Warden (Book 2: Lure of the Lamia) (3 page)

The entire cavern shook from the impact like an earthquake had struck. A hairline split shot down vertically through one wall with a sound like a thunderclap. Errol was tossed around like a bead in a rattle, banging his head against an outcropping of rock hard enough to draw blood. Finally, as he slipped into unconsciousness, stalactites began falling like raindrops.

Chapter 4

The next time Errol opened his eyes, he found his head once again in the lap of Samara, who gave him a dazzling smile. The entire moment was made all the more meaningful by Errol’s sudden realization that his sight had returned. (He could, however, still sense the plants trying to communicate, share their “sight” with him.)

“Awake at last,” Samara said as Errol slowly got to his feet. “I was worried for a time that you would sleep forever. With injuries such as you suffered, it is not uncommon.”

“Injuries?” Errol repeated, confused. Looking around, he saw that they were in an open glade. He also saw his horse and pack nearby.

“Yes, you were grievously wounded from your battle with the basilisk. Broken bones, poison, skin that looked flayed. I was worried you would not survive.”

Errol checked himself for injuries. “Funny, I don’t feel injured.” Then another thought occurred to him. “Wait, how long was I ‘asleep’?”

“Two days.”

Errol frowned. “That’s nowhere near enough time for me to heal.”

“Ordinarily, that would be true, but the Greenlife found you worthy and decreed that you receive special care.”

Samara then told Errol how, a short time after great tremors had been felt from the cave, she had entered to find him. According to her, he’d been a complete mess, physically – barely alive. That said, a special blend of rare plant life and magic had not only saved his life but allowed him to heal in record time.

“You should consider yourself truly blessed,” Samara noted. “Much that has been presented to you since our meeting are great secrets that humans have rarely, if ever, been privy to.”

“As far as I’m concerned,” Errol replied, “it’s pay that I earned. Your Greenlife almost got me killed in that cave.”

He then relayed to her how the plant life in the cave had completely misinformed him as to the whereabouts of the basilisk when he’d asked about its location. Samara shook her head in disagreement with him.

“I mentioned before that you and the Greenlife might have difficulty in understanding each other,” she said. “This was such a miscommunication.

“You asked whether the basilisk was in the part of the cave where you were. The plants interpreted your question as asking whether the monster was on the cavern floor where you were. It was not.

“It apparently had a habit of climbing halfway up one of the walls, which is where it would sometimes sleep, which is what it was doing when you entered.”

“And what about when it was creeping up on me and Mobley?” Errol asked. “Where was my warning then?”

“From what the cavern plants told me,” she said, “the basilisk was particularly cold-blooded, so they had trouble detecting its body heat on occasion. However, once it trod on the mushrooms, they were aware of it and tried to tell you.”

“I wish I’d known that part before I went in. Still, I’m grateful to you for getting me out. What happened to the basilisk?”

“It’s dead. It was crushed by the falling rocks in the cave, so you can consider yourself victorious.”

“That’s good to hear, because I actually have to go back in there. I left my dagger behind.”

“You mean this?” Samara asked, producing Errol’s Wendigo dagger seemingly from thin air. “I retrieved it when I brought you from the cave.”

“Er…thanks,” Errol said sheepishly.

“I also brought you this.” She handed Errol an odd little plant – about the size of his palm – shaped like a gourd. He took it, noting that it was a bit heavier than he had anticipated. Moreover, the top of it was some type of leafy plug shaped almost like a stopper.

“Thanks,” he said somewhat unsurely. “What is it?”

“It is a plant that we use to carry liquids – saps, resins, and the like. It is particularly durable, and can hold even the most vile of elixirs.” As she spoke, Errol fiddled with the top of the little gourd and noted that it actually
was
a stopper. Inside, some type of viscous fluid lolled around. He was about to sniff it when she continued speaking.

“That one,” she said, “contains the blood of the basilisk.”

Errol went bug-eyed at the announcement, then slammed the stopper forcefully back in place.

“Why are you giving me this?” he asked incredulously. “This stuff is poison!”

Samara seemed confused. “The Greenlife noted earlier that you take trophies from your conquests.” She motioned towards the amarok hide, once more tied in place on his horse.

“It’s not a trophy, per se,” he said. “It’s…anyway, just go on.”

“When I entered the cave, the basilisk was dead but its bodily fluids were powerful corrosives. They were eating a hole in the very rock of the cavern floor. Thinking that, if you survived, you would want some sort of souvenir, the Greenlife instructed me to obtain the container you now hold and to preserve as much of the blood as I could. Are you displeased?”

Errol was on the verge of giving the gourd back, saying that he had no use for anything so vile. However, he felt the entire forest listening to this exchange. The Greenlife had sought not just to save him, but to act as it felt he would have if he had been able. It would be rude not to accept, and he could always find some way to get rid of it.

“I’m grateful for the gift,” he said, “and for the thoughtfulness of both you and the Greenlife.”

The worried frown that had been on Samara’s face vanished, replaced once again by her mesmerizing smile. Likewise, Errol felt relief from the forest that the present it had offered to him had been accepted. That brought to mind another issue.

“There’s just one more thing before I go,” he said. “It’s diminished to a certain extent, but I can still feel the forest – the Greenlife – to a degree when I concentrate. I’m guessing it’s an aftereffect of the spell you cast with the marvo shoot. When will that feeling go away?”

Samara suddenly looked completely nonplussed. “Go away?” she asked.

Chapter 5

Errol rode hard and fast, completely enveloped by fury. Despite everything he had been through on behalf of Samara and her precious Greenlife, it appeared that she had played an unsettling prank on him after all. Apparently, the spell cast with the marvo shoot, his communing with the forest greenery, would
never
go away.

“This is a great gift,” Samara had said, trying to convince him that the forest had done him a favor. “It makes you one with the Greenlife, a part of
–
”

“I don’t want to be part of the stinking Greenlife!” he’d screamed back. He had then said some very harsh things to her and about her (and the forest in general) before riding off, enraged.

Not that anger would do much good now. What’s done is done. The only saving grace was that with the return of his eyesight, his own senses would override what he received from the plant life, and he’d be able to tune it out in short order. (Although why he would want to do this, Samara hadn’t understood.)

Errol had been so incensed when he rode off, so maddened, that he hadn’t even focused on where he was going. He was only obsessed with putting as much distance as possible between himself and the nymph. He had been riding for hours, so absorbed in his own thoughts that he hadn’t realized that the horse was exhausted. When it did come to his attention, he stopped almost immediately to give the horse some water and a chance to rest. It was only then that he took a look around and noted where he was.

Had he never met Samara, it had been his original intent to return immediately to Stanchion after dispatching the amarok. In fact, somewhere in his brain, he had been under the impression that that’s where he had been headed for the past few hours. Instead, he found that he had gone in a different direction entirely.

He was still well into the Badlands, but he knew exactly where he was. In fact, he had contemplated coming here several times following his brother Tom’s disappearance, but – since he had never made a firm decision to make the trip before – he could only assume that he had subconsciously decided to undertake the journey now.

The fact that he was here at this juncture – when he was least prepared – was ironic, and would actually have been comical were it not so appalling.

He was practically in the backyard of the White Widow.

*****

Errol’s first encounter with the White Widow had been absolutely terrifying. She lived four or five days’ ride into the heart of the Badlands, in an unassuming cabin, situated on a few acres of wooded land.

He had been with Tom on that first occasion, roughly three years earlier. They had just finished hunting down a barren-beast and were actually preparing to return home.

Tom, apparently taking note of where they were, had simply turned to Errol and said, “It’s time you met the White Widow.”

Errol had been both surprised and frightened. Up until that point, he’d only heard people reference the White Widow in passing, and he hadn’t been entirely sure that she actually existed.

“Oh, she’s real,” Tom had said upon hearing Errol’s thoughts on the subject. “Real and very dangerous. Keep your wits about you around her, and avoid looking her in the eye.”

It had taken several hours of riding to get to the Widow’s cabin, during which time Errol had had a million questions form in his brain but kept them to himself. Although he’d been curious about the Widow, he hadn’t wanted his brother thinking there was anything about being a Warden that piqued his interest. Even more frustrating was the fact that Tom, contrary to most instances when he felt he was teaching Errol something, had offered no information whatsoever. Still, Errol had been convinced that he would eventually get the answers he wanted – perhaps with a more subtle approach.

Upon arriving, they went straight to the front door of the cabin. Errol immediately swung down from the saddle, but noted that his brother stayed mounted on his horse. Moreover, Tom held his warding wand in one hand and his throwing knife in the other.

“Don’t worry about knocking,” Tom had said. “She’s seldom inside during the day. Try around back.”

Errol had headed towards the backyard of the cabin while his brother stayed put. Mimicking Tom, Errol had his own wand in his hand when he turned the corner to the rear of the house.

He’d seen her almost immediately, a willowy, pale figure standing next to a large oak tree. She noticed him as well, and as if by design the two began moving leisurely towards each other.

She had been dressed completely in white, wearing a full-length dress that clung to her slender form. Her complexion was exotically pale, so much so that Errol initially had difficulty distinguishing her skin from portions of her dress. Her hair was white as well, unbelievably straight and hanging down to her waist.

Her face had an unearthly beauty, exquisite features molded into a lovely visage. The only detractors Errol had noted were an odd series of large, black moles on her face. Each was about the size of a marble, and she had one situated at each of her temples, one on each cheekbone, and one located at the back angle on both sides of her jaw. And her eyes…

Too late, Errol remembered Tom’s warning about looking the Widow in the eye. He’d immediately felt his body stiffen, become rigid as something like a fist grabbed hold of his mind. She had mesmerized him somehow, enchanted him such that he couldn’t move. Even worse, he had his warding wand pointed down towards the ground. (Not that he could move anyway.) The Widow cackled, an odd sound coming from such a beautiful creature.

“My, my,” she’d said, looking at Errol closely. “You’re a long way from home, little one. It’s not safe in these parts. There are all kinds of fiends that lurk hereabouts.”

As she spoke, Errol had noticed the Widow’s face undergoing a horrifying change. Her lips seemed to stretch back, pulled viciously towards her cheeks as if by hooks. Her mouth was a nightmare – razor-sharp teeth that looked as though they had been filed to a point, all set in gums as black as midnight. The sides of her jaw extended further and two dark fangs, one on each side, suddenly pushed out – extending at least half a foot from her face and clacking together audibly.

“Don’t worry, dear,” she said, surprising Errol by the fact that she was still able to speak clearly. “I’ll take good care of you.” As she spoke, a huge tarantula scurried up from behind her back onto her shoulder; then it shot over to her neck and disappeared into her hair.

The fangs clacked together again, and in conjunction with the motion, Errol saw one of the moles on her cheek twitch and roll slightly to the side, revealing a patch of white on the part of the mole that was normally subcutaneous.

The moles were eyes!

Errol had wanted to scream in terror – had actually tried – but nothing would come out. The fangs rattled against each other as the Widow tilted her head and moved closer.

“Please be a dear and bend your head to the side,” she said.

In utter horror, Errol found himself obeying, leaning his head towards his shoulder and leaving his neck completely exposed.

Without warning, a soft but attention-getting cough sounded behind him. The Widow, with much of her visage hidden by Errol’s body, seemed to peek over his shoulder. Then, so fast that it defied belief, her face shifted back to its original appearance.

“Warden,” she said, taking a slight step back from Errol and smiling as she looked past him to where his brother was presumably located. “I didn’t realize that you were here.”

“Just checking in,” Tom said, “and hoping we could have a word.”

“Of course, Warden. Just let me send my servant here inside and we can speak in privacy.”

She looked Errol directly in the eye, and again he felt the power of her control overriding his will. “Go inside and wait for me. I shall see you when the Warden leaves.”

Involuntarily, Errol turned and found himself marching towards the front of the cabin. He fought the Widow’s control, trying to reassert dominance over his own body, but she was far too powerful for him. The only thing he could control were his eyes, and he looked at Tom – who was still on his horse, wand in hand – pleadingly as he walked by.

“Widow,” Tom said.

“Yes, Warden?”

“That’s my brother.”

“Eh…?”

A second later, just as he was about to turn the corner towards the front of the cabin, Errol felt the fist in his mind release its grip; he was in control of his own body again.

“An honest mistake,” the Widow was saying as Errol turned and stumbled back to stand shakily by his brother. “I didn’t know he was with you Wardens.”

“He’s holding a warding wand.”

“Ah, so he is,” said the Widow, seeming to notice the wand for the first time. “Regardless, it won’t happen again, I promise.”

Tom had then instructed Errol to mount up in front of the cabin where his horse still was and wait while he had a few words with the Widow. A short time later, Tom had returned and they had left.

*****

Reflecting back on that first encounter with the Widow as her cabin came into view, Errol suddenly felt less sure about his current decision to visit her. As he had eventually learned from Tom, the Widow was a Web Mistress – some sort of spider queen. She was generally left in peace by the Wardens, and in exchange for being left alone, she shared information when asked. (Her “children” – the various breeds and types of spiders – were everywhere, resulting in her being able to find out almost anything.) Thus, she was an ally of sorts.

That said, every visit with the White Widow was a life-or-death affair, no matter how casually she acted. Thankfully, there was very little chance that she’d be able to mesmerize him again. According to Tom, the Widow could generally only do it to a person once, after which they built up a kind of resistance to her mental influence. Still, Errol saw no need to take chances.

Although he could see the Widow’s home, he was still within the tree line of the forest and essentially hidden. He got down from his horse, and then went through his pack until he found the gourd containing the basilisk blood.

When Errol had miraculously defeated the Wendigo, the evil sorcerer who had used the monster’s bones to create the dagger Errol now carried hadn’t stopped with a single blade. He’d forged numerous weapons, including Errol’s throwing knife, as well as several arrowheads – some of which were fitted to arrows that he presently carried.

He took out one such arrow (which was designed for his one-hand crossbow) and, after removing the stopper from the gourd, he ever so carefully poured a single drop of basilisk blood onto the wedged-shaped tip of the arrow. There was an angry hissing sound as the blood bubbled on the surface of the arrowhead, releasing a thin cloud of yellow vapor. Errol was careful to hold the arrow at arm’s length (as well as downwind of him) while simultaneously, carefully holding the unstoppered gourd.

After a minute or two, the hissing ceased. Inspecting the arrowhead, Errol was pleasantly surprised to see that it had held its shape, despite the corrosiveness of the basilisk’s blood. However, he had no doubt that the arrow was now as poisonous as a viper.

Satisfied, he put the arrow back in its quiver, then placed the stopper back in the gourd and put it away. He climbed back up into the saddle, and then carefully took the small crossbow and notched the poisonous arrow. Somewhat confident now, he rode out into the open towards the Widow’s cabin.

He was actually approaching the cabin from the rear, and again he was reminded of his first meeting here with the Widow. Back then he was prone to make mistakes; in fact, he had still been something of a butterfingers just a few months ago – right up until the point when Tom disappeared. Since then, having to take on the duties of Warden had matured him a lot faster than the mere passage of time.

He was so lost in his own thoughts that he didn’t even see the Widow until she stepped out from behind a tree as he neared the cabin. His horse neighed in fear and reared up, almost throwing him. The Widow clapped her hands, laughing with glee.