The Salamander Spell

by E. D. Baker

  Going home felt odd, mostly because nothing seemed to have changed since the morning she’d left. The same men were standing guard at the drawbridge, looking bored and only half awake. The same cats were scrapping with bristled backs and puffed tails in front of the stable doors. The Great Hall still smelled of the old herbs that needed to be replaced, the hounds sleeping in front of the cold hearth, and the unwashed bodies of the people who passed through. Grassina almost felt as if she’d never left, yet too many things had happened to her, changing her in ways she never would have expected.

  She was trying to decide if she should go look for her mother or her sister first when she heard Olivene’s unmistakable screech. “I don’t know why you had to show up! I was just getting used to you being gone! My life was nice and peaceful without you. Why did you have to spoil it by coming back?”

  At first Grassina thought her mother was talking to her, but the queen was nowhere in sight. Following the sound of Olivene’s voice, Grassina found her by the stairs leading into the dungeon. A pile of her father’s belongings had been heaped beside the door, shrinking steadily as Olivene snatched one object after another and chucked it down the stairs. “Here, take this!” screamed the queen. “No one else wants your trash!”

  “Mother?” said Grassina. “What are you doing?”

  Olivene’s head whipped around. “Oh, it’s you. So you decided to come back from wherever you’ve been hiding. I don’t know why you bothered. We don’t need you here.”

  Grassina shrugged. “In that case, I’ll be going,” she said, glancing toward the door to the courtyard.

  “You most certainly will not!” said Olivene. “Here, take this. See how hard you can throw it. If you do it right, it should bounce all the way down the stairs.”

  Grassina took the sword from her mother’s gnarled hands. It was her father’s best sword, the one he’d worn during every important ceremony. She glanced at the pile. His armor was there, as were his books, his clothes, and even the dishes he’d used in the Great Hall. “What’s going on, Mother?” asked Grassina.

  “I’ll tell you what,” said the queen. “Your father came back the night before last. He came to see me the last time I went down there. As if anyone wants to see him again.”

  “My father? How can that be? You mean he didn’t really die?” Grassina asked, hope lighting her eyes.

  “He died all right. I never said he didn’t. He’s still dead, too, so don’t start thinking there’s been some sort of miracle. He’s come back as a ghost, determined to haunt me for the rest of my days. You couldn’t leave well enough alone, could you, you miserable old cuss?” Olivene shouted down the stairs.

  “Has Chartreuse seen him?” Grassina asked, thinking her mother was imagining things.

  “That ninny? Ha! She refuses to go down there. Says she doesn’t believe in ghosts. That’s a whole lot of hooey if you ask me. She’s just afraid; I can see it in her eyes.”

  “She was very upset when he died.”

  “Not enough to go see him now that he’s back! You should visit him though. I’m sure the old stick would like to see you. Here, take this. I don’t want the darn thing getting stuck in the stairwell.” Grassina had to set the sword on the floor to take the armored breastplate that her mother was handing to her. She thought she saw tears glinting in her mother’s eyes, but she couldn’t be certain. The queen turned away too quickly, saying, “You can take the rest of this junk down there while you’re at it. I don’t want it cluttering up the place anymore. I’ll throw it out if he doesn’t want it.”

  “Are you sure . . . ,” Grassina began, but her mother was already stomping off.

  Gathering as many of her father’s possessions as she could carry, Grassina picked her way down the stairs, trying not to step on the clutter Olivene had tossed there. Beady rat eyes watched her from the open doorways of some of the cells, but the only sound was that of her own feet on the stone floor. Remembering the ghosts she’d met before, she kept her eyes open for any sign of what her father might have become, but the dungeon was unusually quiet. Grassina had begun to wonder if her mother had finally slipped over the edge into insanity when she reached the door to the room her father had used.

  Grassina wasn’t sure if she wanted to see him there or not. Although she missed him desperately, it was the man she missed, not some disembodied wraith who floated through walls and spoke in half whispers. But when she saw a familiar shape limned in blue, though it was little more than a shadow in the flickering light of the torch in the corridor, her heart skipped a beat and she felt an overwhelming sense of relief. Her father was back, in whatever form, and now everything would be all right.

  “Father, is that you?” Grassina asked from the doorway.

  The figure turned around with shadows rippling on shadows. “Grassina, my darling girl,” said a whispery voice as the figure drifted closer. “Your mother told me that you were gone. ‘Ran away,’ she said. She was making it up, of course.”

  “I was gone, Father, but I’m back now.”

  The ghost approached until Grassina could make out her father’s features. Despite his hollow eye sockets and skin of palest blue, it was most definitely her father. He was so transparent that she could see the walls and broken furniture behind him, but he was there, or at least some part of him was, and just then that was enough. Grassina shivered as the ghost came closer with arms outstretched and a gentle smile on his face. She expected to be enveloped in a chilly hug, but the ghost passed right through her. Grassina felt woozy the way she did when she stood up too fast, although this was much worse. The experience left her cold, shaky, and slightly queasy.

  “That was very odd,” said her father, “and most unexpected.” His outline wavered as if he were shuddering.

  Grassina rubbed the goose bumps that had risen on her arms. “I know what you mean.”

  “I must apologize, my dear,” said her father. “I’m not used to being a ghost and have yet to learn what I can and cannot do. In my joy at seeing you again, I forgot that I can’t actually touch physical objects.”

  “I understand,” Grassina muttered from behind her hand. Her stomach was roiling, but she didn’t want to talk about it.

  “I’d like to be able to write, or read what others have written, but I can neither hold a quill nor turn the pages.”

  “Maybe I can help you with that,” said Grassina. “I can do the writing for you and turn the pages when you’re ready. But we’ll have to put this room to rights first. Mother certainly made a shambles of things. Just a minute while I set these over here.” Grassina placed the items she’d brought in the corner of the room while her father hovered beside her. Brushing off her hands, she glanced at him, then at the pile of armor and clothing. “If you can’t touch anything, I don’t know what Mother expects you to do with all this.”

  “I don’t think she knows either. I believe it’s her way of telling me that she loves me. She doesn’t know how to say it anymore, but I know in my heart,” he said, pointing at his chest, “how she really feels. It’s why I had to come back, and it’s why I can’t leave.”

  Her father had never had much in the room, so it didn’t take long for Grassina to straighten it up. The larger furniture had been broken into pieces, making them easier to cram through the doorway, and the rest was light enough that she could move it on her own. After setting the sheets of parchment in two stacks that she could organize later, she folded his clothes and replaced them in the not-too-badly damaged trunk. “I’ll bring everything else down now,” she said, heading toward the door. “Mother has quite a pile up there. She’ll throw it out if I don’t move it.”

  “Then by all means,” said King Aldrid. “I wouldn’t want to upset your mother.”

  Grassina loaded her arms with as much as she could carry for the next two trips, but her father’s armor was heavy, and she couldn’t carry more than a few pieces at a time. As she was setting his helmet on the pile, she knocked over his shield, whi
ch fell on the arch of her foot. She howled and dropped the rest on the floor, hobbling to the only chair in the room so she could inspect the injury. No skin was broken, but her foot hurt almost as much as the time a horse had stepped on it.

  “Why don’t you rest for a moment?” said her father, floating in the air above her. “You can tell me about what you’ve been up to.”

  “There’s a lot to tell,” said Grassina.

  Her father chuckled—a hollow sound that would have been frightening if Grassina hadn’t known who made it. “I have nothing but time,” he said. “You can begin with the day you left the castle.”

  Relieved that she wouldn’t have to talk about his death, Grassina rubbed her aching foot and told him about her fight with Chartreuse. She described her feeling of hopelessness and how she’d left the castle before first light. Her father was intrigued when she told him about Pippa, and asked countless questions when she mentioned Haywood. When she described the Vila, he grew restless, becoming even more agitated when she talked about the werewolves. “You could have been killed!”

  “And I would have been if the spear hadn’t appeared in my hand. I came into my magic, Father! Just when I needed it most!”

  “You what?” said King Aldrid, his color flaring a brighter blue.

  “I thought the Vila had sent the spear to me, but later when I had to stab Haywood, she told me she hadn’t.”

  King Aldrid’s ghost seemed to shrink as he settled to the floor. “This is too much for me to take in all at once. You have magic? Wait . . . Why would you stab your friend?”

  “So he wouldn’t stay a werewolf,” said Grassina. When her father seemed even more confused, she explained it all as best she could, although she left out the part about the Vila’s love enhancement spell. Even without the spell, she was sure she would have loved Haywood, but she didn’t feel like explaining that to her father.

  “And so I came home to see if I’m needed here. I’m sure I won’t be if Chartreuse has come into her magic. . . . You haven’t heard anything about that, have you?”

  Her father sighed and shook his head. “Your mother hasn’t come back down since she first discovered that I was here, and I haven’t seen or heard from your sister.”

  “Then as soon as I finish bringing everything, I’ll see if I can find her. I know she won’t want to see me, but this isn’t about what either of us wants.”

  “You don’t have to carry the rest down yourself. Use your magic. It would be much faster and easier for you.”

  “Oh,” said Grassina. It hadn’t occurred to her that she could use her magic for anything but an emergency. The thought of reciting a spell to perform such an ordinary task made her look at her magic differently—making it less of a weapon and more of a tool. As far as she knew, there was no reason she couldn’t use it for all sorts of things the way her mother had.

  “That’s a good idea,” said Grassina. “Only I don’t know any spells for moving things. I don’t think I ever heard Mother mention one to Chartreuse.”

  King Aldrid shrugged. “Then make one up. Your mother always did.”

  Grassina stood at the top of the stairs, poking the pile of clothes and weapons with the foot that wasn’t sore. It had sounded good to say that she could make up a spell, but now that she was faced with the task of actually doing it, she had no idea where to begin. She debated telling her father that it wouldn’t work, then decided that it wouldn’t hurt to try. Clearing her throat, Grassina pointed at the pile and said,

  Carry this from here to there.

  Haul it down the dungeon stair.

  Take it to the tiny room

  Where my father met his doom.

  A fly landed on the pile, tasting the old leather of the undercoat that her father had worn beneath his chain mail. Grassina was beginning to think that she’d done something wrong when the pile seemed to quiver, then collapsed, disappearing in a nearly silent whoosh and taking the fly with it.

  “It worked!” she said, delighted with herself as well as the knowledge that she wouldn’t have to carry everything down the stairs.

  “It certainly did!” crowed her mother behind her. “You have your magic! I should have known you’d be the one!”

  Grassina twirled to face Olivene, too elated about her magic to feel nervous around her mother. “Did you see that? Wasn’t it wonderful?” Her smile faded when she saw that her sister was there as well, looking as angry as she’d ever seen her.

  “Simply marvelous,” said Chartreuse in a flat, tight voice. “It was some kind of trick, wasn’t it? You don’t really have magic; you just want us to believe you do so we’ll forget that you ran off the way you did. First Clarence goes off to fight a dragon and gets himself killed, then Pietro disappears. They say he went to find the Vila. He never could resist a pretty face. And then you ran away, leaving me desperately afraid that something awful had happened to you, too. Don’t you think I care about you? You’re the only sister I have. And you know I need you here. Greater Greensward needs you here. I can’t handle everything myself!”

  “Don’t be such a sourpuss, Chartreuse,” said Olivene. “You’ll make a competent queen, but you’ll never be the Green Witch. Just because you can’t do it doesn’t mean that your sister can’t. I saw her do it with my own two eyes and so did you. I’ve been sorely disappointed in you, Chartreuse, but now I know why you never came into your magic. It wasn’t in you and it never will be. Magic runs true in our family—goes to the most deserving, I’d say. Does your father know, Grassina? I’m going to go tell him.”

  While Olivene thumped down the stairs, Chartreuse glared at her sister, standing with her feet firmly planted and her fists on her hips. “I bet you’re proud of yourself and think you’re really special,” said Chartreuse. “Well, you’re not. Look at your hand. If your magic was as good as Mother seems to think it is, you’d have the Green Witch’s ring on your finger. Don’t try lording your magic over me, miss. The ability to do a few simple tricks doesn’t impress me. Mother will see soon enough what you can do. And there’s no saying I won’t still get my magic, and then we’ll see who’s better at it!”

  Grassina put up her hand as if to stop the flow of words. “Chartreuse, I—”

  Chartreuse shook her head. “I don’t want to talk to you, so do us both a favor and don’t say another word. But while you practice your magic or whatever it is you’re going to go do, keep in mind that I’m not the only one with a responsibility to the people of this kingdom!”

  Sixteen

  Grassina sat on the edge of her bed staring at the wall across from her. She hated to admit that Chartreuse was right, but it looked like this time she was. It hadn’t occurred to Grassina until her sister mentioned it that she might have earned the Green Witch’s ring if her magic had been strong enough. With the ring on her finger, she would know that she was capable of protecting the kingdom however necessary. Without the ring, Grassina wasn’t sure that she could protect much of anything.

  After Chartreuse’s tirade, Grassina had fled to her room, hoping that even if the ring wasn’t on her finger, the tapestry might have appeared on her wall. It hadn’t been there, of course; she hadn’t really expected that it would be. Now it was even clearer that there still was no Green Witch to protect Greater Greensward.

  It had been only one day since she’d returned to the castle and it already felt like an eternity. Nothing was the way it had been. Her mother was making Chartreuse do all the chores. Chartreuse hadn’t spoken a word to Grassina since they’d met outside the dungeon door, which was probably just as well.

  It didn’t help that Grassina missed Haywood dreadfully and thought about him all the time, or that worrying about the ring had kept her from sleeping most of the night. All the next day, she’d drifted through the castle, unsettled and unsure about what she should be doing. By late afternoon, she’d once again returned to her room to stare at the empty wall.

  Grassina was still sitting on her bed when she heard so
meone sobbing. Opening her door, she peeked out and found Lettie, the scullery maid, crying. “What’s wrong?” Grassina asked.

  Lettie’s face was even redder than usual, and her cheeks were streaked with tears. “Oh, Your Highness,” she wailed, “I didn’t want to disturb you, but I don’t know who else to turn to. They say you helped that man from Darby-in-the-Woods, so I was hoping you could help me, too.”

  “Are you having a problem with werewolves?” asked Grassina.

  “Yes! Well, not me exactly. My Basil is a soldier. He was on patrol last night, and he went missing along with some of his friends. He told me he’d be safe enough— they weren’t going beyond sight of the castle—but he never came back, and I think the werewolves got him! What am I to do, Your Highness? He was just about to propose to me, I know he was!”

  “I wish I could help, but I don’t know what I could do. I’m not the Green Witch,” said Grassina, holding up her ringless hand.

  “And your mother isn’t either! We’ve all seen that she’s lost the ring, and everyone knows that Princess Chartreuse hasn’t a magic bone in her body. Everyone’s saying that it’s you who has the magic now, so I thought . . .”

  “I’m sorry, I’m not the one to do this. You’ll have to find someone else,” Grassina said, pulling the door closed behind her.

  Turning toward her bed, Grassina paused, her hand still on the latch. She could hear Lettie sobbing as she retreated down the corridor, and Grassina couldn’t blame her. There wasn’t anyone else, and everyone knew it. Ever since she’d faced the werewolves in the forest, she’d been hoping she’d never see them again. She’d even harbored the unlikely thought that they could have left altogether, scared off by the power of her spear. However, deep down inside she’d known this wasn’t true; it was the reason she’d been awake most of the night. Ridding the kingdom of the werewolves was going to be up to her, for even her small bit of magic was more than anyone else who cared seemed to have.