The Sweetest Spell (26 page)

A barefist fight versus working in a cavern? At any other time I would have chosen the fight circle—even knowing that my opponent had killed a man. My stomach tightened at the thought of being belowground. Of the smothering darkness. Of the unstable rock walls. “Are all the dirt-scratchers in the cavern?” I asked.

“Every dirty one of them.”

Since I’d have to wait until dark to escape and there was still a
half day of daylight left, I figured there was time to see Emmeline’s father. “I’m better at digging than fighting,” I lied, holding out my hand.

“Too bad,” Wolf said as he tossed a shovel at me. Then he and one-eyed Henry walked away. A pair of soldiers led Billy and me across the doomed landscape to an opening in a rock wall. “See you in a few weeks,” one of the soldiers said.

“Wait. What? A few weeks?” I nearly choked on my surprise. “I’m going to be in a cavern for a few
weeks
?”

“Yeah. We can’t be bringing you back to the surface too often. You got a lot of digging to do. And we never know when we’re going to lose you to a cave-in or to wet lung. We got to get as much work out of you as we can.” He shoved Billy at the opening.

“Wait,” I said again. “I’ve changed my mind. I’ll go fight in Wolf’s circle.”

The soldiers laughed. “Get in,” one said. Then he cracked his whip, stinging Billy’s leg. Billy cried out. The soldier raised his whip again. “Both of you get in or I’ll kill the boy.”

Gripping the shovel so tightly my hands ached, I was ready to swing it at the soldier’s head, but another pair had left the building and were walking toward us. I released my grip and grabbed Billy’s arm. “Come on,” I said. Then I ducked into the tunnel.

We crawled like dogs. The tunnel was barely wide enough to fit through, and not even a child could have stood inside. “Don’t think you can escape,” a soldier hollered after us. “Got a couple of guys waiting for you at the end of the tunnel. They’ll kill you if you try anything.”

“Nice to know,” I shouted. “Always appreciate a warm welcome.” I’d taken the lead. Billy was just a kid, after all, but I’m not sure which of us was most frightened. As he followed, his breathing came in short, uneven huffs. I tried to control mine, but the deeper we crawled, the tighter my chest felt. Sunlight, which had streamed through the tunnel’s entrance, could not reach this far, so the going was pitch-black, with only our hands guiding us as we edged forward. We pulled the shovels along.

A few weeks? How was I going to get out of this?

“Ouch,” Billy said.

“You okay?” I asked.

“Yeah,” he replied. “Landed on another sharp rock.”

My palms and knees had met with a number of sharp rocks too. But the pain was nothing compared to the fear that welled in my gut. Of all the places for Emmeline’s father to be, why underground? I tried not to imagine the tunnel caving in, its stones holding me captive, squeezing air from my lungs. I tried to imagine Emmeline’s face, her wide green eyes, her sweet smile, but even her beauty was powerless against the fear that pounded my skull. With the enclosing silence, my chest tightened more.

“Do you think we’re going to die?” Billy’d spoken so quietly, as if a million miles away.

“How old are you, Billy?”

“Eleven.”

“Well, I’m eighteen and that’s too young to die. That makes eleven much too young to die. So let’s be determined to live. What do you say?”

“Okay.”

Light drifted toward us and the tunnel widened. A pair of soldiers sat on stools, playing cards. They grabbed their swords and frowned at us. “Toss your shovels into the pit,” one of them said.

Just as I’d feared, the tunnel stopped abruptly, a ladder’s top rung the only thing that blocked our fall into nothingness. A chill sent my jaw shuddering. I took a long breath.
Steady now
, I told myself. I thought about trying to convince these soldiers that I was supposed to be back in Wolf’s fight circle. But Billy clutched my arm, his trembling as fierce as a branch in a windstorm. I couldn’t leave him alone.

“Climb,” a soldier grunted.

I reached back and pulled the shovel from Billy’s grip. “Watch out below!” I yelled, then dropped both shovels into the darkness. Two breaths passed before a
clang
reached our ears. No scream followed. That was the first good sign.

“I’m guessing you won’t be lending us one of your lanterns,” I said.

“You guessed right,” a soldier said. “But I’d be happy to give you a push.”

“Not necessary,” I replied. “But thanks anyway.”

Gripping the ladder, I reached around with my foot until it rested on a rung. Then I reached with the other foot until it found a lower rung. I took the first step. Breath. Then the next one. Keep breathing.

“Okay, Billy, your turn,” I said, fighting the panic that scuttled in my chest like a trapped rat. The ladder wobbled as Billy stepped on.

We made our way, leaving the lantern light behind. Not even the cheese cellar at night was this dark. I willed my mind to take me back to my bedroom, to the image of Emmeline with her hair cascading across my pillows. To the sweet way she’d thanked the cow for protecting her at the river’s edge. To the way she’d smiled when she first tasted the chocolate.

Just when I thought we’d be lost in the darkness forever, faint light drifted upward and my hands came into view. With each step the light grew, illuminating the ladder and the rock wall behind. Soon I could see Billy’s face looking down at me. My foot hit something and with relief, I stepped onto solid ground.

We’d descended into a small cavern. A lantern flickered from a stone alcove. Water dripped nearby. Billy stood beside me. His face, blotched with dirt, was turned up at me, his eyes questioning our next move. I suppose that’s how I used to look up at my older sister, before she’d gotten sick. Waiting for her leadership in all matters, from stealing Nan’s biscuits to sneaking into town. “Come on,” I said, grabbing the shovels.

Only one tun nelled from the cavern, and it was tall enough to walk through. Lanterns here and there guided our way, as did the distant sound of hammering. The hammering actually steadied my nerves. It meant that other people were down here—living people, breathing people. Maybe I wouldn’t be buried alive.

Soon the tunnel opened into another cavern. Lanterns hung from nails that had been hammered into the stone wall. I raised my hand to shield my eyes, squinting against the sudden rush of bright light. Then my nightmare came true. “Watch out!” someone hollered. The hammering stopped, followed by the sound of falling rocks. I pushed Billy against a wall, covering both our heads with the shovels. Silence settled, then the same voice called, “Anyone hurt?”

A series of noes followed.

“That you, Billy?”

A young man walked toward us, red hair hanging past his shoulders, a red beard covering his neck. Billy rushed forward and wrapped his arms around the man’s waist. “Wish I could say I’m happy to see you,” the man said, patting Billy’s back. “But I’m not. What are you doing here?”

“They brought me here, same as you,” Billy said.

“Are you Billy’s brother?” I asked.

“Aye. And who are you? You’re not from the Flatlands.”

“Owen Oak,” I said. “From the Wanderlands.”

Red-haired men, all holding shovels, picks, and hammers, gathered around us. I guessed there were forty or fifty of them. They all had a similar look—their homespun clothing tattered beyond repair, their faces gray with dirt, their red manes and beards matted. “I’ve come to find Emmeline’s father,” I said, my gaze traveling across their tired faces. “Emmeline Thistle’s father.” Murmurs arose and they parted slightly, allowing a man to make his way toward me.

“I’m Murl Thistle,” he said. He was bone-thin and hunched in the shoulders. The resemblance was clear in the wide-set eyes, but nothing else about him reminded me of Emmeline. And though the eyes had the same shape and color, they lacked Emmeline’s sparkle. His eyes, so dull and lifeless, belonged to a dead man. He clutched my shoulder with his long fingers. “Has something happened to Emmeline?”

I’ve never been much of a storyteller. I don’t like the long-winded versions of things. But this was such a horrific story, it deserved respect. So Billy and I sat and the others settled around us. I told them of the rain that had pummeled the Flatlands and how the river had flooded. Billy confirmed, adding his own tragic story. I described how Emmeline had been carried into the Wanderlands and how my parents had cared for her. I spoke of their tax-collector who’d come by raft and who’d said that most of the families had made it to higher ground and safety. The men were
comforted by these words, but I told the truth that I’d kept from Emmeline—that many bodies had washed downriver.

A man leaped to his feet. “We must get home!”

“What do you suggest?” another man asked desperately. “Everything we’ve tried has failed.”

“There’s no way to escape this place,” another said. Murmurs of agreement filled the dank air.

“Wait,” I said, waving my hands for silence. “You haven’t heard the entire story. It’s about Emmeline. She’s wanted. She’s the most wanted girl in all of Anglund.”

“Emmeline?” Murl Thistle asked. “Wanted?”

“Yes. She can make chocolate.”

Like Emmeline before them, none of the men knew what I was talking about when I said the word. I was about to explain when a quiet clearing of the throat drew everyone’s attention.

All heads turned toward an elderly man as he struggled to his feet. The only hair on his head were the scraggily patches that grew on his ears. Loose skin hung on his neck, which jiggled when he spoke. “It has happened,” he said, his voice raspy with mystery.

“What has happened?” I asked.

“The legend has come full circle.”

The old man leaned on a shovel, his bony elbows sticking through holes in his shirt. “There has always been a legend about chocolate, but it was forbidden and the storytellers who used to tell it were killed long ago. It is dangerous to speak of it, even now, but I fear I’m the last to know.”

“Speak it,” a man urged. “There is no one here to punish you.”

“What about the stranger?”

“I’m Emmeline’s friend,” I said. Surrounded by a sea of red hair, I was the misfit in this group. They had no reason to believe me, but I hoped they would. “I will not betray her.”

“I’ve spent many days with him,” Billy said. “We can trust him.”

The men nodded, agreement rising among them. The old man’s knees creaked as he steadied himself with his makeshift cane. “The legend says that we were once called the Kell, and we were first to make our homes in this land.”

“Hold on a minute,” I interrupted. “That can’t be true. The books say you came as invaders.”

“What books?” someone asked.

“All the books,” I said. “All the schoolbooks, all the history books. They all say the same thing.”

“We have no such books,” the old man said. “We only have our story, and it goes back to the beginning when our people shared this land with no others but the animals. That is where the legend of chocolate begins, with the animals.”

“Tell it,” a man said.

“Our ancestors, the Kell, learned how to tame the wild horse and the wild boar. But they could not tame the wild wolf. One day, the queen of the wild cows came to the Kell village and spoke to the first chieftain. Said the cow queen, ‘My kind can no longer live safely in the forest, for the wolf eats our young. If your people will let us live in your villages, we will freely give our milk. And when my life nears its end, I will give your people a magical spell—the sweetest spell of all.’ ”

“The chocolate,” I whispered.

“The cow queen kept her word and just before she died, a magical spell was given to a Kell milkmaid, who then gave it to other milkmaids. The spell allowed them to make a special food from cow milk. It was eaten at feasts and weddings.”

“That is why you do not eat cow meat,” I realized.

“It has long been forbidden,” the old man said. “In honor of the cow queen.”

I didn’t know what to believe. Perhaps the invading Kell had made up the story because they were embarrassed about their own history. Perhaps the story made them feel better about their powerlessness. Father had said that legends were half truth and half
story. Honestly, I didn’t care about the past. I didn’t care who had been here first, and who had taken the land from whom. All I cared about was getting back to my family. Bringing Peddler to justice.

And seeing Emmeline again.

But my thoughts were scattered by the earsplitting clanging of a bell. Billy and I stuck our fingers in our ears and looked at each other with surprise. The men all got to their feet and stared up at the cavern’s ceiling. The bell clanged again. “What’s going on?” I asked Mister Thistle.

“They are summoning us to the surface,” he said.

“Really?” I jumped to my feet. “But I thought I’d be down here a few weeks.”

Leaving their tools behind, the men left the cavern and headed up the tunnel, toward the ladder. I would have been first in line, but Mister Thistle held me back, his hand pressing on my shoulder. “Where is my daughter?”

I hadn’t mentioned the kidnapping. “King Elmer sent for her,” I said, which sounded so much nicer. And it was true. “He wants her to make chocolate for him. But Emmeline wants to buy your freedom. I’m sure she’ll make a deal with the king.”

“She should forget about me,” he said. “I deserve nothing from her.”

Though I yearned to run through that tunnel and scramble up the ladder, I took a steadying breath and looked into Mister Thistle’s weary eyes. “She loves you. I’m sure of it. She wants to bring you home.”

“I don’t know why she would love me. I cast her aside when she was born.”

I had only one answer, and even though I didn’t know Mister Thistle and didn’t know his daughter very well, the answer felt true. “She loves you because you are her father. We forgive the mistakes of the people we love.”

“She has her mother’s heart,” he said, tears pooling on his lower lids. I turned away from his sudden surge of emotion.