The Missing Link

by David Tysdale

  Despite the abundance of flowers, the fragrance wasn't overpowering, in fact it was quite subtle and pleasing. Carole inhaled deeply and felt herself relax. "Wow! Lucreta must really like flowers."

  "Stinks aplenty in here." Mariat wrinkled her nose. "All the witches say Lucreta has a natural gift of green thumbs, and that she be well sought after by all the farming communities when she be through her training. I like flowers as much as any, but not so this much. This be a big waste of time.

  "Careful not to touch anything," Mariat said, as Carole reached for a blossom. "Might be that the flower is spelled. Best we don't take any chances."

  Carole was intrigued. "How can you tell?"

  "There be plenty of ways, but I haven't learnt all of them, yet. Tis lore the older witchlings won't show me. A coven supposed to be a community where witches help one another, but witchlings never want to help me. It be they who force me to be a sneak."

  Carole had little difficulty understanding why the older girls wanted to keep Mariat ignorant of their more advanced charms and spells.

  Mariat went to Lucreta's desk. It held a few sheets of parchment, some herb sprigs, and one large beeswax candle. Without touching anything, Mariat angled her head to better read the material.

  A moment later she whooped with delight. "This be one grand spell, Carole. Hoo, hoo, Lucreta will be mighty miffed to know that I be learning it now." Mariat took a small square of parchment from her own pocket and scribbled a few hasty notes with a pencil stick. "We best be a going," she said when she'd folded the note and put it into her skirt pocket. "Don't want to be caught taking this."

  Carole watched as the witchling deftly replaced spider and web back over the door latch. The spider which had remained idle until that time, immediately returned to the job of spinning. Mariat gently closed the door the rest of the way.

  "See? None be the wiser, 'cept ye and me."

  "What's the spell for?" Carole said, as she followed Mariat to the stairs at the far side of the common room.

  "Wait 'til we be in my room." Mariat winked. "Jest to be sure no one overhears."

  --2--

  Each of the two spacious rooms on the second floor contained half-a-dozen beds, each with its own small wardrobe and nightstand. Only one bed was made up, though its closest neighbor was piled with folded bedding.

  "That one be fer ye." Mariat indicated the mattress with the folded sheets. "Best room in the whole of witch dorm. I get to look out the windows at the lake and feel coolish breezes in hot weather, and I be close enough to the chimney to keep plenty warm during the season of snows."

  She pulled out the square of parchment she'd scribbled on, and dropped it onto the bed. Reaching under her mattress, she pulled out a leather bound book. Its cover was decorated with colorful drawings and symbols. Before opening the text, she mumbled a few words under her breath while passing her hand overtop. Inside, written with exquisite penmanship, were what Carole took to be other spells.

  "Your handwriting is beautiful. Did you design the cover too?"

  "That be so," Mariat acknowledged shyly.

  "Why you're a gifted artist, Mariat."

  "I like to make my spell book prettyish. Don't get to do much else in the way of prettying things up, yet, though it be certain that when I get my own room I won't be going gaudyish like Lucreta. Still, she gets to do as she wishes, so long as she completes her chores and studies." Mariat sighed. "Too much choring around Westhill Coven, if'n ye ask me." She turned to an empty page and slipped the piece of parchment inside. "I'll write the spell in later."

  "What's it for?"

  "To send messages to one during sleep. Maybe I send Lucreta a nightmarish type of message of serpents coiling arount her foot, thinking to bite off her big toe."

  "You're wicked!" Carole giggled. "Hey, could you send a message to me that way?"

  "Don't see why not. Distance shouldn't matter to this type of spell, though it mightn't travel through different dimensions." Mariat scratched her head. "Nothin fer it but to try some night. Want me to send ye a wolfish type of dream, Carole?"

  "Not on your life! I've had enough of those while still awake."

  Mariat mumbled over the spell book and slid it back under her mattress.

  "Aren't you worried someone will find it?"

  "Naw. None comes up here 'cept Herling, to check on my cleanliness. Lucreta might snoop now and again, but she not be able to open my book. I put a spell on it that I learnt from Herling."

  "Learned or stole?"

  Mariat smiled innocently. "Can't quite remember, but it be a great spell fer keeping the book closed, in case of snoops. And if the snoop be able to break the spell then the ink will go all smudgy and drip over their hands and they'll be plenty sorry."

  "But you'd lose all your spells, too."

  "Not to worry. I've a second copy, hidden someplace else. Herling always says, 'Be no spell so good as what ye got between yer ears.' So I use my brains and made two books, one fer jest in case. It be a good way to practice memorizing spells too." Mariat smiled smugly as she stretched out on her bed.

  Carole looked around." How come you're the only one up here?"

  "I be the last apprentice to Westhill Coven since the time of the Conundrum." Mariat rested her hands behind her head. "Used to be that all witchlings be upstairs with me, but one after t'other moved down below."

  "Aren't you lonely?"

  "Naw. Remember, with the Conundrum Herling moved us around so much that so we not even be living here a whole bunch. And when we finally moved back fer good, I loved having this big space all to myself." Mariat heaved a great sigh. "But not for much longer. Other apprentice witchlings will be coming for harvest rituals this year and then this place be packed like a chicken coop. But it be likely that at the same time I get a dorm room next to Lucreta." She made a face. "Course it means I get to beautify my own room, too, though not with so many flowers as to make you sneeze."

  "So you're graduating to a higher level in the coven?"

  "Perhaps, though maybe Herling jest be afraid to risk ruining the new batch of apprentices with all my wildish ways."

  "No," Carole said with a chuckle. "Whatever gave you that idea?"

  Mariat snorted. "Rest of the coven jest be too old to appreciate good fun be all."

  Carole looked over the room. "Why haven't other apprentices joined the coven 'til now?"

  "Not certain." Mariat considered the question a while. "Maybe none be good enough to meet Westhill standards, or maybe none wants to become a witch. Tis a hard trade, like learning to be a multitasker, I s'pose. That be a hard trade also, I hear."

  "I guess," Carole said. "I found out that most don't make it, and those that do aren't necessarily treated all that well."

  "The good stuff never be easy to get." Mariat sprang from her bed. "Come on Carole, we check out the mill."

  They trooped down the stairs, out into the bright sunshine and over to the mill that was opposite a large pond.

  The air was cool inside the mill and heavy with a musty smell of grain. Carole walked to the large central grindstone that, along with its wooden gears and support columns, filled the belly of the building. She passed her hand over the smooth rock. It was a quiet and peaceful place.

  "Not be much action here 'til after the grain stores be all full up. That be done soon, since the villagers bin helping with the harvest, and there be plenty of hustle and bustle to this place. Plenty of flour dust too, 'specially if ye be the one chored to sweep it out."

  "You don't harvest your own crops?"

  "Sure, but it be quicker with others to help, and we return the favor and help the villagers. And if there be too much harvest fer storage, Westhill spreads it arount to other covens who be more needy."

  "You give it away?"

  "Sometimes, but usually we barter fer stuff we be needing. Also, we have less need fer hay then the villagers, since we only keep a few plow ponies about. We not be needing horses fer travel."

&nb
sp; In the light spilling in from the upper windows, Carole saw that the air was actually laden with dust. She remembered once reading about a mill exploding. It had something to do with the concentration of flour dust. She looked again at the seemingly harmless motes dancing in the light. The right amount of dust on a hot enough day and the whole place would just blow up.

  She waved her hand, stirring up the dustmotes. Appearances could be so deceiving...like at the Hub. She wondered how much dust was too much? Surely there was no danger today; most likely not until after the milling began.

  A flicker of movement caught her eye. She squinted upwards and saw the motion again, on an overhead beam. A tail; a tawny cat's tail. "We've got company." She pointed.

  "Cats often be here keeping mice and rats away, as well as helping selves to an easy lunch. Everyone at Westhill Coven has chores to do, whether ye be of the two-footed or the four-footed type." Mariat called, "Who be up there?"

  Carole heard a throaty growl. "I know that voice. And how are you this morning, Brutus?"

  "Mrrowl!" the cat snapped.

  "Is he still sore at me?"

  "Might easily be that." Mariat chuckled. "Brutus be extremely good at grudge holding, and last time ye showed him up real good."

  Carole whispered, "Maybe I can fix things." Aloud she said, "I heard that you were the first cat to jump on that werewolf last spring, Brutus. That was a very brave of you, and I just wanted you to know how grateful I am."

  The lionish looking cat rose from his resting place, muttered impolitely and vanished out a window.

  "Don't ye be fooled by his act," Mariat said. "Brutus be plenty pleased that multitasker Sylphwood took notice. Things'll be better between ye two. Ye will see."

  "I'll take your word for it," Carole said. "He's still the rudest cat I've ever met"

  Mariat giggled. "Good to have him on yer side in a fight, though."

  They left the mill and stopped midway across the sturdy bridge that spanned the stream. Carole leaned over the low railing and watched the current pass slowly beneath.

  "Exactly how does the coven work?" she said, after a time. "Do you stay here only for schooling or do you live here all the time?"

  "Bit of both. If a girl has natural witch skills, she be apprenticed fer training in the hope that she'll return home later to become a resident village witch. But oft times a witch won't return."

  "Are there other types of people in this realm besides witches and villagers?"

  "Plenty. There be the fleshy types like witches, gypsies, village folk and vampires, and there be those with no flesh, like spirits and ghosts. There also be some which is kind'a half-and-half," Mariat added as an afterthought. "Sprites and pixies and gnomes be those sorts."

  "Are there faeries here, too?" Carole found herself hoping there were.

  "Not anymore."

  "What happened to them?"

  "I remember hearing stories 'bout them when I be a babe sitting in front of the winter hearth fires." Mariat kicked a stone off the bridge and watched it plunk into the water below. "Mostly that the faeries be a delicate folk that tried to make the Ghostly Spirit Realm more kind and gentle, but they couldn't because the magic here be too thick and brutish fer'em to change. So they left." She stared at the water and said quietly, "Think ye, that I be thick and brutish, Carole?"

  "Mariat, how could you say such a thing?"

  "Faeries did."

  Carole gripped Mariat by the shoulders and turned her so that they were face-to-face. Mariat refused to meet her eyes. "Let me tell you something. I met some faeries."

  The witchling looked up, eyes wide.

  "It was during those dimensional overlaps last spring, and I can tell you, they'd love you. Faeries enjoy a good time."

  "Does they have a beautiful realm?"

  "Very beautiful," Carole said, "but it's also dangerous, too."

  "Truly?"

  "There was a forest that the faeries wouldn't go near--sort of like The Dark Wood--and I got captured by a nasty cave sprite and a wood troll. And believe me, they were very thick and very brutish. The troll could squash a werewolf as easily as a bug."

  "How did ye get away?"

  "With the help of this." Carole pulled out the silver necklace she'd been wearing under her dress. On the end of the braid was a tiny silver whistle. She held it up for Mariat to see. "The faeries gave me this. It's a whistle wand."

  Mariat turned the wand over in her palm. "Never heard tell of such a thing. 'Tis so very delicate. How does it work?"

  "It protects me from spells while I'm wearing it, at least faerie spells. I'm not sure if it works against all types."

  "It be well charmed." Mariat peered closely at the wand. "See how these fine lines actually be scroll words. What else can it do?"

  "It has projective magic, too. You cast the spell by blowing it."

  "That so?" Mariat squinted through the wand's chamber. Before Carole could stop her, she blew the whistle.

  At first Carole heard nothing, and then ever so quietly, so that she almost missed it, a crystalline chime sounded.

  "Hear that?" Mariat was smiling widely.

  Moments later Carole heard a second chime, this one a little louder.

  "Delicate and beautiful. Like in the fire tales."

  The third chime was easy to hear, the fourth almost deafening. Both she and Mariat covered their ears.

  The fifth chime blew them off the bridge.

  Carole belly-flopped into the frigid stream below, and Mariat splashed beside her.

  Shaking off the double shock of icy water and ringing ears, she instinctively blew two short blasts into the wand. Covering her ears again, she tensed, knowing the sixth chime would shatter bone.

  That blow never arrived. Instead the fourth chime rang out, followed in close succession by the third and second chimes. She assumed the almost inaudible first repeated itself, but with her ears still ringing, she couldn't hear it.

  "And the faeries thinking we be thick and brutish." Mariat groaned, whilst getting to her feet. "Ye best keep that wand to yerself, multitasker. A body could get hurt playing with that thing."

  Leaning on each other for support, they waded ashore and collapsed onto the warm, grassy bank. Neither spoke nor moved until Carole noticed a group of witches hurrying across the bridge.

  She sat up, wincing with the effort. It felt as though she'd pulled every muscle in her belly. Mariat did likewise, looking even more pained than Carole felt. They stared at each other silently, before cracking into smiles. Another group of witches was crossing the bridge.

  "You don't suppose that's got anything to do with us?" Carole said, uneasily.

  "I don't see how. That spell hit our bellies, not theirs."

  "Could it have damaged the mill?"

  "What's to damage? It be just wood and timbers."

  When they'd climbed back up to the bridge, Carole discovered that the mill windows had all shattered. Glass shards were everywhere. As she listened to the chatter of the clean-up crew, Carole learned that a couple other buildings had suffered cracked windows. Luckily, no one had been injured.

  The consensus amongst the witches was that a rogue lightning bolt had triggered the noise. Carole looked up at the clear blue sky. She had a sinking feeling she and Mariat hadn't heard the last of this.

  "Come on, Carole." Mariat tugged at her arm. "Let's make ourselves scarce fer a time. We need to change into dry clothes anyway. I'll lend ye some of mine."

  By the time they'd returned to the dorm Carole was pretty much dry.

  "Good. Less suspicious if we be in our own garb. That cloth be a gift of the faeries, too?" Mariat winced noticeably as she pulled off her own clothing.

  "Yes. You okay?"

  Mariat gave an irritated wave. "Faerie cloth be a safer subject than their wands. Dries quick and changes color as ye have need. Seen it go gray on the crag lands, and bright red on the bridge, but now it be pretty blues and purples, again. I won't be asking to try it on, thou
gh. Them faeries be a mite too devious fer me."

  Carole sat on the bed. She placed her fingers to her forehead and pressed gingerly. The headache had been coming on steadily since she'd dragged herself from the stream. Now it was a steady throb.

  "Yer head also be a splitting in two?" Mariat smiled sympathetically. "We should visit Brunstice, the herbal crone, get her to fix us a batch of aching head remedy.

  "But she be a good friend of Herling too, so we need to watch our tongues. Might be best if ye let me do all the talking, Carole...and perhaps we keep knowledge of yer wand a secret, okay?"

  "I suppose," Carole said, but she wasn't totally convinced.

  "Come on multitasker." Mariat shut her wardrobe. "Remember to act normal."

  By the time they'd reached the mill, they were both acting anything but normal. Carole plodded along with her eyes closed to slits against the pounding in her head, while Mariat staggered drunkenly, one hand against her forehead and the other cradling her stomach. The clean-up crew had already cleared away the broken glass and was in the process of installing new panes in the mill house windows.

  She followed Mariat over the bridge and down a narrow avenue bordered with fruit-laden apple trees. The shade was a welcome relief from the bright sun, though she had to pick her way around a number of recently fallen apples. They had just entered the village proper when Mariat doubled over with a spasm of pain twisting across her face.

  "Is it much farther?" Carole said, alarmed.

  Mariat pointed to a small, nondescript cottage. Carole grabbed her elbow and guided her to the dwelling.

  Once there, Mariat straightened up slowly, saying, "Remember, I do the talking." She pushed open the door and limped inside.

  Carole followed her into a steamy and pungent chamber. She sneezed violently. "Ohh!" She gripped her throbbing skull.

  Behind a long counter, an old crone was hunched over a boiling concoction. She looked up. "What's the likes of ye two be doing here disturbing me on such a fine day?"

  "We gots--" Mariat gasped as if her body had been gripped by a painful spasm. "Heads a splittin', Brunstice."