in concealing our approach?” I hadn’t forgotten that Count Washur was once considered to be the dreadful Dracula. Was it just coincidence that Mordecai planned our approach in sunlight, which was theoretically deadly to vampires?
“My child, it’s unlikely we’ll surprise someone like Washur. Besides, the cover of darkness isn’t an advantage when we’re facing darkness such as his. The dark arts become even more powerful in the nighttime, when horrible secrets and actions can be more easily hidden. There’s a reason that the monsters of legends typically operate in the nighttime. The darkness of the night seems to feed their power, or at the very least it helps them to feel more comfortable in the invisibility it offers them. They wear nighttime like a cloak.”
“You think Count Washur is a monster then?” I asked.
“My dear, there’s a seed of truth in all folklore. Sometimes the legend is exaggerated, but most of the times, it’s not. It’s impossible to say what a magician as dark as Washur, who’s lived as long as he has, might have done throughout his lifetime. But I can only think that many of those things would make a non-magical observer consider him a monster.”
Suddenly, Mordecai became intently focused on something in the runes. “I know there’s something else the runes are trying to tell us. Someone of the blood will be involved in the attack, and I’m just not fully convinced it’s Gertrude anymore.”
I wasn’t sure I could handle any more surprises of blood and lineage, I thought, as I went to sit in an armchair that looked out a window. The web was tangled enough as it was.
Sometimes you just had to let go and trust.
This was one of those times.
Chapter 16
Sylvia arrived in two days instead of three, her arrival punctuated by a shrieking cry that could only be that of a firedrake. At least, that’s what I thought. I still hadn’t researched firedrakes, but I couldn’t imagine another animal being able to instill such an unsettling feeling within my body with a single cry.
We were sitting at the dinner table. My nerves were on edge. Any unexpected movement or sound, no matter how subtle, made me jump, aware that the threat of danger could come from everywhere, even the most unlikely places.
When I heard the shrill cry pierce the windowpa
nes of the dining room, there was a part of me that knew it must be Sylvia. After all, I’d heard this same cry when Count Washur and his army attacked Irele. However, it wasn’t my first thought. Before Mordecai jumped from the table to receive his pet, a rapid shiver pulsed across my body, from top to bottom, and then radiated out from my center to fully disperse.
If this was what a firedrake felt like, I shuddered to think how powerful a dragon might be.
I didn’t know when we’d face the dragon the runes predicted. Marcelo and I hadn’t noticed one when Winston took us to Washur Castle as captives. I imagined a dragon would be noticeable, but the castle had been completely still, eerily so. A dragon, and worse—could there be worse?—could lurk anywhere in the cavernous castle. I hadn’t forgotten the enormous dogs Count Washur had used in his attack on Irele, although each one that entered the courtyard perished there. Nor would I ever forget the monstrous elephants, darker than a moonless night. All but the elephants Salazar and Count Washur had escaped with had died there that night. Would we have to face them again, and this time without the aid of Irele’s capable soldiers? The dwarves, elves, rabbits, wolves, and Janice were too far away to help us this time; and the gargoyles were back to their decorative stations.
Like last time, we were heading into this attack mostly blind, carrying it out only because we had no better choice. Before, Count Washur had attacked us. Now—again—he was forcing our hand. If we wanted to rescue our loved ones, we had to go to him.
We rose from the dining room table in unison to welcome a hopeful sight. Any addition to our team would have been uplifting, but seeing Sylvia fly across a sky filled to bursting with pinks and oranges lifted my heart further than I knew possible.