Hemlock removed his glasses and dabbed at his watering eyes with a napkin. He smiled. “I’m exceedingly well, thank you, Holly.” He reached over and patted her on the hand. “You dear, dear girl.”
Pyrus gave a wry smile. “I think it means that this particular custom has reached its end and that Hawthorn has paid proper respect to it with the gift of the dogs.”
Holly slumped as her face fell. “Oh.”
“Since we’re on the subject of fathers,” Hazel said, leaning forward. “I’m told you know ours.”
Pyrus fixed her in a level gaze. “Yes. Ash. I remember when he first joined the Conclave. Curious fellow. Asked a lot of questions.”
“What kinds of questions?”
“He mostly questioned our schools of magic, their uses and limitations. He didn’t seem content to focus his efforts on one or two disciplines, as I’m sure you know is customary. He wanted to know everything about all of them. And yet even then he seemed discontented with what he found. Or, perhaps, with what he didn’t find.”
“Why? What was he looking for?”
Pyrus spread open his hands. “I couldn’t say. All I can say is the man seemed restless, and that kind of restlessness can make a man unpredictable. Reckless, even.”
Hazel studied him. “Do you know then? That he turned to necromancy?”
Pyrus chuckled. “Oh, yes. I knew Ash was headed towards necromancy almost as soon as I met him. I knew he would never be content with the permitted disciplines alone. Men like him never are.”
“What? Why didn’t you do something to stop him then?”
He laughed again. “My dear girl, you are talking to a warlock who has tried to convince the Conclave to allow necromancy as a permitted discipline.”
The room grew silent as everyone stared at him. Even Hawthorn seemed uneasy as he shifted in his seat.
“You’re a necromancer?” Holly asked.
“Hardly,” Pyrus said. “As a young man, I focused on the Wyr discipline, like so many others. Now, though, I practice primarily Hearth. But whether we like it or not, necromantic magic exists, and I believe willfully ignoring it is a grave mistake.” Pyrus chuckled. “Grave.” He rang a little bell, and Cheswick poked his head through the door. “Cheswick, I made a pun. And you said I lack a sense of humor.”
“I’m sure I never said that, sir.”
“Oh? Then who did?”
“I believe it was the witch Lobelia, sir.”
“Well then, send her an invitation to tea. We’ll straighten her out. Right, Cheswick?”
“Of course, sir.” Cheswick disappeared again.
Pyrus tented his fingers as he stared off into the distance, his lips quirked into a small smile.
Hazel cleared her throat, and Pyrus refocused his attention on her. “What was I saying?”
“You wanted to make necromancy a permitted discipline.”
“Ah, yes.” He waved his hands. “As I was saying, necromancy exists, and as a result, there will always be those who practice it—with or without our approval. By making necromancy a permitted discipline, we can at least monitor its use, guide those practicing it in the hopes of keeping them from doing something too… unsavory.”
The room grew quiet once again. Hazel wondered if Pyrus would consider trapping a person’s soul in a geas unsavory. She was afraid to ask. Instead, she said, “He had to learn necromantic magic from someone. Where did he go?”
Pyrus rubbed his chin as his eyes took on a distant, unfocused look. “Trying to find teachers in necromancy is a line of questioning I’ve never dared undertake. I do, however, have my suspicions of whom Ash might have sought. But they are only that—suspicions.”
“Who is it?”
Pyrus watched her a long while. “I think we need to have a word in private first.”
A moment of silence passed, then Hemlock and Hawthorn got up and left the parlor. Holly, however, planted herself firmly on the sofa and folded her arms. “Why in private? I don’t like all these secrets. I deserve to know too.”
“I’m sure you do,” Pyrus said. “But you are a Wild witch are you not? With a secondary in Hearth?”
“Yeah,” Holly said, scowling. “So?”
“So, this is a matter of discipline, young lady. A discipline to which you do not belong.”
“But Hazel does?”
Pyrus smiled. “That is what we must discuss.”
Holly remained still, frowning as she looked Pyrus up and down. “Well, I guess that’s all right then.” To Hazel, she said, “I’ll wait outside,” then got up and walked out the door.
Pyrus rose from his seat and poured himself a cup of tea. He walked to a window and looked out as he sipped from the cup. “I understand you’ve not yet chosen a primary discipline. That you still only practice the discipline chosen in your childhood years. Weaving magic, if I recall correctly.”
Hazel narrowed her eyes. “How would you know that? I wouldn’t think a warlock would be privy to such information.”
“I like to be well informed, and I have friends in the witches’ Circle. I also hold the unpopular notion of wanting to do away with all this witch and warlock segregation. We are all practitioners of magic, are we not? It’s unhelpful and unhealthy to work separately from one another.”
“Hawthorn said you no longer attend the warlock Conclaves. I think I’m starting to understand why.”
Pyrus smiled. “Exactly. I’ve too many bold ideas and spend too much time stirring the proverbial pot. Is it true though? You haven’t chosen your primary discipline?”
Hazel closed her eyes and sighed. This was a conversation she was tired of having, and she never thought she’d be having it with a warlock. “Yes, it’s true.”
“May I ask why?”
Hazel shook her head and looked away. “They say you’re supposed to know in your heart which discipline you belong to. But my heart is… torn.”
“How so?”
She bit the inside of her cheek. This was none of his business, but she needed his help. “I always thought I’d dedicate myself to Weaving magic. But now with my father dealing in necromancy and… what he’s done, Weaving no longer seems appropriate. None of the disciplines do.”
“And so, like your father, you are also searching for elusive answers.”
Hazel glared at him. “I am nothing like him.”
“Willfully ignoring the truth will not help you. Are you a necromancer? No. Yet you would do well to acknowledge the similarities between you. It may help you find him.”
“I know nothing about my father. How am I supposed to acknowledge any similarities?”
“By accepting the possibility that the two of you might be more alike than you’d like to admit. The truth of the matter is that no one knows where Ash has gone. If you can put yourself in his position, make decisions as he would have made them, then that may very well be your best hope in finding him. In the meantime, however, you need to choose your primary discipline, and you’d be well served to choose Wyr.”
“I’ve considered it, but I find the notion… distasteful. All the illusions and nonsense.” She fixed him in a level gaze. “It’s a warlock’s discipline.”
Pyrus smiled. “It’s true that many warlocks choose Wyr, and many witches often choose either Hearth or Weaving, with Wild being… well… the wild card of all four magics.” He chuckled. “I need to tell that one to Cheswick later.” He cleared his throat. “Wyr is, however, considered the most powerful of all the disciplines, boasting the widest range of spells. It is the most difficult to master, but it would undoubtedly be of the greatest use in helping you find your necromancer father. And as a Weaving witch, you are already well suited to the discipline.”
“Weaving and Wyr are nothing alike.”
Pyrus laughed. “Aren’t they? Weaving magic almost exclusively deals with the manipulation of existing matter. Wyr, among other things, deals with the manipulation of conjured matter. Don’t tell me you don’t see a similarity. As a
Wyr witch with a secondary in Weaving, you would be a force to be reckoned with. Together with your Wild and Hearth sister, the two of you would have a command over all four disciplines—over all four elements. That’s quite a feat, don’t you think? And this isn’t even mentioning the fact that you’ve already begun using Wyr spells at a rudimentary level—without any training, I might add. And that, dear Hazel, almost never happens. It seems to me that your heart has already chosen Wyr, whatever you might tell yourself.”
Hazel frowned at him. “What are you talking about?”
“I’ve heard about Hawthorn’s party, the way you so expertly dispelled his glamour. No Weaving witch should be able to do that, Hazel. That is a Wyr spell.”
She shook her head. “It was just a dispelling incantation. Nothing special.”
“Oh, I quite agree. As far as Wyr spells go, it is quite base. I believe I learned it myself when I was around eight. What’s remarkable is that you didn’t realize you were doing it and that you did it without guidance. I suggest you find a way to move past your prejudices about the discipline. You were meant for Wyr, Hazel, the sooner you accept that, the better off you will be.”
Hazel knotted her hands together as she studied him. “Why do you care? What difference does it make to you if I become a Wyr witch or not?”
Pyrus shrugged. “You come to me searching for information, yet you don’t really know what you are asking. You don’t know where your search will take you, what dangers you may face. I would hate if you came to harm because you weren’t prepared for the information I gave you. Consider it my price.”
“You haven’t given me anything yet, and I don’t know why you’d care what happens to me anyway.”
“We are all in this together. What happens to one of us affects us all. When one of us starts tampering in necromancy, it affects us all. I’m an old man. The last thing I want to see in my final days is a horde of undead marching upon our Grove, or whatever it is Ash might have planned. Nor do I have an interest in joining the search for your father. I want you to succeed in this so I can remain here with my dogs in quiet solitude.” He smiled. “Plus I think you’d enjoy being a Wyr witch. You have a strong mind, Hazel. None of the other disciplines would properly challenge you as Wyr would. And something tells me you’re a woman that likes to be challenged.”
Hazel worked her clenched hands. Then, raising her chin, said, “Very well, I’ll do it. There are far too many Wyr warlocks anyway. Perhaps it’s time we witches balanced them out.”
Pyrus’s smile deepened. “I couldn’t agree more.”
Holly hopped around Hazel as she left Pyrus’s home.
“Well?” Holly said. “What did he say?”
“He gave me the name of someone we can talk to that might know where one goes to learn necromancy. I’ve also decided to become a Wyr witch.”
Hawthorn scoffed. “A Wyr witch? Perhaps it would be better to stick to Weaving and leave Wyr to the men.”
Hemlock put a hand over his face while both Hazel and Holly glowered at Hawthorn.
Holly pulled a tiny pinecone from her pocket. “Maybe you ought to say that one more time and leave the thumping on your noggin to the women.”
“Don’t bother, Holly,” Hazel said. “Save your pinecones for a more worthy head.”
Hawthorn straightened, looking offended. “What’s wrong with my head? Is there something on it?” He put a hand to his forehead and lowered it again, blinking at his fingers. “Hemlock, is there something on my head?”
“Yes,” Hemlock said. “You’d better go fix that.”
Hawthorn gasped and ran to the coach, squinting and squirming as he tried to view his reflection in the windows.
Hemlock shook his head. “Idiot,” he muttered. Then to Hazel, he said, “It’s almost too easy.”
Hazel couldn’t help but smile. Hemlock smiled with her.
“Sooo,” Holly said, sounding impatient. “Who are we supposed to go talk to? You never said.”
“His name is Elder. Pyrus says he left the Conclave some years ago and might have changed his name. He suspects he lives in Sarnum now.”
Hemlock frowned. “That’s well to the south. What’s he doing that far outside the Grove? And how does Pyrus know him?”
“He doesn’t, but he’s heard rumors. If they’re true, he thinks Elder might be able to help us.”
“And if they’re not?”
“Then let’s hope the worst that comes out this is a wasted trip.”
They rode in the carriage back home in relative silence. Hawthorn, from time to time, would put a hand to his head, feel around, and then continue gazing out the window with a heavy sigh. They dropped Hazel and Holly off at their home, and the carriage rattled away again down the road.
“So,” Holly said as they walked towards the cottage, “when do we leave?”
“I don’t know. Not before the next Circle, and maybe not for a while after that. It depends.”
“Depends on what…?” Holly began but trailed off as they walked through the door and found Tum and two other gnomes lurking inside. Tum was rifling through a dresser drawer while another gnome sifted through the ashes in the hearth. The third gnome held a bundle of spoons as he eyed his reflection in one of them. As soon as Hazel and Holly walked in, all the gnomes froze and glowered at them.
“What’s going on here?” Hazel said as she glowered back.
“Nothing’s going on, that’s what,” Tum said.
“That’s what,” echoed the gnome with sooty hands.
“It doesn’t look like nothing to me. In fact, it looks like you’re robbing me.”
“Isn’t any robbing here,” Tum said. “Just taking what’s owed.”
“What?”
“We entered an agreement, me and the miss. Beer three times a week and a cut of the spoils. Well, there hasn’t been any beer or spoils, so we’re taking what’s owed.”
Hazel turned to Holly. “What’s he talking about?”
Holly wrung her hands. “I might have forgotten to tell you I hired Tum.”
Hazel closed her eyes and took a breath. Calm. She would remain calm. “Why?”
“Well… because…”
“Because I’m scrappy and resourceful, that’s why,” Tum said. “You’d do worse than having a scrappy cellar gnome.”
Holly nodded. “Yeah, that.”
Hazel tightened her jaw. “You forgot to mention why we need a cellar gnome at all. Scrappy or otherwise.”
“Well,” Holly said, still wringing her hands. “There’s the rats.”
The gnomes murmured among themselves and nodded.
“The rats? What…?” Hazel’s temper flared. “You know what? I don’t even care. We have more important things to consider right now. You figure out this problem with Tum’s payment. And no, you may not pay him with our spoons.” She walked up to the gnome with the utensils. He tried hiding them in his pockets, but she yanked them away from him, ignoring his squawking protests.
Holly watched as Hazel marched up the narrow stairs to her room. A door slammed, and then all went silent.
“Well, someone’s a grumpy frump,” Tum said.
Holly put on the fiercest expression she could muster. “You shouldn’t have done that—bring your friends here to take our stuff. You would’ve gotten paid if you just said something.”
Tum shook his head. “Nope. Been in too many cellars where the owners conveniently ‘forget’ my payment. Then when I remind them, I’m booted out the door and the locks are changed. Now I take what’s owed. You don’t like it, then you’d best pay me.”
“But… couldn’t you just pick the new locks?”
“Don’t change the subject.”
“Well, all right.” She scratched her head. “So what is it that you’re owed? Some beer?”
“Yep, three bottles. Plus spoils.”
“We don’t have beer in the house. We have mead though. Will that do?”
“Nope, don’t like mead.
Too sweet. Needs to be beer.”
Holly narrowed her eyes. “I don’t know why you should get paid at all. You haven’t been working for us for more than a day. How do I know you’ll keep your end of the deal?”
Tum straightened and smoothed his shirt. “I’m a cellar gnome. We always keep our end. And cellar gnomes get paid in advance, see? Too many mishaps otherwise, and I don’t abide mishaps.”
“But… if you haven’t done any work, then you’re not really owed anything. Why not just leave instead of robbing us? Wouldn’t that be more fair?”
“Don’t change the subject. You gave me a job, and I’m owed pay up front. Always been that way.” Tum put out his hands and waggled his fingers.
Holly pressed her lips together. Tum was a shrewd negotiator. “All right, fine.” She thought a moment. “We haven’t got any beer, like I said, but we’d probably be able to get some at the Green Man. I’ve even got some coin.”
“Well, all right then,” Tum said. “Let’s go.” He started for the door.
“Wait,” Holly said.
Tum turned to look at her.
She waved towards the other gnomes. “Don’t forget to call off your cronies.”
The sooty gnome took on a wide-eyed and panicked look. He dove for the couch and tried to wedge himself under it.
“Go on, boys,” Tum said. “Catch you later, right?”
“Yeah, all right,” grumbled the spoonless gnome. He grabbed the ankles of the sooty gnome and pulled him away from the couch. The filthy gnome tried scrambling back towards his sanctuary when the other gnome shouted, “We’re going!”
The sooty gnome calmed. Then, with a final glance at Holly, he threw a handful of ashes in the air, ran across the room, and hopped out an open window.
“That was weird,” Holly said.
“Ben’s a little touched,” Tum said. “Good spoiler though.” He nodded to the remaining gnome. “See you, Arn.”
“Tum,” Arn said as he strolled out the door.
With the gnomes gone, she and Tum left the cottage and headed for the Green Man.
“You’re awful quiet,” Tum said after they had walked for a while.
“Everything’s changing. Hazel’s going to become a Wyr witch, and then we’re going to leave the Grove and head south, looking for some creepy warlock named Elder.”
Hazel and Holly Page 7