Grayling's Song (12 page)

While the others took cover behind a tree, Auld Nancy stepped forward. “Hie, snake,” she shouted in a shaky voice. She cleared her throat and began again. “Hie, are you here? Show yourself!” There was no response, and she turned with a shrug to the others.

And then, with a cracking of branches and crunching of bushes, the snake slipped into the clearing. Grayling vowed she could hear a heart pounding wildly in every chest, even the serpent's.

The great snake opened its mouth, hissed and howled, and spit flames. Grayling heard the whoosh of the flames, the crackle of branches afire, and the
cronk
of a raven, as Pook—she thought it must be Pook—tore through the blazing branches and soared into the sky, his tail feathers aflame.

Auld Nancy backed up a few steps, lifted her broom, and began to chant:

O spirits of the storm,

Let fire meet earth.

Let a storm spring forth

And shafts of fire come down

To assault our enemy and strike him low.

So might it be.

She muttered and murmured, swaying with her eyes closed and broom pointing to the sky.

May my power bring lightning,

May my anger bring thunder.

Open, skies, and rend clouds asunder!

Suddenly the sky turned dark and thunder cracked. Lightning split the air and splintered trees, bringing branches crashing to the ground. Sparks flared and sizzled, scorching Sylvanus's gown and Pansy's hair. Flashes of lightning lit the clearing; thunder rumbled and roared.

Grayling had pulled her cloak over her head and did not peek out until the commotion had ended. She was grieved to see the snake still there, massive and scaly and untouched by Auld Nancy's lightning. It coiled its quivering body, switched its tail, and let loose a ghastly hiss.

The company fled back into the woods. At a safe distance, Auld Nancy, face red and hands atremble, dropped to the ground. “I cannot direct the lightning truly enough to strike the beast, and I know nothing more to do.”

Grayling felt her face sag like an empty feed sack. She turned to Desdemona Cork, but the enchantress shook her head. “I have had no practice enchanting monstrous serpents, nor do I wish to learn. I say we go elsewhere.”

“Sylvanus,” said Auld Nancy, with Pansy hiding behind her skirts, “I challenged the creature, and, though scorched, I still stand. Might you not try?”

Sylvanus's face paled with fear, but Grayling took his hand and squeezed gently. Pulling his cloak tightly about him, he moved again toward the clearing, the others trailing far behind. He narrowed his eyes and glowered at the creature, which blew fire. Grayling near choked in the ash-and-cinder-filled air.

Sylvanus hastened back toward the trees where the others waited. “'Tis well known,” he said, “that a true magician casts spells and curses at a distance. Preferably a great, great distance.”

He said
ahh
and
hmm
several times, scratched his nose, and rubbed his beard. He peeked from behind a tree and stared at the serpent for long moments. He muttered and swayed, cleared his throat, and hummed. He lifted a pine branch still smoldering and shook it in the beast's direction. “Foul creature from the depths of the earth, beast of fire and doom, may you vanish, retreat, exist no more,” he intoned.

Grayling peered around Sylvanus. The snake was still there.

With another shake of the fiery branch, Sylvanus called, “May you become as small as a drop of rain, a grain of sand, a hummingbird's eye, the elbow of a flea. May you become so small you become nothing at all, and trouble us no more.”

The snake still was there. Its serpentine body quivered and sparks flew from its mouth.

Sylvanus rubbed his nose and rumpled his hair. “That was my finest dematerializing spell. Defeating monsters is not my expertise, I fear. I can do no more.”

His magic was as useless as Auld Nancy's. Grayling's belly clenched like a fist. Had the serpent defeated them? Was their journey over?
No,
she told herself.
No!

Grayling studied the snake carefully. “Sylvanus, look. 'Tis odd, but the creature has changed some.” She went a little closer. “I can almost see through it, as if it were made of a fine, thin cloth with something moving behind, a shape here, a shadow there.”

Sylvanus looked. “Aye, 'tis strange.” He studied the beast. “I expect that this creature is not a serpent at all but a glamour, and my spell has caused the glamour to thin.” Grayling shook her head in puzzlement, so Sylvanus continued. “There be three kinds of serpents: serpents by nature, serpents by spell or curse, and serpents by glamour. A magic spell turns a person
into
a serpent. A glamour spell makes a person appear to be a serpent, but in truth he is not. 'Tis but an illusion.”

An illusion? The coils squeezing her had felt very real. “Can a glamour spell be overturned?”

“Someone must be brave and determined enough to reach a hand through the glamour and grasp the one bewitched through the beastly guise.”

“Be you certain, Sylvanus?” asked Auld Nancy. “It sounds too easy.”

“Easy, you say again?
Easy?
” Grayling spit and sputtered. “Easy for you, perhaps, who does not have to put her hand through a scaly, hissing creature.” For Grayling knew it must be she. She had grown fond of her companions—well, not Pansy—but did not think any of them brave and determined enough to approach the monstrous serpent. Was she? Could she risk the snake's crushing grasp again?

Her heart was racing and her palms sweaty, and although she wanted only to run away, she went a little closer and looked up, up, up.

The serpent opened its mouth and flicked its tongue but spat no fire.

Breathing heavily, Grayling stepped closer, and closer yet. Slowly she reached out a trembling hand and touched it. She felt the leathery scales, the muscles beneath, but then her hand passed right through and met the solid, warm flesh of a hand grasping hers. Startled, she jumped back.

The very air quivered, and the ground shook. A great hiss rose from the creature, which twisted and thrashed. Flames blistered her nose and singed her hair. A shower of ashes, another deafening hiss, and the snake disappeared. And there in its place stood a boy—nay, a young man, strong of arms and shoulders but pale, as if he had spent his life indoors, with hair and eyes of honey brown, and a smile, thought Grayling, bright enough to warm a winter night.

Grayling fell back, her mouth agape, and her companions cried out in dismay. Who was this fellow? Was this another sort of glamour that made a hideous serpent appear to be a pleasant-looking young man so it could get close enough to crush them?

“I am relieved to be released but confused and stupid with not knowing what has befallen me,” the fellow said. “Shall I thank you, fair mistress, for freeing me from this monstrous guise, or was it you who cursed me at the start?”

“Nay,” Grayling answered, “not I. We but came upon you. I must confess I much prefer you in this condition. Who are you?”

“Phinaeus Moon,” he said with a small bow, “apprentice paper maker from Wooten Magna, at the end of the Great Stony Road.” He gestured past the trees. “Returning from delivering a load of paper to the stationers' guild in Lesser Beamish, my bladder was so overburdened I stopped to let my water go. A great noise came, and I felt the earth shake and a voice thundered, ‘Be you now guardian of my house and all that is in it. Let no one pass or you shall be serpent evermore.'”

The company was struck dumb, all but Pansy, who moved to the young man's side. “That was impressive, was it not?” she said with a smug smile. “I did labor long to word the spell just right.”

pell?” Sylvanus
spluttered. “You, you useless lump of a girl, have been meddling in magic?”

“Urk,” said Pansy. And then, “Urk!” The girl was trembling with rage. “Do not call me a lump! Or useless! I can . . . I could tell you . . . I have done . . .” She stopped. Her eyes were dark and cold, and she clenched her lips together.

“Pansy, child,” Auld Nancy asked, “what have you been playing at?”

Pansy backed away. Her face was ashen, but her cheeks flamed. “I am not a child, and I am not playing!” she shouted. “I have more power than you thought I did. I played the fool and you laughed at me, but I have surprised you, have I not? You did not know I had such skills. My mother did not know. But harken to me: I took your grimoires and rooted your cunning folk. I placed a glamour spell on this boy to guard the grimoires. You never suspected me, but I did it. Me!” She put her hands on her hips and smirked in triumph.

There was such silence that Grayling could hear her heart beating and the anxious twitching of Desdemona Cork's skirts. Her belly grew hot with anger.

Finally Auld Nancy darted forward and grabbed Pansy's arm. “Why, Pansy? Why have you done this?”

“I wanted to know what you others know, so I took the grimoires to learn. And I planted the cunning folk.” She shrugged. “I did not want to kill them, but prevent them following me.”

Auld Nancy scowled and said, “Spiteful, careless girl. You do not deserve the power you have.”

“My power, I found, has limits.” Pansy shook her head. “I conjured the force that comes as smoke and shadow, but it has grown ever more powerful, larger and fiercer and harder to control. I did not know what it would do next, or to whom, and feared I might be in danger. You seemed to have a plan, so I struggled to keep the force away, although it wearied and sickened me. I wanted you to succeed so I would be safe.”

“Why was I spared? And Sylvanus and Desdemona Cork?” Auld Nancy asked.

“You? All of you with no grimoires, no real magic, and little power? I did not bother with you, thinking you no threat.”

Sylvanus spluttered again, but Auld Nancy waved him silent. “Where did you learn such spells? Your mother never taught you to be so selfish and careless,” she said.

“How soon,” asked Grayling, her voice tight with fury, “can you undo the damage you have caused?”

“And,” added Phinaeus, “retrieve my horse and wagon?”

They all looked at Pansy, who shook her head. “I can do nothing. 'Tis grown too strong, overwhelming my spells, taking the grimoires and guarding them fiercely. 'Tis a mighty force now, and I am empty and drained and so tired.” She took a long, shuddering breath, and her lips trembled. “We may all be planted ere long.”

Sylvanus scowled at her. “You forgot the third rule of magic:
Do no magic you cannot undo.
”

Auld Nancy grabbed Pansy by an ear. “Stupid, greedy, malicious girl! I will shake you until your bones turn to butter!” She shook the girl roughly. “Then I shall send you back to your mother and tell her what you have done.” Another shake. “That you are thoughtless and dangerous and a disgrace to your family.” And another. “That you should be sent to be dung heap tender or assistant pig keeper.”

“Huzzah!” Sylvanus broke in with a shout. “Huzzah! I have but now realized—the cheese was not useless. The lump of cheese pointed to this lump of a girl. I just did not understand. Yes, yes, I knew it! 'Tis a true soothsaying cheese!” His face fell into disappointed folds. “But now we have eaten it, and it is gone! Alas, alas. True soothsaying cheese, and we have eaten it!”

As Grayling watched and listened, the heat of anger rose from her belly to her face. Her hands itched to thump Pansy until she bellowed. Certain that thumping Pansy would not help, for they might yet need her goodwill, Grayling closed her eyes and breathed deeply, soothing herself with thoughts of moonlight, lavender wands, and sorrel soup with dumplings.

From somewhere behind them came an unearthly sound, a sound between a bellow and a bawl, a sound of menace and pain and despair. Grayling held her breath, prepared to face another snake.

Sylvanus shouted, “Nostradamus!” and ran toward the sound. What was that magic word he shouted? she wondered. And why hadn't he tried it on the serpent?

A rustling in the trees startled her, and she turned to see. The branches parted, and there was Sylvanus and . . . his mule!

“Nostradamus did not run far,” said Sylvanus, beaming at the mule, “and now he is with us again.”

Only his mule! Grayling shook her head to clear it. The snake, the smoke and shadow, Pansy's confession—they had left her most jittery.

Now that the clearing was serpent free, Grayling gathered wood, and Sylvanus built a fire; Desdemona Cork sat beside Auld Nancy and gently rubbed the old woman's aching knees; Phinaeus Moon studied them all in bemusement. Pansy came to sit among them, but the others turned their backs, and she slunk off to sulk alone.