Heart of the Staff - Complete Series

by Carol Marrs Phipps

  She gave him a kiss as they stood up to leave and watched him walk out with Tors, Kast and Gweltaz.

  Chapter 92

  “So what's all the stir about, Grandmother?” said Spitemorta as she emerged from below to find Demonica at the starboard rail, staring out to sea from under the flat of her hand.

  “Couldn't you hear the poop-ornament from down below?” said Demonica.

  “I heard the shout, but not what he said. I just came up here to find everyone in a big stir,” she said, having an uncertain look out over the waves herself. “So what...?”

  “Land, dear. You can't see anything yet from down here, but the ensign sure did from the top yard.”

  “How does he know?”

  “I'm sure he does, dear. Besides, not a half an hour ago, Captain Jockford predicted landfall on the Eastern Continent before evening.”

  “After three weeks it'll be good to get off this stinking ship,” said Spitemorta as she gave the rail a shake.

  “By all means. Keep your eyes open for white birds if you simply must have reassurances. And if you've not enough patience for that, there's the rigging. It shouldn't take you long to make it to the top yard. However, we really have better uses for our time, dear. Above all, we need duck out of sight to go over our plan one more time before we land and have to do it for real.”

  “You're joking, of course.”

  “What kind of joke have you ever heard me tell, Spitemorta?” said Demonica as she took her by the arm and ushered her below. When at last they stepped inside

  Spitemorta's berth, Demonica closed the door behind them. “Well come on then. Let's see it.”

  “See it?”

  “Absolutely. And if it's 'not joking' that we're discussing, I've not once heard of humor in trolls, so you can expect them to take your arrival quite seriously regardless of whether you were too ruffled to prepare or not, Rouanez Bras. Dress rehearsals are simply de rigueur amongst all those who succeed in theatre.”

  “Aren't you overdoing it, Demonica?”

  “Not when it's imperative. Are you trying to tell me that troll goddess is second nature to you, dear? I've been wondering.”

  “It's a waste of time and a needless squandering of my power. It's also insulting.”

  “So you withhold your efforts, since you really can't face your pregnancy, and have chosen a slow and dramatic suicide, aye?”

  “Damn you, Demonica!” shrieked Spitemorta, flinging an arc of water as she yanked her half full pitcher off the night stand and smashed it upon the floor at her feet.

  “Well dear,” said Demonica quietly, not noticing the tantrum, “if they think your act stinks, they won't mind using you for the prop in a rehearsal for an Elf butchering... But I mind!” she barked, lunging to press a furious stare into Spitemorta's face. “I mind because you'll have me along, sweetheart!”

  Spitemorta gave a shudder with clenched teeth as she wheeled aside. “Have it your way then, Demonica!” she hissed. She picked up the Staff from the sopping wet bedspread on the bunk.

  Demonica raised her eyebrows and stood back.

  At once Spitemorta reared up to the ceiling to stand, hunched over as a blond eight foot tall troll woman. “Nyrp-fonin-yrfi-nirfna Fnadir-ry-aphny?” she rumbled balefully in the very nasal and gutteral trollish speech.

  “No,” said Demonica, crossing her arms. “That won't do at all.”

  Spitemorta shrank back to size at once. “And just what possible objection could you have?” she said.

  “Something I overlooked, and it's a good thing we've caught it now...”

  “Well what, may I ask?”

  “The trolls aren't affected by magic, as we both well remember. That's how come they manage to be Elf Killers, and that's why magical illusions won't work on them.”

  “That's nice. So now, are you going to tell me that I have to dress up in a costume to do this? They'll butcher both of us.”

  “Of course, because a costume would be even less real, but I've a trick that'll make you far more real than you were a moment ago.”

  “By doing what, Grandmother?”

  “By actually turning you into one.”

  “What? You mean actually turn me into a giant blond troll?”

  “It's the only way.”

  “No!”

  “You don't like blond?” said Demonica with a glint in her eye like a waft of air across a hot coal. “Well, pick any hair color you fancy, Rouanez Bras, but flesh and blood troll you'll be, or I'm done with you from this very moment on.”

  Spitemorta was furious, but she immediately saw how it all was. “I'm sorry Grandmother...”

  Demonica held up the Heart of the Staff as though she hadn't heard her. An eerie red glow came to life within its depths.

  “Grandmother!” stammered Spitemorta, taking a faltering step backward. “I apologize, Grandmother. You're right! I knew it all along. I'm just...pregnant.”

  Demonica kept the Heart held high as she glowered furiously into Spitemorta's eyes. The Heart rang with the sound of a shrill tuning fork, as its light waxed brilliant before abruptly winking out, leaving Spitemorta ghostly pallid from head to toe, as weak as if she'd just been lifted out of a pickling jar. Demonica smiled wickedly and slipped the Heart inside her kirtle. “Now,” she said, as if announcing the next verse for the ladies, “show me just how we'll change you into a giant troll goddess. Any color hair you like. Just concentrate a moment. It should come directly.”

  Spitemorta stood there reeling, opening and closing her silent mouth. The somber light below decks was blinding. Her mind raced, but she could not quite form her thoughts. Surely there was some other way, but the only thing that would clearly come to mind were images of trolls. She looked at Demonica for reassurance and found stone. She took a step back and began her transformation. She collapsed to the floor in convulsions of agonizing pain as her body writhed, twisted, stretched and bulged. Her excruciations glazed over her eyes and locked open her mouth, too big to come out as screams. At last, she lay there in a mound for some time, heaving breaths. When her breathing steadied, she stood up with her shoulders against the ceiling, towering malevolently over Demonica.

  At the sight of Spitemorta's jet black hair, she roared with laughter. “Oh, help,” she said as she dabbed at her eyes over the heaves of her dying laughter. “Rouanez Bras. Oh, my dear. Here you are, fixing to rule the world and you don't have the nerve to try a new hair color. But I daresay you'll do, this time. Tomorrow the trolls will be our servants. Go ahead, let's change back.”

  “Duda-fay-yrfn-yophn,” said Spitemorta with a disdainful rumble that rattled the planks of the deck overhead.

  “Oh,” said Demonica, as she whipped out the Heart and gave it a single shake at Spitemorta. “There. Spell of tongues. Now anyone will be able to understand. So what were you saying?”

  “I said: no way. I'm not about to go through another change until the need for a troll goddess is completely passed. And if you don't like that, how about trading places?”

  “You suddenly like being troll goddess? You won't fit your bunk, but I suppose we could have the orderlies fix a pallet on the floor...”

  “Pain, Grandmother,” said Spitemorta as she shifted about on her feet in agitation, hitting her head on a timber hard enough to cry out as she sat down on the floor.

  “Pain? Interesting.”

  “The pain was not interesting, Demonica!” she said, nearly shouting. “It was unbearable. I've never had pain so bad in my life, not even giving birth to Abaddon, and he felt like he was thirteen pounds with horns. I do not want to go through it ever again, but I guess there's no escaping it at least once to change back.”

  “I see,” she said with a quizzical nod. “Well, let's just hope no Elf Killers are in sight when we dock.”

  “What difference would that make?”

  “Why would a goddess need to sail to the Eastern Continent on a ship?”

  “I see your point, but this is how I stay un
til the deal is done,” said Spitemorta as she rubbed her head. “So just what will you be doing while I'm role playing, Grandmother? You've yet to be clear about it.”

  “Why, I'll be your angelic companion, of course,” she said with an indignant gasp.

  “You're enjoying this.”

  “Of course,” said Demonica, looking about distractedly, tapping at a tooth. “And I think dear that under the circumstances, it would be best to fly ashore on the Staff. Do you think you can still sit astride it?

  “For once, I really agree with you, Grandmother. In fact, wouldn't it be best to stay in the air until we actually do see trolls? I mean, airborne would always be more goddess-like, wouldn't it?”

  “Yes, I'm afraid I must agree with you, too,” said Demonica with a peeved sigh. “I'll just go brief the good Captain and we can be off.”

  ***

  Spark found the grotto dark when he returned. “Ah,” he thought with a smile. “She must've fallen asleep, completely worn out after dealing with the mob and Edward's surprise party.” He decided to tiptoe to the bedroom and get a blanket to throw over her. She sat up at once from her cushion as he walked by. “Whatever are you doing sneaking around, Spark?”

  “I was on my way to fetch you a blanket and I woke you.”

  “I was already awake, but had I been asleep, I wanted you to wake me as soon as you came in. You weren't going to, were you?”

  “You've been suffering for sleep the whole time since the dragonets hatched,” said Spark as he knelt beside her. “You know how I've hated disturbing you when you finally get some sleep.”

  “Precisely why I stayed awake, dear heart. Now tell me, what have they decided?”

  “The council unanimously agreed that we should evacuate to the Black Desert, except...”

  “You mean there are some dissenters?” she said, reaching across her cushion to light a candle with a wee blue flame from her lips.

  “No. By 'except' I meant that certain members think we should wait until we hear from Niarg before we give up the Dragon Caves.”

  “Certain members?” she said, looking askance. “That means you and who else?”

  “Yea...?”

  “Oh, come on. Don't make me ask you.”

  “You're not getting rusty are you, Truth Teller?” said Spark with a smile.

  “All right, if you just must, meanie. It would have been you and Kast and Gweltaz, aye?”

  Spark nodded.

  “That's my dragon,” she said, fondly.

  “Yea. And your dragon is really dragging, love.”

  “Me too. Let's talk in the morning.”

  “It's already morning.”

  “When we wake up, then.”

  “Yea.”

  ***

  Edward lay in his bed listening to water dripping here and there, far off in the cavern as he looked up at the stars through the skylight and wondered what it would be like to soar through the sky at night. He glanced aside at Laora where she lay asleep on her cushion beside his bed. He was grateful that she had been allowed to move in with him. He no longer felt as horribly alone as he had for the longest time after Myrtlebell was killed. He still ached with longing for her, but Laora was helping him get by. “Someday Momma, I'll make those rotten sore sissies pay hard for what they did to you,” he murmered with a sniffle as his eyes brimmed with tears. “They should not get away with going around killing good people.” He sat up and rubbed his eyes with a wad of bed sheet.

  Laora stirred, sitting up on her cushion. “Is it morning yet?” she asked, rubbing her big orange eyes.

  “Yea, but it's too early to get up. Uncaspark just got back from the council meeting, so he and Aunt Lippy just got to bed. They won't be happy if we get up and everyone else wakes up.”

  “I guess you're right,” said Laora with a frown, “but I'm wide awake. I'll never be able to go back to sleep.”

  Edward sighed. “I know. Me either. Maybe we could tiptoe really, really, really quiet out to the kite field and you could practice your night flying.”

  “Good idea,” she said out loud as she sprang from her cushion. “Let's go practice night flying.”

  “Shhhh, Laora. You're loud. If everybody wakes up it won't be fun,” said Edward as he threw back his sheet and put his feet on the floor. “No, just you. I'll go with you but your folks would get really, really mad if we flew together again without telling them. And they really, really, really would get mad if we did that in the dark when no one else is up.”

  “Why should that matter?”

  “Because if something went wrong,” he said more patiently than he felt, “no one would be around to help us.”

  “Nothing's going to go wrong.”

  “I know,” he said with a sigh. “But they don't, and if they catch us they'll think we're so bad that we're just plain dangerous all over the place. They'll want to watch us every minute. But if we don't fly without asking, sooner or later they'll say: aw, look how big they're getting and give in right on the spot and let us fly together whenever we want, for ever and ever. You'll see.”

  “I guess you're right, Edward,” she said, studying him minutely, “and I hope it's right soon. It's so much better when you're with me.”

  “It's better for me too, Laora. 'Way, 'way better.”

  ***

  The coach came to a rocking halt. Lukus opened his bewildered eyes and grabbed at the top of the door as he sat up, upsetting Hubba Hubba where he was sleeping, perched beside Pebbles. Hubba Hubba bit him soundly on the finger.

  “Ow!” yelped Lukus as he dropped back into his seat, holding his hand. He sat up at once. “Hey, beak! What the ding dong blazes! You drew blood!”

  “Yea?” said Hubba Hubba with a resolute shake of feathers. “And goosing is not a proper way to wake a parrot! Not proper road etiquette. Not in the least. In front of Pebbles and everything...”

  “I didn't realize I'd gone back to sleep,” said Lukus, turning aside to Soraya, as she stirred and began at once attending to the twins. “Why do you suppose we've stopped? Do you have any idea where we are?”

  “We're still in the Jutwoods, Lukus,” she said, glancing out the window. We've probably stopped for a bite to eat, early though it be. It's not horribly long 'till breakfast time.”

  “I'll say,” he said as his stomach rumbled. He leant forward and unlatched the door, jostling Hubba Hubba and Pebbles. They each gave a shake and shuffled to the hinged side of the door.

  “Well, why don't you just give me a moment to see that's what's going on?” he said as he stepped out. “I'll be right back.” He slammed the door, causing both birds to tumble into the air in a frenzy of feathers.

  “Hey! Watch it snot!” squawked Hubba Hubba as he and Pebbles realighted on the door.

  Lukus thought it felt good to unbend and stand up. He stretched from heel to shoulder blade. It was getting light in the east. A pair of owls hooted at each other across the timber.

  “Just thought we'd best fix some breakfast before we go any farther,” said Danneth, speaking out as he sidled up to the coach astride his unicorn. “We're about into troll territory and it would be foolish to dally there.”

  “So we won't be camping or putting up at an inn or anything until we get to Loxmere, aye?” said Lukus.

  “That was our thought,” he said, patting his mount. “We daren't waste time, even in this part of the Jutwoods. Trolls sometimes wander, don't you know.”

  “Well, I'll get Soraya and the babies and join you all, directly.”

  Danneth nodded and clucked, steering his unicorn between saplings on the way to where King Neron, Jerund, and Strom were busy building a fire.

  Lukus tramped away from the coach for a good piece through the leaves, pausing to listen to the owls. He turned to look back. “That...was big,” he said as the back of his neck prickled. “And it's still there.” He carefully drew out his rapier and squatted in the leaves, listening. Right at first, he swore he heard whatever it was breathin
g, but he managed to hear nothing but the Elves at work on their fire, away behind him, once he got still. The prickly feeling along his neck did not go away. “It's still watching, I can feel it.” As he carefully stood up to go back to the coach, he glanced back to see that Danneth was already dismounted and looking straight his way as he nocked an arrow into his bow and drew. Lukus wheeled back to face the coach the instant Danneth loosed his arrow.

  Soraya was just stepping out with the babies. A huge naked man brandishing a club staggered into the open with Danneth's arrow in his shoulder, howling with pain.

  “Soraya!” screamed Lukus. “Troll!” He gave a furious run for the beast, which was headed right for the twins and her.

  Soraya looked up to see the troll coming straight at her. She wheeled and dove into the coach, rolling Ariel and Daniel onto the floor and throwing herself on top of them as she slammed the door.

  The team lurched and bucked in terror, violently rocking the coach. At once the troll was at the door. With a wail of fury he shook the coach. He lunged and reached inside to rip away the sleeve from Soraya's robe in time for Lukus to slice away a long strip of flesh from his groping arm.

  The moment the troll wheeled about to face him, the terrified team broke loose to charge away through the timber with Soraya and the twins. Screaming white hot fury, Lukus plunged his rapier clean to the hilt in the troll's ribs in time for it to knock him flat on the ground. Before they had gone ten rods, the team ran between two trees, wedging the coach solid. Soraya flew out the door with her bow, parking her babes in the bushes as she ran to Lukus's aid. Stringing bloody froth and drool, the bellowing troll now had Lukus like a sack of flour, shaking him senseless. Danneth could not get a safe shot from where he stood, but Soraya could. She ran right up and planted three arrows in the beast as he bounced Lukus off the ground like a ball.

  With Lukus out of the way, Danneth also let fly arrow after arrow. At last the troll collapsed in a bleeding heap. With a look of leonine fury, Soraya neatly planted one last arrow in the beast's eye socket before running to Lukus's side.

  Danneth was right there, followed by Neron, Jarund, and Strom. “Where are the twins?” he said.