Red (8 page)

The well didn't look magical. It was overgrown with weeds and thistles, and the stones were cracked and crumbling.

“Do you think this is the right well?” Goldie asked.

I was doubtful, except we had followed the dwarf's directions so exactly, and everything had matched his description.

“There's only one way to be certain,” I said.

I walked to the well and leaned over the edge. The bottom was black as a cave at midnight, and I couldn't smell anything at all. I turned the rusty stile so the bucket lowered down. There was a
plish.
I heaved the bucket up and looked inside. Goldie gasped.

“It's wine, Red! Red wine!”

The nymphs swirled over the roof of the well, whispering excitedly. This had to be The Wine Well. I felt that tingly feeling I get when there's magic around—surely this would restore Granny's magic, her life, her youth….

“Do you think we should drink some?” asked Goldie.

“The dwarf said it would restore youth,” I said. “We're already young. I just need to bring some back to Granny.”

“How will you carry it?” Goldie asked.

I hadn't considered that. I had nothing in which to carry the wine, but then there was another rush and swirl of nymphs, and what I'd assumed was a nearby grove of trees was revealed to be a house, or at least what was left of one.

It was a large manor, most certainly abandoned. The shutters were chipped and hanging off their hinges, dead ivy climbed the walls and frame, and the stone chimney was only half standing.

“It doesn't seem like anyone lives there,” said Goldie.

“No,” I said.

“But perhaps there might be a bottle or a jug inside.”

“Yes,” I said, though neither of us moved. A few nymphs settled on the roof of the dilapidated house, making it look all the more overgrown and haunted.

“You go first,” said Goldie.

I walked slowly to the door. It was cracked and chipped. The knob and hinges were orange with rust.

“I think we should knock,” said Goldie. “It's the polite thing to do.”

“Yes, of course,” I said. “We can't go barging into other people's houses.”

I gave a quick rap on the door. There was no answer. I knocked again, and the door fell inward. Clouds of dust billowed up as it crashed to the floor.

I covered my mouth with my cloak as the dust settled. “I don't think anyone's home,” I said.

“Except maybe ghosts,” said Goldie.

We walked slowly inside and the floorboards creaked beneath our feet. It must have been a grand house once. It looked as though it had been abandoned centuries ago. Everything was covered in thick layers of dust from floor to ceiling. Walls, nooks, and candlesticks were festooned with cobwebs, and the drapes and tapestries had been eaten away by moths.

A dining table was set for two with fine china and silver and crystal goblets, as though the inhabitants had just sat down to a special supper and then—poof!—disappeared, leaving their meal to rot and collect dust.

And there was a wine bottle, too. With a cork. I took the bottle off the table. It was empty. When I turned around, something rustled and hooted. I jumped back and Goldie screamed. An owl was perched on the edge of the fireplace. He turned his head and looked at us with one amber eye.

“Hello, owl,” I said.

Hoo! Hoo!
said the owl.

“What did he say?” Goldie asked.

“He said it's not polite to barge into other people's houses.”

“Oh, is this his house, then?” Goldie asked.

Hoo-hoo-HOOT!

“No, he said owls aren't people.”

“Oh, yes, of course. Well then, whose house is it?”

“Albert?” called a soft voice. “Is that you?”

Goldie and I both gasped as a figure emerged from a cobwebbed corner. It was a woman, thin and pale as mist. She was draped in dust and cobwebs like a forgotten figurine on a shelf. The only bit of color on her was her lips, glistening red.

Goldie clutched my arm. “It's a ghost!”

“A ghost?” said the woman. “No. They call me The Well Witch, whoever
they
are, though I don't prefer to be called a witch. It sounds old and ugly, and I am neither.” It was difficult to tell how old she was. She had the air of something ancient, like old books, dusty and worn at the edges. Her skin was like yellowing paper, yet her voice was high and thin, almost childish. She could have been twenty or a hundred.

“Have you seen Albert?” she asked.

“Who's Albert?” I asked.

“My love. He should have been home for supper by now. He hasn't been well lately, you see, and I have the most delicious wine to revive his strength.” In her hands she held a crystal goblet, empty but for a puddle of red at the bottom, just the color of her lips.

“Is that wine from the well?” I asked.

“Yes,” said the woman. “It's the most delicious wine.”

“I was told the wine can make you young again,” I said.

“Yes, it does,” said the woman. “When Albert grew old and took sick, I devoted all my powers to restoring youth and vitality.”

“And it works?” I asked, feeling the hope fluttering madly in my stomach.

“Oh, yes, as you see, I'm quite young. I've been young forever.” As she spoke, her face seemed to shift. It was subtle, but I thought her nose swelled a little and her lips thinned. Probably just the shadows.

“May I take some of your wine?”

The woman glided to the table and picked up another wineglass. “Follow me.” She glided to the entrance and right over the fallen door, saying nothing about it.

In the sunlight, the woman looked older than before. She had some lines around her mouth, and her eyes had crow's-feet.

“I was old myself once,” she said, her voice just a little raspier. “I can hardly remember anything from that old, old life, except that Albert was sick. He'll be well again once he has some wine. Where is he? He's always slipping away from me.”

I looked around, wondering if Albert was as strange and dusty as this woman. She dipped her goblet into the bucket and brought forth the wine. “Anyone who drinks the wine will not die, but regain their youthful strength and beauty. I will gladly share it with you. I think everyone should have it.”

“We don't need it,” I said. “We're already young.”

“Yes, of course. Someday, perhaps. Sooner than you imagine. Aging happens so quickly, it seems. One day you'll feel it creeping on your skin like spiders.” As she said this, wrinkles appeared around her eyes, and the folds around her mouth deepened, as though an invisible sculptor were etching them into her face. “It's a terrible feeling to grow old.” Her body sagged. Her shoulders hunched. “Old age, sickness, and death. They're curses. Eternal youth, that is the greatest power anyone can have, don't you agree?” Her breathing was raspy and labored. Brown spots appeared on her skin, and the veins darkened and rose on her hands.

Goldie nodded. “Of course. Of course we agree.”

“Now I must drink. I can feel myself withering away.” The woman—now an old crone—took a drink, long and deep, and as she did, the years seemed to melt away. The brown spots faded, her skin smoothed, and her shoulders straightened. The tree nymphs rushed all around, clicking and whispering excitedly as the woman drained the goblet, almost as though they were being revived as well. By the time she had emptied the goblet, the woman was young again.

“Great ghosts!” said Goldie. “That's incredible!”

The young woman started. “Oh! Where did you two come from?” She looked between us as though we had appeared out of thin air.

Goldie and I looked at each other, confused. “We've been here all along. We came for some of your wine. I wanted to take some to my granny. She's sick.”

“Sick? Albert was sick. He should have been home by now. Have you seen him?”

“Not since we've been here.” Something very odd had just happened. The hair at the nape of my neck prickled. “What's your name?” I asked. “You never told us.”

“My name?” said the woman. “Why, they call me The Well Witch, whoever
they
are, though I don't prefer to be called a witch. It sounds old and ugly, and I am neither.”

“But what other name? What name were you born with?”

“Born with? I was never born. I've lived forever, you see, and so I have no name. Names are for mere mortals. Things that grow old and die. I do neither, because of my wine. It's quite delicious.” She sipped more wine, and again time reversed itself. Her cheeks turned round and rosy, her waist slender, and she even shrank a few inches, so that she now looked to be fifteen or sixteen.

Goldie was transfixed. “Red, I think I know how to make Mummy love me again,” she whispered, but before I could ask how, the woman noticed us and gave a start.

“Oh! Where did you two come from?”

The cold feeling set into ice as I realized exactly what had happened. The wine had made her young again, but it had also taken away her memories. It turned back time, but only for her, and the tree nymphs soaked up the memories as she lost them with each sip.

“We came for your wine!” Goldie said eagerly. “We want to have some.”

“Of course,” said the woman. “Everyone should have it.” She held out the wine goblet and Goldie reached for it, but I yanked her back.

“Don't, Goldie!” I whispered. “That wine erased her memory. She doesn't even remember us.”

“I know,” Goldie whispered back. “But don't you see? If I drink some of this wine, then I'll be little again. Mummy adored me when I was little. She said I was the most precious thing in the world.” She turned back to The Well Witch. “Can the wine make me younger than I am now?”

“Of course,” said the woman, smiling. “Young and beautiful. That's why I made it. Old age and death are the greatest curse of this world. Now you can break the curse.” She held the goblet out to Goldie.

Goldie wrapped her fingers around its stem. Was the wine really so bad? Maybe if I gave Granny just a sip, it wouldn't make her forget too much—just a few years. She'd still remember me, but she'd be well. She wouldn't die. But how much wine could I give her before she did forget me? That would almost be worse than death, for Granny to live and not know who I was.

Goldie lifted the goblet to her lips.

“Goldie, no!” I lunged and slapped the goblet away. It fell to the ground and broke in two. “Oh, what a pity,” said the witch. “That was my best goblet.”

I watched the wine seep into the ground, my heart pounding as shriveled weeds turned an unnatural green. “Come on, let's go.” I grabbed Goldie's hand, but she pulled away and looked at me like I was a troll. “Who are you?”

I looked closely at Goldie's lips. They were red and glistening. A tree nymph was perched on her shoulder.

Curses. Goldie had swallowed some of the wine.

Goldie turned to The Well Witch and squinted her eyes. “Mummy?”

“Am I?” said the witch. “I suppose I could be. I always wished for a daughter, though Albert wanted a son. Where is he? He should have been home by now. Have you seen my Albert?”

“No, and you're not her mummy. Come on, Goldie.” I tried to grab her hand again, but she wrenched herself free.

“Don't touch me!” Goldie shrieked. “My mummy told me you're an evil witch and you do bad things.”

How much time had been erased? Goldie looked exactly the same. She couldn't have swallowed more than a splash of wine, which I hoped meant only a tiny bit of her memory had been taken. Unfortunately, it was the bit that included our friendship. Still, I didn't understand why she was being so mean. She hadn't been this way when we'd first met. Had the wine changed her nature when it took away her memories? Did she really believe I was an evil witch?

“She's a witch, too,” I said, pointing to The Well Witch. “She just gave you wine that made you forget we're friends.”

“Ha!” said Goldie. “I'd never be friends with someone like you!”

“Oh, yes, the wine,” said the witch. She dipped the other crystal goblet in the wine and held it out to us. “Here. Have some. It's very refreshing.”

“Oh, thank you.” Goldie reached for the wine again, but I yanked her back by her hair.

“No thank you,” I said.

“Ouch, you mean girl! Let me go! Mummy!” She reached for the witch, who was drinking the wine again and growing younger still. Too young to be anyone's mummy.

“She's not your mummy,” I said. “Come on.” I dragged Goldie away from the well and into the graveyard while she pulled and thrashed and scratched.

“Let go of me! Just who do you think you are?” Finally Goldie wriggled free and ran off through the gravestones. She couldn't remember my quest to save Granny, and she clearly wanted nothing to do with me.

But she had no way of knowing where we were or how to get home. Even now, I could see she was confused, wandering aimlessly, with no path to guide her. She wouldn't last a day.

“Goldie, wait!” I ran to catch up with her.

“Go away,” she grumbled.

“But I want to help you.”

“I don't need help.”

“Do you even know where you are?”

She glanced sideways at the gravestones and the whispering trees. “In The Woods, of course. And this is a graveyard, so I can't be far from the village.”

Goldie continued walking, looking every which way, trying to decide which direction to go. I think she knew something strange had just happened, even if she didn't know what it was.

Granny said that memory charms are some of the trickiest magic, because you can't really erase someone's mind. You can only muddle it, like throwing dirt in clear water and swishing it around. I wondered if there was any way to make Goldie's memories clear again. Dirt settles eventually, right?

I followed a few steps behind Goldie. Every now and then, she looked back at me suspiciously, so I focused on the gravestones, reading the names again as we walked.

L
EONARD.
C
HARLOTTE.
H
EINRICH.

Goldie walked a little faster.

W
ILHELM.
O
TTO…

I stopped, squinting at a particularly old gravestone. The stone was crumbling, but the name was clear.

A
LBERT.

Oh, poor Albert. He wasn't going to make it home for supper after all, and The Well Witch would never see her love. She'd wait and wait and make herself young again and again, forgetting everything except Albert, and Albert would never come home.

I moved on, past the graveyard and the whispering trees. Away from The Wine Well and The Well Witch. Away from the magic to save Granny. I wondered if there could be a magic out there that would keep Granny with me without taking too much away.

Goldie walked maybe a hundred feet ahead of me, ambling in an aimless, haphazard way. She glanced back at me over her shoulder and—

Schleeeoop!

She sank knee-deep in the bog.

I laughed, remembering our mud fight, but then Goldie started crying, so I took her arm and tried to help her out.

“Don't touch me!” she screamed. “Stop following me! Stop it, or I'll…I'll hit you!” She raised her hand into a little fist that probably couldn't punch down dough. Still, she looked fierce. She breathed through clenched teeth, and her teary eyes were blazing for a fight.

It was a strange reversal, me chasing after Goldie, and Goldie making threats and fists. But I wasn't about to let her go off on her own. I was Red, I reminded myself, and if nothing else, red was a stubborn color. I hadn't dragged Goldie all this way and gone through all this trouble just to have
her
ditch
me.

I stomped both my feet in the bog. Mud splattered on Goldie's cheek. “You don't scare me,” I said. “I'll come and go as I please.”

She wiped her face. “Oh! You horrible girl! Didn't your mother teach you any manners at all?”

“No,” I said. “But my granny taught me all sorts of spells and potions and curses. I'm very good at the curses.”

Goldie scrambled out of the bog to dry ground. “Witch! Keep away from me! You're evil!” She spoke each word like she was cracking a whip. And it stung. Goldie had never been mean to me like this. Maybe that wine did something else besides take away her memories.

“Fine.” I lifted my hands in surrender. “I'll keep my distance, but I can't help it if we're traveling in the same direction.”

“Fine,” said Goldie, and she stood and huffed along the riverbank.

“Keep your eyes open for bears and wolves!” I called. “I've seen quite a few around here.”

She slowed her step and allowed me to walk just slightly closer. Now that I was chasing after her and she was trying to get me to leave, I couldn't help but feel a pinch of guilt for how I had acted before. I was getting a dose of my own medicine now.

As we traveled, the reality of my situation sank in. The wine would not help Granny, or at least it didn't seem worth the consequences. What if she ended up forgetting me or, worse, hating me, as Goldie did now? I didn't know what to do. There were still two other options the dwarf had mentioned—The Red Roses and The Magic Hearts—but I didn't know where they were or how they worked. I had a feeling the dwarf had purposely kept those details vague to get me to choose the well. He'd probably hoped I'd drink the wine and forget about dwarves and how to make them tell me things. Little trickster.

The sun dipped behind the mountain peaks and the air grew chill. Bats burst from a cave high up on the mountainside, screeching for their supper.

“I'm stopping to make camp!” I called to Goldie. “You may continue without me if you wish. I won't follow you.”

Goldie stopped and glanced back at me with suspicion. I went to work gathering wood and sticks to build a fire, then found a large pine with branches that arched to the ground to make a small shelter. Goldie moved to a tree a ways from me but close enough that we could see each other.

Once I had my fire going, I gathered some wild raspberries and edible roots. Goldie tried to do the same but had no success. I sat by the fire and ate a solitary meal. Usually I enjoyed the quiet of The Woods, but a quiet Goldie was disconcerting. It was like a songbird gone silent.

Goldie peeked out from her pine shelter, but when she saw me watching, she scrambled away.

“If you're cold, you can come closer to the fire,” I said.

She didn't move for several minutes, but eventually she scooted closer, stopping a good five feet away. She wrapped her shawl tightly around her and shivered, then eyed my meal hungrily.

“I won't bite, you know,” I said. “And you can have some berries. I promise they're not poisonous.”

Hunger won out. She crawled toward me like a wary squirrel, snatched a handful of berries, and scrambled back. She devoured the berries in less than a minute. I finished my own meal and pretended not to notice Goldie inching toward the fire until she was only a couple feet away.

A few nymphs swirled around her head. She slapped at them with both hands.

“What
are
these things? They're making strange sounds.”

“They're tree nymphs,” I said. “I think they're trying to help you remember the things you forgot. Listen.”

More nymphs swirled around Goldie, whispering and clicking. She continued to slap them away, then dropped her hands in defeat when it was clear they weren't going anywhere.

“What's the last thing you remember?” I asked.

“You yanked me by my hair away from that well!”

“No, before that. Yesterday. What happened yesterday?”

“Yesterday?” Goldie twisted her fingers in her mud-caked curls. “I was…arguing with Mummy….”

“What were you arguing about?”

“She was very angry at me because I…I picked Gerhard's peaches and ate them without asking. They were so plump and golden, and I didn't think Gerhard would mind, but he was furious, and Mummy called me a little thief and said I had disappointed her….” Goldie plopped down in the mud. Tears spilled down her cheeks.

I breathed a sigh of relief. She hadn't lost too much memory. Just a week, at most. She must have gotten only a splash of the wine on her tongue.

“I'm sure she forgives you,” I said. “I'll bet she's looking for you now. I'll bet she's worried sick.”

“No,” said Goldie. “I don't think so.” She continued to cry until she passed out from exhaustion. The nymphs swirled around her head, rustling and clicking. Perhaps they'd help restore her memories while she slept. I covered her with leaves to keep her warm, then nestled into my own bed.

But I couldn't sleep. The night was so
awake.
The moon was full and bright. It was like a crystal ball floating in the inky blue sky, magical and mysterious. The mountain peaks formed the silhouette of a giant palace, the trees their faithful sentinels, and the nighttime creatures the court musicians. An owl hooted, raccoons chattered, frogs croaked, and insects sang in a pulsing rhythm. It was a night Granny would have called enchanted, one so full of magic it could not be contained.

A wolf howled.

Come!
he said.

I knew it wasn't just any wolf. It was
the
wolf. He howled again, closer this time.

Come!
I could
feel
his words spark and rush inside me, tugging for me to answer.

The wolf came silently through the trees. I saw his glowing eyes first, and then the solid black outline of him, a shadow in the moonlight. I stood up; some wild impulse drove me to step toward him.

Was I a fool? The villagers always complained about wolves. They called them wild, vicious beasts, and when livestock went missing, a wolf was always to blame. But they never looked at the good side of wolves, how strong they were and how fiercely loyal to their pack. Wolves would never betray one of their own, but could I be one of its own?

The words of the animal charm formed on my lips.

Squeak or growl, fur or feather

Beast and human come together

Invisible threads tugged at me, drawing me to the wolf, beckoning me to come closer. I took a step toward him. The wolf stepped toward me. I got down on my hands and knees so our faces were level. The wolf lowered his head and stuck out a paw. I reached out a trembling hand.

Tree or sky, lake or land

Flesh to fur, paw to hand

Ever so gently, I brushed the tip of the wolf's paw, and the spark that connected us suddenly burst into flames. Fire surged through my veins, from my toes to my fingertips. Images flashed in my mind of wolves running wild through The Woods. I felt their energy, their strength. It rushed through my head like a powerful river current, sweeping me away so that I nearly lost myself.