The Witches of Ne'arth (The Star Wizards Trilogy Book 2)

by Joseph Schembrie

  A kilometer south of the Troll River, the ship hovered. Matt faced north, relying on Ivan's compound optics to provide him with a magnified view while the others took turns with spyglasses. Carrot saw that the Kaden Road continued north, but unlike south of the river, the pavement had not been broken or buried. Moving north and south along it were figures made ant-like by distance; how odd, she thought, to think that her first glimpse of trolls would portray them as tiny!

  Matt spread a blank sheet of paper on the navigation table and passed his hand over it. Mirian ooooed as a photographic image was imprinted by Ivan's tentacles in Matt's palm, depositing berry-derived ink upon the surface.

  “This is what a troll looks like,” Matt announced. “According to Ivan, he's almost three meters tall.”

  The 'creature' portrayed on the paper had a body with two legs and two arms and a head with shaggy shoulder-length hair and a beard, wore conventional Britanian-style clothing and carried a walking stick and backpack. His face had human-like eyes and nose, a human-like mouth with lips that were pursed as if he were whistling a tune. Except for the scale, Carrot would have passed him on the Oksiden Road without remark.

  “Seems fat,” Mirian said, “even for an otherperson.”

  “A what?” Carrot asked.

  Norian elbowed Mirian, who mumbled, “A foolish word the people of my village use. Sorry.”

  She was right, though, that the body was far from slender. It didn't seem to have a waist; it was shaped like a potato. The head seemed joined to the shoulders, almost neckless. Maybe he wasn't whistling, either – it was just that his cheeks and lips bulged naturally. And that nose – Carrot thought of a small potato extruding from a large one.

  “It's probably not fat,” Matt replied. “His body would need extra muscle mass to support his extra weight due to his size.”

  “The cube-square law again?” Prin asked.

  Matt nodded.

  Norian commented: “You say three meters tall. Then the long knife sheathed at his side is for us a short sword. His arms would give him quite a reach. That would make him formidable in combat.”

  “Maybe not,” Matt said. “If you observe them walking on the road out there, you'll notice that they don't seem to be moving very fast for their size. They do cover more ground in their strides than normal-sized humans do, but they take slower strides. I think that's due to a lower metabolism.”

  “Again, the cube-square law,” Prin murmured.

  “So that in combat,” Norian said, “they would have the advantages of strength and reach, while we would have the advantages in speed and agility.”

  “You sound as if you expect to fight them,” Mirian said.

  “I fondly hope that we do not,” Norian replied. “Yet it is best to be prepared.”

  Matt passed his hand over another sheet of paper. Carrot recognized an aerial map. Since Ivan had done the rectified image processing from Matt's own visuals through the airship window, she was confident that there was no deception by way of augmented reality, as there was with the satellite imagery. And indeed, other than landscape, the details of the new photo-map differed significantly from what the satellite had shown. Rather than venturing into virgin territory, the road north from the river winded among an ample sprinkling of villages with intensely cultivated fields.

  “There must be thousands of trolls,” Carrot said. “This time it was not just a single village that was afflicted with mutation.”

  “What I'd like to know,” Matt said, “is how the word 'troll' ever got applied to them. It's an ancient word in Standard that's used to describe mythical beings.”

  Prin shrugged. “Why are we called 'Roman?' Why is this land called 'Britan?' The origins of all names on this world trace back to the mentors, who came from your world, Matt.”

  Carrot recalled: “There was a sign on the bridge by the access door. It indicated that they themselves refer to their land as the 'Kingdom of Henogal.'”

  Matt tilted his head, as if listening, which he was. After a moment's silence, he said, “Ivan says that name might be derived from an old name for the northern lands of the island of Great Britan on Earth.”

  “If the name is for a land on your world,” Norian said, “then how did it come to be used on this world?”

  “The Star Seed Project personnel who developed the cartography for this planet applied a lot of Earth names to New Earth, which the mentors passed on to your ancestors.”

  “How interesting,” Mirian said. “Then what does 'Henogal' mean on Aereoth?”

  “Ivan suggests it derives from the name 'Hen Ogled,'” Matt replied. “Which means 'Old North.'”

  Mirian sighed. “Maybe not so interesting. I was hoping for something that would explain why the people were turned into giant walking potatoes.”

  “Well, for what it's worth, there weren't any giant potato people on Earth.”

  Carrot gazed at Mirian thoughtfully. They had both independently come to think of potatoes. She wondered if in this new land filled mutants, they would come to see each other as not so different.

  “We'll have to talk to the locals to learn of their origins,” Carrot said. “That's how we learned before.”

  Mirian made a mirthless laugh. “This time the locals are guarding their land with people-eating hedges. They may not wish to talk. And how safe is it to talk to a troll? I know of no one who has, though I come from a village only a day's walk from their border.”

  “Your village keeps to itself,” Norian said. “Still, Carrot, Mirian is right in that from what we've encountered of them so far, the trolls do not seem as if they will be open to conversation.”

  “We'll manage,” Carrot said, speaking with more conviction than she had.

  Then they discussed where to land the party and where they would first explore, what rules they would follow in contact with the locals, and other expeditionary issues of survey and survival. Concluding the briefing, Carrot said, “Matt intends to return from the far side within ten days. We will set a signal fire on this mountain here – “ she indicated on the photo-map “ – and the ship will come and take us home.”

  “What if the ship is delayed?” Mirian asked. “What if the ship doesn't return at all?”

  “Mirian,” Norian said softly. “Don't upset –“

  “If we cannot discover a way to cross the Hedge southward,” Carrot replied, hoping to sound matter-of-fact, “the contingency plan is to construct rafts and float down the Troll River to the sea, where according to Matt the currents will carry us to the southwestern coast of Britan. From there we will make way back to Ravencall on foot.”

  There were no further questions. Carrot folded the map into her back-pack along with other supplies. Suddenly, she felt a tap on her shoulder. Savora was grinning.

  “Carrot, I understand you have a certain agility. Would you mind helping me? I'd like to change the oil filter on the port engine. It's a two person job and Matt is busy.”

  Carrot followed to the port side door. Savora opened a cabinet and placed the filter in Carrot's arms while she opened the door and shimmied upon the strut out to the engine housing. She raised and latched the cowling, motioned for Carrot to hand her the filter. With one free hand, Carrot shuffled along the strut in the chill breeze until she was alongside. She noticed that Savora seemed unmindful of the height. The height hadn't bothered Carrot either, when there was deck beneath her boots.

  “I just want you to know,” Savora said above the keen of the wind, “how wonderful I think it is that you and Matt are together. You two make a cute couple.”

  'Cute couple?' What kind of phrase was that? Befuddled, Carrot said, “Thank you.”

  “You complement each other's personality. You're outgoing, he's on the quiet side. A good match.”

  “Yes,” said Carrot, who wasn't sure what else to say, although she thought that Savora's assessment was somewhat simplistic. Carrot knew she had her private moments, while Matt seemed more comfortable in a leadersh
ip role than he cared to admit (for example now).

  Shooting a wide smile, Savora turned to twisting bolts.

  Carrot wondered if the conversation had a subtext. She hoped it was, No need to worry, Matt is yours. She feared it was, I want you to think there is no need to worry.

  “Savora,” Carrot said. “I know so little about you.”

  “Filter, please!” Savora exclaimed.

  Carrot passed the fresh filter and accepted the old. Savora installed the replacement and shut the cowling. Returning to the gondola, Savora gave Carrot another disconcertingly strong smile and went to confer with Matt and Andra at the pilot's station. The engines restarted.

  Far below, the Monstrous Hedge was a thick, dark purplish line which they flew far above, well out of reach of its tentacle-like vines, though the leaves rippled as the ship's shadow fell upon them. Bearing northeast, the ship headed for the low range of mountains where their transfer point had been established.

  Carrot became aware that Matt was looking at her. A few months earlier, she would have thought it a blank stare. She'd grown sensitive to his nuances, however, and knew that he was agonizing over something. She knew what as well: the same thing that she was.

  “Carrot, I – “ Matt looked about, where everyone else was pretending to be busy other than watching them. “Could you see me in the aft cabin?”

  Once they were alone in the aft cabin, Matt shut the door. Carrot embraced and started to reach for his lips. She halted at his pensive frown.

  “I feel like we're abandoning you,” he said. “I'm thinking we should change plans. We should keep the airship on station here in the northwest of Britan, in case you need us to extract you from trouble.”

  “I don't see how you could,” Carrot said. “If we are surrounded or chased, it would be best for you to remain at a distance and let us fight our way to you. How many times has it been said? All it would take is a single flaming arrow to destroy the ship. And Matt, the ship cannot be long without refuel or repair without having to return to Ravencall, and Krobart will arrest you immediately if you do that. We have no choice now but to conduct our missions simultaneously.”

  Matt rubbed his temples, wincing. “I – I don't know what's happening inside my head. It's as if there are two voices. 'I want to stay. I need to go.'”

  “What does Ivan say about your sensations?”

  “He says . . . there's nothing physically wrong with my brain.”

  She'd caught the hesitation. “Matt, is something wrong with Ivan?”

  “I – we – don't know. All we do know is that this is a hell of a time for him to malfunction.”

  She read his eyes. “There's something else, isn't there?”

  “It's – Savora.”

  He would have no trouble reading the alarm in her eyes.

  “It's not that I have feelings toward her,” he added hastily. “Well, feelings, but – not those kind of feelings. I mean . . . well, I don't trust her.”

  For some reason, Carrot felt relieved. Nonetheless, she made sure to show an expression of concern. “How so, Matt?”

  “She comes out of nowhere, she gets herself posted to the first crew roster, she's in the hangar just as we're trying to escape and she manages to be aboard when we do escape. It's too improbable.”

  “Do you think she is an agent of the Romans or the Sisters?”

  “Ivan has analyzed her DNA. She's definitely human, and West Britanian stock.”

  “So how will you act on your suspicions?”

  “Not sure there's anything I can do. I do have to admit, we need her. As we learned on the trip from Steam Island to Britan, it takes more than three people to operate this ship. It's just that it's so damn convenient that we need someone like her along on the mission to the Other Side, and poof, she just happens to turn up at the right time. A couple days ago, Krobart said something that reminded me of an old Earth saying: 'Don't look a gift horse in the mouth, unless it's really big and made of wood.' That's how I feel about Savora.”

  Carrot knew the reference; it was from a story she'd read in the library of Archimedes. “You will watch her carefully, won't you?”

  “I promise you that.”

  Carrot rested her head against his chest. He rested his chin on her hair. They held each other and didn't say anything. Carrot felt the absolute weakest and helpless she'd ever felt, even more than when she had been brought before the Pandora of Rome. And more, she felt ashamed.

  I've been so selfish, she thought. I worry about losing him to another woman, when he could die!

  “Carrot, don't cry.”

  “I'm not crying. I do not cry.”

  He touched her cheek and held the droplet before her eyes.

  They each whispered, “I love you,” and then they listened to each other's breathing.

  A moment later came a knock. Prin's voice came through the door: “Matt, Carrot. We're descending over the transfer point.”

  Their eyes met as they pushed apart.

  “I'll be all right,” Carrot whispered.

  “I'll be all right too.”

  Andra's adroit piloting brought the airship over the mountain lake that was the designated transfer point. Exiting to the platform behind the gondola, the crew prepared the raft and deployed the anchor bucket. Prin and Matt worked the crank, ropes slithered through pulleys, and the lowering raft splashed on the water. The three sojourners to the land of trolls climbed the rope ladder down to the raft. While Mirian scanned with notched arrow, Carrot and Norian disconnected the sky hooks. The anchor bucket was tilted, emptied, and retracted. The ship floated high into the morning air.

  From the surface of the lake, Carrot's exploration party waved and shouted farewells. The gondola door closed, the engines revved, and the airship shrank southward with altitude and distance until it became silent and faded into the overcast.

  Carrot stood silently, wondering when she would see him again, and whether.

  “My first time flying,” Norian said. “That was an adventure in itself.”

  “A wonderful adventure,” Mirian said. “One that I never would have believed, and now that it is over, it is hard to believe that it ever happened.”

  “I have been like that since I met Matt,” Carrot said. “Many times when I wake in the morning, I wonder if what I remember happening the day before did happen, or if it was only a dream.”

  Mirian met her eyes. “I can see how that could be.”

  Carrot and Norian paddled to shore while Mirian kept watch for attack. They hopped out of the raft and pulled it into concealment among brush, covering it with branches

  Carrot looked around. The pristine lake was surrounded by a pristine meadow, surrounded by pristine alpine trees. East and west were pristine mountains. The threesome were perched on the slope of the range to the east of the valley of the trolls.

  Carrot and Mirian each took inquisitive breaths. The fresh mountain air carried no unusual scent, only known plants and animals. Carrot nodded reassurance to Norian, and Mirian lowered her bow.

  “Troll Land seems normal so far,” Mirian said. She pointed to a tree. “At least those birds are no bigger or hairier than usual.”

  Norian grinned. Carrot flickered a smile in spite of herself.

  “The road is six kilometers west,” Carrot said. “We should start.”

  They descended an animal trail down the mountain. The slope flattened and they emerged onto a meadow. The ground was rough and the brush was high, and six kilometers seemed more like sixteen. Norian suggested a break.

  While they rested, Carrot pointed to the sheaths at his feet, which he had been carrying on his back. “You have brought two swords.”

  “I had one remaining in stock,” Norian replied, “I did not wish to leave it behind, for fear it would be stolen.”

  “What does 'in stock' mean?'”

  “It's a business term. It means I had one remaining unsold in inventory.”

  Carrot recalled that yes, Uncle Ral
had once used the term while speaking to a customer in his Londa tailor shop.

  “Norian sells swords,” Mirian said. “Didn't you know? He's a master swordsmith.”

  “I'm not a master,” Norian said. “I apprenticed for eight years, then my master died too soon. By tradition, one does not call himself a master until twelve years of apprenticeship.”

  “That was his tradition,” Mirian replied, “so that he could exploit you at apprentice wages. You were as good as he at the end. Now he is gone and by what I've seen at fairs, no one makes better swords than you in all of Britan. If 'master' means anything it means you.”

  “I don't see cause for boasting, Mirian.”

  “I don't how modesty overrules truth, Norian.”

  With Norian's permission, Carrot unsheathed the spare blade. She admired its polished glint, appreciated the temper and delicate curvature, marveled at the balance. The handle seemed to melt into her grip, the blade seemed to extend her arm. The quality was far beyond the typical short sword of Roman manufacture.

  “Norian,” Carrot said. “I will pay well to learn how to fight with this kind of sword.”

  “I would teach you for free,” Norian replied, “but seriously, Carrot, how would I be able to show you proper technique in a duel? Your strength more than compensates for skill.”

  “No excuse not to improve. As it is, strength may not count for much against trolls.”

  “Perhaps I should restate. Your strength more than compensates for my skill.”

  “You're afraid she'll beat you?” Mirian asked.

  Norian chuckled. “I'm not afraid of it. I'm sure of it. But it's not humiliation that I fear, I fear that I won't be an effective teacher. When my Master and I dueled, he would demonstrate that I had left myself open by exploiting the gap in my defenses and laying the tip of his sword upon my shoulder. Carrot's strength – and let's not forget her speed also – won't allow such objectivity in a lesson.”

  Carrot pinched a few strands of her hair and held them before Norian. “How about this. When we duel, I will concentrate on using only normal human power. If I lose my concentration, my hair will turn color, and I will default the match.”