“Well, I don't have any swords,” the voice said, clearly frightened.
“Alright then,” he said. “I'm sorry to have bothered ya.”
Having said this he turned to leave.
“One moment,” the voice said. “Are you alone?”
“Yes ma'am,” the young man replied, feeling his answer was well within the realm of truth stretching.
“Can you step in front of the keyhole?”
“I could,” he replied. “But why would you want me to?”
“I want to see you,” she said. “This swamp is a dangerous place, you know. I'm not going to open the door to just anyone.”
“I understand that,” he replied, moving to stand a few feet in front of the rather large keyhole. “But there's no need if you don't have the sword.”
“Well I don't,” she replied. “But my great, great, great, great, I actually forget how many greats, grand-mother might. She keeps a lot of stuff packed up in this place.”
“I got ya,” he nodded. “Well, if she did have it that would be cool. If she's willing to give it to me that is.”
“If she's got it I'll be glad to give it to you,” she replied. “In fact, I can think of a few things I wouldn't mind giving you. You're rather handsome aren't you?”
As soon as she finished speaking the door swung slowly open. There before the young man stood a rather scantily clothed and exceptionally beautiful young woman. Although her skin was completely green, Paul still felt she was a nine at least. He also realized that Joey was right and that the office goddess was only an eight and a half at best. The young lady had a charming smile on her face and stared directly into his eye for several seconds before speaking.
“Won't you come in?” she asked.
“Um, well...” he replied slowly, “Is Grand Mama home?”
“Oh no,” she giggled. “She's gone hunting and won't be back for days and days. And more importantly: nights and nights.”
“Well that might actually be for the best.”
“Oh I agree,” she smiled broadly. “Our being alone could unquestionably be best.”
She put a great deal of emphasis on the word best and Paul began to suspect that she might be thinking about possibly coming on to him at some point in the near future. Of course, he'd been wrong about that before.
“Are you coming in or not?” she asked, running her hand down his chest.
“I think I'd better,” he nodded.
“Good,” she replied, taking him by the hand. “I was hoping you would.”
She instantly led him into the rather roomy, and very filthy, interior of the humble hovel. There were several pieces of wooden furniture that age and use had stained completely black. The floor was covered with dried mud here and seemingly ancient dust there, and the entire structure seemed filled with the scent of rotting meat. A giant caldron hung from a chain beneath the fireplace that the young man felt looked disconcertingly Paul Sized.
“I know what you're thinking,” the young lady said, glancing around the room, embarrassment filling her eyes. “You get used to it. And this is how Grandma likes it. I hope it doesn't reflect poorly on me?”
“Oh no!” Paul said. “Not at all. My Mom's kinda weird about the way she keeps her house too. Of course, she keeps it crazy clean. Either way, I think it might be best if I just grabbed the sword and headed out, you know.”
“I see,” she sighed, clearly disappointed. “I was rather hoping to have your company for dinner.”
“Dinner?!?!” the young man exclaimed.
“That's what I was thinking,” she replied, a pleasant smile on her soft green lips. “Of course, if you'd prefer to enjoy my company in some other way I'd love to hear all about it.”
Paul swallowed. That almost had to be a come on...
“I'll tell you what,” he said, “let's find the sword and then we can talk about dinner. I just don't want to be here when Grandma shows up.”
“I can understand that,” the young woman giggled again, before stepping across the room and pulling back a skin hanging from the wall that concealed another heavy wooden door.
“If it's here, it's in there,” she asserted. “That's where she keeps all her junk.”
“Can we take a look?”
“Absolutely,” she replied, grabbing a key from a nearby cubbyhole before turning the rusted lock.
She pushed the door open and waved her hand in invitation.
“See what you can find,” she said. “You can take it all as far as I'm concerned. Oh, and what would you like to eat?”
“I don't know,” he replied, stepping into the truly junk-filled room. “What have you got?”
“Paul Stevens,” she laughed, slamming the door behind him.
Before he even had time to grab the handle the door was once again locked; the air filled with the cackle of a harsh, and ancient, female voice.
“Let me out!” he yelled, basically positive that doing so was pointless.
“Oh I will,” she laughed. “Just give me twenty minutes to get the water boiling.”
He bent down and peered through the keyhole. There, near the fireplace, stood what Paul supposed was the hag. Her green skin appeared leathery and ancient and was covered in black, hair sprouting moles. Her nose, which he could clearly make out even across the room was long and hooked, and her mouth was filled with extremely sharp and yellow teeth. She raised her hands above the caldron and intoned a series of nonsensical words. Instantly the wood stacked beneath it burst into flame.
“What happened to your grand-daughter?” he asked through the keyhole.
“I never had children,” she explained.
“But...”
“That was me, you fool,” she replied with a wicked smile.
“Well... Can you actually get that much water to boil in twenty minutes?” he asked.
“I can,” she cackled. “I use magic.”
“Don't you think you should give it like an hour?” he suggested. “You know, to make sure it's good and hot before you dunk me in it.”
“It'll be hot enough,” she replied. “And besides I'll kill you before I drop you in. There's no need for you to suffer. After all, you did bring me dinner. I'm cruel, but fair.”
“That's good to know,” he replied glancing frantically around the room.
The hag had told him the truth about one thing: the chamber was almost stacked to the ceiling with piles of miscellaneous garbage.
“Think Paul,” the young man said softly to himself, doing his best to get his pulse back under some kind of control. “You probably ain't going to be able to keep her talking for an hour, so you got to think, man! Okay! D&D time! The hag's got you trapped in her shack and your friends don't know she's about to eat you. What do you do? Is there anything in the room I can use?”
Having said this he started digging through the piles and piles of piles and piles. One useless object after another was picked up only to be discarded again in fractions of a second. Under normal circumstances the hag's collection of swag would have been a real find. However, at the moment, small chests of gold, bags filled with jewels, and a diamond studded tiara weren't particularly valuable. As he sank his arm into one of the heaps something vaguely familiar touched his hand. It was a scabbard.
“You find a sword!” he said excitedly, but in very hushed tones, before drawing the blade from its sheath.
In spite of the state of decay that seemed to fill the chamber the sword was in ideal condition, its blade shining in the little light that broke its way into the chamber, perfect and polished.
“You find a magic sword!” he whispered. “Well I chop through... No wait! First, I cram a piece of cloth in the keyhole so the hag can't see me.”
Immediately he put his words into action filling the keyhole with a piece of decaying cloth.
“Then I hack my way through the wall,” he said, drawing the sword back and chopping into the exterior wall.
“Struggle all you like, my
dear,” the hag yelled. “It'll do you no good, but it will make you taste better.”
“Right,” he yelled back. “I'm gonna try to work up a real lather if that's alright.”
“By all means!”
Immediately he slashed at the wall again. To his own amazement and joy, the sword cut through wood and stone alike. The damage wasn't massive, but Paul felt certain that good, honest work could make an escape route in less than twenty minutes.
“I about to really go to town,” he cried.
“Carry on,” she replied.
The young man threw everything he had against the wall, chopping away as if his life depended on it. Which, of course, it did. After roughly fifteen minutes he had a hole in the wall he could just squeeze through.
“I'm a little tired,” he yelled.
“Understandably.”
“Could you give me like five minutes for silent prayer?”
“Of course,” she replied. “Like I told you: I'm cruel, but fair.”
“Thanks!” he said. “And I'm going to stay silent no matter what. I don't even plan to answer ya if you call me.”
“Okay.”
“So, just give me like five minutes and then come in and kill me.”
“Alright.”
“And try to take me by surprise. I don't want to see it coming.”
“I'll try.”
Having explained his impending silence to the hag, the young man squirmed through the hole before reaching back into the shack to grab the sword. He then flew to his waiting companions as quickly as his legs would carry him.
“Got it,” he said, triumphantly raising the blade and panting for breath.
“Let me see!” Alena said, her voice filled with shock.
Instantly she drew the sword from its scabbard.
“That's it!” Sarrac exclaimed. “No question! Did she give it to you?”
“Not exactly,” Paul replied shaking his head.
“Did you take it from her?” Alena asked.
“Not exactly,” Paul replied shaking his head.
“Wait,” she said, her eyes locked on his. “Did you or did you not take it from her hands?”
“Metaphorically,” the young man nodded.
“So you didn't?”
“No...” he said slowly.
“You've ruined the prophecy, you idiot!” she almost yelled.
“Well I didn't exactly have a choice, you cow!” Paul replied defensively.
“The prophecy may have been speaking metaphorically,” Sarrac pointed out.
“Maybe,” Alena admitted. “But if he gets killed, I'm taking it back to her.”
“Fair enough,” Sarrac nodded.
“Paul!” the voice of the hag echoed through the surrounding landscape. “Where did you go, Paul? And why did you hack a hole in my wall? And how?!?!”
“We need to go!” Sarrac observed.
Chapter 3: Over the Hills
“It's her sense of smell we're really running from,” Sarrac explained, pausing to let Paul catch his breath. “We're a little faster than she is, but hags have almost legendary endurance. So, unless we can throw her off the scent somehow, it's only a matter of time before she catches us.”
“And you told me not to worry,” Paul panted.
“I honestly thought she'd give you the blade.”
“I didn't,” Alena pointed out.
“Paul Stevens!” they heard in the distance.
“We're going to have to do something drastic,” Sarrac asserted.
Having said this he stepped slowly down into the black water that almost completely surrounded the thin strip of land they were marching across.
“Follow me,” he said, wading out a short distance from the bank. “And if anything touches you, scream.”
“That ain't gonna be a problem,” Paul assured him.
The trio made their way as quickly as they could to the far side a nearby island before climbing up on the opposite shore.
“We can't stay in the water too long,” Sarrac said, “we don't want to attract anything's attention if we can help it.”
“What kind of anything?” the young man asked.
“It's better not to know,” Alena assured him.
The next few hours were filled with marching across sections of morass and wading through pools of vile water. Although Sarrac seemed fairly confident that they had lost the hag it was equally obvious that they had also lost their way. However, they were very sure of the general direction they were traveling in, and perhaps half-an-hour before the sun set they found themselves on the shores of a large black pond.
“We don't have time to go around,” Sarrac said, gazing toward the setting sun.
“I agree,” Alena sighed.
“We'll have to swim,” Sarrac replied.
“You're nuts,” Paul asserted. “What about the anythings?”
“We're on the outskirts of the swamp,” he replied. “I think we'll be alright.”
“Really?”
“No idea,” he admitted, shaking his head. “But we can't get caught here at night, and that's a fact.”
“Why?”
“We can't fight Will-o'-the-wisps,” Alena replied, stepping into the water and beginning to swim for the far shore.
“This is completely insane!” Paul cried, following her example. “When we get eaten by some swamp shark don't say I didn't warn y'all!”
The young man thought the water seemed far more filled with the stench of death when it was just inches from his nose. And he did his absolute best to make sure not a drop of it touched his mouth. Whatever was in that water couldn't be good for a human being. As he slowly crossed the distance that separated him from the bank he started swimming on his back. When whatever it was that was going to eat him came up to grab him he didn't want to see it. If he was lucky it would bite him in half before he even knew what happened.
Thoughts such as these did a great deal to increase his speed, in spite of his weariness, and in just over ten minutes he reached the opposite shore unscathed. In point of fact, he was the first to reach the bank. It filled him with a sense of pride to know there was something he was better at than his companions.
“That actually wasn't that bad,” he laughed, climbing out the pond. “Come on you two! Get a move on! We need...”
Here he paused, his attention having been attracted by the fact that almost every inch of his exposed flesh had large, rubbery, and pulsating leeches hanging from it.
“Ahhh!!!” he screamed, gazing down at his parasite covered body. “Ahhh!”
Having expressed himself in word, he decided to do the same in deed, and began running around in circles and shaking himself all over. As his companions emerged from the water the young man was surprised to see that they weren't similarly afflicted.
“Did I just fish every leech out of this pond?!?!” he screamed. “If I had known it worked like that I would have let y'all go first!”
“Would you calm down?” Alena laughed. “It's just a few leeches, it's not like it's a big deal.”
“I'm sure it's easy to stay calm when you're completely leech-free!” he yelled with a shudder. “And why is that anyway?”
“They don't like our blood,” Sarrac chucked before stepping into some nearby bushes.
“Help me pull 'em off,” Paul said, gingerly reaching down and gently tugging one by the tail.
“Don't do that,” Alena said, shaking her head. “You don't want to just go ripping them off. It can cause problems.”
“Oh, alright,” the young man said, releasing the parasite and throwing his hand in the air. “I'll just stand here 'till they're done then. I'm sure once they're full they'll drop off.”
“They would,” she agreed with a smile. “But you'd probably be dead by then.”
“So that's your plan?” he asked, gazing at her from under furrowed brows.
“Of course not,” she laughed. “I might occasionally want to hurt you, but I certainly don't w
ant you dead.”
“Well that's good to know I guess,” he said with a hint of sarcasm. “But if that's the case why aren't you helping me get these things off.”
“We're going to,” Sarrac said with a smile, marching back into view with a handful or herbs.
He offered a portion of these to Alena and both of them began crushing them in their hands.
“What's that?” the young man asked.
“Salt herbs,” Alena replied. “Fortunately they grow all around here. And they work great on leeches.”
Having said this she rubbed some of the crushed herbs down his left arm. Immediately ten or fifteen of the little blood sucking monsters dropped off, falling to the ground below. Within minutes the leeches that covered his exposed skin were removed. However, the young man had come to the realization that they had also gotten inside his clothes. Alena politely stepped into the nearby foliage while the young man disrobed so he and Sarrac could finish the job.
As soon as Paul was completely leech-free the companions once again set out. Fortune smiled on the band and they managed to reach the very outskirts of the swamp while the last lingering rays of the setting sun still lit their path. For perhaps two hours after nightfall the party pressed on, marching along in the light of the twin moons and a single glowing torch. At last, however, the young man's companions felt they had put enough distance between themselves and the swamp of Fralmoor.
“We can camp here I think,” Sarrac observed as they made their way into a small dale, sheltered by a number of dead and dying trees.
“I agree,” Alena nodded. “I'll build a fire.”
“I'll see what I can find to eat,” Sarrac replied.
As soon as the blaze was lit Alena stepped over to Paul, a sword in each hand.
“Come on,” she said, handing one of the blades to him.
“You've got to be kidding me!” he replied shaking his head.
“I'm not,” she assured him. “Like I said: I don't want you dead.”
“Alright,” he sighed. “But can I use my cool new sword?”
“No,” she laughed. “The Blade can cut normal swords in half. I mean, you just hacked your way through a wall with it a few hours ago.”
“Oh yeah,” he smiled. “I should have thought of that.”
The Tower of Daelfaun (The Tales of Zanoth Book 1) Page 4