The Enchanted Greenhouse(96)

“You read,” Yarrow said. “I’ll keep trying to break through.” He hefted up a pot and hurled it at the barrier. The bubble bowed out, absorbing the impact, and the pot was flung back into the circle. It crashed to the ground and shattered.

The words swam in front of her. She balled her fists and tried to focus. Her throat felt dry. Swallowing hard, she said, “What if we dig under it…？”

He pulled out a trowel and, kneeling, began to dig. As he dug through the soil by the edge of the bubble, she tried to read. What if it didn’t work, what if the air ran out, what if no one found them … Her thoughts chased one another, tossing up horrible scenarios.

A few minutes later, he reported, “It goes into the earth.”

Of course it did. It had formed a sphere.

Do not panic, she ordered herself. You can think your way through this.

He rested his hands on his knees. “Can you … I don’t know … reverse the words?”

“It doesn’t work that way. Every spell requires the correct words to activate certain ingredients…” An idea came to her. A spell was words plus items. What if you took away the items? Getting excited, she suggested, “What if we destroy the ingredients?”

The protective shield was an active spell, continually maintained. Laiken’s notes had been clear about that. In fact, her primary theory about why the greenhouses were failing was that the ingredients had degraded. She’d even thought about trying to refresh the ingredients rather than recasting the spell, but since she didn’t know where Laiken had positioned the original ingredients for each greenhouse … Regardless, that wasn’t the case here, and the bubble had thankfully formed beyond the ingredients, trapping them inside with Terlu and Yarrow.

Yarrow began to stomp on the paste, smearing it into the dirt.

“That won’t destroy it.”

“Fire?” he asked.

“Maybe?” Except, didn’t fire use oxygen? “Wait, what if the fire eats all the air?”

“Do you have another idea?” Yarrow asked.

Wordless, she shook her head.

He withdrew a fire-starter from his pocket. Looking around, Terlu spotted more dried and withered plant material within the bubble. She broke as much of it off as she could to serve as kindling. Carrying it to Yarrow, she handed it to him. He wound it into a kind of makeshift torch and then lit the end.

A spark caught. The flames spread along the dried plant matter. He blew on it, and she wondered how much air they’d used already and how much more the fire would eat. If this didn’t work …

Squatting, he held it to the paste. It charred at the lick of flame. Meticulously, he crawled around the perimeter of the circle, burning the ingredients.

She held her breath.

How much air was left?

What would it feel like when the air was gone? Would it hurt? Or would they just fall asleep? She pushed those thoughts from her mind. It had only been a few minutes since she’d cast the spell and sealed them in. There were plenty more ideas to try before their lives were in danger. Except that she didn’t have any more ideas. She knew very little about how to break spells without access to a specific counterspell. Perhaps that’s something I should have studied before trying to cast any.

As each wad of grasses burned to ash, Terlu fed him new kindling. He added it to his makeshift torch, trying to keep the flames from touching his hands. She saw him wince as a spark landed on his fingers. She opened her mouth to tell him to be careful and then shut it again. He knew to be careful; he had to be thorough.

Finally, he reached the last bit, grinding the flame into it.

And the bubble dissipated like a cloud dissolving in the air.

Yarrow swatted the air. “It worked.”

Clutching the pages of her notes, Terlu darted outside the circle and sagged against a pillar. She was never going to try that again. It was too much of a risk. The laws were right—magic should be left to trained sorcerers, and amateurs shouldn’t experiment with spells, no matter how convinced they were that they understood the First Language. A real sorcerer wouldn’t have endangered their own life and the life of the person they loved.

Loved?

She liked him. She wanted him.

Love?

He crossed to her and wrapped his arms around her. She leaned against him and breathed in his solid strength, as well as the smell of smoke. “Are you burned?” she asked.

“I’m fine. You?”

“Fine. I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be. Accidents happen. Next time, we know how to break it faster.”

She shook her head against his chest. “There can’t be a next time. It’s too dangerous.” It had been foolish to try, even egotistical. She was playing with forces she didn’t fully comprehend, and she had no one trained in spellcraft who she could ask. She was winging it, and she’d nearly gotten them both killed.

He tightened his arms around her. “Next time, I’ll be there with you again. Next time, we’ll know more. Next time, I’ll have the fire ready.”

She almost laughed, but she was afraid if she let the laugh escape, it would turn into a sob. “You trust me to try again? After that? We could have died. If we’d run out of air … If that hadn’t worked…”

“It worked,” Yarrow said, “and I know we can do this.”