Carmiabell: The Black Apple

Chapter 36

Come sunshine, come rain, Ellialand was a place bursting with surprises, much like a candy shop where every treat was a different flavor of chaos. I was never quite sure what to expect, and today was no exception.

As we rumbled along in the witch's carriage, I couldn't help but notice that kitchen witches had a serious case of verbal diarrhea. Honestly, I wondered if they were all descendants of Phoebi, who could talk the ear off a wooden chair. It was somewhat comforting that Phoebi found another long-winded audience to regale with her tales, but on the downside, her stories were hopping around us like over-caffeinated rabbits, making the simple pleasure of traveling in peace feel like an impossible dream.

"My new dress, my old broom, my new shoes, my carriage’s roof, my cousin's birthday, Mrs. Anya’s old mud house," they rambled, each story encircling us like a flock of overly enthusiastic birds.

The carriage lurched forward, yet I felt as though it were rolling backward over the pockmarked road toward the Westreal orphanage. It wasn’t as close as we had hoped. The hills seemed to mock our journey, stretching endlessly ahead of us.

We could have taken the levitating train, but Damon made it clear that the cure for its erratic behavior was still theoretical. Apparently, it worked in theory—whatever that meant—but given the choice between a potentially disastrous ride and this bumpy carriage, I opted for the bumps. At least they weren't likely to drop us off a cliff.

To the public, the whole issue was shrouded in mystery. No one wanted to admit that a kid from the orphanage could potentially cause a pandemic. And that was a shame, really—there was enough chaos to go around without dragging innocent orphans into it. The alchemists spoke in riddles, cloaking the truth with complicated jargon that felt more like spells than actual information. It was like putting a fancy icing on a crumbling cake.

The newspaper was just as shady as the rich men who would inevitably be caught in the fallout. They referred to the orphan as a “problem solver,” which was as vague as saying a squirrel was an acorn enthusiast. The kid had a knack for discombobulating alchemy formulas, making him the next big thing in the levitating train saga.

I couldn't help but wonder how a kid from an orphanage even knew about poisoning. Rumors had wings, it seemed, and flew faster than anyone could track.

Damon, sitting beside me, was lost in thought—though whether that was a good or bad thing was anybody’s guess. He could have been considering reporting his father, or perhaps he was just worrying about his hair. Either way, I sensed he was on the edge, and I wanted to reassure him.

“It will be okay,” I said softly, fighting the urge to give him a reassuring pat on the shoulder, which felt like a thing a proper friend would do, but I didn’t want to cramp his style.

“Why are you lying to yourself?” Simon piped up, settling his not-so-light form on my shoulder as if I were a cozy armchair. He had taken up the habit of eavesdropping like it was a new sport.

Simon was as easy to persuade as a puppy. Just mention food or money, and he was in like a squirrel on a nut. “Twenty coins,” I had said, and that was all it took to drag him along for this adventure.

“Shut up, or you’ll start paying rent,” I quipped back, earning a grin from Damon that I couldn’t quite decipher—was it gratitude or amusement? Maybe both.

“I wish,” Damon muttered, his tone indicating he wouldn’t mind a few coins either.

Southwestern Ellialand had much to offer: rolling hills, quaint gnome huts, unicorns practicing ballet, and streams competing for the most picturesque spot. But unlike the South, where buildings were everywhere, this place was still holding on to its old traditions, which meant gnome architecture that looked like it hadn’t changed since the dead ages.