Heart of the Staff - Complete Series

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Heart of the Staff - Complete Series Page 67

by Carol Marrs Phipps


  “Right strange how we missed this passage before, Demonica.”

  “Had to have been something to do with the light at the time. Shadows could do it, I'd think. The light's different now.”

  “Demonica!” thought Fuzz in utter horror. “This is far worse than I'd thought. At least the Heart is safe...for the moment.”

  “You all keep quiet up here,” he scarcely whispered as he carefully rose to a stand. “unless you see things get out of hand when those women get in here, that is. If it looks bad for me, you all get out of here as fast as you can. Go to the dragon caves, and stay there until you hear from me.”

  One of the bats dropped onto his shoulder. “Fuzz, maybe it's already bad for you,” he said, with a squeak like a fist full of marbles. “You look...contorted.”

  “In what way Taflu?”

  “Well, your face is flat, your legs aren't right and you have on clothing.”

  Fuzz felt his face, then looked at his feet. It was indeed as he was beginning to assume. He was no longer a bear. “My. These must have been what I was wearing when I came to find Gastro. Now that it's all certain, it probably will be harder to get past the sorceresses,” he murmured. “Oh well. For good or ill, here goes.” He started for the pantry door.

  “Just who the blazes are you?” said Demonica as she thrust wide her arms in the doorway, stopping Fuzz in his tracks.

  “I beg your pardon, ma'am,” he said with a bow. “I thought these premises were abandoned. Had I any idea that they were indeed occupied by two lovely ladies, I'd never have come in uninvited. The place having so many bats gave me the idea that no one had lived here for some time.” He pointed back into the pantry.

  Demonica carefully peered into the pantry to find that the cave was indeed full of bats. With a look of disgust, she raised her hands to scorch the pantry with wizard's fire.

  “Please, my lady!” said Fuzz in wide eyed alarm. “It might be rash. I see that you're gifted with magic, but there's a right sizable lot of lamp oil stored in there.”

  “Take a look, Spitemorta!” barked Demonica.

  Spitemorta looked resentful, but whisked past for a look. She returned at once.

  “He has it right. There are even barrels of the stuff in there.”

  “Anything else?”

  “Bats. Lot's of those.”

  Demonica gave Fuzz slit-eyed look and motioned him out of the pantry. Much relieved to have saved his pets, he did so willingly.

  “Now,” she said, showing him to a seat at the table. “Who are you?”

  “No one of consequence, ma'am. I'm a woodsman. My name is Thorn, Thorn Bushman. My cabin burnt to the ground last week, and since I'd come across this den when I passed through here not long ago, reckoning it to be abandoned, I thought of it at once, after the fire, don't you know. So, here I am. That's all. So now that I see how it all is, I'll just offer you my apologies and go on my way, then...”

  “Your fine gentlemen's hunting attire is quite out of fashion, Mr. Bushman. It lacks codpiece and doublet,” said Demonica with a frosty hiss, as she traded looks with Spitemorta. “Now, who are you...really?”

  Fuzz stood speechless.

  “Are you deaf?” she shouted. “I just asked you who you really are!”

  “But my lady, I've told you. I'm Thorn Bushman.”

  “Thorn Bushman,” snorted Spitemorta, as Demonica studied his face. “What sort of name is that? Where are you from?”

  Fuzz's mind raced. Dare he admit being from Niarg? Dare he say he wasn't? “I grew up in Niarg, but I left there over twenty years ago and haven't been back since.”

  “He sounds like he actually could have been from Niarg, 'way back,” said Spitemorta.

  “As if he's been gone from there a good a long time...”

  “Yes.”

  “All right, Thorn,” said Demonica almost kindly. “Tell us again why you were nosing around in this cave. What were you looking for?”

  “I wasn't 'nosing around,' as you put it, my lady, and I wasn't looking for anything, except for a place out of the weather until I could rebuild my cabin, which as I said, burnt down last week. With winter on its way, I figured that I could hole up in this cave and be right snug until spring. But now that I see...”

  “Rustics can't afford clothes like those, Mr. Bushman, and no one of substance would choose to dress so out of fashion,” said Demonica, “and there is one minor detail that makes your garments be no consequence at all.”

  “What detail might that be, my lady?” said Fuzz.

  “You're a right handsome man, Thorn,” said Demonica, studying him minutely as she slowly circled him where he stood, “surely people have told you that?”

  Fuzz stared at her.

  “Nothing to say?” she said through an ugly smile. “Well, no matter. You are much too attractive not to have been told so. I think your beauty even surpasses that of my nearly departed husband.”

  “So what might your husband be nearly dead from?” said Fuzz as he noticed how terribly dry his mouth had become.

  “Demonica threw back her head in a seizure of laughter that stopped as suddenly as if it had been dropped and shattered upon the floor. “I'll truly regret having to mar that beauty, Thorn. You don't want that, now do you?”

  Fuzz shook his head.

  Demonica looked delighted. “Splendid. You know, it rained last night. Perhaps you can explain to me why one fresh set of unmistakable bear tracks leads to the door of this cave, while none leads away. You must've been here all night, since there are no tracks that you could possibly have made. Funny you didn't see the bear come in. And Thorn, I have no patience at all, so I suggest you answer me now.”

  Chapter 61

  “Myrtlebell,” said Mary as she smiled at Edward, “I think It's time to take you to the Dragon Caves. If you would gather up your things and come with me as soon as you're done with breakfast, we could be there in a day or two.”

  “I thought Fuzz said it would probably take four or five days from here,” said Myrtlebell.

  “On foot it probably would, but our mounts are exceedingly swift runners.”

  “A short time out would be a mercy with Spitemorta loose in these woods. But Mary, there are two of them. Are you sure it's safe to go so soon after Fuzz's departure?”

  “Just now is actually the very best time we are likely to have,” she said with a reassuring smile. “I don't want to upset you unduly, but Fuzz is most able, and I know of several hopeless situations that he has been through where few others could have managed at all. However, I can't imagine his setting out to do what he has to do without attracting the notice of those she-devils.” She gave Myrtlebell a sympathetic look. “So while those two wicked sorceresses have their attention on him...”

  “We escape,” said Myrtlebell in a flat voice.

  “This is our moment,” said Mary. “I'm sure Fuzz would say the same thing.”

  Myrtlebell's lips thinned as she pressed them together. She knew Mary was right, but she couldn't help feeling uneasy. She grabbed up their cloaks and took Edward's hand, and with a nod to Mary, followed her from the cavern.

  Edward laughed in delight, the moment they stepped through the wet vines over the mouth of Mary's cave.

  Myrtlebell's mouth and eyes dropped agape. “Mary!” she cried, shushing herself in wonder. “Those aren't unicorns, they're enormous birds. Are we flying on them?”

  “Oh no,” said Mary. “Look at their tiny wings. These birds don't fly, but they do run, and far faster than you've ever ridden before.”

  “What kind of bird can't fly?” said Myrtlebell.

  “I assume you mean, 'What are they called?'“

  “Why, yes.”

  “These are diatrymas,” she said, as she reached up to stroke the neck of one of them. “Diatrymas are a sort of adar taranus. They are far more than just tame, they're my personal friends. They're exceedingly intelligent.”

  “Adar taranus. Old Niarg for thunderbirds? I thought
not a one of those survived the Greatest Burning.”

  “None did.”

  “I don't understand...”

  “Have you ever heard of the terrible wizard, Razzorbauch?”

  “Wasn't he the one who brought the dragons here? Fuzz was...”

  “Well, we had best make haste, Myrtlebell. I'll tell you all about it once we're underway.” Mary turned at once to the birds. “Lladdwr, Ceidwad, kneel, if you would.”

  The two ten foot tall fowl obligingly folded their thick scaly legs and waited patiently on their breastbones in the leaves to be mounted.

  “It would probably be best if I took Edward, while you get used to riding,” said Mary, as she helped Myrtlebell onto the smaller of the two birds. “This is Ceidwad. Just keep your legs ahead of her wings. You can put your arms around her neck, but don't squeeze her windpipe.”

  “Where are her reins?” said Myrtlebell, as her balance gave way and she sat suddenly onto the thickly padded saddle with a plump.

  “She needs none,” she said, taking Edward onto her lap as she deftly swung round Lladdwr's neck to sit on his saddle. “She's too intelligent to need them. I've already discussed where we're going with Lladdwr and her.”

  Once they were settled, the diatrymas rose together without being told to do so, and in a half dozen fluid strides, had sailed completely down the side of the tall hogback, with Edward waving happily at Myrtlebell as she hung on for dear life. Across the branch and effortlessly up the far side they went, until they reached the long ridge that they followed out of the timber to the thickets along the broad creek which they had crossed the day before, when they were fleeing Spitmorta and Demonica. Without the slightest hesitation, the giant birds ran straightaway into the water, stepping over its surface and plunging to the bottom with each stride, making astonishingly little splashing or disturbance. At once they were across, fluidly zigzagging through the brush. Soon the thickets opened into grassland which lay between them and the great marshlands of the Gobblers. Here the diatrymas sped up astoundingly, running abreast.

  “So,” shouted Mary above the wind, “How are you doing?”

  “This is indeed very much faster than I ever imagined possible.”

  “Whee!” squealed Edward.

  “Oh my, sweetheart,” said Mary, giving Edward a hug. “You mustn't kick Lladdwr in the crop.”

  “This is not only fast as the very wind,” called Myrtlebell through the hair she was dragging out of her eyes, “but 'way more comfortable than galloping unicorns.”

  They fell silent to the tireless pounding rustle of huge feathers as they sped out across the sea of grass which stretched before them to the horizon. Without endless obstacles for the diatrymas to leap, dodge and run around, Myrtlebell was able to relax and truly enjoy her fast ride for the first time. On they ran in a straight line without any letup or hesitation, under a cloudless blue sky.

  By noon, the horizon was starting to change and Myrtlebell began to feel exhausted and looked across to see Edward's head nodding in Mary's lap. “Mary,” she called, “do you supposed it would wise to pause for a bite to eat?”

  “I don't see why not. We're making good time and Edward's getting heavy. See that hillock yonder, rising out of the grass? Let's make for that.”

  “Is that the marsh showing up on the horizon?”

  “Certainly is.”

  Soon they were sitting on the grassy bank of a tiny meandering stream, nestled up against a sheer rock overhang, eating nuts and dried fruit. The diatrymas poked about, investigating various places in the grass and weeds. Suddenly, Lladdwr dashed away for three or four springy bounds and snapped up a rabbit. He immediately shared it with Ceidwad, the pair pulling it in two with a twisting yank before tossing back their heads and swallowing it down whole. They both wiped their beaks in the grass and ruffled and shook their feathers.

  Myrtlebell shuddered. “Mary, if Spitemorta and her companion are sure to be at Fuzz's den, what is it that we are keeping a lookout for?” she said as she smoothed away a stray lock from Edward's face. She looked up, startled to see that the diatrymas were studying her with keen interest as she spoke.

  “You've not been to the marsh before?” she said, with a nod at the horizon.

  Myrtlebell shook her head.

  “Have you heard of Gobblers?”

  “No, and they must not be very nice by the way you say their name.”

  “Not at all nice,” said Mary, standing up to pace about. “A warrior race of tiny people. The Beaks. Back when they were known as the Beaks, they would raid everyone within a fortnight's march of the marsh. They were utterly ruthless. Then, Razzmorten's magical protections went up around the woods and contained them here. After that they settled for attacking anyone unfortunate enough to stumble into their territory. Ugleeuh turned them into Gobblers, just like she changed everything else in the forest, just like she turned me into a bear. They may be a farce compared with how they once were, but they're still quite vicious. We don't want them surprising us.”

  “But Mary,” said Edward, “can't you protect us with your magic?”

  “Maybe. If I have enough warning, Edward. That's why we must be very wary. I've been surprised before, and it could always happen again, particularly when I don't know if the Gobblers are free of Ugleeuh's spells yet or not. With all the changes going on all around, I don't know what to expect from the Gobblers.”

  Suddenly Mary put a shushing finger to her lips as she touched Edward's arm.

  Edward understood and went wide eyed. They shrank back against the overhang and looked in every direction with darting eyes.

  Mary wheeled round and stared at the rock face with a look of shock. “Not possible!” she hissed. “What are you?”

  Abruptly, several somethings, shot past them out of the rocks.

  Mary blanched and shuddered. “Did the two of you feel what I just felt?”

  “The presences?”

  Mary nodded.

  “Yes. What were they?”

  “I don't know. The only things I know of at all like them are locked behind a magical wall of protection on the Dark Continent.”

  “Could they have escaped?”

  “Who knows? But we had best leave this spot immediately.”

  Myrtlebell was grateful to see that the diatrymas had already settled onto their keels to allow them to mount. The diatrymas rose together and dashed away at once, speeding through the grass for the horizon. Soon, the vast brown grass was broken up by stands of cattails and sedges and patches of standing water, forcing them to slow considerably in order to pick out their way, but even so they were managing to cover ground much more quickly than any unicorns could. For the breadth of the afternoon they zigzagged, hopping from high place to high place as the terrain became wetter.

  Mary, Edward and Myrtlebell grew weary staying seated with the endless energetic swaying.

  “How much farther is it to the Dragon Caves from here, Mary?” said Edward, speaking up suddenly as the afternoon waned.

  Mary gave her head a sudden shake and studied the land about. “I'd say, at this rate we could be there by dawn if we can manage to keep riding.”

  “Then, let's,” he said gamely.

  “That's a long time to hang on, Edward.”

  “I want to see Uncafuzz and the dragons.”

  Mary glanced aside at Myrtlebell on Ceidwad to see if she had been following the conversation to see that she had been indeed. “Then let's try for it!” she cried.

  A moment later Mary saw something fall from the sky, a good twenty rods away. When she turned to look, all she saw were two bats, circling aimlessly about above the spot before flying off to disappear over the horizon. “Now just what do bats remind me of?” she murmured as they rode on.

  ***

  “Well,” said Demonica hissing into Fuzz's face. “Have you still nothing to say for yourself, even when you understand the condition of my patience?”

  “I have already answered your quest
ions,” he said, trying not to pull away from her. “I'm certainly no bear. You've either misread the footprints, or you've walked on the ones you wish to see. If you haven't searched all the passages, perhaps your bear is actually inside here.”

  Demonica bid Spitemorta check the passages with an impatient toss of her brows.

  Fuzz followed her movements briefly and then turned back in time to be knocked momentarily boss-eyed with a merciless slap. As he struggled to steady his pain and his vision, Demonica began slapping him viciously over and over again, but he made no move whatsoever to stop her.

  “Never attempt to tell me my business,” she said with angelic calmness unrelated to her fury, as she stopped suddenly. “Do you quite understand?”

  He nodded.

  “Oh, you'd better. You'd just be so very much better off.”

  Spitemorta stepped back into view with a shake of her head.

  “Didn't think so,” said Demonica like a grandmother sympathizing with birthday candles still lit. “So, dear. Didn't work. I'm so sorry. Your burden again. Time's up. This is your very last chance to tell me what I want to know before I do things to you that will make you beg to tell me.

  “Enough, fool!” she exploded. “I see I've been shamefully lenient with you already!” She flung her hands at his face and a crackling white fire discharged from her fingertips, flinging him backwards across his kitchen table where he lay, shaking uncontrollably. “Did that hurt?” She rushed up to gloat at him. “Soon you'll consider it a mere tickle.

  “Bind his hands and feet to the table, Spitemorta,” she commanded as she wheeled aside to rattle around in the drawers of the kitchen cupboard. “Ah! These should do just fine.”

  A white hot dread surged through Fuzz at the sight of her holding up two butcher knives and a meat clever.

  “You are truly an exquisite specimen of male virility,” she cooed as she came to the table, “but that is only going to last for a few moments more. I want you to be keenly aware that when I'm finished with you, you will be neither handsome nor virile.”

  She handed one of the knives to Spitemorta. “Help me cut away his clothing.”

 

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