A Nameless Witch (4 page)

"Well?" Newt asked.

I held little fear of either death or eternity. And I did not crave the promise of quiet contentment. Ghastly Edna had not been the kind to bear a grudge, even against her own murderers, but I was not so witchly. If it was within my power to avenge her death, then I really had no choice but to do so. And though I did not wish to die myself in the process, it was just one possibility of many. And it seemed to me that no matter how it came out, the many possibilities of the east were far more interesting than the singular fate to the north.

"We go east."

Newt muttered. "I still think we should have gone west."

And, once again, I ignored him.

4

T
he path joined up
with a road, and I decided to follow it. I'd made my decision at the fork, and I assumed my fate would now find me. Everything outside the forest was one vast, foreign land. Newt had lived most of his life by Ghastly Edna's side as well and couldn't offer anything in the way of advice. But all roads lead somewhere, even if it isn't always someplace worth visiting.

After finally leaving behind the hills, the edge of the world I had known, an apprehension fell upon me. And a sadness for my lost mistress. And an exhilaration for whatever lay ahead. A strange, heart-fluttering mix.

Newt stopped. "Can we rest? My feet are killing me."

I kept going. "Time enough for rest later. After the sun has set.

The bright orange globe was an hour from sinking below the horizon. I planned on stopping and watching it go. I'd always liked the sunset. Not just the pretty colors of the sky, but the soft dark of early night. The light of day was obnoxious and hard. It burned away the mystery of all it shone upon. Dusk was subtle and gentle. The world always looked a little brighter beneath the gliding shadows.

Newt groaned. "We've been walking for hours."

"And we'll walk until I say otherwise." I didn't care when we rested, but Newt was my familiar. It was important to establish my authority now, while our link was new.

He jogged after me. "Easy for you to say. For every step you take, I take four. And I've got flat feet."

"So fly. I don't mind."

He quacked in an annoyed manner.

Magic is not a something-for-nothing proposition. The enchantments on the duck gave him intellect at the cost of instincts. He'd forgotten how to fly. He could get airborne in a pinch. These were always short flights, no higher than the cabin roof and for brief seconds, awkward displays of clumsy flapping wings and muttered vulgarities. The remembrance made me smile.

"Can't you do something? Something with your magic?"

"There is something, but you won't like it."

"Anything's better than taking another step."

"As you wish. First, raise your right leg."

Newt did so.

"Now, put it back down, and raise your left."

He did so reluctantly. "Are you certain this will work?"

"Quite certain. Now put down your left leg, flap your wings three times, and quack once."

He tilted his head skeptically.

"Trust me."

After he'd done as instructed, I held up a hand, fingers bent clawlike. I circled Newt while mumbling in witchly fashion. Then I scooped him up, tucked him under my arm, and started walking.

"Is that better?" I asked.

He squirmed. I knew very well that he hated being carried. He considered it undignified, but he didn't complain. His feet must have been very sore.

"What was all that business with the leg raising and wing flapping?"

"Practice. A witch should always keep you guessing. Did it work?"

He shifted to a more comfortable position. "It was very peculiar."

I blushed. Being peculiar was something all good witches should be. Anyone could act mad, but it took a special knack to be strange without overdoing it.

The road led from the hills to another forest very much like the one I had just left, yet different. Ghastly Edna's woods had always treated me well, and we'd become old friends. This new forest was a stranger. So I paused to introduce myself.

"Hello. Very pleased to make your acquaintance."

"What?" Newt said.

"I wasn't talking to you."

A squirrel scrambled across the road. It bounced to my feet and placed a walnut before me.

I bent on one knee, collected the walnut, and scratched the squirrel on his head. "Thank you. I have nothing to offer in return."

"Your presence alone brightens the woods, child. But if you keep to this road, you will find a blight in this forest. We would be most grateful should you remove it."

"Of course."

The messenger of the forest scampered away.

"We can't even eat that," Newt said. "You'd think the woods would pay you something more practical."

"It's not a payment. It's an offering."

"I'm just suggesting that perhaps something more substantial wouldn't be out of line. A fresh rabbit wouldn't be asking too much, would it?" He licked his bill.

"It didn't have to give me anything."

"Exactly. And nothing would have been better than a nut. This is just drawing attention to it."

"You're missing the point."

"Apparently. So can we stop now?"

"Just a little farther."

"Oh, can't we remove the blight tomorrow?" he asked.

I kept walking. He muttered anew.

It wasn't five minutes later that we came upon the blight of these woods: a pair of robbers. One was a man, unkempt and unarmed. He was not entirely unattractive in a disheveled, wild sort of way. The most handsome man I'd ever seen, but I'd only seen three others. And this was only if one counted my father, who had been a blackened silhouette in the bright light of the cellar door.

The second robber was a troll. The first I'd ever seen, but he looked as I'd been taught. He was short, barely as high as my shoulder, but nearly as wide as his height. His body was thin, but his limbs were thick, ending in hands and feet made for a creature twice his size. His head was a flattened oval with two large, yellow eyes, a small crooked nose, and a broad mouth capable of swallowing a hog in one bite. There were giant, pointed ears. Light fuzz ran down his mottled gray skin across the arms to his shoulders and down his spine. He was naked, save for a belt whose sole purpose was to hold a leather pouch, and he wore a ring on one of his fingers.

An interesting fact about trolls is that they are not held together by joints of flesh. Their bodies are modular. An innate magical cohesion keeps them from falling apart. The benefits to this are several. It makes them hard to kill. Only a fatal stab to the heart or head can reliably destroy one. Even then, if another troll happens upon the corpse, he can always sal vage the remains as their parts are interchangeable. The lack of joints also allows them to move in ways that are impossible for other creatures. They can strike from all sorts of unpredictable angles. They're also strong as two ogres.

Fortunately a troll left to his own devices is rarely a danger. They aren't violent by nature. A more ambitious troll might occasionally claim a bridge and extort a toll. But for the most part, they would rather be left alone.

This troll seemed possessed of a quiet sadness. I could see it in his eyes and the slump of his shoulders. As troll shoulders were usually slumped to begin with, this was a subtle difference.

The robbers didn't even bother to hide as I limped to them on a stiff leg.

"Your valuables or your life, crone."

I allowed myself a moment of pride. It was nice to know my act was working.

The bandit prodded me with a knuckle. "Can't you hear, old woman?"

"I heard you."

I raised my head enough to see the troll. He was standing back, seemingly disinterested in the robbery.

"Then give us what you have. Otherwise, I'll have to have Gwurm tear you apart. I don't like that. Leaves a terrible mess."

The troll spoke up. "He'll have me kill you anyway, miss. You're better off running for it."

"Shut up, Gwurm." The robber folded his arms across his chest. "Well, hag. What's it going to be?"

Newt fidgeted in my arms. "Let me kill him."

"I'll handle it," I replied.

The bandit stepped back. "Your duck talks."

"Quite a lot actually. Too much perhaps."

"Oh, please let me kill him. I'll be quick about it."

I boxed his snapping bill. "I said I'll handle it."

"Yes, mistress."

"A talking duck," the bandit said. "It must be magic."

"It certainly must," I agreed. "I know of no ordinary talking ducks."

"It's worth a fortune. Give it to me, crone."

"I think perhaps you overestimate his value."

"Enough of this." The bandit twisted a ring on his finger. "Kill her, Gwurm."

"Oh, hell, Pik, can't you kill this one yourself" Despite his reservations, the troll moved toward me mechanically.

I could have killed him quite easily, but I was reluctant to do so. His body was clearly not his own. Any harm he might inflict on me wouldn't be of his own doing. He was merely the weapon, and it seemed a terrible shame to break a fine sword just because it happened to be in the hands of a bandit at the moment. More importantly, Gwurm was not a sword. He was a victim of magic, and it was my duty as a good witch to correct this. Not just my duty, but my pleasure. Helping this troll would be my first true act as my own witch, and eager magic tingled in my toes, ready to do its work.

It came to me to do something dramatic like commanding the roots to rise from the ground and drag Pik screaming into the earth. But it seemed too showy for this situation and a waste of magic too, since no one was here to witness the gruesome demise other than Gwurm, Newt, and myself. And Gwurm would be impressed enough simply by being unburdened.

"I must apologize, ma'am. I don't like killing old women. But Pik is such a lazy bastard, and he wears the ring of command to my ring of servitude."

"Oh, just shut up and kill her already, Gwurm."

The troll's reluctance showed in slow, ponderous steps. "I'd really rather not do this, ma'am. You understand."

"Quite all right, Gwurm."

I tossed my broom over the troll's head.

Another interesting fact about trolls is the magic that holds them together can be disrupted when the proper blow is struck with just the right force in just the right spot. This is not widely known among men, but a fact every witch learns. My broom rose in the air and took aim at that exact point between the troll's shoulders.

Gwurm wrapped his hands around my throat. "I'll make this quick."

The broom struck true. It bounced off the troll's thick skin, not even leaving a bruise. He gaped as if he might vomit, belched once, and fell to pieces. His fingers popped off, knuckle by knuckle. Then his hands jumped from his wrists. His forearms slipped from his elbows. His arms fell from his shoulders. And so on until he was a collection of unassembled troll parts before me. It took but a few seconds. His head was the last thing to topple from his shoulders and come to a rolling stop at my feet. His face crinkled, he sneezed, and his eyes, nose, and ears fell off.

Pik's eyes widened. "Sorcery!"

"Witchery actually."

"You're a witch?"

"The hat. The broom. The cloak. The talking duck. I expect it would be obvious. Well, perhaps not the duck."

"Can I kill him now?" Newt asked.

"Hush."

Pik, being unarmed and clearly overmatched, wasted not another moment. He ran away.

"Go get him, Newt. But don't kill him."

The duck was disappointed but jumped from my arms and dashed after the bandit.

"Wud nu mine steppun uf mee node," Gwurm requested.

"Oh. Terribly sorry." I picked up the nose and dusted it off. I found one eye. It resembled a rotten, yellow grape. I wiped it clean with my cloak and stuck it and his nose back on his face. He wiggled the nose and blinked the eye.

I found the section of finger with the ring of servitude.

"It can't be removed until I'm dead."

The enchantment on the ring was potent but sloppy. It had all the marks of shoddy commercial magic. A competent apprentice might crank out a dozen in under an hour to pay for his education. But such a flawed magic always has a loose thread, and I yanked on this one as an afterthought. The enchantment unraveled. The now ordinary ring slipped off the finger.

"Thank you. I can't tell you what a relief it is to be free of that. If I could trouble you for one last favor, might you help me locate my other eye. I can pull myself together eventually, but my eye is delicate. I'd hate to accidentally sit on it."

By the time I'd returned the second eye to its socket, Newt reappeared. He was alone, head bowed. Blood dripped from his bill.

"Well?" I asked, already knowing the explanation.

"I . .. uh . . . sort of killed him."

I shook my head and fixed him with a disappointed look.

"It wasn't my fault," he protested. "I was chasing after him, and I grabbed at him. Just so I could bring him back as you commanded. And his spine just sort of... came out."

"They'll do that," Gwurm said.

"See? It's almost like they were designed that way. He'll back me up, won't you?"

"It's very true. Men are rather fragile. Their heads practically fall off on their own, and their bones snap under any pressure at all."

Newt kicked the dust. "Sorry, mistress."

"It's all right," I replied, "but you must be more careful. There will be more people in the future, and I would like some assurance that you won't kill them all."

"I'll work on it."

"You'll get the hang of it," Gwurm reassured. "I find it best to treat them as if they're made of dry straw."

"I'll keep that in mind."

The sun was below the treetops. Early dusk settled on the forest.

"Newt, fetch some firewood and something to eat. We're stopping for the night."

He was so embarrassed by his spine-ripping blunder that he did so without uttering a single complaint.

I began the task of reassembling the troll. Given enough time, Gwurm could put himself back together, but that would take hours. I saw no reason he should suffer the indignity.

"You're too kind," he said as I returned his head to his shoulders. "I must say, you're being a very good sport about this."

"It wasn't your fault."

"Still, I did almost kill you."

"I don't die that easily. No harm done."

The hands were a difficult task. So many knuckles. I could have just thrown them together, but I wanted to do it right. The real trick was remembering that a troll's pinkie was longer than his ring finger.

After I'd finished his left arm, Gwurm was able to complete the rest on his own. Newt found enough wood for a small fire and a pair of rabbits for dinner. I spat on the wood, and it burned with a soft yellow flame. Then I sat by the fire and cleaned the rabbits. Another gift of my curse is that while my fingers are not clawed, I have a special knack for ripping flesh. I tossed Newt some intestines. He wolfed them down greedily.