Carven Flute

by Steve Shilstone

her presence. I focused on my bundle of blackest purple cloak. It held my rings. The amethyst surrounded by tiny black pearls was there. It and a chant I knew would return me to my witchly form. Yoss. But not the best of ideas. No. I would be stuck at the top of a tree with no spectacles and no broom. The climb down would be dangerous. Yoss. So I decided to fly the bundle back into the Wood, settle on the path, mutter over the ring, and walk as myself back to the house of….”

  (Here she pulled herself up to stand and began pacing back and forth while talking in rapid cascade.)

  “Oh, yoss! Oh, yoss! I would have done it! I would have done it! Yoss! I would have! It would have been different! It could have been different! But it wasn’t. It wasn’t. It wasn’t different! It wasn’t different because the door to the gingerbread cottage opened and she stepped out!”

  (Here she stopped pacing and talking. She flung her arms wide, then let ’em fall to her sides. She opened her mouth, closed it, opened it, spoke.)

  “Old… Semma was so…old. Crooked…bent…leaning on thick twists of walking sticks. She had lost almost all of the green from her pasty gray green skin. Wrinkled. Bent. Old. She was barely past her hundredth year! How could she look so aged? It was her. It was her. It was Semma. I was shocked. She was all I had. I stared. She did not see me. She was looking down the path. She cocked her head to one side. She grinned. She said, ‘I hear them. Soon they will be here. I’ll plump them up!’ She cackled the cackle I knew so well and withdrew into the cottage.”

  Chapter Sixteen

  The Strange Younglings

  “I was fuddled. What should I do? Kick my leg four times? Almost, but no. I… I flew. Yoss. Down the path into the Wood I fled. Yoss. Fled. Then sailed in confused circles around a particularly thick and crooked tree trunk before racing on a low line back to the gingerbread cottage and landing on its roof. Nervously I clacked my bill. Why? Two strange tattered younglings appeared at the edge of the Wood. Yoss. Oat pudding was their complexion. Strange. Oat straw the color of the young maiden’s hair. Yoss. A lad and a maiden. The lad’s hair was muddy brown. His ragged jacket and leggers were similarly brown. The maiden wore a torn gray dress and a thin blue shawl. A brown kerchief with faded pink spots she had wrapped around her head and tied beneath her chin. Her oat straw hair peeked out in wisps along her cheeks and fell in bangs down her forehead.”

  (Here the witch touched with the tips of her lavender fingers her own wrinkled cheeks and her own wrinkled forehead. She held in her eyes a faraway look.)

  “Hand in hand they stood, their mouths agape and their eyes open wide in amazement. The lad spoke in a strange language, and the maiden replied. They rushed forward and tore at the house, the lad breaking off a piece of low cake roof and the maiden punching out a window pane of spun crystal sugar. As they fairly devoured the bits of cottage, I flew back to the tree where my bundle and Jo Bree were hidden. I heard Semma singing from inside the house. Yoss. The words were unknown to me, but the younglings responded by rushing together and singing out in reply.”

  (Here Babba Ja Harick turned her back on us. I glanced at Kar. She was hugging herself, entranced.)

  “Semma opened the door and hobbled out. Yoss. She wore her sweetest grin, the one I knew to be the cruelest. The younglings shrank down in front of her. Semma soothed as I knew she could sooth, though I understood nothing she said. The younglings began to smile and reply. Semma stepped aside and gestured for the two to enter the cottage. Yoss. It was so. I trembled in the tree.”

  (Here the witch turned to face us again. She adjusted her spectacles and pulled at her lower lip. She looked up, then down, not at us. She sighed, gave one firm nod, and continued.)

  “They went in. Yoss. Semma closed the door. Jo Bree. Jo Bree. I looked at Jo Bree snug in the nest of twisted branches. Flush yellow pink and motionless. It would not float and sing for me. My sister was all I had. She was down there… with the younglings. I glided silently from tree to ground and moved close to peek through a window. The three were seated around a table. Yoss. Smiling. Yoss. Happy. Eating from bowls. Drinking from cups. I studied Semma closely. I recognized the look… the look on her face from so long ago when she grabbed me by the ankle on that day… No, I won’t! I can’t!”

  (Here she ran to the chocolate table where her crystal ball should have been, but wasn’t. She fell across the table, pounding it with her fists.)

  “Praw! Fuh! Sigh! Why?! Where is it?!”

  (Here she silently sobbed. Her shoulders shook.)

  Chapter Seventeen

  Semma is Semma

  “Never mind! What’s done is far away! I must continue.”

  (Here Babba Ja Harick pushed herself up from the chocolate table and fixed a sorrowful gaze first on me, second on Kar. She heaved a great sigh to gather herself, fairly swayed from side to side, and stepped with purpose to the cauldron. She wrung her hands at her waist. She began to speak.)

  “Night fell. The younglings slept. Semma surely had potioned their cups. She grinned her cruel grin. She threw aside her walking sticks and danced a lively jig. Her hair darkened to black. Her face flushed green…and her hands. There she was…ah, my sister… She was all I had… She swept the lad up into her arms and moved toward the door. I fluttered back and flapped my way to the roof, where I perched on the chimney. Semma strode out into the moonlight. She squinted up and spoke to the strange single moon. ‘Hah, moon!’ she said. ‘Here is a morsel to fatten. Nothing on the bones yet. Soon I’ll make it meaty. Hah!’ She peered directly at me, but I knew for her I was only a haze of white. Yoss. She wore no spectacles. Her eyesight was worse than mine. Always was. I, with the clarity of birdsight, could follow her every move.”

  (Here she nodded and fell silent. She nodded and nodded and nodded. She closed her eyes. Kar and I again exchanged glances. Kar coughed loudly. The witch jumped.)

  “Yoss! Semma carried the lad around the cottage to a shed at the back. She placed him in it and barred it shut with much sliding of bolts and clanking of metals and turnings of a key which hung from the stranded rope belt she wore. Cackling quietly, she hurried back into the edible cottage. I flew down to the window and saw her standing over the youngling maiden. As I watched, Semma aged herself as before, whiting her hair, draining most of the green from her skin, and bending crooked. The cruelest of happy grins played on her face as she snuffed the candles, darkening the room. I flew to the tree where Jo Bree rested, and arriving there, I felt a sudden exhaustion. I nested down and slept. Yoss…and dreamed.”

  (Here she smiled, and all of the agony left her face.)

  “Below the Falls of Horn we played, splashing in the pool. We changed frogs into other kinds of frogs. Semma potioned giant bubbles to ride in, and we rode them up the Falls! Yoss…yoss…yoss. The dreams. One perfect day. It was…a dream!”

  (Here she scowled.)

  “I woke the next morning and stretched my wings one at a time. My clarity of vision shocked me until I remembered where and what I was. I cocked my head to check on Jo Bree. The Carven Flute was silent and flush yellow pink, lying beside my bundle of blackest purple cloak. Below I saw the door of the cottage open, and out came the youngling maiden, looking miserable with tearstained cheeks. Semma hobbled behind her, smiling cruelly. She herded the little maiden to the shed, speaking all the while in the strange language. Then, cackling, Semma left her there and returned inside the cottage. The youngling maiden fell to her knees and wept, gripping tightly the little oat pudding hand which pushed out between the sturdy slats of the shed. I couldn’t watch. I turned my head away. Yoss… I would have to rescue the younglings from my sister. I looked at Jo Bree, hoping for guidance. Yoss! The Flute began to tremble and rise from the tangled nest. It pulsed red…orange…yellow…green…blue… purple. It….”

  (Here, there was no mistake, Babba Ja Harick froze again.)

  Chapter Eighteen

  The Second Freeze

  “Bek, looks like she stiffened again.”

  “Smash anoth
er berry on her chin.”

  “Can’t.”

  “Why not?”

  “I only brought one.”

  “What?! Why would you only bring one? Are you thinking? Do you think? Splintered thorns! So such then, shift to dragon or cloudbird or something and go get another one. No, not one! Get a full pouch load. Go ahead. Hurry up! Why do you sit there grinning?”

  “Because I like to hear Silent Bekka babble. And maybe so while the witch is frozen, we could search around. Her wand might be somewhere in this clutter. And her crystal ball. Shouldn’t it be on that table? Why isn’t it there?”

  “Her wand is dangerous. I don’t want to be turned into a patch of tar by mistake. If I saw it, I wouldn’t touch it. Not me. I’d stay far away. And you’re right, her crystal ball should be on that chocolate table. I don’t know why it isn’t, and I wonder where it is. I almost looked for it when you were fetching the berry, but I studied her rings instead.”

  “Her rings. Look at ’em. So many Gwer drollek stories.”

  “I know, but she’s frozen, and we need to unfreeze her! Her sister is going to eat the strange younglings! Jo Bree is just about to sing! The truth! Gwer drollek! We’re hearing about the witch down the Well!”

  “We’re the first!”

  “Such and so, why aren’t you flying to the fuzzletong tree?! We’ll ask about the crystal ball and the wand when she finishes the story. We’ll know the truth about Jo Bree! We’ll know it! Go get a berry!”

  “You are right, Bek. Watch this. I will balance on one foot and begin to hop. Now I will hold up my left hand like a claw and scratch at the air. With my right hand I will lift your chonka from its belt hook and hold it out such and so like a platter. Now watch my claw as it goes to my pocket and, oh, what’s this? Truly fair, it’s a fuzzletong berry! I will drop it into the chonka and hand it to my friend Bek. I am the first jrabe ever to do such as this.”

  “You are truly a cracked melon, Kar. Jark dweg. Such.”

  “Thank you. Now you be the one. Go ahead. I will be the first jrabe to watch Silent Bekka step up bold and smash a fuzzletong berry on the chin of Babba Ja Harick.”

  Chapter Nineteen

  The Harick Completes Her Tale

  (Here I took the berry and rubbed it lightly on the witch’s chin. Too timid to smash it, I rubbed it. Such was so. Truth, the witch quivered, and I jumped back to my wickery chair.)

  “… sang. And the song that it sang was:

  ‘Prophesied pale purple daughter

  Your pasty green sister is found

  Losses and sorrows before you

  To a task in one week you are bound

  Perch still on the gingerbread chimney

  And watch for a full seven days

  A difficult tearing decision

  Will twist your insides ablaze’

  The Jo Bree fell on my blackest purple cloak bundle and faded to flush yellow pink. The sobbing of the youngling maiden tore at me. I jumped to the sky and flew high, high, high until I heard nothing save silence, saw nothing save distant green below through wisps of clouds. My sister was all I had… Yoss.”

  (Here she dropped her chin to her chest and grimaced, squeezing her eyes tight shut. Her spectacles fell to the floor with a clatter. She did nothing. Kar did nothing. I did nothing. Then Babba Ja Harick raised her hands to cover her face. She held ’em there not overly long, and so such let ’em fall.)

  “I glided a torturous return. I settled on the chimney to wait for seven days to pass. I counted them, sunsink, sunrise. I saw. I watched. The youngling maiden brought a platter mounded with food each morning to the lad. She could hardly manage to carry it. Yoss. Semma… Semma hobbled about, shrieking orders and cackling. Every evening when the shadows reached their longest, she went to the shed and spoke in the strange language to the lad. I saw the lad poke a twig out between the slats. Semma felt it and grumbled, ‘Why does he not fatten? Bagbones!’ She pounded the ground with her walking sticks. She stomped back into the cottage. Then I heard shrieks such as like I had heard so many times so long ago. Shrieks followed the steady sobbing of the youngling maiden.”

  (Here Babba Ja Harick began once again to pace. Kar darted out a hand and plucked the witch’s spectacles from the floor to safety. The witch, so seemed, was lost in thought and completely unaware of our presence. Such was truly so. She talked as if to herself, slowly, almost whispering.)

  “In the darkest depths of the seventh day’s night, Semma emerged from the cottage. From a fitful, terrible sleep I was awakened by the tapping of her walking sticks on the stone steps outside the cottage door. I saw the dark shape of my sister shuffling back and forth while muttering. She said, ‘Enough is more than plenty. Plumpness is tasty, true, but bones are ever a crunchy pleasure. Baking day tomorrow, plump or not. Baking day tomorrow.’ She cackled in low hissing glee, a sound I had heard so many times before… but forgotten… Then… the morning… the morning came… I….”

  (Here the witch struggled to go on, contorting her face and wringing her hands.)

  “I flew down! I burst into the cottage! I snipped with my bill the shed key from Semma’s waist and flung it at the cowering maiden! I lifted Semma with my wings and threw her into the oven’s roaring fire. I slammed and latched the oven door! I ripped myself from the cottage and fled to grab Jo Bree and my blackest purple bundle of cloak! To the sky I sped in agony! Agony! Agony! I kicked out four times… whirled…spun….”

  (Here she wailed the most mournful of wails and collapsed, so such sort of folded to the floor.)

  “My sister was all I had…all I had…all I had.”

  Chapter Twenty

  Where is the Crystal Ball

  “Done,” groaned the witch. She pushed herself up into a sitting position. “Where are my… decks… specs?”

  “Here,” said Kar, springing to the witch’s side. “Did you give the Carven Flute to Ragaba? Where is it? Do you know?”

  “Kar, sit down!” I snapped, surprising myself as well as Kar. She sat down right there such next to the mourning witch.

  “Do you remember each bird… no… word of the… the what I said?” the witch asked me in a husky voice, peering through the specs she had settled into place on her long bumpy nose.

  I nodded and whispered, “Such and so, every word.”

  “There then. Prophesy partially… spun,” sighed Babba Ja Harick. “Now you must… must… help me… yoss… to bind… find the crystal… the crystal… wall?… no… ball… yoss.”

  “We noticed right away it wasn’t on the table. I was first to see that!” enthused Kar, leaping up. “I’ll shift to jrabe and sense where it is!”

  “Wait, eager youngling, daughter of Ragaba,” said the witch. “Wait and glisten… listen. It is for the Chronicler to grind the hall… no… find the ball… the globe of Prophesy.”

  “Me?” I squeaked. Such was so. I squeaked.

  “Yoss. Find it, please,” said the witch, and she stared at me with woeful sadness.

  I felt looked at as I stood up from the wickery chair. I felt clumsy and absurd. I flushed hot green. I felt it. I felt the witch’s guilt. It came at me in waves. I felt Kar’s jealousy. It lashed at me from her yellow green eyes. I took a step. My chonka chankled. I muffled it, snatching it from my belt and placing it on the chair. I began to chatter babble nervously. I moved about the cottage, poking here, prodding there.

  “Well so, it’s not in this pile,” I bubbled. “Maybe here. No. Nothing. The window sill is nice. Does it get sticky on sunny days? We don’t keep our clothes piled up in heaps like this in the hedge. We keep our bowers swept clean. Oh, this must be your sleeping shawl. We’ve heard about it such and so many times in the Gwer drollek stories. Well now, this closet is quite a mess, isn’t it? No wonder you were frozen in there for such a long time and Gorge couldn’t find you. It’s all jumbly. Is any of this magical? Dangerous? I don’t see a crystal ball. Are there any trap doors? Hollow candy bricks? No? Everything seems to be solid
enough. What’s in the cauldron maybe? Fair and true, more than wooden spoons? What’s all under… HERE!”

  I found it under the gooey red sludge in the cauldron. Fair boldly I’d plunged my hand into the sludge. Truth, the stuff looked like a tasty thorn hedge jelly, though it wasn’t. I felt the smooth cool surface of the globe and brought it up. It rested on my palm, dripping sludge, revealing its blue clarity. I held the witch’s crystal ball in my hand!

  “Yoss, I forgot, but now I… remember,” said the witch. “Put it on the… on the….”

  “Table?” suggested Kar.

  “Yoss, that’s it,” said Babba Ja Harick. She bowed her head and dabbed with pale lavender thumb and forefinger at some few of the tears trailing down her cheeks.

  Chapter Twenty-One

  The Scene in the Globe

  I placed the crystal ball on the table. The last dribbles of red sludge puddled on its chocolate surface. Clear and blue, the famous globe glowed.

  “Daughter of Ragaba, care… dare… stare into the… glow,” said Babba Ja Harick, still sitting slumped next to the cauldron.

  Kar leaped to my side in a nince, and the both of us together leaned down close to peer into the crystal ball, thrilled to be doing so such. Twining spires of pink smoke appeared and snaked to fill the globe. Sudden sparkle, glints of gold, the smoke fell away.

  “It’s Zinna!” said Kar.

  “Such is so,” I agreed.

  There in the ball an image of Zinna hurried along a hedge tunnel path. She stopped, looked once over each shoulder, and pushed through the wall of the hedge. She ran -fairly ran! -off into the Woeful Wanderers’ Wasteland.

  “What’s happening? What’s she doing?” asked Kar.

  “Watch, younglings. Then wallow… swallow… no… follow. Yoss. Prophesy will slide… guide you to the… the final… chapter,” sighed the witch, still seated, still slumped.