Cinder Ellie (Faraway Castle) Page 6

  “You may go.”

  At the Gamekeeper’s dismissal, Madame Genevieve took her leave, her expression a strange blend of fury and dejection. Once her footsteps faded into the distance, Ellie felt the atmosphere lighten.

  “Miss Calmer, have you any questions?”

  That voice seemed deep enough to shake the earth if ever he spoke even slightly louder. Ellie swallowed hard, and her knees felt rubbery. “Many, I think. May I still do my other jobs when I am not . . . controlling creatures?”

  “You may. I trust your duties as controller will not be too demanding, but they must take precedence over any other work you choose to do. I have summoned an ally to assist you, although I expect you may never see him again after tonight.”

  “The elder sprite you mentioned?” Ellie inquired.

  The Gamekeeper inclined his head briefly. “He will patrol Faraway Castle grounds and protect both sprites and humans from pixie attacks. The pixies have multiplied greatly in recent years and apparently consider themselves independent of outside authority. The elder sprite is wise and just. You may leave the pixie issue to his discernment.”

  Ellie nodded, feeling muddled but unwilling to admit it.

  The cinder sprite in her arms gave a sudden squeak and squirm. Ellie quickly set it on the floor, delighted to see that its fur was now dry and smooth, its speckled color reminding her of ground black pepper. It looked up to give her several low squeaks that she recognized as thanks. “You are most welcome,” she told it.

  The sprite turned away, stopped with its horns upright, then bowed its head until their black tips touched the floor. Ellie looked up to see, standing a few feet away, a much larger cinder sprite. It gave her sprite a low squeal of acknowledgment then turned its gaze upon Ellie.

  Never could she have imagined feeling a sense of awe in the presence of a big-eyed furry creature, and yet this beast truly did inspire respect. She knew without asking that the elder sprite was indeed very old. Snow-white fur parted down the middle of his back and swept the floor like the hem of a mage’s robe. His paws, nose, heavy horns, and tufted ears were gray, but his black eyes were sharp and undimmed by age.

  The Gamekeeper’s voice held a smile as he said, “Miss Ellie Calmer, I introduce to you Starfire, Elder Sprite Royal of Adelboden.”

  The sprite nodded briefly at Ellie, greeting her with a polite whistle. She curtsied in return and said, “I am honored to meet you.” She didn’t know how to address him properly so dared not attempt it.

  Then this dignified furry beast turned and fixed his gaze on the pixie. His broad head lifted high, and his eyes began to glow red. Ellie’s stomach clenched. Would this elder sprite go ember right here? Would she dare spray him?

  But instead of burning, the elder sprite squealed something at the pixie. Ellie saw the pixie’s eyes grow wide and its face go pale—and then it vanished with a pop.

  “What happened to it?” Ellie blurted.

  The sprite gazed up at her with eyes that were once again shiny black, then turned to the Gamekeeper with a chirpy whistle.

  “Starfire says the pixie is safely back with its people in a place where it cannot cause further trouble,” the Gamekeeper translated.

  The sprite Starfire gave one last squeak to Ellie, bowed to the Gamekeeper . . . and vanished.

  “Wow!” Ellie said, shaking her head in disbelief. “Who knew? A king of cinder sprites? I had no idea . . . no idea such creatures even existed! He is . . . kind of amazing!!”

  “Starfire will keep pixies under control for you, and perhaps a few other ugly customers. He is very old and very wise, and his bloodline is considered royal, but you must never refer to him as a king. Cinder sprites are strong-minded and independent creatures who acknowledge no ruler. The elder sprites are guardians, servants of their kind.”

  “What can I do to help him? To help the sprites?” Ellie asked.

  “An excellent question. Let us return to the castle where I left my wagon, and we will begin your training.”

  “Tonight? Awesome ! But may I please eat something first? I never did get dinner.”

  Without seeing the Gamekeeper’s face, she knew that he smiled.

  Two weeks later, Ellie stepped out of Lady Beneventi’s suite with yet another stack of clean, fluffy, yet unsatisfactory towels to find Sira waiting for her in the hall and wringing her long-fingered hands. “Miss Ellie, we need you downstairs.”

  “What’s wrong now, Sira?” Ellie asked, following the brownie along the hall at a quick trot.

  “A cinder sprite in the ballroom. Geraldo saw it first and told me.”

  “Oh dear!” Ellie broke into a run. “Have any guests seen it?”

  “Not yet.”

  That much was good news. Although the Gamekeeper intended to install a magical paging system throughout the resort’s grounds, at this point it was still in the planning stages. Starfire had been doing his part to keep pixies in check, and no further fires had broken out, but Ellie never knew when a sprite might sneak into the castle in search of a warm nest. Although she wore her maid’s uniform in the mornings, Ellie always carried a spray bottle on a hook at her waist, just in case. When she entered the ballroom only minutes later, wistful squeals echoed between the fluted columns supporting its vaulted ceiling.

  “Little cinder sprite,” Ellie called, sending waves of friendliness and comfort through her voice, “are you lost? I’m here to help you.”

  She heard scampering feet on the polished floor, and a small creature trotted into view. This sprite had a rumpled coat in patches of brown, white, and black. Small spiraled horns revealed its youth, and although sprite language was still a mystery to her, she thought its squeals sounded relieved.

  She knelt on one knee to greet it, only then realizing that she still clutched the towels to her chest. “Would you like a ride atop these soft towels?” she asked, and the sprite scrambled up, its tiny clawed feet making snags that would justify Lady Beneventi’s disapproval.

  Ellie took a moment to admire the little creature. “May I stroke your head?” she asked.

  The sprite’s little mouth showed long teeth when it squeaked an answer, but Ellie had no fear of being bitten. So far, not even the most terrified or furious of sprites had attempted to bite her during a rescue. And this little fellow invited her caresses by lifting his chin so that the sharp horns lay flat against his back.

  She gently ran her fingers over his blunt nose, between his horns, and along his spine, then rubbed behind his pointed ears. He made a deep chattering noise that expressed approval, and Ellie grinned. “You are rather adorable, you know,” she said.

  Although he had entered the castle, which was forbidden, Ellie sensed that this bright little fellow meant no harm and would not easily be frightened or angered. She stood up, and he balanced atop the towels. Heading toward one of the glass doors leading to the deck, Ellie talked to her new friend:

  “I expect you are new here and don’t know that cinder sprites aren’t allowed inside the castle or other buildings without special permission. We love sprites at Faraway Castle, but you must understand that buildings tend to burn easily. One sprite who loses his cool could burn down the whole place! This time I will simply release you into the castle gardens. But if you are found inside a second time, I’ll have to notify the Gamekeeper, who will take you to live in a refuge with other sprites, far from humans. From all I hear, it is a lovely place and the sprites living there are very happy.”

  She carried the bright-eyed sprite across the deck, down several terraces, and into a shady garden far from any tempting kitchen vegetables, talking to him all the way. He listened intently and answered her with squeaks and whistles that intensified her desire to understand sprite language.

  “If you change your mind and want to live in the refuge, let the elder sprite know, all right?” She knelt on the grass and lowered the towels so that her passenger could easily step to the ground. He trotted a few steps away, squeaked, then turned to tr
ot back. Lifting his head, he met her gaze, gave a happy squeal, then hopped and skipped across the grass and into the shrubbery.

  “Goodbye!” Ellie called after him, grinning at his antics.

  Lighthearted, she climbed back up to the castle. But when she tried to enter the glass door she discovered that it had locked behind her. She was obliged to walk all the way around to the portico before she found an open door. Still carrying her towels, she entered the grand lobby, wishing to be invisible.

  Sten greeted her from the desk. “What are you doing here? Somebody outside needed clean towels?”

  She cringed, feeling conspicuous, but smiled anyway. “It’s complicated. I just rescued a cinder sprite though, the second one this week.”

  “Great work, Cinder Ellie!”

  Ellie rolled her eyes and huffed.

  “What? You don’t like that name?”

  “If I hear it again, there will be consequences,” she said, trying to sound stern and failing dismally.

  Sten was still laughing when his gaze flicked past her; Ellie sensed another presence and immediately knew who it was. Slowly she turned to see Prince Omar and the princess from the wedding banquet crossing the lobby toward the lakeside exit. The princess was talking away, but Omar met Ellie’s gaze and smiled a shy, eager smile.

  She couldn’t help smiling back. Princess or no princess, he looked pleased to see her. So pleased and distracted that he nearly walked into a pillar.

  One of these days, one of these summers, Ellie knew that her bashful prince would find the courage to talk to her.

  In the meantime, she had sprites to save, heaps of magic yet to learn, friends to make and enjoy, and plenty of good hard work to do. She was Ellie Calmer, Controller of Magical Creatures at Faraway Castle.

  Can’t get enough of Ellie and her cinder sprites? They and handsome Prince Omar will be back for a full-length adventure in J.M. Stengl’s coming novel:

  ELLIE AND THE PRINCE

  A Cinderella Romance

  Meanwhile don’t miss out on this wonderful Little Mermaid tale

  AVAILABLE FREE TODAY!

  Read on for a sneak peek . . .

  I have never heard anything more terrifying in my life than the scream that rang over the lake that summer morning. I stared upward as my satchel slipped from my nerveless fingers. Then a shadow passed overhead, above the lake’s surface, larger than any bird I’d ever seen. What in the world was up there?

  I slowly surfaced. Stupid, I know. Curiosity is one of my biggest weaknesses. At first the sun’s glare off the lake nearly blinded me, used as I was to the dim green depths of the lake, but then I saw it, the biggest bird I’d ever— No, make that the biggest bird in the world, like an eagle but much, much larger. It dived toward a tall pine tree standing on a spit of land. That’s when I heard a shout—a deep human voice—and stopped being afraid for myself. One of the resort’s walking trails passed right along that shore. Was the bird attacking a Faraway Castle guest?

  Moments later (though it seemed an hour to me) it rose back into the sky, its huge talons still empty. Had the man escaped, or did he need help? I dove under and swam at top speed toward that tree.

  As I approached, I could hear sounds reverberating through the water, including the human voice. The bird’s black shadow passed over me, and for the first time I wondered if it could see me beneath the surface. A bird that size could snatch a mermaid out of the water like a seagull snagging a perch.

  I heard the human talking again, but he didn’t sound either frightened or angry. What was going on up there? Reluctant to surface again, I tried to distinguish shapes through the rippling water above me. There was the huge pine. The giant bird seemed to circle it. Nothing else was distinguishable.

  Frustrated, I looked around. Small fish zipped away then turned back to stare at me. The lake bottom was muddy and weedy here, with occasional rocks and the skeletons of trees. Water lilies and reeds grew in profusion nearer the shore. These could serve to hide me, or they might entangle me. If I swam carefully through them, maybe I would find cover beneath saplings and brush overhanging the shore . . .

  Curiosity could be deadly. But this wasn’t just nosiness; that monster bird was hunting a human. How could I swim away and leave another sentient being to almost certain doom?

  I slipped into the thicket of waterweeds and swam toward the shore. A shadow overhanging the water turned out to be an old willow tree. The water beneath it was shallow and smelled strange, but those leafy branches provided decent cover. I propped my hands on a log that lay in the water at an angle, careful to keep my tail away from the muddy lake floor. Nasty things tend to live in such places.

  I peered above the surface. Nothing of interest in sight. I pushed myself higher but still couldn’t see much beyond the willow’s veiling limbs. After some maneuvering, I sat on the log and shimmied my hips up it until I could push the branches aside.

  On the shore amid the tall weeds surrounding the base of the huge pine crouched a human boy, my age or maybe a little older. He gripped the tree’s trunk with both hands and peered up and around. In profile, I saw a long nose and angular jaw. He wore black frame-things over his eyes and hooked over his ears. Shaggy hair hung in his face.

  Then he gave a yelp and flung himself to his left, still clutching the tree. Wind whistled in the bird’s feathers. Those huge wings pounded the air. It swooped off at the last second, its gleaming talons just missing the tree trunk. I felt the wind on my face, and the willow branches whipped about after it passed.

  “Magnificent!” I heard the boy mutter, and then he gave a hoarse whoop as if in celebration. He had a long skinny body with arms and legs to match. The clothing on his upper half was open in front, and when he turned my way, I saw a gold chain around his neck as he reached for a pocket on his trouser leg. To my surprise, he pulled out a tablet. I watched in disbelief as he jotted something down with a pencil, glanced up at the bird, then wrote more. He was studying the bird. His life was in danger every moment, and he took notes?

  The bird attacked again with another whoosh, and my heart forgot to beat. This time the boy didn’t shout or comment—he was too busy avoiding those talons. But he succeeded, and the bird again soared away, screaming vengeance.

  “Hey!” I called. “Over here.”

  He turned, and when he saw me wave his eyes looked huge. I had never been close enough to a human before to see that those black frame-things, like he wore, held tiny windows of glass. I didn’t have time to ponder the absurdity of this just then. “C’mon!” I waved again, beckoning. “Hide here under the willow where it can’t get at you.”

  He shook his head, panting for breath, and said, “Can’t. Historic research. Endangered species.” Then he dove behind the tree as the bird once again whooshed past. This time it hadn’t flown as high before returning, and it nearly got him. I heard a tearing sound, and the boy gave a yelp.

  I was so astounded by his refusal that I forgot to be frightened. “Seriously?” I said as he scrambled to his feet. “That bird is going to kill you, and then no one will ever read the notes you’ve written. Come now, while it’s not looking.”

  He scowled. “Stop distracting me. This is incredibly momentous. If only I had time to sketch . . .”

  I couldn’t let him die. Fool or not, he was worth saving. And what use is power if I never use it? “Leave the bird and come to me,” I called, saturating my voice with siren magic.

  The boy turned, his face slack, then made a dash, leaped right through the willow limbs, and landed on both feet with a great splash the bird must have heard. I flopped off my log in my hurry to grip the back of his shirt and haul him into deeper water. His thrashing made it harder to tow him, so I grabbed his arms from behind and spoke softly into his ear, using my normal voice: “Don’t touch the bottom; nasty biting things live down there.”

  He seemed to freeze as I spoke, but as soon as I released him, he moved his arms and feet in a regular motion that kept his head
above water. He kept his eyes on the slivers of blue sky between the willow branches. Above us, the bird gave a deafening screech then wheeled around the pine in widening circles, searching for its lost prey.

  I wasn’t sure if a bird might be smart enough to perch on that pine and wait us out. If it did, I could possibly swim away fast enough to avoid its attack, but no human could.

  “It’s going to dive right into this tree,” the boy said. “It sees us.”

  “Can you swim?” I asked.

  His head bobbed an affirmative. “Where to?”

  “I’ll lead the way. Take several breaths, then hold one and dive that direction.” I pointed. “We have to swim through the swampy part before we reach deep enough water. I’ll hold your arm and tow you, but you’ll have to kick.”

  Keeping his eyes on the bird, he pulled the framed glasses off his face and folded in the side pieces that had rested over his ears, then drew and released several breaths. I grasped his left arm, waited for him to draw breath and nod, then dived.

  I could see well enough underwater, though the boy’s feet had stirred up mud and debris. He stroked hard with his free arm and frog-kicked. We made it through the weeds with only a few minor snags, but there was one more dangerously shallow area before the open lake. I hoped the churned-up mud and algae would hide our passage well enough that the bird wouldn’t try to snatch us out of the water. I was sure it could catch and carry us both away.

  This thought helped me put all-out effort into that swim. The boy caused less drag than I expected, and we were covering the shallow area quickly when a shadow passed overhead. Seeing its angle, I jinked sharply right, shoving the boy aside.