The Missing Link

by David Tysdale

  Finally Herling barked, "Enough of yer vanity ways, cat. Ye might look like Brutus, but that don't mean ye get to act like him. Choose or not. We be done waiting."

  Cringing under the barrage of words, the kitten slunk from the table and lay placidly across girl's feet. The girl hefted the cat in her arms, and looking as though she were about to faint from relief, turned to face the hall.

  "Good." Herling growled over the raucous applause. "That be done with. As Head Witch I welcome all ye witchlings to the Westhill Coven. In honor of yer acceptance ye get to sit up front here, near the head table. Enjoy, fer it'll be long time 'til ye gets to eat up here again."

  The witchlings and their cats sat down to another round of applause.

  "Now then to the other business that be at hand," Herling said, once the noise had died down. "Lucreta, stand yerself up, girl. Lucreta, myself and the other head crones feel that ye be ready fer life as a full-fledged witch. Jest this day past ye done show us how expert a healer ye be, in helping to save young Mariat's life, and likewise in patching up young Sylphwood, here. Yer training be more than complete, so no longer a witchling ye be." Again the hall burst into thunderous cheer, and this time it was Lucreta's cheeks that turned dark crimson.

  "As such ye can take yer place with us at the coven, or ye can live in a village with non-witch folk. This be a tough decision that all new witches must make, but whilst ye be thinking on it ye get to move into yer own cottage... except maybe with one slight hitch."

  Herling rubbed her chin. "Young Mariat be also graduating to the next level and by rights she gets to move to the first floor with the other senior witchlings, but it might be better fer Mariat to room with a more mature witch to help keep her out of trouble."

  Chuckles were heard around the hall.

  "Not to mention to keep her from spoiling this new batch of witchlings with her wild ways," Herling added, so only Carole and Lucreta could hear. "So I be thinking that Lucreta might be a good choice fer Mariat's roommate. This be totally yer choice, Lucreta. Certainly none of us would think ye a stinker fer saying no to that rascal. Course if ye say yes, ye can have a bigger cottage. There be one or two that'll fix up nice."

  Lucreta cleared her throat. "It be no problem to put up with Mariat. We get along pretty fine, now."

  "Good! That be all the formal coven business we have fer tonight," Herling decreed. "Ye all get to partying again."

  With a scraping of chairs and a rustling of skirts, the witches crowded onto the floor. Many came over to congratulate Lucreta, and many more came over to welcome the new arrivals, who were beginning to look more at ease. Carole felt a soft touch against her calf and looked down to see Mariat's cat, Cleopatra. The cat meowed something before bolting towards the door. Needing no further prompting, Carole followed her.

  --7--

  Cleopatra was running towards the outskirts of the village. Carole kicked into a fast glide and pulled even just as the cat came to a stop outside the brew shack.

  "Don't tell me Mariat's in there. Her and her sneaky ways. She's supposed to be in bed."

  "Meeowl!"

  "I'm not blaming you, Cleo. I just can't believe that witchling of yours." She opened the door of the shack and the cat vanished inside. "Mariat?"

  There was no answer.

  Carole stepped into the gloom, closing the door behind her. That was a mistake. Not only were there no windows, but it was extremely hot and smelly. "Mariat?"

  Silence.

  She waited for her eyes to adjust to the dark. After a few moments she could make out glowing coals in a hearth at the opposite end of the shack. Above the coals hung a small cauldron. Carole went closer. It was still too dark to see anything, but the smell coming from the vat was putrid. Holding her nose, she quickly backed away.

  A movement attracted her attention. Cleopatra was sitting next to a canvas partly covering two wooden barrels. Whilst staring at Carole, the cat placed a paw atop an irregular lump in the canvas.

  "What are you doing under there, Mariat?"

  "Ya skunk, Cleo." Mariat pulled the canvas off her head. "Didn't I tell ye not to snitch?"

  "You're the skunk, Mariat. You were given strict orders to stay in bed, and now look at you. Even in this light I can see you're pale as a ghost. You've probably started to bleed again."

  "Not so. I jest be a little sore is all."

  "If you walked here from Brunstice's cottage, I can almost guarantee you're bleeding."

  "I didn't. I took my broom. Cleo knows the truth. My belly aches only a very little, and probably Brunstice's wicked broth be the cause of that."

  "True, Cleo?"

  The cat nodded.

  "It's still no excuse, Mariat."

  "I makes ye a promise to find out brew's answer, and I keeps it. Westhillers never break a promise. I still not be strong enough to magic up a way to listen in, but this'll work, fine. We jest have to sit quite like. It be so dark that none will even know we be here, 'specialy if we cover ourselfs up. Jest pull another barrel close, Carole, then we be in the perfect hiding place."

  Carole was about to argue further when Cleopatra growled a quiet warning. "Who's coming?"

  "Quick multitasker, get the barrel. If Herling finds us here, we be skinned alive."

  Carole dragged the empty cask next to Mariat, squeezed behind, and drew the canvas overtop, just as the door creaked open.

  "Lay low, Cleo," Mariat breathed, as a furry body snaked between the girls. A moment later, someone shuffled inside.

  Carole peered through a small rent in the canvas. Professor Philamount and Head witch Herling were staring into the cauldron by the light of a small oil lamp.

  Herling sniffed at the bubbling mixture and croaked, "Tis time. Looks to be a good batch, Philamount. Cast yer question."

  Melodious Philamount poured black powder from a small pouch onto the palm of his hand. He leaned forward and cast the powder into the vat. Both he and Herling backed quickly away. Almost immediately, the concoction began to hiss and bubble.

  "Gets ready," Herling warned as she doused the light. "This looks to be a riled up answer fer sure."

  A thick column of fluorescent mist exploded from the vat, pancaked into the rafters and fanned out across the ceiling. Tiny tongues of lightning flashed within the cloud, illuminating swirling shapes and colors. Soft thunder rumbled, followed by whispering sounds. The thunder faded, but the whispers grew louder until Carole could hear a chorus of chanting voices:

  Two were as one when before shone the sun.

  One became two, in numbers they grew.

  One held the high, two sought the low,

  fixing their form in order to grow.

  Through ages of battle Conundrum was cast,

  Sylphwood was key to future that's past.

  Fates are uncertain, but Hub witch can view,

  if two becomes one, or one becomes two!

  The chant repeated over and over until the voices and the mist simply faded away, leaving the shack deathly quiet. Carole committed the words to memory, though she doubted she could forget the haunting dirge even if she tried.

  "There be yer answer Philamount," Herling said into the silence. "Answer, and a prophecy, and a riddle all tied together."

  "Indeed," Professor Philamount said. "Most unsettling."

  "Ye bin right 'bout the Conundrum and Sylphwood, all along. They be bound together."

  "I always felt it was so. But it seems we have been presented with even deeper mysteries."

  "Ye bin wise to keep her abilities a secret. Want us to house her here fer awhile? Might be a bit safer."

  "To do so might tip our hand. This excursion was believable, given Miss Sylphwood's planned get-together with her witchling friend, and my business with you. But to linger further would certainly raise suspicions."

  "Truth be in that," Herling said.

  "We must return this evening as prearranged, and allow events to unfold as they will."

  Herling poured a bucket
of water over the coals, extinguishing the brew fire and plunging the shack into total darkness. She struck a match and relit her lantern. "Best we get back to the celebration, then. Ye need to put some meat on yer bones, anyway. Ye look more specterish each time ye calls." She shuffled over to the door and led the Hub instructor into the night.

  "Wow! What ye makes of all that, Carole?" Mariat said, after Philamount and Herling had gone.

  "Don't know, but we'd better get you back to bed before anyone realizes you've skipped out."

  "I be fine. Jest help me to my broom."

  "Want me to glide beside you?" Carole said, once they were outside, breathing fresh air again.

  "Pshaw! I bin flying since before I could walk." Mariat motioned for Cleopatra to hop onto the bristles, and the two of them zipped into the sky. "We be waiting fer ye at Brunstice's cottage, slow poke," she called over her shoulder.

  Grinning to herself, Carole leapt to the cottage to await Mariat's arrival. A minute later, the witchling stepped through the doorway and did a double take. "What kept you?"

  "Able to jump 'tween places in the same realm, eh?" Mariat said as she quickly recovered her composure.

  "Just learned."

  "Much faster than a broom."

  "But not nearly as fun. Come on, you don't look so good. I'll help you to bed."

  Shrugging off the offer, Mariat walked nonchalantly to her cot but once there sat gingerly, exhaling slowly as she did so. Cleopatra followed, settling beside the witchling.

  "You'd better have some more soup," Carole said. Mariat grimaced but didn't resist as Carole passed her a bowl.

  "So what ye be thinking 'bout the brew's reading?"

  "Not sure."

  Mariat reached into her dress and pulled out a folded piece of parchment. "I copied this fer ye." She held the paper out to Carole. "It not be real neat. Still, I got ye the reading, like I promised."

  "Yes you did." Carole examined the scribbles.

  "Ye bin right 'bout Philamount, too. He be keeping close eyes on ye. Probable something to do with the 'battle of ages'."

  "Through the ages," Carole corrected. "'Through ages of battle, Conundrum was cast.'"

  "Who be battling?"

  "I suppose it could mean the Terrible Tiff. That was sort of a battle between two professors, though it more a battle of words."

  "That be a problem with the brew's answers. Often ye get answers, but jest as often get more questions."

  At that moment the cottage door swung open and Lucreta stepped in with a plate full of goodies. "Thought I best make sure ye not getting into mischief, witchling."

  Mariat shot Carole a quick look.

  Lucreta gasped. "I saw that. Barely able to breath and still getting into trouble. Spit it out. What have ye two been up to?"

  "Nothing."

  "Should I ask Cleo, then?"

  "No!"

  "Then out with it."

  "We jest checked out the brew shack, quick like," Mariat admitted. "Carole be curious as to Philamount's meddling."

  "The brew shack? Ye be crazy, walking all that way."

  "I took my broom."

  "That be even worse. 'Sides, the brew be no business of yers."

  "It be Carole's business. Philamount be asking his questions 'bout Carole and the Conundrum. It be all 'bout her. She had the right to know."

  "Be that so?" Lucreta asked Carole.

  "Uh huh."

  "What be said? I swear not to tell any other."

  Carole handed over the parchment.

  Lucreta screwed up her eyes as she tried to decipher Mariat's scrawl.

  "Ye be in it deep, Sylphwood," Mariat said, whilst Lucreta was reading. "But we be here to help. Ye need help, jest come to us."

  "Ye be no good to anybody if yer belly splits open, witchling." Lucreta scolded. "Did ye tell her 'bout the party yet, Carole?"

  "I haven't had time."

  "What?" Mariat demanded.

  "Lucreta graduated. She gets her own cottage."

  "That be great for her." Mariat smiled, but it seemed forced. "No longer has to put up with sourpuss witchlings."

  "'Cepting maybe one," Lucreta lamented.

  "Which one be that?"

  "The one she'll be rooming with." Carole said.

  "What be ye two babbling 'bout? Lucreta gets her own cottage."

  "Seems Lucreta's not the only one who graduated. You've been promoted, too."

  "So I get Lucreta's room, next to five sourpusses. I always knew that I be moved down when the new witchlings arrived."

  "Not quite."

  "What ye be saying, Carole? I still have to live upstairs with those new whelps?"

  "What do you think, Lucreta, should we put her out of her misery?"

  "She do look to be one miserable witchling, Carole."

  "Come on ye two. Tell me!"

  "You and Lucreta are sharing a cottage together."

  Mariat gasped. "That be true? I get to live in a whole cottage? Ye want to share with me?"

  "If ye want it."

  "Ohhh... That means I go from living next to five sourpuss witchlings, to living with one flower-stink-loving witch. What a life."

  "Why ye little ghoul." Lucreta grabbed Mariat by the collar.

  "Careful of me belly. I be yer patient, remember?"

  "Not after I kills ye."

  "Okay, okay. I be nice. I stay in bed and listen to ye." Mariat grabbed the plate of treats and placed it on her lap. "See, I accept yer goodies, gracious like. Hey, did all the young'un witchlings get accepted?"

  Lucreta released Mariat. "The entire batch, though one got a good scare when her kitten played a snootish prank on her."

  "The Brutus look-a-like kitten?"

  "That be the one, though Herling gave him what fer."

  "That kitten be a trouble-maker," Mariat said.

  "No surprise ye figure that out. One trouble maker always knows another."

  Mariat snorted and stifled a yawn.

  "Time to sleep, witchling," Lucreta ordered.

  "I not be tired."

  "Ye not be yawning, either. Eats yer goodies later. To bed with ya."

  "Okay, okay." Mariat passed the plate to Carole and eased herself down.

  "I'd best be saying goodbye, Mariat. You heard what Philamount said. We're leaving tonight."

  "Yeah. He not be wanting Conundrum types to get suspicious." Mariat yawned again. "Ye come back before winter snows fly."

  "No promises. I've still got a bunch of things to figure out."

  "All right, multitasker. Bin a great visit this time arount, even if we got blowed-up a little..." Mariat's eyes fluttered and she drifted off.

  "Come and get me, if she be even a little bit of trouble, Cleo," Lucreta directed.

  The cat blinked knowingly.

  "Let's go, Carole. Mariat needs plenty of sleep that heals."

  --8--

  A warm gust of air brushed Carole's cheek as she stepped from the transdimensional tunnel onto the dew-laden field. She looked around as she heard the soft sigh of the tunnel collapsing behind her. The only thing visible was the Nightshade connector sticking out of the ground like an off-kilter barbershop pole. Relaxing her focus, she activated her subtle sight and watched a kaleidoscopic ribbon of light bubble out of the connector. The light from the collapsed tunnel wrapped around the pole a number of times before corkscrewing off into the evening sky.

  No one else could see the transdimensional tunnels. They were invisible to other multitaskers, and as far as she could tell, had always been invisible. Special tools, detectors and connectors were required to find, activate and repair them.

  The sky overhead was diamond studded black velvet. Carole altered her gaze just a little and watched the heavens come alive with the pulses of thousands of rainbow streamers. The scene was absolutely breathtaking, totally mesmerizing, and yet it was a scene she couldn't share with her friends, Runt or even Professor Philamount.

  "Do not dawdle Miss Sylphwood." Pro
fessor Philamount's voice cut through her reverie. "It is late and tomorrow is a full day. Off you go. Home to bed."

  "All right." Carole stomped towards the Rim, the narrow path bordering the connector field, and sped off. It wasn't as if she hadn't a good reason to be angry with the man. She had wasted the rest of the evening waiting for him to talk about the reading, which he hadn't. Melodious T. Philamount had remained close-lipped and stone-faced through the entire party.

  She raced along the circular path, not slowing until she reached a wide, cobblestone lane called the Northway. There were four such lanes neatly quartering the community. Each began at the Celestial Nexus, the solitary mountain rising from the center of the Hub, and ended at the Rim. It was another of the bizarre contradictions about the place. Multitasking was supposed to be about flexibility, and yet the community had been laid out with rigid, geometric precision. She started down the dark lane.

  The residential district seemed totally deserted. Still she glided warily, checking side paths and skirting around the bizarre street lamps that sporadically illuminated the lane. As she approached her own Trickleberry Trail, Carole saw a shadow of movement across the intersection. She was about to duck off the road when she heard a familiar click-whirring sound coming up from behind.

  A Bobber Light! One of those floating spotlights that patrolled the lanes, and turned on at the slightest detection of motion. Carole froze.

  Whoever was up ahead must not have heard, for the shadowy figures continued into the intersection. The Bobber Light buzzed past Carole, and moments later the intersection flared under its blinding spotlight. With cries of pained surprise, two men jumped back from the powerful light and ran off.

  The Bobber Light gave chase, doggedly keeping up to light their way. Carole watched until the men were just specks in the distance, thinking that this was the first time she was actually grateful for the appearance of one of those roving spotlights.

  Instead of turning for home, she continued south to Middletown Road and doubled back to the Eastway, which she took to Hub Central. The Devilles' small cottage was behind the school, sandwiched between the playing field and the bordering forest. Lights were still on. Carole rapped quietly on the front door and slipped inside.