A Most Magical Girl - Karen Foxlee Page 0,59

torch high.

“Here is one way up,” she said, panting heavily but most pleased with herself. She bared her grayish teeth in a great troll smile and pointed at the rocky cavern ceiling.

“She’s mad,” whispered Kitty.

“Above be a big house with bells,” said Hafwen. “First you must go through the rooms filled with the dead humanlings, stacked up one on top of the other, and from them we take our wedding dresses.”

It does seem true that trolls are always getting married, thought Annabel. The thought of them stealing dresses from the catacombs gave her a fresh wave of shivers.

“But there be other places,” said Hafwen. “I can take you to the grass.”

She was facing them now, her big dirty face smiling and expectant.

“But we don’t need to go up,” said Annabel very gently.

“But…stars…be up,” said Hafwen.

“Yes, but first we must follow the map and find the Morever Wand,” said Annabel.

“But…up be stars,” said Hafwen, incredulous.

“We aren’t going up!” shouted Kitty sternly. “We are going to find the Morever Wand.”

Her voice echoed up and down the dripping walls of the cavern.

Hafwen closed her eyes. She drew a breath and held it. By the light of her torch she grew a violent stormy color.

“Hafwen want star!” she screeched, blasting them with her breath and ruffling their hair.

“Hush, hush, hush,” said Annabel. “I have promised you a star and you shall have it, but we cannot go up until we have found the wand. You must help us on our way.”

“Leave her,” said Kitty. “She’s served her purpose.”

“Stop it, Kitty!” cried Annabel. “We would be in a pot if it weren’t for her.”

Hafwen’s eyes darted between them. She held her breath again.

“Breathe, Hafwen,” said Annabel. “Soon you will have your star. I promise you.”

Hafwen deflated. “So…I must take you where your map does say?”

“Yes,” said Annabel. “Lead us through Trollingdom like the brave little troll you are.”

She held out her arm and they gathered around her to find which path they would follow next. Hafwen gave Kitty the torch and peered at Annabel’s arm. She placed a big hairy finger in the center of a circular cavern.

“Here where we be,” she said. Her hulking shape cast a shadow.

“Get out of the light, you filthy oaf,” said Kitty.

“You would have been better in a pot,” said Hafwen.

“Both of you, stop!” cried Annabel.

Hafwen did not like Kitty. Kitty did not like Hafwen. They were actually quite similar, Annabel decided. Kitty coughed and glared at Hafwen. Hafwen narrowed her twinkling eyes.

“This be the up cavern I know,” said Hafwen. “But to go farther…”

She twisted Annabel’s arm roughly because trolls do nothing gently. She twisted it so she could see the fleshy part above the elbow. A maze of tunnels led to the vast open space that took up most of the inside of Annabel’s upper arm. The rough oblong shape was filled with waves that Annabel had seen but refused to touch. Just looking at the place made her feel dizzy. It was deep. It was fathomless, that place.

She looked at the upside-down words. The Lake of Tears.

“No trolls pass here,” said Hafwen, pointing to those words. “Only dead trolls on their funeral boats, fed to…”

She stopped.

“Only dead trolls on their funeral boats,” repeated Kitty, “fed to…?”

Kitty passed the flame back to Hafwen. She traced her finger across the Lake of Tears. There was a shore, and beyond it a single path that snaked its way up onto Annabel’s shoulder. Annabel couldn’t see where it led after that. The others followed the single path with their eyes. She saw them gaze at her chin, her cheek, her forehead. Their eyes settled back on her cheekbone. They looked away.

“There be a terrible thing,” said Hafwen, “after the Lake of Tears.”

“And is this the terrible thing?” said Kitty, pointing to Annabel’s cheek.

“Things what trolls don’t mention,” said Hafwen, and she refused to look where Kitty pointed.

“All will be well, Hafwen,” said Annabel gently. She was quite good at calming down cranky trolls, she had discovered. A talent that Miss Finch at her Academy for Young Ladies could never have imagined. “We are only trying to understand what is ahead of us. What things?”

Kitty looked back at Annabel’s cheek again.

“Can someone please tell me what is on my cheek?” asked Annabel, quite politely, she thought, under the circumstances.

“It is the West-Born Wyrm,” said Hafwen.

“The West-Born Wyrm?” repeated Kitty.

“Yes, the West-Born Wyrm,” whispered Hafwen. “It eats up everything. Dead trolls best. We feed it our dead ’uns to keep it away.