Spitemorta was furious, indeed she was positively red faced, but otherwise she was the very picture of composure, offering her grandmother the briefest nod of polite acknowledgement, as Nightshade stamped about and swished his tail. She was certainly not about to offer any sort of apology.
“Considering our line's weak maternal impulses, it's a wonder that we've not become extinct, aye?” said Demonica with a cackle.
“You speak for yourself then, Grandmother. My son is the most important thing in my life, regardless of what you think. I may not be able to spend a lot of time with him, due to my station, but I make sure that I do spend time with him every day, and when I do he receives my undivided attention. I have known...”
Demonica threw her head back and made the woods all around ring with her laughter. “So,” she said, straightening up suddenly with tears running down her cheeks. “Am I now to swallow that your offspring is more important to you than the power that can be yours from reuniting the Great Staff and the Stone Heart? You seemed right ready to come on this search, as I recall...”
“Of course my son has priority. However, the power I seek is for him as well as for myself.”
“Ah clarity,” said Demonica with a chuckle. “I was beginning to wonder, Rouanez Bras. Of course I notice you've left your handsome husband out of the picture. Was that by oversight or design?” She threw her leg over Gwenole's rump as she dismounted to stow away her cloak.
“You seem to be avoiding my original question, Grandmother: what do we do now? Have we run out of options?”
“We are not without resources,” she said with a smile as she found her stirrup. Securely astride Gwenole, she turned to a large, flat-topped boulder a few rods away through the brush. “Devi!” she called. “Alert the others and begin a thorough sweep of the forest. Let me know immediately if you find the woman or the bear.”
Spitemorta's knew at once that her grandmother was indeed a mad woman, after all. “I should have seen it in the first place and avoided all this,” she thought.
“As you command, Mistress,” called a voice from the boulder. In the next instant something shot past Spitemorta's ear, leaving her quite wide eyed with a ringing in her head. She stared stupidly at the boulder before she could manage to holler: “What was that thing?”
“That?” said Demonica, with a dismissive wave. “Just an ordinary boulder, dear.”
“But what flew out of it?”
“Oh, just a Cia...”
“I've certainly no idea at all what that is.”
“Oh, I don't doubt that in the least,” said Demonica, tapping her lower lip with her finger, “you would know them on this continent as 'Watchers,' if you're acquainted with them at all.”
“You mean demons? Where did it come from?”
“Demons? Oh, dear girl. I never took you to be one of those superstitious heretics. Come now. Cias are not demons. They're simply beings so ancient that they've attained a higher purpose. In fact, they are a race who have become pure elan, or if you must, pure spirit.”
“An entire race of people without form?” said Spitemorta suspiciously.
“Ah, exactly.”
“If these are the same 'Watchers' which I've learnt about, they're supposed to be locked within the boundaries of the Hanter Koadou, or what we'd probably call the Mid Woods, on the Dark Continent by a potent spell of protection cast by the combined efforts of the most powerful shamans of the last age, Merzin, if I remember right, and Hoel-Meriadeg.” said Spitemorta.
“You've had some formal lore, I see. That helps, but what your history lessons left out is that the protective spell was to keep people out, rather than Cias in,” she said as she carefully studied her face.
“How many of them did you bring with you?”
“Only three, I'm right sorry to say. They're very useful. Besides Devi, the one in the rock, there are Oana and Mael. In truth, they are more or less outcasts from their society. They've dared to make a habit of going outside to learn what life is like in the rest of the world. Their elders condemn them for it, since the Cias have withdrawn from mankind. My assistants may be rebels in exile, but they're most assuredly not demons.”
“I see. What do we do while your spies are out combing the woods? With only three of them, I'd think it will take some time before they get any leads. Why not return to Goll and wait for news of our escaped prey, Demonica?”
“The Watchers are very good. If your friend, Myrtlebell or her enchanted bear consort are in these woods, they will find them and quite promptly at that. We'd barely get started back to Goll before they'd have news for us. We'd do well to return to the cave where the Heart should have been. At least there are some piddling amenities there.”
“So be it!” hissed Spitemorta. “I'll humor you. But know this. If your Watchers don't report within a week, I wash my hands of this quest. And another thing, Grandmother. Myrtlebell is not my friend. Do not ever call her that again.”
“My,” said Demonica with a click of the tongue as she turned Gwenole about. “Of course, dear. My mistake.”
Spitemorta smacked Nightshade with his reins. She was furious at being so easily manipulated by her grandmother and she was determined not to let it happen again.
Chapter 60
“Fuzz,” said Myrtlebell, placing her hands imploringly on his knees,” please, take Edward and me with you.”
“Oh my,” he said, looking into her gaze with the slightest shake of his head. “You two will be far safer here with Mary. When the worst danger is past, she'll take you to the dragons. I'll be waiting there.”
“But, why must you go? If it isn't safe for Edward and me, then it can't possibly safe for you either.”
“There's something I absolutely must do right now, while I still have time. I'm sorry, Myrtlebell. I realize that this must seem very mysterious, but you'll just have to trust me as I can't explain. Not yet, at any rate.”
“Of course I trust you Fuzz. You've been the best friend ever to both Edward and me,” she said with a sigh as she sat back on her heels and continued to search his face.
“Are we leaving to find the dragons, Uncafuzz?” said Edward, quietly appearing out of the dark of the cavern, looking anxious even in the dim torchlight.
Fuzz and Myrtlebell looked up suddenly. “Not yet, Edward,” said Fuzz, “it isn't safe in the forest for you and your mother just now.”
“But where are you going?”
“Edward!” said Myrtlebell. “Remember what I said about eavesdropping?”
“I didn't easedrop...eavesdrop, I was coming over here to listen.”
“You're supposed to be in bed.
“But where are you going, Uncafuzz?”
“I'll have to tell you about it when I get back. You and your mother will have to stay here for a while.”
“Oh,” said Edward as he looked down to fiddle with one of his buttons. At once he looked up. “Then we can play castles. I don't have the board you made me, but Mary said she could fix one.”
“That sounds like a grand idea, Edward, and you can help out by looking after your mother and Mary. What I have to do in the forest simply cannot wait. I hope you understand.”
“When will you be back, Uncafuz?”
“Well, your mother and I talked it over and we decided that it would be best if Mary took the two of you to the dragons, so I'll meet you there. How does that sound?”
“I expect that would be all right, Uncafuzz, but I'm going to miss you.”
“I'm going to miss you, too, Edward. Looks like your mother's ready to put you back to bed. I'll probably be gone when you get up in the morning. Now, good night.”
“Good night Uncafuzz,” he said as Myrtlebell took his hand to lead him back to his pallet.
***
“Are you sure you want to go back to Myrtlebell's cave?” said Spitemorta, as she urged Nightshade off the narrow deer path into the leaves and brush to walk alongside Demonica and Gwenole. “You know, we could stay in
Ugleeuh's cabin. It's smaller, but it would be more comfortable than that drafty old cavern.”
“Yea?” said Demonica, as she studied the last orange light of dusk through the silhouettes of the trees, while an owl called from some far off place in the timber. “You do see that it's dark, right? Ugleeuh's 'hovel,' as you called it when we were there, is a good bit further. I take it you don't mind smallies, now that you've seen them, aye? Besides, we're hardly setting up housekeeping or anything.”
“Fates forbid.”
“The Fates have nothing to do with it, my dear,” said Demonica as Nightshade snorted and stepped back onto the path behind her with a contrary shake of his head.
“Believe me, if there are any Fates, they've long since abandoned human kind,” she said, steering Gwenole into the weeds so that Spitemorta and Nightshade could come back alongside her in the path.
“So what makes you say a thing like that, Grandmother?”
Demonica studied her for a moment in the dark. The unicorns shuffled and plodded, trading turns in the path with tosses of their heads as their saddles creaked and rocked. “Have you ever tortured anyone, dear?”
Spitemorta hesitated, surprised by the question. “Why, I've had lots of people tortured,” she said, flaunting her nonchalance, as an owl spoke up nearby. “It goes with being the ruler of two countries, after all. One of the chores. Why would you ask?”
“No, you misunderstand me, Rouanez Bras. What I want to know is if you have ever done it with your own hands...”
“The queen does not...”
“Ha! Didn't think so,” she said with a decisive nod. “Well let me tell you something, Granddaughter. Once you have the grit you need to soil your precious hands a time or two, you'll learn ever so much about the Fates.”
“Perhaps I shall in time,” she said, trying to hide her sudden fascination. “It sounds entertaining.”
“Oh, my dear!” barked Demonica with a throaty laugh. “You have no idea.”
***
Fuzz crawled through the wet vines covering the entrance to the White Witch's cavern and broke into a bounding descent down the slippery leaves of the hogback in the blackness of the driving rain. He was determined to keep up his pace long enough to do what he must. The only thing he was certain of was that the Heart of the Staff must not fall into Spitemorta's hands at any cost.
Lightning lit the woods with hues of pink and blue as he reached the bottom of the ravine outside the cave and began scrambling up the far slope. The accompanying thunder reverberated like a falling wall of boulders. His mind was racing every bit as fast as he was. Spitemorta and her companion were undoubtedly nearing his den. Mary had awakened him less than hour before his departure with the news that she had seen them heading back that way. “What are the chances,” he said between pants, “that they can return to my den and not find the Heart? If they missed it the first time it's a miracle.”
At the top of the hogback, he paused, rearing up on his hind legs. “And what if they did indeed find it the first time?” he gasped between heaves of his chest. “Face 'em then, if it must be the last thing I do! Whole world will pay if I don't get it back.” He dropped onto all fours and furiously dashed along the ridge. If only he could get there before the women. Lightning ripped the length of a tree trunk across the hollow, brightening the woods to a pink midday brilliance. He skidded to a stop at the sudden sight of a path that crossed his way. “This has to be it,” he said, as the tumble of thunder knocked loose extra rain in driving torrents. “That's what she said. Mary said take this for thirty rods to another path that veers left and it'll be a shortcut by several miles.” He turned and took the new way with renewed fury. “Oh dear Fates, may this somehow get me there before they do.”
***
Yann-Ber awoke with a jerk in the pile of straw where he'd eaten the rat. He wished he were still asleep but he knew that sleep would be entirely out of the question for hours upon endless hours to come, as the familiar agony of his curse seized him the way it always did, causing him to gasp with pain as he sat up. His eyes darted around the dimly lit hold and he wondered how long he had slept, not that it mattered in the least.
“Oh yes,” he said, remembering his mission of vengeance. “It does matter, this time. It's been a while, and we could be getting close.” He set about the struggle of rising to his feet. It was an ordeal anytime, but now he had but one arm to help him do it, thanks to Budog. He gazed at the porthole, a good rod aft of where he stood steadying himself, well up the hull above the pen for the old sow and her pigs. It would be a real struggle.
He tottered and winced and made his way to stand, steadying himself on the gate at the end of the sow's pen. She was investigating at once, snorting and uttering clipped grunts and running her snout along the space between the bottom boards of the gate. “I see you're right hungry,” he said. “Fates forbid that I might slip and fall in with you from up there. You'd have me killed and eaten before I could ever climb out.” His concern was indeed well founded, since he had made a routine of keeping her at bay with his iron rod while he fished out the meat scraps from her slop, each time she was fed. Bracing himself against the hull he slowly mounted the corner of her pen. From there, he grabbed the sill of the porthole as he climbed the cross timbers nailed to the hull for rungs. At last, he took his second look outside since his voyage had begun.
“Alas! Water, water!” he wailed. “All this pain and strain and risk just to see water and not one bloomin' thing else.” He strained his eyes and tried to see beyond what they were capable of, but to no avail. He forced down his disappointment and went on looking out the little window distractedly, dreading the climb down, mindful of his poor footing above the baleful sow and her pigs.
He turned away to see a large rat managing to wedge itself under the door to the upper deck of the ship, hopelessly out of his reach. He looked down at the sow snuffing the air above in his direction. “Maybe I can't have that rat, sister,” he snarled, “but since you'd like a taste of me, what if I just eat one of your young ones? Ah, you're safe, since the cheeky poop-ornament's counted your pigs.”
He turned back for a final look outside just in time to see a squadron of three fishing pelicans swoop by, low over the water. “Aye, what's that?” he said. “Could it be? It is! And a seagull. And over there's another one. Won't be long now. Niarg!” He turned at once and scuttled down, keeping careful track of the sow and his footing and hobbled back to the straw where he'd slept. “Won't be long now, Razzmorten.”
***
Fuzz's legs and lungs burnt in protest as he tore through brush and briar in the first broad light of morning. He refused to allow himself to slow down or pause, even if he stumbled, though he was doing much more of that than before. Now he recognized his part of the woods. “Just over that rise,” he thought, having long spent his energy for utterances. “Please let me be get there before those evil women.”
Over the rise with his den in sight, he picked up his speed a bit. He ran through his garden instead of taking the path around. He was elated to see no unicorns tied anywhere nearby. He had arrived either before or after them. “Perish the thought that they've been and gone with the Heart,” he panted through his leathery dry mouth.
Suddenly he was down hard on his chest with the wind knocked out of him. “Not now,” he thought, frantically flinging himself back onto his feet. Somehow they weren't working right. He was stumbling dizzy, too, and his eyes were all out of focus. He was not stopping five rods away from his door. He shook his head and ran, feeling queer...light, as if he had left half his weight behind. At last he had his shoulder to the door as he flicked the latch. He burst inside, skidding to a stop on the rug. Everything was so dark. But of course, he had been out in the broad daylight and Myrtlebell was not there to open the shutters. His eyes would adjust. No matter, he could find his way straight to the bat cellar blindfolded if need be. He went through the passage to the place where his bats roosted on the ceiling. Another wave
of dizziness overtook him and he steadied himself against the table underneath them. Several of them let go and flipped over in the air to land on the table next to him.
“You're back, Fuzz,” squeaked the bat nearest to him.
“Hello Flit,” said Fuzz. “No time to visit now. I need some of you to do something very, very important for me.”
“Sure thing,” said Flit. “What is it?”
“Here,” he said, reaching with a lunge for a recess near the ceiling and grabbing out a drawstring pouch. “The stone in this is called the Heart, as you might remember. It's a lot of trouble, and it is most important. Do you suppose that a pair of you could take a string apiece and fly a good distance with it?” He laid the pouch on the table.
“Hey Hedfan,” said Flit. “Grab a string. Let's try it.” At once the two bats took a trial flight about the pantry and lit on the table. “No problem, Fuzz. We can do it.”
“Splendid. I need you to take it as fast as you possibly can to the dragon caves and see that Spark and Lipperella hide it well until I arrive there. You'll be saving us all untold calamity.”
“Consider it done, Fuzz,” said Flit before cocking his head to study him for a moment. “You know, Fuzz, you don't look quite right.”
“I expected as much, but there's no time to dwell on that now. We all need you fellows to get the Heart out of here immediately.”
“Sure thing,” said Flit. “Let's go Hedfan.” The two of them yanked aloft the Heart in a silent flutter and disappeared out the door.
“Like bats out the Pit,” said Fuzz as he gave a sigh of relief. At once his knees went weak and he passed out onto the cave floor.
***
Fuzz jerked awake to the sound of women's voices, and at once a wave of white-hot fear surged through him. He could see their silhouettes in front of the doorway as they talked excitedly. He looked around wildly for a place to hide that he already knew did not exist.
Heart of the Staff - Complete Series Page 66