In a Weary World

Chapter XXVII: The Spell

"The thing about witchcraft," said Mistress Weatherwax, "is that it's not like school at all. First you get the test, and then afterward you spend years findin' out how you passed it. It's a bit like life in that respect." -- Terry Pratchett, The Wee Free Men

By the time the carpet reached the seabed, Hjalmar was reduced to quietly sobbing. Solvej gave him an alarmed look. It was one thing to laugh at what seemed to her to be an over-the-top reaction. It was another to realise that her friend was truly terrified, unaccountable though his fear seemed to her.

"We're here," she said quietly. "You can open your eyes now."

"We're not on solid ground yet," Hjalmar snapped, his eyes still tightly shut. "I won't look until we are."

Solvej guided the carpet down to the seabed. The moment it landed on the damp sand, which in all likelihood had never been exposed to open air before, Hjalmar heaved a sigh of relief. He opened his eyes. His mouth dropped open.

Now that she could look at their surroundings without worrying about him, Solvej realised for the first time where they were. Her mouth dropped open too.

"Do you see what I see?" Hjalmar asked in a hushed tone.

The ghost nodded, her eyes wide.

They stood in a wide circle of damp sand. All around them, the sea rose up in impossibly-high walls. Through the water they could catch glimpses of something moving. Whether it was seaweed, or a strange sea monster, or even just a trick of the light, she couldn't tell. But it made Solvej feel tiny and insignificant in the vast, vast universe.

"What if--" Hjalmar began. He broke off, his face paling.

"What do you mean?" Solvej asked.

Hjalmar shook his head. "It's not important."

Something told her that it was important, but it would be rude to insist he tell her if he didn't want to. Instead she turned her attention to another matter. "Well, we're here now, but where are the merfolk?"

Hjalmar looked around the sandy circle as if he expected to see a mermaid or two standing around watching them. "Should they be here?"

The ghost felt a strong desire to sigh. "Yes, they should be here. The whole point of this is for them to cast a spell, and obviously they were here at some point because of... well, this." She gestured around at the circle and the walls of water. "This isn't a naturally-occurring phenomenon. It's magic."

"Yes, I could figure that out for myself," Hjalmar said, looking up at the walls above them, which reached so high that the sky was invisible. "So where could they be?"

Solvej shrugged. "Gathering whatever they need for their spell, perhaps? They're bound to arrive at some point, but it's odd that they're not here already."

A thin, high noise pierced the air. It sounded like a cross between a whistle and a bird-song. Solvej whirled round, searching for the direction it had come from.

"That's a mer-horn!" she cried.

"A what horn?" Hjalmar asked stupidly. Then he caught on to what she meant. "Oh, mer-horn as in a horn used by the merfolk?"

"Exactly! It's what the heralds use when the queen is about to arrive somewhere."

"About to arrive somewhere? Then that means--"

Suddenly the water that formed one of the "walls" was split in two to form a doorway of sorts. Solvej and Hjalmar both gasped. Hjalmar looked around wildly, as if searching for an escape route. Solvej couldn't blame him.