The Ginger Cat

by Lucia Ashta

  I wished she could speak as readily as the owl. There were many mysteries that only she might be able to settle. She might even possess the secret to how we could restore her human body.

  I ran my hand along soft fur, sure that my sister could feel my love no matter which body she inhabited. Sir Lancelot was right. The day had been a terrible one, fraught with danger and impending loss. And though the light of day was fading, it wasn’t yet ready to end.

  We’d suffer from the undead Count’s decisions long after we put distance between him and us. His actions had affected every single one of us, and the damage he’d caused couldn’t be erased as easily as our view of Washur Castle.

  I watched the moon break above the horizon in front of us. She was timid, as if witnessing the trials we were still set to endure made her feel like a voyeur.

  Chapter 2

  Although I was reluctant to speak when Sir Lancelot began, I discovered the conversation was a welcome distraction from the concern of what we’d find up ahead, which grew with each quarter of an hour that passed without discovery of the dragon’s hidden location. Besides, I still had many questions, and it seemed worthwhile to understand the day’s occurrences as well as pass the time.

  After all, once Gertrude and I had taken the fast and unpleasant route to the ground around the Castle of Washur, we hadn’t seen what unfolded next. When I’d last been atop the roof, Count Washur still possessed his dark and terrible magic with the power to kill us all.

  Winston, heir to the House of Chester and my former fiancé, behaved as the Count’s ally. So did Salazar, Marcelo’s nephew and the Count’s son, his allegiance inbred within him since the Count cut him from his dead mother’s womb.

  Sir Lancelot had been nowhere upon that rooftop, and I hadn’t seen him since the dragon knocked both of us to the ground in the castle’s entry courtyard. And the wounded Silvia and Marcelo’s half were notably absent—where would they be if not atop the roof with Marcelo and Mordecai?

  Swords were drawn and gazes were of steel, murderous and determined, when I ran past these men. And then, when I flew, and finally reached Gertrude, only a deep breath before she was to splatter on the ground, whatever ability to think I’d had before, evaporated in a crushing wave of emotion and relief.

  “What exactly happened to you, Sir Lancelot, once the dragon knocked you and me to the ground? How did you end up separated from all of us?” Even as I asked the question, a pang of guilt tweaked within me like a sharp pain. The truth was that I’d completely forgotten about the loyal owl.

  I feared that he might interpret my distraction as a betrayal. Not that I’d done anything particularly wrong or with any intention to abandon him, but I couldn’t imagine it felt nice to be completely forgotten. If any of us had thought of him at all, we might have realized he was likely to be in as much danger outside of the castle as we were within it.

  To my great relief, however, the owl seemed impervious to any such implications of our actions. I hoped it was due to a certainty of our friendship and loyalty to him. “After that monstrous beast knocked you to the ground, and me from your shoulder, Lady Clara, I flew to try to break my fall, since, of course, I’m a bird after all. But I don’t know what happened really. The last thing I remember is being in flight, working to balance myself, and then I don’t remember anything more until I awakened some time later. I deduce that I must have knocked my head on something that forced me into a sleep state. When I finally came to, I could tell time had passed. The sun was high in the sky, when it was still mostly dark when we first entered the courtyard.

  “The courtyard was empty save the dragon, and I was immensely relieved to discover him sleeping. At least then I could have some time to think when I wasn’t in immediate danger. I picked myself up from the ground and managed to hide myself between a gap in the stones. I waited until my senses returned to me fully, but even then I couldn’t find a way to help you if I entered the castle, where I assumed you must all be. As you know, Lady Clara, I can’t perform magic of my own. It was like this that most of the day passed, until Count Bundry and Lord Mordecai finally emerged from the castle with Count Bundry’s nephew, and also with the terrible sight of Count Bundry’s split and Sylvia in grave peril trailing behind them.”

  Sir Lancelot seemed poised to continue speaking, but changed his mind. The day was so burdened that words could do little to ameliorate any of what had come to pass.

  “I’m sorry that we weren’t able to help you after your fall.” I too wanted to say more, to apologize more deeply for having forgotten about him. But it would serve no good purpose. Relieving my guilt might only make him feel worse.

  “Oh, don’t worry about it, Lady Clara.” Sir Lancelot generously shrugged it away with an expressive flap of a wing. “I suspect that little of this day went as we would have wanted it. As we were saying, there are times when we must accept things as they came to pass, and move onward.”

  “You’re incredible, Sir Lancelot. Truly. You’re as great of an owl and a being as I could ever hope to meet.” I meant it, and I got to watch the amusing sight of an owl attempting not to blush.

  “Thank you, Lady Clara,” and then the owl lapsed into moments of silence to digest what had never been said to him before.

  The road was wide enough for a cart to pass there, and I rode up next to Marcelo. “How are you?” I asked gently, while still holding Gertrude.

  Marcelo gave me a long look that said, What do you think? And he said no more. I supposed it was a foolish question. How were any of us? Battered and bruised in body and in spirit.

  We rode on in silence for a few minutes before I asked, “Do you think we’ll find Mordecai and Grand-mère soon?”

  Marcelo looked off into the distance and paused, taking it all in. I realized then how much more he must see in the landscape ahead than I did. He looked for threats and strategic advantages where I only looked for beauty to soothe my soul. “I hope so. I thought we would have encountered them already. Mordecai wanted to stop as soon as he could. The health condition of his patients required his care as soon as was possible.”

  I noted how Marcelo spoke of “patients,” removing himself in what little way he could from the half of him that was dying. I wanted to ask then what would happen if his split did die. What would happen to the Marcelo that rode next to me? Could he survive with half of his body and half of his soul? But one look at my fiancé confirmed that this wasn’t the time for that.

  Marcelo must have understood my growing need to understand what I could of the day’s actions. There was still much that was unresolved and that we couldn’t know how would unfold. Yet there were those things he could explain to me that could do something to alleviate my mounting anxiety, which grew the longer it took us to come upon the dragon’s hiding spot.

  With minimal prompting, Marcelo went on to explain why he’d pushed me outside of the front door of the castle and how it was that I found myself alone in the courtyard, with no way to get back in the door that closed at my back. He told me why I hadn’t seen Sylvia and his injured split atop the roof when I burst out onto it. And he explained how Mordecai had bound Count Washur’s magic.

  “You look shocked,” Marcelo said, a glint of amusement in his eyes for the first time in what seemed like forever, but had probably only been a couple of days.

  “Well, yes. I suppose I am. I’d assumed—for some reason—that you couldn’t bind the magic of someone as powerful as Count Washur.”

  “I don’t think that Washur is any more powerful than Mirvela, and Mordecai bound her magic.”

  “That’s true,” I said. In the rapid-paced danger of the Castle of Washur, I had completely forgotten about the leader of the merpeople that we’d lost to the sea beneath Bundry’s cliffs. I’d also forgotten about Carlton, the butler of the castle in Bundry and the reason Marcelo had split himself in half to begin with. “And what of Carlton? Did you find him?”

  Marcelo shook his head. “I didn’t. I di
dn’t find anyone that knew anything about his disappearance either.”

  “But you came anyway, even if it meant abandoning him.”

  “I had to. There was nothing more I could do to help Carlton that wouldn’t significantly delay my travel to Washur. And I had the feeling that I couldn’t delay any more in coming here.”

  “And you were right. If you hadn’t arrived when you did, all of us, save Sir Lancelot, would be dead now.”

  “Yes.” What else was there to say? Without Marcelo’s intervention, we would all be at the bottom of a dark abyss, if there were any bottom to it. Or we might still be in a free fall that took us farther from the light and any hope of salvation with each depth we plummeted past. Whatever the end of that fall the Count thrust upon us, I knew death, darkness, and despair awaited us there.

  “I could see no end to the fall you saved us from.”

  Marcelo shook his head again. “I doubt there was any. So many of the things that befell us today I’d never seen before. There’s nobody I know of that practices the dark arts with as much impunity as Washur. But I’d read of this type of magic. It’s a fall that, once initiated, has no beginning anymore, and it has no end. It places its victim in a state of suspension where the person experiences falling forevermore, without the possibility of ever reaching a bottom or a top.

  “The amount of time varies before a person succumbs to the spell’s final goal, depending on the strength and integrity of the victim. But eventually, all surrender to despair. And then the darkness can fully infect the soul. After that, the fight is over. The darkness wins.”

  “Yet you saved us from that.” My voice reflected awe, both at the true scope of the danger that had befallen us, and the fact that Marcelo had found a way to save us from it. “How did you do it? I thought The Elementes of Darke Magyke was hidden from you, and along with it the counter spells to its dark magic?”

  “It’s true, my darling, that the Magical Council forbade the magic in The Elementes of Darke Magyke and that, even though Mordecai and Albacus possessed a copy, I wasn’t privy to the information contained within its pages. However, I’m resourceful, and although I didn’t look at the forbidden book until we discovered it in Irele Castle to save Mordecai from Mirvela, I did encounter the particular counter spell I needed to intervene in your fall before today.”

  “But how?”

  “Mordecai was more careful and guarded than Albacus, who wasn’t as concerned about concealing dark magic from me. Albacus was always working on new spells, and it didn’t matter much to him which book he was studying at the time. If he thought of something, he’d write it in the margins of the book he was reading. This particular habit used to drive Mordecai mad. He’d tell Albacus that books, no matter which ones, were sacred and to be respected, that he should use loose paper instead of their library’s bound books. But Albacus either didn’t care or didn’t pay attention.”

  Marcelo smiled. “And I benefited from what Mordecai saw as Albacus’ carelessness. I encountered all sorts of spells and notes that I wouldn’t have learned otherwise.”

  “So Albacus wrote of a spell to counter this free fall into darkness?”

  “Yes, and it was a very lucky fact that he did.”

  “Yes. Very lucky indeed.” I didn’t think I’d ever get used to danger in my life at what seemed like every turn. It was true that life at Norland Manor had bored me and had done nothing to explore my hidden potential. But this life of magic, fraught with so many dangers and so many situations that made me uncomfortable, made me squirm in my saddle. Gertrude purred in question, and I answered with another scratch behind her ears.

  “What were those dark blobs exactly?” I asked.

  “They are darkness in physical form. There is no particular intelligence to them. A dark magician brings them to life with only one purpose in mind.”

  “And that is?”

  “To infect a person, or many people as the case was today, with darkness.”

  I sighed heavily. “Poor Sylvia. I went to her last, and by then the dark blobs had completely sunken into the flesh beneath her scales. Perhaps I should have gone to her before the others. I went as fast as I could, but if I’d gone to her sooner, I could have stopped the blobs before they disappeared all the way into her.”

  “But then the others you spared from the blobs would have suffered.”

  “Yes, but was I right to put Winston before her?”

  Marcelo didn’t answer.

  “I did so only because I thought Sylvia was stronger than Winston and better able to withstand the attack of the blobs.”

  “And you were right to think that.”

  “But was it wrong to save Winston before her? I honestly wouldn’t be saddened if Winston had died.”

  “Nor would I. Yet what you did was right. It’s our duty to save all we can save.”

  But I wasn’t sure if I’d done right. Sylvia, who’d done nothing but try to help us was the one now fighting for her life.

  “And where’s Winston now?” I asked Marcelo, and a crease came to life between his brows.

  “I don’t know. He left the roof by way of the stairs while Mordecai and I faced Count Washur and Sa—my nephew, I mean.” Under the effect of Count Washur’s spell, Salazar wasn’t able to warn us of the dangers of speaking his name. But he’d stopped his uncle halfway enough times that he understood and caught himself before doing any further damage.

  “We didn’t see Winston when we left the roof. Granted, we didn’t look for him either. We were in too great a hurry to get Sylvia and my split to a safe place so Mordecai could treat them. And we were also anxious to get to you and Gertrude, knowing we weren’t yet truly safe.

  “Winston could still be in the castle. Or perhaps he left it.”

  “I didn’t see him exit.” But I also had to admit that I wasn’t paying attention. I was dealing with such intense shock that he might have walked across the hill in front of me and I wouldn’t have noticed.

  “We can worry about him at another time. And if we’re lucky, we won’t have to worry about him at all.”

  We rode in silence for some time, Marcelo scanning the land in front of us. I listened only to the soothing of horse footfalls and looked for nothing at all, at least nothing greater than the soothing of my frayed spirit.

  By the time we spotted the tip of a dragon’s tail sneaking out of a deep cave like magic’s calling card, I enjoyed a fragile sense of calm, Sir Lancelot’s twitching had become infrequent, and Gertrude slept in my arms. Her ginger chest rose and fell reassuringly, reminding me that the risks we took today had been worth it.

  When Marcelo urged us to speed up our horses, I did, anxious to prove to myself that the consequences of these risks were those with which I could live. I longed to see Sylvia and Marcelo’s split alive and well while we rode at a gallop.

  Chapter 3

  I didn’t have to ask how Mordecai’s patients were. Even before I entered the cave, I knew.

  There was something particular about impending death. Somehow, you feel it coming. Maybe it’s the deep silence that infects the patient and those that surround him. Or maybe it’s the Grim Reaper, hiding in the shadows, cloaked in one of those silences you can almost reach out and touch, as dark as its nature. Whatever it was, I felt it, and I could tell that everyone else in that cave could too.

  I was barely able to make out faces. A magical flame equivalent to the light of two candles flickered with more life than the bodies it attempted to illuminate. The lighting was just enough to see the most important thing. It made the breath catch in my throat.

  Sir Lancelot, who had controlled his fearful shaking admirably when we walked past the dragon, lost his composure. The trembling of his petite body ran through my thick riding cloak and into the flesh of my shoulder. I reached up a hand to comfort him without looking. I discovered myself unable to tear my eyes from the split’s face, now gaunt and pale. Could life run through a face that looked so much like death? />
  “I’m all right, Lady Clara,” Sir Lancelot said in a soft quiver. But he didn’t complain when I kept my hand on his back. Eventually, while I waited to formulate thoughts or words that didn’t frighten me, his shaking abated, and finally stopped all together. Like me, I think the pygmy owl gave over to numbness.

  All that happened while we were in that cave seemed to happen without my interference. It was as if I’d become a mere observer of a tragedy. Even when I spoke or acted, it was as if someone else were doing that for me while I watched myself move with a poise and elegance I didn’t possess. Inside, frozen still as I felt, I trembled more violently than Sir Lancelot ever had.

  Like me, Sir Lancelot couldn’t take his eyes from the sight of our friends sprawled across the ground of the cave. Though the ground was covered in small, dislodging rocks, they wouldn’t cause Mordecai’s patients discomfort. Man and firedrake were clearly beyond any small discomfort. They had almost arrived at the place where earthly discomfort could no longer touch them. They might have arrived already. I searched for the rise and fall of their chests, but couldn’t spot any movement in the dim lighting.

  I looked to Marcelo, to the one that still held life. He didn’t meet my glance. Just like I had, he stared at the other half of himself.

  Salazar stood to his side. For the first time since we left Washur, Salazar’s face showed expression, although I wasn’t certain which emotion it revealed. Perhaps Salazar himself didn’t know how he felt then, staring at a split of a man who was his uncle, but who might or might not be the villain Count Washur taught him that Marcelo was.

  Mordecai didn’t meet my searching gaze either. He stared intently at his patients, torn between terrible choices and resignation.

  Finally, I searched out Grand-mère. She crouched down next to the bodies, alongside Mordecai, her firedrake next to her, above Sylvia. Although Mathieu had never met Sylvia before, it appeared that the link between their kind was strong regardless. The male firedrake looked down at Sylvia forlornly. The normally long face of a firedrake stretched out even longer.