The Warlock is Missing wisoh-7

by Christopher Stasheff

  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.

  She could not be truly wicked.

  Nay, not if she doth seek to hide this sight of horror from our minds.

  In truth, she could not.

  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? A
nd 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?

  Phagia was singing, some odd, irregular tune that slid up and down from one off-key note to another. Pots and pans rattled, and he heard a long creak of an unoiled hinge. He remembered the sound from supper—it was the oven door. He heard the scratch of flint and steel, heard the gentle gusting of the bellows, heard Phagia's giggle. "Warm, yes. Nice and warm, for the poor chilled children. And sauce. Young ones never like any meat, if it hath not a good sauce." And she broke off into the weird humming again, as liquid poured and a wooden spoon knocked against the side of a pot.

  Her sarcasm chilled Magnus, the words and tone of a kind old granny contrasted with what she meant to do. He understood the evil sorcerer's curse suddenly and clearly—exactly what disgusting form of death Phagia's friends had met!

  Cordelia. Gregory. He couldn't let them be killed, shoved into an oven for an old witch's gluttony!

  Or an ancient sorcerer's revenge. It was Gregory's thought, so faint Magnus could barely understand it—and, in a sudden wave of understanding, he realized the youngest was right. She knoweth not what she doth, he thought as hard as he could.

  Aye, certes, came Cordelia's faint thought. That glazed look in her eye—her soul's asleep! ■ - Only her body wakes, Gregory agreed.

  'Twill suffice to make mutton of us, Geoffrey thought— harshly, to mask his fear. What can we do?

  A shadow blocked the light from the kitchen, and Phagia came back in, crooning, "Ah, the poor wee lad! So chilled in his bed! Nay, he must be wanned ere the others." And she went across the room, to scoop Gregory up in her arms.

  Sheer terror cut through the fog of drug, and Gregory howled through his gag as his mind shouted, Magnus! Cordelia! Geoffrey! Aid me!

  Fear and rage galvanized his brothers and sister, and they thought blows against the old witch—but the drug dimmed their powers; Phagia only wavered as she stood up and turned, cradling Gregory in her arms. "Dizziness! Oh!" She stood still for a moment, eyes squeezed shut. Then they opened, and she smiled. "'Tis past. Now, lad—let us prepare dinner." And she hobbled toward the kitchen.

  Magnus thought mayhem at her again, but she tripped on something more substantial—and, just as she tripped, something small and dark shot through the air and slammed into her shoulder blades. With a scream, she toppled…

  And Gregory sailed out of her arms, straight toward the open oven.

  His thoughts screamed as he stared at the oven in terror.

  As one, his brothers and sister reached out with their minds to pull at him.

  He slowed, coming gradually to a halt, mere inches from the oven door.

  Magnus breathed a sigh of relief, then thought, Down, now, and slowly.

  Gently, carefully, they lowered the little boy to the floor.

  In the bedroom doorway, Phagia struggled to lever herself up off the floor. A small shadow loomed up by her head, slamming downward with a miniature hammer. It connected with a dull CLUNK! and Phagia slumped, with a tired sigh.

  The small shadow chuckled, then looked up at Magnus. It was Kelly—and he sprang up to Magnus's bed and yanked the gag out of the boy's mouth. "Well, lad! Ye're safe, then— but 'twas a near one."

  'Too near by half," Magnus agreed. "My deepest thanks, Kelly." He turned to the larger shadow. "And thou, Robin. Great thanks for fair rescue!"

  "Great welcome," the elf replied, but his face was severe. "What could I have said to thy parents, had I brought thee home roasted? Yet, now!" He glowered at Magnus, then turned his head to glare at Cordelia and Geoffrey as the gags pulled themselves out of the children's mouths. "What have happed to thee, hadst thou not had thine elf nearby?"

  "Death," Cordelia answered, round-eyed.

  "True death." Puck nodded. "Not children's play, from which thou couldst arise and walk. Now, when next thine elf bids thee retreat from danger, what wilt thou do?" And he turned his glare on Geoffrey.

  "We will heed thee." The middle boy gazed back at Puck with the weight of realization. "I will own, now—there be perils that be too great for children—even we four!"

  "We will obey thee," Magnus agreed. "We will heed even thy doubts, Robin."

  Puck glowered at them—but he couldn't maintain it; his seriousness frayed, and mischief gleamed through.

  The children saw, and relaxed with a shaky sigh. "Eh, Puck!" Magnus cried, "we feared thou wert truly enraged with us!"

  "Which did no harm, I warrant." Puck turned and went over to Cordelia. "What is this stuff that muffled thy thoughts, child? Doth it wear thin?"

  "Let me try." She stared at the rope that bound her wrists. The ends twitched, then began to draw back out of the knot— but slowly, so slowly! "We do recover."

  "Not quickly enow." Puck seized the rope and whisked the knot loose. "Unbind them, Tacky!"

  "I'll thank ye to remember yer manners, Barkface," the leprecohen retorted. "If ye ever learned any, that is," but he poked long fingers into Geoffrey's bonds and untied him in a trice.

  Magnus wrenched his hands loose and seized his dagger. He cut through the rope that bound his ankles and leaped up to go to his little brother—and stumbled, nearly falling; but he caught the door frame in time., He yowled at the pain of the tingling in his ankles.

  "Aye, the blood is angry at having been dammed from its normal course," Puck agreed. "Patience; it will return."

  "There's scant time for patience." Magnus hobbled over to Gregory. "She may wake at any moment."

  "No fear," Kelly assured him. "I've still a hammer."

  But Magnus had untied Gregory, and the little boy flung his arms around his big brother's neck. "There, there, lad," Magnus crooned. " 'Twas horrid, but 'tis done."

  "Hammer or not, 'twould be well to be gone," Puck said. "I hate all housen in clear weather—and this one reeks of evil. Come, children!"

  He turned away to the door, and Geoffrey and Cordelia followed him with a very good will. But Magnus sent Gregory after them with a pat on the bottom, then turned back toward Phagia, frowning.

  Puck turned back too, nettled. "Nay, lad! Come away!"

  "She's but stunned," Magnus answered. "I bethink me we need her to be senseless for a longer time."

  Cordelia looked up, alarmed. "What dost thou, brother?"

  But the eldest was staring at the witch.

  "What doth he?" Geoffrey demanded.

  Gregory touched his shoulder. "Peace. He pushes thoughts of sleep into her mind."

  Geoffrey's face hardened with envy. Magnus had been able to project his thoughts for a year now, but Geoffrey still couldn't. He had better sense than to make a jealous fuss at a moment like this, though.

  The witch's eyes suddenly snapped open in surprise. Then they blinked, several times. She stiffened in alarm, realizing what was happening to her—but Gregory and Geoffrey caught hold of Magnus's hands, channeling their own strength into him; and slowly, Phagia's eyes closed. Her body relaxed, and her bony chest rose and fell with the slow rhythm of sleep.

  "Well done, my brothers," Cordelia murmured.

  "Softly," Magnus cautioned. "Her sleep is not yet deep."

  "Come, now," Puck urged. "It doth behoove us to leave, and let her sleep."

  "All away, then." Magnus stepped back to wave the others past him. "Whiles we may, without unpleasantness." He looked up suddenly, then whirled back to the bedroom. "Gregory!"

  The youngest hovered above old Phagia, sitting cross-legged in midair, frowning down at the sleeping witch's face. "Big brother… there's something odd within her mind…"

  Puck and Cordelia looked back over their shoulders, and both his brothers stilled. "Odd?" Magnus breathed. "What oddity is that?"

  "Nay, I catch his meaning!
" Cordelia leaped back to the old witch. " 'Tis some manner of compulsion, buried!"

  "Cordelia!" Magnus cried in alarm.

  Phagia stirred in her sleep, muttering.

  Magnus instantly lowered his voice. "Beware!" he called in hushed tones. "Have thy broomstick by thee!"

  "Oh, fuss not so!" Cordelia hissed back. "There's no danger—and were there, thou couldst lift me away right quickly. Now—leave me be a moment, the whiles I peek within her mind." And she knelt stock-still, staring down into the sleeping woman's face.

  "Thou wilt heed thine elf this time!" Puck said by her shoulder. "Away, child! There is danger, deep in people's minds!"

  "I misdoubt me an 'tis so deep as all that," Cordelia murmured. "Dost'a not recall, Puck, that Northern sorcerer who didst cast compulsions on all soldiers who came against him? Mama taught me then, how to break such spells."

  "Well… mayhap, then…" Puck frowned and watched.

  Cordelia gazed at the sleeping witch. Her brothers gathered around, watching silently. After awhile, she shuddered. " 'Tis vile! That foul sorcerer must needs have a gutter for a mind!"

  "What did he?" Magnus asked softly.

  "He tied friendship through her childhood urges in her nether parts to her need to eat—they merge at our ages. And those she loved—her mother and father—had denied her sweets when she wanted them, as all parents must, if they do not wish their children to fall ill—and she'd grown angry at that denial, as all children do. Since she loved them, that anger turns against all who befriend her, and she eats to gain revenge on her mama and papa."

  "Doth she know any of this?" Geoffrey cried in indignation.

  "Shhh!" Cordelia cautioned, and Phagia stirred in her sleep.

  Magnus clapped a hand over Geoffrey's mouth.

  "She knoweth naught," Cordelia whispered, "even as we thought. He cast a spell into her mind, in that way Papa calls 'hypnosis.' When she waked from the trance he made, she remembered naught—but in her sleep, the spell comes on her again, whene'er she's near a friend. Her deeds tonight were like to sleepwalking."

  "Canst thou break the spell?" Magnus asked.

  "Aye. 'Tis deeper than the sorcerer Alfar's, but not so deep that I cannot find its roots. Come, nubbin, lend me power." She caught Gregory's hand and gazed at Phagia. Gregory frowned, too, in intense concentration.