The Witches of Ne'arth (The Star Wizards Trilogy Book 2)

by Joseph Schembrie

  “It is the Land of the Trolls!” Carrot exclaimed. “And the Pandora of Britan resides there!”

  “Isn't that a little bit of a leap? Also, assuming there is a land filled with hairy giants and that they want to stay hidden, wouldn't it be much better to go there in force, than just the three of you? Krobart wants the airship, and he needs me to work on it, so I do have some influence with him. If you wait, I might be able to persuade him to send an armed escort along with you.”

  “Krobart will never consent to anything having to do with me,” she murmured with conviction.

  “How do you know that?”

  “He regards me as a rival. That is easy enough to tell.”

  “Still, if we ask for an escort, the worst he can do is turn you down.”

  “No, he can also attempt to stymie our plans by ordering me confined to base. Also, Matt, is an armed escort really a good idea for approaching the people of a strange land? What would you do if a small army came to the border of your land? Would you not feel threatened? No, Matt. It is safer that it should be only the three of us.”

  “At least, let's plan this thing. I can give you another partition – “

  “No.” Immediately, she retracted her hand from his forehead. “It is best that we leave as soon as possible, before anyone tries to stop us.”

  Matt pleaded while Carrot only became more insistent – if only because she knew that his pleading was wearing her down and she would give in before much longer. Finally, he sighed in resignation and they embraced and kissed in farewell. She didn't want to leave his arms, and both of them started to breathe heavily, and Carrot did not know what they might have done if she had not known that a mutant with superior senses was listening and scenting a few paces away.

  “I must go,” she said in a soft whisper. With a peck as the final kiss, she departed the supply hut without looking back. She said to Norian and Mirian, “Let's go.”

  They returned to the Oksiden Road and headed west. The sun beat on their back and ahead loomed a vista of mountain peaks already dusted with late-autumn snow. Carrot recalled the first time she had seen the mountains of the west, when she had climbed a tree to view a fireball that had scratched a finger of smoke across the sky.

  Father tells me that I have destiny, she thought. Yet there are no signs and prophecies about me.

  As the morning wore on, Mirian chatted to give competition to the chirping of the birds. She seemed to be winning. Whereas the birds exhausted their conversation with mating calls and territorial claims, Mirian's topical range seemed randomly infinite. Norian's contributions were largely limited to yes, no, and various grunts. Carrot nibbled in silence, barely listening, trying to visualize the aerial map but seeing Matt's face instead.

  With the coming of afternoon, they chose a clearing by the road and settled for lunch. As the combination of clear weather and steady exertion made them warm, they did not bother with a fire. Carrot shared Layal's cold roast while Norian poured childwine. Mirian was quiet while she ate. However, she ate very fast.

  “Carrot!” Mirian said. “Norian has explained to me, but I'm sure he got it wrong because what he said makes so little sense. Are we truly seeking 'The Box That Everything Came In?'”

  “It is the Box of myth and fable that we seek,” Carrot replied.

  Matt, she thought. It seemed every time their relationship went to a new level, they were forced apart. It isn't fair!

  “Then explain what I've wondered since I first heard the tale as a child. How can all the plants and animals of the world have fit inside a chest one meter by half and half?”

  “DNA,” Carrot replied.

  Well, it was her choice to rush on this journey. It could have waited a couple more days. They had been waiting all summer to act, a couple more days would have made no –

  “Dee-enna,” Norian supplemented. “You see, Mirian, the Box did not carry from Aereoth the plants and animals themselves. Rather only their dee-enna, which are invisibly tiny snakes that – “

  “Norian!” Mirian sighed. “I don't want to hear from you again about the tiny snakes. I want the girlfriend of the Wizard to explain in the Wizard's own words.”

  We need to get this silly quest over, Carrot decided. Then she and Matt would have time to work out their feelings toward one another . . . .

  “Perhaps your questions can wait, Mirian,” Norian said. “Carrot seems preoccupied.”

  “Hmm, I wonder by what. Norian, being led by a child is never wise, and we're being led by one who is lovesick.”

  “She is quite practical in tactic and strategy. You'll see.”

  Matt, Matt, Matt . . . .

  By late afternoon, they reached the turn north, abandoning the Oksiden Road for the dirt path seen on satellite telemetry. There Carrot encountered a revelation that had been concealed from the Wizard's eye in the sky. Beneath the dirt and weeds were fragments of pavement.

  “This path was once a true road,” Carrot said.

  “Yes,” Mirian said. “According to the very aged, the Kaden Road was once as well-built and well-traveled as the Oksiden Road.”

  “It appears to have fallen into disrepair,” Carrot said.

  “More than that,” Mirian replied. “It was destroyed. Broken by heavy stones dropped from high platforms mounted on carts. You can see the results. They were quite thorough.”

  “Who were these 'they?'”

  “Many of those who live along the road. Some in our village helped, and no one stopped them.”

  “Why would anyone destroy a perfectly good road?”

  “All of us who live along the road have no reason to ask why. We see that with each year, more and more people come from the east, some to trade and visit, many to stay and settle. We know in time they will outnumber us, and attempt to take our lands from us.”

  “That seems excessively fearful.”

  “Does it? Norian says that you are from the other side of the Dark Forest. Who do the farms there belong to now? A certain people from the east, I've heard.”

  Carrot decided to change the subject. “You say that the road was called 'Kaden?'”

  “Yes. Have you heard the name?”

  “I have not.” Still, Carrot had a feeling that she had, somehow.

  As was the intent of the road destroyers, foot traffic indeed fell off as they continued north. The lack of traffic was likely enhanced by the weather, which worsened as afternoon came. An overcast blanketed the sky, chilling the air, and the position of the sun became indefinite, though the diminished light told that evening was coming.

  As droplets started to fall, they spotted strands of smoke in the distance that proved from an inn. Their funds were low but as the drizzle intensified, they voted to go inside and have dinner.

  Their cloaks dried by the fire and they ate from the buffet and seated at a corner table. Norian and Carrot got into a conversation about catapults. Norian became excited when Carrot told him about the rocketry that Archimedes had developed.

  They heard the heavy patter of raindrops upon the rafters and voted to stay until morning. Norian went to speak with the innkeeper while Mirian silently poked at her food.

  Then she announced, “He's no good with money, I'll rescue him before he negotiates our life savings.”

  Carrot was by herself. Not for long. A man sitting alone at another table nodded at her and raised his mug in toast. She smiled back. He came over and sat down.

  “''Ulla,” he slurred.

  “Hello,” Carrot said, forcing a smile.

  “Quite, koooo-wite . . . comely.” He pointed a wobbling finger. “You are.”

  She held her breath from the reek of his. “Well, thank you.”

  Norian and Mirian returned. Mirian asked Carrot, “Who's your little friend?”

  Carrot instantly realized from Mirian's smirk that she had blundered. This conviction was intensified as the man draped a hand across Carrot's shoulder, while sweeping his eyes over Mirian's form.


  “I think you'd best leave,” Norian said stonily. He touched his hilt.

  The man stared, then grumbled and staggered off.

  Mirian eyed Carrot. “I suppose you thought that when I said you were 'uptight,' I meant you should throw yourself at every man you meet.”

  Carrot dropped her jaw. No words came out.

  “Mirian,” Norian said quietly.

  Mirian held her tongue and they went to lodging.

  It was dry and clear in the morning. They resumed their trek along the north road, with few obstacles other than puddles. They were, however, big puddles, and in places the road was impassable without having to traipse through muck. One did not appreciate a paved road, Carrot thought, until one had to do without it.

  Later in morning, Mirian's spirited conversation of the day before grew quiet, and her expression became somber. Over a rise they glimpsed a village tucked within a copse of trees, and Norian's expression became as solemn as that of his wife.

  “Is there something about that place?” Carrot asked. “Do you sense danger?”

  “More of a dread,” Norian replied. “Mirian, do you want to stop? I mean, of course you don't want, but – should we?”

  Mirian murmured, “I suppose we should.”

  They diverted from the main trail and followed the winding, narrow path that led to the village. As the travelers neared, people emerged from the huts. They were all slender, light-haired, blue-eyed – and pointed-eared.

  A middle-aged woman came forward, unsmiling. Mirian stared at the ground.

  “So, you've returned,” the woman said.

  “Hello, Mother,” Mirian replied.

  “I see you've brought human friends.”

  Children stared open-eyed and clutched their parents. Their parents pushed them behind.

  Mirian gestured. “You know Norian.”

  “Norian.” The woman bowed, only slightly.

  “Hinela,” Norian said, bowing deeply.

  “This is Carrot.” Mirian flopped an arm.

  Cold eyes set upon Carrot. “What a strange name for a person.”

  “She fought with me in the Battle of the Dark Forest,” Norian said.

  “We've no use for battles here.” Hinela glanced at her daughter. “I will speak to Mirian privately.”

  All but pinching Mirian's arm, Hinela dragged her away. They spoke so low that Carrot's hearing could pick only a few words. The tone in Hinela's voice was clear enough.

  “You bring them into our village . . . what would your father say . . . your sister has to do all the chores . . . disgrace to our family . . . no intention of settling down . . . you never visit, and now this . . . .”

  Mirian's part of the conversation was to mutter, “Yes, Mother,” and “Mother, I – “

  Norian whispered to Carrot, “I didn't mention that you were the one who led us in the battle, for I didn't think she would believe me and that would only make matters worse.”

  “I took no offense.” Carrot didn't think that Hinela would have been impressed anyway.

  A spiritually-dampened Mirian shuffled in return. “She has offered hospitality.”

  Norian replied, “We've no need of hours of silence and glares over food intentionally miscooked.”

  “I agree, Norian, but what do I say?”

  “Tell her that as your husband, I insist we must be on our way and have given you no choice.”

  Mirian mouthed silently, “Thank you,” and went to 'reluctantly' inform her mother.

  They returned to the road and for several kilometers Mirian trudged in silence. Eventually Norian's prodding revived her and she was as talkative as before.

  By mid-afternoon, the trail came to a fork. Mirian stood before them, placed her arms akimbo and declared:

  “According to lore, to the east is the village of the Little People. West is said to be the village of the Big People. Who votes east?”

  Three hands went up. They headed east and descended into a vale. A single wisp of smoke betrayed the village. Mirian and Carrot both located the trail by the smell of the previous passing of many bodies. They saw no persons at first.

  They entered a clearing. There were several huts arranged in a circle. They had broken roofs, moldy sides, vacant interiors, bushes and trees growing alongside and even within. No sign of people, not even smoke from cooking fires.

  “These homes are normal sized,” Norian said. “Yet where are – “

  Mirian shoved Norian. Carrot heard a phfft and an arrow streaked through the clearing. The pair took concealment behind a tree. Carrot lept after.

  Thunk. Thunk thunk. Thunkity thunk thunk!

  A rain of arrows carpeted the grass. Carrot searched the gloom beneath the trees on the other side of the clearing. She saw no one, she smelled many.

  Thunk. Thunk thunk thunk.

  The arrows came in waves, like a hard rain. Mirian notched her bow and Carrot drew her sword, realizing as she did how useless it would be against the invisible.

  Mirian contemplated an arrow embedded in the grass nearby. She leaned out of cover, snatched and examined it. “I haven't used one this size since I was a child.”

  “Can it harm?” Norian asked.

  Mirian tapped the tip. “I detect no poison. It will only prick and annoy. Still, masses can kill. And today we have masses.” She surveyed the arrow-littered grass, then squinted at the trees; whatever she saw, Carrot did not. “They're encircling. We must retreat or be trapped.”

  “We didn't come to run away,” Carrot replied.

  She faced the far side of the clearing and shouted: “We wish to speak to you in peace!”

  A high-pitched voice cried: “Go away! We don't want your kind!”

  “We must speak!” Carrot shouted. “It is a matter of greatest importance to all the peoples of this land!”

  Mirian snorted. “You have such a lofty way of saying things! I'm sure they're impressed!”

  Carrot hesitated only a moment. She dropped her sword, raised her hands, and stepped from cover.

  After some sidestepping, the arrows stopped, and Carrot spoke again.

  “My name is Arcadia of Umbrick, and I come in peace! I wish only to talk!”

  A single arrow responded, but that was that. For a long time there was silence, save for Mirian's quiet sing-song cursing. Carrot saw no movement amid the shade, heard no rustle among the brush.

  Finally, the same voice cried: “What did you say your name is?”

  “Arcadia of Umbrick.”

  “By chance, do you go by another name?”

  “I am also known as Carrot. You can call me that.”

  The silence prolonged, and then the leaves parted. A man stepped into the clearing. He was perfectly proportioned, but stood no higher than her hips. If not for an ample beard, he might have been mistaken for a child.

  He gazed up at her from a gap greater than that between herself and her father, and said, “Are you the 'Carrot' who is the queen who fought the Romans in the Forest of Darkness?”

  Carrot glanced sidewise, following his gaze. Yes, the strands were orange, and perhaps for once it was a good thing. “I am named Carrot and I have fought the Romans.”

  The man turned to the woods, waited quietly. Then he turned back to Carrot.

  “You may come. By yourself.”

  Carrot answered Norian's alarmed look with a nod.

  The man slipped effortlessly through the woods, while Carrot had to stoop and slide sideways to avoid the sharpened branch tips. Soon they arrived in another clearing, which like the first was ringed by huts. These huts were in good repair and full of life, and their peaked roofs came no higher than Carrot's chin.

  The villagers emerged and surrounded her. None of them came higher than her chest. All the adults, men and women alike, carried bows and full quivers. Their knives were no more than paring knives, but there were a lot of them. Carrot had one certain thought: No sudden movements.

  The crowd parted. An old man with a bare pa
te and a flowing white beard hobbled on a walking stick. He fumbled with his spectacles. Silently he circled Carrot. She stood still and waited. Finally he stopped and squinted up – a long way up – at her face.

  “I am called Erto,” the old man said. “I am the village wise man. Or so they say to my face.”

  Carrot bowed. “I am called Carrot. I am a traveler from the East and seek only knowledge.”

  “You say you are the Queen of the Dark Forest.”

  “Others say that I am a queen, but I do not.”

  “They also say the Queen is very strong.” Erto indicated a boulder. “Can you lift that?”

  This seems familiar, Carrot mused. Slowly, she went over and lifted.

  Erto pointed near a stump and said, “I've often thought it would be most useful over there.”

  Carrot lugged over the boulder and dropped it into place. He motioned for her to sit on the boulder. He in turn climbed upon the stump and sat there. It gave him a slight advantage in height.

  “Ahhh,” Erto said, rubbing his neck. Then he smiled half-toothily. “Might you tell of your battle against the Romans, my good young lady?”

  Falteringly at first, Carrot described the Battle of the Dark Forest. As he listened, Ertos produced a long-stem pipe which he lit and puffed, completing the resemblance to a miniature, balding version of Archimedes. The rest of her audience was wide-eyed, open-mouthed, and rapt. She supposed that being as secluded as they were, their nightly village storytellings were not being refreshed by travelers and had grown stale. Any story would have fascinated, while hers seemed to be the one they had been yearning most to hear.

  She concluded: “. . . So you see, there wasn't much to it. We set a trap, and they walked into it.”

  “Amazing!” the old man exclaimed. “All the planning! The strategy! The training! Therein is brilliance!”

  The others made approving comments, then burst into applause. Carrot warmed to them. Here were warriors who appreciated the technique of the ambush, that retreat was not cowardice but a tactic.

  “I speak for everyone,” the old man said, “when I say that we appreciate your unaffected manner. Truly your graciousness speaks of the royalty in your blood, Queen Carrot.”

  “I'm not really a queen, though. That is simply a myth that has gained currency.“