The Wand & the Sea (5 page)

“This is a fine welcome,” Everett said at last.

Ben threw one arm over his sopping backpack. “So much for packing extra underwear.”

Their seat on the drizzly stream bank was a far cry from the warm, sun-dappled forest they'd landed in last summer. The three backpacks were torn, muddied, and waterlogged. The only bright spot Holly could see was that at least her glasses weren't broken, and her wand was safe.

It was cold, besides.

“Look at the trees,” Ben said. “I don't think it's summer here.”

The forest was bathed in golds and reds, and many of the trees were nearly bare. A thick layer of fresh leaf fall covered the ground.

“It's late in the day, too,” said Holly, pushing herself to her feet. “We'd better start walking before it gets dark.”

“Just where are we walking
to
?” Ben asked. “Is this even Anglielle?”

“Yes,” said Everett. “It's the Northern Wood. Look there.” He pointed away from the stream to a barren rise. “That's where the fire was.”

He started up the hill. Holly took Ben's hand to help him up the slippery incline.

“I can make it,” he said, though he didn't drop her hand.

“I forgot,” she said, nudging him. “That was some pretty fancy climbing in the water.”

Ben grinned. “You're easier to climb than that rock wall at home.”

“Up here,” called Everett. “I see something.”

He was standing on top of the hill. The wide hollow was littered with a blackened mess of stumps and burned bracken. Holly's stomach turned.

“This was my fault,” she said in a small voice.

“How is it
your
fault?” Ben asked.

“Avery's the one who lit everything up,” Everett added. “It's a wonder the whole wood didn't get torched.”

But she did feel responsible. She had bungled the Vanishment spell, bringing Prince Avery and the knight Grandor with them. And she'd put her friends in danger. “I don't even know what happened to Jade and the others. What if they—”

“That's what I was talking about,” Everett broke in. “What's that shiny thing?” He pointed at a bright orange glow at the edge of the burned-out clearing.

“Maybe some fallen leaves?” Ben suggested.

“Áedán,” Holly said softly. “It has to be.” She stepped through the shrubs, then slid a few feet down the hill into the valley and ran over to the far side.

The Golden Salamander couldn't speak to her, but he was part of her. She knew he would wait for her return. She pulled back the shrubbery, ready to scoop him up.

But Áedán wasn't there.

It was just a trick of the light. A shaft of sun had broken through the clouds and shone on an old gold pendant. Holly stood still, her chest hollow. Why had she come? No one was waiting for her. Perhaps no one was even alive to wait.

“Is it that salamander thing?” Ben stumbled down the hill behind her.

She turned away, unable to say anything.

“It's something else,” said Everett. He picked up the pendant. It was hexagonal, about as big around as a pocket watch, and bright gold. The surface was engraved, divided into four quarters.

“It's like your key, Holly. Look.” Everett held the pendant out for all of them to see. Etched around the circle were the symbols for air, fire, water, and earth. A small purple stone joined them in the center.

“I think this is proper gold. But it must have been here for ages.” Everett's eyes glinted in its reflection.

Holly took it from his hand to get a closer look. A thin stream of black smoke was seeping out of the pendant. “Is this a locket? What's that smoky stuff?” She pressed a button on one side, but the catch wouldn't open. The smoke drifted around her head and dissipated. A soft, dark whisper wafted by, and a melancholy chill swept through Holly. She held the locket to her ear, but she heard only the wind blowing through the scattered leaves. She handed it to Everett. “Here, you take it. I don't like it.”

Everett put the chain around his neck and tucked the locket into his shirt. “I think it's cool.”

“Whatever.” Holly began to wonder if this really was Anglielle after all, despite how familiar the blackened valley looked. It felt off somehow. Where was everyone? “I don't know what to do. We're miles from Almaric's cottage, and it'll be dark soon.”

“Can't you do that disappearing spell?” Ben asked.

“The
Vanishment
. It's too dangerous. I have to visualize the path exactly, and I only have a rough idea of where the cottage is.” And, she thought, she wasn't quite ready to attempt a spell that difficult yet.

“Hang on a tick,” said Everett. “Holly, didn't you call that centaur bloke last time? Maybe you can do it again.”

“Ranulf,” Holly said.

“You don't have a wand for nothing,” Everett said. “At least give it a go.”

If there was one thing Holly could've asked for—besides dry clothes—it was that Everett would quit trying to take charge. Especially if he was going to be right all the time. She bit back the disappointment of not finding Áedán. If anyone was left in Anglielle, the wand would find them. She pulled it out of the scabbard.

Now in its wand form, the key was more powerful. It didn't just buzz like an angry insect; it thrummed, warming her stiff fingers. She flexed her hand around the shaft, welcoming it back. It had been more than a year since she'd held the wand. She had forged it herself, with the Wandwright's help, out of a switch from a redwood tree. Long and straight, it fit her hand as if it had grown there. The smooth purple amethyst stone nestled in her palm; small etched carvings twined around the shaft, pictures that changed even as she looked at them.

Right now one symbol dominated the wand. Two undulating swirls: the water.

She closed her eyes, picturing the centaur, his chestnut flanks and wild brown curls.
Ranulf, can you hear me? I'm back. I'm right where you left me.

She felt the warmth surge inside her, shooting out through her fingertips; she knew the wand was working. It emitted no spark, but she could feel something like an invisible charge, reaching out—

And fading away.

Ranulf was nowhere.

“Well?” Ben asked tentatively.

Holly turned back to the boys, swallowing a stupid lump before it turned into tears. “I felt the wand reaching out, but it didn't . . . it didn't go anywhere. It's like he's just
gone
.”

“Not gone,” said another voice. “Captured.”

The boys looked around. “Who's there?” Everett called.

“Shush,” said Holly. She stood very still. She knew that voice.

“Your Ladyship,” it said, just over her head. Curled up on the nearest tree branch was a large black cat with bright green eyes. Holly broke into a smile. She wanted to tug him down from the tree and hug him. But he would never have allowed it.

“Jade!” Just saying the name made her feel warm. The large cat was her familiar—a being who augmented her magic and who was forever loyal to her. Jade wasn't always the most polite, but he had never failed to help her.

“At your service.” The cat walked down the length of the branch, then eyed the two boys.

“You remember my brother, Ben,” Holly said.

“I do,” the cat acknowledged. “The brave squire at the king's tournament. And the young knight, as well.” Jade wrinkled his whiskers in Everett's direction, as if a bad smell had just wafted by.

“Everett's our friend,” Holly said.

“Of course, Lady Holly. May I say what a relief it is to find you again in the kingdom.” The cat's voice, like his coat, was silky and well groomed, with a lilting, slightly Gaelic accent.

Holly suddenly recalled Jade's words. “Did you say Ranulf was
captured
?”

“Imprisoned.” Jade's eyes turned steely. “In Reynard's dungeons.”

Holly paled. The king was not known for mercy.

“We cannot bide here.” The cat leaped neatly from his perch and onto the damp leaves. “I heard your wand's call and came to direct you to safety.”

“But what about Almaric?” The magician was old and frail. “He's all right, isn't he? And Bittenbender, and the others?”

“Come quickly.”

“Hang on,” said Everett. “Where's it we're going, exactly?”

“A safe haven,” Jade said, and darted through the trees up the hill, back the way they'd come.

Holly followed the cat, motioning to the boys behind her. She heard Ben say, “It's okay, he's Holly's friend, remember?” and Everett replied, “It's rather hard to tell
who
one's friends are here, remember?”

Holly stumbled through the forest to keep up with Jade. He slipped through the trees back to the brook, which they followed for almost ten minutes before it branched off in two directions. Jade stopped.

“I remember this,” Holly said. “Ranulf and I followed this fork northwest. Can we cross it?”

“Nay,” the cat said. “We voyage.”

Ben came panting up behind them. “Did he say
voyage
?”

Jade nodded at a stand of nearby rushes. Holly pulled them back and found a funny, bowl-shaped craft moored to a willow tree. The little boat was made of tightly woven branches, with a single narrow board nailed across the middle as a seat.

Ben's face turned an unhealthy shade of white, and Everett snorted. “Are the three of us meant to fit in a coracle?”

The cat stepped carefully over the wet stream bank. “I came to transport the Lady Adept to safety. I was unaware there would be”—he sniffed—
“passengers.”

Everett said something else in a miffed tone, but Holly wasn't listening anymore. Just beyond the willow tree where the coracle was tied, she glimpsed something else. This time she didn't want to announce it. Instead she walked through a stand of cattails to a leafless oak tree. At its base lay a ring of smooth river rocks, and in the center a small fire blazed. Curled up in the flames was the tiny, amber-colored Salamander. He stirred at her approach, opened his bulbous golden eyes, and leaped from his nest onto her shoulder.

Holly jumped back, half expecting to be burned, but Áedán's sticky feet were only pleasantly warm. “You're here!” she said, smiling. “You're all right.”

The Golden Salamander nestled against her neck; he and Holly shared a contented sigh. He could not speak, nor was he a pet; he was her protector, a creature she had freed from his nest at the Wandwright's home more than a year ago. For all of that time, Holly had felt the chill of his absence on her shoulder. But she was whole again now. His essence, born of fire, fueled the magic in her. She was a child of the fire too, like her namesake, the holly tree. Somehow she was more
herself
with Áedán by her side.

Suddenly remembering the others, she stepped back to the coracle. “Look, Jade! I found him! Almaric was right.”

“Áedán has slept these many months waiting for your return,” the cat told her.

Ben's eyes lit up at the sight of the geckolike creature. “I told you he'd be okay.” He raised a single finger but then pulled it back. “Is he . . . slimy?”

“No, you can pet him. Carefully.”

Holly was impressed with how gently Ben ran his tentative finger over Áedán's head.

“Look,” Everett broke in, sounding peevish, “if we're going to
voyage
, we'd best get on with it.”

“We must make haste,” Jade agreed, and leaped into the stern of the coracle.

“I don't guess anyone's got a life jacket?” said Ben.

Everett and Holly just stared at him.

The coracle dipped and nearly capsized as Everett stepped into it. He sat in the middle to balance the boat. Ben joined him, his face turning a greenish color as if he were already seasick. Ignoring this, Holly followed him, then pulled the craft to the bank and untied it.

As soon as the boat was free, it shot away from the shore. At first Holly thought the white-tipped current was driving it, but then she realized they were rushing
upstream
.

“Holly, slow it down!” Ben cried.

“You will not need to navigate,” said Jade. Glancing back, Holly saw the cat was balanced perfectly, his whiskers blown back against his cheeks. “The coracle is a very old one of Almaric's, given to him by one of the Water Elementals.”

“Holly, face the front!” Ben snapped.

For several minutes no one said anything, as everyone's attention was fixed on keeping their seats. Like a tube pulled from a motorboat, the coracle bounced along the surface of the water, rattling its passengers' shoulders and landing them painfully on their backsides. It whipped from side to side, lurching around boulders and tree roots. Holly's stomach roiled, and she could tell Ben was close to getting sick. Everett sat up straight, like a ship's mast, though his face was tight.

Holly concentrated on the trees as they flitted by on the shoreline. The wood looked much as she remembered, though the air was damp and cold. Through the treetops she glimpsed a low cloud cover. Golden-leafed beech trees glowed in the autumn light, and flocks of migrating birds took flight as they sped by. A hawk screeched overhead and Holly took a deep, chilly breath. She could not deny that she was wet through, that her hair was matted with mud, her feet freezing, her backpack a wreck. But the air—the
feel
of Anglielle, a world suffused with something that was also inside her—held a rightness she couldn't explain to Ben or Everett. She didn't think of her mother or father, or her comfortable bed or the little village of Hawkesbury: Here in this cold, misty misery, in her coracle sailing to a place no one could tell, she was home. And she was happy.