Adelaide and the Historian

The pantry is home to a troll named Belto. This is something that my Nana seems to forget when she asks me to retrieve the flour. She’s been forgetful lately. So I remind her.

“Addie, please,” Nana says. “Can you just get me the flour?”

She doesn’t understand how trolls work. You can’t just get the flour. Trolls barter. And Belto is the best barterer of them all, always demanding rare and hard-to-find trinkalets, as he calls them, in exchange for his wares. He once sent me on a dangerous quest to get the Remote of Time Control, and that was just for a tablespoon of olive oil. 

“You need the whole bag?” I ask Nana.

“Yes,” she says.

I had my work cut out for me.

The door to the pantry groans open in that creepy way that gives me shivers. Once inside, I shut it; trolls hate the light.

“Belto,” I call, my voice ringing throughout his cave. “I am here for flour,” our-our-our.

The darkness eats my echo.

With the help of the light coming from the crack beneath the door, I scan the rows of ramscattle shelves—another of Belto’s misused words. He often calls things by the wrong name, but you must never correct a troll. It makes them furious. The shelves held the same potion bottles and sacks of magical ingredients they normally held, all organized and with colorful labels, but now there were cobwebs strung among them. It makes me nervous. It is very much unlike Belto to leave his cave so dirty.

I decide to clean while I wait for him. 

“Belto, I am touching all your things,” I taunt, as I brush the cobwebs away with a hand broom I found.

The door opens. The incoming light makes black spots appear before my eyes.

“Addie, what’s going on?” It’s not Belto. It’s my Nana.

“I’m waiting for Belto,” I say. “You should shut the door. He doesn’t like light.”

Nana sighs. “Why don’t you go play outside? I can get the cookies in myself.”

“I can help,” I say.

“Adelaide, go outside.”

When Nana calls me Adelaide, I know she’s upset. I don’t know why she’s upset, though.

The Forest of Argden is quiet—too quiet. The normal bustle of fairy folk and ents and the traveling goblin merchants has given way to a shroud of silence. There is no movement amongst the shrubbery and sky-scraping oaks. Even the birds in the bathing pool are quiet. 

I suspect a spell. A dark spell.

My sword comes out of its sheath.

“It is I, Laidy of the Forest,” I announce. “Friend or foe, reveal yourself.”

My body tenses in anticipation. 

But no one comes forth. 

I rack my brain and in an instant the truth hits me—Hozias.

Hozias has finally succeeded. That feared dragon, enemy of Argden, must have risen from his coiled slumber and sprayed his liquid fire, scorching the forest greenery black. And as I think the thought, indeed, the spell lifts. The ground becomes soot. The tall oaks transform into what look like giant burnt matches. Water boils over the edge of the bird’s bathing pool.

But this could not be Hozias on his own.

“Whose magic is this?” I scream.

“It is my magic, child,” a voice annunciates slowly. How did I not sense him behind me?

I whip around to face the most horrifying creature I’ve ever seen. It towers over me, double my height. And covering the entire creature’s body are grotesque, red eyeballs.

I think to flee, but there is nowhere to hide in this barren landscape.

“And I would see wherever you went,” the many-eyed dark wizard says, reading my mind.

“We will have to change that then,” I say.

Quick as a cobra, my blade pierces one of his eyes. He lets forth a deafening scream.

“For my fallen friends,” I say, quickly piercing two more as red juice splatters my face.

“Adelaide Nicole! Stop this instant!”

From the edge of the desolate battlefield, Nana charges toward me. As she does, with each step, life and color burst from beneath her feet. She’s healing the forest!

“Nana! Your magic is more powerful than the wizards,” I say. 

Nana reaches my side and holds out her hand. “Give me the stick.” 

The world arranges itself yet again. The Forest of Argden fades to Nana’s garden. 

“Now,” Nana says.

I hand her the stick.

“Explain yourself, young lady.”

I don’t know what she means until she gestures to her damaged tomato plant.

“It was the wizard,” I say. 

Nana stares at me.

“You have to believe me. I was tricked by his dark magic.”

“I don’t think I can do this today,” Nana says. “We’re calling your father.”

“But I didn’t do anything.” 

And even though I am a stoic warrior, I can’t stop the tears from coming.

I sit strapped to some kind of torture device. If I move even an inch, the spikes will spring.

“Lewis, I can’t. I thought it would be okay, but it’s too painful.”

I can hear Nana’s conversation with a different prison warden, trying to transfer my sentence. Maybe they will understand it wasn’t me. But who knows how wide of a reach the dark wizard has.

“I can’t. I can’t handle her on my own.”

My heart sinks. Nana sounds scared of me. There has to be a way to show her I’m not responsible, to break the evil spell.

“I know. Lewis, I know. Okay. Here she is.”

Nana holds out the phone for me to grab. A test.

“I can’t move, Nana. The trap will spring.”

“For heaven’s sake.” Nana sets the phone on the table and storms out of the dungeon.

Slowly, as to not trigger the trap, I pick up the phone.

“Warden,” I say.

“Honey, listen. I know you’re used to a certain kind of fun at grandma’s house. But, like we talked about, things have changed.”

“I didn’t mean to hurt Nana’s plant. It was the wizard.”

“It’s okay, Addie. It’s not really about the plant.” The warden sighs, the same way Nana does. “Can you do me a favor?”

“Will it take time off of my sentence?” 

The warden laughs. “Sure.”

“Okay. What’s the favor?”

“I need you to take a break with the make-believe. It’s hard for grandma.”

“Why?” I ask.

“I don’t know,” he says. He pauses for a moment to think. “That was never her role, I guess. Someone has to be the anchor to reality.”

“I don’t get it,” I say.

“Sorry, I’m doing a bad job of explaining. Let’s just say it doesn’t matter why if it will make Nana feel better, right?”

“Right,” I say.

“It’s just for tonight. Can you do that for me? Can you do that for Nana?”

Nana and I feast in the banquet hall. We sit at opposite ends of the long, planked dining table, eating a hearty meal of griffin nuggets and mac and cheese, and drinking goblets full of apple juice. We do so in silence. I don’t mention that the orc waiters are missing.

During my bath, I stay at the surface, which is probably for the best. I think my passport to Tublantis is expired, so I most likely would have dived down for nothing. Well, not nothing. I want to know how far the wizard’s infection has spread. Looking from above, through the rippled surface of the water, the city appears abandoned. When Nana asks me what I’m staring at, I tell her, “Nothing.” 

In my chambers, located at the tip of the spire of my castle, I discreetly check that the secret passageway behind the portrait is locked. “Everything okay?” Nana asks.

The portrait is secure—no chance of a Red Hand assassin, hired by the dark wizard, sneaking through—so I reply, “Yes.”

“Goodnight, Addie,” Nana says as she tucks me under the covers. Addie—at least she’s not mad at me anymore.

“Goodnight Nana.”

In the darkness, I toss and turn, unable to sleep. Every time I close my eyes, I hear the yells of the creatures in the flaming Forest of Argden. Or Belto’s scratchy voice. Or I see the empty bubble houses in Tublantis. 

The wizard! His dark magic has spread to every corner of the Kingdom, including my castle, where his incantation of sleeplessness breaks through my protective barriers. His is an evil that threatens the collapse of all realms and the erasure of all my friends. He must be defeated. But I don’t know how. I have never faced a magic this powerful. At least not on my own.

There is only one who can help me; that is, if it’s not already too late. But to find him, I have to break my promise.

I stand at the entrance of Soolalee. The guards have abandoned their posts on the high wall. The gate is open. I walk right in.

The Kingdom Post Office, the Alchemist’s lab, Toler’s gift shop, the Darkwood Tavern—everything is deserted.

“Is anyone here?” I call to the ghost town of Soolalee. The creaking wooden buildings answer NO with low groans. A bunnyweed rolls across the dirt road. After seeing the desolation here, I’m positive that Tublantis is empty.

I search through the maze of alleyways and peer into dusty windows, and I don’t find a soul. Where could they all have gone? Where do you hide a whole population? I don’t even know where you hide a single minotaur, considering how big and loud and smelly they are.

But it doesn’t matter. As shocking as the empty town is, I expected as much. Ahead is my destination; I can just make out the museum in the dusky twilight.

I open the museum’s double doors to a torch-lit lobby and the smell of must. The Book-lings skitter across the floor, finding shadowy places to hide. Even though the Book-lings have always scared me, with their spider-like movements, I am relieved—they are the first living creatures I have seen. It gives me hope. Maybe the Historian, with all his cunning and craft, has avoided the rapture.

“Historian, I need your help,” I say, projecting my voice. “If you are hiding, please come out.”

The only movement is the shadows dancing in the torchlight.

“You and I have gone on many adventures,” I continue. “But never have I witnessed such a dark power.” I listen for a reply. A distant drip from the cavernous hall supplies the nonanswer.

“Please. I’m scared. I don’t know how to do it without you.”

A small, blue-skinned Book-ling cautiously approaches me. “Hey there,” I say. “No need to be frightened. Do you know where the Historian is?” The Book-ling rubs against my leg. I pick it up and pet it, trying to recall the words the Historian taught me. Then I remember. 

“Aperta,” I say. The Book-ling coos and unfolds in my arms, revealing its pages to me. It’s an album of photographs. And pictured in the photographs is the Historian.

“No,” I say. “This is not what I meant.” I throw the Book-ling and it lands with a squeal, then scampers away. “I want the Historian, please. Please.” Tears fill my eyes, for I know the Historian wouldn’t hide from me. If he hasn’t shown himself yet, he is gone. The dark wizard has won. It has taken everything from me.

“What are you doing in here?” The voice comes from the entrance of the museum. The person is backlit by the setting sun, so I can’t see their face. “You shouldn’t be in here.” A woman’s voice.

“I’m sorry,” I say, and the tears start to flow. I hide my head in my hands.

It startles me when I feel the stranger’s arm wrap around my shoulders. “There, there,” she says.

I don’t know how long we sit like this, but the kind stranger doesn’t leave my side, running her fingernails up and down my back, even after I have finished crying.

“Did you know the Historian?” I ask.

The stranger’s fingers stop their rhythmic movement. There is a long hesitation before she says, “Yes, I knew the Historian.”

“He’s gone, isn’t he?” I say, a quiver in my voice.

“Yes, he is,” the stranger says.

Again, there is silence. Again, the stranger scratches my back.

Through the open museum doors, I see the sun set behind the buildings of Soolalee. Possibly for the last time.

“I miss him,” I say.

“I miss him, too,” says the stranger. “But you know something?”

“What?” I say.

“He isn’t all the way gone.”

“What do you mean?”

“No one is ever all the way gone,” the stranger says. “They live on through the people they affect.”

“Like a spell?”

“Yes, like a spell.”

The stranger places her hands on my cheeks and turns my gaze to her. She looks familiar, yet I can’t quite place how I know her.

“And I see him in you,” the stranger says with a hitch in her voice. “He lives on through you.”

I hug the stranger, fiercely. She hugs me back.

The lobby fills with bright light and the torches blow out.

It’s the sun.

How could I have got it wrong? I would have sworn it was sunset, but the glowing orb is rising. In the morning light, I can see the townsfolk of Soolalee stir, taking to the streets to start their days. 

But how? It’s a magic so strong I would have thought it impossible.

Maybe the reversal was the Historian’s final spell.

Or maybe it is my first.