Authors: A C Gogolski
The Wealding Word (3 page)
Ryan saw her looking toward the wilderness and finally pounced upon something to talk about. “That’s Lady Zel’s tower,” he said. “She’s the Witch of the Weald. Lord Umbrage says she’s wicked and can turn men into sheep, or geese, or mules.” He bellowed, “Eeeouuh!,” snorting at his impression of the animal.
Instead of laughing along, Nell bolted upright on the ledge. “The witch!” What had she done? All her worries flooded back to her. The bracelet wasn’t hers to give away – what if the witch came to demand it back?
Ryan looked confused. “Didn’t you like my donkey?”
Before Nell could explain, the old woman called: “Nell! Come down!”
“No, it’s not that,” she said hurriedly. “The witch, I met the witch today.”
The servant’s voice croaked again from the opening near the cages. “Nell? Are you all right?”
Ryan was even more confused. “Lady Zel was here? But she’s not allowed into the castle. It was my father’s final order before he left.”
They could hear the old crone complaining at the base of the ladder, “Where
is
that girl? Oh, this ladder will be the death of me yet!” She shouted once more, “Nell? Your mother will be looking for you! Come child, it’s time to go!”
Nell gave Ryan a pained look. After all, the bracelet was a gift, and she was at a loss for how to ask a noble to give something back. Worse yet, they had finally started talking, and now she had to leave! “I’m coming!” she yelled. To Ryan she said, “I guess I have to go.”
“Maybe we can watch together again!” Ryan called as Nell slowly made her way back down the ladder.
Ever since meeting the sorceress, the world had started to change for Nell. She noticed things that she missed before: the loamy way the leaves smelled when she crashed through them, or the little sparkles on a stone when she looked up close. Most of all, the world sounded different. Ordinary noises were more musical, richer, and packed with insights that she never before suspected. She knew exactly where her sister was in the cottage by the distant squeak of the floor; and she could tell if Lexi was in a foul mood merely by listening to her breathe.
Sometimes, when she let her mind drift, Nell imagined she could hear the voices of animals too. Just yesterday, she thought she overheard the family cow say “Thank you” to Lexi, who was milking her – though her sister didn’t hear a thing. And now, cozy beneath her sheets, Nell heard more curious voices.
She peered over the side of the bed, smiling her crooked grin in the darkness. “I can hear you,” she said. Her pets were lying on the floor. They looked up when she spoke.
“She’s just pretending,” the cat said to Rawley in a smug tone.
“But what if she can really hear us?” the dog asked.
“I’m not pretending!” Nell said.
Sola still didn’t believe it. “Coincidence.” Looking back up at Nell, the cat sighed, “All right. Tell me what we were just talking about.”
Nell sat for a moment, trying to remember. “Oh! I know. The mean bear who lives beneath the hill – you said he’s mad because it’s almost winter and he hasn’t had enough to eat.”
“It’s true! She can hear us!” Rawley leapt up to lick Nell’s face, and they spent the rest of the night whispering like old friends.
The next day, Lexi called to Nell, “Go out and get some firewood. I don’t need you getting in the way all day. And take your stupid dog with you!”
Nell gladly threw on her coat and raced outside. Sola managed to scamper out behind Rawley, just before the door slammed shut.
They wandered under a cathedral of trees, the cat and dog telling Nell about the places known only to them. First they showed her the hole behind the old woodshed. “Here’s where I keep my favorite bones,” Rawley said. He sniffed about and started digging. “Smells like one is ready!” In a moment, he held a cracked, brown antler in his teeth.
“Oh great,” said Sola. “Now he’ll be toting that disgusting thing around for a week.” As Rawley gnawed his antler, the striped cat led Nell further into the woods. They came to a clearing of dried grass surrounding an arrangement of stones. A loud croaking echoed through the air. “That’s the giant frog who sits at the bottom of the well,” Sola explained. All around the abandoned well the ground squished underfoot. “And here’s a path that leads to Murkly Marsh. Nasty little candlewisps live there, and the old hermit.”
Nell had never seen a candlewisp, but she heard plenty of tales about them. Evil little ghost-lights that made people lose their way in the bogs – few who saw them ever lived to tell the tale. The hermit, on the other hand, she had seen walking through her village several times. Bent and old, he always wore a ragged coat and seemed too
blind to see where he was going. He smelled bad too. The children laughed at him when he came around.
Another croak grated from below, and Nell peered down into the dark hollow of the well. She wondered how deep it was, down there in the black. As Sola and Rawley sniffed about nearby, the wind started picking up. Overhead, the clouds darkened from steel to deepest slate. “I think we should go,” Nell said at last. Her hair whipped about her in the cold breeze.
“Ouch!” yelped Rawley. An ice ball had hit the dog on the nose. He found it among the leaves and crushed it between his teeth.
“It’s starting to hail,” Nell cried. In the distance, a curtain of white descended upon the forest, moving fast from the sea. It wouldn’t be long before the storm broke over them.
Sola bolted ahead, “Come on! We’ll be safe beneath the big oak. It’s not far!”
Icy pearls smacked against the trees and ground. One stung Nell on the neck and she whooped at the chilly water scuttling down her back. Covering her head with her coat, she ran through the forest. Along the way they passed a pairing of massive stones standing twice as tall as Nell. She would have missed them completely, despite their size, if not for the hail clattering off them from above.
Just before the skies truly opened, they came to an enormous, golden-leaved oak, standing atop a hill like a fountain of sunshine. Its trunk was as wide as an oxcart, and corded like a rope. Red holly sprouted from several wide cracks in the bole, crowning the tree with patches of deepest green. When Nell pushed through its low hanging branches she found a dry, comfortable place among its roots. Sitting there under the tree was like being in a secret chamber, but the place felt sad somehow.
Rawley slumped down in the dirt. “I dropped my bone,” he lamented. If cats could smile, Nell thought she saw Sola grin at the news.
The golden canopy provided excellent cover from the rain and hail. Only the occasional drip ever reached the friends below. A rectangular pond covered in water roses sat under the boughs nearby. It was more a pool than a pond really, and the sides closest to the oak were oddly straight, ending in two perfect corners. What’s more, the little pool centered directly in front of the tree, as though intentionally placed to reflect its splendor.
Nell’s father once told her that, long ago, a mermaid lived in a hidden forest spring. At night, her beautiful voice could be heard near the water, singing about a lost love. Nell decided the pool beneath the golden oak was a very likely place for a water spirit to dwell. Thunder rumbled a few sad strains as she sat thinking about mermaids, watching the rain splatter off the flowers. Soon the worst of the storm blew over, and was replaced by a gentler pitter-patter.
Rawley dozed in a tangle of roots, his paws already twitching. Sola curled up next to him, cleaning her striped coat. Since her pets were determined to rest, Nell thought she would get a better look at the water. She reasoned that if mermaids were still about, it would be easier to spot them from higher up. Besides, the holly-covered oak was perfect for climbing: its gnarled, twisting trunk had lots of folds and handholds.
As Nell hoisted herself from the ground, she thought she felt the slightest shiver run through the tree. Just as she was about to pull herself into one of the lower boughs, a groggy whisper rustled the air, “That’s my nose!”
Nell was holding onto a stubby branch. Above it peered three gnarls running with sap. Several more knots spaced haphazardly around the trunk blinked open, shutting almost immediately. It was as though the tree could gaze in all directions at once if it wanted, but
its lids were too heavy for the effort. Below the largest of the eyes frowned a crack where Nell’s foot was solidly wedged.
She jumped down in surprise. “Sorry! I didn’t mean to hurt your nose.”
“You can hear me,” said the oak, sounding like he had just woken up. He had a voice like crystallized syrup: sweet and thick and crackly.
Nell bobbed her head in shock, “Yes.”
“My words don’t reach many ears anymore. Who taught you to listen so quietly?” Only the rustle of leaves in the breeze sounded outwardly, but somehow, Nell heard the tree.
“No one taught me,” she said. “I found a magic bracelet that belongs to the Witch of the Weald. Now I can speak to cats, and cows, and dogs… and even to you!”
“A bracelet gave you this power? Are you sure?” No less than fifteen more gnarls around the trunk creaked open to inspect her. “Well, if it isn’t yours, I hope you will give it back,” he said in a slow measure.
Nell’s heart sank. She slumped down amid the knobby roots and was suddenly pouring out everything about the sorceress, the bracelet, and the boy in the tower. The sleepy tree made for an easy confidant. “I want to give it back, but I gave it away already. Will the witch be mad at me?”
“Who can say?” the tree replied. “The witch once held someone like you prisoner in a tower, but the girl escaped and came to me. How long has it been? I wonder,” he mused, struggling to keep two or three eyes focused on Nell. They just kept drifting shut.
“Do you think she’ll make me a prisoner, or… or turn me into a sheep?”
“I doubt she would turn you into a sheep,” he said, “but she does have a nasty temper.” They were quiet for a long time, and Nell thought the tree might have fallen asleep. Suddenly it rumbled, “Hmmm. Perhaps if you take a gift, she would forgive you. Little Zel said the old sorceress used to love gifts.”
“Zel? That’s the witch’s name: Lady Zel. But I don’t have anything to give to a witch,” Nell said.
“My little Zel is the Witch of the Weald?” The golden oak seemed puzzled at the news. “And you’re worried she’s going to turn you into a sheep…”
Nell shook her head vigorously, “Yes! She even changed the castle guards into geese! At least, I think she might have.”
“Hmmph. I must have been asleep for quite a while.” The tree scrutinized Nell with seven woody eyes. Despite her unlikely tale, he decided he liked her. She reminded him of the old days, many ages ago, when young priestesses would come to chat beneath his boughs, and men would make offerings at his roots. “I think I may have something your ‘Lady Zel’ would like,” he said. His branches suddenly shook, raining leaves, acorns, and huge water droplets from above. Nell laughed as the shower soaked her hair and startled Rawley from his slumber. So much for staying dry. “Give her this,” rustled the tree.
There amid the leaves at her feet lay an acorn made of gold. Nell gasped when she saw it and then slowly bent to pick it up, as though it might change back into an ordinary acorn at any moment. The tree continued its creaky whisper, “Zel was destined to be a queen, not a sorceress. Well, no matter who this witch is, be wary when you meet her. Good or bad, people with power can be
reckless.”
Nell hugged the tree in thanks. “I’ll be careful!”
He yawned, “Just tell me you’ll come to talk again. Helps me stay awake.”
“Yes, of course,” Nell said. She was amazed the old tree wanted to see her again. “I’ll come again before winter. I promise.”
Heading home, the whole forest seemed brighter, somehow less forlorn. The sun had sent the storm on its way, leaving behind a cheerful, glistening afternoon. Nell carried no firewood when she came back to the cottage, but she now had something to temper the
witch’s fury, and that was better by far. The relief of it made her feel light inside, so much so that she had to cover her mouth for the smile that kept creeping over her lips.
When she got home, her older sister was waiting. Lexi groaned when she saw Nell’s mud-caked boots. “Have a spat with the grumlins? Did they steal your sticks and dunk you in the muck?”
