The Skeleth by Matthew Jobin Page A

mother to the tongue we are speaking now.” Ellí picked up her skirts and turned to leave, and Edmund found himself following her, out through what might have been the doorway through which they had entered. “From what my teacher found in the archives of the Chancery down in the Tithe, the Skeleth threw down whole kingdoms into ruins in ages past. They serve the Nethergrim, killing and ravaging without remorse and without end, and if the legends are right, they cannot be defeated in battle.”
    A heavy tread broke the silence of the passage outside. “I swear I heard something! Ulf—hey, Ulf, get over here!”
    Edmund leapt back from the threshold in fright. He looked wildly about him, but the low cellar chamber had only one door.
    A young, tall castle guard poked his head into the cramped cellar chamber where Edmund and Ellí had hid themselves. Excuses for what they were doing down there raced through Edmund’s mind.
    â€œBe calm.” Ellí put her hand on Edmund’s arm. “Calm, now. Stay with me. They won’t be able to see us.”
    An older guard, sallow-cheeked and balding, stepped in behind the first. He raised a torch, flooding the room with light. “What are you talking about, Gammel? There’s no one here.”
    Edmund recoiled. He stood within arm’s reach of the two guards, so close to the torch that he could feel the heat of its flame upon his face. The tall one turned to look right at him—his face took on hollow, frightening shapes—and turned away again, poking through the sacks and stores along the wall.
    â€œThe guard is nothing. He does not matter.” Ellí did not even try to whisper. “Stay calm, and feel nothing.”
    Edmund fought down his fear. He glanced at Ellí. “Why can’t they see us?”
    â€œTheir eyes see, but their minds ignore the sight.” Ellí stepped out of the way of the path of the tall guard’s search. “Their ears hear, but the sound means nothing to them.”
    Gammel pawed through barrels and sacks, walking right past Edmund again and again. “I heard something before, I swear I did! It’s one of those Wollanders, I’ll bet, snooping about the place.”
    â€œTo do what, report to their lord on the state of our cheese supplies?” Ulf turned and left, bringing the torch with him. “I’ve had just about enough of you for one night.”
    Gammel shook his head, looking right at Edmund, then shrugged and followed his companion out.
    â€œI’ve seen a spell like this before, but from the other side.” Edmund caught up to Ellí on her way out of the cellar behind the guards. “I don’t remember the dust, though.”
    â€œEvery wizard makes her spells in her own way,” said Ellí. “She finds her own balance and pays her own cost.”
    â€œWhat’s the cost of your spell?”
    â€œYou have much to learn of our ways.” Ellí winked at Edmund with the brown eye. “It’s not polite to ask that sort of thing.”
    Edmund emerged behind Ellí into the courtyard of the castle. Echoes fled wide of him, and the night sky above seemed to ring and shake with the meter of his steps. He felt a shiver, fear and delight run together. “Can you teach me how to do it?”
    Ellí smiled at him, though the ever-shifting visions of her spell smeared it out into toothy trails. “I’m just an apprentice myself, but if you would like to learn from me, I would be happy to teach you what I know.”
    Edmund had dreamed almost as many dreams about learning magic as he had about kissing Katherine. In most of those dreams, though, the teacher was a stern old master whose grudging respect was only slowly earned, not a friendly, lively girl scarcely older than he was himself. He could hardly believe his luck.
    The browning remains of Lady Isabeau’s garden seemed to curl and twist into the sky. A