Red's Untold Tale (20 page)

“The nightmares.”

I gasped. “You know about my dreams? But, how?”

“You take after your mother, you know. If I were to guess, I'd say she'd been younger than you by a good two or three years when she came to me.” He closed his eyes and
rubbed his temples. “Ah, there it is. The hesitant knock on my door. Standing in the doorway, she tells me her name…Annette? Anna? No, that's not quite right…”

“Anita,” I supplied.

“Anita, yes. Her big, pretty eyes imploring me to make the terrible dreams stop. She doesn't know what they mean, and she's afraid. She says she'll do
anything…”

My world tilted, and I found myself gasping for my next breath. “Wait, what? My mother had the Wolfstime dreams, too?
You knew my mother
?”

“Of course I did.” He pressed his lips together, looking as if he were offended. “In fact, she sat precisely where you are sitting, only a smidgen to the right. Or was it to
the left? Oh! And that is from me. From me, to her.” His bony finger pointed at the gold cross pendant dangling from my neck, coming close enough to almost touch it—but then pulled
back, as if it had burnt him. “So pretty, and yet so powerful.”

I put my hand over the cross, pressing it into my collarbone.
Powerful?
“Does my cross have magic? Did you enchant it to make her dreams stop?”

“Stop the dreams? No, no, no. That would be far too dangerous. I would
never
stop anyone's dreams.” He paused and stroked his long beard. “Well,
‘never' is a strong word, and I try never to use it—because, you see, with magic, there is always a way around, or over, or sometimes right straight through ‘never'
into the vastness of possibility,” Knubbin said, fluttering his bony fingers like raindrops down to his lap.

“So you didn't help her,” I said flatly. It made sense that he had turned her away, because if the cross had been enchanted to keep the Wolfstime dreams away, wouldn't it
have worked for me when I wore it, too?

“Oh, but I did help her. Let me ask you this: what are dreams?”

“I'm afraid I'm not the best person to ask. Mine are not like other people's.”

“Well, of course they aren't! We are our truest selves when we are dreaming, are we not? When we are awake, we allow outside influences to come in; whereas, when we're fast
asleep,” he said, lowering his voice as he walked over to the window where the crow dozed, “we allow ourselves to explore the deepest, darkest caverns of our character. In our dream
world, the outside world has no power over us. We are truly, irrevocably free!”

With that, he pounded the window ledge. The loud noise made both the bird and me jump. The crow squawked and flew off without a hint of grace. A few of his feathers floated down onto the wood
planks. When the wizard crossed the floor and reclaimed his seat across from me, one feather remained stuck to his bare foot.

“When your mother begged me to make her dreams stop, I asked her if it was the dreams that frightened her, and she pondered my query for quite some time. The clever girl said that the
dreams themselves didn't frighten her, it was
not understanding the dreams
that frightened her.” He grinned. “Lo and behold, when something scares us, it's usually
a simple case of mystification.”

“How did you help her?” I asked.

“I cast a spell on the cross pendant to help her demystify her dreams. But that wasn't enough for her, no, no,
no
. She wanted it all to happen sooner, rather than later.
Your mother was clever, yet she was impatient. I cautioned her that when she wore the pendant, the dreams would grow more and more intense—they might even drive her to madness. But she
assured me that she was strong enough to handle them, come what may. Apparently, she was in quite a rush to realize her true self.” His gaze flashed from me to the little statues on his
curio.

“Tell me, did your spell work?” I asked, hoping to keep his thoughts from straying beyond the point of no return.

“You tell
me
. Does it?”

I touched the cross. It always made me feel closer to my mother, but I'd never imagined that it was magical. “My Wolfstime dreams are definitely intense, but I'm afraid
I'm nowhere near understanding them. If anything, they're more confusing than ever.”

“Just be a little more patient,” he said very softly, as if only to himself. Then, almost too loudly, “Fetch me some more drink, poppet. In the jug, by the sink.”

Rushing, I did as I was told, and then begged him to tell me more. “What was my mother like? Please, I want to hear everything—every last detail.”

The wizard uncrossed his legs, furrowed his brows as if in deep thought, and then crossed his legs again the other way. I sat at the edge of my seat, eager to hear more about my mother.

“Anita only came to me once,”
the wizard said, scratching his knee. “One time, that was it. After that, I never saw your mother again. And
then, some twenty years later, your grandmother came to me again, this time for magic to protect you from the wolves. Your grandmother told me the tragic news about your parents, may their souls
rest in peace.”

“My granny had come to you before, then?”

“I'm afraid my manners have slipped away yet again,” the wizard said. “I've been doing all the talking. Now it's your turn.” He took a big swig then set
the cup down. “Tell me why you are here, poppet. If not for the nightmares, then what is it you want?”

I blinked a few times, not ready to move on when I hadn't yet learned enough. However, I had the distinct feeling that I had to play the wizard's game. “My grandmother. Her arm
aches during the full moon. She has a scar there, and I don't know much about it, but I know it hurts worse each Wolfstime. I can't bear to see her wince in pain, Knubbin. It hurts when
she's knitting and when she's cooking. Sometimes it hurts so badly she has to take poppy dust in order to sleep. I'm here for a salve that will take away her pain. Please, will
you help me?”

“Let me get this straight,” he said, pointing his finger at the rafters. “You've come all this way…” He placed his hands, palm sides up, on his lap. “. .
. for a pain relief salve?”

“That's right.”

The wizard balled his hands into fists. “It never occurred to you to use an herbal ointment, like the rest of the villagers do when they have aches and pains?”

“Yes, of course. Granny said they don't work, though—not even a little bit. Hers is not an ordinary injury, she told me. I've come to you for a magic salve.” I
smiled and peeked at him through my fluttering eyelashes—like I'd seen Violet and her friends do countless times, whenever they wanted someone to do them a courtesy.

Knubbin inclined his head and quirked his mouth, making me believe the eyelash trick was working and that I finally had something to thank those wicked girls for. “Have you something in
your eye, poppet?”

“Oh.” I abruptly stopped fluttering and bit my bottom lip. “I must have. But it's fine now. Probably just a pesky little gnat or something.”

“I see,” the wizard said, before his eyes glazed over and he started muttering a stream of nonsensical words. He became a ventriloquist without a marionette, and had I not needed the
magic salve for Granny, I would've run out of the strange little cabin as fast as my legs would carry me. Still babbling, he stood and meandered into the kitchen where he helped himself to
some more drink, sloshing it out of the cup as he picked his way back to the chair.

“Pardon me for saying so, but maybe you've had enough to drink?” I asked.

Finally, Knubbin let out a liquor-stenched sigh and said crisply, “The ripple effect of magic never ceases to amaze me.”

“How do you mean?” I asked, and he jolted to attention as if he'd forgotten I was there.

“Your grandmother longed to forget the night the wolf killed her husband. It had scarred her. The memory was much too painful, as I'm sure you can imagine. Weeks after witnessing her
dear husband's gruesome death, the young Widow Lucas came rapping on my door, distraught and desperate. Ultimately, I made a forgetting potion for her, one that would completely wipe out her
memory of that fateful night. Like—
poof!
—it never, ever happened. It's one of my finest spells, if I do say so myself. And I do! Once she drank it, she knew her husband
had perished, but had no inkling what had actually happened to him. She seemed better off that way, and went along with her life.” After pausing to breathe, he asked, “Are you certain
you don't want a drink?”

“Yes, I'm sure. Thank you. And I'm sorry, but I'm confused. You're telling me my grandmother took a forgetting potion, and yet she remembers what happened that
night. She's told me.”

“Yes, I know she remembers. Now, if you'd only stop interrupting me, perhaps it will all make sense in the end. Or maybe it won't.
Hmmm
, where was I?” With his
pointer finger, he thumped the side of his head. “Oh, yes. A notch over three years ago, when your grandmother came seeking magical protection for you—that red cloak you wear—she
had to make an enormous sacrifice. You see, I told her that she couldn't help you to her fullest unless her memories were intact—
all
of her memories, especially those that were
most painful. I told her this as well as a warning that sometimes, when I'm asked to undo a memory spell, that which we desired to forget in the first place comes back even more acutely. The
scar on your grandmother's arm that you speak of, has she ever mentioned how long she's had it?”

I shook my head. “Just that it's from long ago, when she was a young woman. But it's only been the past few years that I've noticed it giving her so much pain.” It
would've been since around the time she'd given me the cloak for my thirteenth birthday, and the realization made me gasp out loud.

“I suspect that the scar on her arm is a physical manifestation of the scarring and pain she holds in her heart.”

“I feel terrible!”

“Love is sacrifice,” Knubbin whispered, as if he were reading words written on the wall behind my head. “And so is magic. You see, magic always comes with a price.”

I took a deep breath, more determined than ever before to help Granny. “So I've heard. And I assure you, I haven't come empty-handed.”

As I lifted the wooden box out of my basket and handed it to him, I forced a smile and tried to keep my lower lip from quivering. His hand plunged into the coins. “Hmmm,” he said,
creating a waterfall of gold and silver as he dropped them back into the box. The way he played with them put a lump in my throat. Part of me wanted to take the box back from him, tell him
I'd made a mistake. The only reason I didn't was my hope of helping Granny—and faith that the wizard would come through for us. “Is this
all
?” he asked,
eyeing my basket.

“Actually, there is more.” I took the pie out and placed it on the table between us. “It's my granny's specialty. Only, to be fair, I should warn you: one bite and
you'll be hooked.”

He leaned over and took a whiff with his long, narrow nose. “Ahhh, yes, that smells scrumptious! What is it made of?”

“Rhubarb, flour, sugar, and butter—all the very freshest and finest. She has a secret ingredient as well, but I'm not allowed to tell.”

Stroking his beard, he shook his head. “So this secret ingredient, is it gold? Diamonds or, perchance, a dazzling red ruby?”

“Well, no. It's a
pie
.”

“Then, I'm sorry, but you haven't given me enough. We will consider this a good faith payment, how's that? Yes, I do like the sound of that.”

“Oh,” I said, trying not to sound deflated. “I can bring you more pies, if you please. Apple, cherry, and in a few more weeks, peach. Or if pies aren't your thing, how
about—”

A cuckoo clock chirped once, twice. “Up, up, up. And out, out, out. Time for you to be on your way, poppet. I'm a very busy man.” The wizard sprung out of his seat and gestured
for me to do likewise.

“But what about the salve?” I asked, staying put. “What about my poor grandmother?”

“Next time, bring me something more valuable than a box full of coins and a pie full of rhubarb, and perhaps I will have something for you as well.”

I bit back a curse, but I couldn't stop my blood from boiling. Pulling my shoulders back and lifting my chin, I said as calmly as possible, “With all due respect, Knubbin, that
‘box full of coins' is quite valuable. I've been making deliveries for my granny since I was ten, and on rare occasions, folks will give me an extra halfpenny or two. I've
been saving money for the day I leave the village.”

“Ah, so it's your runaway stash,” he said from the kitchen, where he filled his cup yet again.