“If I were 'at it,' Grandmother, I would disarm the general populace, first thing. Why have them run about loose with...?”
“Yes, and every tyrant who has ever tried that very thing has eventually been roasted. Ordinary people like to protect themselves. And do you by any chance remember the fate of the army of Goll when it tangled with Niarg? You have to have wits enough to allow them to keep their arms and still have them doing what you want...”
“Very well. So I won't disarm them first thing...”
“As for the Smallies and Dorchadas, I don't grasp your hesitation,” said Demonica as she produced a hand mirror and began peering from side to side in it to see how well she had cleaned up. “So what, if they're enchantments? Didn't you show them when we went to the Chokewoods? Even your mother made them do what she wanted. That should be no trick for you unless they still frighten you. You need to begin thinking of these things yourself, dear.”
“What about your precious pet trolls, then? And why should I even bother thinking of things on my own when I've got you to do it for me?”
“My 'pet trolls' as you call them, are a given, no thanks to you. But you'd better keep in mind that they'll not remain loyal if you keep betraying them. Sooner or later they'll find out that their great goddess is a human who doesn't care whether they live or die.” She twisted toward Spitemorta in her seat to stare her up and down. “And yes, you do have me to think of these things. Considering what you just did with the trolls, it's a good thing you have.”
Demonica leant out the window. “Merfyn!” she hollered. “This is far enough. Get down from there and help us throw out this carcass!”
“Whoa!” called out Merfyn with a jingle of harness and a squeal of brakes. They listened to him scuffle down and hop onto the gravel with a crunch and click the latch. He threw wide the door and drew a breath, catching himself at the sight of the body and the two of them studying him from head to toe to see how he was managing.
“Why he's the one I helped in a few hours ago, isn't he?” he said in in a polished and dutiful tone as his hands trembled. “Uh, was he any trouble?”
“Not in the least,” said Demonica. “In fact we found him surprisingly entertaining, considering his condition when we picked him up.”
“Well. I'll declare. That's a...” he stammered, utterly at a loss for bearings.
“Well Merfyn?” said Spitemorta.
“I see you did indeed say carcass,” he said, pausing to take a couple of furtive glances out and about. “So I reckon you also said...”
“Yes, Merfyn, throw him out. And 'help' actually means you do it.”
“Oh yes, Your Majesty. I certainly shall. It's just that there are still houses, if ye know what I mean, and this being a foreign place and all...”
Demonica stepped out of the coach. “There's not a soul in sight, Merfyn,” she said, as if she were coaxing a wary child to relieve himself in the bushes. “Now, get this kaoc'h ki du out of the coach, and drive straight back to Goll.”
He grabbed the body by an ankle and a wrist and drug it out into the ditch to return at once to hold the door for Demonica to climb aboard.
Demonica motioned for Spitemorta to step out with the Staff. “We're staying, Merfyn. You drive straight back to Goll, this minute.”
Merfyn blinked in confusion. “Yes, but...”
“Go!” barked Spitemorta.
***
“If Mary thinks Abaddon be able,” said Sulacha, setting down his teacup under the vault of stars as he gazed away in the direction of the first pass, trying to locate just which juniper had the screech owl in it, “we ought to set out just before the first light in order to be across the first gap to camp by tomorrow evening.”
“That's good to hear,” said Neron. “Do you think we've seen all we're going to of the Cat People?”
“Well, seeing them here means I've now seen them clean across to Dúiche Fhiáin. Any place we're forced to pass under a drop off, I'd expect there's a danger from them. There's danger everywhere else, too, for that matter. It's not just the lay of the land which makes these mountains a great barrier.”
Neron sighed.
Sulacha followed the sound of the owl to another tree.
“I hope I'm not interrupting anything, gentlemen,” said James as he appeared in the shadows. “We just got Abaddon settled, and I want to offer my condolences for Ian. He was a good fellow, though I scarcely knew him. Was he married?”
“Yea,” said Sulacha, “to Janet, a lovely one, and they had one little scoot, just crawling. I'll introduce you tomorrow.”
“Yes, I'd like that. And I'd also like to thank you all for waiting here long enough for us to attend to Abaddon. It surely must be risky.”
“I appreciate that, King James,” said Neron. “Though just to ease you, we're out in the open and lyoths attack by dropping onto their prey from above. And we also have three score campfires. However if Mary allows, we plan to go on at first light.”
“Mary will agree. We've already tried him out on a rack that Aeron and Llwerych made for Arwr's back.”
Neron nodded and looked up to see Lance appear at James's elbow.
“Sire,” said Lance. “Abaddon's awake and asking for you.”
“Really? I thought he'd sleep well into tomorrow.”
“So did Mary. She's off to fetch him another swig of blue bottle, but she says Abby's been a-calling for you.”
“It's his calling for me that lightens my step,” said James as they set out through the blackness of a stand of young pines. “I'd just given up on the possibility some time ago, don't you know?”
***
“Why did you have me land out here, Grandmother?” said Spitemorta, her teeth a-chatter from the frigid flight as she stepped off the Staff. “Weren't we making for that village, which we just flew over, back on the other side of this hill?”
“That 'village' is Jyantylesk, which means Giant's Cradle in Gwaelic, the capitol of the Gwaels, and a sprawling city by anyone's reckoning. You just saw a part of it not hidden by the hills. Vortigern lives there on a hilltop in Leskycastel.”
“That wasn't at all what I asked you, Demonica. Why not land there? Doesn't he know that you're a sorceress?”
“Certainly.”
“So we're landing 'way out here to walk in like commoners?”
“Do you think we should swoop in on your stick in a grand show of strength? After all, if we're that powerful, what's to keep them from thinking that we're bullying our way in to demand that they take up our banner?”
“But aren't they your friends?”
“Friends Spitemorta? Whatever gave you that idea? Are you and King Theran friends? For that matter, are you and I friends?”
“Point taken, Grandmother. So we trudge across the countryside in the dark and then what?”
“No. We camp here under these oak trees until dawn and then we enjoy a nice hike across the rolling downs. And when we arrive at Leskycastel you keep quiet and let me handle things, that's what.”
Spitemorta drew a breath, but snapped her mouth shut at Demonica's look. “Your way then, Demonica,” she thought, “this time.”
***
Spitemorta dreamed of a procession of phantom shadows marching to a deep guttural drone of many chanting voices. She moaned and rolled over, then sat up with a wide-eyed gasp.
“Hush!” whispered Demonica as she took her by the shoulders. “Look yonder.” At the bottom of the hill in a clearing of the oaks, a long line of figures robed in white were gathering within a great circle of stone posts.
“That's the sound,” whispered Spitemorta. “So I wasn't dreaming. It's those people. But what are they doing out here in the middle of the night?”
“That's an eglos-derowek. You might call it an oak grove church meeting. Just be still and watch. We don't want them to know we're here. It's forbidden for outsiders to see what we're about to see.”
“Why? What's that huge thing in the middle of the ri
ng?”
“A wicker man. It's a wooden cage.”
Presently the queue of hooded figures drug forth a half dozen naked people, struggling and wailing, and forced them into the cage.
“What are they doing?” said Spitemorta, as a single commanding voice replaced the chanting. Its mighty incantations rose and fell on the wind, punctuated by cries of the captives.
“They call it a 'facryfys.'“
The voice rose to a climax and stopped short, triggering renewed urgent cries from the captives which turned to screams of anguish as the wicker man flashed into a roaring fireball. The screams died away immediately. As the flames crackled and leaped, a deeply voiced bagpipe began playing, joined at once by a fiddle, and immediately thereafter by hooded figures within the stone circle disrobing and madly dancing around the flames.
“So Grandmother, do your Gwaels also eat Elves, or merely each other?” said Spitemorta, staring at the scene, mesmerized by the familiar smell of burning human flesh wafting uphill.
“Neither, dear. 'Facryfys' means 'sacrifice.' The Gwaels are merely appeasing one of their gods.”
“So they roast women and children every so often in hopes of being blessed by some deity?”
“I'm surprised that you would sound bothered, dear.”
“I'm not bothered. They just sound stupid to me, is all.”
“Well, they leave women and children alone most of the time and merely burn enemies or criminals in their wicker men to ask for blessings. When the spirits of the sacrificed are released, they rise into the heavens and beg the god for the blessings.”
“You mean to tell me that the Gwaels actually believe that the souls of the people they have just executed are going to plead their case to some god?”
“Sure. It's an honor,” said Demonica. “Most criminals and enemies are simply hanged or beheaded. The sacrificed, however, are considered cleansed and forgiven by being burnt and get to live with the god for eternity. Of course if the Gwaels are really in dire need, they might burn an especially beautiful sixteen year old. The circle of stones below and the whole oak grove are sacred. They would be very put out to find us here watching them.” She paused to study Spitemorta carefully. “Now lie down and try to rest. We really should get a bit more sleep and there isn't much time until the sun comes up.”
“No there isn't, hora,” said a gruff voice from behind them, the instant he touched the flat of his spear point to Demonica's cheek.
She couldn't see what sort of cold cutlery this was, but she knew better than to jerk away. She could also see someone behind Spitemorta. “Well you have us, gentlemen,” she said. “You don't plan to kill us, or else you'd have done so by now. So might I ask what you do plan on doing with us?”
“No,” said the one behind her. “But if you want to live long enough to find out, you'll start walking and not even pause until I tell you to.”
“I'm on my way, sir. Downhill?”
“Downhill.”
The other soldier joined them at once, marching Spitemorta helplessly past where the Staff lay, in the shadow of the boulder where she had slept.
***
The chuck will's widow stopped calling. Abaddon awoke, straining to hear its next cry. As he listened, larks tinkled far away, up in the air. He opened his eyes. He tried to see Lance or James in the blackness. “Ah!” he cried out quietly, at the pain shooting up his neck when he turned his head. “I'm hungry and thirsty,” he murmured. “I wonder how long it will be until morning.”
“It'll start getting blue overhead any time now,” said a lady from across the bed of coals.
“Is that you, Mary?” he said.
“It is,” she said as she rose from her bedroll and stepped quietly over pine needles to stand beside him. “I reckon you're feeling more like yourself since you've got an appetite. If you stay still, I'll fetch you a drink and maybe a biscuit from supper to tide you over until breakfast.”
“Thank you,” he said as his stomach rumbled.
When she returned, he was astonished to see a huge snake draped about her shoulders and arms.
“My yess, Mary,” it said. “Hiss head musst be better. Hiss eyesses are the ssame ssize again and everything.”
“He doesn't remember you from last night,” she said. “Abaddon, this is my friend, Shot 'n' Stop, and he certainly knows who you are.”
Shot 'n' Stop gave a fluid bow as Mary handed Abaddon a biscuit with a daub of clover honey. “Now just hold on to it while I raise you up ever so carefully.”
“I could help hold hiss head ever sso sstill, Mary.”
“Oh you certainly could, but let's allow him to get used to you a bit before we try that.
“Abby, Shot 'n' Stop is one of the enchanted creatures who came with me when we fled the Peppermint Forest. Do you remember me telling you about that?”
“I'm not sure.”
“It will come back to you. I told you when I introduced Shot 'n' Stop the first time.”
“I hope we get to be friends. I've never known a snake before, especially one who can talk...Ah!” he said with another shooting pain.
“Mary? I can jusst sslip under hiss head and hold him jusst fine,” said Shot 'n' Stop. “We consstrictorsses don't tire out like you Humansses.” And with a nod from her, he slithered over Abaddon's shoulder, behind his neck, over his far shoulder and out in front of him to bend back and address him: “Oh, I exthpect we'll get on jusst grand. Lukuss and I are sstill friendsses to thiss day.”
“Well,” said James. “I'm relieved to find you up and bright-eyed this early. You're a tough young prince.”
“Yea. I was hungry,” he said, seeing that the sky was indeed already tinged with blue.
James and Mary glanced at each other, sharing a delighted look. “Wow!” thought Abaddon, looking on. “Grown-ups who are actually happy just because I'm merely better.” It gave him a very warm feeling inside, as only Lance and the Fairies had done before.
“Breakfast doesn't stink yet,” said Lance as he feverishly turned over eggs and sausages in one skillet while he took quick glances at biscuits in another.
“Time to stop then,” said James. “Oh good. You've made enough for Abbey and all of us.
***
It was scarcely broad daylight when the caravan of Elves set out for the first gap, angling up the face of the second ridge. The moment they began to climb, they found themselves in a great hemlock forest, wending between the trunks of the enormous trees. Woodpeckers drummed and ravens croaked far above in the somber light. By noon, they had climbed a respectable way up, and the hemlock were getting shorter and far enough apart to allow glimpses of the lands above.
“At least we can see the sun now,” said Abaddon to Shot 'n' Stop, who still tirelessly held his head in position where they lay on the rack, swaying gently on Arwr's back. “How much longer do you think it will be before we reach the gap?”
Shot 'n' Stop reared up the front part of his length and stood like a little sapling growing out of Abaddon's shoulder, gazing up the mountain beyond the trees to the far off point along the ridge which Arwr had said was the first pass. After a long moment of flicking his tongue as if he could taste it in the distance, he bent himself down to face Abaddon. “Oh, I'm afraid it'ss sstill quite a piesce,” he said. “I'd ssay we won't crosss over that passs until ssunsset. If you'd like, I could passs the time by telling you ssome sstoriesses about the Peppermint Foresst...”
“Arwr, said Mary as she rode alongside on Sheba. “Could you get down so that I could see to Abaddon?”
Without a word, Arwr stopped and carefully settled his keel onto the hemlock needles under the ferns. Mary felt all about Abaddon's head and neck.
“Shot 'n' Stop is doing a splendid job of keeping your head still, isn't he?” she said as she produced the blue bottle and gave him a swig.
“But now you're making me go to sleep just when Shot 'n' Stop promised to tell me all about when you and he used to live in the Peppermint Forest
...”
“That'ss fasst sstuff,” said Shot 'n' Stop.
“If he's to heal quickly, he mustn't tire,” she said with a nod. “Are you tired of holding him?”
“I could keep hiss head sstill for a week if I musst, but I'd like a fisst sizthed chunk of sukere afterwardss. He'ss a toassty young fellow.”
“Well good. He'd probably have a hard time getting better if it weren't for you. Let me know at once if he might be taking a turn for the worse.”
Shot 'n' Stop went steadfastly on cradling Abaddon's head as he stretched out his own alongside him in the noonday sun. Though it was colder up the mountain, the sun was bright and felt most delicious upon his sleek, shiny scales.
***
Spitemorta sat across the table with her arms folded in a dining hall at least twice as big as any she had ever seen, scowling as Demonica kept up her banter with King Vortigern. “She acts as if I don't exist,” she thought as she looked about with contempt at the hall's lack of adornment. “I can't believe she hasn't complained about the unforgivable treatment from those drewllyd soldiers who marched us here at spear point without even allowing me to pick up the Staff.” She gave a shudder. “Anyone could come along...”
“Are you not well?” boomed Vortigern in his deep voice.
At the sight of Spitemorta blushing with anger, Demonica caught her eye with a most severe glance.
“I beg your pardon, Your Majesty,” she said demurely. “I'm afraid I was thinking of something else. I'm quite well, actually. But thank you for asking.”
“Very good then. Since you've finished with your meal and are too polite to ask, I'll have one of my gonesogyon show you to your apartment,” he said. And without waiting for a reply, he summoned a serving man. “Show Queen Spitemorta to her quarters, Ungust.” he said with a dismissive wave.
Spitemorta was incensed. She rose smoothly with a look of contempt for the oblivious king and a look of seething fury for Demonica before following Ungust out of the dining hall to see what accommodations Gwaels provided visiting royalty.
“Shall I bring you anything?” said Ungust before leaving her in her quarters.
“No!” she snapped as she slammed the heavy door in his face. She leant against the door with a huff and studied her apartment. “I've never seen a bed so big. If trolls had enough brains to build castles, this is how they'd do it: huge and plain enough for servants. This is intolerable!” she hissed as she wheeled about to give the latch a yank, only to have it snap clean off in her hand like a piece of chalk.
Heart of the Staff - Complete Series Page 150