Wild Magic (4 page)

Johann swallowed his fear. Reached out his hand. Touched the stone.

Nothing happened.

“Next,” said the Piper, pushing Johann aside. “Quickly now.”

A girl stepped forward. Marianna knew her. She was Birgit, a street girl who begged by the abbey.

Birgit touched the stone. Nothing.

“Next,” said the Piper.

Another child came forward, then another. Dozens of hands were reaching out, touching the stone. The Piper began to pace up and down again. The hawk flew from his shoulder and sat on the stone, watching the proceedings with dark eyes. Nothing was happening.

The Piper paused and looked at the children remaining. Twelve, . . . eleven, . . . ten, . . . Who was it?
Who was it?

Marianna stood at the end of the dwindling line, feeling sick in her stomach.

“I don't know why I'm getting nervous,” she muttered to herself. “I'm not the one he's looking for. There's nothing special about me.”

Two were left in front of her. Marianna could feel the palms of her hands getting sticky.

One.

“It's not me,” she told herself. “I'm nothing special. Am I?”

Suddenly she wasn't so sure.

“Come here.”

The Piper was right beside the stone, beckoning to her. “Touch.” She could hear the tension in his voice. “
Touch!
”

Marianna sidled closer. So close she could see the color of the Piper's eyes. She had wondered whether they were brown or green. Now she knew. They were violet.

“What will happen to me?” she whimpered.

“Nothing bad,” said the Piper. “Touch.” He was starting to sound angry.

Marianna stepped even closer. She closed her eyes. Reached out her hand. Touched the stone.

Nothing happened.

She dared to open her eyes. The Piper was staring at her oddly. He looked puzzled, confused, unsure. She started to back away. But he leaped forward, seized hold of her wrist, and forced her hand against the stone again.

Still nothing happened.

“
NO!
” The Piper threw Marianna aside and started pacing again. Now he was like a tiger in a cage— angry, trapped, despairing—snarling to himself, snapping at the situation. Then suddenly he paused and looked at the crowd of children. At the little ones, with their cherry round faces and wet mouths. At the girls, with their braids and ribbons and adoring eyes. At the boys, with their dirty shirts and scuffed boots. Rich and poor, tall and small, tired and eager.

So young. So willing. So utterly useless.

He reached into his pocket, pulled out his pipe, and began to play. A new tune—soft as velvet, heavy as plums, with burgundy notes that sang of sleep and dreams and faraway lands. Of jewels thrown upon a beach. Of love and longing and the desire to fly.

Little Greta, looking up at him, felt something moving beneath her dress.
Feathers.
Flour-white feathers. They were pushing out of her skin, ripping her gown to shreds. And now she was shrinking, molding, transforming—though there was no pain, just joy. So much joy, she thought her heart would burst. Then Greta spread her fine new wings and, as an owl, she flew up into the moonlit sky, circled the trees, and disappeared into the night.

Her brother, Fredrik, was curling in upon himself. His nose was lengthening into a snout, with a moist black nose and smart new whiskers. His eyes were shrinking into shiny black beads. His face was covering in fur. His hands and feet were elongating and growing claws. An armory of prickles was emerging from his body. Deep in his hungry hedgehog's belly, he felt a sudden longing for worms and he was off, snuffing through the undergrowth in search of supper.

Johann, the butcher's boy, felt no desire for worms. He longed to swim. He was beside the river now, gazing at the water that rushed and sparkled at his feet. His eyes were shining silver in the moonlight. His skin was quickening, shimmering with scales. His legs were joining to form one strong, star-flecked tail. He was growing fins. And then, as a salmon, Johann leaped from the rock and disappeared into the river.

Birgit, the beggar girl, had always wanted to run faster. Faster than the boys who teased her. Faster than the dogs in the count's orchard. Faster than the traders who called “Thief !” as they chased her through the market. And now she could. Her legs were long and strong. Her ears were pricked and listening. Her fur was as soft as feather down. Birgit was a hare, the most magical of creatures. She bounded away into the shadows.

And Marianna? Marianna felt herself falling forward. She put her hands out to save herself, so she didn't hit the ground. Instead, she fell on all fours and stayed there. Her ears were stretching, tight as triangles. Her nose was extending into a muzzle. Her eyes were darkening, sharpening. Her hands and feet were padding into paws. She had a tail, tipped with white. Her body was covered in a rich, russet fur. Marianna was a fox: quick and cunning, hunter and hunted. She ran into the shadows at the base of the mound, then turned and sat on her haunches. Calm and curious, she looked around.

The night was full of fluttering wings and sharpening teeth, wagging tails and running feet. The children of Hamelin flew and crawled and wriggled and swam and burrowed and leaped and climbed and ran. Shiny otters. Black-masked badgers. Tumbling squirrels. Scattering rabbits. From a stag to a spider, a mouse to a moth—one by one they were all transformed, and still the Piper played on.

Only when the last creature had disappeared did he take the pipe from his lips. Marianna the fox watched him from the shadows. She saw a strange expression on his face: a terrible blend of anger and bitter despair. Then his head fell forward and his shoulders slumped. Surely he wasn't crying?

Marianna continued to watch. Suddenly the Piper straightened himself. He raised his head and Marianna saw there were no tears. His eyes were flashing with excitement at the thought he had clearly just had.

“The other boy!” he cried jubilantly. “Back in the caves! The mayor's son! He's the One!”

And with that the Piper bounded down the mound and disappeared into the night.

CHAPTER
EIGHT

Marianna sat quietly for a minute, deciding how it felt to be a fox. She stood up, stretched, and shook herself. Tried walking. Started running. Soon she was tearing around the mound like a born vixen.

She skidded to a halt, caught her breath, and started to gather her thoughts. The first thing that struck her was how natural her new body felt. She was moving like a grown fox. She wasn't tumbling like a cub, trying to learn where to put her feet. No, she was sleek and assured and fast. Her body fitted. She felt confident inside it. She could even control the great bushy tail, which swung in the air like a rudder, helping her turn in flight. It was heavy, but it wasn't overbalancing her.

There was just
one
strange thing: she wasn't consciously thinking like a fox. She was still thinking like Marianna. She still had the same hopes and fears and desires—at least, she believed she did. She didn't feel an overwhelming urge to hunt and forage for food. Her thoughts kept returning to the Piper. Where had he gone? Back to Karl? And why had he looked so despairing? So angry?

Marianna smiled. She had suddenly noticed that she was holding her head on one side, just like a real fox. So this was how it would work! Her conscious thoughts would remain the same, but unconsciously she would behave like a fox. Her body would do whatever was needed to survive in this strange new world.

So now her head was tilting to one side, helping her ears to locate important sounds. Her eyes were bright and wide, taking in the moonlight, helping her to see through the darkness. Her nose was identifying perfumes: night-flowering jasmine, evening primrose. Her skin was feeling a whisper of wind, despite her thick fur. Her muscles were tensed, ready to run if need be.

Marianna suddenly realized she had never been outside at night before.
Really
outside, in the wild. She had lived her entire life within the walls of Hamelin Town. So being alone, out in the countryside after dark, was a completely new experience. Yet her body seemed to know exactly what to do. That was truly amazing.

And yes, she felt scared and bewildered and desperately lost, but most of all she felt
alive
. Joyously, wildly, dangerously alive, for the first time in her life. It was a fabulous feeling.

But then she remembered Karl and the manic look on the Piper's face as he disappeared into the night. He looked positively wild. Like a wolf. Hungry. Eager. The way he had bounded off ! It was scary. He had looked so determined. So strong. While Karl . . . well! The last time Marianna had seen him, he was lying unconscious in a pool of water.

For the second time that day, Marianna felt a stab of guilt, right between her ribs.
Why didn't I help him?
she asked herself.
Why didn't I do more?

Then she remembered why. The Piper had played his pipe. She had stood there, wavering, wanting to help—then the enchantment had wrapped itself around her, taking away her will to do anything but follow.

But she wasn't enchanted now. Well, she
was.
She was a fox, and clearly that was an enchantment. But she wasn't befuddled. Her thoughts were quite clear. She knew exactly what she had to do.

She had to warn Karl.

CHAPTER
NINE

Marianna put her soft nose to the ground and started sniffing:
fff-fff-fff !
She was trying to find the scent of the Piper. It was all she could think of doing. She might be able to retrace the route back to the caves, but was Karl still there? The Piper didn't seem to think so. He had taken off in a completely different direction.

Did Karl really need warning? What would the Piper do to him? Make him touch the Standing Stone? That didn't seem dangerous, though Marianna remembered she hadn't wanted to do it. It was something about the Piper's face . . . his expression had been wrong, wrong, wrong.

Marianna found the Piper's scent and followed it into dense woodland. It was a curious scent, surprisingly sweet and heavy, like the scent of lilies. But there was a faint animal smell too. A trace of musk that reminded Marianna of a dog she used to have. It was strange that Marianna should catch that scent in the Piper's trail, but it was definitely there. No doubt about it.

Marianna ran through the wood, enjoying the sensation of being a fox. She could feel the undergrowth brushing against her belly, dampening her with dew. She could hear rats scratching and moles burrowing, rabbits running and spiders spinning. She could see the full moon above the trees, hanging like a shield on the great wall of the sky. It had reached the highest point in its journey across the heavens. Now it seemed to be lingering, watching the world below.

Eurgh!
A new scent hit her, so hard she felt she had been punched on the muzzle. It was a thick, rank animal smell that shot up her nostrils, slid down her throat, and brought tears to her eyes.

Aieee!
Marianna had to slow down. The smell was stealing her breath and getting stronger by the second. Something was
stinking
! Whatever it was, she was nearly upon it.

Then came the sound.

A deep, painful gasp that seemed to rise up out of the belly of the earth. Animal? Human? Elven? Marianna couldn't tell, even with her perfect fox ears. It was just something
alive
, some creature up ahead. Fighting for breath. Growling. Moaning.

Marianna slowed to a crawl. She peered between the trees and crept forward, every sense alert to danger. She could see a clearing ahead, bathed in moonlight. She found a tangle of ferns, slipped inside, and peered out, trying to discover the source of the smell and the unearthly moans.

What she saw almost made her heart stop beating.

It was the Piper.

He was ripping off his clothes. Fumbling with fastenings. Kicking off his boots. Unbuckling his belt. Pulling off his jerkin. Shrugging off his shirt.

And there wasn't skin beneath.