Heart of the Staff - Complete Series

by Carol Marrs Phipps

  “Oh yes,” she said, stopping short. “I very nearly forgot. I'll have to change to Fnadiyaphn's throat. At least Fnadi-phnig-nyd and Dyr-jinyr-yy will know who I am as a human. It's still hard to swallow from the last time.” She held the Heart to her throat. It began glowing at once. “Gaah-hoof!” she bellowed, jerking the Heart away. “Aah-hoof- aah-hoof!”

  She could hear trolls mumbling and stirring as she stood there with pains shooting through her head, working her jaw. She began quietly peering into holes, wincing each time she bent over for a look. By the time she was wondering if she could bear any more bending over, she found Dyr-jinyr-yy sound asleep on his back not far away from a huge breasted sow, asleep against a wall under her snarled bush of fiery red hair, snoring away like a giant bullfrog with a grimy toddler in her arms. “Maybe I'm getting lucky,” she thought as she tiptoed close to peer at the baby. “He actually looks like James, except he's a troll. Well we'll see.” She went back to stand over Dyr-jinyr-yy. “Jy-oyf-ny-oyd-fif, Dyr- jinyr-yy,” she rumbled as she gave him a sharp poke with the Staff. “Ni!”

  “Zawk-skok...” he smacked, suddenly sitting up with wide-eyed urgency.

  “Jyrp-dyoy-dyn-yoy-oyr,” said Spitemorta with a phosphorescent flicker in her eyes. “You'll live.”

  With a squeal, he pitched forward and flattened himself at her feet. “Fnadiyaphn!” he whimpered into the foul dirt. “Goddess come-give Veyfnaryr big-head-nod looky- look?”

  “And you're going to show me,” she said with a cherubic nod.

  Dyr-jinyr-yy was on his feet at once, dashing over to Fnayooph to give her hair a good yank.

  Fnayooph gave an explosive swing of her fist, barely missing Dyr-jinyr-yy, who sat backwards with a bounce in the dirt. She gasped in shock at the sudden sight of Spitemorta and grabbed up a club, giving it a furious fling right by her ear.

  Spitemorta gave a crackling jab with the Staff, setting aglow a patch of earth in front of Fnayooph which immediately exploded, blinding everyone with dirt and making Veyfnaryr howl.

  “Fnayooph!” cried Dyr-jinyr-yy. “She-be Goddess Fnadiyaphn! Fnadiyaphn play human queen.”

  Veyfnaryr wiggled out of her arms and stood up with his fists in his eyes, wailing at the top of his lungs. Fnayooph grabbed him into her lap and silenced him with a teat as she ground at her eyes with the heel of her other hand.

  “Good job that you took care of my baby before you even tried to see,” said Spitemorta, “otherwise, you would be dead right now. Does he bite?”

  Fnayooph looked up with one confused eye, shook her head and held out Veyfnaryr for Spitemorta to take.

  Spitemorta got a whiff of him and held up a pious hand. “I don't need to take him,” she said. “I can see that he is getting the best of care.” She pursed her lips as a look of awe flickered across her face. “My word!” she thought. “He simply glows with magical power.”

  She turned to Dyr-jinyr-yy. “I shall not keep you awake any longer,” she said. “You all are doing quite well indeed. I'll simply be back from time to time to see how he's doing.” And with that, she took to the air on her staff and vanished over the trees.

  Well beyond Jutland lake, she landed and used the Heart to return her human throat and end her pounding headache. “My word!” she said as she climbed into the sky once more. “Nobody I've ever been around has that strong an aura...”

  “See?” came a voice in her ear. “What did I try to tell you?”

  “Shut up!” she screamed as she shook the Staff. “Shut up! Shut up Demonica!”

  “Well I'm glad to see that you didn't completely lose control of the Staff this time, dear,” came the voice again.

  “Shut up!” she screamed. “Leave me alone!”

  “Now just what kind of respect for the dead is that, Rouanez Bras?”

  “Why can't you leave me alone?”

  “Believe me,” said the voice, “I most certainly would if it weren't for your endless need of guidance. But since you clearly resent even the slightest inclination which I might have to help...”

  “All right!” cried Spitemorta. “If I let you help me, will you go away?”

  “Mission accomplished, dear.”

  “Very well, what do I need help with then, Grandmother?”

  “Didn't I tell you that your troll baby was going to be more powerful than the great Razzmorten himself?”

  “I don't remember.”

  “Of course not,” said the voice. “I couldn't get you to hold off your demands to have him killed long enough to notice what I was saying, as I recall.”

  “And I can see that you're just as tedious to listen to as ever.”

  “Well let's try again, dear. Did you notice what I said this time?”

  “What?”

  “Veyfnaryr. Razzmorten...”

  “What? Being stronger? Get out of here, Demonica! I know very well what all that means.”

  “Do you then? What does all this mean? This should be good.”

  “Why go through telling you?” said Spitemorta. “You already have all the answers. But if you must, it means that even if the Elves do manage to raise some dangerously powerful wizard, your ugly little troll monster just might destroy him. Right?”

  “Bravo!” cheered the voice with the sound of clapping. “But the 'ugly little troll monster' as you put it, is yours, dear.”

  “My monster? It was your turning me into Fnadiyaphn, Grandmother.”

  There did not seem to be an answer.

  “Grandmother?” said Spitemorta, frantically looking all about. “Demonica? Damn you! Where'd you go? Hey Demonica!”

  ***

  Laora's mother Lipperella was (as we know) the truth-teller for the Dragon Clan, so it is not at all surprising that when Laora was a naked little chick in the nest with a tummy like a melon, she could let Edward know without making a peep to come from some place far away in the caverns and feed her. Not long after fleeing to the Black Desert, Laora discovered that she could also plant images in Edward's mind of things she was thinking about, and after a few months and countless attempts, he found that he could do the same for her. Merely sharing images was the least of what they could do with this gift, for it allowed them to see through one another's eyes.

  On this particular morning, Edward and Laora were flying about far above the desert, just as they spent every spare moment doing.

  “Edward,” said Laora. “Do you see those big runners, 'way yonder?”

  “Where?”

  “Almost to the horizon.”

  “Maybe I see specks,” he said, “but I can't make out anything with you flapping.”

  “Well hurry,” she said as she began gliding. “With it overcast, we just don't have the usual strong updraughts. So what do you see?”

  “Just specks...”

  “Use my eyes, then. Here's what I'm seeing.”

  “I still don't...”

  “Close your eyes, silly.”

  “Wow!” he said. “That looks like Lladdwr and Ceidwad, only it can't be. There's another one. Would that be Arwr? And... Hey! They've got riders. Let's go see.”

  “Here we go,” she said as she began flapping. “If that's them, they have to be coming to see us.”

  “And if it's someone else?”

  “They're coming to see us. For sure. 'Cause Ceidwad and Lladdwr and Arwr are the only diatrymas alive, remember?”

  “Well what if they aren't?”

  “Then we'll just have to warn everyone. We're 'way faster than they are.”

  They winged their way across the empty black sands to the strangers in short order and began circling at a careful distance.

  Abaddon and Shot 'n' Stop on Arwr, Lance on Mentrus and Sulacha on Meinir jogged to a halt, trying to make out the sight in the air.

  “That must be one of the young feathered dragons which you spoke of,” said Abaddon, “but who on earth would be up there astride it?”

  “Edward,” boomed Arwr. “And Laora is the one flying.


  “You know them?” said Abaddon.

  “Quite well indeed, though they've grown, especially Laora.”

  “Edward'ss ssome relation of yourss, Abby,” said Shot 'n' Stop. “Issn't he, Arwr?”

  “Just how?” said Abaddon. “I've never heard of any Edward.”

  “Edward is your father's half brother,” said Arwr.

  “Which makes him your half uncle,” said Sulacha.

  “Yea,” said Lance. “King James's father Edmond married Myrtlebell, who was Edward's mother...”

  “Oh I know who he is,” said Abaddon. “He's the one Momma kept saying needed to die.”

  Lance put his finger to his lips and shook his head.

  “And I think they only half recognize us,” said Sulacha, “or they'd have landed.”

  Suddenly Arwr swelled up with a great breath beneath them “Voob!” he boomed, flashing the red in his wings and tail. “Voob-oob!”

  “Arwr!” cried Edward and Laora. And down they came.

  Chapter 158

  Spitemorta awoke to the guttural barking of a colony of gannets, nesting just down the face of the bluff beyond the garden. “What is that racket,” she said as she rubbed her hips and sat up, “walruses in the yard or what?” She stumped to the window and pushed aside the sashes of leaded purple glass. There was nothing in the yard except for agaves, grass and gnarled pines and the crying gulls and terns circling over the ocean beyond. She could hear the surf booming at the foot of the cliff. She shuffled away from the window and paused to stretch. Her hip joints ached, and even though her legs had gone to sleep again, she was much better off than the last time she had flown across the Orin Ocean, and she thought herself right clever for her saddle which she conjured for the Staff.

  She frowned at the white cat embroidered on the scarlet bell pull and gave it a tug. It was a very long time before anyone came.

  “Your Majesty!” gasped a hired woman at the sight of her. “We had no idea that you were here. Since we thought it was the wind, I only came to make sure no one was here.”

  “Yea?” said Spitemorta as she yanked and tied the strings of her bodice. “Well I won't stop your heart this time, but a punctual check each day to see if I'm here would be prudent, dear. I want breakfast up here, right now.”

  She was trying on some of Demonica's shoes when the maid returned with a tray. “Set it right there,” she said, nodding at the table. She had a seat while the woman waited. “That's odd looking porridge. What kind of grits is it?”

  “Why it ain't grits. It's millet from her fields on Head, not far from some of the mines...”

  “Where's the milk?”

  “Yesterday's is used up,” she said. “Budog's a bit late a-milking, but I did see him go out there. If you don't mind it not skimmed, I'll bring you some the very moment it's strained...

  “What's the meat?”

  “Fried corned beef...”

  “Budog, aye?” said Spitemorta, curling her lip at the meat. “Show me where he is.”

  “Why, I was intending to bring...”

  “Show me.”

  “Yes, yes!” said the maid, turning square about for the door as Spitemorta picked up the Staff and followed.

  Mazhev was sitting on the back step of the kitchen shelling a basket of mussels. “Your Majesty!” he cried, dropping his knife into the dirt as he shot to his feet and spilt his pan in his frenzy to give a proper bow. “We did everything you bid...”

  “I saw the wagons,” she said. “I've not peeked under either canvass.”

  “Every single one's there. I swear...”

  “Then you just might be alive tomorrow morning. Now take me to Budog.”

  Demonica's little Jersey was getting tired of having her head fast in the stanchion with no feed in the manger. She stepped from side to side, swishing her tail as she waited on Budog. Swallows twittered as they flew in and out.

  “I just hate hangovers,” said Budog, wincing as he stooped to go down the ladder from the mow. “Here Doll,” he said as he shoved his forkful of hay in front of the cow and came at her right side with a stool and bucket. He had his head against her flank and a rhythmic pair of streams squirting into the froth when Spitemorta cleared her throat behind him.

  “Damn!” he said, wheeling 'round on his stool in time for Doll to kick over the bucket, as he lunged to his feet for a bow with his face first white then red, struggling to keep from vomiting.

  “It's time I saw Demonica's holdings on Head, particularly the catoprolite mine,” said Spitemorta without noticing his difficulties. “I also want to meet this Smole person and see his skinweler production.”

  “But Your Majesty, the mines are filthy and Smole...”

  “I'm glad you're scared,” she said sweetly, “but I'm already standing in manure, so you have nothing to worry about. Besides, I've never known anyone to survive an attempt to deceive me. Let's step outside, shall we?”

  “I need a tour of my estate on Head and anywhere else you happen to be aware of Demonica's holdings,” she said as Mazhev rushed to hold open a gate for her. “She owned considerable territory beyond Head on the Dark Continent, didn't she?”

  Both Budog and Mazhev were nodding at this.

  “And since my stick is only so long, it looks like only one of you will be my guide, and the other one can stay here and tend to duties. So who's going with me?”

  “I'll do it,” said Mazhev in spite of his puzzled look.

  “Good,” she said. “And what about you, Budog?”

  “You've just picked Mazhev, right? I guess I'm lost.”

  “No. You looked like you were hiding from me in the shadows.”

  “Why I'd never...”

  “Good. Then you come with me. And Mazhev? You'll stay and guard... Who is it?”

  “Eldwin?” said Mazhev.

  “Eldwin. So what did Eldwin do?”

  “He used to be head butler, but one day the wizard Razzmorten got clean past him, all the way into Demonica's throne room and took her by surprise. So she locked him up.”

  “Good. Is he still alive?”

  “Why yes,” said Mazhev, sharing wide-eyed looks with Budog.

  “He'd better be, for us to kill him. Right?” she said as she set the Staff to hovering in the air and threw her leg over it. “Come on, Budog. Get on behind me.”

  Budog swallowed hard and dropped open his mouth to match his wide eyes.

  “Well?” she said. “All mankind has dreamed of flying from the beginning of time. You should fancy yourself fortunate for the opportunity. Come on, then.”

  “Yes, yes. Fortunate,” he said, pulling himself loose from the spot where he stood to step over the Staff behind her. The thought of putting his arms around her waist to stay mounted flickered through his mind, making him gasp at the idea as if he had nearly stepped on a viper in the grass. Just as he grabbed for the Staff instead, she lurched into the air, making him wail out as he missed his hold and nearly tumbled over backward. A glance at things far below hurtling into the distance behind made him wail out all the more.

  “My dear Budog!” said Spitemorta. “You'd make one confuse your rapture for sheer terror the way you go on. Now tell me how far...”

  “To the ground?” he squeaked.

  “No, no! How far to the catoprolite mines?”

  “Oh? Uh...”

  “How far?”

  “Well...”

  “How far, Budog?”

  “Well I... Well...”

  “Budog! You need help remembering that you're a brave dungeon guard, I see.” And with that she made a great plunging loop, flying upside down before surging back up to the top again.

  “Now, Budog,” she said as if he were her pupil, all ready for another division problem, “just how far is it?”

  “Aangh... uff...” he said through the streaming beard of his morning's porridge, “uh, pifty mile, maybe?”

  “Why Budog,” she said, giving him an encouraging coax, “you're the one
who knows these things.”

  “Fifty mile. Yes. Pifty mile.”

  Fast it was, this fifty miles, faster than anything he had ever imagined, but try as he would, he simply could not manage to open his eyes long enough to look at the rolling hills below.

  “Is that it?” she said. “Down there. Budog! Are you paying attention?”

  “Oh. I certainly am. Yes. Down there.” He could not begin to look, no matter how dangerous he knew a wrong answer would be. And before he was anything at all like ready, it felt like falling, making him double his legs under the Staff to keep from flying over her shoulders as they plummeted. His knotted stomach seemed to be the focus of the white hot fear flooding him until his head wanted to split as they reached a sudden gentle landing.

  Spitemorta dismounted, kicking him with the manure on her shoe and yanking out the Staff, leaving him sprawled upon the ground. “Why you're a mess, Budog,” she said, making no offer whatsoever to clean him up. “I hate to be seen with you.”

  “And what’s this building behind us?” she said, turning away to look at the thatch roofed three storey wattle and daub house surrounded by mound upon weedy mound of dirt, gravel and mine tailings.