Hapenny Magick

by Jennifer Carson

  Aletta crossed her arms. She stared at Callum, eyebrow raised in a near-perfect I-told-you-so arc. Her lips pursed.

  Callum shook his head and swept off his hat, twisting it in his hands. “I refuse to believe that Gythal would make a mistake like that. There has to be another explanation.” He shooed Mae away and paced in front of his worktable. “How would you explain the fact that Gelbane is in the Wedge in the first place?”

  Mae shook her head. “I don’t know, but I’m certain. When she is very angry with me…I see fangs. I always thought it was my imagination, but now I know it isn’t.”

  Aletta shifted and clasped her hands in her lap. “What if Gelbane knew our Maewyn possessed the potential for magick? What if she doesn’t like magick because it is the only thing that can reveal her true form?”

  “But trolls don’t have magick!” Mae exclaimed.

  “Hapennies don’t have magick, either,” Aletta said.

  Mae swallowed as a cold shiver ran through her. If hapennies could have magick, why couldn’t trolls have magick, too?

  “Gelbane could’ve conjured up a leyna charm to pass as a hapenny,” Aletta said.

  “What’s a leyna charm?” Mae asked.

  “It’s a spell that produces a magickal skin that makes you look like something, or someone, else,” Aletta answered.

  “Trolls have been known to acquire a bit of magick.” Callum nodded. “A few trolls in the past have been quite powerful. I suppose it is possible, but it is rare, and it still doesn’t explain how she came to be in the Wedge in the first place.”

  How could a troll have gotten trapped in the Wedge? Maybe Gelbane was hiding and couldn’t find a way out of the Wedge without being noticed. Maybe… “What if two trolls were responsible for the disappearances before?” Mae asked. “One was caught, and the other, Gelbane, hid. But then Gelbane was trapped in the Wedge by the spell on the bridge. Trolls couldn’t get in, but they wouldn’t be able to get out, either. She could have made the leyna to escape notice.”

  “Keeping up a constant disguise would take a great toll,” Aletta said.

  Mae snapped her fingers. “That’s explains why she is always grouchy.”

  “Grouchy just goes with the territory.” Callum turned to the bookshelf again. He ran his fingers over the ancient gold lettering on the spines until he reached the title he was looking for: Trolls, Goblins, Hobgoblins, Brownies, Orcs, and other Nasty Faeries Who May or May Not Actually Exist—A Compendium.

  Mae sneezed as dust from the cover filled the room.

  “I’ll have to renew that housekeeping spell,” Callum said. “It seems the feather dusters are getting a little lazy.”

  Callum laid the book on the worktable. Aletta joined him. He opened the cover and, using the braided end of his beard like a duster, swept it across the pages. “Trolls, if you would be so kind.”

  The pages of the book flipped rapidly, then stopped. Mae stood on tiptoe at the edge of the table. She could just see the illustration. Drawn in walnut-colored ink was a stout beast with long, disheveled hair and fangs sprouting out from under his upper lip. His arms were too long for his body and on the ends of his fingers were talons sharp as knives.

  Callum read aloud.

  “‘According to Legend and hearsay, trolls can often be found near mountains, caves, and burrows, under hills, and in shaded dells. They are most often seen at dawn or dusk and at the edge of forests or wooded glades. Trolls stay out of the sun due to the drying nature of its rays on their skin, but like to wander on rainy days. They do not tolerate noise well, and it is said they can be driven away with the ringing of bells. Trolls are collectors of bits and baubles, the dirtier and more broken the better, although they do occasionally collect a shiny object for unknown reasons.’”

  “That’s why the dining table is so full of junk!” Mae exclaimed.

  “‘They are also known to steal property and women and enslave children,’” Callum continued. “‘Trolls prefer to prey on small children and animals, but have been known to hunt full-grown men. Morose and sullen by nature, they are sometimes to blame for black magick. Though it is rare for a troll to possess magick, one that does can be extremely powerful. Troll magick may leave a magickal trace, seen as a glint of color, usually green. To trap a troll you must use the runes of protection… see page 345, index B.’”

  As Callum finished reading, the pages flipped again. A loose piece of parchment sailed from the pages of the book. The raven whisked it out of the air and dropped it in front of Mae. She held it up to the light. The heading scrawled across the page read, “Gythal Saves the Wedge from Troll Invasion.”

  The animated drawing below the heading showed a tiny man in a flowing, black robe. If Mae hadn’t known better, she would have thought he was a hapenny. As she gazed at the picture, it changed. The man raised a willowy wand above his head, and his sleeves scrunched up around his skinny elbows. His white beard was so long it folded upon itself on the ground before him.

  A great number of large stones were piled up at the sides of the river in the picture. Mae could see the grimaces of the trolls as they turned into rock. She pointed to the circular lines and triangles carved into the granite pillars that anchored the bridge. “Are those the runes of protection?”

  “Yes,” Callum answered distractedly as he scanned the table of runes in the book.

  Remy pecked at the clipping. “Maewyn,” he cawed.

  Mae shooed the raven away and studied the drawing. Aletta pointed to the strangely curved tree in the background. “There is the bowed elm that marks the edge of the Wedge. Of course, there is only one bridge in and out of the Wedge now. The others were destroyed during the Great Invasion.”

  “In this picture, the runes on the pillars look like they are twinkling,” Mae said, pointing to the glittery shapes in the drawing.

  “Yes, runes twinkle because of the magic they hold,” Callum said. “It’s more obvious in the light of the moon, but you can see it at other times, too, like during an eclipse, or at noon on the solstice days.”

  Mae ran her hands over the clipping, smoothing out the wrinkles. “But when I followed the raven here, to the cottage that first night, the runes weren’t twinkling.”

  Callum snatched the clipping from the table. “No. No, it can’t be.”

  Aletta braced her hands on the table. “What is it?”

  Callum dropped his head in his hands. “I didn’t want to believe it, but he tried to tell me. Before he passed…he tried to tell me.”

  Remy flew to Callum and perched on his shoulder. The wizard reached up and stroked the bird’s chest.

  Mae clenched and unclenched her fists. Her breath came short and quick. “The pillars have been disguised with leyna charms, too—that’s why the runes don’t twinkle in the moonlight when they should!”

  The two wizards turned to Mae.

  “First she took over my mother’s house, and—” Mae swallowed. She didn’t want to say the words that were forming in her mind. “With the runes gone, the hapennies are dinner.”

  “The runes can’t just be erased away!” Callum cried. “They are protected by magick. I have checked them every week… How could something like this happen under my very nose? Someone is defacing the pillars, ruining the magick! A leyna charm… How could I have missed that?”

  Aletta scowled at Callum. “Gelbane is opening the way for another troll invasion. How could you have missed that?”

  Callum pointed to Aletta. “You cross that bridge more than I do! How did you miss it?”

  Aletta’s cheeks grew crimson. “I’m not the official Protector of the Wedge! You are!”

  Mae scrambled to the top of the worktable and yelled at the top of her voice, “It doesn’t matter! What matters is that we do something about it!” Her throat tightened and tears filled her eyes. “For Leif! For Reed! For Mother Underknoll! We’ve all been tricked!”

  “If the trolls control the bridge,” Callum’s voice cracked, “the hapenny v
illage is doomed.”

  “But how did she get across the bridge to destroy the protections?” Aletta murmured, choking back a sob.

  “We’ll need to discover her method before we make any moves,” Callum said. His voice was somber. Gone were the laughing eyes and teasing tones.

  Remy flapped his wings and cocked his head.

  Aletta paced, chewing on a thumbnail.

  Maewyn wrung the corner of her apron around her thumb. The table beneath her vibrated. “Do you feel that?”

  Chapter Twelve

  The teacups rattled against the saucers. In the distance, Mae heard a deep, steady rumble. She counted, “One…two… three…”

  “Too long for a roll of thunder.” Aletta crossed the room and pressed her nose to the windowpane, wand raised and ready.

  The wizard’s cottage trembled and groaned. The rumble faded, tumbling over the tops of the trees and into the night air.

  Callum held up his braided wand. It trembled in his hand. “Move away from the window, Aletta.”

  Mae took her wand from her pocket and bent her knees, ready to spring.

  A deafening creak, like trees bending in a gale, filled the wood.

  The front door eased open, having been jarred from its latch.

  An enormous, balled-up fist crashed onto the porch.

  The tree-trunk fingers opened slowly.

  Mae gasped as Reed, eyes closed and covered in mud, rolled out of the giant’s hand and into the doorway.

  “What have you done to him?” Aletta shrieked. The wizard ran to the boy.

  “Reed!” Mae jumped from the table and followed Aletta, tugging her sleeve. “Look!” Mae pointed to Reed’s chest, rising rhythmically. “He’s breathing.”

  An enormous face, carved with wrinkles as deep as canyons, was framed by the open doorway. Eyes the size of wagon wheels peeked into the cottage. Gray, stringy hair, like weeds whose roots grow clinging to a rock face, spread out over his shoulders. He looked like a moving slice of the forest.

  “A hapenny, the little ones, small peoples, was once kind to me,” the giant’s voice boomed across the room. “I would never, no, not once, hurt one of them.”

  Aletta scooped Reed up. He drooped like a sack of potatoes in her arms. “I’m going to clean him up a bit and get him into bed. I don’t think he’s injured, just exhausted and cold.”

  Mae stepped onto the porch. She craned her neck back to look in the giant’s face. If he had found Reed, perhaps he’d seen Leif, too. “Where did you find him?”

  “He was wandering in the forest, the trees, the wildwood. Must have lost his trail, departed from his path, forgot his way in the storm.”

  Mae wondered if all giants talked like this one. “Did you see another? His brother, Leif, he’s missing, too…and Mother Underknoll.”

  The giant shook his head. “No, just that wee, little, pint-sized one. I knew he needed help, aid, assistance, and what better place to receive it than a wood wizard’s cottage?”

  “No better place.” Callum stood behind Mae, his hand resting on the top of her head. “We want to thank you—er…”

  “River Weed Starr,” the giant said, sticking out his hand.

  Callum grasped his finger and shook it.

  “That’s your name? River Weed Starr?” Mae asked.

  “Yes.” The giant nodded and rolled back on his heels. He draped a hand over his knee. “My mother named me after the first three things, objects, thingamajigs, she saw after giving birth, as is tradition, custom, legacy.”

  “So you were born by the river,” Mae said, “in the summer when the weeds were tall.”

  “And on a clear night,” Callum added.

  Mae took hold of the corners of her apron and curtsied. “It is nice to meet you, River Weed Starr. My name is Maewyn Bridgepost. Thank you for rescuing my friend.”

  “Bridgepost, you say?” The giant’s knees creaked as he shifted his weight. “That name has a familiar, friendly, nice feel on my tongue.”

  Callum cleared his throat. “Perhaps you knew her mother, Serena Bridgepost?”

  River Weed Starr’s eyes lit up. “Yes, I believe so.” The giant turned his bare foot and pointed to the last toe. “Plucked a thorn, sticker, pricker, from my wee toe, she did. I have finally repaid, compensated, returned her kindness.”

  Maewyn threw her arms as far as she could around the giant’s finger. “Thank you from the bottom of my tea cup. You have given me hope that Leif will be found as well.”

  Aletta stepped outside and placed her hand on Maewyn’s shoulder. “Reed is asking for you.”

  Releasing River Weed Starr’s finger, Mae ran into the cottage. She paused in the open doorway to her room and listened as Callum thanked the giant again for bringing him the hapenny boy. The wizard then lowered his voice and Mae swiveled her ears toward the front room to hear their whispers better.

  “Have you seen anything strange happening in the area?”

  The giant made a rumbling sound in his throat. “I thought you might want to know, comprehend, grasp. The trolls are up to something. There is far too much movement, migration, stirring, in the west for those lazy wretches not to be.”

  “Thank you, River Weed Starr. I appreciate the information.”

  The giant, peering over Callum’s shoulder, caught Mae’s eye and cleared his throat. “If ever you need my help, aid, assistance, just call my name. The forest, trees, wildwood, will find me.”

  Mae ducked into the room as Callum thanked River Weed Starr again. As the door latched, she turned her attention to Reed, who was propped up in the bed under the windows.

  His face was pale. Even his freckles seemed faded. Sandy brown locks of hair cascaded over his brow. A washbasin sat at the foot of the bed, the water dingy from Aletta cleaning him up. He was dressed in one of Callum’s shirts, but it was so big on him that the sleeves billowed over his hands.

  “Reed, we thought we’d lost you.” Mae dashed across the room and crawled up onto the bed to sit at her friend’s side.

  “Mae,” Reed whispered. “I found you, but I was looking for someone else…” He reached for her hand and squeezed her fingers. “Gelbane…” His eyes blinked.

  Mae tightened her hold on his hand. “You were looking for Gelbane?”

  Reed shook his head and tried to talk again. “Leif…” His eyes shifted to the teacup on the table and then closed. “Gelbane…has…”

  “What does Gelbane have?” Mae shook his shoulders. “Wake up, Reed. Tell me about Leif!”

  Mae snatched the empty cup and peered into it. Bits of tea leaf were stuck to the sides. Her face shone back at her from the bottom. A familiar smell filled her nose and she knew there would be no talking to Reed until the morning. Aletta had dosed him with the sleeping tea. She banged the cup back onto its saucer. Next to it, on the top of the dresser, lay a small, carved turtle and a fishing fly. Mae picked up the fly. It was tied with red string and had downy black feathers. It looked just like the flies Callum was tying earlier. She dropped it in her pocket. Questions were taking form in her mind.

  Reaching into the corner of the windowsill, Mae gathered the cobwebs clinging to the wooden casement. “Strands of spider’s silky web, weave together for his bed.”

  Mae watched, amazed, as the cobweb grew upon itself, creating a hundred soft folds, and finally emerging as a soft, warm blanket. “It worked!” Her smile faded as she tucked the blanket under Reed’s chin. He was safe, but what about Leif? What about Mother Underknoll?

  Callum appeared in the doorway. “You’ve studied Ahem’s Book of Proper Grammar for Spell Casting.”

  “And she didn’t even need her wand,” Aletta added.

  Mae nodded at the wizards. Her cheeks grew warm with embarrassment. “I couldn’t sleep last night. Thought I’d do a little reading. Are you angry with me?”

  “What?” Callum harrumphed. “What reason would I have for being angry?”

  “I just thought…since I took the book without ask
ing first…and tried a bit of magick…” Mae chewed the inside of her cheek.

  Callum put his hands on her shoulders and kissed the top of her head. “No, Maewyn, I’m not angry. This is your home now. The books belong to you as much as anyone.”

  “And we all need to learn good spell writing.” Aletta squeezed the top of Callum’s arm with affection before gathering the washbasin from Reed’s bed. She touched the magicked blanket and smiled. “I’d say this is a very useful spell.” She nodded her approval as she left the room.

  Mae pulled the fly from her pocket and held it up. “I found this next to Reed’s teacup. Before he fell asleep he said he was looking for someone, but found me. Is it possible that he was looking for you, Callum?”

  Callum nodded. “It was our little secret. We crossed paths one day at the bridge. He was upset that Leif had run off without him.”

  “And you leave these flies at their doorstep,” Mae said. The threads were beginning to weave together.

  Callum cocked his head to the side. “How did you know that?”

  “Leif told me the fishing flies would just appear sometimes.” Mae’s lower lip trembled. She blinked the tears away. “He will be okay, right, Callum?”

  “With a good friend like you, Reed is sure to get well soon.”

  Mae nodded, even though she had meant Leif. Would Leif be okay? She sopped her tears with the corner of her apron. She couldn’t put her worries into words.

  “Let him rest now. We’ll question him in the morning and firm up our plans to find Leif.” Callum guided her from the room and into the hallway. Mae peeked back at Reed as the wizard shut the door. He had wanted to tell her something about Gelbane and Leif before the sleeping tea took over, and she wasn’t waiting for Reed to wake up to find out what it was.

  Chapter Thirteen

  The waxing gibbous moon shone through the window, lighting up the printed words of the article about Remington Gythal and the troll invasion. Mae crumpled it in her hand and tossed it across the room. How could she not have noticed there was a troll in her house for all these years? For that matter, how could a wizard not have noticed that the magick on the bridge was being destroyed? She sat up and threw her legs over the edge of the bed. She hadn’t bothered to change into a nightgown or crawl under the soft sheets. She couldn’t help but think of Leif as she gazed at his brother snoring softly across the room.