Broken Wish Read online

  “So you’ve returned,” the witch said sourly, though she couldn’t quite hide the look of pleasure on her face at the sight of Elva. “I suppose you’d better come in and have a seat.”

  Elva pulled out a loaf of apple-cinnamon bread from her basket. She had baked an extra one earlier and squirreled it away before Mama could see. “This is for you,” she said shyly. “I saw your beehive and thought you might like to eat this with honey, since you have a sweet tooth.”

  Mathilda harrumphed. “What makes you think I have a sweet tooth?”

  “You served me cake when I was last here.”

  “And you didn’t eat a bite of it. Did you think I would enchant you?”

  Elva blushed. The thought had, in fact, crossed her mind.

  “Put it on the table,” the witch went on, looking amused. She closed her diary, set it aside, and picked up the blanket she was knitting. “And come here.”

  Elva took the seat facing Mathilda. It was a comfortable rocking chair piled with soft blankets much like the one the witch was currently working on. The cat turned its inscrutable green eyes upon Elva, who smiled at it and then felt unreasonably hurt when it did not smile back.

  “So, knowing the full truth about me and what I have done to people in the past,” the witch said, “you have decided that you wish to learn from me anyway?”

  “I have.”

  “And if I poison you?” Mathilda asked sarcastically. “Or put toads in your throat?”

  Elva swallowed hard. “I’ve decided to take that risk.”

  The witch fixed her with a stern gaze. “Then I will come quickly to the point. Three days ago, you trespassed at my old cottage. You stole a mirror belonging to me, performed magic beyond your ability to determine my location, and then trespassed again at my new home. You demanded that I answer your questions and help you hone your inexplicable magic.”

  Elva’s mouth opened to argue, but the witch held up a hand to silence her.

  “As a result of all that, I have decided to help you.” An unexpected smile crossed her face at Elva’s shocked expression. “But let us be clear: I’m only doing so for two reasons. The first is that someone I loved, who trained me, would not want me to turn you away. The second is that your ability is greater than any I have seen in someone so unschooled, and I fear you may destroy Hanau in your clumsy attempts to use your powers. And as much as I despise this town, I live here and would prefer that you not raze it to the ground. Do you understand?”

  “Yes, ma’am,” Elva said, as calmly and politely as she could. But inside, she felt like getting up and dancing until her red shoes fell apart. The witch wanted to help her!

  “And let us also make this clear: I will not be teaching you to play with time. What you see in the visions will happen, yes? And you will not attempt to change it?” Mathilda asked, her voice stern, and Elva gave a reluctant nod. “Very well. Now that you understand all of that, I’d like to see what you can do. Did you bring the mirror with you?”

  “I did.” Elva pulled the glass from her basket and held it up. “But may I ask why you left it behind in your old cottage? Were you ever planning to come back for it?”

  The witch’s knitting needles slowed a bit. “I had hoped to return at one time.”

  “But you changed your mind?”

  “I was silly and sentimental. But we aren’t here to talk about me,” Mathilda said abruptly. “I want you to demonstrate your ability with the mirror. Don’t call up a specific image. Just use it as you have used water in the past.”

  Elva’s stomach fluttered as she obediently looked into the mirror. It still felt strange to be encouraged to use her ability after years of hiding it, and by two people, no less: Willem, who loved her, and Mathilda, who would help her. In the firelight, she thought her reflection looked more like Mama than ever, with tendrils of bright hair framing her round, pink-cheeked face, and she wondered if the resemblance struck Mathilda, too. She willed her anxious mind to relax, and as soon as it did, a vision appeared: Mathilda herself, walking through the woods.

  It was odd, knowing that the person she watched in the mirror was also sitting nearby, watching her, but Elva let go of that thought and sharpened her focus.

  In the mirror, Mathilda had a bright yellow handkerchief tied over her black hair. She was picking large mushrooms that bloomed against the trunk of a tree, breaking them off tenderly and putting them into her basket. Every so often, she stooped to gather roots and berries.

  Suddenly a man spoke in a deep, gentle voice. “Find any good mushrooms?”

  The Mathilda in the mirror leaped to her feet, her face pale. “How did you get in?”

  The stranger looked to be in his midthirties, with a thick black beard and twinkling eyes. He was tall and broad-shouldered, and wore the checked shirt and overalls of a woodcutter, with an axe tied to his back. The bundle of chopped spruce in his arms shook as he laughed. “What do you mean, how did I get in? This is the North Woods, isn’t it? Open to anyone?”

  Despite his friendly, kind tone, Mathilda had backed up against a tree, trembling. “Of course,” she muttered. “I wasn’t paying attention. I stepped out of my own boundary. Stupid…”

  “I beg your pardon?”

  She hugged her basket tight to her chest. “N-nothing. I bid you good day.”

  “Please don’t be afraid,” the woodcutter said gently. “I’ll leave you alone if you want me to. It’s just…Don’t I know you from somewhere?”

  Mathilda froze, and Elva could read the thoughts on her face like a book: Perhaps this man had recognized her from one of the notices nailed up all over town.

  “I’m sure I’ve seen your face before. I wouldn’t soon forget it, as lovely as it is,” the woodcutter added, his cheeks reddening.

  The witch blinked. “You are too kind, but I’m sure we have never met.”

  “Herr Schmidt’s Christmas party?” he persisted. “Or maybe the summer fish bake?”

  A surprised laugh escaped Mathilda. “I, at a fish bake! On the riverbank with friends and family and neighbors all cooking fish together on a fine June day? Can you possibly mean me?”

  “Why not?” he asked cheerfully, as though it were the most natural thing in the world.

  For a moment, Mathilda just looked at him, her eyes bright with astonishment. And then the light faded, and her face closed once more. “If you knew me, you would not say that. Good day,” she repeated, and started walking away, her basket pressed to her chest like armor.

  “I hope I see you again,” the woodcutter called.

  “If you knew me, you would not say that,” Mathilda said again, under her breath. Her eyes glimmered with tears as she hurried away through the trees.

  The vision ended, and Elva saw only her own reflection in the mirror. She looked at Mathilda. The woman had stopped knitting, and her cheeks were flushed and eyes wet.

  “Who is he?” Elva asked softly.

  Mathilda pushed the cat off her lap, and it gave an offended yelp as it slunk away toward the kitchen. The witch bent over the yarn as though untangling it, but Elva saw her wipe a tear from her cheek. “No one in particular,” she said in a low, thick voice.

  “He’s very handsome,” Elva ventured. “When did you meet him?”

  The witch looked up sharply. “What you saw happened many years ago, and I don’t want to talk about it. If I am to teach you, you are never to ask me personal questions, or I will send you back out to the forest path and close the protective boundary to you. Do you understand?”

  “Yes, I’m sorry,” Elva said, then quickly changed the subject. “Last time I was here, you told me that all magic-wielders have a special gift. If yours is potions, how can you see my visions?”

  When Mathilda spoke, her voice was as calm as before. “People like us can perform many different types of magic, even if one calls to us more strongly than others. You, too, would be able to work with potions, just as I am able to see and hear your visions.”

 
“Do other people’s abilities come from broken vows, too?”

  “Not all of them. Most are born with magic, as I was, but our gifts diminish if they aren’t nurtured. That’s why the strength of your ability surprised me, with your lack of training.” The witch went back to knitting. “There are two types of magic: grounded and spoken. Grounded magic depends on nature and physical objects.”

  “And that’s the type of magic we can both do?”

  “Correct. Your ability requires a reflective surface. My gift of alchemy—the mixing of potions—needs plants that grow from the earth. Other people might have the gift of healing, which requires a body. Or disguise, which works by weaving enchanted cloaks; or the ability to move objects with the mind alone. Those are all examples of grounded magic.”

  “And what about spoken magic?” Elva asked.

  The witch’s lips thinned. “Spoken magic, like promises or wishes, is unreliable because it depends on human nature. People change like weathervanes: loving one moment, hateful the next. Easily swayed, easily tricked. Selfish, untrustworthy. As such, spoken magic can produce unpredictable consequences, which can’t be stopped or controlled by anyone.”

  “I see. That’s why you can’t take away my ability,” Elva said. “Because it was a consequence of Mama breaking her promise in exchange for your magic.”

  Mathilda stopped knitting. “If I could take it away, would you want me to?”

  “No, because then I wouldn’t know about the storm,” Elva said at once. “It looked awful—lightning, fences and branches torn up, and more rain than I’ve ever seen in my life. Our entire farm was destroyed, everything my family has worked for—gone in an instant.” She met the witch’s eyes. “Is there truly nothing I can do to stop it?”

  “Did you see what caused it?”

  Elva shook her head. “But I think it’s the family curse,” she said, and Mathilda looked puzzled. “Every time two good things happen to us, one bad thing comes without fail, over and over, as steady as the seasons. Last spring, for example, our cows gave more milk than ever and made us a great deal of money. Papa repaired the stables from those profits alone. That was the first good thing. Next, my brother Rayner noticed a faulty wheel on the plow just in time, before it could hurt him or any of the farmhands.”

  Mathilda was very still, listening.

  “And then a few days later, one of our horses began to act up. It was odd, because she’s usually so gentle. Papa went into her stall, and she kicked him right between the ribs, without any warning at all. She broke three of them.” Elva shivered, remembering how her father had cried out in pain as the farmhands carried him into the house. “That’s why it’s the family curse: We can’t ever enjoy good fortune, not really. Not knowing that something terrible is about to happen, because it always does. Three is a powerful number.”

  “I was the one who told your mother that,” the witch said, looking pained. “The potion I made for her also dealt with the number three: three active ingredients, three doses, three nights. Perhaps that broken promise had more consequences than we thought.”

  Elva sat back in her chair, goose bumps rising on her arms and neck. “Then I’m right. The storm will be our next bout of bad luck, all because you helped Mama and she didn’t repay you.”

  “I understand if you blame me,” the witch said in a low voice.

  “I don’t blame you.”

  “Why not?”

  “Because if you hadn’t helped Mama, I wouldn’t be here.” A thought occurred to Elva. “And maybe Rayner and Cay wouldn’t, either. There are three of us…that number again.”

  “Do either of them have magic?”

  Elva shook her head. “They’re both perfectly unmagical. I would eat this mirror if Rayner turned out to have any unnatural powers.” She laughed and was surprised to see Mathilda crack a smile, too. “Cay is special, but not in that way. He’s brilliant and curious and adventurous, and always on an epic quest. His next mission is to find a wishing well.”

  “You love him. I can tell by the way you talk about him,” Mathilda said wistfully.

  “I do. I wish you could meet him, too, though he wouldn’t give you a moment’s peace. He’d ask you questions about absolutely everything.”

  “I don’t think I’d mind so much.” The woman cleared her throat. “Well, I think we’ve spoken enough for one night, and it’s time you went home.”

  “Already?” Elva asked, disappointed. It was so comfortable sitting there by the fire, finally getting a chance to talk through everything that had worried her for so long.

  “You’ve already been here for two hours,” Mathilda said, looking amused. “And besides, I want to see this storm you’ve foreseen and don’t want to overtax your strength by having you call it up tonight. Are you able to come back tomorrow evening at the same time?”

  Elva nodded eagerly. “I can’t wait.”

  Again, the corners of Mathilda’s mouth turned upward. “I’ll see you then.”

  “You don’t have to keep bringing me offerings, you know,” Mathilda huffed, when Elva came back the next night with a basketful of Mama’s famous molasses cookies. “I’m not some vengeful goddess you have to appease.”

  “I just wanted to pay you back for agreeing to teach me.”

  “One good deed deserves another, then?” the witch asked dryly. “You most certainly got that from your mother. Bring that mirror over and we’ll get started. I want to see you call up the vision of the storm.”

  Elva sat down, fidgeting with the mirror. “The first night I saw it, I had other visions, too: an old well, my parents running through the woods, and strangers in odd clothing. I want to see it all again, but I’m not sure if I can.”

  “Just try your best. I’ll pull you back if you’re expending too much energy.”

  Elva’s hands shook as she lifted the mirror. “I’d like to see the storm and the visions that came after, please,” she told it. It felt silly to say it out loud with Mathilda watching, but it seemed to do the trick. Her reflection vanished to show the symbol of the willow tree, burning bright, before the roiling dark sky and ravaged farm reappeared in its place. Elva shuddered at the sight of the dead goats and ruined barn but did her best to maintain her focus.

  When the tree symbol glowed again, she thought she spotted a strange squarish outline around it, but the next vision came before she could look closely.

  Mama and Papa were running through the North Woods, terrified, and then the scene turned into that of Elva herself, kneeling over a body beside the well. She’d had multiple dreams about it but still couldn’t get used to the grief and horror on her own face. Mama’s voice murmured dreamily from the mirror: “The price of breaking a promise…the price…”

  The tree symbol appeared once more, and this time Elva was certain that a shining square surrounded it. It was almost like a door that stood ajar, revealing the bright room that lay beyond. If she could only reach out and open it…

  But then the dizzying succession of images came into view: the young man in the odd hat, yelling in a foreign language; the pretty girl looking frightened as candlelight flickered over her face; and the boy and girl, who looked about Elva’s age, running through a strange world full of impossibly tall, shiny glass columns.

  “That’s enough now,” Mathilda said curtly. “The visions are taking too much from you.”

  Elva slumped back in her chair, breathless, as nausea tugged at her stomach. “Thank you,” she panted, as drops of sweat glided down her face.

  “In the future, you won’t need me to pull you back. You’ll know your own limits, and you’ll develop better endurance.” Mathilda frowned. “That is no ordinary storm you saw. The way the lightning tore the sky, the thunder, and the violence suggests some sort of magical involvement. Your family curse indeed seems to be another result of your mother’s promise.”

  “Will it ever end?” Elva asked shakily.

  The witch shrugged. “I told you, the consequences of mag
ic are unknowable. The curse may never end, and even if it does, that might be in three years, three decades, or three generations. Who knows? But I can help you protect yourself and your family, at least. I’ll teach you how to move objects with your mind, to start. You’ll move smaller things at first, and then build up bit by bit, until you can stop a branch from smashing your house or a piece of that barn roof from crushing your animals. And it wouldn’t hurt to tell your family what you’ve seen, if they’ll believe you,” she added. “Perhaps they can reinforce the barns and bring the animals somewhere safe at the first sign of trouble.”

  “Who do you think those strangers could be? And what language was the man speaking?”

  “English,” the witch said with certainty. “But not the English of Britain. That young man was from the New World, as were all of the others. You saw far, far into the future.”

  Elva shook her head in disbelief. “Why am I seeing people from the New World?”

  “Didn’t you notice anything familiar about them?”

  Frowning, Elva thought of the strangers’ faces. It did feel as though she knew them from somewhere, and she’d had the same sensation the first time they had appeared in the mirror.

  “That young, English-speaking man looked a great deal like your father, Oskar, didn’t he? He had the same nose and chin,” Mathilda said. “The pretty, olive-skinned girl had eyes not unlike yours, and those young people running through the city…”

  “That was a city?” Elva asked, taken aback. “What were all those tall glass columns?”

  “Buildings of the future, I expect,” the witch said calmly, and Elva gaped at her. “But didn’t you notice how those people who were running had dark skin, yet resembled your mother in face? I believe they are all your family. Or at least, they will be your family someday.”

  “My descendants?” Elva stared at her in wonder. She let out a breath, gripping the edge of the mirror. “My descendants will go to the New World one day? So far from Germany?”

  “It seems that way.”