by Frank Tuttle
We know best! shouted the stones. We will have you!
Meddler!
Intruder!
Fool woman!
Mallara smiled and brought her staff down, hard and fast. There was a brief light, and a rush of air, and a sound like distant thunder. And then the Words on the staff scattered, and the runes fell still, and the sky went black and empty. Mallara's boots sank suddenly into the mud. Steam billowed, whipped thick about her, and in an instant the air was white with new fog. White, and heavy with the stench of seared mud, scorched rock, and the sharper odor of flash-burnt pumpkins.
"Ouch," squeaked Burn, from Mallara's shoulder.
Water sizzled and boiled in the dark, sputtering and hissing as if it had been poured in a dozen red-hot skillets -- or twelve hot slabs of stone.
Burn expanded his volume of blurred air and flew a circuit about the ruined Round.
"Nothing here, Mistress," he said. He left the fallen stones and circled Mallara, his passage leaving brief tunnels in the fog."What of the King?"
Mallara peered through the mist, saw nothing, felt a sinking in her heart. She spoke a soft word to her staff and sent a handful of tangle-spells twirling up into the settling fog, sent another handful up when the first three returned and spoke of stones and pumpkin-shells.
Then the last tangle returned, and whispered to her, and Mallara sagged. "Thank you," she said, and the light was gone from her hand.
Weariness settled upon her like a cape and hood of lead."He's gone, Burn," she said. She recalled the cold smooth touch of his hands, the merry light in his wide, toothy grin."I killed the Winter King."
Burn settled in the air before her."No, Mistress," he said."Some lot of ignorant hedge-wizards did that, a long time before your grandmother's grandmother was born," he said."You tried to save him."
Burn's voice rose suddenly in pitch until it was inaudible, and his hole in the fog wobbled and spun.
"Behind you!" he squeaked, and then he flew over her shoulder.
Mallara turned, the greedy mud sucking and pulling at her boots. But she wrenched them free and turned, just in time to see a tall, tall pair of bony, footless legs rise up and stride away from her, cutting narrow swaths through the fog with each long step. Taller than the sky, thought Mallara, and a snippet of a song sang itself in her mind. The Winter King walks the wide world swift, back and done in one long night, his footless legs longer than the sky is tall, his merry eyes shining bright.
The fog swirled, and Mallara had one last glimpse of the Winter King before he took a mile-long step, and was gone.
"Winds and fires," sputtered Burn."Did you see that?"
Mallara nodded.
"All at once, it was behind you," said Burn."I didn't see it coming."
"No one ever does," said Mallara, turning back to Burn."That's part of his magic."
"It winked at me, Mistress," said Burn, and Mallara saw his blur of air shiver."Look in your pockets."
Mallara frowned."My pockets?"
Burn bobbed and buzzed."Look in your pockets, Mistress," he said."It seems you neglected to hang out your hat."
Mallara let go of her black staff, which remained upright, though it did rise up so that its foot rode just above the mud. She then searched the wide pockets sewn into each side of her pants, her hands encountering all the usual contents -- a handkerchief in her right pocket, and a wand, and --
-- in her left, something else.
Mallara's eyes widened. She withdrew her left hand, and there it was -- an exquisite Phendelit dancing doll. A dancing-doll like -- no, identical to -- the doll she'd seen once in old Purget's shop window as a child.
Purget had never let her touch the doll, much less hold it. But Mallara remembered staring at the doll through the bubbled, dirty shop-front glass, knowing that she would never have such a thing, never be such a thing. There were other dolls, of course, but none so lovely as the Phendelit dancing-doll. It had demure blue eyes and golden-blonde hair and it was tall and thin and long-legged in a way that Mallara had known even then that she'd never be.
Mallara's staff blazed suddenly with light, and Mallara marveled for a moment at the detail of the tiny figure. The doll had eyelashes, fine and golden. Fingers, with red painted nails. Earrings, tiny gold hoops, which sparkled and shone in the staff's fierce glow. There were tiny blue and gold sparkles set in the white lace ankle-length gown, and a jeweled sash, and on the doll's right wrist a bracelet studded with tiny diamonds set in the spiral of a Phendelit queen.
Mallara stroked the doll's hair once with her finger, and moved her hand away when her staff leaned in close for a look and Burn fell to hang in the air before it.
Staff and shimmer exchanged a long silence.
"It appears to be a doll," said Burn, after a moment.
"It's the most beautiful thing I've ever seen," said Mallara. She raked a hand quickly across her face, and looked toward the hidden sky."Thank you."
Burn made a sighing noise. Then he buzzed, and bobbed away, and Mallara knew he was peering at the sky through the fog."What have we loosed upon the world?" he said, after a moment.
Mallara pulled a clean handkerchief from her right pocket, and carefully wrapped the doll in it."Something that was there all along," she said. She spoke a Word, and a hole appeared in the air before her, and the black staff rose up through it and vanished. Mallara spoke again, and the hole shrank; but before it too vanished, Mallara held up the cloth-wrapped doll, and the black staff reached down out of the hole and took the doll away.
"So a few children will find toys their parents didn't put in their hats, this morning," said Mallara, when Burn's buzzing did not abate."And perhaps a few old folks somewhere will find firewood cut and stacked by their doors. There's a bit of magic in the world the Council of Mages had absolutely nothing to do with, Burn. What is the harm in that?"
"No harm at all, no harm," said Burn, quickly. He darted in a tiny circle before Mallara."Sorry, Mistress. I'm glad -- really I am -- that Long Legs didn't fall with the stones. I'm also glad most people don't see him at work. Watching bony hands drop out of the sky and slip dolls in unsuspecting pockets is a wee bit spookier than you might think."
Mallara smiled. Her legs and her back were beginning to ache -- no wonder, she thought, after all that dancing in this awful mud -- and her arms were weary from holding the black staff. But she smiled, and shrugged."All part of the magic of Ollow's Eve," she said.
Burn buzzed again."I'll never understand your folk, Mistress," he said."Why do the same children who fear the dark and any number of hairy, toothy boogey-men sit up waiting for a skeleton with a pumpkin head?" Burn flew a tiny loop."What makes you love some monsters, and fear others?"
Mallara heard faint music. She nearly spoke the Word that brought her staff, but then realized that the piping was from Toth, borne on a vagrant breeze.
"I don't know, Burn," she said, when the music faded and died."I suppose that we love some of the monsters because they are ours."
Burn buzzed."That was not at all enlightening," he said, after a moment."But that's the only answer I'm going to get tonight, isn't it?"
"I'm afraid so."
"Well," said Burn. A new wind rose up, and whipped the steam about, and a spattering of fat raindrops fell to hiss upon the fallen stones."Might I suggest we quit this place, Mistress?" he asked."I'm too tired to dodge rain-drops, and I imagine you could use a bit of sleep."
"Later, perhaps," said Mallara. She wrenched her boots from the mud, and began a determined but noisy march out of the center of the fallen Round."Now, though, I'd like a tall mug of ale -- and unless I'm mistaken, they're still playing the pipes, down in Toth."
"Promise me one thing, Mistress," said Burn, who followed close behind.
"And what is that?" asked Mallara, as she picked her way through the field of shattered pumpkin-shells.
"Find someone with feet to dance with, won't you?"
Mallara laughed."I promise."
"S
ome sort of head would be nice too," said Burn."Eyes with pupils, ears, hair, that sort of thing. 'Men,' I think they're called."
Mallara laughed and wrenched her right foot free of the greedy mud."Happy Ollow's Eve, Burn," she said."Peace and plenty to you and yours."
Burn flew. The steam was nearly gone now, and the wind drove what remained away, sending it streaming across the fallen stones and the trampled ground and off into the night. Overhead, the sky was black -- but it seemed to Burn that, just for an instant, two red stars appeared, close set like eyes, to look down upon him.
The stars became bright three-sided pumpkin-eyes, and winked, and vanished.
Burn arced though the night toward Toth like a small faint comet, and Mallara hurried after.
NIGHT STAND
by Frank Tuttle
Mallara followed the Lake Road as far as the second well-marker, turned right as the Mayor had said, and found herself in the old Maglin apple orchard well before noon. The sun blazed, high and alone in a flawless blue sky. Birds darted and sang, riding a lazy breeze that smelled of honeysuckle and bell-flower. Mallara found a patch of shade, watched the birds wheel and the flowers sway, and forced herself to stop trembling.
"Burn," she said. The air before her face suddenly shimmered, blurring like the air above a hot, dry stretch of road.
"Yes, Mistress?" said the shimmer.
"I'm being followed. How many and how far?"
"Twelve. About a quarter of a mile back, just beyond the poplars. It's the Mayor and his retinue. One has a telescope. He's made three lewd remarks about your backside."
Mallara clenched her teeth and counted silently to ten."Have you seen the villa?" she said, at last.
"I have, Lady," said Burn, no humor in his tone."It's just as the Mayor said. Three standing walls, a huge old marble fountain, three stunted oaks in the yard."
"And?"
"And it looks more like an Elvish painting than a haunted house. No indications of persistent spell effects or incorporeal entities."
"I should be relieved," said Mallara.
"You should."
"I'm not. Are you?"
"Not in the least," said Burn."I've got a bad feeling about this, Mistress. I think yonder Mayor neglected to mention a few things when he hired you to Cleanse the place. His Honor and his toadies wouldn't be out strolling in the weeds unless they were expecting a show."
Mallara glared."If it's a show they want..."
"Save it for the spooks, Mistress," said Burn."We may need it." The shimmer darted closer and his voice fell to a whisper."If it'll make you feel better, though, there's a hornet's nest about thirty paces from the loudmouth with the telescope. I could give the bugs a jostle."
"No, Burn," said Mallara, sighing."You were right. We are professionals. Professionals don't waste their efforts sparring with imbeciles."
"As you wish," said Burn."Shall I scout ahead, perhaps have another look at the villa?"
"Good idea," said Mallara."Let's get this done." She stepped into the sunlight and squinted. Burn darted up into the wide blue sky and was gone in an instant.
Mallara had taken three steps when a chorus of faint screams and fainter thrashings erupted from behind the stand of poplars.
Burn sailed by, humming contentedly."I've learned some odd new words," he said."Perhaps you could tell me what they mean."
"Burn!"
"On my way," said the shimmer.
Mallara hid her grin behind a glare and marched out of the orchard. The deserted Maglin villa lay another two hour's hike away, and with it Mallara's first real test of her sorcerous skills -- a Cleansing. What was it Master Wesseven had always said about Cleansings? Ah, yes --"The first one is always the worst -- until, that is, it's time for the next one."
The old carriage track led into a shadowed thicket of pines. Mallara took a deep breath and marched into the darkness.
The lawn, once well-tended and flat, was a wild place of tall meadow-grass and wild rose-bushes. A wide stone walkway flanked by brilliant red-and-yellow fireflowers wandered through the yard, passing beneath a trio of dead, shadeless oaks and beside an empty, weed-choked fountain before vanishing amid the meadow-grass.
From the center of the lawn rose the Maglin house, its stones bleached and glaring like old bones weathered in a desert.
Only three crumbling, leaning walls, a shattered stump of a chimney, and a single ornate marble door-casing remained.
Mallara gazed out over the gently waving fireflowers and whispered a Word. The spell tangled in her fingers leaped away toward the villa like a bolt of silent, lazy lightning. The spell wandered among the ruins while strange shadows played in its wake.
Mallara spoke another word. The spell coiled upon itself, bobbed back to her, and settled in her hand, whispering.
When the spell fell silent, Mallara closed her hand, and the light faded and was gone.
"Well?" said Burn.
"Nothing," said Mallara."No signs of supernatural Presence. No lingering thaumaturgic charges. No arcane traces at all. They didn't even use kitchen magic. There was just a single wardstone, and that fell twenty years ago."
Burn blurred, darting to steer away a vampire-fly flapping toward Mallara's neck."No spooks," he said."No leftover kitchen magic slamming doors in the night. No wandering wizard careless with a trinket. What, then?"
Mallara shrugged and stretched. The sky was darkening, blues gone to reds and blue-blacks. A bloated sun loomed just over the black pines to the west; it would set soon, and Mallara would be alone, except for Burn.
Mallara shivered."Let's make camp," she said."The Mayor said the lights only show at night. Perhaps we'll see something then."
Burn harried another vampire-fly away."As you wish," he said."I'll check the old well again. Mind the pests, Mistress."
Burn vanished, scattering jay-birds as he flew.
Mallara closed her eyes, held her right hand palm-up beside her, and whispered a Word. A pinprick of light appeared, swelled, and became a transparent sphere as it enveloped the sorceress.
Mallara opened her eyes. A vampire-fly flapped toward her, met the edge of the barrier, and exploded with a small sharp pop.
"Got you," said Mallara, as she dropped her traveling pack to the ground. Mallara opened the pack, pulled a small cushion from within it, and sat cross-legged upon it.
It's time, she thought. I wonder if Master Wesseven was this frightened, when she Cleansed her first house?
Mallara unlocked the rest of her equipment with a Word and a wave. The pack billowed and then sagged as its contents emerged.
"Forty minutes until sunset," said the goblin-clock, as it settled into the grass before her.
"And then what?" asked Mallara. The clock ignored her, so she sat quietly and watched the shadows lengthen.
The sun sank. The breeze became a wind, a wind that smelled of rain and deep forest and far-off lightning. The forsaken lawn pitched and tossed, the flowers all but hidden among the greedy weeds.
The sun disappeared. Mallara arose and sent another pastel tangle of light into the yard. When it returned, she sent another. Both found shadows and windswept weeds and nothing else.
"Burn," said Mallara."Report."
Fat, cold drops of rain began to spatter against the stones of the old walkway. A low, steady hiss and sizzle began in the air above Mallara as the rain met her barrier and became steam.
"Burn?"
The rain turned suddenly fast and hard. A howling wind followed, crashing and booming through the black pines, nearly knocking Mallara over with the force of its blow.
Mallara shouted a Word, her fingers a blur. A fist-sized globe of daylight burst from her hand and rose to hang immobile above her. With another Word, the globe exploded, filling the wild lawn with a harsh, white glare that neither wind nor rain could dispel.
"Burn!"
The wind howled, as if enraged. Lightning leapt from oak to oak, until all three were smoldering, shattered hulks lying splint
ered in the fountain.
Mallara's barrier trailed gouts of steam that swirled in the wind like a tattered shroud. As she watched, shapes seemed to move through the racing fog -- hulking, man-sized shapes.
"I've seen thunderstorms before," said Mallara aloud."I am not impressed. Burn!"
The barrier rang like a struck bell. Mallara whirled, but saw only steam and whipping sheets of rain. The barrier pealed again, and again, repelling blows only a sorcerer -- or something equally powerful -- could inflict. Mallara kept turning in a slow, careful circle, a deadly Word half-formed on her lips, her hands bathed in pulsing tangles of cold, bright fire.
Blow after blow rang against the barrier, drowning out the thunder and sizzle of the rain. The barrier flashed, visible for an instant as a silver orb blotched by crimson, trailing sparks and glowing streamers with the steam.
Mallara closed her eyes, took a deep breath, and negated the killing spell. A different, softer Word restored the weakened barrier. The blows fell stronger and faster, frantic now, more desperate than furious.
Mallara kneeled, pulled an iron-shod staff from a black slit in the air, and began to sing, her voice low but steady. The staff grew hot in her grasp, then cold, then warm again, and it was done.
The blows stopped. Mallara sang no more; instead, she stood, leaned upon the staff, and peered out into the rain. Her ears rang, though, and it was a long time before she could hear the wind or the grumble of the thunder again.
When it spoke -- as Mallara knew it would -- the storm had dwindled to a tired, slow rain and the wind to a mere breeze that shuffled aimlessly through the wet meadow-grass.
"What have you done?" said a voice, in the darkness.
"I have sealed the well," said Mallara."There, you may not pass. You will remain here, with me -- until the sun rises."
Silence. Mallara waited while her claim was tested. I can only hope the well was its only pathway, she thought. If it has another way down to the dark, I am lost.
A high, thin wail came riding on the breeze. Mallara shivered at the sound of it and gripped her staff with both hands.