Under Her Spell

by Bridget Essex

  “When is it supposed to happen?” she asked Emily after a while.

  “It was…it was already supposed to,” the Changer whispered back to her.

  They gazed at one another, Emily’s eyes wide and dark as a murmur began to go up amongst the assembled Changers, the sound growing louder and more confused as the sun shone down wanly.

  Emily reached out, curled her fingers around Isabella’s shoulders, bringing the witch face to face with her as they knelt together by the lake. The Changer’s eyes had gone wider. She looked haunted, hunted. “This has never happened before,” she whispered softly. “Isabella… Maybe the Glossmer didn’t rise this year. Maybe he didn’t come because...” Her voice was miserable, and a single tear fell from her right eye, snatched away by a sudden gust of wind. “Do you think he didn’t come because of me?”

  “What are you talking about?” asked Isabella, flustered, a cloud darting in front of the sun darkening the sky for a moment. “Of course not! How could you—”

  “Because I saw him. Last year. I saw him when you’re not supposed to see him,” said Emily quickly, words running together, as her fingers curled tighter against the witch’s shoulders. “Oh, Isabella…”

  “Listen to me,” said the witch, kneeling forward on her now completely soaked skirt and putting her cheek against the Changer’s. She inhaled the scent of Emily, that sweet cinnamon and clove and coffee that was the most comforting combination in the world to her. “This is not your fault,” she hissed. “If the Glossmer really is an ancient god, then any silly rules about seeing him or not seeing him are mortal constructs, and have nothing to do with him. Do you understand? The ancients were just pure things, like seasons or love… They didn’t have any petty judgments attached to them. I promise you.”

  “Then why isn’t the enchantment here? Why now, of all years?” asked Emily glumly, gazing down at the lake. “What if… Oh, Isabella. What if the ice doors are still locked? What if they haven't melted? It's been so cold… What if he couldn’t get out?” Emily let go of the witch’s shoulders and staggered to her feet, nose angled toward the distant summit of the mountain. “I have to…”

  At that moment, silence descended upon the gathered people, a silence so absolute and cold, Isabella felt her heart slow.

  And it was filled by a howl.

  This was not a wolf’s howl, nor the howl of any animal that Isabella had ever heard before. It was rich, multi-layered, beautiful in a deeply sad way; the sound—like music, so like music—descended from the summit of the mountain to waft amongst the trees and around the assembled folk of Benevolence, brushing against their skin like a whisper.

  When the sound, the howl, cut out, Isabella crumpled, putting her hands over her ears, her heart racing.

  Please help him. He needs you. He needs all of you.

  Isabella breathed in, and she breathed out. And she gazed up at the distant summit of Glimmer Mountain.

  And she understood.

  Emily looked down at Isabella, stricken.

  “It was the Glossmer,” Emily whispered, staring up at the mountain. “Something's wrong.”

  Isabella surged to her feet as best she could, sodden as she was, plucking at Emily’s cloak of hides, holding fast to it. “We need to… We need to think about this,” she said, her voice rising in the wind that descended again, more vicious than before.

  “Something’s wrong, and we have to go help him,” said Emily, and the shaking was gone from her words; what remained was firm, absolute resolution. “Or, rather, I have to go help him, Isabella. And you have to go back home with the others.”

  “No,” said Isabella, and it came out in a half-laugh. “You’re ridiculous! What are you—”

  “You don’t have an animal form. There’s a higher risk that you could…” Emily trailed off, locking eyes with the witch. “It takes too long to get to the top of the mountain. It’s too cold. There’s too much snow. The trek will take me over half a day as it is, and there’s just…too much danger. You can’t come.” She stepped forward again, her eyes so dark that Isabella sighed as Emily leaned down, brushing her lips over Isabella’s mouth. “Remember what happened at the lake,” she said into Isabella’s ear. “I love you too much. Please go home.”

  Isabella opened and shut her mouth, squeezing Alice so tightly beneath her cloak that the cat, who had been quiet all this time, squeaked in protest. Emily had never spoken to the witch like that before, but the Changer’s jaw was set, her eyes narrowed, her hands clenched into fists beneath her hide of cloaks. She had meant the words absolutely.

  Isabella had several fleeting thoughts in that moment, but the only important one was that there was no way on this good, currently white world that Isabella was going to let Emily journey to the top of the mountain alone. So Isabella drew herself up to her full, witchy height (pointed hat and all) and told Emily Deer as much in a no-nonsense manner, shouting over the now screaming wind to be heard.

  Emily opened and shut her mouth, too, but whatever she might have said was interrupted by Mr. Ox’s booming voice as yet another, angrier looking cloud scuttled across the sun, darkening the sky.

  Things were beginning to look…ominous.

  “People of Benevolence!” Mr. Ox bellowed across the lake. “We have reason to believe that the Glossmer did not come out this year to bless the lake. Nature’s way has been disrupted, and we cannot tell what will change because of it, so we’re putting together a party to journey to the top of the mountain to check on the Glossmer and…”

  Whatever he said next was whipped away from him as an intense curtain of white fell around the assembled people, the wind screaming and whirling the snow into a haze of nothingness, the people disappearing around Emily and Isabella as the snow fell, constant and insistent and unwavering.

  They were lost in a world of white.

  “What’s happening?” yelled Isabella, heart thundering in her chest as Emily gripped her elbows tightly. The witch held her cloak over her mouth as the Changer gazed up at the darkening white.

  “I don’t know. But I think the Glossmer needs our help,” Emily shouted back at her. Then the Changer gazed down into Isabella’s eyes, her own narrowed against the lashing wind and snow. “I’ll go with the party to the top of the mountain—but, Isabella, please, I’m begging you—return home with the others.”

  “If you think for a single moment that I’d go home without you, then you’re…you’re ridiculous!” finished Isabella, gasping for breath as her words were snatched away by the wind.

  “That’s telling her!” piped up Alice from the relatively warm depths of Isabella’s arm and cloak.

  “This is ridiculous,” Emily spluttered, but she was interrupted again by a strange shushing sound.

  “…abella? …ily?” It sounded as if the wind was calling their names, but in the next instant, Lacey was beside them, scarf around her mouth and nose, eyes squinted against the angry snow. “There you are!” she shouted at the two of them. “Mr. Ox wants to know if you’ll be headed back to Benevolence or if you’ll volunteer to—”

  “Yes,” they both said at the same time, and Emily’s brows shot up, but Isabella smiled winningly at Lacey.

  “We were actually both just discussing that,” said Isabella, glancing up at her Changer. “When do we leave?”

  “Now!” Lacey was shouting, leaning toward the pair of them. “We don’t have supplies, so we’ve got to get to the top of the mountain by nightfall so we can camp in the cave. Or we’ll probably die,” said Lacey, and, despite the wind, her words were strong and loud and clear.

  Mr. Ox lumbered out of the snowy gloom, nodded to the three women. “This storm isn’t natural,” he said. “Trust me—I can spot a storm based in magic when I see one. Who knows what’s going to happen because of all of this?” He shook his head, sighing. “How many do we have, Lacey?”

  “So far,” said Lacey, holding up her fingers, “it’s me and you, Mr. Crow, and now Miss Fox and Miss Deer.”


  “Tack on a Mrs. Goose,” said Mr. Ox, glancing at Eliza, who had appeared beside them in human form. “And I think that’s enough. Thank you, everyone!” he bellowed, raising his voice to be heard above the gale. “We have enough volunteers for the party. We’ll be setting out now. If we hurry, we’ll arrive by nightfall. The rest of you, head back to Benevolence. Let’s move, everyone!”

  “Isabella…” Emily began, but Isabella stood up on her tiptoes and pressed her finger to the Changer’s mouth.

  “Mr. Crow… Benedict,” said Isabella, as he sauntered up to their small group. “Do you think little Billy could watch Alice for me until we get back?”

  “He’d be happy to,” said Benedict, and Isabella quickly drew Alice from beneath her cloak and handed her to the man—before the Familiar could protest.

  “I love you,” she told the cat and pressed her mouth down onto the space between Alice’s ears, as Benedict handed off the deeply enraged cat to Billy Crow, who held her tightly.

  And the witch turned on her heel as, in a spiral of shadow, Emily the human was replaced by Emily the deer. The witch hooked her arm around the neck of the white doe, and together, Isabella and Emily and Lacey and Eliza and Mr. Ox and Benedict stepped into the forest, angling uphill, all disappearing into the absoluteness of white as the storm roared around them, swallowing them whole.

  ---

  It was miserable going. This was the only thought that Isabella could muster. How long had they moved through the frozen wasteland? How long had breathing been such a painful undertaking, each breath ragged and hard won? How long had they walked in this underworld of white and driven snow and howling wind? How long had Isabella felt the cold creep on spindly legs, crawling over and into her body and between her bones?

  She knew she would never be warm again.

  They made for an odd-looking party: Eliza Goose in her plump animal form carried in the arms of Lacey, goose nose held beneath one of her wings; Benedict the crow perched with his beaked head nestled down amongst his wings from atop Mr. Ox’s broad, furry animal back; and Isabella gripping Emily about her deer neck as they led the group, Emily’s sense of direction for the safest path to the top of the mountain unerring.

  Isabella thought, fleetingly, that this trek might be an eternal nightmare, that they had been sentenced to trudge together against the unyielding wind and driven snow forever. But after a span of time she could never have counted, somehow the angle of the ground beneath their feet slanted even higher.

  And then, impossibly, they were there.

  The mouth of the cave yawned before them with icicles like glittering teeth dangling from the roof of the entrance. They stepped into the jagged shadow and then—blessedly—out of the heart of the storm into the echoing cavern of rock.

  Emily, Eliza, Benedict and Mr. Ox transformed into their human shapes as Lacey drew her cloaks tighter about her, peering down into the cave. Isabella couldn’t tell if it was still daylight outside, for darkness had accompanied them for much of the trip, the dark of the storm and of the low-lying clouds that pressed down, heavy with snow.

  “Everyone’s here,” sighed Mr. Ox with gratitude as he surveyed their little group, and Isabella sighed, too, leaning against the wall of the cave, shaking beneath her cloaks and frozen skirts and now decidedly less-pointed witch hat.

  Lacey stretched out her fingers, and in her earth-colored palms, a sphere of light rose from each hand, floating toward the top of the cave, setting the rock walls to glittering and illuminating their surroundings.

  Ahead of them, down the winding path of the cave, was a wall of ice.

  “One of the ice doors…” said Emily, stepping forward, voice shaking. “This shouldn’t be here. It should already be melted…”

  “It’s almost melted,” said Mr. Ox, pointing out the top of the ice door, halfway melted into the cave floor. “This can be gone in two shakes of a witch’s broom…” He transformed into his ox shape and trod forward, butting his head against the wall of ice. It shattered on impact, paper-thin bits of ice tinkling in all directions. Mr. Ox could have probably just breathed on it, and it would have disintegrated.

  Beyond that first ice door, there was a second door. Again, Mr. Ox stepped forward, and he had no more than touched it with his head and horns than it shattered, the ice chiming brightly as it fell against the rocky floor.

  “The third one,” sighed Emily with relief, as they at last stepped before the third door, Lacey ushering the spheres of light forward to illuminate it. As before, Mr. Ox shattered the ice upon the floor, and the darkness of the cave yawned open before them.

  Until it stopped.

  “Oh, my goddess…” Lacey whispered as they walked down as far as they could go—which wasn’t very far at all, for a solid wall of rocks prevented them from taking another step more.

  Isabella’s stomach twisted as she stared at it, as she closed her eyes and saw the writhing, serpentine form from her dream. The Glossmer.

  Trapped.

  “A cave-in…” Emily whispered, running her hands through her hair. “The Glossmer is trapped by a cave-in.”

  The men and women surveyed the wall of rock, and Mr. Ox sighed for a long moment after that, folding his arms.

  “We can move this,” he said quietly, then. “Together. We can move this.”

  Isabella gazed at the wall dubiously. Perhaps they could. But it was quite tall, as tall as two-and-a-half Mr. Oxes stacked one on top of the other. And if one rock was moved incorrectly, setting off the others, they might, themselves, be treated to an avalanche.

  “We’ll just be as careful as we can, yeah?” said Lacey with a false brightness, and the others nodded, began to roll up their sleeves, taking off their cloaks and hats to get to work.

  Mr. Ox heaved up the first rock, tossing it over his shoulder. He stared at the pile after that, waiting, for he’d plucked the rock from the very center of the wall. But nothing shifted; there were no scraping, ominous sounds. Together, then, the men and women fell to picking up the rocks and heaving them to the side.

  Isabella’s arms ached, her hands shaking from lifting the heavy stones. She breathed in and out and kept her concentration on stabilizing the remaining rocks. And as the men and women removed the stones one by one, as the winter wind roared outside the cave, and as the clink of the rocks against one another became an almost constant rhythm, Isabella heard Lacey begin:

  “Welcome, sun, and welcome, star…”

  It was soft at first. Almost pained-sounding. But then Benedict Crow said in a singsong voice:

  “Welcome air and water and fire.”

  Mr. Ox hefted a rock over his shoulder and tilted his head back, singing, “Earth and every living thing…”

  And Eliza ran her wrist over her forehead, breathlessly muttering, “Welcome back, beloved queen!”

  “Come on, everyone. I can see the cave on the other side!” called Benedict. And then the rocks began to move in earnest, and the rhythm went faster, and the singing grew more breathless but louder, too, as they worked together, removing rocks and chanting words over and over again as the gap in the wall before them widened:

  “Welcome, sun, and welcome, life,

  Long, sweet days and short, soft nights,

  Welcome, growing plant and seed,

  Welcome, sun, and blessed be!”

  Finally, there was a hole big enough for the men and women to crawl through. Isabella plucked out one remaining stone, hefting it experimentally. Only one rock tumbled down to rest at her feet. The rest held, and Isabella slumped tiredly against Emily, who slumped tiredly against her.

  “Come on,” said Mr. Ox, his voice lower than usual as he took a deep breath, placing his left hand at the small of his back, straightening up. “Let’s go together. Emily?”

  Emily stepped forward, gingerly climbing over the pile of rocks and pushing herself, feet first, through the hole they’d created. Then Isabella climbed over the rocks, too, crawling through the only way s
he knew how, tucking her head and shoulders through the hole and using her hands to pull her along.

  It was pitch black for a long moment on the other side as the others came after her, the sound of Isabella's own breath strange and muffled in the absolute dark. Lacey moved through the hole last, and with her came her spheres of light. Their glow magnified, doubled and tripled, as they rose above the Changers and the witch, then began to drift down, down, as the assembled people took in the long corridor of glittering rock that wound away from them.

  “Come on,” said Mr. Ox companionably, and the men and women began to move down the corridor, the sound of their boots shockingly loud against the rock.

  The path sloped gently downward as they walked along, growing steeper the deeper into the mountain they traveled until, strangely, up ahead, Isabella thought that she saw light. Beside her, Emily gripped her elbow, and the light up ahead, or the suggestion of light, seemed to move.

  The closer they came to it, the more brilliant it became, but only because of how dark the cave was, Isabella knew. The glowing seemed misplaced in the dark hollow of the rocky corridor. The path angled down so sharply now that Isabella was afraid of losing her footing, but then it leveled off completely. The group of men and women paused for a moment, watching the luminescence ahead with held breath.

  Isabella walked forward, peering down at the ground. But her boot touched a darker spot in the rock, and the witch realized it was not merely rock but rock covered in water. Cold, crystal-clear water gleamed before them now, the rock floor disappearing beneath that shining layer.

  “This part of the cave is flooded,” said Emily, gripping the witch's elbow a little tighter. “We just need to remain in the center, on the path here. See—the water’s deeper on either side, and it balloons out, up ahead.”