The Wealding Word (8 page)

They went through the kitchen where Lexi was just getting up, and tried to force the cottage’s back door. Chase was able to open it wide enough to push through, and Rawley squeezed past next. Pulling her boots on, Nell followed them outside, eager to solve this mystery.

Her hair stood on end when she saw the cottage. Green vines had grown up around it overnight, entwining her home in a thick netting. Worse yet, the oaks and maples towering on either side had all somehow bent their trunks inward, forming a cave of limbs over Nell’s house. The sight of the old trees cloistered together at such an unnatural angle made her mother gasp when
she came out to see. “How could they grow like that – and in one night?”

The family walked around the tree-domed, ivy-shrouded house, only to find something even more bizarre: intertwined with the vines were several ridiculously large crocus plants – directly outside Nell’s window. They were the very plants she had tended just yesterday. Now they sagged against the thatched roof, huge purple blossoms rimed with frost.

Nell’s father set to work at once cutting the strange vines, but the task was difficult and long. It was as if the ivy on the cottage had been growing unchecked for twenty years. And as for the way the trees bent over the house… there was no explaining that at all. Neighbors assembled, gawking at Nell and her family. None offered to help Chase chop the thick cords: no one wanted to go under the great leaning oaks, or touch the freakish flowers.

The unwanted attention was too much for Lexi. She reared on Nell, exclaiming,
“She
did it!
She
put a spell on the house!”

Chase set down his axe. “What’s this rubbish, Alexandra? It’s not Nell’s fault that spring’s sprung on us all at once.” He tried to laugh, but the sound was forced. Like everyone else, the man had been shaken by the sight. What’s more, while the rest of the village had a light layer of snow on it, the grass around the Shoemakers’ cottage was thick and green. It looked as though some wellspring of warmth had enveloped the house overnight. He didn’t understand why this had happened any more than the others, but he wasn’t blaming Nell.

“Well I say she’s cursed!” Lexi shouted. With a dozen other villagers standing just beyond their gate, she leveled her finger accusingly at Nell. “I saw her whispering outside yesterday. She used a troll’s charm to make the flowers grow!”

Nell’s mother gave Lexi a dark look. “Alexandra, that’s enough.”

“And she thinks she can talk to dogs too!” Lexi cried.

If anyone would accuse Nell of witchcraft, it would be her sister. All winter Lexi endured Nell’s whispering to Sola and Rawley. She would pretend not to hear the secret little conversations, but the way Nell spoke to her pets made it almost believable. The cat and dog would sit motionless, staring at Nell all the while. It infuriated Lexi – who knew it was all a lie, of course. Nell had found a sure-fire way to annoy her, but that was over now.

Villagers wandered away from the peculiar vegetation, muttering and shaking their heads. “Lexi, go inside,” Chase commanded. He pulled the last tangle of vines from the roof and piled them behind the cottage, but some of the cuttings were already taking root again where he set them. “Both of you, go back inside. I have to get to my shop, and your mother is going to the castle by herself today. I want you to act like sisters while we’re gone.”

Lexi wore a mean grin as soon as they were alone.

Nell was carrying a steaming pot of water to wash clothes when her sister’s anger flared. She came upon Nell suddenly, yanking at her hair, “D’you make a deal with the trolls? Hmm?” She ripped downward again. Nell winced as hot water spilling from under the lid scalded her hands. Despite the rough shaking, she managed to keep her grip on the heavy pot. “No one will buy from father if they think we’re cursed!” Lexi shouted.

“It’s not my fault!” Nell shot back. Tears poured down her cheeks. Her arms were shaking from the strain of the pot.

Rawley sprang forward, giving a warning nip at the older girl’s skirt. Faced with a growling dog, Lexi pushed Nell away and kicked at him. “I’ll get you too, you stupid mutt!”

At that moment the weight of the pot became too much for Nell. With her last bit of strength she heaved it away from her, directly at the fire. It hit the hearth with a dull thud and then a POUUF!, as water splattered over the flames. In an instant, smoke assailed the kitchen, while ashy rivulets ran amuck over the floor.

“Arrgh!” Lexi shrieked. “You’re in trouble now!” But the sight of charcoal rivers flowing across the floor – and the best pot of the house charring in the fire – was enough to divert her rage. She barreled past Nell and dove for the mop. “Get a broom!” she cried. Nell choked back her sobs and ran to obey. The rest of the day they spent cleaning in tense silence.

A week passed, and people all over the village were talking about the family who lived beneath the “witch oaks.” It seemed Lexi was right: no one came near Chase’s shop. Nell’s father hadn’t sold a single boot or made any repairs – not since the trees began leaning so ominously over his home. And the more her parents worried about money, the more Lexi tried to hurt Nell when they were alone. Hair-pulling, tripping, and pushing her into the mud were her favorite punishments. She didn’t forget Rawley nipping at her either. The older girl found an opportunity to smack him any time she held a broom – which was often.

People now avoided Nell when she walked to the castle. Some of the younger children would bump her when they ran past, or throw dried leaves in her hair, and her friends pretended not to see her. Nell knew now how the old hermit felt when he came to town. As word of her “curse” spread, urchins about the village began shouting names at her like troll-girl, hobblespook, and Hexi. The latter was only used when she was with her sister: “Oi, here come Lexi and Hexi!” they taunted. And of course, any teasing by association made Lexi even more determined to punish Nell at home.

It only got worse when, during a wicked spring storm, the wind blew down one of the oaks leaning over the cottage. In the middle of the night a gnarled branch split the roof open with a creak and a crash, and there was no way to stop the rain from pouring in until morning. Her father had to work for two days clearing the huge tree, with no one but his daughters to help him. Nell could see him frown
when he looked at her now. He had a roof to repair, a family to feed, and still no business at the cobbler’s shop.

After another long day left to the mercy of her sister, Nell climbed into bed. She tried to find consolation in her pets. “Maybe I should just leave,” she said, but the cat and dog simply looked at her. She had been speaking with them less and less since the parade. In fact, she couldn’t remember the last time they talked. Were they were speaking to her now? She didn’t know.

C
HAPTER
8

T
HE
G
RAY
B
EAST

Running away was much easier than Nell expected. It was spring, the days were warm, and Nell could be far from the village before anyone noticed she was missing. Her mother and Lexi were busy preparing a stew in the kitchen when Nell slipped in. Neither paid any attention to her while she stowed a few pieces of bread, two radishes, and some salt-packed sturgeon in her bag. Then, dodging the buckets catching drips from the poorly repaired roof, Nell walked out the front door.

She didn’t bother calling to Sola or Rawley, she could no longer hear their voices anyway. Besides, that was just another part of her old life she wanted to forget. She wasn’t far down the road, however, when Rawley appeared at her side. The dog glanced up at her and licked her hand, content simply to trot along.

“I don’t know what to do,” Nell said. Even if she couldn’t make Rawley understand her, it still felt better to talk. “Everything is going wrong. Maybe I
am
cursed.” She walked heavily, head down. It was a bright spring day, but the sunny birdsong did nothing for her mood. She wandered out of the village and past the muddy farms on the way to the wood. Horses pulled iron ploughs in the distance, furrowing the soil for planting. The men guiding them barely glanced at “that girl with the curse,” as she was known.

Only one person paid her any mind: her neighbor with the missing fingers, Mr. Gall. He was herding a few dozen goats down the road when she met him. Over their absent bleats and baas, the man stuttered, “G-going somewhere? C-careful the grumlins don’t get you.” He showed a row of crooked brown teeth in what might have been a smile. But Nell was in no mood for conversation, especially with the curious herder. Without replying, she hastened around his animals. Soon she disappeared into a stand of budding white birch.

Gloom was upon her as she wandered the wood. Unconsciously she wound her way to the old well that Sola and Rawley showed her in the fall. No giant frog croaked there today. The well sat on the edge of the marsh, and her thoughts drifted back to the day she met the oak. That seemed like a long time ago. Stopping to rest, she set her bag upon the mossy ring of stones. The little roof to the well had long ago rotted away, but a rope and bucket still survived. She emptied it of leaves and then tossed it down into the darkness for a drink. The bucket hit the water with a distant splash.

It was then she met with a feathery feeling. It crept upon her slowly, tingling up from her toes. She had the sense that someone was calling her from afar, but she couldn’t hear the voice. Blue sky peeped through branches overhead, and warblers, bluebirds, and robins filled the air with the carols of spring. Yet something was wrong about the day, like a shirt worn backwards, or a fork with missing tines.

Rawley panted nearby, waiting for a chipmunk he had spotted to dart from beneath a branch. Nell’s eyes grew heavy as she watched her dog. Without bothering to bring up the bucket, she settled into the leaves and put her head against the mossy stones of the well. “Let the grumlins take me if they want,” she murmured.

When she opened her eyes again, the sun was gone. Gray clouds now covered the forest, stifling the birdsong. Nell could not tell how long she slept, nor what time of day it was. And she was alone.
She bolted up, shouting, “Rawley!” Her voice sounded too loud, disturbing the drone of the nearby marsh. The air suddenly grew cold and quiet. Her dog didn’t come, but the uneasy feeling of being watched intensified. Nell felt oddly naked, standing there alone by the well, and wished she had not called out.

She shook her head and pushed a thick curl behind her ear. It was time to go home. Besides, she remembered she couldn’t find her way to Lady Zel’s tower without Tomkin – the troll had told her it was altogether invisible to uninvited wanderers in the forest. What would I possibly do alone in the woods at night, without a proper blanket or fire?, she wondered. “I really am stupid, just like Lexi says.”

Nell was reaching for her bag when she caught sight of movement in the thicket beyond the old well. “Rawley?” she called again, this time more cautiously.

As if summoned by her voice, a gray creature with a long, pointy head prowled from the trees. Large, jagged antlers threatened the air above it, seeming to shrink and grow as the light changed. It had the front legs of a horse, and the rear of a deer, but its limbs were jointed all wrong, giving it the crouched look of a spider. Its body was like that of a sick animal, ribs and spine poking from mangy fur. But for such a huge and unwieldy thing, it made no sound. A long skinny rat’s tail trailed the creature, with three curling pink fingers at the end. The tail floated about grasping at branches with a will of its own.

Nell took a step backward and felt the stones of the well. She could make no further move without turning her back on the creature. For a moment she considered bolting into the woods to her left, but her limbs froze up. She couldn’t even lift her tongue to swallow.

The gray beast slowly cocked its head, red-rimed eyes absorbing her every detail. Then it spoke. Its voice carried the echo of a
hundred wild dogs – a distant, frenzied baying from the pit of its gut.
“You dropped your bucket,”
it said.
“Let me help you.”

Nell was afraid to take her eyes off the creature, but its compulsion was too great. Her head swiveled against her will and she saw the bucket once again on the edge of the well. The water inside it reflected the gloomy sky above.
“Drink,”
came the baying call.

A thirst greater than any Nell had ever felt stole over her, but she knew she must not bend to drink. To give in to the commands of the skeletal beast would be her doom. “Ra… Raw-ley,” she croaked. She wasn’t sure if she spoke the name or not, but the thought of her companion gave her some hope. With a great effort, she managed to turn her head from the bucket.

The creature was so near to her now that its horse breath moved her hair. Shifting antlers jutting from its skull bent toward her face like twenty shadowy knives. Its eyes were opals, just three hands’ breadth from hers, and she could taste the hot air wheezing from its crusted nostrils.

The voice sounded again inside her chest,
“Come with me, I will feed you. I will take you home.”

Looking into its eyes, Nell felt she would never see home again. Heaviness filled her. She was a hopeless puppet with no will of her own. Rawley had abandoned her just like the Prince, and her end would be a drab gray ritual of pain. The beast’s mouth parted to show a line of pointy teeth, and Nell shut her eyes to the sight of it.

Then an unexpected sound split the air. Ga WOOOOOK! It echoed up from the well, startling both the creature and Nell. The giant frog! Her mind was free of the beast’s beguiling for just a moment – long enough for her instincts to take over. Shifting back on her hands, Nell kicked the sickly thing between its antlers and scrambled up onto the well.