The Enchanted Greenhouse(71)
Yarrow led them to another dead greenhouse, far from the rest.
While Yarrow blended the ingredients into a paste, Terlu studied the words of the spell. Lotti hopped from one dead flower bed to another. “Were these unique species?” the rose asked.
“Unique to the Greenhouse of Belde, yes,” Yarrow said. “Thankfully, as far as I know, none of these species are extinct in the Crescent Islands. It was a tragedy but it could have been worse.”
“Can you send for more seeds and regrow them?” she asked.
“If the greenhouse can be fixed, yes.”
“Good,” Lotti said. “Laiken saw this as both a sanctuary and a fail-safe. If the rest of the world destroys their plants, at least all won’t be lost.”
“He didn’t have a high opinion of people,” Terlu observed.
“He loved plants,” Lotti said.
Terlu didn’t remind her how Laiken had let her fall dormant, or how he’d enchanted the others to sleep. His love wasn’t the kind of love that Terlu ever wanted. Do not look at Yarrow, she told herself firmly.
Yarrow glanced over at Terlu. “Are you ready?”
No. “Yes.”
Standing, she took the paste from Yarrow and walked to the closest wall of windows. Cracks ran through the glass. She chose one, dipped her fingers in the paste, and smeared it over the first crack.
“Careful,” Yarrow said behind her. “Don’t cut yourself.”
She was being careful. It was cracked but not shattered, and it wasn’t sharp. He cares. That had to mean something. He hadn’t just kissed her because she was there, had he? She didn’t think so, but it wasn’t a question she was ready to ask. Terlu finished coating the crack as far as she could reach, until she was out of paste.
Now, the words.
It was a simple spell: a noun with descriptors to identify the target, a verb （“strengthen,” with the connotation of healing）， and then the invitation to the magic of the world to flow via the verb to the noun. That was what magic was: coaxing the ineffable spirit of the world’s magical energy into a chosen path. She hadn’t actually read much about magic theory—those were dry texts, usually geared to echo lectures, and since she wasn’t in school for sorcery, she’d skimmed past them. She was far more interested in how language was used. There was beauty in the precision of its poetry.
“Terlu?” Yarrow asked.
“Sorry.” She took a breath and then spoke the words:
Svaniga vi rayna,
Ami pri nessava,
Biana te biana me vi pri rinaka.
She finished.
Silence.
“That’s it?” Lotti asked.
Yarrow hushed her.
“That’s it,” Terlu said. “It may not be enough, without Laiken’s full—”
The glass crackled. She watched as the paste began to glow a warm, sunny amber. It bubbled as it liquefied and then dissolved into the glass, spreading as a yellow haze.
The crack in the glass knit itself together as the yellow spread and dissolved. In minutes, the glass was smooth and clear. Terlu laid her hand on it. It tingled beneath her palm.
It was only a single pane. But it worked.
She grinned and turned around. “I know it’s not flashy or exciting, and it’s just a single crack out of thousands, tens of thousands, and at this rate, it will take weeks of work, many weeks, given the number of dead greenhouses, but—”
“It’s amazing,” Yarrow said firmly.
Terlu felt herself start to blush.
He added, “You’re amazing.”
She blushed harder. “If we make more paste—”
Yarrow nodded and began portioning out more ingredients into the mortar and pestle. Terlu tilted her head back and scanned the greenhouse—there were a countless number of cracks that ran through every pane up to the ceiling. “Lotti, how do you feel about climbing?”
“I’m an excellent climber.”
“Could you reach the cracks in the ceiling?”
“Just watch me.”
They set to work: Yarrow creating the paste, Lotti scampering up the walls of the greenhouse to smear it on the cracks, and Terlu reciting the spell for each one.
It’s working!
She started in on the next spell and tripped over a syllable, pronouncing “nessava” as “nessavara.” Instead of sealing the crack, it expanded it—the crack spread like the veins of a leaf. Lotti, hanging upside down from a rafter, turned her petals toward her. If the rose had had eyes, it would have been a glare.
Concentrating harder, Terlu repeated the spell.
She didn’t make any more mistakes.
* * *
After three nonstop hours of spellcasting, Terlu felt as if she’d been swallowing sand. Unfortunately, each itineration of the spell only healed a bit of broken glass at a time and so she’d had to recite the spell again and again. “Tea?” she croaked.
From the rafters, Lotti called, “I could use a break too, and a soak.”
Yarrow looked up, and she could tell he was counting the remaining cracks. They’d barely done a sixth of one greenhouse. At this pace … It’s not fast enough. She knew he was thinking it too, but he didn’t say it. “We’re nearly out of ingredients,” he said instead. “It’s a good time to take a break.”