Broken Wish

by Julie C. Dao

  Elva felt a smile blossom across her face. Those strangers were not strangers at all, but perhaps the grandchildren or great-grandchildren she and Willem would share. She imagined sailing with him to the New World, hand in hand, surrounded by everyone they loved. But her smile slipped away at once. “None of them were safe or happy,” she said softly. “The man in the hat sounded scared and angry. That girl looked frightened, too. And those two people were running away from someone. Do you suppose the curse will continue on all that time?”

  “I don’t know,” Mathilda said, not unkindly. “For your sake and theirs, I hope not.”

  Elva got up and paced before the fire. The cat, which lay nearby, eyed her with sympathy. “But if it is the curse, there must be some way to stop it. Some magic I can perform, something to right Mama’s wrongs and bring back that balance you talked about.” She looked desperately at Mathilda, who regarded her with the same pity as the cat. “What do you think is behind that symbol of the willow tree? It looked like a door, didn’t it?”

  Mathilda tilted her head. “What?”

  “The willow tree. The one that looks like that carving on the floor of your old cottage and appears between every image. Didn’t you see the square around it?”

  “What are you talking about? What tree?”

  “You didn’t see it?” Elva demanded. “What did you see between the visions, then?”

  “Nothing. One image blended into another. I saw no tree,” Mathilda said, and they looked at each other for a moment, puzzled. “Perhaps this is some element of your gift of foresight that I don’t have. Did you try to open the door?”

  “No, I didn’t have time to.”

  “Good. Don’t try yet, not until we find out more about it.” The witch rose. “Put on your cloak and come out into the garden. I’d like to show you a few things before you go home.”

  Outside, the North Woods was eerily silent. Not a single cricket chirped or owl hooted, and it made Elva shiver. The witch’s cottage seemed to exist in a cold, lonely world all its own, without any other living thing. “What did you mean earlier about your boundary?”

  “The boundary is a protective, invisible wall surrounding my home,” Mathilda said. “I can get out of it anywhere, but the only way back in is through the tree landmarks. To a person who wields magic, it would feel like a veil or curtain, blocking their way in, and those without magic would pass from one side to the other without ever knowing it or disturbing my privacy.”

  “What about fairy rings?” Elva asked, half-jokingly.

  “Not even I can stop the occasional fairy ring cropping up, but they don’t disturb me and I don’t disturb them. Unless a clumsy, distracted girl falls into their clutches,” the witch added, her mouth quirking. “Otherwise, magic respects magic. There are many doors and secrets and ancient beings in these woods that I don’t know about. I wouldn’t be surprised if a wishing well did exist, though I’ve never seen one. The forest is a place of deep-rooted sorcery and pockets of enchantment, built up over the years from those who were forced into hiding here.”

  “People with magic?”

  “People with magic,” Mathilda agreed, stooping next to a row of plants. She pointed at each one. “Heartsbane, wife root, moon lettuce, and rosemary. They are stronger when planted close together. And the next row is widow’s wish, sage, blue clover, and dragonfoot. Those need to be hidden from direct moonlight and sunlight in order to be more potent in tonics.” She looked up at Elva, eyebrows raised. “Are you paying attention? I’m going to test you on these.”

  “B-but my strength isn’t potions,” Elva stammered. “I’m here to learn about my visions.”

  “You’re here to learn about magic. You must understand and respect every type, even if you never use them all. Now, name these plants.” The witch pointed at each and rolled her eyes as Elva stumbled over the names. “We’re coming out here every night until you get them right.”

  They wandered over to a bush blooming with strange, beautiful roses Elva had never seen before. Each flower ranged in color from crimson red to sunset orange to butter yellow, all melding together like a magnificent watercolor painting and smelling like smoke and embers. Looking at them was like gazing at a midsummer bonfire.

  “These are flame-roses.” Mathilda knelt and pulled a pair of garden shears from her pocket, snipping off a dozen and wrapping the thorny stems in frost-blue ribbon. “I cultivated them myself. The petals, when dried and pressed, make a delicious tea. Hold out your hands.”

  Elva obeyed, expecting the witch to give her the bouquet, but instead the woman laid the flowers on the ground and closed her eyes.

  “I am imagining myself in an empty, quiet room,” Mathilda said softly. “I do this before performing any spell. I clear my mind of the world until there is only me and my intent. Magic can sense when you are troubled, and if you act upon it in an unhealthy state of mind, that, too, can bring on unwanted consequences. In this peaceful space, I envision myself reaching out to the roses. I let my energy seep from my bones and hold it fiercely in my mind, like a dream that might slip through the cracks of memory at any moment. And then…”

  Though the woman did not move an inch, the bouquet began to lift slowly off the ground. Elva watched in astonishment as the roses floated up into her hands. The smoky, sweet smell filled her nostrils, and she felt the edges of the huge, sharp thorns through the ribbon. “That was wonderful,” she breathed, looking at the exquisite flowers. “I’m going to learn how to do that?”

  “Among other things, yes. You need to learn how to clear your mind first. I’m sure you’ve noticed that the visions come more easily when your mind is relaxed?” Mathilda asked, rising to her feet, and Elva nodded. “It’s the same with every other spell or enchantment. Each feat of magic has a price and takes something from you, like energy.”

  “And that’s why my visions make me feel sick?”

  “Correct. And as you build up your skill, you will use less energy. As simple as that spell was, it did take a bit from me, but you wouldn’t know it because of my experience. If you were to try that right away, it would be exhausting and you likely wouldn’t be successful.”

  “Is the price of magic always energy?” Elva asked.

  “Not always. Sometimes it is a memory, a fear, or a secret. And still more complex magic demands youth, beauty, health, sanity…things you may be reluctant to give up, so it’s wise to learn your limits. Magic is about give-and-take, and drawing power from different sources: For me, it is the earth; for a healer, a person’s broken bone or illness; and for you, reflective surfaces.” She fixed Elva with a penetrating stare. “You seem to be a sort of mirror yourself, echoing what you look into. But instead of showing the here and now, you reveal the past and the future. And in doing so, you take the energy from the mirror and expend a bit of your own.”

  Elva considered this as they went back inside. “What would have happened if I had kept going just now? And you weren’t there to stop me?”

  “It’s hard to say. Overtaxing oneself never has good consequences; indeed, I’ve heard of people dying or going mad, or even giving up their souls entirely.” Mathilda gave Elva another stern glance. “Now do you understand why I warned you against playing with time? That’s a powerful, complex bit of magic that would cost far more than it is worth.”

  “I do,” Elva admitted, handing the bouquet to the witch.

  “It’s the reason the North Woods is full of magic. All of that energy spent lingers here,” Mathilda said, cupping a bloodred rose. As Elva watched, the crimson petals slowly unfurled against her fingers and turned a brilliant deep pink edged with gold, like the first flush of sunrise at dawn. “Unfortunately, it tends to attract nonmagic people. That’s why so many children are drawn to this forest. Their minds are open to possibility and they follow it blindly, entranced.”

  Elva’s heart sank at the memory of the crumpled body in her vision. She hadn’t seen who it was, but there were few people over whom
she would grieve like that—and only one she knew who longed to wander in the forest. “My brother Cay is obsessed with finding a wishing well here, and I’m so afraid he’ll get lost.”

  “It wouldn’t be the first time that happened to a child. If I ever catch him wandering nearby, I’ll send him back out of the woods for you,” Mathilda added gruffly.

  “Oh, would you?” Elva cried.

  The witch scowled. “I’m not promising anything, mind you. I have enough to worry about without patrolling the forest for lost children. I’ve a solid reputation for kidnapping and it would be ruined forever if the town saw me saving a little boy.”

  Amused, Elva said no more, but she thought she could understand what Mama had seen in this prickly woman, with a heart like a rose behind her wall of briars. She watched as the pink-and-gold flower in Mathilda’s hand opened and closed its petals, turning a rich royal purple and sprouting two plum-colored buds on its stem. “It’s beautiful, what you can do with magic. I wish more people could see this,” she said, as Mathilda placed the roses in a stone jar full of water.

  “If they could, I’d likely be killed on sight. But thank you.”

  Elva thought of Willem calling her ability a gift, the same word Mathilda often used. If he could accept powers he didn’t fully understand, surely there were other people, too, who might appreciate what she and Mathilda could do instead of fearing it—others who could recognize the usefulness of knowing the future and the beauty of making roses bloom before their very eyes. Maybe someday, there would be a chance to change Hanau’s general opinion of the witch and of magic in general. “You said one branch of magic was disguise,” Elva ventured. “Could you disguise yourself somehow and walk around the village, if you ever wanted to?”

  “Why would I want to do that?” Mathilda snapped.

  Elva shrugged. “I just thought if you ever got tired of being alone, or…”

  “Let’s be clear on two points.” The witch set the jar of flowers on the table with a loud clunk. “I choose to be alone. I chose it a long time ago. And as for disguising myself, I’m not ashamed of who I am. I won’t walk around this town that hates me unless I get to be myself.”

  “I understand that, but—”

  “And I’m not lonely. I don’t need people.”

  “Everyone needs someone,” Elva said quietly.

  “Not me. And this conversation is over. It’s time for you to get home.” Mathilda pointed ungraciously at the door, and with a sigh, Elva gathered her basket and slipped the hood of her cloak back over her hair. No matter what the woman claimed, she could never hide her pleasure whenever Elva came back or her wistfulness when Elva spoke about Cay. Nor could Elva forget the vision of the woodcutter and the longing in Mathilda’s eyes.

  It was true: Hanau didn’t have a tolerant reputation where magic was involved, not when women had been suspected and driven out of town for all sorts of reasons. But it was 1865, and times were changing, and Elva longed to see Mathilda step out of her self-imposed prison.

  Not only to prove to the witch that people could be kind and understanding, but to herself, too, for every lesson with Mathilda made her more sure that she wanted to keep honing her magic, even if she would never be considered normal.

  If her ability could help her protect the people she loved, if it could potentially quell the family curse, then it was not shameful or evil, as she had been taught to think. It was not a burden. Elva felt more certain than ever that magic could be both beautiful and useful, however frightening the world found it to be.

  It was a blessing…a gift.

  “Elva. Elva!”

  Elva jerked awake. “What is it?”

  “You’re spilling milk everywhere!” Cay said crossly, hurrying to right an upturned bucket at his sister’s feet. “And Pearl is this close to kicking you for leaning on her like that.”

  “Oh, poor girl, I’m sorry.” Elva rubbed the agitated cow’s side. She had been sitting on a stool and leaning almost all of her weight against the animal’s flank when she had fallen asleep. She took the bucket of milk sheepishly and repositioned it under the udders.

  “What is the matter with you?” Cay demanded. “You’re always so tired these days. Mama almost sent out a search party when you were napping in the cornfield yesterday.”

  Elva struggled to stifle a yawn. “I haven’t been sleeping enough,” she said, blinking her watering eyes. Every night for over a week, she’d had to wait until her family had gone to bed before sneaking out to Mathilda’s cottage in the red shoes. Returning only a few hours before dawn never gave her much time to sleep before the day’s work on the farm began.

  Cay folded his arms across his chest. “Also, why did you tell Mama I was planning an expedition to the North Woods? Now she barely lets me off the farm.”

  “I was worried. I don’t want you going off into the forest by yourself.”

  “I’m eleven, Elva. I’m not a baby. I think you can trust me to find my way back home.”

  “I know you can; it’s just that the North Woods is a dangerous place, even according to Mat—” Elva stopped herself just in time, but Cay’s frown got deeper.

  “You’ve never kept secrets from me before, or gone behind my back and told Mama things I wanted only you to know.” He glowered at her. “I’m starting to think you might be like Papa and Rayner, after all. Maybe you think I’m silly like they do, studying fairy tales and going on quests. You don’t believe in me either, do you?”

  “Cay!” Elva cried, hurt, as he stormed off to feed the chickens.

  She let out a sigh and finished milking Pearl. She placed the milk in the barn to keep cool, then went to find Cay. He was kneeling by the chicken coop, aggressively plucking eggs from underneath the squawking hens. “Listen,” she said. “I’m sorry I told Mama about the quest. I know you’re going to find your magical well, and I’ll come with you so I can make a wish, too. Mama won’t make a fuss if you and I go together.”

  He narrowed his eyes at her. “Are you just saying that?”

  “No, I’m not. I’ll talk to Mama, I swear it.” Elva held out her hand, and after a moment, he shook it, his face a bit less stormy. “After all, I’m going to be the squire to your adventuring knight, remember? When we travel all over and collect folktales together like the Grimms?”

  The corners of his mouth lifted. “I want to explore the entire world. Go east and find some old valley where the monsters roam. Are you sure you want to come all that way?”

  Elva grinned. “Only if we visit a haunted monastery, too. Or an island where a legendary sea creature only shows itself every full moon.”

  Cay chuckled, looking down at the eggs in his basket. “I’m sorry I said that about you being like Papa and Rayner. I know you don’t think I’m odd the way they do.”

  “I think you’re perfect.” She squeezed his shoulder. “You’re going to be a famous explorer someday, and I’ll be there to see it all. I just need more sleep first. All right?”

  For the rest of the day, they chatted together as they did the chores. The subject of Mathilda—and her decision to let Elva try to practice moving objects with her mind—was on the tip of Elva’s tongue, but she held back from telling Cay. The fewer people who knew about these lessons, the better, even if the secret drove a wedge between her and Cay and lingered in her mouth like a bad taste.

  Still, the guilt ate away at her long after everyone had gone to bed, and she dropped from her window, landing noiselessly on the grass in her slippers. Her heart stopped when she thought she glimpsed movement at one of the other windows, but it was only the shadow of tree branches.

  When Elva arrived at the cottage, she was stunned to hear voices coming from inside.

  “But how did you get here?” Mathilda was asking somebody, exasperated. “And when?”

  “I don’t remember,” answered a small voice.

  “How can you not remember? Was it today? Yesterday?”

  “I don’t remember,” the voice
said again, and then it began to cry.

  Elva pushed open the door to see Mathilda crouching beside a girl of about five or six. The child had dark brown hair and a round, wide-eyed face smudged with dirt.

  “Thank goodness,” the witch said, sighing with relief at the sight of Elva. “Maybe you can help me figure out where this creature came from. I found her outside my boundary, and the sniffling and wailing was driving me mad. I had no choice but to take her in.”

  “Don’t be afraid,” Elva told the child kindly, kneeling down. She noticed that the girl was wrapped warmly in one of Mathilda’s blankets and was holding a fistful of cake, and her skinned knee, too, had been carefully cleaned and bandaged. Elva glanced at the witch with a raised eyebrow.

  “What? I only did it to try to stop her crying,” Mathilda said defensively.

  “What’s your name?” Elva asked the child.

  “Hannah. I don’t know where my mama is. And it got dark and I couldn’t find her.”

  Elva patted her shoulder. “I’m sure she’s looking for you, too, and we’ll make sure you get back to her safely. Did you sleep in the forest?” she asked, and Hannah shook her head. “Was it still bright out when you lost your mama? Yes? Then it sounds like it just happened today.”

  “We were having a picnic near the stone frog,” the little girl said, encouraged by Elva’s soft manner. “But then I saw a real frog hop in here and followed it. And then it got dark and I fell, and that lady got mad at me.” Her wide brown eyes moved to Mathilda.

  “I wasn’t mad! I only wanted you to stop that infernal crying. Yes, that, exactly,” the witch added dryly, for at the sound of her voice, the child had begun to cry again. “Well, at least now we know where she got separated from her mother. Can you take her by yourself?”

  Elva bit her lip. “I don’t know where the stone frog is. Would you mind taking us?”

  Mathilda sighed and slipped on her cloak, covering her hair and face with the deep hood. “It’s a statue at the north end of the river. Come along,” she said, as Elva and the little girl followed the witch out of the cottage, hand in hand. Instead of taking the path Elva used every night to get there and home, Mathilda veered off in a different direction.