“That's awful! I don't care who she is, how could you ever want her dead?”
“Easy, Minny-Min. She's most inconvenient...”
“And how dare you eavesdrop! What else did you find out?”
“That I have a goody two shoes sister...”
“No! What else did you overhear?”
“Here,” said Ugleeuh as she smacked her lips and pushed the platter across the board. “You need some cake. You're supposed to be celebrating my birthday.”
Minuet crossed her arms with a sigh, studying her half sister.
“Sit,” said Ugleeuh. “You're hair's red enough without the rest of you being on fire.”
“Plague,” said Minuet, giving in and having a seat. “That's really awful. What else? Why did they get Father?”
“Why would you want to know if it's so terrible for me to eavesdrop? Aren't you too good for any of this? And why is the plague any concern of yours? Our old man's a wizard.”
“You think that magic will help? Don't you know that the First Wizard died of the plague?
“Pooh, Min-Min. The Crown wants Father to stop the plague with his magic, so somebody knows it can be done. And if it's too much for our dear father, that's probably where he's gone. He's probably off to see Uncle Razzorbauch for some real magic. And if he'd taken me, maybe I'd have gotten some kind of decent birthday present.”
***
Razzmorten appeared in the moonlight amongst the tall basaltic rocks of Demonica's keep on Head (or Pennvro). He clambered about with his staff, listening to the pounding surf far below as he paused here and there to feel for the presence of magical wards and protections set by Demonica. “Well, Razzorbauch's not here,” he said. He removed his hat, and for a time stood with his face fixed into the breeze, feeling the air. At last he found a place amongst a tumbled colonnade of stones and went to sleep until morning.
Just before the sun, he awoke to find himself in the midst a colony of very agitated puffins. He was on his feet at once, clambering up the rocks. The towers of her castle rose behind the crown of the great barren prominence as he climbed. There was no drawbridge. Her portcullis was up, in fact it was unlikely to have been closed that night. He could definitely detect magical wards, but none laid for someone afoot. He walked right in. He found her reading a letter as she sat in her great scarlet and white chair on the dais, legs crossed, having egg in a hole and tea.
She looked up with a gasp.
“Good morning,” he said.
“Good thing you explained that,” she said. “I'd never have considered any morning 'good' which had you standing in the middle of it. Now how would you like for me to arrange your death?”
“Oh go on, Dee! We both know better. I'm not here to arrest you. You made that more difficult than it would ever be worth years ago. And besides, I stepped in here fully prepared to turn your head into a cinder at the first sign of trouble. I'm only here for a brief chat.”
“You went to a good deal of trouble.”
“Well, yes. Years ago, you told me that you knew of a tribe of heathens (as I believe you called them) who were supposed to have gotten through the plague which killed the First Wizard without any deaths at all. Do you remember anything about that?”
“Well no, dear. It's very difficult indeed to recall anything at all for the likes of you or Niarg. Does anyone there have the plague?”
“I have,” said Razzmorten as though he were merely speaking of tickets in his pocketbook, and now you have it as well. So if you wish me to come back and cure you, it might be best if your memory returned.”
With a yowl, the snow white cat sitting in Demonica's lap shot across the throne room and vanished. Demonica stared off into the distance for a moment. “Ngop,” she said, heaving out a sigh. “The Ngop, 'way down the west coast, here. The plague simply decimated everyone throughout the continent, everyone except the Ngop. It's said that they came out of it completely untouched. Down the coast. Talk to their shaman. I think he goes by Ngerrk-ga. And talk to their chief, Dort-da.”
“Ngerrk-ga!” cried Razzmorten. “I know him. He and Dort-da were the Aboriginals I once met at the Hanter Koadou. They mightn't have worn clothes, but they were well respected.”
“Well, you've managed to disarm me, Razzmorten. You always did have your skilled moments. Do me a favor. If you were indeed telling the truth, would you be so kind as to return with the cure? My cat needs someone to feed her.”
Chapter 2
Razzmorten appeared on a lonely beach amongst the cries of terns, just as a wave soaked his feet, sending small snails vanishing into the sand as it rushed back to sea. A beached jellyfish glistened in the mid-morning sun. He stepped away from the water and scooped up a double handful of shells to admire for a moment before squinting under his hand at the arid hills of white limestone dotted with grey shrubs which lay inland. He pulled out his scrying ball from his shoulder bag and squatted in the sand to stare into it, shaded by the brim of his pointed hat. At once he was underway through the marram grass, making straight for the hills. By the time the sun was overhead, he had crossed over three great ridges of hills. A savannah sparrow called nearby.
He paused to mop his brow and look about as he felt of the ball in his bag. “Maybe I need another peek,” he said. Suddenly he held his breath. “Could that be children?”
A pebble skittered across the rocks at his feet, just as he spied a curly haired head slipping behind some rocks. He heard hushed giggling. “Hello?' he hollered.
There was dead silence.
“Hello? Is someone there?”
“Mamin!” cried a brave naked boy, prancing into view.
“Mamin! Mamin!” shouted another, “Dirdawung, mamin lamang gahan!”
“Menuny mamin mawu ga-yu-ma wutjjurrh-ma!” cried a girl, taller than the others, leaping to her feet.
Soon there were eight naked children dancing around him, just out of reach, chanting sing-song: “Ma-min...ma-min...ma-min...” After a bit of this, they took turns crying: “Mamin!” as they leaped forth to tug at his clothes and jump back as if he would bite.
“I say,” cried Razzmorten, looking 'round about, “would you all be Ngop?”
The children broke out in such laughter that they could scarcely stay on their feet.
“If you all are Ngop, could you take me to Dort-da?” he said, nodding with wide eyes of encouragement.
At this, a middle-sized girl with the merriest eyes of all dashed up and began yanking and pulling on his arm.
He followed her at once. Up through the next ridge of hills they led him, pattering through the dust and rocks, until they came to a wide dusty valley. The merry eyed girl kept a relentlessly tight grip on his hand, pulling him along through the dust and shrubs as they came to scattered acacia trees with ruminating cows bedded down everywhere in the shade. He could see low domed mud huts in the thickest of the trees. At the far end of them against the rocks of a limestone bluff was a whitewashed hut, larger than all the others. They hurried with him, straight up to it. “Dort-da! Dort-da!” they shouted. And the next thing he knew, he was standing in front of the hut's triangular door without a child in sight.
As he was glancing here and there at the paintings of animals chasing each other across the breadth of the whitewash, trying to gather his thoughts, Dort-da stepped into the light, adjusting his long gourd cod piece. For a moment he looked as though he had been asleep. Suddenly he smiled. “Razzmorten!” he cried. “It's been ages since Hanter Koadou. Come inside.”
Razzmorten removed his hat and followed Dort-da inside, finding that ducking was scarcely enough to navigate a triangular doorway. It took a moment for his eyes to adjust. “Why, it's as cool as a cellar in here,” he said.
“Sit here,” said Dort-da, giving a slap to one of several fat rolls of blankets on the floor in front of a great chair made of cow bones. He sat in the chair and crossed his legs. He clapped his hands and a girl clad only in a skirt appeared with a jug of water and two lar
ge cow horns. He took the first drink and nodded at Razzmorten. “What brings you here?”
“It wasn't too many years before our meeting at Hanter Koadou that there was a great plague which swept through the Dark Continent...”
“Douar-Noz might be better,” said Dort-da. “The house of Dark hadn't taken over yet.”
“Certainly,” said Razzmorten carefully. “So, when the plague swept through Douar-Noz, of course, it killed thousands upon untold thousands of people, including my progenitor, the First Wizard, who was visiting here at the time. It killed half the people living here as well as half the people on the Northern Continent. Well, I've just heard that when the plague came, not a single Ngop died from it. Is that true?”
“Has the plague returned after all this time to Norz-Meurzouar?”
“Yes. One and by now, maybe two have died at Castle Niarg.”
“Who brought it?” said Dort-da as he studied the backs of his hands. “Do you know where it came from?”
“Far,” said Razzmorten, keenly aware that Dort-da was being careful. “The one who died just before I left was a retainer of Princess Branwen of the House of Far. I have no idea how many have died there.”
“I've only heard of them a time or two. Do you know if they trade with the Gwaels of Gwaremm?”
“The last I knew, the Gwaels made them uneasy...”
“We have a lot to lose Razzmorten, but you convinced me years ago at Hanter Koadou that you have a true heart. You need to see Ngerrk-ga. His dreams are strong. If he doesn't want to help you, you are not to return here until seven years after this new plague has run its course.” Dort-da studied Razzmorten carefully for a moment, then clapped once more. The young woman appeared with more water. “Nu-jabing-nga,” he said. “Razzmorten-ga-ndi lahan Ngerrk-ga.”
Nu-jabing-nga quickly set down her jug. “Di-nya,” she said, motioning to Razzmorten with a nod. “Di-nya.” Waving him on, she disappeared out the door.
Razzmorten bowed to Dort-da, thanked him and hurried out into the heat and blinding light to find Nu-jabing-nga. He saw her at once, but found her even more difficult to keep up with than the children. He had to jog to catch her before she disappeared beyond the huts along the meandering path in the thorny wait-a-bit bushes that the Ngop used for fences which ran along the limestone bluff from acacia tree to acacia tree for a very long way, sticking up in the roasting heat like great parasols which gave shade to the resting cattle who languidly chewed their cuds and swished at flies, watching them pass. At last the path rose into a break in the bluff which led to an isolated mud hut, whitewashed and covered with red ochre hand prints in the shade of a pair of especially large acacias. Ngerrk-ga was out front with his back to them on his knees feeding the fire under a large kettle that he was stirring.
Nu-jabing-nga held her finger to her lips and motioned for Razzmorten to sit on the ground at Ngerrk-ga's back before grabbing her nose and dashing away, back down the path.
Ngerrk-ga went right on stirring as if no one had arrived at all, chanting quietly: “Nja-min-ah... nja-min-ah... nja-min-ah... nja-min-ah...”
“Fates forbid!” thought Razzmorten. “I hope he notices me before I pass out from the smell!”
***
Ugleeuh lay propped on her elbows in the close-cropped grass of the orchard on the hill behind their manor house, listening to a nearby oriole as she watched the men below with their bull rakes making windrows in the pungent hay. Sheep bells tinkled behind her. She gave a bored sigh and lay back to study the fluffy white clouds overhead in the deep blue sky, tracing their shapes with her finger.
“Ta, ta-taa, ta-taa...” she said as a particular cloud directly over the hay field quickly turned brooding and black. “Ta, ta-taa, ta-taa...” she said as the cloud began thoroughly pelting the field hands with huge drops of rain. “Ya-ha!” she cried, springing to her feet, furiously flinging wide her glowing fists, as a bolt of lightning connected the cloud with the big oak tree in the hayfield, blowing away a great strip of bark down its trunk. The hands ran for shelter as she squealed with delight, skipping through the grass, ending with a cartwheel.
“Lee-lee!” cried Minuet, spying Ugleeuh and tramping straight over to her. “Don't you dare pull a stunt like that!”
“What? Yesterday you were so jealous of my birthday that now you're jealous of a good cartwheel?”
“What is the matter with you, Leeuh? That's Father's hay! Look how much you soaked! And old Mister Philpot, did you see him?”
Ugleeuh nearly let slip a giggle, silencing it with a look of wounded innocence.
“You little witch! He was standing so close to the tree, you singed off his hair. I sure hope he can still hear!”
“And you're unladylike. You stamped clean across the orchard and you're still shouting. And I don't even know what you think I'm supposed to have done...”
“You know very well what you did!”
“No, I don't!”
“Father's hay...!”
“So?”
“The cloud! The Rain...!”
“Why are you jumping on me? I don't control the weather...”
“You certainly don't! You meddle with it...”
“I did not,” said Ugleeuh with a sullen growl. “You're imagining everything, just like you always do, you sicky goody-goody. Besides, if I actually did do it, wouldn't I have a right to? The old man stood me up. He owed me my gift this morning, and it's 'way past noon.”
“Don't try it again, Leeuh.”
“Or what?” she said, grabbing up her quilt from the grass.”
“Or I swear to Fates, I'll stop you!”
“I'm not listening, sweetheart.” she called as she walked away through the apple trees.
***
Just as Razzmorten was thinking over how he might manage to vomit discretely, Ngerrk-ga stood up, doused the fire with a bucket of water and covered the kettle with a large wooden lid. “Razzmorten...” he said without having ever so much as glanced behind to see. He turned square about and smiled grandly. Suddenly he paused to bow his head and shake a wooden rattle in three distinct places in the air before stepping forward to shake hands. “Razzmorten. This is a wonderful day since you've come. Please sit and tell me how it is in the civilized parts of the world.”
Razzmorten didn't know what to say for a moment. “Well, I'm most relieved to see you again, Ngerrk-ga, “he said, finding a rock to sit on. I'm sorry to say that I've not come to enjoy a visit, and I'm also sorry to say that things are suddenly urgent in the civilized parts of the world.”
Ngerrk-ga nodded gravely. “And you've come for a cure for the rotting death plague...”
“My word! How could you possibly have known such a thing?”
“I dream well,” he said, as he sauntered to the door of his hut and reached inside for a clay bottle. “I knew you were on your way. In fact I knew for a day or two before you left home, so I had time to make up some cure for you.”
Razzmorten was stricken wide eyed and speechless.
“There is just one thing I have no way of knowing, yet,” said Ngerrk-ga. “Are you willing to teach me your way of traveling without walking?”
“Well certainly,” stammered Razzmorten, “but I'm not at all sure that I can. As far as I know, the only reason that I am able to myself is because my Human grandmother married a very powerful Elf. But I swear that I will do everything in my power to teach you.”
“Well,” he said as he began scratching the chin of a panting sheep that had sauntered up, “I've no Elf blood, but as you can see, I do have some skills of my own, so you might manage, if you try. Will you?”
“You have my word.”
“Then hold out your hand,” he said, turning aside from the sheep and pulling the stopper from the bottle. He put a drop of oil from it onto Razzmorten's finger. “Put your tongue to it.”
“My! That's hot. Spicy. Why, this reminds me of an Elven spice...umm, um. Elven hyssop. They call it oregano. This wouldn't be oregano,
would it?”
“I have no idea. I never heard of Elven hyssop nor oregano. I don't know all the words in the civilized places. We call it worrobobo. It means: damned hot plant. But here's one of the very plants. Have you seen it before?”
“My land!” said Razzmorten, staring at it minutely. “I'd swear it is indeed what they call oregano. It is indeed Elven hyssop.”
“So you have it where you live?”
“On my continent, at least, I'm right sure. I've collected it for my herbarium in arid limestone hills there, much like the hills you have between here and the sea.”
“Good,” he said with a strange laugh, as he resumed scratching his sheep, “because we're not giving you any of ours. We do reserve the right to stay alive, don't you know. But since you do have the plant, I'll show you how to get the oil.” He rose and led Razzmorten to a recently used contraption a short way beyond the sight of his hut, a huge kettle with a lid ending in a long pipe used to collect the condensed oil.
“Why, we'd call this a still,” said Razzmorten.
“Yes,” said Ngerrk-ga. “The bad woman from Head brought us that one. She tried to talk us into drinking the liquid from corn mash. You saw her on the way here.”
“Razzmorten shook his head in astonishment. “So how do I use the oil?”
“Six drops under the tongue, six times a day, and a drop or two on each swelling, six times a day. And you need to give this same amount to each one handling the sick,” he said as he sat back down in front of his panting sheep. “And you will come straight here when the plague is passed and show me how to travel without walking?”
“I will, I will indeed,” said Razzmorten.
***
Razzmorten appeared on a stone bench in the shade of a great white trellis smothered with blooming red roses. “This is taxing,” he said, closing his eyes for a moment as he propped himself on his knees. He opened his eyes and saw his staff lying in the gravel at his feet. “And these roses are simply stunning.” He sniffed at one of them, picked up his staff and steadied himself. “Well here we are, in one of the gardens of the inner ward. This may be awkward, but it's quick.” He hurried along a path to the first door he saw and stepped inside.
Heart of the Staff - Complete Series Page 2
