Mallara and Burn: On the Road

by Frank Tuttle

  "Mistress," said Burn "You're running out of lecture time."

  "You are a child," said Mallara. "I will not strike you, even to defend myself." She met the boy's watery brown eyes. "I may be able to turn your goblins," she said. "I may be able to stand against your staff, for a while. But against both?" she shrugged. "I will fall. Is that what you want? To hurt me? To hurt others? I won't be the only one, you know," she said. "Just the first."

  "Go away," stammered the boy. "Go away now and we won't hurt you."

  "No," said Mallara. "I won't. And even if I tried, your staff wouldn't let me."

  "It would," said the boy. "I promise."

  "That isn't true," said Mallara.

  "It is!" said the boy. "Just go! Please," he said. "Please just go. I never meant to hurt anyone."

  "Get used to saying that," she said. "Because unless you throw down that staff, you'll be saying it every day for the rest of your life."

  Mallara heard branches rustle behind her, saw in her mind's eye ranks of soft white shapes creeping through the trees.

  "You have Talent, young man," said Mallara. "You couldn't have done all this without it. You don't need that staff -- or any staff -- to do magic." She paused, and held her own staff out level before her. "My own staff is a powerful tool," she said. "A friend, even, wise and helpful. But I can put it down, if I wish," she said. "Any time I wish."

  Mallara bent, laid her staff on the grass, and stood up empty-handed.

  "Can you do that?" she asked.

  Goblins stepped out of the trees.

  "I'm free," said Mallara. "Free to choose. Are you?"

  "Pick up the staff," hissed Burn. "They've got axes, Mistress, pick up the staff--"

  Mallara crossed her arms. The goblins marched forward, ranks, closing, five steps away, then four, then three --

  "Stop!" cried the boy. The goblins hesitated, but only briefly, then took another step.

  "I said stop!" shouted the boy. His staff muttered and grumbled. "I order you to stop! Now! Stop!"

  "It won't listen," said Mallara. "It needs you to say the Words. For now. But it won't listen to any words it doesn't want to hear. Put the staff down."

  "Stop!" The boy sobbed, shaking the staff, then beating it against the ground. "No more!"

  Burn made angry hornet buzzes in the air above Mallara's head. "Axes raised, Mistress," he said."I can't stop 'em, pick up your staff and fight!"

  "Let it go," said Mallara. "Let me help you."

  The boy screamed and flung the staff away.

  It flew perhaps a hand's breadth, and leaped back into the boy's hand. The staff began to speak, its voice loud and rasping, its words short and furious.

  "Help me," shrieked the boy. "Take it away!"

  Mallara smiled and uncrossed her arms and the grassy meadow shook with the force of a blow that sent four hundred goblins flying and three dozen medium-sized juniper trees crashing down.

  The yellow bone staff cracked zig-zag down its length and fell from the boy's fingers.

  "Come here," said Mallara. The boy stared, open-mouthed and frozen."Get away from the staff."

  The black-eyed goblin grabbed the boy's hand and dragged him toward Mallara.

  "They're getting up, Mistress," said Burn. "Hurry."

  The goblin and the boy reached Mallara. The goblin shoved the boy's hand into Mallara's and looked up at her, hand out, black eyes pleading.

  Mallara sighed."Oh, stay," she said."Stay put, stay still, and stay out of my way."

  The goblin saluted.

  Mallara snatched up her staff and spoke a Word.

  A column of fire fell from the sky and struck the yellow bone staff. It jerked and danced and rolled, but the fire followed. The sand about it blackened and ran like hot glass.

  The goblins picked up their axes and hammers. Mallara turned to face them. "Watch the staff," she said to Burn.

  Burn hummed. "How long can you keep it squirming?" he asked.

  "Not long. Braided lightning is hard to maintain." Mallara pulled boy and black-eyed goblin close. "I'm keeping the staff busy," she said. "For now. Your helpers will listen to you, young man, as long as the staff isn't telling them otherwise. "

  The boy shook. Mallara squeezed his hand. "You can undo this," she said. "You still have the power. Use it."

  "Stop," said the boy.

  "Louder," said Mallara.

  "Stop!" he said, his voice cracking. "Drop that axe! Drop everything! Back up! Leave us alone!"

  The goblins halted. An axe fell. And another.

  Tears ran down the boy's face. "Begone," he said. "All of you."

  The black-eyed goblin took a step away, head down. "Not you," said the boy. Then, "He's not like them."

  Mallara shook her head. Black eyes met her own.

  "No," she said. "He isn't. He can stay."

  "Old Mage Herridge will have a conniption fit," muttered Burn.

  Behind the trio, the shaft of lightning began to fail.

  "Unbind the spell," said Mallara. "It's not enough to send them away."

  "How?" asked the boy. "It never told me how."

  "It had you make something," she said. "Something material. A wand or a necklace or a bag."

  "This?" asked the boy, fumbling with a leather cord around his neck. From the cord hung a pair of short smooth sticks, bound with a long blond hair. "Staff said it was for luck."

  "Pull out one of the sticks," said Mallara. "Hurry."

  The lightning ceased. Thick billows of smoke rose up from the blackened sand around the staff of bone.

  The boy pulled out a stick.

  "Now break it," said Mallara.

  The boy shook his head. "What about him?" he asked nodding toward the goblin at his side. "Will it hurt him?"

  "He's not spell-stuff anymore, like the others," said Mallara. "He's a part of you. He's here to stay, if you will it."

  The bone staff began to mutter and grumble. A harsh white light flared within the staff, leaking from the crack and casting strange, moving shadows in the smoke and steam.

  "Break the bloody stick," said Burn from atop the boy's head. "Or would you like to face your old friend again?"

  The boy grimaced and broke the stick.

  Every goblin in sight, save the one at his side, evaporated, adding their substance to the cloud of steam already wafting over the grass and between the trees.

  The yellow bone staff howled. The black-eyed goblin patted the boy on the back, and its slit of a mouth lifted in a smile.

  "One goblin army down," said Burn. "One pre-Kingdom necromancer's staff to go. What about it, Mistress? Run or fight?"

  Mallara glared. "This fight is over." She spoke another Word, and the staff of bone fell silent and dark. "We win."

  Smoke and steam coiled about the grass. The melted sand-pit in which lay the staff of bone popped and hissed.

  "That's it?" asked Burn. "Old Bones is dead?"

  Mallara raised an eyebrow. "Next time I'll try for more flash and thunder," she said. "But now I'm tired. And we've still got things to discuss."

  Mallara kneeled and wiped the boy's tear-streaked face clean with her sleeve. "It's over," she said. "All done."

  The boy stared. "I'm sorry," he said. "I found the staff, one day last winter. It was under a stone, by the creek. Over there," he said, pointing. "It talked. I asked it about magic, and it told me what to do. I just wanted help with my chores. That's all. I'm sorry, um, Highness."

  Mallara patted his hand. "Apology accepted," she said. "And I'm Sorceress Mallara, not Highness. And what is your name?"

  "They call me Pots," said the boy.

  Mallara shook her head. "I didn't ask what they called you," she said gently. "I asked for your name."

  "Pots is all I know," he said. "They said Pots was good enough for a foundling."

  "Pots isn't a name, boy," said Burn from the vicinity of the boy's right ear. "Pots is what you wash." The boy went round-eyed.

  "That's only Burn," sa
id Mallara. "He travels with me. Burn is a shimmer, and shimmers have no visible bodies -- just loud, penetrating voices."

  "Bah," said Burn. "First thing we've got to do is give our rouge wizard a proper name. Can't go marching up to the Council of Mages and Sorcerers with a name like Pots."

  The boy's eyes darted frantically to meet Mallara's.

  Burn snorted. "You think maybe we can just kick sand over Old Bones there and forget this ever happened?" he said. "You think your people here won't figure out who to blame, eventually?"

  "They aren't my people," said Pots. "Never were." He paused. "What will the wizards do to me?"

  "They'll make you study," said Mallara. "And read. You'll think you've read every book in the world, and then they'll bring you another stack," she said. "You'll learn mathematics, and natural history, and how to raise and shape power. You won't see much daylight, for a few years. I didn't."

  Pots shook his head. "I don't understand."

  Burn snickered. "That's the truth, boy. That is the entire profound truth. I'll make it simple. You're leaving. Right now, with us. We're going to take you on our rounds, teach you to wash behind your ears and tie your boot-laces, and next summer you're going off to the Order's study-dungeon. If you behave yourself maybe one day you can make your own staff and give your goblin friend here some facial features. That clear enough?"

  "I'll be a sorcerer?"

  Mallara shook her head. "Maybe. Maybe not. But either way you'll be educated, well-fed, and far away from this place."

  Pots stared at his goblin, which smiled and nodded yes.

  "First magic lesson," said Burn. "Talking staffs made out of people-parts and found buried under rocks are best left alone."

  Pots grinned. Mallara tousled his hair and rose from her crouch. "Second lesson," she said. "Leave before the villagers return," she said. "Not that I'm particularly sympathetic to any bunch that takes in orphans as slave labor," she added. "In fact -- Burn, can you find this Mayor's red-lettered wagon again?"

  "Easily," said Burn. "I'll just look in front of taverns."

  "Do it," she said. "Find him. Tell him to wait for me."

  "Ooh," said Burn. "She's got her dander up, Mister Pots. You and dough-boy behave, while I'm gone."

  Burn buzzed away. Mallara sighed, eyed her tattered clothing, and glared at the thorn-bushes peeking through the tree-trunks. "Let's go," she said. "We'll find supper and new clothes in the next village."

  Pots and his goblin hesitated. Mallara watched the boy gaze back at the smoking creek-bank and the rushing water and the cool, shaded woods beyond. Pots may have been overworked and ill-used, mused Mallara, but Bertat was home, and leaving home was a moment Mallara remembered all too well.

  "It's time to say goodbye," said Mallara softly.

  Pots wiped his nose on his sleeve, turned on his heel, and marched toward the woods, his goblin at his heels.

  Mallara smiled a weary smile, patted her staff, and followed slowly after.

  THE END

  Thanks for reading! I hope you enjoyed ON THE ROAD. Please visit my website at www.franktuttle.com, or send me an email at franktuttle@franktuttle.com. I’d love to hear from you!

  If you enjoyed ON THE ROAD, please check out WISTRIL COMPLEAT, also available here at Smashwords!