A Meddle of Wizards

by Alexandra Rushe

  “Oh, that’s easy. I’d wish for chocolate.” Raine’s pronouncement was met with silence. “Oh, come on,” she said, looking around at them. “I can’t be the only one who likes chocolate.”

  “Dunno if I like it or not,” said Keron. “Ain’t never heard of it.”

  “Never heard of—” Raine shook her head. “It’s one of my favorite things, but I suppose we’ll have to make do with dates.”

  “Ew.” Hazla wrinkled her nose. “Dates are squishy. They look like dead bugs.”

  “I like ’em,” Keron said. “I’ll eat yours.”

  “No, you won’t. I’m giving Fee my share.”

  Keron’s face reddened. “That ain’t fair. You don’t like ’em, you got no say-so.”

  “Goodness gracious, stop squabbling,” Raine said. “There’s plenty to go around.”

  As she spoke, she rummaged in the cloth sack. Instead of the tin of dried fruit, her fingers brushed against something large and flat, a package that crackled at her touch. Curious, she worried the parcel out of the sack.

  “What the—” she murmured in surprise.

  “Move. I wanna see.” Hazla shoved the younger children out of the way to get a better look.

  “I don’t understand.” Raine stared at the chocolate bar in her hand. It was big as a house shingle, and wrapped in slick brown paper and shiny foil. “Where did this come from?”

  Keron peered around Hazla. “What is it?”

  “Chocolate,” Raine said, shaking her head in stunned amazement. “Sit down children. You’re in for a treat.”

  The children complied, watching as Raine slowly peeled back the paper and silver foil. “Mmm,” she said, breathing in the lovely, rich smell of milk chocolate.

  She broke two-thirds of the big bar into equal pieces, distributed the candy to the children, and popped a section into her mouth. Closing her eyes, she let the satiny confection melt on her tongue in a gooey, sweet swirl.

  She opened her eyes to find the children watching her. They sat, unmoving, the chocolate untouched in their hands.

  “Try it,” Raine said. “It’s okay, I promise.”

  Chaz was the first to move. He shoved his piece of candy in his mouth. “’S good,” he said as he chewed.

  Keron, not to be outdone by the baby among them, consumed his share in three bites. Fenola approached her portion with more caution, nibbling delicately at one corner of the candy. Hazla stuck half her piece in her mouth, her eyes widening as the chocolate dissolved. Rosy and Polla eyed their ringleader. When they saw Hazla’s peevish expression soften into pleasure, they attacked their candy with gusto.

  Chaz sucked the last bit of melted brown goo off his fingers. “I like chocolate.”

  “Me too,” Rosy chimed in. “Is there any left?”

  “A little. You can have it later.” Raine rose. “Right now, it’s time for a wash.”

  Ignoring their whining, Raine led the sticky children to the river, then settled them down for a nap.

  Seating herself beneath a tree, Raine closed her eyes. She was drifting into a doze when Mauric trotted up and dropped to the ground beside her.

  “The little ones have eaten?” he asked, fishing the tin of dates from the pack.

  “Yes. We had candy for dessert.”

  He chuckled. “Of course, you did. Just the thing for tykes before they go riding on a giant.” He looked around. “Where’s Gertie?”

  “Doing birdie things, I reckon,” Tiny said. The giant was reclining between two saplings he’d tied together. “You be in fine fettle, warrior. Ran all that way, and ain’t even winded.”

  “It wasn’t a bad little run.” Mauric yawned and folded his arms behind his head. “Wake me up when it’s time to go.”

  They set out again an hour later, but not for long. The children began to complain before Tiny had taken more than a few steps, and they were forced to halt.

  “I don’t understand,” he said, gazing at the young ones in concern. “They be fine this morning. Nary a sign o’ giant-itis.”

  “It’s not your fault, Tiny,” Raine assured him, taking Polla in her arms. “It was something they ate.”

  Something she’d given them, Raine thought with a rush of guilt. The children were miserable with the exception of little Chaz, who seemed just fine.

  They set out again, but the children’s distress slowed their progress, and by late afternoon the youngsters and Raine were exhausted.

  “Almost there, mablets,” Tiny said with forced cheer. “Just a little while longer.”

  He took a few more shambling steps and stopped. The world shifted and settled into place, and they stood on a sliver of sandy beach.

  “The Big Shara,” Tiny announced.

  The wide expanse of brown water sliced through the rumpled golden hills of Durngaria. Compared to the main stem, the Little Shara they’d been following was little more than a creek. Vegetation was sparse, but scrub and mesquite clung to the slopes and desert mallow nodded in the hollows.

  Keron groaned. “My tummy hurts.”

  “Mine, too,” said Polla, clutching her belly.

  “The little ’uns be done in, Rainey,” said Tiny.

  “You’re right,” Raine said. “We’ll stop here for the night.”

  She was helping the miserable children climb down from the giant when Mauric loped up, his handsome face flushed.

  “Everything all right?” he asked.

  “No,” said Raine. “The children are sick.”

  A ball of red feathers dropped from the sky. Resuming her troll form, Gertie stomped up. “Why have you stopped? It’s two hours until sunset.”

  “It’s the children,” Raine began. “I’m afraid they’re—”

  “It be my fault,” Tiny blurted. His face crumpled and he burst into tears. “I done made the mablets sick.”

  “No, no, Tiny.” Raine patted the giant on the foot. “This is my doing. I gave the children candy.”

  “You did?” Tiny lowered his hands to gaze at Raine in shock. “Where in thunder’d you get candy?”

  “It was in the pack.” Raine swallowed. “The children and I were playing a wishing game, and naming our favorite foods. I wished for chocolate and . . .” She shrugged.

  “Chopped what?” Gertie asked.

  “Chocolate,” Raine said, twisting her hands. “It was inside the pack, and I shared it with the children. They liked it.”

  “Shared it?” Gertie’s tone was sharp. “You ate some, too?”

  “Yes, but I gave most of it to the children. I had no idea it would make them sick.”

  “Hmm,” said Gertie. “Any left?”

  “A little.”

  “Let me see it.”

  Raine found the wadded-up chocolate wrapper inside the pack and gave it to the troll. Gertie shook the paper, and the last of the chocolate tumbled into her paw. Lifting the candy to her nose, she inhaled.

  “A strange taste, but good,” she said, taking an experimental bite. She narrowed her yellow eyes at Raine. “Let me get this straight. You wished for chop-lit, and it magically appeared. And you didn’t think that the least bit strange?”

  Raine felt the blood drain from her face. “You’re right. Of course, you’re right. You think Glonoff put it there, don’t you? Dear Lord, I’ve poisoned the children.”

  “Calm down.” Gertie carefully folded the tin foil up and put it in her medicine bag. “Glonoff didn’t do this. You did. Happens sometimes with an untrained adept. A subconscious longing manifests itself and poof—you’ve got chop-lit. With a little training, you’ll soon learn to control these urges.”

  “You think I . . . that I—” Raine had a sudden vision of the Golden Arches glowing on the riverbank, and giggled. “Gosh, I guess it’s a good thing I didn’t crave a hamburger.”

  �
�A ham what?” Gertie scowled. “Stop talking nonsense, girl.”

  Mauric grinned up at the giant. “Hear that? Told you Raine’s a wizard.”

  “I don’t be surprised,” Tiny said. “First time I laid m’ peepers on our Rainey, I knowed she be sumpin’ special.”

  “Oh, you did, did you?” The hair on Gertie’s neck bristled. “You’re a regular oracle, aren’t you? You should set up shop. Call yourself ‘Bartog the Baffling’ or ‘Old Weird Tiny,’ and start telling fortunes.”

  “Me, an auger?” Tiny chuckled. “Don’t be a looby, Gertie. But seeing as how you be so grumpy, I thinks I’ll mosey upriver a-ways and nose around Haroun.”

  He strode off down the bank.

  “I am not grumpy,” Gertie called after him. “And you have no business going to Haroun.”

  Tiny waved his hand and disappeared.

  “What’s a Haroun?” Raine asked.

  “A fishing village at the junction of the Big and Little,” Gertie said. “We passed it a few leagues back. Haroun’s small, but it stays a-bustle, what with river travelers, the barges and the fishing boats.”

  “Are you worried Tiny will get caught?”

  “Nah.” Gertie shrugged. “Odds are, Tiny will stand outside the village and eavesdrop. Giants have acute hearing. They can listen to a conversation half a league away.”

  “Oh.” Raine digested this. “I want to go to Haroun, too. I want a bath.”

  Gertie shook her head. “It’s too risky. Shad Amaran gold flows freely up and down the river, and Hara’s likeness is stamped on every coin.”

  “I’m not Hara.”

  “No, but you’re her twin.”

  “Maybe, but that doesn’t mean we look alike,” Raine argued. “And I want a bath.”

  “You can soak until you prune when we reach Gambollia. Until then, it’s the river or nothing.”

  “The river? No, thank you. Besides, I need clothes. I’m tired of running around in a blanket.”

  “We’ll buy you new clothes in the Great Market.” Gertie crossed her claws. “Triple troll-swear.”

  Raine lapsed into sullen silence. Arms folded, she watched Mauric dig a hole for their fire.

  “Don’t sulk, Raine. My mind’s made up,” Gertie said, observing her foul mood. “Be a good girl and fetch my medicine bag.”

  Raine obeyed and Gertie brewed a tea of lavender and marjoram to soothe the children’s bellyaches. When the liquid had cooled, Raine set aside her disappointment and helped Gertie administer the medicine.

  Keron took a sip and made a face. “Tastes like swamp water.”

  “I’ll take your word for it,” Gertie said, making the boy swallow another sip. “Next time, little piggy, think twice before you eat so many sweets.”

  The tea worked, and the children fell into exhausted sleep. The rest of their company sat by the fire, finishing off the last of Tiny’s supplies.

  “Tomorrow, we’ll have fish for breakfast,” Gertie announced.

  “Fish from Haroun?” Raine asked, brightening.

  “Buy fish?” Gertie stared at her in astonishment. “Not so long as I’ve the claws to catch them.”

  Night closed its dusky curtains around them and, in the distance, Raine saw the faint glow of lights.

  In the village, there would be rooms to let and hot water. But not for her. Oh, no. She got the river. Dark, swirling water closing around her, tugging at her, pulling her down . . . .

  Enough. She would conquer this phobia.

  She rose and stepped to the edge of the firelight. Outside their cozy circle, the dark pressed around the camp. “I’m going to the river to bathe.”

  “Good girl,” Gertie said as she walked away. “Be sure and stick to the shallows. There are things in the river besides fish.”

  Raine halted. “That’s not helping, you know.”

  The troll appeared at her elbow, startling her.

  “You forgot this.” Gertie opened her paw, revealing a bar of soap. “It was in my pouch.”

  Raine snatched the bar away from the troll. “Don’t sneak up on people. It’s creepy.”

  Whirling, she stomped to the water’s edge and sat down in the sand to pull off her boots. The moons slid behind the clouds, and she stripped out of her clothes. Gritting her teeth, she took a fortifying breath and waded into the river. The water was icy. Staying in the shallows—why, oh why, had Gertie felt it necessary to mention that there were things in the water?—she quickly lathered and rinsed. She slipped back into her pajamas—no easy task when they clung to her damp skin—and donned the poncho and Mauric’s borrowed cloak. Teeth chattering, she trudged back to the fire, angry at the troll and angrier at herself.

  “Enjoy your bath?” Mauric asked.

  Raine gave him a scathing look and turned her back to the blaze.

  “Whoosh,” he said, raising his brows at Gertie. “What ails the princess?”

  “The princess feels put upon. The water is cold.”

  “Cold? The river’s not even frozen.”

  “Good. Pay it a visit. You’re fragrant.”

  Mauric rose and trudged into the darkness, leaving Raine and Gertie by the fire. They sat without speaking. The burning logs popped and crackled. Crickets and tree frogs chirruped and croaked in the bushes. Down by the river, Mauric was splashing and singing.

  As the silence lengthened, Raine felt smaller and smaller. “Sorry about the creepy comment,” she mumbled, when she could bear it no longer.

  “I am what I am, and I can’t help it.”

  “I know. I’m sorry.”

  Gertie reached over and mussed Raine’s hair with her paw. “No need to fratch, pet. The creepy old troll forgives you.”

  Chapter 21

  A Parting of Ways

  Early the next morning, Tiny was back.

  “How’d you find Haroun?” Gertie asked.

  The giant wrinkled his noble nose. “Smelly. Full of fish and men.” Pausing for effect, he bent at the waist, adding, “And spies.”

  “Spies?” Gertie’s tone sharpened. “Shads?”

  Tiny nodded. “Two of ’em. I heard ’em talking in an ale house. They be whispering, o’ course, but with these ears o’ mine that don’t matter. They be asking about Raine. They gots a reward posted and ever’thin.’ They pockets be full o’ the ready and they describes her real good. ‘A skinny Hara, they says, dressed in fur boots and a woolen cape.’ Best avoid Haroun, if you can.”

  “Glonoff knows, and no denying.” Gertie looked troubled. “I don’t know how he knows, but he knows.”

  Mauric fingered his knife. “Give me an hour. I’ll visit Haroun and deal with these spies.”

  “No. Dead bodies cause talk.” Gertie lapsed into deep thought. After a moment, she sighed. “Nothing to do but move forward as planned. I’m hungry. Let’s go fishing.”

  Shucking off his sandals, Tiny hiked up his kilt and waded into the river. In no time at all, he’d scared up a school of fish. He herded them into the shallows where Gertie and Mauric waited. The troll and the warrior worked as a team. Gertie speared the fish with her claws and tossed them to Mauric, who threw them ashore. Raine and the children ran to catch them before they flopped back into the water. In a matter of minutes, more than a hundred striped fish wriggled on the riverbank.

  Mauric showed Raine how to clean the fish with a mussel shell he found on the beach. He used his knife and Gertie used her claws. The troll was lightning fast and, in no time at all, a pile of fish lay ready to cook. They wrapped their catch in leaves, sprinkled the fillets with salt and herbs from Gertie’s bag, and placed them in the fire. Soon, the little camp was filled with the tantalizing aroma of roasting fish.

  Their haul was plentiful, and they had to cook it in batches. Hot off the coals, the fish was flaky and white. They ate until they were stuffed
, even Tiny.

  “I weren’t nibblesome,” Tiny admitted after he consumed fifty or so fish, “but I had to have a wee taste.”

  “Delicious,” Raine said. She rolled up her fish bones in a leaf and tossed them aside. “And no dishes. Come, children. Let’s wash our hands.”

  “Again?” Keron groaned. “I never knowed a body so fond of washing.”

  Raine led the grumbling youngsters down to the water. The first hint of sunrise tinged the eastern shore, and the river was draped in a gray shroud of fog. The water was icy, and the children whined and complained.

  “All right, all right. I give up,” Raine said, throwing up her hands in defeat. “Off with you. Back to camp.”

  The children whooped and bolted for the warmth of the fire, but Raine lingered behind. Draped in silver mist, the river was peaceful and not nearly as frightening in the early morning light. Something splashed—a fish, perhaps—and Raine peered into the fog. Shapes moved in the gloom, indistinct and distorted by the haze. The gauzy vapor parted and three boats glided, ghostlike, into view. The crafts were shallow, with spindly leg-like extensions on either side for balance. They reminded Raine of huge bugs, skimming along the surface. There were men in the boats—a dozen or more—rough-looking customers with weapons.

  Raine stumbled away from the riverbank and hurried back to camp.

  “We’ll stay here today and maybe tomorrow waiting for the children’s parents, but no more,” Gertie was saying as Raine ran up. “If they don’t show up, we’ll have to decide whether to take the tadlings with us. Personally, I think it makes more sense to leave them in Haroun.”

  “Men,” Raine panted, pointing upriver. “In boats.”

  Mauric drew his sword, and Gertie vanished.

  “Come ’ere, you squirts,” Tiny said, herding the children behind him.

  The skimmers glided into the shallows. “You in the camp,” a man said. “We need to talk.”

  “Show yourselves, then,” Mauric answered. The warrior’s jaw was set, and all sign of his lazy good humor was gone. “We don’t talk to men who skulk in the shadows.”

  “Leash your troll. We’ve no wish to have our throats torn out.”