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TO BUILD NEW WORLDS, we must shatter the old.
—Argus Kind, usurper king
* * *
GWEN AWOKE TO CALMNESS and the comforting scents of hot cinnamon and baking bread. She didn’t remember having fallen asleep, but she knew she had because she felt rested. All the tension in her neck and shoulders when she’d arrived at the Bastwick cottage had melted away. She sat up and dangled her feet over the edge of Gilly’s straw bed in the corner of the main room.
“It’s about time,” said Gilly, who was standing near the stone hearth. “The cinnamon sweet rolls are almost ready.”
Gwen smiled at her nose’s accuracy. “How long did I sleep?”
“Most of the morning. Now get up, sleepyhead, and help me finish my chores, or Mother won’t let me go to the circus.”
“What’s left to do?”
Gilly picked up an iron rod and hooked the end of it onto the handle of an iron pan, which she pulled out of the brick oven above the fire. She set the pan on the hearth, well away from the fire, to cool. “Gather the eggs, snip some thyme and tarragon, and strip some herb stems Mother has been drying in the garden shed.”
“That’s all?” Gwen was amazed at such light duties. She’d expected to do much harder labor.
“Well, I’ve done everything else except . . .”
“Except what?”
Gilly turned around and flashed a mischievous grin. “Except slop the pigs.” She broke into laughter.
Gwen snatched Gilly’s pillow and threatened to toss it at her but didn’t for fear she’d cause the cooling bread to fall. Nonetheless, she laughed along with her friend. Mignon’s concoction, the revelation about Gwen’s grandmother’s past, and Gilly’s infectious laughter had soothed Gwen’s humiliation and pain.
“Where is your mother?”
“Gone to visit your father,” Gilly said. “She took some herbs he uses when he’s curing and smoking meat.”
“Grateful” was the only word Gwen could think of for how she felt about Mignon talking with her father regarding her future, for she knew that was exactly why Gilly’s mother had gone to the butcher shop. “All right, then. I’ll get the thyme and tarragon.” Gwen headed for the door.
“The shears are in the garden shed,” Gilly called out to her, and Gwen turned around just in time to see her pinch off a piece of one of the rolls. That made her smile too.
By early afternoon when Mignon returned from her trip into the village, the two girls had finished all of the chores and were sitting at the table nibbling on a sweet roll they’d agreed to share. The scent of the fresh baking still lingered in the cottage.
“Hello, Mother.”
“Hello, dears,” she said, offloading onto the table a basket teeming with dry goods and meat.
Gwen wasted no time in discovering her fate, for as the day had worn on, she’d decided there was little hope of changing her father’s mind. “Gilly said you were going to visit Father.” After she’d spoken, she was disappointed in herself for not having the courage to ask a direct question.
Mignon took a seat at the table and began to lift the contents out of the basket one item at a time. A burlap bag of cracked wheat came out first. “I did . . . and I’m sorry to say I could not change his mind.”
Confirming her suspicions was more disheartening than Gwen had expected. She found herself wanting to cry but swallowed hard instead and just nodded, tightening her lips to hold back any sound for fear it would erupt into a full-fledged wail.
The hedge witch pulled out a hunk of cheesecloth and unwrapped it, revealing a thick, marbled chunk of beef. Gwen knew it was part of the trade her father had made with Mignon.
“I was able to convince him, however, that he should reconsider and speak with your grandmother about a compromise.”
Gwen, who had been staring at the hunk of beef, looked up at Mignon, whose face wore the same mischievous grin Gilly had used earlier that day.
“Truly? He’s going to reconsider?” Gwen asked, hardly believing that even Mignon could have swayed her father.
The woman’s grin subsided into calm seriousness. “Yes, truly, Gwendolin. He understands you have no idea what you want to do for the rest of your life. He does want you to be happy, and he is willing to reconsider allowing you to continue your studies for a while longer so you can find a trade that will satisfy both you and your grandmother.”
“But I do know what I want. I was going to tell them, but they didn’t give me a chance.”
Mignon’s expression changed again. This time curiosity relaxed the seriousness and lifted her eyebrows as she tilted her head as if to hear better from the ear closest to Gwen.
“I want to be a hedge witch.”
The woman blinked, surprise widening her eyes and lifting her eyebrows farther and farther up until they could go no higher and her forehead had become rows of wrinkles filling the space between eyebrows and hairline.
Gilly let out a whoop and clapped her hands. “You’ll be so good at it!”
Gwen smiled at her friend but returned her gaze to Mignon, whose face now wore concern. “What?”
“He agreed to let you stay with us until after the Day of Rest, Gwen,” said Mignon, “just to give him time to convince your grandmother to allow you to continue your studies for a while longer before you take an apprenticeship. But . . . but you know your grandmother will not consent to an apprenticeship with me.”
“Why not? Everyone knows you’re the best hedge witch in the Westland.”
“Perhaps, but even were that true, your grandmother would not see it that way. Since I was a child, she has viewed me as flighty, and she believes I influenced your mother in ways that made her less cautious than she should have been.”
“That’s not true,” Gwen said.
Mignon shrugged. “It matters not. Your grandmother will not consent to you studying herb lore with me.” She placed a hand atop Gwen’s. “Listen to me, Gwendolin Ahlgren. Take the compromise if your father can get your grandmother to agree to it. Continue your studies with the Mistress. Learn all you can from the books she brings to you.”
Gwen interrupted. “And bide my time.”
Mignon nodded, her eyes filled with warmth and understanding. “Prove to your father and grandmother that you are a serious student, that knowledge of herb lore will be your salvation, not your downfall. Then and only then might you be able to change your grandmother’s mind by setting it at ease.”
Gilly cleared her throat and picked up the chunk of beef. She looked at it almost adoringly, which made Gwen laugh. “You, my dear,” she said to the hunk of meat, “are going to be a fine roast for tonight’s celebration in honor of our guest, the lovely and talented hedge-witch-to-be, Gwendolin Ahlgren. And tomorrow, I shall bake your remains into scrumptious meat pies.”
Mignon and Gwen laughed, and Gwen thought about how fortunate she was to have a good friend in Gilly and a wise supporter in Mignon. She was thankful her mother had chosen such a faithful and sensible friend.
* * *
THE NEXT COUPLE OF days passed with a mixture of speed and sluggishness. The days were filled with laughter and seeking plants, an activity Gwen relished. Each plant search Mignon assigned was like a quest in which Gwen could prove her mettle. Her memory for the location of even the most rare and tiniest flora gave her a sense of pride, and when Mignon would later tell her how she planned to use the plant, Gwen would take down the particulars with precision on a piece of parchment Gilly had given her. Upon her return home, she planned to add the parchment to the book she had diligently filled over a number of years with the knowledge she’d gained about every plant she’d encountered in the Westland.
Finally, the Day of Rest came, and the two girls arose early that morning, both filled with anticipation and excitement over attending the first circus performance. By mid morning, they were restless.
“Go on, then, the both of you,” Mignon said, clearly annoyed with their hovering.
Gilly bolted over to her mother and bent down, kissing her on the cheek. “Thank you, Mother!”
“Out! Out with you! Leave me to rest.”
“We’ll tell you everything we see, Madame Bastwick,” said Gwen.
Mignon waved her hand in the air as if brushing away something. “Don’t dally on the way home.”
Gilly grabbed Gwen’s hand and rushed for the door, yelling behind her as she pulled it to, “We won’t. We’ll come straight back when it’s over and tell you all about it!”
The pair raced each other to the edge of town where the circus tent and wagons had been set up for the performance. As they approached the site, Gwen took in every detail of what looked as mysterious as the announcement’s promises. A large blue- and gold-striped tent sat in the center of a circle of smaller tents, each a shimmery fabric in a jewel tone—emerald, sapphire, and ruby—or in gold, silver, or copper. Outside the circle of smaller tents, several wagons parked end to end formed a ring around the entire circus, save for one wide space framed by two posts with a sign above it, like a gateway. Like the announcement, it bore the name of the troupe: The Hermetic Circus.
“The portal to the mysterious,” Gwen said as they approached the entrance.
Gilly giggled and squeezed Gwen’s hand. Together, they walked under the sign.
They were met on the other side of the entrance by an imposing man with a coarse beard. “One bronze each.”
The girls pulled out the coins they’d carried in their waist pockets and handed them to him. He flashed a smile and exposed a mouth full of gold teeth before he closed his fingers around the coins. In a flourish, he took a low bow and waved toward the inside of the compound. “Welcome to the great Hermetic Circus, where mysteries and peculiarities abound.”
Gwen wanted to get away from the man. Something about him seemed dangerous. She gave him a quick smile and pulled on Gilly’s hand. Once well away from him, she stopped and looked around. Between the wagons and small tents, tall, muscular horses grazed, but as far as Gwen could tell, none of their reins or leads were tied to anything. Though free to roam, they seemed uninterested in wandering beyond the imaginary boundary of the wagons.
“Look,” said Gilly, pointing to one of the small tents. Outside the sapphire tent stood a woman in a multicolored skirt so full, it hung in folds. When she turned toward the pair, the heavy skirt rustled, and she motioned for the two to approach her.
“Stop pointing,” whispered Gwen, suddenly conscious that the woman’s gaze wasn’t particularly friendly.
Gilly’s hand flew down to her side.
The woman motioned again, this time with a kinder expression on her face.
“Let’s see what she wants,” said Gilly.
For a beat or two, Gwen’s heart thumped harder and faster than normal, and she had a sense of dread. As the two got closer to the woman, Gwen saw that she looked kinder and much less intimidating than she had from a distance.
“The early birds have arrived,” said the woman, who flashed a sweet smile at the girls.
“Oh, yes!” said Gilly, “We’ve been waiting for this all week. When does the performance begin?”
“In a bit,” said the woman. “Your wait won’t be long.” She pointed toward the big tent in the center of the compound. “The barker will call out when it’s time to take your seats.”
“Thank you,” said Gilly.
“Do come inside while you wait,” said the woman, lifting the flap of the tent.
Gwen and Gilly peered into the darkness. In the center of the tent sat a small table draped in a dark blue silk cloth with pictures of stars and crescent moons on it. Two chairs flanked the table opposite each other. Atop the silk tablecloth sat a crystal globe on a copper base shaped like two claws resting back to back on each other, with three talons of one claw serving as the legs of the base and three cradling the globe. Hanging over the table was an ornate lantern with a single candle burning inside of it.
“We haven’t any more coins.”
“You paid the man at the gate?”
“Yes.”
“Then come inside. All who have paid can see their destinies here. I am Madame Verona. Come.”
Gilly looked at Gwen and grinned. “I want to know who I’ll marry.”
Gwen frowned. “I don’t know. Maybe it’s better not to know that.”
The woman shrugged. “Or perhaps one can make wiser decisions if one knows one’s destiny.”
“Come on, Gwen. It won’t hurt. It’s just a game.”
Gwen looked at the woman, who lifted a single eyebrow at Gilly’s comment. Despite reservations, she followed her friend inside.
The woman entered behind them and closed the flap, pulling it tightly across the opening so not so much as a sliver of light penetrated. The room, lit by only the hanging lantern’s candlelight, seemed to grow in size in its darkened state, as if it were larger on the inside than on the outside. The woman motioned toward a chair and looked at Gilly, who scrambled into the chair and settled on its plush cushion. The same heavy rustle of fabric followed the woman to the other chair, onto which she lowered herself so gracefully Gwen found the movement near mesmerizing.
“Tell me your name.”
“Gilly.”
“Your full name, my dear.”
“Gillian Margaretta Bastwick.”
The woman grasped the globe with both hands, running her palms over the smooth surface as if she were caressing it. “Ah, Margaretta. Such a sad name for such a perky young one. This is why they call you Gilly.”
Gilly looked at Gwen, who frowned. Gilly returned the look with a compassionate smile. Gwen didn’t feel comforted.
“Gillian, you have a talent with . . .”
“Not a single thing.” Gilly laughed.
“Ah, but you are mistaken. Food. I see food and children, many children.”
“Well, I do like to bake.”
“And baking you shall do, Gillian Margaretta Bastwick. But that is not what you wish to know, is it?”
Gilly shook her head with vigor, and her braids danced in revolt. “I want to know who I’ll marry.”
The woman caressed the globe once more and stared into it. Then she removed her hands from it and looked at Gilly. “Thomlin Frank.”
Gilly’s mouth fell open. “Plump Thom Frank? You can’t mean that.”
The woman laughed, and again Gwen felt discomfort. “It is not my choice, Gillian Margaretta Bastwick. It is your destiny. You will marry Thomlin Frank, and you will bake for him and all your many children and live a happy, long life with him. That is in the stars.”
“But, . . .” Gilly started in protest, but the woman interrupted.
She waved her hand. “It is done.” Looking up at Gwen, she said, “And now it is your turn. The stars await your question.”
Gilly, frowning and grumbling under her breath, tumbled out of the chair as if she’d been shoved off the cushion but recovered her balance and stood upright. She moved to a dark corner of the tent. “I did it. It’s your turn.”
Unsure she wanted to follow through after seeing her friend’s predicted ill fate unfold, Gwen took her place on the chair, her thoughts swirling with images of the shy, plump miller’s son gobbling up Gilly’s delicious sweet rolls with no appreciation for how truly scrumptious they were. The cushion, which had appeared so plush before, revealed itself for what it was: a hard and lumpy reminder of the feeling of discomfort Gwen felt about the entire escapade.
Once again, the woman placed her palms on the globe and rubbed it, gazing at it the whole while. Gwen looked at it, too, but all she could see was the woman’s fingers enlarged by the prism. And then, a light flashed inside the globe, and Gwen leaned in to get a closer look.
“Tell me your name.”
“Gwendolin Ahlgren.” Gwen couldn’t take her gaze off of the light, which pulsed and grew larger as it changed from white to yellow to orange and then finally to red.
The woman pulled her hands away from the globe and stared at them with an expression of agony that contorted her face so much it was painful to witness. In a monotonous tone nothing like the one that had come out of her mouth when she had predicted Gilly’s future, she said, “Ohmahold. The fate of the Greatland rests with you, Gwendolin Ahlgren, and only by love can you save her.”
* * *
“I’VE BEEN THINKING about what the fortune-teller said. What do you suppose it means?” asked Gilly as they walked back to the cottage in the early afternoon sunlight.
“Nothing. It means nothing,” replied Gwen, still miffed she’d worked so hard for a coin she’d wasted. The fortune-teller’s vague prediction had set the tone for an afternoon less filled with wonder and excitement than Gwen had expected. The fire-breathers, stilt-walkers, and clownish acrobats had been underwhelming. Even worse, between each short act in the main tent, the barker had approached the audience, holding out the cure-all medicinal and extolling its virtues until at least one villager had succumbed to his sales spectacle.
“I don’t know. She seemed certain. Did you see the look on her face?”
Gwen rounded on Gilly, grabbing her by the arm. “It’s nonsense. Why would we believe it?”
“But what if it’s not nonsense?” Gilly pulled her arm out of Gwen’s grasp.
“I’m sorry,” Gwen said, realizing she’d been physically rough with her friend. “I’m just angry that we wasted our time and coin.”
“I admit the show wasn’t as exciting as I thought it would be. But maybe the circus wasn’t a complete waste. Maybe what the fortune-teller said is truly our fates.”
“Do you believe you’re going to marry and raise a brood of children with Thomlin Frank?”
Gilly scrunched up her face. “Well,” she said, dragging out the syllable. “He did offer to share his tart with me after the show.”
“And share he did, indeed!” A full laugh rolled out of Gwen at the memory of Thomlin’s sticky fingers holding out the fruit tart to Gilly. He’d squeezed the tart, and syrupy fruit had oozed out of it and landed on Gilly’s shoe with a plop. “I thought I would die on the spot when he bent over to brush off your shoe and came up with those sticky fingers all covered in dust and twigs.”
“I felt sorry for him. He was just trying to be nice.” Gilly’s disapproval of Gwen’s laughing at Thomlin was unmistakable.
Gwen took the hint. “I’m sure he was, and I’m sorry I laughed at him. I did apologize, though.”
“After you hurt his feelings.”
“I said I was sorry.”
“Sometimes you don’t think about anyone else’s feelings but your own, Gwen. I was embarrassed for poor Thomlin, but I was more embarrassed at how you acted.”
Gwen’s mouth dropped open. She couldn’t believe her best friend was speaking to her in such a way, taking the side of a boy against her. Not just any boy, but Thomlin Frank, a boy Gilly hadn’t paid an iota of attention to before the fortune-teller’s prediction! “Maybe I should just go home.”
“Maybe you should,” said Gilly, looking down.