Red (7 page)

Protection Spell

When faced with danger, have no fear

Take heaps of courage, a pinch of cheer

What a worthless spell! Who could possibly face this kind of danger with no fear? My whole body was flooded with fear. It was seeping from my pores, and the bear could probably smell it like bacon-wrapped pork chops.

She roared, showing fangs as long as my fingers.

Mine,
she was saying.

“I'm going away now,” I said. “You needn't be upset.”

But the bear was already too upset to listen. Just because I can communicate with animals doesn't mean they won't rip out my throat.

The bear lunged, swiping her claws at me. I raised my arm as the claws raked down my cloak, shoving me to the ground. One claw grazed the top of my cheek. Soon my name and destiny would be fulfilled. Red as blood.

I closed my eyes.

The end.

“Here, bear!” said a voice. Not my own. The bear grunted and turned. I squinted to see. Directly behind the bear was none other than Goldie. She was standing right in the swarm of bees, her hands full of dripping honeycomb.

“Here, bear, come get some honey!” she coaxed like she was talking to a puppy.

The bear grunted again but got down on all fours and lumbered toward Goldie. She backed away, waving the honeycomb, then threw it into the bear's cave. The bear ambled to it, snuffling hungrily.

Goldie ran to me.

“How did you—”

“No time! Hurry, before the bear comes back!” She helped me to my feet, and we ran together, this time from a real bear, and I had the slightest twinge of guilt for the time I made Goldie think a bear was chasing her in The Woods when we first met. Real bears are quite a bit more terrifying than imaginary ones. We ran and ran until we were both out of breath, and then we collapsed against a tree.

“Great gourds!” said Goldie. “I thought you were going to be bear breakfast for certain!”

Goldie was a mess. Her curls were a ratty tangle, her dress was torn and smudged with dirt, and her face was covered in red welts. She had them on her hands, too, under all the sticky honey.

“Goldie,” I said, “you're covered in bee stings.”

“I'm all right,” said Goldie, but I could tell by her swollen grimace that she wasn't. Luckily, I knew a quick remedy for burns and stings. It was one of the first potions Granny taught me. It had only one ingredient, and I always carried it with me.

Soothing Salve

Witch spit

I spat on Goldie's face several times.

“Ooh, gross! What are you doing? Is this how you thank people for saving you from certain death?”

“Rub it in,” I said. “It will help the pain.”

Goldie wiped her face, looking disgusted, but then I could tell it was helping. The swelling was going down, and her whole face relaxed.

“Spit on my hands,” she begged.

“But you didn't say ‘please,' ” I said in a teasing voice.

“Red!” she scolded.

I spat on each hand five times, once for each swollen finger. Goldie rubbed her hands together and sighed.

“How did you find me?” I asked.

“I didn't,” said Goldie. “I found the honey hive. Is this one yours, too?”

“No,” I said.

“I thought not. I still couldn't get the honey with all the bees swarming, and then the bear came, so I hid, and then
you
came, and I just knew that bear was going to eat you, so I thought, I have to get some honey, because bears like honey, of course! So I held my breath and braved the swarm and got the honey, and so you're alive!”

“Goldie, you fool! You could have died from so many bee stings.” Goldie's smile faltered. I bit my tongue.

Rude, ungrateful Red! Is that any way to thank someone for saving your life? By criticizing them? “But thank you,” I said. “That was very brave, and if you hadn't nearly gotten stung to death, I'd surely be dead.”

She looked down and blushed, then gasped. “You're bleeding!”

I lifted my hand. Blood trickled over my fingers. On my forearm, there was a gash about three inches long. I had forgotten that the bear had clawed me. I hadn't even felt the pain until now, but with the excitement wearing off, the sting was setting in.

“Do you want me to spit on it?” said Goldie.

“No thank you,” I said. “It doesn't help with cuts, only burns and stings.” I pressed my cloak over the wound to stop the bleeding.

“Well, at least your cloak isn't destroyed. It suits you so well.”

I inspected my cloak. There wasn't a single tear, not a thread out of place. It was completely whole. But how? I had distinctly felt the bear's claws raking down my shoulder. Surely they should have ripped the fabric.

“Well, I suppose I should be on my way,” said Goldie, twiddling her fingers.

“What way is that?” I asked.

“I'm not sure exactly. I was still hoping to find another dwarf, see if he could help me get a love potion? But I don't know which direction….”

Oh, bother, I'd forgotten about the love potion. “Goldie, I really think you should forget the love potion. Do you really want to
make
a boy love you? Even if it works, it won't be real. Love isn't love unless he
chooses
to love you, right?”

Goldie's eyes went wide. Her chin trembled. “I don't need the love potion for a boy. I need it for my mummy!”

“Your mummy?”

She nodded. Her eyes brimmed with tears. “Now that there's no more gold in The Mountain, there's nothing special about me, and Mummy doesn't love me anymore.” The tears came pouring out, running in rivers down her cheeks.

I opened my mouth and closed it again. This was not what I had expected. Perhaps my mother thought me a little odd. She might not understand me like Granny did, but I never questioned that she loved me. All mothers love their children, don't they?

Goldie turned and ran aimlessly through the trees. I could have let her go. I could have gone my own way, like I'd wanted to do from the start. But I couldn't just abandon her. And I couldn't really blame Goldie for wanting magic to get back someone she loved. Isn't that what I wanted, too?

I sighed. “Goldie, wait!”

I found her sprawled facedown in the dirt, sobbing. Soon she'd create her own swamp.

“I'm sorry I sent you away before,” I said.

Goldie stopped crying, but she didn't get up.

I took a deep breath, steeling myself for what I was about to say. “You can still come with me. If you want. Of course, you probably don't…”

Goldie lifted her face off the ground. She had dirt smeared all over her, and her eyes were red and puffy, but they were hopeful. “Do you mean it?”

I nodded, and I realized that I did mean it. Even though she talked a lot and her bouncy golden curls made me dizzy, Goldie was slowly growing on me. And after last night, I really didn't want to be alone. “But you have to keep up,” I said. “No dillydallying.”

“Okay,” said Goldie. She got up, brushed herself off, and wiped her tears, smearing more dirt across her nose and cheeks.

“Are you still looking for the well?”

“Yes,” I said.

“Perhaps it could help me with Mummy, too. Do you think it could?”

“I don't see how it could, but who knows? We could find something else along the way.”

“Right,” said Goldie. “Then we haven't a moment to lose. We must find love and life or die trying!” She marched away with long, purposeful strides.

“This way, Goldie,” I said.

“Oh. Yes, of course.” She whipped around, and we continued along the river.

“I didn't ever think we'd be friends,” said Goldie, hopping from a log to a stone. Then she darted to a patch of buttercups and picked a handful.

“I didn't, either,” I said. Our reunion seemed to renew Goldie's boisterous energy, making her as dizzying and annoying as ever, but I took it all in stride. Goldie said we were friends. No one except Rump had ever called me that, and I found it gave me a sort of warm, sweet feeling inside.

“Everyone told me to stay away from you, because of your name.” She twirled a buttercup between her fingers. “And also because they said you're a witch, of course, but I think that just goes to show they didn't really know you. You're a little scary at first, but that's mostly because you frown a lot.”

“I frown a lot?”

“Yes, you're frowning now.” Goldie spun around me, then skipped ahead of me. She was like a hummingbird. She darted this way and that, taking twenty steps for every one of mine, and prattling a hundred words for each of mine. She was a girl who magnified and multiplied everything, and yet it had the backward effect of exhausting me while energizing her.

“I'm hungry,” said Goldie. “Do you have any food?”

“Catch!” I tossed a few of the berries from my apron pocket, and they all bounced off her face. “Almost. Try again.” I threw just one berry, and Goldie caught it in her mouth. I rewarded her with a handful, which she promptly devoured.

“Do you think you can sense red things like I sense golden things?” she asked, juice running down her mouth.

“Maybe,” I said. I had never really thought about this, but it seemed reasonable. I did find a lot of wild raspberries and strawberries and plums, but I always assumed they were simply plentiful in The Woods and easy to find and it had little to do with destiny. Destiny wasn't something I was so certain about anyway. I knew names were powerful, and sometimes things happened that we had no control over, but I disliked the idea that I couldn't determine my own future. I wanted to decide for myself how things would go for me. I supposed that was why I was here now, searching for a magic well, because destiny had delivered bad news. I was going to give destiny a good punch in the face.

“I'm still hungry,” said Goldie when the berries were gone. “Maybe we can catch some fish.” She started toward the water.

“Don't be stupid,” I said. “Don't you remember the sprites?”

Goldie scowled. “I remember the sprites. I just thought maybe some fish would be nice.”

I looked away, remorse needling me. “I'm sorry,” I said. “I just thought you might have forgotten.”

“Well, I didn't,” she said. “I never forget anything.” She lifted her chin and walked faster. So I walked faster, too, and then she went faster, so I went faster, and then Goldie ran, so I ran, too. We raced down the river. I pulled ahead of Goldie, and I was pretty proud of myself until—

Schleeeoop!

I sank into the ground up to my knees. Goldie stopped just short of the mud puddle. “Golly glops! What a mess!” She plugged her nose.

It smelled like goat dung, and it looked like it, too, sort of a brownish green with streaks of yellow. A toad croaked and hopped away. I had clearly invaded her home. Well, I had no objection to leaving. I pulled my legs up, but one shoe stayed in the mud. I had to dig down to get it out. It came loose with a great squelchy slurp and splattered mud all over my face.

Goldie stifled a laugh. So I grabbed a handful of mud and flung it at her face. She stopped laughing. I chuckled and pulled myself free of the bog, then a glob of mud smacked me in the back of the head. I felt the muck dripping down my hair. I turned around to Goldie. She was brushing off her hands with a satisfied smirk.

“You know what this means, don't you?” I said.

“What?” Goldie shifted nervously.

“War!” I flung two handfuls of mud. She shrieked and stumbled forward into the muck, but as soon as she came back up, she lobbed an apronful of mud in my face. I gagged and sputtered.

“You have a little something on your face,” said Goldie.

“That's funny, you have a little something everywhere.” I lunged at Goldie and tackled her into the mud. We rolled this way and that while the mud squished and squelched with such a range of pitches it was nearly musical. The smell was vile, but it didn't keep us from smearing the mud in each other's faces, laughing so hard we couldn't stop.

“Look!” said Goldie. “A bend in the river!”

She was right! The river was bending to the left, which was probably what had formed this bog in the first place. We slogged our way out of the mud, soggy and smelly as rotting fish guts, but neither of us minded. I didn't think I'd laughed quite like that since…since the last time I had a friend, when Rump still lived on The Mountain.

Goldie put her muddy arm through mine, and we walked away from the river, our footsteps squelching in a cheerful rhythm.

By early afternoon, we found the rock shaped like a fish. Its curved body was poised as though jumping out of water, just as the dwarf had said.

“Now which way?” asked Goldie.

“The dwarf said north. And we were going west, I think, so…” I tried to get my bearings, but I wasn't at all certain until something whispered in my ear. A yellow leaf drifted past me, floating along an invisible path.

“Follow the nymph!” I said. We walked around a narrow ledge on the mountainside that gave way to a steep, rocky hillside and finally smoothed to thick woods dotted with stones. Gravestones.

We instantly slowed, suddenly wary of what lay ahead.

The graveyard looked ancient. Some of the stones were crumbling, covered in lichen, and the names etched in them were nearly unreadable from so many years of rain and wind and snow. I couldn't help but study the names as I passed.

A
GATHA.
B
ELINDA.
J
ACOB.
B
ERNARD.

My skin prickled as I read. People who had once been alive were now dead and buried in the ground, nothing but bones and dirt. No matter how rich or poor, how powerful or helpless, they all died.

“I don't like graveyards,” said Goldie.

“There's nothing to be afraid of,” I said, though my own voice trembled.

“What if we see a ghost?”

“Then we must hope it is a friendly one.”

B
ERTHA.
H
UGO.
K
LAUS.

The trees began to whisper.

“Do you hear that?” Goldie asked.

“Shhhh.” The whispering grew louder, like a wind rustling the leaves, except I felt no breeze.

“It's a ghost!” whimpered Goldie.

“It's not a ghost,” I said. “It's the tree nymphs.” They seemed excited, or at least they were louder than I'd ever heard them before. Granny said when people die, the tree nymphs soak up all their memories and whisper their ancient secrets and wisdom to those who will listen.

I walked between the gravestones, tilting my ears toward the trees.

R
OSAMUNDE.
S
IEGMUND.
G
UIDO.

I could almost hear the nymphs saying the names aloud with their tiny clicks and whispers. Then the nymphs took flight, all the leaves rising off the branches at once. They swirled around us, hundreds of them, maybe thousands. Surely I could catch at least one.

I jumped and clapped my hands over the nymphs. I tried to use my cloak as a net, but the nymphs evaded me at every turn. Then they swarmed all around me, tugging on my cloak and hair. They did the same to Goldie, pulling us each farther into the graveyard, where more tree nymphs rose off their branches. Finally they all swirled up into the sky in a funnel, leaving all the surrounding trees as bare and lifeless as the graveyard. But beyond the trees lay the treasure we were seeking.

A well.