The Warlock is Missing (6 page)

Nor should we leave her free to follow
, Geoffrey added.

Magnus agreed. "Let us do what we must."

Phagia's head snapped up, fear suddenly contorting her features. She lifted a clawlike hand—but Cordelia stared at the crone's feet, and they shot out from under her, whipping up level with her shoulders. She screeched; then her face hardened with determination and her feet slowly moved downward.

Cordelia bit her lip, face tightening with strain, and the witch's feet moved upward again. She howled with rage, and they steadied.

Magnus glanced at a vine that had wrapped itself up high, around a tree. It uncoiled, whirling backwards around and around the trunk, then groping out toward Phagia. Geoffrey frowned at it, and the vine broke off near its root, then whipped about the witch five times, pinning her arms to her sides. Phagia shrieked with horror, then clamped her jaw shut and heaved at the vine with all the strength of an adult mind. Sweat beaded Geoffrey's forehead as he fought to keep the vine in place—but as he did, Gregory reached out with mental fingers to whip the ends into a square knot. Phagia screeched, but Geoffrey relaxed with a smile. "Well done, tadpole."

" 'Tis well thou didst teach me that knot last Friday," lisped little brother.

"A pox upon thee!" old Phagia raved. "Thou knaves, thou curmudgeons! Hast thou naught else to do, but thou must needs torment a poor old beldame?"

"We did naught to trouble thee," Geoffrey contradicted.

"Nor would we have, hadst thou not turned upon us." Cordelia spoke more gently, trying to balance Geoffrey's contrariness.

"Turned upon thee! Eh! Innocent children, thou knowest not what those words do mean! Turn upon thee! Nay! But wait till thou hast had all the folk of a village come to chase thee, hounding thee from out thine home to harry thee throughout the countryside! Wait till they have caught thee, and bound thee to a ducking-stool, to sink thee in deep water, deprive thee of thy breath! Wait till thou dost feel thy lungs clamoring for air, till thou canst no longer bear it and must breathe, yet know thou'lt suck water in if thou dost—then they hale thee up into the air, at the last second, screaming, 'Vile witch, confess!' And thou dost not, for whosoe'er it was that did the wrong they've found, it was not thou! Yet they will blame thee, aye! Doth a cow's udder run dry? 'Twas thou who caused it! Did a sheep then sicken? 'Twas thou who cursed it! Did a child fall from out a hayloft? 'Twas thou who tripped him! It must be thou, it needs be thou—for naught but thou art a witch!"

"But we have not, we shall not!" Cordelia cried, pale and trembling. "We never would!"

'Tell that to these gentle souls who have lashed thee to the ducking-stool, and now plunge thee deep again! And if thou dost hold fast, and never dost confess to deeds thou hast not

done, they'll take thee off to torture thee, with fire and steel, till the pain, the agony, and the sight of thine own blood do so afright thee that thou dost cry at last, ' 'Twas I! 'Twas naught but I! Say what thou wilt have me say, and I will speak it! Only leave off thy hurting of me!"

Ashen-faced, Cordelia had clapped her hands over Gregory's ears, but he waved her away impatiently. "I'll but hear her thoughts as she doth speak them!" He looked up at Magnus "Can it truly be as she doth say?"

His brother nodded, face set and grim. "Mama and Papa have told us that the witches are ill-treated. Yet they've only hinted at such horrors!"

"Thy bold bluff peasants will do more than hint," Phagia assured him. "At the last, they'll lash thy torn and bleeding carcass to a stake, and pile fagots about thy feet, bundles of sticks as high as thy legs, and thrust a torch within them! Then wilt thou truly scream, as flames mount up to sear thee!" And she turned away, sobbing.

Cordelia faced her brothers, trembling with emotion. "Small wonder that Papa and Mama are so angered with folk who speak against witches!"

Magnus nodded, his face set like rock.

Gregory stepped forward shyly, and knelt by Phagia. "Is this why thou didst seek to chase us? Because thou didst fear we would summon folk to hurt thee?"

Phagia's head turned about, eyes staring at him. "Nay, little lad! Poor little lad! 'Tis from another cause—the one that made me hide myself away, where none would find me!"

Gregory frowned. "What cause is that?"

"Not the hurt that they did me," Phagia explained, "or that I did them; but hurt that was done to them because of me."

Gregory shook his head, not understanding.

"Done because of thee?" Magnus came up. "Who did it, then?"

"Lontar." She shuddered at the sound of the name. "Even in his youth, he had determined to work evil in every way he could. He courted me; 'Why should not two witch-folk wed?' quoth he. 'How much stronger will their wizardly get be!' Yet I knew him for what he was; his evilness fairly oozed from him; he reeked of it. 'No,' I said, and 'No,' again, and yet again; but he would not heed, till at last he sought to pursue me through my cottage door, and I slammed it into his face. He fell down, stunned, whiles I bolted the door and collapsed

against it, shaking. When he came to his senses, he could but rave—for warlocks cannot make locks move of themselves, praise Heaven!"

Gregory shared a quick glance with his two older brothers.

"What might he do then, but rail about my door? Yet that he did—and most puissantly. He laid a curse upon me, that anyone I might befriend would die, and in a fashion most horrible. I did credit him not; but within a fortnight, everyone I'd counted as a friend lay dead, and in a manner most repulsive. They lay… No!" She squeezed her eyes shut, clamping down on the thought before it could form fully in her mind. "I shall not speak of it to children!"

But enough of it came through to make the children glad she'd buried it—a brief, disgusting mental image of limbs, separate and partly flayed, bare bones sticking out. Even Geoffrey shuddered, and Cordelia gave a little cry before she pressed her hands against her mouth. Gregory let out one bleat of fright and dove into Cordelia's skirts. She hugged him, staring at the witch, who lay sobbing, struggling within herself. They could see her back and shoulders stiffen. "Nay! I will not! Children, thou hast mis-served me quite, stirring that foul memory up from the depths of my mind, where I had buried it!"

"We are most truly sorry," Cordelia murmured, and exchanged glances with her brothers. They pooled thoughts quickly, in a way that Mama had taught them; it kept anyone from outside the family from hearing them.

Aloud, Cordelia said, "Is that why thou didst seek to send us from thee?"

. Phagia nodded. "And 'tis why I came here to the forest. For seest thou, children, when I saw folk who'd been my friends from childhood lying dead in so repulsive a manner, I turned away, and resolved that never would I have a friend again. Deep into the forest I fled, and in its gloom I built mine hut—and oh, children, I assure thee, 'twas hard, so hard! I was a lass in the first bloom of womanhood, when folk most dearly need others, and I ached for company, and for young men's arms! Yet I did not weaken in my resolve; I stayed within my thicket—and oft did I bethink to seek mine end!"

"To slay thyself?" Cordelia gasped.

"Even so." Phagia nodded. "Yet I withstood temptation, and did live. Thus have I done for fifty years; here still I dwell, and my food is roots and berries, wild thyme, wild greens, and what little else that I may hunt or gather. Ever and anon comes one who would befriend me; yet have I spurned them, even as I sought to drive thee from me."

"Fear not," Magnus assured her, "we will be thy friends, aye, but only for some hours few. What harm could come to us in time so brief?"

"An we unbind thee," Cordelia asked, "wilt thou undertake not to harm us?"

Phagia swallowed her sobs and nodded.

Gregory stared at the knot of vine. Slowly, it untied itself.

Staring at it, Phagia sat up slowly.

The vine rose up, swaying, unwinding from about her.

"I thank thee," she breathed. "Yet heed the voice of wisdom, children. Flee! Get thee hence from me!"

"We shall bide only a short while," Magnus assured her.

"Fear not; we now are warned." Geoffrey grinned. "Let any dare seek to harm us!"

Phagia smiled in spite of her dread. "Four such doughty children must needs be proof against such evil." She shook her head in amazement. "Yet be mindful, thou art but bairns. How wilt thou fare against the power of a wizard grown?"

The children exchanged another glance. It wasn't necessary to remind each other not to tell her about the Witch of the Red Hill, or about the old sorcerer under the mountain. They all knew better than to let any grown-up learn about them. They'd never believe the children anyway—and if Mama and Papa ever found out, they'd be very upset.

"I think we may withstand such threats," Magnus said carefully.

"Nay, better." Geoffrey grinned like a wolf cub. "An we discover that foul wizard, let him guard himself!"

"Thou hast too much pride," Phagia chided. She stood up slowly, painfully, and brushed the dead leaves off her skirt. "Eh! But my bones ache with age!… Be not too unafraid, children. Beware—thou art but bairns."

"And we are hungry." Gregory tugged at her skirt. "Canst spare us morsels?"

Phagia looked down at him, and her face softened.

Then, with a wordless cry, she threw her arms wide. "What

matter? Mayhap 'tis even as thou dost say—mayhap thou art proof against the horror! Nay, let me for an hour or two enjoy thy company! Come, children—let's find food!'"

The children raised a cheer and followed her off through the woods as she hobbled away toward her hut.

But in the shadow of the leaves behind a root, two small figures exchanged glances, and shook their heads.

"She is truly a nice old dame." Gregory snuggled down under the blanket and closed his eyes.

"Ouch! Haul thine elbow from out my ribs!" Geoffrey snapped.

"I did not mean to." Gregory inched away from him.

"Then tell him thou art sorry," Magnus commanded from his other side.

"Sorry," Gregory sniffed.

The room was silent.

"Geoffrey…" Magnus said, with grim warning.

"Oh, well enough! 'Tis all right, Gregory," Geoffrey growled.

"She truly seemed to take delight in our guesting," Cordelia murmured from the narrow bed on the other side of the spare room.

"Aye, once she was satisfied she'd warned us, and done all she could to scare us away," Gregory agreed.

" 'Twas a good supper," Magnus sighed. "What meat was that the pie contained?"

"None," Cordelia said, with the complete certainty of the beginning cook. "'Twas naught but nuts and tubers, so cleverly combined the taste was like to fowl."

"Not foul at all." Gregory lifted his head, frowning. "'Twas good."

"Nay, wart," Magnus said fondly, "she means the bird, not the-bad."

"She's nice to guest us," Geoffrey sighed, "though I'd have liefer slept outdoors."

"Then go," Cordelia snorted. "I doubt not Robin and Kelly will guard thy slumber."

"Where have they gone?" Gregory pouted. "Want my elves!"

"They're nearby, I doubt not," Magnus reassured him. "They rarely wish grown-ups to see them."

"Kelly especially," Cordelia agreed. "Look what chanced

with him when last a grown one met him!"

"And what he lost," Magnus agreed. "Eh, Gregory?… Gregory!"

His little brother sighed deeply.

"He sleeps," Cordelia whispered. "A long day hath it been, for so small a fellow."

"And the bed is soft," Geoffrey agreed. "I could almost…" He broke off for a huge yawn.

Magnus smiled and held his peace, waiting. So did Cordelia.

Geoffrey finished the yawn with a smile and burrowed his head into the pillow. Two heartbeats later, he breathed lightly, evenly.

"Good night, sister," Magnus whispered.

"Good night," she answered.

The room was still.

Magnus jarred awake at a sharp pain in his nose. He could not breathe! He opened his mouth to yell, but something rough jammed into it—woolen cloth! He leaped out of bed, or tried to, but his arms and legs pressed against something holding them down. Rope! He was bound and gagged!

Phagia's face loomed over him in the moonlight, mouth hooked upward in glee. She gave off a high, thin giggle, nodding—but there was something odd about her eyes, as though they weren't quite focused, seeing Magnus but not really registering him.

"Art chilled?" she cackled. "Fear not; thou'lt be warm soon enough." And she turned away and went out the door, giggling still.

Rigid with fear, Magnus lay still and reached out with his mind, listening for his brothers' and sister's thoughts. The room seemed to darken even more, and the clattering old Pha-gia was making in the next room dulled. Just barely, he could make out their thoughts, too fuzzily to tell what they were thinking, but enough to know they were there. He forced his head up and looked about. Dimly, by moonlight, he could just make them out—bound and gagged, even as he was.

He lay back, feeling sweat start to bead his forehead, and fought for calm. Really, there was nothing to worry about. What if she had bound him? He'd just think at the knots and untie them!

But the rope wouldn't move.

Magnus closed his eyes and concentrated furiously on the knot. He felt it twitch, barely, but that was all. He gave up and sagged back on the bed, feeling the sweat of fear trickle down his cheek. What horrible spell had Phagia worked on him? And on his brothers and sisters, too, no doubt!

Then he remembered the supper—the vegetable stew that had tasted so wonderful, and that his sister had assured them had-contained no meat. What
had
it contained, though? What herb had Phagia discovered in her fifty years in the forest, that could dull the senses of a warlock and rob him of his powers?