"Quite certain."
He was far too zealous to be bothered by this either.
Gwurm was still fussing with his red nose. He'd twist it one way, then another. Nothing looked right, especially since I sensed a streak of vanity in the troll. Men might find it strange that such an unsightly creature cared so much about one misshapen nose. Though Gwurm was the only troll I'd known, I felt positive he was quite handsome by trollish standards. Even if I was wrong, one didn't have to be beautiful to be vain.
I held out a hand. "Can I see it a moment?"
He plucked off the offensive crescent and gave it to me. I clasped it in both hands, pressed my palms together, and rolled them in four small circles. Then I held up a new nose. It was his exact shade of gray and rounded, less hookish.
He twisted it onto his face. "Eye dinkyu furgud sumdin."
I took back the nose long enough to poke out two nostrils. He held it between fingers and thumb and studied it with one squinted eye. "Not bad. Strong without being overbearing. Excellent symmetry. And I think it will add some character to my profile." He plugged it into place and pretended to gaze thoughtfully in the distance. "What do you think?"
"Quite handsome," I replied. "Perhaps even a touch distinguished."
"Do you really think so?"
"Certainly."
I started toward my tent.
"I couldn't help notice you're whole again," Gwurm said.
I held up a hand that only hours ago was a few threads of bloody flesh clinging to bone. Now there wasn't even a scar. I wiggled the fingers and didn't feel a stitch of pain. My new leg was as strong and reliable as the old. I'd known myself practically immortal, but I'd never been hurt so badly before. I'd hoped the damage would at least last the day.
"I didn't want to make you feel self-conscious," Gwurm said. "I just wanted to tell you that when I first saw you dragging yourself across the field, just after you'd defeated the horde, that I thought to myself that you were the most dreadfully appalling sight I had ever laid eyes upon, a corpse mocking death and all the natural world." He adjusted his nose a little to the left and smiled. "Just something I thought you'd like to know."
I kept my back to him to hide the blush upon my cheek. As men and trolls, even witches had their vanity.
I
t
had Seen a
tiring day, and both my familiar and my troll fell asleep soon after dusk. My undead nature denied me sleep once again. Penelope didn't ever sleep, though such things were difficult to discern with a broom. I passed the long night staring into the sky and reading the stars.
A voice interrupted my stargazing sometime in the early morning hours. "Looking for something?"
I didn't glance down at the gray fox standing by my feet. "Still alive, I see."
"Yes. Those goblings were a tremendous disappointment. Although I did enjoy the battle. Very colorful. Very unpredictable."
"You were watching."
"Curiosity is an affliction I bear proudly as a fox. So you'll understand that I must ask, what do you hope to see up there?"
I stopped gazing long enough to glimpse the fox's grinning face. "Nothing. And everything. Isn't it enough to just look at the stars?"
"I wouldn't know." Her tail flicked side to side. "I've never found them very interesting. But we beasts aren't of the mind to see them as men do. They're too distant. Just something to fill the part of the sky not occupied by the moon."
"That's how most men perceive them," I said.
"Well, men aren't as far removed from animals as they might pretend. Their hands are their gifts, not their minds." She lay in the grass and rolled on her back. "Tell me, what does a witch see in the sky?"
"Omens."
She squinted and scanned the heavens from one horizon to the other. "What does an omen look like?"
"Everything. And nothing."
The fox chuckled lightly. Whereas Newt found my witchly way with words annoying, she appreciated the twisted and turning phrases. "Can we beasts see omens?"
"I don't know. If any beast can, I would imagine a clever and curious fox could."
She rubbed her nose with her forepaws in a show of humility. "Then I think I'll watch with you."
The fox joined me in my omen-searching, and being both clever and curious, she soon spotted a sign in the twinkling heavens.
"Is that one?" she asked of a pair of shooting stars.
"Yes. You have a good eye."
"What's it mean?"
I help up my hand as if to touch the sky. "It portends the birth of a monster in the southlands, who shall one day threaten a kingdom."
"My, that is a good one."
"Very good. You've got a knack."
She looked a short while before picking out a row of five twinkling stars.
"Ah, another excellent find. Those stars speak of a love that is doomed to be swallowed by the sea."
"Really?"
I nodded.
Beside being clever and curious, the fox was also skeptical. She asked about a patch of clouds she expected to have no significance. A notion I corrected.
"Somewhere, a curious fox is asking questions."
She squinted at the moon. "Is everything an omen?"
"When one knows how to see them, the universe shares its secrets easily. Perhaps too easily. In the hooting of the owls I hear of a fort's soldier suffering a terrible nightmare. In the fluid waves of the grass, I see a termite mound waging war against a neighboring anthill. Those falling leaves, their swirling flights speak of a priest's indigestion and a serving girl's stubbed toe at the same time."
"Must be terribly distracting."
"It is. But only at first. Then one learns to ignore the vast, trivial majority. That is the real talent. Not in seeing omens, but in not seeing them."
"So I gathered. But I must say I am glad to be a fox and not a witch. I wouldn't want to learn something to unlearn it."
"There's a great deal of unlearning in the witch's trade," I admitted. "There is a limit to how many forbidden secrets a mind can safely carry."
We resumed omen-watching. As I was in an oracle's frame of mind, I still glimpsed the occasional portent. Nothing too important. Just the stomach flu of a king I'd never know whispered by a gossiping breeze and the pure joy of a new mother somewhere to the north shown in dancing shadows. A flight of birds told of a continent that would be sunk by a careless wizard's apprentice. That one could be prevented, but as I didn't see which continent or when, I gave it little thought.
A stag dashed from the wood, chased by a wolf. The wolf caught the stag, sinking her teeth into its flank, but he kicked free. By the time the stunned wolf had regained his senses, the stag had escaped. The disappointed wolf skulked away. Spontaneously, two plump, dead geese fell from the sky. They landed but thirty feet from the wolf, who didn't notice and walked away hungry.
"That must be a terrific omen," said the fox.
"Actually, that is just a very unlucky wolf."
Then I finally saw my omen in the face of the moon. It spoke of a dangerous journey being undertaken. It was a vague sign, and without a doubt, it spoke of a hundred such journeys across the world. But I relied on my witchly judgment and decided it applied to my quest as well. Even if it didn't, I was tired of waiting.
"You'll excuse me, fox, but I must seek out my vengeance."
"Early hour for vengeance-seeking," she said.
The first hints of dawn were tracing the edge of the horizon. "All things come in their own time."
"Might I ask one last question?" Her curiosity compelled her to ask without waiting permission. "This quest of vengeance you're about to begin, did you see danger in it?"
"It would be a poor quest otherwise."
"How much?"
"More than enough, my good sense tells me."
"Do you mind if I come along then?"
"You're very welcome to."
She started toward the woods. "Very good. I'll see you along then."
"Where are you going?"
The fox turned and grinned. "I said I'd see you along. You won't see me. Good vengeance to you, witch."
"Good following to you, fox."
She disappeared into the darker shadows of the forest.
Gwurm slumbered beside my tent in his usual slumped posture. In this light, he looked very much like a snoring rock. I smacked him across the back with my broom. What would have been a bruising crack to a man was barely a tap to the thick-skinned troll. He raised his head and untangled his limbs. Trolls were either awake or asleep, and he stood instantly alert.
"Is it time?"
"Yes."
"Should I fetch the White Knight?"
"No need."
I stirred the air with my fingers, and a morning mist descended from my hand. It gathered at my feet in a soft blue cloud. The mist rose as playful air spirits danced within, visible as glimpses of dancing shapes. The cloud zipped around my head and beneath Gwurm's legs.
"That's enough now. Off you go."
The mist giggled and floated off toward Fort Stalwart.
I went into my tent and found Newt. He proved harder to wake than Gwurm. Though he had a passion for vengeance, he was also prone to moments of laziness. Such contradictions were part of his demon nature.
"It's not even dawn yet."
I began filling a sack with witchly odds and ends I might need on this journey. I grabbed up mixing bowls, bottled spirits, healing herbs, and my moldy squirrel hide. It was strange how such a little thing could mean so much. It reminded me of Ghastly Edna, my home with her, and my new home here. Just rubbing the thinning fur between my fingers made me feel better. Not all magic lay in death curses, hungry phantoms, demon waterfowl, and animate brooms. Most magic wasn't even magic. It just was. Smiling, I placed the hide against my cheek.
Newt sighed sleepily and opened one eye halfway. "That's a very big sack to be carrying."
"Gwurm can manage it."
He jerked awake. "We're not taking him along, are we? Bad enough we have to bring the White Knight. This whole journey is going to be a long, queasy stomach for me."
For a duck, he groused very well.
"You'll get used to it."
"Don't you think it would be a good idea to leave someone behind to watch the tent."
"Are you volunteering?"
He sputtered.
"Perhaps you're right," I said. "Wouldn't do to have mere mortals nosing about, discovering forbidden secrets only witches are supposed to know."
"Well, that's true, but what is a witch without her familiar at her side?"
"Yes, but I can think of none I trust more with my secrets."
Newt flapped and hopped. "There's Gwurm. What about Gwurm?"
I dropped my squirrel hide into the sack. "I didn't think you liked him."
"Of course, I don't." He shook his head and puckered his bill. "He's too smart for a troll. And he gets along too well with the White Knight if you ask me. Especially for a witch's companion. But he's loyal. I have to give him that."
"And trustworthy?" I posed.
"Very trustworthy!" Newt shouted enthusiastically.
"And good to have around when danger is about?"
"Yes! I mean, he's strong and a good fighter." He swore under his breath. "An adequate fighter, but his trollish nature more than makes up for his lack of talent."
"I see. So he's loyal and trustworthy, strong, perhaps a little too intelligent but good to have at your back when facing peril. All in all, he seems a very good companion for a dangerous quest of vengeance."
Newt's bill dropped open. "I didn't..."
"Yes, you make an excellent point. It seems foolish to not take him along." I smiled. "Thank you, Newt."
He glared when he thought I couldn't see, but I glimpsed it from the corner of my eye. It was his own fault for engaging a witch in a duel of words. Ghastly Edna had taught me the way of twisting dialogue.
"As for my secrecy..." I held up a crooked stick decorated with tatters of cloth, black and red feathers, and beaded strings. A grim badger skull sat at the top. The charm had no real power other than invoking superstitious fear in mortal minds, but it was protection enough. All my secrets would be traveling with me. The totem was a witchly touch, something to remind Fort Stalwart who lived in this tent and who would one day be returning to it, fate willing. I also thought it was rather pretty for a hideous, fear-invoking fetish.
Gwurm poked his head in the tent. "The Knight is here."
Newt belched wetly. "I know." He smacked his bill and stuck out his tongue.
I stepped outside. Wyst of the West and his gray horse stood beside Gwurm. I cast each a fleeting glance and stabbed my stick into the earth. I adjusted it to a crooked angle and took a moment to admire it.
"You summoned me, witch?" Wyst asked.
I traced three fingers on the badger's skull. It turned a shade of dark red as if covered in blood. I tapped it again, and it shifted to a deep black.
"The spirits have spoken. It's time to begin."
Wyst of the West offered me a horse for the journey, but Gwurm proved suited for the job. His shoulders were wide and comfortable, and there was enough room for me and Newt on one side and my sack on the other. The troll's short legs were still able to keep up with the horse's brisk trot.
Newt wasn't happy. Wyst's virtue put the duck in ill temper, and he disliked Gwurm. He wasn't very fond of Penelope either. At least he didn't harbor any disfavor toward Wyst's horse although I suspected this too would come in time.
W
yst trusted me to
guide him on the right path. Or perhaps he expected to not understand a witch's guidance. Either way, questions would have been pointless. All the answers I possessed made little sense to me at the moment, and I wouldn't have given them to him in any form he might have understood.
We passed the morning in silence. Sometimes Wyst rode slightly ahead. Sometimes, a little behind. Never alongside. Occasionally, he'd glance over his shoulder, or I'd glance over mine, and we'd look briefly into each other's eyes. And I would have no idea what he was thinking.
Wyst could be thoroughly inscrutable. It was part of his trade. White Knights were paragons of unflappable heroism. Underneath that stoic nature and righteous enchantments, I knew he was very much a mortal man. Perhaps this was merely wishful thinking on my part. Perhaps years of unspoiled virtue had killed any fleshly desires. Yet, in those glances, I felt certain I saw something, but did I see something because it was there or because I wanted it to be there? And did I really want it to be there?
Of course, I did.
Which begged the actual question, were these the desires of a smitten heart or accursed appetite? I suspected a little of each. Desire was often a many-headed beast.
My thoughts on the subject were interrupted by Newt. "You do realize that we're traveling northeast?"
I tried to ignore him, but this was merely wishful thinking.
"And that the horde came from the south?"
"Quite aware."
Newt took a moment to groom his wing.
"Just making sure you knew."
He groomed the other wing.
"Because, it just seems to me, that if we were to follow the horde to its origin, south would be a better direction."
"I can see why you might think that. That's why you are the familiar and I am the witch."
Newt frowned, and Gwurm chuckled.
Newt couldn't argue, but the demon in him couldn't drop the point entirely. "So how far north is this sorcerer?"
My vision was making more sense with every passing hour. I shared what I knew, well aware it wouldn't satisfy him.
"Four trials. Trial by peril. Trial by strength. Trial by combat. And trial by magic."
"Trials? Didn't the vision mention perhaps something along the lines of miles or days?"
I merely smiled.
"I was hoping for something more practical," Newt said.
"Visions are rarely practical. Useful, sometimes. Insightful, often. Practical, hardly ever."
"It's a poor arrangement, if you ask me."
"I don't know about that," Gwurm said. "Always seems to me that knowing too much takes the fun out of it. It's the not knowing that makes life worth living. Who can forget the lesson of Doomed Bill?"
"Who?"
I was glad Newt asked because I was curious too. Asking would have gone against my witchly training. Gwurm was only too happy to share the tale.
"It happened that one day a prince was born in a small kingdom. Now a great many people are born any given day, and enough of those people are princes that Bill's arrival into this world wasn't all that special an event. The king already had four sons, so more heirs weren't really needed. In fact, an overabundance of heirs has been the undoing of as many kingdoms as a deficiency. But this isn't the story of a political back-stabbing and courtly intrigue it well might have been under different circumstances because Bill was born under the shadow of death.
"Now accounts differ exactly how it happened. I've heard it told a dozen different ways. Some say the palace midwife glimpsed a terrible portent in Bill's afterbirth which she proclaimed before expiring from fright. Others whisper that he was born with the date tattooed on his forehead. But the way I've heard most, the way I like best, is that as the newborn prince was being placed in his crib for the first time, the nursery doors flew open and in stepped the withered, gray figure of Death himself.
" 'Bill,' the specter pronounced in an appropriately terrible and frightening voice, 'I have come for you.'"
Gwurm stretched out a hand, index finger extended.
"Naturally, this sent most everyone scurrying in fear. Only the prince's nursemaid had the bravery to stand before Death and plead for the child's life.
"Death of course would have none of that. But out of respect for the nursemaid's courage, he showed her his Black Scroll upon which the names and dates of every death that was, is, or ever will be is written. Just to quiet any further arguments.
"The nursemaid took one look at the scroll and observed that while Bill's name was on it, it was the wrong date. That the prince was fated to perish ninety-three years from this night."
Gwurm was an excellent storyteller, and Newt couldn't stop from asking, "What happened?"
Gwurm shrugged. "Death double-checked his list, discovered the maid to be right, apologized to everyone involved, and went on his way
"But that wasn't the end of it. For Bill was cursed with the knowledge that no man should ever carry. He knew his day of death. In fact, because the nursemaid couldn't keep a secret, soon everyone did. And Prince Bill became quickly known as Doomed Bill.
"And from that moment on, poor Doomed Bill spent his life, all ninety-three years of it, waiting for death. Just waiting and waiting and waiting. Accomplishing nothing. Enjoying nothing. While others lived and loved and went about discovering the pleasures and pains of being, Bill just sat in his castle and moped. And when the fateful day arrived, Death came for him again."
Newt shifted on my lap. "So he wasted his life? That's the moral of the story? Some ridiculous prince throws away his life because he's stupid, and this is supposed to enlighten us?"
I hadn't noticed Wyst had slowed to ride closer. He kept looking ahead. I only knew he'd been listening by his sudden remark. "That's not the end of the story."
"Oh, good." Newt glowered at the Knight and troll.
Gwurm grinned slyly. "So Death taps Doomed Bill on the shoulder with one gnarled finger, holds the Black Scroll be fore Bill, and apologizes for the lateness of his arrival. Naturally, this surprised Doomed Bill who knew Death to be right on time.
"But as it turned out, Death had been correct the first time. Doomed Bill had been fated to perish his first night on this world."
Newt grunted. "Wait a minute. Death made a mistake?"
"According to the story."
"Death doesn't make mistakes."
"Everyone makes mistakes. Occasionally."
Newt snorted. "But people don't not die because of misread scrolls."
"It's just a story."
"Yes, but it doesn't make sense. Fate doesn't make mistakes. If it did, it wouldn't be fate. It would be, well, I don't know what. But it wouldn't be fate."
"I'm only repeating it as I've heard it."
"Fate makes mistakes," I said. "Quite frequently, in fact. It's just rare for someone to be in a position to notice."
Gwurm chuckled. "You're missing the point. There are things better left unknown."
"No. You're missing the point. He didn't know anything. He just thought he knew."
"That's the same thing."
"No. It's not."
"It's just a story," Gwurm relented. "Take from it what you will."
It grew quiet again, and I used the time to sift through my vision. The four trials ahead could come in any order, and each would surely be more dangerous than the last. Such was the nature of all worthwhile quests. Although I didn't know what form each would take, I thought us well prepared. Gwurm had strength and good wits. Wyst of the West was both virtuous and brave. Newt had an eagerness to slaughter whatever might need slaughtering. My own witchly powers were formidable. And Penelope could keep the clutter at bay.
Newt spoke up. "Do you know what I've learned from that story?"
"That life is not in the knowing," I replied, "but in the finding out."
"No."
"That the wasted life is not worth living," Gwurm said.
"No."
Wyst of the West turned his head in our direction. "That no one, not even Fate itself, knows exactly what tomorrow brings?"
"No." Newt puffed out his chest and glared at the world in general. "Death should take more care with his paperwork."