Authors: A C Gogolski
The Wealding Word (10 page)
“Tut tut. Not one for chit chat, hmmm?” the dragon observed. “Well then, I’ll get to the point.” The huge body of embers slid
carefully off of itself, head lolling down close to Nell again. He made a quick, high screak, like a branch against a window. It was one of the most curious sounds Nell had ever heard, and it made the hair on her arms stand straight. After a moment, she felt something within her chest echo the dragon’s call, a reverberation rising from the silent, unexplored depths of herself. She put her hand over her heart to quiet the vibration, but it was gone as soon as it arose.
The dragon said, “Ahh, you carry a Word within you. That helps explain the demon you’ve managed to attract.” He sighed a great brume of smoke. “Don’t you know this complicates matters for me? If I had it my way, I’d squeeze you with fire, just a little – to get rid of the frog taste in your clothes. And then I’d crunch your bones.” He licked his black jaws. “You stand in a place between two worlds, and you wish to leave. But I guard the gate. Allowing a puppet like you to cross would be remiss on my part. Still,” he mused, “you carry a Word, and according to custom, I cannot dishonor it with such poor manners.” His orange eyes narrowed, “That is, unless you prove yourself unworthy of your power. For if you are an
illegitimate
sorceress, if you are
merely
a vessel of woe, then I will have no choice…” He leaned in close, splattering the stones with his infernal slobber.
The way out must be near
, Nell thought. If she could only get away from the dragon. He seemed so large and languid; she might be able to bolt past. But just as she was about to turn, she realized that the creature had somehow surrounded her in a coil of embers. There was no place to go, except up. Nell searched the ceiling, thinking wildly that Swst might come to her aid.
The dragon snickered as though reading her thoughts. He moved his great smoking head directly above her, blocking her sight. “So we will do as custom demands. Call it a game if you like. You must answer three questions to prove you were given the Word honestly, and not by some trick. You wouldn’t trick someone, would you?” he
mocked. Nell swallowed hard, feeling the heat of his gaze burning her forehead.
The dragon’s tone suddenly changed from amusement to scrutiny. This was business now. “Tell me, what is the name of the power you carry?” His glowing body slid close around her with the dry sound of charcoal scuffing stone.
Nell had to think. She remembered Lady Zel talking about the bracelet. Or rather, the sorceress said it wasn’t the bracelet at all that let her hear the animals and trees. It was a Word. What was it called?
The snake-embers of his body pulsed and flared, drawing close around her. “Give me a moment,” she said hotly. It wasn’t fair that this dragon was already starting to roast her. A smell assaulted her nose, and it wasn’t frog. “I can’t think with my hair on fire.”
“Hmm,” the dragon purred. “I am waiting.”
Images of home flashed through Nell’s mind. Along with them came the memory of the tall oaks bending over the cottage, and the vines that covered her house. The day it happened, everyone was scared of the leaning trees, except her. She was afraid to say so then, but she felt as though the forest wanted to embrace her, to protect rather than crush her. The forest… “The weald,” she breathed. The forest was a friend of sorts, and the gift Lady Zel had given her brought Nell closer to the life of the woods than anything else. “Wealding! The Wealding Word!” she exclaimed.
The orange rays sharpened in intensity. “And what is the true nature of this
Wealding Word?”
Nell was certain Lady Zel had not discussed that with her. The question was downright unfair. It was a matter of magic, or philosophy, or something she imagined wizards and sorceresses might chat about over cake. How was she supposed to know the true nature of a magic word? She barely knew her letters!
Nell opened her mouth, defeated. There was no use delaying, so the truth poured out. “I – don’t – know.”
The dragon didn’t move. He didn’t even blink, but the embers beneath his black scaly body burned hotter than ever. Nell shut her eyes and hunched her shoulders, bracing to be eaten in one quick chomp.
“Who rules this realm?”
The serpent snapped the third question at her, and it was like the door to a furnace was opened in her face. Her hair curled and smoldered from the heat. Grimacing, she found the dragon’s head still lurking above. Was he playing with her? Better to focus on the question at hand then worry about the creature’s motives.
Nell remembered the crown the king wore on the day he returned from sea. King Reginald: that was his name. She took a breath to answer, but stopped short. Lady Zel was once queen too. You couldn’t really retire from being queen, could you? That would mean that the old sorceress was the king’s mother or something, and that would make
her
the rightful ruler.
Again Nell opened her mouth, feeling cleverer by the moment, but again she paused. Something in the expectant squint of the serpent’s eyes was all too familiar.
Lexi
. Her older sister got that look whenever Nell was about to say something dumb. Nell hated that look. She hated falling into Lexi’s little traps, where anything and everything she said was wrong.
Who rules this realm?
Nell looked squarely into the creature’s orange eyes. “You do.”
The coils about her leapt with flames, searing the cave with light. Or was there another glow, just behind the dragon?
“Satisfactory,” fumed the serpent. He reared high overhead, now fully ablaze and angry at having his meal disappointed. Two great wings fanned out, all smoke and living heat. “Rapunzel is unwise to trust a little girl with secrets, but such is her folly. Goodbye Greenspeaker, the gate stands open for you.” With that, the dragon vanished in a burst of cinders, leaving a stinging cloud of smoke in his wake.
Now Nell could see daylight streaming down through a nearby tumble of stones. It looked like a collapsed stairway, leading up. Without hesitation she ran toward it, but she stopped short as a high chiming rang out from above. Warily Nell scanned the darkness and spotted a glow through the haze. The light shot forth a blaze of sparks, and then sailed down at her like a falling star. With a PLINK it bounced at her feet. Nell bent at once to pick it up and found it was a stone, glowing softly in her hand. Shifting all the time, the marble changed from green, to blue and white, and even to pale lavender. “Swst?” she wondered.
Sweet spring air and the promise of daylight quickly pulled her eyes from the stone, however. Into her pocket it went, and she dashed toward the stair. When she finally pushed through the rocky crevice, she could only drop to her knees in gratitude. Long green grass swayed in the sunlight around her. Nell ran her hands through it, feeling the cool life of the world between her fingers. Birds warbled, and the sun kissed her cinder-smudged face. At last, she was free!
Nell looked around her. She sat on a bit of solid ground piled all around with stones cloaked in gray-green lichen. It was an island of sorts, surrounded everywhere by water and tall reeds. “The marsh,” she said to herself.
The industrial drone of insects filled the air. Red-winged wagtails chattered, swaying on reeds and diving into the tangled bracken. As she watched, Nell realized that the time she spent with the smoldering dragon had dried her clothes. She didn’t want to get wet all over again slogging through the swamp, so for the moment, she was content to sit on a rock, feeling the sun warm her skin. Besides, the blinding daylight helped wash out the terrors of her night underground.
She looked back at the place where she had crawled from, but the opening in the stone was gone. It was now simply a jumble of rock. Long ago they might have been pillars, but caked as they were with mud and the debris of the swamp, it was hard to tell. A carven shape caught her eye at the edge of the pile. She pulled a mossy web from it and found a crude dragon statue – similar to the one kept outside her cottage. “You weren’t very fair,” Nell told the ancient figurine. She felt a new respect for it, however, and placed the carving higher up upon the stones, well out of the muck.
It was then Nell heard a distant baying. Chills ran through her as she remembered the creature at the well, with its pack-of-hounds
voice and bony hide. She did not survive the midnight corridors of the earth to be taken unawares by the beast again.
Grabbing a rock, Nell hid as best she could among the fallen pillars and waited. The barking grew louder and she tensed at its approach. But wait… she knew the sound of that bark. “Rawley!” Throwing down her stone she scrambled to the top of the pile to see her dog bounding from one spongy spot to another, with Peter Domani farther behind. On the hermit’s back was a great bundle of kindling, which forced him to walk hunched. He was scanning the horizon, unable to make out what the dog was so excited about.
Rawley bowled her over when he reached Nell, licking her face, hands and neck. She was still hugging him when Peter finally drew near. “You!” he said irritably, but there was surprise in his watery blue eyes. “How did you find your way to the far reaches? Your dog came howling last night and would give me no peace,” he grumbled. “Lucky for you I decided to gather sticks today. Well, come along, you look famished.”
As they wound their way back to Peter’s house, Nell chattered about her time below ground. The tale tumbled out of her, a rambling collage of impressions. “You wouldn’t believe all the stuff that’s right below our feet. It’s a whole other world! There are big rocks like fangs and hanging towers, and everything was dripping. Oh, and there were huge walls lined with wavy blue crystal; and cracks that you have to crawl through for miles, or chutes you have to shimmy up. Sometimes they were really slippery, but I was like a spider – the only spider underground. I wonder why there weren’t any bugs…” The carven serpent statue came to mind just then, and she blurted, “But I think I know why people keep dragons next to their doors.”
Struggling beneath his sticks, the hermit was only half-listening to Nell, but he squinted at her mention of dragons. “Oh? And why is that?”
“Because they
do
guard the door. I saw one just before I got out. He wasn’t nice, but I answered his questions right I guess.”
Peter stopped and turned, swinging the load of wood in a wide arc. “You say you met a dragon who asked you questions? And where exactly did you meet this dragon?” He was suspicious of her tale, but his scholarly curiosity won out.
Nell shrugged. “Back there,” she motioned in the direction of the isle of broken pillars. “It was after Whst – that’s my friend the candlewisp – after Whst showed me the way through the caves and over the lake where the spirits were. Lots of candlewisps live down in the water beneath the marsh. Did you know that?”
At this news, the old man nodded, very slowly. The frown of mistrust on his face wavered. “Yes, I once read that. But few have ever seen their sunken cities and lived to talk about it. How ever did you get a candlewisp to take you there – you aren’t making this up now, are you?” After all, Peter was a man of great knowledge, and he didn’t enjoy humoring the imagination of a youngster. He knew better than most that the history of the candlewisps was a dark one – a tale not told to children, if it was told at all anymore.
“No, it really happened! I swam right over a city of ghosts, and then I walked up a long road, and a dragon tried to eat me.”
The hermit started walking again, unsure what to make of her words. He decided to test the story. “And this dragon. What questions did he pose to you?”
“He asked me the name of the magic that Lady Zel gave me. That wasn’t too hard, since she told me what it was. The Wealding Word,” Nell pronounced the name carefully. “Then he asked what it was – its true nature.”
The hermit stopped again and swung the great load of kindling down with a dry, snapping crash. Now he was interested. “Yes? Yes? And what did you tell him?” If she was lying, the old man believed it.
“I said I don’t know,” Nell replied.
Peter laughed and slapped his hands together. “There couldn’t be a better answer than that!”
“Why?” she asked.
“The Wealding Word… it is a very special kind of magic. At its heart, it is
nothing
rather than something. It grants the power to listen – to listen emptily. To listen anew, every time, without clouding things up with what you think you know,” he said. “The problem with most people is that they think they know everything, and seldom notice what’s really in front of them. Didn’t Lady Zel teach you this when she gave you the Word?”
Nell frowned. She didn’t like to think that Lady Zel was capable of such an omission. “No, she didn’t,” Nell said cautiously. “The dragon said that she wasn’t very smart for giving me the Word. Do you think that’s true?”
Peter chuckled. He was slowly warming to the girl. “Lady Zel certainly does things for her own reasons. Long ago I gave up trying to understand them though. She gave the Wealding power to me once too. I was twenty five at the time. What’s surprising is that you’re a tad young for sorcery.” He didn’t mean to give offense to Nell, and added quickly, “But Lady Zel must have seen something very rare in you, or else she would not have granted you this gift.”
“Gift,”
Nell repeated glumly. “Lexi calls it a curse. She thinks I caused the trees to fall on our house – but I just wanted the flowers to grow.” She sighed, stripping bark from a sprig of sassafras as they traveled. “That’s why I left. Everything was going wrong around me. Now I can’t even talk to Sola and Rawley like I used to.” The dog wagged his tail fiercely at the sound of his name.
