Briar Blackwood's Grimmest of Fairytales (20 page)

Chapter 25

The coach rambled along through the heat of the Black Waste for hours. They journeyed for some lengths to the east amid the bleak forest remains. Briar ruminated miserably over the landscape. Orpion's job of incineration was more thorough in some places than in others. Occasionally, instead of far-reaching stretches of charred gray, Briar saw evidence of bones poking up through mounds of soot. She felt a quiet fury building in the heat of her stomach. Finally she could take her self-torment no more, and she decided to close her eyes.

The sway of the carriage eventually rocked the others to sleep. The prince had long ago given the Boss and his posse directions on how they might enter the Westwolf Wall from a secret passage. And Briar thought that they would be safe now. Only she and Sherman remained awake. Finally, Briar broke the silence. “Why didn't you use magic before?”

“I beg your pardon?” Sherman replied.

“You used magic to stop Gelid. Why didn't you use it any sooner?” Briar asked. “You could have changed—well everything.”

Sherman looked away, an old pain lingering in his eyes. He gave a soft sigh as he cast his gaze out the window. “Magic is rarely the answer we seek,” he replied. “It can lead to terrible things.” Briar heard a whisper of choked emotion in what he said.

“The Black Woods were your home too,” she guessed. She looked out again at the sickening terrain, imagining how Sherman must feel traveling through it.

Sherman nodded. “My Mara and my cub—both gone.”

Sometimes there are no words, Briar realized. So instead of trying to say something of comfort, she sat and watched Sherman until he was able speak again without such a terrible
stomach-wrenching warble.

“But sometimes—just sometimes—magic can make a difference,” he said. He sniffed and wiped his eyes with a paw. “That's why I learned it. And that's why I hoped one day I would help the girl-child of the Omens to end the Orpion's reign.” He gave Briar a short smile and an encouraging nod.

“You hated me when we met,” she said. She gave Sherman a sly look.

“I didn't believe that you were the one,” he admitted.

“But Poplar followed me since I was a baby. Ash came to rescue me—” she replied. She gave a little laugh.

“Ash has made his mistakes,” Sherman said. Then he looked far away to the horizon with a bitterness she hadn't seen before. She wasn't sure what Sherman meant, but she knew that this wasn't the time to drag him through more unhappiness, no matter the cause of it.

She tried to change the subject. “Well, good news: I might be getting the hang of how to use these Dragon Powers.”

Sherman sat upright in his seat, his ears stood on end. “Impossible,” he said. “Magic, and especially that of the Dragon Powers, takes years, even lifetimes to master. You would be lucky to learn just a few simple enchantments to keep you alive should you ever go toe to toe with Orpion.”

“I stopped Gelid, you know,” she said.

“You have learned a simple transformation,” Sherman replied. “And you were given rudimentary instructions about your Dragon Powers. But do not mistake these simple conjurations for the deeper mysteries. You will need more than a couple of tricks if you are to leave this place alive. It is time you learned, and in earnest.”

He placed a paw on her hand and he closed his eyes. Briar watched as he squeezed his fuzzy eyelids shut in concentration and leveled his tufted ears. Her hands started to tingle, and it felt like there were bubbles in her fingers. Then Sherman's paw
glowed with such intensity that it seemed to fill the entire carriage.

In a flash, within that dazzling moment of brightness, Briar saw a vision. Thousands of geometric patterns appeared before her, one after another in what seemed to be an intentional sequence: intricate spider's webs jeweled by morning's dew, each droplet reflecting the others, the delicate flourished structures of snowflakes branching elaborately, the connections between stars emblazoned across the deep night sky, and those of shadows as they elongated across the landscape. Briar was shown patterns seen everywhere in nature: in the budding flowers, the tides of shimmering oceans, the hives of bees, and even laughter. No matter what she was shown, she could see the design. It felt to Briar that she already knew these things, but now that Sherman was showing her, she was somehow awakened to their memory.

As unexpectedly as the visions arose, they faded away. Briar sat with her heart pounding from exhaustion. Sherman opened his eyes and nodded without saying more. After catching her breath Briar eventually spoke up. “What was all that?” She knew what they were. In her bones, she knew. But she couldn't put what she knew into words just yet.

“These are the structures of magic—the Grand Design,” Sherman explained. With that, he spent a good deal of time describing to Briar the history of magic and the long, intricate theories that governed it. He drew complex patterns in the air with his paws, and now that Briar had seen the vision Sherman had given her, his designs looked like fine Irish lace, which hovered in front of him as patterns of light and shadow. And while this served to intrigue Briar at the start, the initial excitement of learning magic was sucked dry as Sherman's lengthy lectures continued for hours. Briar felt like she was back in school learning some convoluted trigonometry formulas. But not wanting to insult Sherman, she tried to give a few interested nods throughout his lengthy dissertations.

Finally, he began to teach her about the Dragon Powers, their rarity, and how the ancients harnessed their strength. He taught many complex magical passes, each of them a reflection of the Grand Design. These were only a handful of the thousand-and-one that a dillywig must know to master the art of enchantment. Since they all seemed alike to Briar, she found them confusing; a slight angle of the hand up or down could make worlds of difference in the magical outcome.

Nevertheless, while the others in the cab dozed to the rhythmic clip clop of hoof beats, Sherman continued to school his student. Then Briar drilled many of the most important passes, again and again, until Sherman felt that she had gained some precision and a few secrets of the art. But he would not teach her how she might summon the Dragon Powers at her will. “For now, these enchantments must only be used in your defense,” he argued. He would say nothing more about it, no matter how much Briar tried to convince him otherwise.

“But I will tell you about the curses,” Sherman said. Then he gazed distractedly out the window, as though deliberating if she should know what he was about to tell her.

Briar stopped her practice. “You mean, what happened to Poplar, Myrtle and Ash?” But it took a good long time before Sherman was able to respond. He faced the small cab window and surveyed the blackened landscape.

“They loved you very much,” he finally said. “They put themselves in harm's way trying to protect the child they believed would save these Realms.” He turned to face Briar.

Briar nodded, but didn't really know what he was talking about. It was clear that Poplar was cursed to eat rats and Ash's garments would change unexpectedly. “What happened to Myrtle?” Briar wanted to know, but felt a lump in the pit of her stomach.

“She was cursed far worse than the others with the
Unspeakable,”
Sherman said. “Can you even know the suffering,
or the disgrace of a dillywig who can no longer fly?” He shook his head and covered his eyes.

Briar looked out the window at the wasteland, imagining what might have happened as the Black Woods burned on those dark days. She knew that Poplar, Ash and Myrtle's curses were likely a painful humiliation for them. But she couldn't understand how Sherman could compare their seeming inconveniences to the ruin she witnessed outside the carriage.

“There is more,” Sherman said. “The malignancy of these curses has spread.”

“What do you mean?”

“Each of these curses is lethal. Yes, Poplar has done well staving off the worst of it with her teas and potions. But to be honest, I don't know how much longer any of them has—” He sounded as though his throat suddenly constricted, and words could come no more.

Briar placed a hand on Sherman's head to pet him, and he looked up with surprise. But he didn't resist Briar's smoothing hand. She decided not to ask anything more. She knew enough.

She knew that she was loved. Never feeling cared for as palpably as she did in that moment, she found herself confused. Perhaps that was the fourth curse. Sherman curled up on the bench and buried his face beneath his tail, and he allowed Briar to stroke his soft pelt.

It was late afternoon when they finally reached the green-vined base of Towery Flowery Hill, pungent with the perfume of roses and a sickly stench that reminded Briar of decaying bodies. She tried to breathe through her mouth, but it didn't help much.

“Okay, that wasn't me,” Dax said. Then he tried to cover his nose in the crook of his elbow.

“What
is
that?” Briar asked. She tried not to gag from the smell.

Sherman pushed the carriage window open and stuck his head out. “I don't know, but I suggest that we proceed with
caution.”

Once upon the hill road, the soil was no longer hard and compact. Hooves did not make their usual noises, but sounded more like rocks thrown onto a haystack. The carriage continued to sway, but the ride was soft, as though the wheels turned on cushions.

She gazed upon the bases of thick green tree trunks that stood tall and proud, pushing upward to the sky. So high did they reach that Briar could not see their tops. The foliage seemed somehow familiar, yet unlike any Briar had ever seen before. She looked up at the branches and leaves noting how they had knitted together to form a thorny canvas for the road. It was a soothing contrast from the endless glare that they had endured in the Black Waste.

Finally Sherman opened the cab door a crack while the horses still trotted along, and he signaled the driver to stop. The sudden and shocking silence that filled the small space seemed to awaken the others, who stretched and looked and marveled at the scenery. The cab driver opened a door and they all stepped down onto the soft red mulch that was made of leaf mold, damp soil, and leathery, withered rose petals the color of dried blood and the size of a full grown man. The rancid smell made sense now. The area was like a compost heap.

Briar stood back a pace to see from where the petals were coming. She shielded her eyes and tipped her head back, but could only see vague puffy shapes silhouetted against tiny patches of bright blue sky.

Sherman stood behind Briar. “They say they reach as high as the clouds, and some even beyond that,” he mused.

Dax looked up and gawked at the barbed spectacle and majesty of the forest. “What kind of trees are these?”

“Trees!” Sherman laughed. “These are roses.”

“Roses?! Come on,” Dax said. Then a giant petal, red as a ripe apple, drifted down and softly draped over his head.

“Come along this way, big boy,” Tarfeather said, mimicking an
old movie. He darted among the leaves and petals, his tiny feet stomping them down. Briar signaled to the others and they all followed Tarfeather, who clearly knew his way. Under fallen thorny stems and over boulders that appeared suddenly in their path, Tarfeather led them tirelessly up the hillside.

They finally reached a cave entrance, smooth and square, hewn from the rock and fitted with dark bronze doors the color of troubled storm clouds. The place seemed well tended, though it smelled like soil and animal droppings to Briar. As they got closer, Briar could see that the bronze entryway ornamented with hideous faces, dark, fanged and scowling. Two hoops served as the door-pulls. Valrune stepped up and assuredly pulled one, but it wouldn't budge. Leon hopped up and said, “A bit too heavy for you, huh?”

“Little frog, this door is locked,” Valrune said.

The dwaref climbed up to Briar's shoulder. “Tarfeather noticery Briar Blackwood trinket.”

“How did you know this was a trinket?” she asked.

Instead of saying, he tugged at her necklace chain until the key came out from beneath her neckline.

“Now let's be careful.” Sherman put his paws up in a halting gesture. “We don't know if her key works at all. I've heard, ever since I was a cub, that this was a very dangerous place. It's riddled with traps.”

Not listening, Tarfeather had already unclasped the necklace and held the key up on her shoulder like a prize. “Put the key in the lock and turn it, honey. We're all waitin',” he said like a 1920s gun-moll.

“See?” Leon asked. He was hoping Briar was paying attention to how stupid Valrune was for not thinking of the obvious.

“You've got to use a key.” He hopped up past Tarfeather and nabbed it. “Now if you had used your head, you would know that,” he said. Then he bounced up high enough to insert the key in the lock. But having no ability to turn it, he just dangled
helplessly.

The prince flicked Leon aside with a finger. “Oh that's just cold,” Dax noted. Leon landed roughly to the ground. Briar was too focused on their situation to pay attention to their ridiculous male domination behaviors.

Valrune smiled, satisfied that he had sufficiently humiliated Leon, then he turned the key. It clanked loudly and the sound echoed down what seemed like long passages. He took the key out and shrugged, since the door didn't open. Then several more metallic clanking noises occurred mechanically from either side of the cave entrance, above, and then below.

The ground under their feet opened up and they slid down through pebbles and clumps of soil. As she slipped through the opening, it felt to Briar that small roots sprung from the earth and grabbed at her while she slid past. Then they fell through a cave ceiling and landed on a tangled bed of something that felt soft and clammy. One after another they landed, each rolling away from the next one falling. The smell of moisture and minerals hung heavily in the air.