Heart of the Staff - Complete Series

by Carol Marrs Phipps

  A nearby loon wailed out amongst the madrigal of frogs to be answered by another, far across Jutland Lake. Spitemorta paced about between the stones with her splitting headache.

  Presently, the singed trollbrute came running and leaping over the quartz rubble.

  “Veyfnaryr give head-nod!” he hollered as he came.

  After a brief tramp through the black passages of the castle, they came to the library, lit by a single candle. “Here-be,” said the singed one as he vanished, leaving Spitemorta to approach the black haired troll, reading by the candle.

  At the sound of a scuff from one of her loose shoes, he looked up, closed his crinkly parchment tome and rose without a word.

  Chapter 184

  “First Mother Fnadiyaphn, holy first mother to me,” said Veyfnaryr in perfect Niarg speech as he gave a dignified bow in the leaping shadows of the candle on the table before him. “We are indeed honored by your presence.”

  “Jy-oyf-ny-oyd-fif,” said Spitemorta, wide eyed at once at finding herself replying in trollish without thinking to use a spell of tongues. “Nyr-fi jyoy-r-dyr-fn Dyrney.”

  “Nt-yoyo-yantey a-suy-nt-ey,” he said with a nod as he switched to trollish. “We'll speak in Dyrney, then. Well. I can certainly feel your power in the room, though I would never have known you, had you not been announced.”

  Spitemorta craned to read the title of the book he had closed when she came in.

  Demonica poked her. “Pardon me,” she said, looking up. “You were saying?”

  “That's Compendium of Magic by Razzmorten Dewin,” he said, looking at her carefully. “I've known about you all my life, but I don't remember having ever seen you.

  Have I?”

  “I've wanted to return to you and the Dyrney all these livelong years,” said Spitemorta. “And I hope you understand that I've had little choice all the while but to be empress to the Humans. They're far too ignorant and dangerous to be left to their own affairs, if I'm ever to keep the Dyrney safe from them.”

  “Don't they have their own gods to watch them?” he said, drawing back a chair from under the reading table and offering it to her with a gracious nod and both hands.

  “Oh they once had their Fates to protect them if they lived good lives, and the Pitmaster to torment them if they did not,” she said, taking his seat, “but I've never seen any sign of them. I suppose that's why they're so selfish and unruly if I'm not there.”

  Veyfnaryr gave a thoughtful nod. “Care for some tea?” he said.

  “Why yes, thank you,” she said, as if it were no surprise.

  He produced a teapot from somewhere in the shadows, put in a strainer of tea, picked up a pitcher of cold water and began to pour. As the stream cascaded from the lip of the pitcher, he turned it boiling hot with a fine thread of crackling blue fire from his fingertip before it reached the pot.

  Spitemorta forgot all about her excuses as she watched. On an impulse, she silently invoked a spell of tongues. “Well, winged servant,” she said smugly in Headlandish, “he looks a lot like James in a trollish sort of way, doesn't he?”

  “He looks a bit more like Abaddon to me,” said Demonica with a thoughtful nod.

  “Well I suppose he very well might,” said Spitemorta. “He and Abaddon are brothers, after all.”

  “A brother!” thought Veyfnaryr. “I have a brother.” He set out three teacups and filled them. “Milk first?” he said, catching her eye.

  “Well yes,” she said in trollish, “but you've already poured.”

  “Milk first for your winged servant as well?”

  “Demonica?” she said, looking up wide eyed. “Why yes.”

  “The order's not important in the least,” he said, passing his hand over the three cups. “There. Milk first. We actually don't have a cow anywhere about, so that kind of milk was something of a project when I first found out about it.” He paused for a sip. “So.

  Will you be staying here with us at Oilean Gairdin for a time, then?”

  “I'm afraid that the very matters which kept me away all these years leave me no choice but to return at once,” she said as if she regretted having to do so.

  Veyfnaryr gave a great sigh and set down his cup. “Then would you at least have the time to address the Dyrney to let them know that you have not abandoned them?”

  Spitemorta stiffened.

  “Now doesn't that sound like the very thing I've been telling you, dear?” said Demonica.

  “Tevel!” snapped Spitemorta in Headlandish. “Shut up!”

  “You're vexed by the idea?” said Veyfnaryr, “I didn't imagine that it would take very long.”

  “Not at all,” said Spitemorta, setting down her cup to whisk at the spill down her bodice. “My winged servant here is merely being a bother.”

  “I do see that she's not touched her tea,” he said.

  “Well I'm enjoying mine in spite of her. And I'm also pleased with how you've taken charge of the Dyrney, Veyfnaryr. I put you here to lead and protect them in my absence as you have indeed done, and I'm right proud of you.”

  Veyfnaryr grinned and looked at his knees. It did feel wonderful to please her, even if she had never bothered to see him.

  “I'm impressed, truth to tell. This for example,” she said, reaching across the table to pat Razzmorten's book. “Is this where you've been learning the spells which you use?”

  “Some of them.”

  “Are there that many pictures?”

  “That book has no pictures...”

  “You read this?”

  “I was reading when you walked in,” he said, not quite certain that it was good for her to know such a thing.

  “You taught yourself?”

  This was indeed making him uneasy. He had never had reason to misrepresent things in all his years growing up here, but maybe this was an occasion to be careful. “I figure out things, given time,” he said as he opened the book and began turning the pages.

  “No one here has magic, so I've only had the books. Fnayooph and Shaman Dyrjinyryy have called me Godbrute from the beginning and have told me that I would discover my powers on my own if neither you nor Demonica returned to teach me.”

  “Which is exactly as I intended,” she said as if she suddenly had no interest in what he was saying. “Now there are a few things that you should know about before I leave.”

  “Why yes,” he said, thinking that she might be about to tell him about his family.

  “I'd allow that all the Elves who lived here were eaten by the Dyrney before you were old enough to remember,” she said, carefully watching for his reaction.

  Veyfnaryr nodded.

  “I mean,” she said, “did anyone ever tell you about eating Elves?”

  “Why yes. All my life. And they still talk about it, but they've finally accepted that Elf feasts are gone forever.”

  “Oh, but they don't have to be,” she said as if she were about to announce the arrival of a hot pie. She was on her feet at once to pace about, but with it too dark to do so without stumbling into things, she sat back down.

  “She knows about King Neron!” he thought. “And how would that be possible?” he said.

  “There are Elves alive as we sit here,” she said, glancing aside at the flame, sputtering down into the candlestick. “I do allow that most tidings of them are merely fanciful tales, but I had four of them in my dungeon until the idiot guards let them escape...”

  Vefnaryr quietly began picking at the wax still sticking up around the burning wick. Presently he had enough of a grip on the candle to suddenly stretch it upright until it was the length of a new one, without putting out its flame. “I'm sorry,” he said. “You were saying?”

  “Uh...” said Spitemorta, wide eyed at the sight of this in spite of herself. “Four of them. Yes. The four of them got away and we've had word that they may be headed here.”

  “I can't picture that. Wouldn't they remember being eaten?”

  “Exactly. It's undoubtedly h
ow they're trying to throw off my soldiers, so you might want to check the weeds around the lake, or something...”

  “Are you saying that you want me to send the Dyrney after them?”

  “They can't be too far away by now.”

  “And if we find them?”

  “My word!” she said. “Cook the stinkers. And let me know when you do. In fact, I brought this so that you might.” And with that, she rolled a skinweler out of her bag onto the table.

  “That looks like the very sort of ball Dyrjinyryy used to see my birth,” he said, leaning against the edge of the table to peer at it.

  “Exactly.”

  “So how would I use it?”

  “You don't know?” she said.

  Vefnaryr shook his head, careful not to let her know that Dyrjinyryy had thrown his into the well in the orchard years before.

  “Speak to it. Give me some time to get to my ball, and I shall speak right back to you.”

  “You're wanting to feast with us, then?”

  “As much as I'd enjoy feasting on those four Elves, I simply don't have the time.

  But there'll be plenty of chances to join you at Elf roasts.”

  “How's that?”

  “Well when the Dyrney brought down this castle, they only caught and ate most of the Elves. Some have been hiding to this day. My four escapees certainly were. I want you and the Dyrney to hunt down and eat every last one of them. Enjoy yourselves.”

  “But where would we hunt? There's not been an Elf in these woods in my lifetime.”

  “Certainly. But the Dyrney have been hiding from the world long enough. It's time to show the lands 'round about that you rule the countryside. I've no doubt that you'll find every last Elf.”

  Veyfnaryr’s mind raced. If he objected, Spitemorta would surely become suspicious. He was surprised that she did not already know about his Elves. Perhaps she did. Could she be testing him in some way? “I'm not going to do this,” he thought, “but perhaps agreeing with her until she leaves would work for now.” He squeezed and pinched at a piece of candle wax, knitting his beetling brow as he avoided her gaze.

  “Righty-o,” he said with a sudden nod. “That's just what we shall do then.”

  “Good,” she said. “And there's also something that you owe me while you're out in the countryside with your trollbrutes.”

  Veyfnaryr looked up at once. Why should he owe her anything? “Have you heard of the Beaks?”

  He shook his head and studied the wax he was squeezing into a wee ball.

  “They're half sized Humans. They tattoo themselves from head to toe and stain their skin with woad blue. You'll find them in the lands south of you. Every last one of them needs to die.”

  “Why would that be?”

  “Because I say so!” she snapped.

  Veyfnaryr nodded calmly, hiding the shudder which ran through him. “Anything else, First Mother?”

  “That should be a good start.”

  Veyfnaryr parked his ball of wax by the flame of the candle and stood up at once.

  “Then if you don't mind addressing the Dyrney,” he said, “I shall step out and summon them. I'll be back directly.”

  Spitemorta nodded and folded her arms as he hurried out to find Fnadi-phnig-nyd and Dyrjinyryy. When he returned, she was nowhere to be found.

  ***

  Veyfnaryr paced about in the library for some time after the candle had sputtered out. He was most unsettled by Spitemorta's visit, and by now was doubting that she had anyone's best interests in mind at all. He sat on the chair before his book, folded his arms with a great sigh and stared across the room in the utter blackness.

  “Ha!” said Dyrjinyryy as he brought new echoes into the room, his beefy feet smacking the floor stones as he came through the door. “There-be Thunderman. Where- be Fnadiyaphn?”

  “No be any-here,” said Veyfnaryr.

  “Dryney and Dyrney and Dyrney and Dyrney and Dyrney and Dyrney all big- head-nod Fnadiyaphn too-big diggy-finger her nose to even ay-ooo, ay-ooo proud-hoot to all-Dyrney even any-once...” said Dyrjinyryy, stopping short with a gasp at the sight of the skinweler on the table.

  “What?” said Veyfnaryr, looking up at once.

  “Owl-shivers!” said Dyrjinyryy. “Stone-ball-gnydy. You-want me to deep-ka- toomp gnydy-ball in apple-tree-well far-down-water-bottom?”

  “I not-yet want,” said Veyfnaryr, sitting up straight. “First, hurry-sneak gnydy-ball to Fnayirgy. Have Fnayirgy hurry-haul-plop gnydy-ball into hog-wallow-mud in woods.

  Go ay-ooo, ay-ooo-tell outside Dyrney that Fnadiyaphn diggy-fingered both nose-holes same-once at Pink-Stone Hut-Cave Dyrney. Then find-grab King Neron to juicy-champ- place. Have Badharan find-grab big-full mead jug and that Sweetpea cheese.”

  When Veyfnaryr appeared in the dining hall, Badharan was already setting out a row of new candles at the head of the board. “If I hurry, I can fetch fire before the others get here,” he said, turning on his heel to scurry off.

  “Wait,” said Veyfnaryr. “Let me try.” And with a wave of his arm, all seven candles came alight at once.

  “My!” said Badharan with an appreciative nod. “You're getting good, Thunderman.”

  “Yea?” said Veyfnaryr. “Right nice of you to say, but we both know that I'm only just beginning...” He looked up to see Neron and Dyrjinyryy hurrying in. At once he was drawing back chairs to seat them.”

  “I think I'm supposed to do that, Thunderman,” said Badharan.

  “What?” said Veyfnaryr, with a puzzled look for Neron. “Just for guests or all the time?”

  “Thank you for the chair,” said Neron with a bow before sitting. “I quite appreciate the gesture, Holy Thunderman. It's proper to offer chairs anytime you please, but Badharan does have it right. It's considered dignified to have him doing most of it.”

  “Thank you King Neron,” said Veyfnaryr as he took his seat at the head of the board. “As I believe I've already said, I'm just now learning these things.”

  “Ajuyo jyoy-fn yoynt if,” said Neron, suddenly switching from Jutish Elven to trollish. “Very well...”

  “Pfyr pad!” said Veyfnaryr in trollish. “My word! Badharan had me convinced that no one but trolls speak Dyrney.”

  “Well,” said Neron, “Dyrjinyryy here wasn't managing his Elven when he came for me, so I allowed that it would be polite if I spoke trollish...”

  “But you're an Elf,” said Veyfnaryr. “Wherever would you have learnt...?”

  “From my friend Vyrpudi, who lives where I do...”

  “Vyrpudi!” cried Dyrjinyryy.

  “And who's he?” said Veyfnaryr, dividing his glances between them and the huge wheel of Sweetpea cheese sitting before him.

  “He not-was ever-from the very moon-go-'round that Dyrney thunder-smashed the pink-stone-hut-cave.”

  “Well he's been with us since then,” said Neron. “Now if I understood Dyrjinyryy right, this meeting's urgent. Might it have something to do with that holy visitor Badharan had us hiding from?”

  Veyfnaryr was working his head from side to side, biting off a huge mouthful, wax and all, from the heavy wheel of cheese, before lifting it up on edge and rolling it hand over hand down the table to Neron. He raised his finger to beg for patience as he shook his head, chewing and swallowing. “Oh it has,” he said at last, as he smacked his lips and ran his tongue along his cheesy teeth. “And I swear that I have more questions now that she's been here than I ever thought of in all my live-long years before she came.

  And it seems to me that First Mother Fnadiyaphn, my holy first mother, may not be everything I was taught to believe. I'm not even sure that her plans for the Dyrney are any good at all.”

  Neron cut off a sliver of cheese with his clasp knife and peeled away the wax as he looked at Vefnaryr's thoughtful brow and at Dyrjinyryy’s wide-eyed shock.

  “It-be plain mudful-hollow-head to big-nod hoo-hoo-speak great goddess Fnadiyaphn or even her winged servant Demonica,” said Dyrjinyry
y in an urgent hush as he leant across the table on his elbows, dangling his ropes of beads.

  “Why?” said Veyfnaryr.

  “She be holy.”

  “And I be holy, Dyrjinyryy,” said Veyfnaryr, holding his finger to his lips. “And you be my shaman-da. And if she no-be holy, I be just as no-holy as she-be, but I still-be thunderman.”

  “Ah fiddlesticks!” said Badharan, slapping his knees and shooting to his feet. “I forgot to pour the mead.” He uncorked the great four gallon jug, heaved it onto his hip and went 'round from cup to cup. Neron took a cautious sip with a squint and pucker to go with his shudder as Veyfnaryr and Dyrjinyryy gulped theirs right down.

  “Well then Dyrjinyryy,” said Veyfnaryr as he held out his cup to Badharan, “Ay- ooo, ay-ooo us about how you first-time see Fnadiyaphn and Demonica fall out of sky.

  Then ay-ooo, ay-ooo each tale of each time you ever hear-look-saw either one, up through this moon-come-up, and don't let anything easy-sneak to no-talk.”

  “Ay-oooooooo...” droned Dyrjinyryy as he took his two terrapin rattles from around his neck and began shaking out an energetic rhythm: shick...shicka-shick... shick...shicka-shick... shick...shicka-shick... shick...shicka-shick... Presently he let dangle one of the rattles, grabbed up his staff and began pecking the floor with it in time as he rose and shuffled around the entire length of the table: peck! shicka-shick... peck! shicka-shick... peck! shicka-shick... peck! shicka-shick... peck! shicka-shick... peck! shicka-shick... The moment he was all the way back to where he had been sitting, he quit his rattling, continuing his pecking the floor in time: peck!...... peck!...... peck!...... peck!...... peck!.... suddenly switching to, “ay-ooo...ay-ooo...ay-ooo...ay-ooo...ay- ooo...ay-ooo....” to stop short and begin acting out his tale about the time when all Dyrney still lived in the Eternal Mountains of the Eastern Continent and had never heard of Fnadiyaphn, only to have her and Demonica swoop from the heavens on their stick and begin blowing holes in the earth, shaming and threatening the peaceful trolls until they hung their heads and followed her onto her ships bound for the land of Plenty-to-Eat.

  After telling about the great Elf roast at Duradan Deannaigh, he pecked, rattled and shuffled his way around the board and back to begin acting out the tale of the great troll massacre at Ash Fork. On he went into the night without pause, acting out every part in each tale about Fnadiyaphn and Demonica, from the birth of Veyfnaryr all the way to Fnadiyaphn's arrival earlier that evening, shuffling 'round the table for each story.