The cauldron effect, p.53
The Cauldron Effect, page 53
She hugged herself, inordinately pleased by that endearing sign of his attachment. He was learning how to love and trust a human again. Her storyteller gave her a summary of Hugh questioning his mother about her abandonment of him. Once Lady Flint explained his father’s reasoning and her heartache at being separated from her boy, Hugh hugged her and said how much he’d missed her, too. Tears of pleasure flooded Mary’s eyes.
“How sweet is his devotion,” a voice whispered.
Mary swung around. Jinny was behind her in her skinny green form wrapped in her diaphanous gown. Confused, she glanced over at the otter heaving Holland over its shoulder.
ILLUSION! Llyr’s mark said before she could voice her question.
Then where’s Holland?
Her storyteller part showed her. Shielded from sight and wielding a wickedly curved dagger, Holland crept up behind Hugh, much as he had with Hugh’s father.
The demon’s arm constricted Mary’s waist, expelling her breath before she could warn Hugh. She gulped in more air and weeds covered her mouth and nose, trapping her scream.
“Hush, hush, little tasty, mustn’t say a word.”
Chapter 20
Warncliff Crags, North Yorkshire
“She’s dead!” Wantley’s voice echoed from inside his mountain cave.
Outside the cave entrance, Ruth, his pipit friend, nudged her mate, Peter. “Spek?”
After a sleepless night listening to Wantley moan, tired and bleary-eyed, Peter had composed an ode to console his grieving friend. He shrugged his brown feathery shoulders and sang his latest lament to their melancholy friend.
Wantley, who loved singing, quieted.
Peter’s verse involved a series of high-pitched tseep, tseep, tseep that reduced to a sorrowful tseut, tseut, and led into a dramatic trill finish, to which the bairn pipits added a melodious accompaniment.
When the song ended, all was quiet.
Then came another mournful groan.
“This cannot continue,” Ruth said.
“It’s almost noon. He likes to lie on the ledge to roast his tummy at noontime.”
The hour came, and went, without a sign of Wantley.
Ruth again nudged her mate. “At least go find out what’s happened. With more information, we might be able to help.”
“He almost fried me the last time I checked.”
“Wantley is our friend, Peter. In true friendship, along with the benefit of enjoying good company, comes the risk of being slain when we show concern.”
Accepting her wisdom, Peter bid the bairns goodbye and flew on his dangerous mission.
Ruth paced along the nest’s edge. She might have sounded sure, but each passing moment sped her heartbeat until it pattered against her chest like a thunderstorm.
When Peter flew out of the cave mouth, she called a relieved, “Spek?”
He landed beside her on their nest and they tenderly touched beaks. “He’s coming, but says nothing will make him feel better.”
Listlessly dragging his tail, Wantley slumped out to the landing and flopped onto his belly. His tear-encrusted eyelids remained firmly shut.
After some strong coaxing from Ruth, he finally spilled the entire story. “Demelza’s scrying told her the strangers were there to take away her gift. To transfer it into a human. She fears that even if she gifted the Wise One with her talent, since she is a human, she won’t survive long. She has no inherent magic and can’t protect herself.” He finished with, “The worst part is, once Demelza passes on her storytelling talent, she will die. She called it her End Days. She’s probably dead now!”
“This definitely calls for a new song,” Peter said.
“True enough,” Ruth agreed. “This moment also calls for courage, Wantley. Demelza is correct that this Wise One will not survive a fight with a demon. Jinny Greenteeth is a voracious hunter that never tires until she’s captured her prey.”
Wantley’s ears perked and he opened an eye. “So?”
“So, if the Wise One, too, is killed, then Demelza’s sacrifice will have been in vain and her stories will be lost forever.”
Wantley sat up, both eyes wide open. “That cannot be.”
“I see where you’re going with this,” Peter said. “However, how would Wantley getting himself killed fighting the demon help the Wise One?”
“It will ease Demelza’s mind in Heaven,” Wantley said. “It will mean the Wise One has a better chance of not getting killed.” Wantley firmed his chin and straightened his shoulders. “It means I have a duty to perform.”
He spread his wings and stood up straight. His neck itched ferociously. Then he shook his head with resolution. Ignoring that old sign of panic, he set flight.
Ruth shivered as she watched him soar across the blue sky. “I fear he may not return this time, Peter.”
“I didn’t expect he’d survive the last journey. Yet, he not only bested a warlock and a kitty, but he also befriended them.”
“I doubt that’s prepared him to deal with a vengeful water demon.”
Peter yawned, tucked his right leg into his chest and settled his tired head onto his feathery back. “True, my love, but this time, he has his warlock and kitty friend to assist him.”
BY THE RIVER WELLAND
Jinny whisked Mary high into the air.
Unable to utter a sound, Mary ordered Llyr’s mark and her storyteller to broadcast that image of Holland with the dagger. From the top of her head, the image of Holland flared and spread like a beam of light. Her eardrums vibrated as she blasted WATCH OUT into the ether like a trumpet call.
Jinny halted her upward flight and glanced around. “What was that?”
Unable to respond verbally, Mary kicked the water demon’s shin, elbowed her in the ribs and slammed her head against her pointy green chin, all the while ripping at the weeds covering her face.
All that her efforts gained were muttered, “oomph,” “ouch,” and a swear word, but Jinny held onto Mary’s midriff, sharp nails gouging into her stomach. The weeds clung like leeches, adeptly shifting between her fingers, evading Mary’s every attempt to tear them off.
Jinny loosened her grip long enough to wave an arm and mutter a spell. A muddy see-through bubble plopped and oozed and spread until it entirely enclosed the two of them.
Mary stumbled, unable to believe they hovered high above the land. The mud bubble stretched a foot over her head and squished directly beneath her feet. It was about six feet wide.
The demon stepped away, her grip on Mary loosening. Mary backed up, too, but Jinny caught her wrist to keep her close. “Not so far, my tasty.” She then ran a claw along Mary’s midriff, tearing into her gown, and brought her bloody finger up for a lick of red velvety droplets. “Yummy!”
Mary’s sight was wavering and her head felt woozy from lack of air and the excruciating pain in her punctured midriff. At least with her nose and mouth plugged, she couldn’t smell Jinny. The memory of the demon’s vile odor made her heave once before she controlled that dangerous reaction. She didn’t want to drown in her vomit, but she also needed to breathe. She managed to pull a tiny piece off, enough to draw in a snatch of air.
A shout below suggested someone had finally spotted her dilemma. About time!
She asked Llyr’s mark, Is Hugh all right?
YES. Astoundingly, the answer didn’t come from inside her but from the mud wall. The bubble shifted, forming an undulating shape that looked remarkably like Llyr. A hallucination? How can you be within Jinny’s shield?
Llyr made a series of odd gurgles that she associated with his laughter. YOU SUMMONED ME, MISS BRYGHT. YOU SUMMONED EVERYONE.
Watching him shift inside the shield made her woozy. Can you help me?
YOU DON’T NEED ME. LOOK BELOW.
Mary twisted until through the semi-transparent mud she spotted Hugh with his friends far below. Her heart shuddered with relief at seeing Hugh alive and well. The sheer height and impossibility of her virtually standing in mid-air made her unsteady. She spread her arms to steady herself against the mud.
The three warlocks released spells that hit the bubble with multiple blasts of power. The mud-shield shuddered under that impact and hardened. Hope rose that she was about to be freed. Hitting the hard ground and dying was preferable to being eaten as a mid-air snack. The bubble softened again but Jinny’s shield held.
Mary’s breathable air was scarce. Llyr’s image was gone. He must have been a hallucination. He was imprisoned by a druid. She should have known better than to believe he could have been here.
This is how I’m going to die. Suffocated by pondweed. My mission incomplete. Marcus left to grieve my passing. The entire history of Wyhcans lost to all new generations. That last troubled her most.
Her stomach seared as Jinny again dragged a claw there for another slurpy taste-test.
A blast struck the mud shield, vibrating it and everything inside. The filthy water dried and cracked.
“It’s becoming crowded around here.” Jinny sounded nervous. She flew them away from the warlocks. “I tire of this realm. Since my deal with Peregrine is now officially concluded to my satisfaction, time I returned home to sup.”
She swung Mary around until they faced each other, her fierce grip digging into Mary’s tender upper arms. Gagged by the weeds, her whimper of pain died unsung. They were now impossibly high up and further along the road from her party. Too far away for anyone to come to her aid.
A whirl of wind spun around the demon and Mary. The humid air thinned and dried. The mud wall began to fade. In the distance, grotesque faces appeared. This was the end. She was going to arrive in hell and die.
“You once ignorantly scorned my world, Miss Bryght,” Jinny said, “but in truth, my home is a beautiful realm. There are shadows within shadows. No one is judgmental. Pain is simply another vibrant color, like hunger and thirst. You’ll like it there.”
LIE
Jinny pulled her close and purred, “Ready to come with me, tasty?”
Was that a rhetorical question? Mary pushed against the demon and tore at the weeds binding her lips. This time, the vines pulled off. She took a gasping breath, and then another. After her third desperate breath, she gasped, “No, I don’t want to come with you!”
The wind sputtered and died, and then the mud walls reappeared. Jinny looked shocked and hurt. “Why not?”
Was she serious? “You want to eat me!”
Mary shoved against the demon and broke free. She half expected to tumble downward once the demon no longer held her, but she remained airborne. She sank to her shin into the gooey mud but the filthy shield held beneath her weight. The smell was also markedly better with two feet separating her from Jinny. Then the horrible mud wall stench filtered into her airways and Mary gagged afresh.
“Is it my dinner plans that frighten you, Miss Bryght?” Jinny asked, following her downward. “If so, we can come to another arrangement. Can you dance? I might reconsider eating you if you prove entertaining.”
LIE. Llyr’s mark said.
Really? Mary asked, her temper in tatters as she sloshed away from the pursuing demon. Think I can’t tell that? From now on, not speaking unless you have something useful to transmit is Rule Number One.
Her arm’s tingling subsided.
To clamp down on the stink, she took her next breath with her mouth instead of her nose. The influx of air helped her mind start clicking. She faced Jinny with shoulders back and chin lifted and kept her father’s idiom about beating a stronger opponent with intellect firmly in mind. “Let me go and you might survive to reach your underworld.”
Jinny swooped closer until they were nose to nose.
Mary shut her mouth. She was getting good at surviving on little air.
The demon swiped her green palm in front of Mary’s eyes. “No tinted spectacles, but you must be wearing them to skew your vision enough to believe you have the upper hand.”
Mary attempted to sidle away, though it was more like sloshing through ankle-deep mud that kept sucking at her legs. “If you could take me to your kingdom, you would have done so by now.”
The demon pursued her, skimming over the mud on her knees, as if skating over ice until she snagged Mary’s hair and painfully tugged her closer. “What a clever little meal you are. If you refuse to cooperate, I’ll just have to kill you here and then take you back in salted chunks.”
Jinny held out a hand and a white irregular block appeared. She licked it and then ran her wet green tongue over Mary’s cheek. “Brine provides the perfect tang to any meal and is excellent for preserving meat.”
The mud bubble suddenly burst, plastering smelly sticky gunk over them both. Mary spit out a chunk of something vile and gasped for air. Between one breath and the next, whatever invisible strings held her up were severed and she plummeted.
The ground rushed up to meet her. She screamed, then curled her body, hoping to roll once she hit land. Just when she expected the ground to smack into her, strong arms caught and lifted her up. Hugh!
The land felt blessedly solid and heavenly close. She wanted to feel it beneath her feet. She opened her eyes to thank her savior. Not Hugh.
Holland cradled her in his arms, a triumphant grin on his face.
She shuddered in revulsion and squirmed to get away. She pushed against his chest and kicked out, until he finally he released her.
“You may stand but stay here,” he said, gripping her wrist. His weasel familiar was dancing in excitement behind him, running in circles, jumping, dashing one way and then the other and doing odd backflips.
They were still on the road but leagues from where the carriages were stopped. Hugh and his friends were racing toward her. Holland’s staff was floating beside him. At a gesture, it aimed at her friends.
“No!” Mary hit at it but it levitated higher, out of reach.
The weasel was suddenly standing still, its nose pointed at Hugh.
Holland muttered in Welsh and her friend’s forward progress halted. The faster they ran, the slower they moved.
She couldn’t break free of her captor’s grip on her wrist that kept her at his side, but she could interrupt this spell casting. Mary kicked at the weasel.
It squeaked and jumped out of reach. The distraction worked and Holland’s spell fell apart and waves of energy bent trees and grass in all directions.
Holland swore.
Hugh was free, but instead of racing to her rescue like her other friends, he backed away and then ran back toward the carriages.
“She’s mine!” Jinny swooped from above to claim her stolen feast. “Now I’ve tasted her, I must have her.”
Holland’s staff swirled to point at the demon. “Shield!”
A barrier formed and Jinny slammed into it with force and rebounded. Yelling obscenities, she returned to pound at the invisible wall, sending shock waves through the barrier, but it held fast. “You promised, Holly. You said I could have her if I let you have Flint.”
Spencer, Benson and Lady Flint arrived next. Benson shielded Hugh’s mother while the two warlocks sent power jolts at the barrier. They failed to break through as miserably as Jinny had. Mary prayed that Hugh’s absence meant he was working on a new line of attack.
She twisted her arm to get free. “Let me go.”
“As soon as you give me Demelza’s records, Miss Bryght, you will be free to leave.”
Mary looked above. Did his barrier extend above them? Maybe Hugh was working on an overhead attack. Since Jinny didn’t come in that way, she didn’t hold much hope for that. Then a buzz of chatter drew her gaze past Jinny’s furious blasts at the shield to Benson’s worried expression.
Behind him, all along the road and fields, strangers gathered. People in carriages and horses, many running through fields, came to watch the spectacle on this normally quiet country roadway. Tonight, what happened here would be the talk of taverns and the fodder of discussions around dinner tables.
Holland clapped once. The outside clamor died. “Now, Miss Bryght,” he said in a silky voice, and drew her closer. “Time to negotiate.”
“Release me this instant!”
“Wrong attitude. I don’t need your cooperation, the suggestion to parlay was merely a formality.”
“What do you want?” Mary asked.
“Better, but repetitive. Demelza’s records must be destroyed.” He held out his free hand. “Give them to me.”
Mary stiffened in rejection, just as she had when she’d learned Hugh had been ordered to burn them. Now, Mary saw the vulnerability of one person possessing all this knowledge and determined that state of affairs must end.
When this ordeal was over, and if she survived, she would share what she’d learned. Every day of every year, she would write her stories and spread them to all corners of the world. She would not be a silent lore keeper.
First, she had to get herself out of this prison. As much as she trusted in Hugh’s ingenuity, she wasn’t about to stand still and simply wait to be rescued. She could not match Holland’s magical ability but she had her voice. As a weapon, her father said, none other was its equal. “It’s useless fighting the future, Mr. Holland. Look around. People know you exist. Wyhcans can no longer be a secret society in our world. You’ve been discovered.”
“Without those records, nothing can be proven. There would be no facts to point to, no evidence to submit at court. This story will fade until it becomes a tall tale, a legend, a fairy tale told to entertain children at bedtime.”
Holland released her wrist. She backed away, rubbing the sore red mark. Then spun and ran, only to slam against his invisible wall. His shield was circular, probably a dome.
Holland followed her and ripped off her right sleeve. She cried out and he grabbed her wrist. “If you don’t struggle, this won’t hurt a bit.”
He wrenched her bared arm forward until the jewel of his staff touched her storyteller mark. A painful tingle sped up her arm like a shot of lightning.
“Wyhcans are forbidden to use mind magic directly on a human, Miss Bryght. You’re perfectly safe with me. All I’m doing is taking back what should never have been entrusted to you.”
