The Wealding Word Read online

  CHAPTER 3

  THE TRAPDOOR

  Night drew its curtain earlier and earlier as winter settled on the land. Nell’s room was the farthest from the warmth of the kitchen, but she didn’t mind. She loved to crawl under the covers that Sola had already warmed, knowing she was finally safe from her sister. Lexi slept on a cot in the kitchen, next to the hearth, so Nell had the chilly little bedroom all to herself. Rawley followed her into bed to keep her feet toasty, and most evenings Nell fell asleep listening to the animals snore.

  It was late one night when Nell’s eyes fluttered open. Something wasn’t right – she felt it instinctively. Crystal centipedes frosted the small pane of glass above her. Moonlight streaming through it made the ice glow silver, shining a pale shaft upon her bed. In the distance, a chorus of high whines, like a pack of hungry dogs, filled the night with their vicious yammer. The sound of it made Nell shiver.

  Beside her, Sola lifted her head and seemed to say something, but Nell couldn’t make out the words. It was as if she was again deaf to the voices of her pets. As she sat listening, something knocked heavily against the shingles of the cottage.

  Startled, Nell knelt on her bed to clear frost from the windowpane. She expected to see a few strays fighting over a bone outside, but there was nothing – just diamond flakes shimmering down in the moonlight. Rawley jumped up onto the bed, and Nell could feel at once that he was wet. “Oh, get off Rawley,” she said, thinking he was still muddy from the day. Then she realized that her hands were warm and slick where she touched the dog. A dark patch matted his fur, leaking ink-black upon her white bed. “Rawley, you’re hurt!”

  The dog looked at Nell with blue-rimmed eyes, but she couldn’t tell if he was speaking to her. At that moment there came a scrape like steel on stone, followed by another high whine. Both were closer now. In fact, the grating sounded just outside her room! She wheeled and pulled the covers up around her, staring into the darkness.

  Sola darted under the bed as the door slowly opened. Nell could only clutch her blanket, feeling Rawley tremble beside her. The smell of charred hair filled her nose, and suddenly the room was stifling hot. The scraping sound came again, footsteps stopping just beyond the shaft of moonlight. Staring in horror, Nell’s eyes locked on the gaping black doorway.

  There was an intake of breath, and a voice issued from the door like water thrown into a hot pan. “I have found you, greenspeaker. You will serve when the time is right. Soon… soon we will come for you.”

  Nell wasn’t sure if the words were spoken aloud or were only in her mind. She opened her mouth to ask, “Who are you?” but fear clutched her throat. As she sat trying to catch her breath, the heavy scrape came again, and shadowy tendrils shot forth around the doorframe. Vines twisted and stretched themselves up to the ceiling, climbing the walls with a dry rattle. The black creepers ate up the moonlight and crowded into the room, curling around the posts of Nell’s bed and cracking her window. Cold night air rushed in. Outside, the knocking sounded again against the cottage. Somehow Nell knew if she looked now, something would indeed be waiting for her out in the moonlight. The vines wound over the bed and around her bleeding dog. Then they were upon her, cutting into her feet and legs. Her only chance was through the window, and into the arms of the thing outside.

  At that moment Nell’s mind fled away into dark slumber.

  When she opened her eyes again, sunlight filtered into her room. Sola nuzzled in a tight ball next to her pillow, and Rawley snored at her feet. She leapt forward and turned him over, checking to see if he was hurt. The dog rolled sleepily. There was no leaking wound, no blood on her bed. Nell heaved a deep sigh. “Only a dream.” Still, she paused at the door, pulling her tangled hair behind her ears and feeling anew the terror of last night’s visitor. What did it call her again? Greenspeaker?

  Lexi’s voice booming from the kitchen took her mind off her nightmare. Nell sighed again, not wishing to hasten the start of another day with her sister. As winter stole down from the mountains, she was spending less time outside looking for firewood, and more time stuck inside with Lexi. This day, however, she discovered that the morning air was unusually warm. A thin blanket of snow lay melting outside, and the icicles on the eaves poured themselves out in the sun.

  After their parents had left the cottage for the day, the two sisters set to work shaking dusty rugs on the doorstep. Lexi grumbled, “It figures that the nicest day of winter would come on the shortest day of the year.”

  Mr. Gall, the herder who lived down the road, strode by carrying water buckets on a hitch across his shoulders. Nell and Lexi usually kept their distance from him, since they knew he was neither liked nor trusted in the village. He put his load down next to the little ornamental dragon outside their gate. “You two hear about the f-footprints?” he stuttered.

  Lexi shrugged. “No. What footprints?”

  “Queer tracks up and down the village. Looks like you been visited by ‘em too.” He gestured at the thin layer of snow in the yard with his thumb. It was all that remained on his left hand, and he seemed to only display it when he wanted to shock people.

  Nell and Lexi were more interested in the prints than his maimed hand, however. They looked to the dusting on the ground. Some large, cloven-hoofed animal had obviously passed through overnight, circling the trees and meandering even up to the front stoop. Lexi dismissed the tracks immediately, “Looks like some kind of wild horse. Probably after the last squash on the vine.”

  The herder chuckled, his head jerking spasmodically. “Those aren’t h-horse tracks. And I don’t think it was interested in your gourds, unless you grow them on the roof.” Nell approached nearer to Gall and followed the course of the prints with her eyes. They tracked back to stop directly at the side of the cottage. “Just look at that,” he said, deftly hoisting up the hitch once again.

  Nell saw that, though the hoof prints ended next to the house, they resumed in the snow on top of the thatched roof. Their neighbor said, “Ever see a horse climb a sheer wall? Talk is that a d-devil crawled out of the weald last night; and it looks like he was on your roof. Notice anything s-strange?” Gall had an eager look about him, and it seemed his eyes were on Nell. Neither of the girls answered him. The herder walked away calling, “B-best stay close when the sun sets.”

  “Superstitious coot,” Lexi sniffed. Nell saw that there were a few faint traces of snow stuck to the cottage wall, as if the thing walked right up rather than jumping. Lexi saw them too, and for once, the older girl had nothing more to say. She hurried inside, saying, “Get in here,” to Nell. Soon Lexi took to brooding in the kitchen, leaving Nell to peer out her small window and watch the snow melt in the sun.

  Nell couldn’t bear the thought of spending the lovely day inside. “Let’s play! Let’s play!” Rawley rolled about on the floor, excited by the warm weather. His encouragement was all that Nell needed to make up her mind. Making sure her golden acorn was safely stowed in her pocket, she shouted some excuse to Lexi and flew out the door, not even bothering to grab her coat. The winter sky above was a canopy of blue. It felt like spring had come four months too early, and Nell wanted to enjoy it before it was gone.

  Sola and Rawley padded beside her as she skipped down the muddy lane. Lately her pets had been telling her about a secret trapdoor near the bear’s cave. It lay hidden at the end of the old stone wall in the woods, and today seemed like the perfect day to show it to Nell. “What’s beneath the trapdoor?” Nell asked, now safely out of eyeshot from Lexi.

  Rawley said, “Well, I heard there’s a tunnel that goes to the sea. Nobody knows for sure though, because the trapdoor is always locked.” As they passed the farms and orchards that bordered the forest, Nell began to wonder more about the hungry bear than the trapdoor. The door was locked and stayed in one place, but deep in the woods, the huge bear could be lurking anywhere.

  The three friends soon found the tumbledown stone wall and followed it for a long way – up gentle rises covered in o
ak and hickory, under dark and silent groves of spruce, past secret, splashing springs. Just beyond a pile of stones at the end of the wall stood five massive sycamores. Nell crept between the trees and found the trapdoor hidden amidst a dusting of snow and sloughed-off bark. The wood of the door was soggy and weathered gray, with a scrap of old rope fastened to it. Nell gave the cord a playful tug and, with a high creak, the door opened wide!

  Rawley gave a shrill bark of surprise. “But it’s always locked!”

  “Look!” said Sola. She was standing in a footprint in the snow. Nell bent to inspect it, arms crossed behind her back. At first it seemed like it was made by a large, flat boot. But instead of being pointy in front where toes belonged, the print fanned out wide, like a fish’s fin.

  Once she knew what to look for, Nell realized the tracks covered the entire area. “What could have made footprints like that?” she wondered. Rawley sniffed the ground around her, nosing through the snow. Suddenly he rounded toward the door, growling low and long. At the same moment, the smell of dead fish wafted into the air. Round yellow orbs as big as Nell’s palm glared up from the darkness, gleaming with malice.

  She gaped down the dank stairwell in disbelief. The creature just below her feet had green, plated scales glistening on its head. Jagged teeth jutted from its square lower jaw, which opened and closed mutely like the mouth of a fish out of water. Without warning it lunged at Nell, but its feet were awkward on the stairs, and its webbed fingers snagged only the hem of her skirts. Before the creature could get a better hold, Rawley was upon it.

  “Run!” shrieked Sola.

  Dazed, Nell found the tattered rope at her feet. She pulled again – this time as hard as she could – and the trapdoor slammed down with a wicked CRACK! Too scared to look back, she vaulted over the stone wall and flew after Sola into the woods. A savage, alien call echoed behind her. “It’s coming!” she cried.

  Barely able to breathe, Nell scratched her face and arms in a wild dash through the underbrush. On she sprinted, blind to where she was heading. Her fear of the grumlin drove her further and faster than she had ever run before.

  When exhaustion finally forced Nell to slow, Rawley wheezed, “I think we’re safe now.” They hadn’t heard the cries of the scaly creature for some time, and the crash of leaves behind them had long ago ceased. “But where are we?” the dog asked. They walked through matted, unfamiliar thickets, now unsure which way was home. Two pheasants exploded from the undergrowth, startling Nell with the loud ruffling of their wings. Sometimes she thought she heard a hiss, but it was just the squeak of a branch, or the rustle of dried leaves in the wind.

  After a time, the breeze carried something else to Nell’s ears: a muffled shout. It didn’t sound like a grumlin, but she wasn’t sure. The three friends quietly moved to peer from behind the striped trunk of a birch. They saw a little man with a shiny bald head raging among the trees. He had a nose like a large potato, and a bristly beard all tangled with twigs. In a patch of sun he stood, cursing, tugging, and kicking at a fallen branch twice his size. Suddenly he broke off his squeals and jerked his head around, his huge nose sniffing the air.

  “Hello Tomkin!” Rawley called, bounding out of hiding to greet him. Nell followed cautiously behind, surprised that her pets knew the creature.

  “Ahhh! Oooo! I am not supposed to be seen by her kind,” Tomkin wailed. Shielding his face from Nell, he yanked hard on the branch one more time, but the part he grabbed snapped off. The troll tumbled backward, landing at Nell’s feet with a broken twig in his hand.

  “Nell is a friend of ours, Tomkin. She won’t give you away,” Rawley said.

  “What’s the matter, anyway?” asked Sola.

  “The Wind!” Tomkin replied crossly. The troll shook his fist at the sky. “He blew this branch across my doorstep while I was out, and I can’t make it budge!”

  “Maybe we can help,” Nell said. Though the hairy little man looked rather odd, he certainly wasn’t a grumlin. She and Rawley dragged the branch away from the tree to reveal a door nestled among its roots.

  “Thank you indeed.” Tomkin grumbled. Begrudgingly he said, “Hrrmmph. And now I must repay you with a favor: such is the way of the Groomlanen. But you can’t tell people you’ve seen me. I’ve no wish to spend my life in a cage!” He took hold of his door handle, saying, “If ever you lose your way in the weald, call for me, Tomkin. If perchance I hear you, I’ll answer.” With that, the tiny door slammed shut.

  Nell remembered the acorn in her pocket. She knew that, despite his words, she might never meet this little forest troll again. Now could be her only chance to reach the witch’s tower. “Wait!” she yelled. “Can you take me to the white tower? To the Witch of the Weald?”

  Rawley and Sola looked at each other questioningly. The cat ventured, “But why? She’s probably forgotten all about the bracelet.”

  The door squeaked open just enough for Tomkin’s long nose to poke out. “That is a very odd favor to ask.”

  “I need to see her,” Nell pleaded, “I lost a bracelet of hers, but I have something else to make up for it. Please, can you take me to see Lady Zel?”

  The door opened a little more, revealing a tangle of beard. “Well…” Tomkin hesitated, “if it’s what you wish, so be it! But the way runs through Murkly Marsh.” He wagged his finger in warning. “It’s a long, hard journey in the swamp – and it’ll take most of the day. I hope you know what you’ve asked for!”

  Nell didn’t. She hadn’t considered the distance, or the dismal marsh: the swamp was a well-known haunt for knucklers, grumlins, and candlewisps. Suddenly it didn’t seem so important to meet the witch, at least not today.

  Seeing Nell fret, Rawley licked at her hand. “It will be all right. Tomkin knows every path. Besides, I’ll be there with you.”

  The troll soon returned from his tree carrying a cloth-covered basket. Before anyone could speak, he grumbled, “All favors are final! It’s one less promise hanging over my head.” He peered at Nell, shaking his great beard in disapproval. “Umhm. Where’s your coat? It’s midwinter! You people,” he fumed, “always rushing into things! Well, too late for it now. Off we go!”

  CHAPTER 4

  MURKLY MARSH

  The friends set out toward the swamps with Tomkin. As Nell followed him, she couldn’t help but recall the trolls from Lexi’s stories. Always they had mossy beards drooping to their feet, hot tempers, and an evil magic about them – but while Tomkin was fiery, Nell doubted he was dangerous. He often tripped on his beard, and would gingerly tuck it under his arm when they came to a thorny patch. Occasionally he did battle with the pickers, wielding his tiny walking stick and scolding the canes that snagged at him.

  Sola whined as they walked, “I hate this marsh! It’s the middle of the day but the place is so dark.”

  Nell looked up at the dank layers of gray pressing down on them from above. She felt like she was in a cavern rather than out of doors. “Do people really die in the swamp?” she asked, gripping her golden acorn.

  “Of course,” Tomkin said. “The place is full of snakes, knucklers, and candlewisps. I don’t want to go here any more than you, but a promise is a promise, and you insisted.”

  Nell exclaimed, “You said I couldn’t change my mind!”

  “I said no such thing!”

  Nell groaned, exasperated with the little man.

  The way became slushy as they wound deeper into the marsh, squelching with every step. Wide expanses of water loomed on either side, with dead trees and high brown reeds poking up from the scum. A crow perched on one of the barren branches, watching the travelers pass below.

  Sola shivered, shaking her cold, wet feet. “My paws are frozen!” From the north, the wind began to blow, and Nell wished now that she remembered her coat.

  Rawley didn’t mind as much. Spotting a frog the size of Sola, he dove into one of the pools and came out green with slime. The crow took flight at the splashing, flapping away with a croak of displeasure
.

  Tomkin hooted at the slimy dog, “Now you look like a grumlin!”

  Nell shivered, remembering the fishy stench and strong, webbed claws of the creature at the trapdoor. The further they went into the swamp, the more she feared meeting another. She crowded close behind her guide, thinking Tomkin might somehow protect her from the dangers of the marsh. When he stopped abruptly to test the air with his nose, Nell stumbled into him. On one such occasion he exploded: “Do I look like a carpet? No! Well then it’s no good stepping on me!” Tomkin’s hairy nostrils flared at her, but his temper cooled almost as quickly as it erupted. After he finished sniffing about, he said, “Eh, calm down. Your worrying stinks worse than a grumlin.”

  “You can smell my… worry?” she asked.

  “Of course! And it is a most offensive odor. Almost as bad as guilt!” The troll cleared his nostrils into the reeds. “Relax. Candlewisps only come out at night.” He made no such claims for the snakes, grumlins, and knucklers though.

  On and on they trekked, skirting slimy pools, scaling walls of webby bracken, and ducking under oversized mushrooms. Everything was wet and drear and miserable.

  “Well, here we are!” Tomkin announced suddenly. Ahead, Nell could see a small shanty surrounded by a few stunted cottonwoods. It was one of the few patches of solid ground in the swamp.

  Nell looked around in confusion. “This isn’t the witch’s tower.”

  “No, no, girl. This is Peter Domani’s house. He’s a bit of a recluse.”

  “The hermit?” Nell remembered seeing the smelly old man in her village, and she had no wish to visit his house. Though she was cold and soaked through, the decrepit shed promised her little comfort. “But I want to see the witch, not him.”