"I'd heard the same," said Gwurm. "Only I'd heard it told that he was born with a soul but lost it."
"Sorcerers don't often traffic with demons."
"I didn't say he'd sold it. I said he'd lost it."
Wyst agreed. "They say he was a good man, but one day, he misplaced his soul."
Newt sighed. "That's preposterous."
"It's just what I've heard." Wyst remained serious, and I couldn't tell if he was jesting or not. "It doesn't seem any more preposterous than having one's brain liquefy for merely saying a name."
Gwurm said, "I lost my mother's nose not long after leaving home."
Newt balked. "Her nose."
"It's troll tradition. Something to remember her by. But I lost it, and it drove me quite mad with irritation. Took me weeks to get over it, but in the end, it was just a nose. I remember my mother just as well without it."
He ran a thumb across his wide chin. "But still, it did get to me those weeks. And I would imagine misplacing one's soul would be a thousand times worse. It
is
your most personal and irreplaceable possession. I think even the greatest man would be driven mad by that. Mad enough to kill those who dared utter his name."
"I still think it makes more sense that he was born without one."
"More sense, perhaps," I agreed, "but magic isn't always sensible."
"You didn't see any souls while you were lost did you?" asked Gwurm. "Good chance if you had it would have been his."
Newt wasn't amused and ignored the question. "Your mother's nose, you say?"
Gwurm nodded. "It was blue with a wart on the end. You didn't come across anything like that either, did you?"
"No. No misplaced souls. No lost ears. No mislaid noses."
"Well, keep an eye out for it next time you're there."
"I will."
He muttered something about eating it should he ever find it.
W
e came across an
old road and followed where it led. In the early evening, the countryside became somehow familiar. I didn't recognize it. I'd seen very little of the world, but a good witch has a sense of the land.
My curiosity got the better of me, and I hopped off Gwurm's shoulders to speak with the road. I knelt low and asked, "Have I been here before?"
He spoke with a rough, dry voice as any neglected, dusty road should.
"Leave me alone."
"I beg your pardon, but I think I've been here before."
"Perhaps you have," he grunted. "Perhaps you haven't. A great many feet have trod upon this old road. I can't be expected to remember them all."
Despite his protests, I knew every road recollected all those who'd traveled upon it. I also knew that such an old, neglected road wouldn't volunteer information freely.
"And how very presumptuous of you," the road added, "to ask me anything after treading so callously on my back."
"I'm sorry, but isn't that what roads are for?"
"Oh, yes. To be walked and rolled across without thought all hours of the day, that is my job. Answering questions is not. Now on your way. Stomp away with your cruel hooves and clomping troll feet, but stop pestering me with questions."
Not all roads were so bitter. A well-used, well-tended road is a contented beast of burden. All too often, prosperity leads men elsewhere, and the streets are left behind to grow resentful. This particular road could never have been that important to begin with. He didn't even have remembered greatness to ease his ill temperament.
I stood for a moment, saying nothing.
"Off you go," the road growled.
I remained. None of my companions questioned my motives though Newt did clear his throat impatiently.
"Oh, the cruelty of it," the road lamented. "I, who have helped a thousand travelers find their way, can't even flee from a single bothersome witch. Wait as long as you like. I have nothing but time."
I let Penelope go, and she immediately set to sweeping.
"Oh, my. That feels ..." The road exhaled. Soft clouds of dust rose and fell. ".. . splendid. It's been ages since I've been tended to. That's it. Now to the left. More. More. Just right."
I snapped my fingers, and Penelope returned to my side.
"Don't stop! Don't stop!"
"Answer my question, and I'll allow her to continue."
The road didn't hesitate. "Yes, yes, you've walked with me before."
"When?"
"Years are meaningless to me, but I know it was when I was more well traveled. Long ago. Your promise. Keep your promise."
"Of course."
Penelope was every bit as eager as the road. She danced back and forth as he sighed pleasurably at her tender caress. He directed her between approving murmurs, and his pleasure drove her into a fervor of sweeping.
"What's wrong with her?" asked Newt.
I climbed back on Gwurm's shoulders.
"Harder," groaned the road. "Oh, yes! That's it. That's the spot!"
Newt squinted curiously.
I covered his eyes. "It's impolite to stare."
We continued. Penelope fell behind, tending to the road. I trusted she would catch up and left her to her passion. It was barely an hour later that a broken-down cottage came into view. Like the land, it was oddly familiar. I ordered a stop.
"What now?" asked Newt.
I gave no explanation as I studied the abandoned house. It was wholly unexceptional. I climbed the porch steps and pushed open the creaking door to find nothing but dust and spiderwebs inside. It had been a long time since anyone called this place home.
Wyst dismounted. "Is something wrong?"
We walked around to the back of the overgrown yard. A door in the earth beckoned. The rusted hinges broke when I opened it. The evening twilight refused to enter the darkened hole.
"Are you feeling well?"
The worry in Wyst's voice meant much of my witchly inscrutability had fallen away. I would've reassured him, but I wasn't certain how I felt. There were so many thoughts and emotions welling up that I couldn't pick out just one. I descended into the earth, and in the darkness, I found the past I'd left behind so long ago. This was the countryside of my birth. I hadn't recognized it because I'd only seen it once while living in Ghastly Edna's charge. I'd worn a cowl then and kept my eyes closed most of the time. Sunlight had bothered me much more then. But I knew this place.
My cellar.
Wyst's shadow filled the door. "Witch?"
I placed my hand against a rotted support beam and found an omen in the splintered grooves. "We camp here tonight."
Newt's silhouette appeared between Wyst's feet. "Here? In the basement?"
"No. You can camp outside."
"But there's at least another hour of daylight," said Newt. "Shouldn't we keep going?"
"Tonight comes the next trial. Here."
"In the basement?"
I wasn't feeling very witchly at the moment and threw him a glare that never climbed out of the darkness.
"And what do you mean another trial?" he said. "Already? We just had one yesterday Nothing for weeks and then, two trials right atop one another. Where's the sense of pace to this quest?"
I wasn't in the mood for this. And sometimes, when a witch gets properly annoyed, her magic responds unbidden. A breeze swept through the cellar and up the stairs.
"I would think whatever force was in charge of quests would quack quack quack quack."
I smiled. Then I frowned because a witch should never allow herself to do magic by accident. Especially malicious magic.
Newt kept on talking. Or trying. "Quack quack quack." He cleared his throat. "Quack quack quack." He drew in a deep breath and expelled one last disgusted duck call before disappearing from the doorway.
Wyst dared step one foot in the dark that I'd called home so many years. "Witch, are you certain you're well?"
I glanced up at that handsome face. In the darkness, his eyes seemed to shine. "Certain? Can anyone be certain of anything?" It sounded vaguely witchful, but I was off my game. I decided not to settle.
"Certainty is for fools and death." I liked that, even if I didn't really understand it myself. The phrase reminded me of what it was to be a good witch.
I stepped deeper into the dark, where the shadows enveloped me. "We camp here. Now leave me."
He hesitated.
My voice grew soft and scratchy. "Leave me."
Something must've reminded Wyst of what it was to be a White Knight because he withdrew. His face went blank, and he vanished from the door.
Magic didn't act on its own. It acted on the will and desires of others, and I had to wonder whose will had guided me here. It could've been Nasty Larry or Ghastly Edna from beyond the grave. Or Soulless Gustav. Or even myself. I didn't know the who or why of it, but I trusted to discover it in time.
I stood alone for some time. The light filtering through the door faded. It was an overcast night, and my cellar became a black emptiness. A hole in the ground filled with nothing, just a scarcity of memories.
My childhood hadn't been much to remember. There was the spot at the bottom of the stairs where I'd waited for my meals to be thrown to me. There was the corner where I'd eaten those meals. And there was the other corner where I'd sat and slept between those meals. Countless days, but really the same day over and over and over. This place meant little to me now. It hadn't meant much to me before. I couldn't even remember my family. My life truly began the day Ghastly Edna had pulled me from this hole.
In another world, another time, an explorer of this cellar might easily find a hideous, terrified creature huddling in the dark, abandoned by her family and too frightened to leave this dusty void. A beast to be feared, despised, and pitied. The me that never was but so easily could have been.
Harsh light burned away the dark. Wyst of the West descended the creaking stairs. I kept my back to him. I only knew it was him by scent. I had a predator's nose when it came to men. They were my curse's meal of choice.
The shadows fought against the invading lantern. It had been a long time since their sanctuary had been challenged, but they could only hiss and writhe and fight among themselves.
"Witch?"
I didn't turn to face the White Knight. "Yes?"
"Will you be spending the night down here?"
I lowered my head and closed my eyes. "Perhaps I will."
He moved to the left, judging by the shifting light. I turned my head away. The lantern seemed so terribly bright.
"And the trial, are you certain we face it tonight?" asked Wyst.
"We do not face a trial tonight." I raised a hand and watched the silhouette play against the wall. "I do alone."
"By yourself?"
I offered no reply as none was needed.
Wyst stepped closer. I covered my eyes.
"But..." He stammered. I'd never heard him stammer. ".. . aren't we . . . working together?"
"We are, but this next trial is one that only I can defeat. You, the others, will only get in my way."
"But.. ."
I turned my face to him and forced my eyes open. I could only squint, but I hoped it was a mysterious squint. "There are things which must be."
He raised his lantern higher. The rabid shadows refused to fall across his pleasing face. Wyst of the West held out a hand. He closed it into a fist. Then opened it. Then put it atop his head and shrugged. He turned and moved toward the stairs.
"Wyst." As much time as we'd spent together, this was the first time I'd spoken his name.
"Yes?"
"I have a favor to ask you."
The cellar grew so quiet, I could hear the shadows whispering. I was very close to forgetting the whole affair, but he offered me courage.
"You only have to ask."
I couldn't look directly at him. "Could you hold me?"
Wyst remained rigid and silent. I tried to read his face and found only earnest sobriety.
I suddenly felt very foolish.
"I'm sorry. But I have glimpsed the creature I might have been, and I was hoping to find the mortal woman I should have been. If only for a moment. But I should've known even simple embraces are against your oath."
"They are"—He set down his lantern and clasped his hands together—"discouraged."
"I shouldn't have asked. My apologies."
He moved before me and put a hand on my shoulder. "Discouraged. Not forbidden."
And just like that, he took me in his arms. Gingerly at first. I had little experience in physical affection, and he was pre sumably out of practice. But it wasn't so complicated. We leaned into each other. His arms circled just above my waist. My hands rubbed his back in small circles. I nuzzled his neck. My hat fell off, and I didn't care.
The shadows ceased muttering at the sight.
Wyst was so warm, and his touch triggered the heat within my cold, undead flesh. The cellar seemed a frozen hollow. My heart beat faster. My skin tingled. My stomach twisted.
This was what my curse denied me. I could savor it for only a moment. The trust. The warmth. The imperceptible made tangible, given form in this man. I suspected nothing could be better than this. Except for possibly ripping out his throat and lapping at the sweet blood gushing forth. Probably not even that.
My stomach rumbled loud as thunder. At least, it seemed so to me. I was reminded of what I was. I pulled away. It wasn't so easy. My arms let go with great reluctance, and I sensed some resistance from Wyst. Or maybe only imagined it.
The invisible mark on his forehead flickered, and I knew I hadn't. Wyst's purity remained intact, but beneath the White Knight was a mortal man. Unfortunately, I'd rediscovered the accursed fiend within me as well.
He said nothing. He turned, picked up his lantern, and stared up the stairs.
"Wyst, thank you."
He paused at the door and spoke so softly I barely heard him over the chattering shadows. "You're welcome."
Then he was gone, and I was left in the basement again. I wasn't alone anymore. On one side hunched the creature I might have been. On the other stood the woman I should have been. In this forsaken place, both were as real as the witch between them, but there was another world atop those stairs. A world where only one of us was true. So I bid them good night and many good tomorrows and ascended from this pit into the night.
The others were camped around the front of the cabin. I followed the sound of irritated quacks. Everyone was waiting there but Wyst, who was nowhere to be seen. But his horse was still here. He couldn't have gone far.
Penelope dragged herself to my side. Her tryst with the road had left her exhausted.
"Enjoy yourself?" I asked.
She raised into the air and bobbed.
"Very good, dear, but you should learn to pace yourself. Now go rest."
No sooner had she floated away then Newt stood before me. He quacked once and glared.
"I vote to leave him like that," remarked Gwurm.
Newt shouted something rude at the troll. Though I was fluent in duck, I didn't bother translating.
"He's been like this all night. Persnickety and foul-tempered. More so than usual. Maybe you should change him back after all."
I waved a hand. Newt belched and instantly began questioning me. Demons don't learn lessons easily. "What did you do to the White Knight? He didn't say a word after coming out of that basement. Strangest look on his face. I don't like it. You shouldn't be consorting with him by yourself. It's dangerous."
I smiled. "Life often is."
"Where's your hat?"
"I must have left it in the cellar." Absently, I ran my fingers through my silken hair. "I don't need it right now." I glanced into the overcast sky, just bright enough for my undead eyes.
New scowled. "And when is the next trial anyway? I'm getting tired of waiting. Does the magic think we have nothing better to do than sit here all night?"
I put a finger to my lips and shushed him. He bit his tongue. I guess he'd learned his lesson after all.