Heart of the Staff - Complete Series

by Carol Marrs Phipps

  “You shall call me 'Your Highness!'“

  “Not until you're man enough to earn it,” he said, giving him a shake.

  Abaddon stared into Lance's eyes with blistering defiance, chin out, refusing to nod. Lance pointed him smartly in the direction which Rodon had gone and gave him a shove between the shoulder blades. Abaddon tramped forth, the very picture of resentment, as Lance took the reins of both unicorns.

  The nearest tunnel was an enormous lava tube from Mount Bedd's last eruption, aeons ago. It was quite well lit by glow lichen that fairly covered its walls in some places. Soon Abaddon was studying the brightly phosphorescent plants as they walked. “So just what was that rat thing, anyway?” he said, forgetting his huff. “Is that what lives down here, more rat people?”

  “No, actually Rodon is the only one of his kind. He's enchanted.”

  “Yea? Well I wondered. So what was he to begin with, a rat or a man?”

  “Oh he's a man, a Fairy actually, but that's his story to tell if he so chooses...or perhaps theirs” said Lance, as he looked up and nodded toward three ancient women who were just appearing from a grotto off the tunnel, just ahead.

  Abaddon stopped short, planting his feet. When Lance gave him a nudge, he wheeled about. “Where have you brought me?” he shouted. “Those are the Pitmaster's hags of doom! If they touch you, your soul is theirs to keep and they can make you do whatever they want.” With that he dashed around Lance and ran with echoing footfalls down the tunnel the way they had come.

  With a short hard sprint, Lance grabbed him by the arm. “What's the matter with you?” He said, flinging him around. “Who's been filling your wee head with such nonsense? Those old ladies are no more harmful than Stepper or Sheba.”

  “Let me go!” wailed Abaddon as he twisted and pulled against Lance's grip.

  “Yis, Lance,” said a delicate voice, unexpectedly by his side, “Do lette hym ga. Al wol be wel.”

  “Celeste,” said Lance turning with a start to smile at one of one of the old ladies, her brilliant green eyes full of gentle compassion. He let go of Abaddon at once.

  Abaddon bolted away like a shot only to be jerked to a halt by something invisible and smartly spun about to gape at Lance and the three old ladies who now stood on each side of him.

  He gasped in shock when he saw that each of the three had bright iridescent green hair to match their sparkling emerald eyes.

  “A! That better ybe,” said Celeste as she stepped fluidly forth to study him with one eye like a bird.

  Abaddon shivered at the sight of her pointed ears and wrinkled alabaster skin, but he could neither speak nor flee.

  “Ich ywondre,” she said as she caressed his cheek with her warm and dainty gnarled fingers, “who tolde thee that shepes dung aboute the Pitmaisteres hagges of doom?”

  “Nana Demonica!” he spat, jerking back from her. “And she's a great sorceress, so she knows about it!”

  “Demonica?” said Celeste, as she straightened up and shared a wide-eyed look with the other two. “Razzorbauches Demonica?”

  Lance nodded.

  “Who beth this child, Lance? Hee hath a derknesse about hym.”

  “I'm not surprised,” he said. “Demonica is his maternal great-grandmother.”

  Chapter 104

  “Why, I do believe we're going to make it, Dewr,” said James, leaning forward to pat his unicorn's withers as they approached the castle gate. “Open for the king!” he boomed, as he sat upright and called out to the guards above him on the wall walk.

  “Aye, Your Majesty!” they cried, saluting smartly in the frigid night air as they turned at once to the gatemen.

  “Halt!” shrieked Spitemorta out of the black shadows cast by the westering moon as her echoing footfalls hurried into the open. “The king has committed treason against Goll and must not be allowed to escape!”

  “No!” shouted James as the portcullis came back down with a rattle of chains and a resounding clang. “It is the queen herself who has betrayed Goll! Raise it! If I can't leave this minute, all of Goll is doomed!”

  One guard turned wide-eyed to the other as he motioned for the massive grating to come back up. At that instant a searing crackle lit the courtyard bright as midday, as a pair of ruby red bolts shot forth from the Heart in Demonica's hand, blowing the guards to pieces with a thundering concussion.

  James jerked with a wince, dropping his reins. He looked up to see Demonica on the wall walk, her maniacal face still lit by the glowing red crystal as she threw back her head with a peal of laughter. He grabbed for his reins and discovered to his horror that one of Spitemorta's sergeants had a fast grip on them and that he was already surrounded by a good score of her soldiers. He held aloft the Staff as a surge of fear swept through him.

  “Stop now, James,” said Spitemorta, as though she were offering a kind ultimatum to a school boy, as she stepped forth from amongst her men, “and you could live for a little while.”

  “Why? So that you and your grandmother can amuse yourselves with my torture and execution?”

  “Well now,” she said softly with a shrug, “that would depend upon you, of course.” She patted Dewr on the neck, ignoring that he shied with a wicker at her touch. “So dearest, be so good as to hand it over.” She reached up, nearly lunging.

  In spite of tiring from holding it aloft, he had nearly forgotten that he still had it. “Sorry dear, I'll keep the stick. However, you might talk me into returning it after I've gotten as far away from here as I want.”

  “That kind of errantry shall not be allowed, James. Grandmother would not like for the Staff to be out of her sight after she has spent all those livelong years searching for it. In fact, your only hope now is to hand it over this instant and begin repentance, the like of which you've never known in your life. You'll need to completely relearn how to take your place at my side.”

  James smiled as he suddenly brandished the Staff, seized by the impulse to point it at her, making her gasp and step back wide-eyed. “I see that the gatemen got the portcullis up enough to ride under before she got the guards. I'm going. Have your men step aside if you don't want me harming you,” he said, glancing up at the wall walk. He was relieved that Demonica was no longer up there.

  Spitemorta glared at him insolently.

  “Now!” he roared.

  She took another step back and nodded at two of the men as one of them dropped Dewr's reins. At once the soldiers backed aside, leaving a path to the gate.

  “I'll just be on my way then,” he said, shifting the Staff to his hand which took the reins as he grabbed the brim of his hat. “I wouldn't send anyone after me, if you want your stick back, especially your old witch grandmother who did her best as nanny to ruin Abaddon.”

  Suddenly someone on the other side of him yanked away the Staff. With a wave of white-hot horror, he wheeled 'round to see. “Demonica!” he gasped.

  “Quick, aren't I?” she said, as she tossed the Staff to Spitemorta. “And you're slow, Roue Bihan.”

  James did not hear the portcullis come down with a bang that could be felt through the earth. “You idiot!” he thought as his heart pounded in his ears. “I could've been gone. Demonica. Fates forbid!” She had made him feel as if he had unclean things crawling around inside him, long before he ever figured out Spitemorta.

  “Shall I kill him for you, Rouanez Bras?” she asked with twinkling eyes of obsidian, as she gave his cheek a tender pat.

  “Not yet, Grandmother. He refuses to tell me what he's done with Abaddon.”

  “Well. In that case mightn't we be more comfortable discussing our business in the dungeon, dear?”

  “Lovely idea,” said Spitemorta buoyantly.

  James felt himself turn to jelly at this, but mustered up every bit of his strength to keep from collapsing. Spitemorta signaled her soldiers to escort him, but he went willingly, head held high. He carefully found his way down a step at a time. He was certain that the braver he was, the quicker he would
die. He tried to think of some clever way of infuriating them, but his mind was as jellied as his strength, particularly when at last he saw a rat scurry along the edge of the rack and leap to the floor to run away.

  “James!” shouted Spitemorta after repeatedly speaking out his name.

  He looked up and nodded.

  “I said to either lie down on the rack or we'll do it the hard way.”

  “Then there's nothing to decide,” he said with a smile, “Hard for you fools is the only way it'll be.”

  Demonica thrust out her jaw and gave both fists a shake, violently flinging him onto the rack and snapping fast the shackles to his wrists and ankles with such fury that they began bleeding at once. His head was already awash in red agony. He hoped he would pass out right away.

  Spitemorta gave his hair a merciless yank. “Now tell me, my love,” she snarled between her teeth, “where's Abaddon?”

  “Somewhere you'll never find.”

  “Wrong answer!” she shrieked, smashing his head against the rack again and again, making him see ripples of purple and showers of stars before she stood back for a moment to allow him to regain his senses.

  Suddenly she had him by the hair again. “Where is Abaddon?” she screamed, spraying him with spittle.

  “I said: somewhere you'll never find. But I reckon you're too stupid to catch it the first time.”

  Suddenly the rack went taught, pulling his wrists away from his ankles enough to cause shooting pains in his spine and shoulders. This was much too slow for any sort of tolerable death. Eventually he would either have to make up something and hope that they believed him or he would have to admit that he had no idea at all where Abaddon was. How could he decide? He was already well past being able to think.

  ***

  “Yunker soper yleyde out in oure kaave ybe,” said one of the other two green haired women, as they turned as one to glide back to their grotto, motioning for everyone to follow along.

  “What did she say?” said Abaddon, as Lance turned to bring him. “What does she want?”

  “Nothing terrible, Abby. Her name is Alvita and she's the best cook in the world. She just told us that she has supper laid out in their grotto. The other one is Nacea. Are you coming?”

  “No!”

  “Oh, you will anyway in spite of your big lip!” said Lance, turning aside to offer a wink and his arm to Celeste as though asking her to dance. “Shall we join the rest, old mother?”

  She smiled with her perfect white teeth and a twinkle in her eye and gave a merry nod as she took his arm and stepped forth, pausing at the last moment to give an odd flick of her fingers in Abaddon's direction, drawing him right along behind in spite of himself.

  It was not many steps before he was coming willingly, for he had just gotten a rich waft of inviting aromas, and after Lance's meager travel rations and a single lank rabbit, he was indeed hungry. By the time Celeste seated him next to Lance, his resistance was only an act.

  And what an incredible meal it was. The gleaming board was heaped with roast beef, mutton and goose and baked blind fish, steaming mushrooms, carrots, salsify, turnips and kale and great loaves of hot dark bread with real butter, cottage cheese and honey to put on it. There were bowls of huge polished apples, the like of which Abaddon had never seen, and how he loved apples. Still, he was going to resist.

  “What if this food is magic?” he thought as his eyes grew wide. “What if it puts me in a spell?” His stomach rumbled loud enough for all to hear. “What if I just had a bite or two?”

  “So,” said Celeste, leaning toward him across the table with kindly eyes. “Ich wolde rekene thou beth absolut ravynous by now, yonge man.”

  Abaddon sat up with a start when he saw that the hag of doom was speaking to him. He looked aside uneasily and could see at once that Lance not only expected him to reply to her, but that he wanted him to be prompt and polite about it as well. He nodded slowly, trying to ignore Rodon as he scurried to and fro about the room, fetching this and that to the table. “Yes madam,” he said, stiff as can be, “I've not had a proper meal since Lance stole me away from my momma.” He flung a sullen smirk at Lance, pleased for the chance to be making a dig.

  Celeste paused to raise an eyebrow. “Wel thanne,” she said, grandly spreading wide her arms, “ete thy fill, yonge man.”

  “Thank you madam,” said Abaddon, polite only because he was at a loss for words.

  “Be hit that thou already trusteth us ynough to tellen on Lance, thy maister, thou needest not suffre to callen us by madam, Abaddon. Thou mayst use oure names, thogh Ich gesse thou didst not heere hem whan they were first y-yiven. Agayne, my name be Celeste and this my suster Nacea on my lyft ybe and this be my suster Alvita on my right. And the ratte who hast been flitting arounde ylayenge out this fine feste for us be oure derre brother, Rodon.”

  In spite of how young he was, Abaddon caught something in her tone of voice that struck him as though she bore far less regard for Rodon than she did for her sisters. He wrinkled his brow at this, then he nodded politely to each of the sisters before nodding to

  Rodon, who paused to give his own nod, but obviously had missed altogether what was going on.

  “Wondreful,” said Celeste with a bright smile. “Now that we al be frendes, lat us ete, shal we anon, whyle oure soper yet warm ybe?”

  Abaddon needed no further encouragement. With the first bite, he forgot all his dark thoughts about the food and ate ravenously, eagerly helping himself to more of everything. When he was round as a melon, he pushed away his trencher and asked to be excused. Celeste, Alvita and Nacea beamed and nodded as Celeste motioned to Rodon. “See oure younge geste to hise quarter and make hym confortable,” she said, cutting him short as he anxiously bobbed and twisted his tail in his hands before scurrying off to see to Abaddon.

  Abaddon threw a hateful look at Lance before sliding off the bench and following Rodon. “They're getting me out of hearing so they can talk about what to do with me,” he thought. “If I could get away from Rat Man, I could slip back in and listen to their stupid plans.”

  ***

  He had never felt such pain in his life. From time to time the excruciating pain actually seemed to vanish, but the instant he thought about it in any way at all, it all came thundering back in on him like avalanche upon avalanche of agony. When the pain became far more than anything he could endure, it would suddenly seem as though it wasn't there.

  “James,” purred Spitemorta. “Are you enjoying this as much as I am?”

  Presently he realized that his eyes had been closed and he opened them to behold a hideous look of bug-eyed ecstasy on her face. She was so revolting that he squeezed them shut with a wincing shudder. At this, she slapped his face, making him cry out at the searing pain which slammed down the length of his spine to his hips. “Sooner or later she'll put me out,” he thought. “Sooner or later Abaddon truly will be safe from her.”

  “James,” she said, giving a hoarse whisper in his ear, “this is the very best time I've had with you, ever.”

  “I don't doubt it. It's all you seem capable of...” he said, blacking out at last, as she yanked on the lever of the rack's winch.

  Spitemorta and Demonica laughed uproariously.

  He opened his eyes.

  “James,” said Spitemorta with a pout, as she cooed in baby talk. “you're about to become quite crippled. Won't you be a good boy and tell me where to find my son while you're still able to walk around and feed yourself? We'll have to bathe you and put food in your mouth and laugh at you every day. Can't you tell us? You truly don't have to suffer so.”

  James paused to squeeze shut his eyes and then open them again. “Well, we all lose this one, don't we dear?” he said, gasping between his words as he summoned all of his strength to force himself to smile. “It simply happens to be that no matter what you do to me, I can't possibly tell you what you want to know, for I do not know myself. So just get on with your impotent madness and kill me.”
<
br />   Immediately she donned a scalding look and dealt him a furious backhanded blow to his temple with everything she had, knocking him unconscious.

  “This is starting to get boring,” said Demonica with a sigh as she sprang to her feet from her stool and paced in a quick circle before leaning upon the rack to study

  James up and down. “If it were me, I'd either liven things up a bit by carving on him for a while (a good hour long death with lots of screaming might be about right) or perhaps even better, we could leave the rack set just as it is and have him stay here to feed the rats. Rest assured that he'd be much the same sort of nuisance as an invalid as he has been as a pet king.”

  “No!” barked Spitemorta, smacking the rack with both fists at once. “I have to know where my son is! Use the Heart, Grandmother. Make him tell me where Abaddon is.”

  “My. Why weren't we thinking?” she said, immediately drawing out the red crystal from her kirtle. “That's a splendid idea, Rouanez Bras. Razzorbauch swore that it was impossible for anyone to lie or to withhold information if the Heart was pressed up against his throat. Too bad you didn't suggest it earlier. You could have spared us all this inconvenience before we killed him.”

  “Do it then, Grandmother. But I guess we'll have to wait for him to come around...”

  “Not at all, dear. I can wake him up in a snap not even using the Heart,” she said as she leant over James and pressed the Heart against his throat.

  “Wha...?” he said, coming to with a jerk as the Heart began throbbing with pulses of ruby light.

  “Oh, you're still quite fast, dear,” said Demonica, sounding like a nurse. “I've just taken away your pain in the same way that I can take away your life if you don't tell me all about where Abaddon is. But don't misunderstand me. This is no way out. Death by the Great Heart will make your agony on the rack seem like child's play. So dear, it's time to tell me everything.”