Write On Press Presents: The Ultimate Collection of Original Short Fiction, Volume II

by Write On Press

  ~*~

  I listened, hand-in-hand with Savoye’ as his elder brother began the familiar cadence he chanted at every one of our walks.

  “March, march. March-march-march.”

  “March, march. March-march-march.”

  He lifted his slender legs high at every step as if he were on a grand parade. His small brown satchel was slung over his left shoulder and hung just below his right hip so his arms could swing in time with his step. His seriousness was almost comical. And as I glanced down at Savoye’, he seemed to share the humor in the scene as he looked up with a broad grin then went back to studying his brother.

  I knew this would continue for quite some time unless I could engage him in some other pursuit more interesting than just marching. And as if reading my mind, Savoye’ pulled at my hand and pointed off toward the far end of the prairie in which we walked. We had left the path that headed toward town some minutes ago and were passing through familiar pasture land that we had long since explored.

  “Look, Daddy!” Savoye’ excitedly pointed toward a hillock some hundred or so strides away. This little knoll would mark the closest we had ever ventured in the direction of the Darkwood. It seemed to be a place of great interest for Savoye’ so I decided to steer us in that direction.

  “Okay, boys,” said more for Josiah’s benefit than Savoye’s, “let’s head over toward that little hill.”

  Savoye’ quickened his pace enough to pull me a bit by the hand as Josiah turned and ran to resume his position at the fore of our little procession now that he had a direction to lead us. I let Savoye’s hand go and he began to run toward the hill, passing Josiah in the process. This seemed to break all seriousness from my elder son as he shouted, “Hey, wait for me, Savoye’!”, and took off after his little brother at a full run.

  Even with the head start, Savoye’ still came in second to his brother. Being inherently more competitive, this was a fact enjoyed only by Josiah as he was panting out, “I won!” between breaths, while Savoye’ seemed only interested in the different types of flowers growing on the grassy hill that rose a mere eight or nine feet above the surrounding prairie and no more than thirty strides around at its base. But it made a superior point to survey the relatively flat prairie land for miles in all directions.

  Far off to the northeast of our position, we could make out small groupings of tall, thin trees, green-leafed and flowering in the mild spring weather.

  “Is that the Darkwood, Daddy?” Josiah asked pointing at the trees. Savoye’, though still occupied in his inspection of the flowers on the hill, had perked up to hear my response as well.

  “No son, those are new trees that have grown between the town and the Darkwood. Once we walk through those trees and a bit more, we’ll be able to see the edge of the dark forest for ourselves.”

  “Will we get to see the beasts of the forest, Daddy?”

  “Well, we may see Wisps, Faeries, Imps, or even the Pixies who live at the outer edges of the forest. They are the only denizens of the wood who make their way across the stone ring that protects us humans from the more dangerous creatures who inhabit the Darkwood.”

  “Like the Grabme-gotchas!” Savoye’ piped in, as if he were trying to scare his brother with the same delivery I used when telling some of the darker bedtime tales. Though being only three and having two fists full of posies and dandelions somewhat lessened the effect, I’m sure.

  “Tell us about the Wisps and Ferrys, Daddy.”

  “Yes, Daddy, Faeries. What are they and what do they look like, will we see any?”

  “Well, son,” I began, noting that though Savoye’ had turned to separate and categorize his flowers by size, type and color, I knew he would be listening as well, “I have told you of the times long ago when men called wizards, warlocks, and Shamen controlled the forces of magic, and some had even learned to contain those forces, unnaturally within themselves to gain greater levels of mastery. Well, at the end of their time, the magic was returned into the earth, and from where it originally came and certain creatures who gain their sustenance from the earth were changed by the magic.”

  “Like when people take their pets to the Augmentors?”

  “Not quite son, you see the Augmentors use what little magic they pull from certain plants and minerals, blend it with other elements of science and alchemy to produce conditions where new-born pets can be augmented with enhanced physical characteristics. It is a forced and unnatural process. What created the Wisps and their like is a natural process where over time the food eaten, the environment lived in, and the general conditions of life made the offspring of a creature slightly different from the parent in order to make their lives easier.

  Some believe that Wisps were a type of flying, communal insect like a honey bee. But since it lived in harsher environments than honey bees do, the magic of the earth around them eventually made changes in their bodies, their physiology.”

  “Fizzy-olo-gee.” Josiah tried the word out, almost tasting the individual syllables.

  “That’s very good son, phy – si – ol – ogy. It means the way your body is shaped. So, scholars have described the forebears of what we know now as a Wisp as an inch-long flying insect with a long stinger at the end of a bulbous abdomen with antennae atop a smallish bettle-like head. But, after hundreds of years, Wisps have developed intelligence, society, little three fingered hands and the ability to walk upright. Their bulbous bodies slimed down to accommodate armor plated venom sacks for the stingers that still protrude from their little rears.”

  “When men knew these creatures as Wasps, they were a bothersome nuisance, but the Wisps of today should not be approached without respect for how dangerous they can be and full knowledge of what you can do to protect yourself from their worst efforts.”

  “How do you fight them, Daddy?”

  “Josiah, the best way to keep them from harming you is to avoid them. They usually fly in small groups of three or five, but they have been known to swarm if you are close to a central hive that could hold several hundred to over a thousand. So, if you recognize a small group of Wisps, never antagonize them. They will stop and likely hover like dragonflies, but in an arrow or diamond formation. If they do, just back slowly away and they will likely not attack, but allow you to withdraw. It would be more dangerous for them to attack even a single adult human numbering only five. A well aimed smack from my own hand could kill an unwary Wisp. However, a single sting from one of the little creatures hurts terribly and would raise a welt the size of a beezlenut!”

  “Wow,” The comment was quietly breathed from my elder son as he realized that most beezlenuts he’d ever seen were larger than his small fist.

  “Wow, indeed. Several well placed stings could make a man faint, and a dozen or more would surely kill even a strong man. But, Wisps would rather not sting if they can avoid it. Their venom sacks only hold enough at any one time for two potent attacks and each time they sting they must rest to regain their full vitality. So you see, any small group would rather not engage if you do not threaten them, but trespassing on their hive territory will most certainly get you killed.

  “So you have to swat them with your hand?” Sometimes Josiah’s single-mindedness could be mildly taxing. With a sigh, I was about to reiterate the virtue of precaution and wariness as a preferable strategy, when Savoye’ remarked, “Honeysuckle.”

  I looked over to the far side of the knoll where he was stooping. He gingerly picked a dozen and a half stems of the small flowering plant from a rock that supported the flowering vine and walked up to Josiah and offered about half the bunch to his brother, “Here, Josiah.” Then he offered the other half to me.

  “Well now, as it happens, Josiah,” I said, recovering, “Wisps don’t particularly favor the smell of Honeysuckle nectar. Some say that keeping fresh Honeysuckle in your pockets or squeezing the flowers in your hands will ward away even a large group of Wisps.”

  My logical mind insisted that this was simply
a strange coincidence, or my son must have remarkably remembered this tidbit from another of my stories. However, for the life of me, I could not remember ever mentioning this particular kernel of lore to either boy in the past.

  Checking the time against the relative position of the two moons, I put the thought away; possibly for future consideration. “Okay, boys, let’s continue with our adventure, and on the way I’ll tell you two all you need to know about Imps!”

  One of the greatest blessings of being a father and working in my profession is the fact that very few academicians have any skill in proper penmanship. This gives me access to the notes and research of some of the greatest minds all tuition free. Of course passing this knowledge of history, science, engineering, alchemy, literature and mathematics to my sons can be an extreme exercise in imagination and a test of one’s inventive skill, but thankfully it is a task I and my boys seem to enjoy together.

  “Yea!” They yelled out in chorus as Josiah ran down the small hill and Savoye’ closed his pack and hoisted it over his head and shoulder before reaching out to take my hand.

  “C’mon, Daddy!” and we trotted down the hill after Josiah.

  We walked through untended and unclaimed prairie land of singular beauty. Other than a few trees scattered some distance from one another the land was all gently rolling fields of grasses and wildflowers. At every butterfly and moth, Josiah claimed to have caught a glimpse of an elusive Faerie (despite my insistence that they usually only emerge at dusk and dawn), and he would give chase with the absurd notion that catching one would ensure him a wish in exchange for the creatures’ release.

  Fully a half dozen times he returned to Savoye and myself after running two score yards or so only to lose sight of the winged insect in the unkempt green. Far from dejected, he would simply scan the area for the next opportunity.

  Savoye’ stayed at my side as we made our way to the line of trees we spotted from the little hill. At times he would hold my hand and at times not, though he never moved more than a full stride or two from my side and stayed focused almost directly ahead. At one point it occurred to me that I might not be the only one directing this expedition

  It was the late edge of morning when we reached the tree line and as we approached, I scanned the area for an appropriate place to settle for an early snack. The trees here were slender and young; none more than thirty or forty years old and most were younger. This was the outermost frontier for the old wood, and this area was the farthest that the original forest had managed to re-colonize. It was a very pleasant area; bright sun shine lit open areas between the trees that were large enough for twenty people to comfortably picnic. While at the same time groups of three, five, or ten trees grew in clumps only a handful of strides apart from one another providing ample shade from the warm Spring-time sun.

  I chose a spot like this between five young trees that let just a bit of sun dapple through the high green foliage of their crowns while admitting the cool and gentle breeze freely between the trunks. The ground had a generous carpet of grass with very few leaves or stones so I decided that we would take our respite here before pressing on through the next part of our walk.

  Oranges, bread, and water sweetened with a dollop of honey; while not the most extravagant fare, when you are leading two small boys on one of the greatest adventures of their memory, it is astounding at what relish and satisfaction that they find in the simplest of things. My boys praised our meal so that I felt like the King’s own Culinarist. Sated and at rest, I had hoped that the boy’s might feel in favor of a nap, but as soon as I had mentioned the prospect I had one child tugging at each arm telling me that, “We’re all rested, Daddy. Time to get going!”

  Once again, we were off.

  Looking back the way we had come, I assured myself there was no way to lose the route we had taken. At the edge of my sight, I could easily make out the chimney smoke from the town taverns that cornered the central square just an hour’s walk west of Ms. Mika’s house. So, I pressed on with the boys straight through the light forest. The going was easy and the boys took circuitous detours around this tree or that, but generally following my straight, north-easterly direction.

  Just shy of an hour into the forest, we surprisingly came upon a narrow but well defined path. Only wide enough for three grown men to walk abreast, it could not have been a cart path or used for commerce of any kind, and I remarked so to my children.

  “What purpose could such a narrow path have served way out here? And who would have made such an effort for something that no one is likely to make frequent use of? And yet, there is no fresh growth of grass on the path despite the lack of tracks or wheel ruts or any other sign that this stretch of trail even has a purpose?”

  All three of us stood off to the side of the straight dirt track. We stood still, in quiet consideration (at least I was in a state of thought, and my sons may have just been mocking me waiting for a development of more interest). Suddenly, Josiah raced off to the rear several yards and snapped off a length of branch as long as my arm. Before I could remark on my surprise at his strength for one so young, or what in the Saviors name he intended to do with the branch, he grabbed one end and thrust it into the soil that evenly seemed to top the trail as far as one could see in either direction. The first few inches of the dirt parted easily then Josiah’s improvised tool met some stiff resistance.

  After he made a few more jabs at the packed earth beneath, I asked, “May I use the branch, son?”

  “Okay, Daddy,” after passing it to me, I used the branch to move back an area of the topsoil. What we revealed was a layer of clay that was peppered with char-edged, fist sized rock that seemed (from some of the cracked bits) to be a yellowish-white on the inside.

  “Boys, this is called ‘coke’, it’s a type of burned limestone. One way of making a trail that won’t succumb to overgrowth is to burn certain minerals like limestone. The burned stone makes the ground toxic to plants. My guess is that this path was made to bring sledges of the cracked lodestone to create the stone ring that encircles the Darkwood today.”

  “Wow! Can we follow it?”

  “No, Josiah. It would likely take us to another part of the stone ring trail farther from where our path leads us. Remember, this adventure can’t last until nightfall. When the sun sets, all good boys should be indoors.”

  “So the Grabme-gotchas don’t get us!” Savoye’ shouted.

  The child was becoming fixated.

  So, leaning the branch beside the tree Josiah had pulled it from, we all held hands and crossed the trail, quickly and carefully, despite the obvious lack of traffic. Still, something about brushing against something so closely tied to such an onerous piece of history seemed to give us all pause. No one spoke for dozens of strides past the trail.

  Then, without any warning, Savoye’ snatched his hand from mine and tore off ahead of his brother and I. He headed straight toward a group of three trees growing closer together than any of the others in the area and yet angling oddly away from each other instead of growing straight.

  In fact, as Josiah and I raced to catch up, I could tell that this was not three trees growing separately, but a single low trunked tree with three impressive offshoots growing in three relatively straight diagonals toward the forest roof. With each instant of inspection my logical mind told me that another, and yet another aspect of this tree was more than awkward. The diameter of the base of the tree would indicate that it was far older than any of its fellows in the surrounding area. In fact, at first glance, any of the three offshoots looked to be easily fifty to one hundred years older than its forest kin.

  Of all the growth in the area, every other specimen seemed to have had enough space and opportunity to grow straight and tall. What peculiar event then, could have affected this tree and leave all others untouched?

  Finally, I have always considered myself a keenly astute individual and try to make myself aware of my surroundings at all times. How is it that an arborea
l beast such as this escaped my notice until my youngest son tore off in its direction not fifty strides in front of me?

  While these questions had all come to me in the time it took to close with Savoye’ who seemed to be staring in awe at the center bowl of the tree, no answers were forthcoming even by Josiah’s fifth time circling the aberration.

  I gave up. I’d ponder the mystery at some other time. “Okay boys, it shouldn’t be too much farther to the stone ring road. Let’s go.”

  Then Savoye’ grabbed my hand and with enough force to startle me a bit, he pulled me to the center of the tree.

  “No, this way, Daddy.”

  So, he wanted to walk through the tree instead of around it. “Okay, son. Josiah, take my hand, and be careful as you step between the tree trunks.”

  I took Josiah’s hand and followed Savoye’ through. There was no loud noise, no flash of light, or any indication that something significantly magical had occurred. However, just seconds ago it had been very near midday, but as I and my sons stepped out of the other side of the tree it was clearly just shy of sunset.

  My heart began to race as I looked around. All of the trees had quintupled in thickness the bowers reached high overhead and the branches shielded most of the light of the somehow late-day sky. The air was close and damp around us.

  “Whooooooa!” Josiah dragged the obvious sentiment out for unnecessary emphasis. I pulled my children closer in, tempted to clutch them to me as I fully realized, “Boys, we are inside Darkwood.”

  Some fathers and mothers who read this tale will no doubt instantly want to pause at this moment. Some may even wish to walk away, at a loss of all curiosity or desire to discover the events that brought us to this most hateful and dangerous place or what befell us after. Those who do not have children of their own or those parents who have never faced danger with their children in tow will not understand the previous statement.

  But, for the benefit of these readers who have not closed this book yet, I will try to succinctly explain. You see, fear for one’s own safety can be overcome by the strength of courage. The fear for the safety of one’s children in the face of unknown and imminent danger cannot be overcome by anything. Yet, for the sake of those same children, a parent has to feign courage and strength that they do not have in the least part. That is a crushing emotional vise to be caught between, and no parent who has experienced this would ever wish it on another.

  “Daddy?”

  Unfortunately, this is exactly the vise I found myself in.

  “Daddy?”

  I scanned the surrounding area for danger, avenues of potential attack and escape. Then realized that the tree we had stepped through was no longer there. In its place was a massively trunked tree easily four strides in diameter and ten strides around with a huge knobby knot extending from the height of my knees to that of my shoulders. We could not go back.

  Josiah tugged his hand in mine to get my attention.

  “Daaaaddddyy.”

  “Yes, Josiah.” I had decided that we would continue to head east, away from the largest trees and toward the trees with the thinnest trunks. These would be younger trees and indicate a thinning of the forest. Besides, behind us I could hear the faint rustling and chittering if creatures moving through leaves. The movement sounded hesitant and inquisitive now, I didn’t want to be here when it became confident and aggressive.

  “How did we get into the Darkwood?”

  Savoye’ was noticeably quiet and composed as I led the boys quickly through the trees by their hands. “The tree with the three trunks, son, you remember?”

  “Yes, Daddy?”

  “That tree was a Slipth,” Knowing he would ask, I just plunged ahead with the explanation. Besides, doing so would keep my mind focused away from my growing fears and how quickly we seemed to be losing daylight.

  “A Slipth is a type of spell son. It is some very old magic, and only able to be cast by a wizard.”

  “But you said the wizards were all dead, killed by the Savior.”

  Savoye’ seemed to be having much less trouble keeping up than usual, while I had to ensure Josiah didn’t stumble at our current pace more than once.

  “The wizards are all gone, son, but evidently this spell is still a potent one. A Slipth allows a wizard to travel great distances and even through time. This is why many used to say that a wizard can be anywhere and any-when. Even now people use the term: popping up like a wizards’ shadow to mean someone whose presence can be a surprise.

  Since a Slipth is a spell that is cast at two particular points and at two points in time the wizard doesn’t have to recast it to make use of it.”

  “So, anybody can use it?”

  “No, son, you have to be a wizard to use a wizard’s Slipth, and then you’d have to know where it was in the first place.”

  This was the answer to my own unspoken question. But further discussion would wait until our safety was more assured.

  “Look, boys, a gate and out-buildings.” I pointed through the thinning forest edge,” Let’s head there, and then we can take a rest.”

  Without awaiting any response, I quickened my pace and all but dragged my sons to the edge of the wood to a broad clearing. There, I scooped both boys under my arms and, despite their combined weight and my waning endurance, sprinted quickly across the wide, overgrown lawn to the large black gates at the fore of the estate wall.

  Once at the gate I paused briefly to catch my breath and take a look behind us. In wonder, I lowered myself to a knee and brought the boys in close.

  “Straight ahead of us, by the dark green oak with the low hanging branch, just there,” I tried to point out the small fluttering light, flying in lazy circles at the edge of the clearing.

  “Daddy, that’s just a firefly!” Josiah stated tartly as if I were trying to fool him, which I’ll admit to doing on occasion.

  “Josiah, what color is a firefly’s light?”

  He paused for a moment and then stated, mimicking my own collegiate delivery for effect, “Most fireflies are light yellow, however, some light a pale yellow, almost white, or a moderate to dark orange. The color depends upon the season, species of insect and if the intent is to attract a female or intimidate a rival male.”

  “Very good, son, now what color is that ‘firefly’s’ light.”

  “Uh, green…gold…no, blue…now it’s pink!”

  “That, my sons, is a Faerie.”

  “Wow!” Savoye whispered. I grabbed the rear of his shoulder pack before he could move more than a step in the direction of the Forest edge.

  “So, this is our problem, boys,” with a firm hand on the shoulder of each of my sons, I spoke with a stern and measured voice so they knew to listen and take me seriously, “We are somewhere within the Darkwood and there is a Faerie. They only come out at dawn and at dusk. Faeries are solitary creatures and have really only been known to be mischievous. Once the sun is down there will be creatures that will be out to hunt their evening meals and we don’t want to be that meal, do we?”

  Two heads shook in vigorous unison.

  “Well, that being the case, we need to get to the other side of these gates and find a safe place to spend the night within the keep. Then, in the morning, we’ll try to find our way back to the Slipth.”

  “Daddy, we can’t go in the gates.”

  “Why is that Savoye’?” I asked surveying the height of the gate for climbing and the space between bars for squeezing my children through; neither looked promising.

  “I don’t think that big dog will like it if we go over his gate.”

  I looked down at him knowing I had seen no sign of any movement or life within what was surely an abandoned estate within an inhospitable wood.

  “Where, son?” The phrase wet with incredulity. But where his little hand pointed a large area blurred into a form, then resolved into a beast from one of the most fantastic nightmares imaginable.

  Josiah grabbed my left leg, as I took a full ste
p back, however, Savoye’ seemed completely nonplussed.

  “You see me, young Master.” This was unmistakably a statement, growled out in a resonant basso voice that I felt in my chest as well as my ears.

  “I see you,” Savoye’ replied matter-of-factly, “You see him now too, Daddy? He was hiding. I think he would have bit you in the butt if you would have gone over his gate, Daddy.”

  I couldn’t draw myself away from the image before me to see my young son grinning up at me. Josiah still clutched my left leg.

  The beast was larger than a full grown mountain bear on all fours, and that was lying down! It was thickly maned, as a lion. And, truly I would have taken the beast for a massive lion, for the bulk of it was unmistakably so, if not that it had the facial features of a bearded man of his late middle years and above his head he lazily swung the stinging end of a scorpions tail.

  “Do you know of me, young Master?” The beast seemed disinclined to address myself or Josiah, who by now had decided that since nothing had happened yet, it probably would not, so he had released his death grip on my leg and settled for holding my hand.

  “We just met; may I ask your name?” Through the fear of facing such a terror, I have to admit that I felt a spark of pride that my son had remembered his manners even in such a situation.

  “My name is lost to me, young Master, as it has not been spake these last one hundred-forty-odd years. And, as my Master is no more, there are none with need of it now.”

  “Well, I am pleased to meet you, anyway. May we please come into your keep so the Grabme-gotchas don’t eat us?”

  “Hmmm, here we have a problem, young Master. Were I have no interest in you whatever, my master’s last command was to guard the gate and let no one pass through, man or beast.” As if to punctuate, he let a paw larger than my chest swat away at the soil and grass before him. One of four retractable claws the length of my boot extended mid-swipe to casually dig a six inch runnel in an arc in front of the creature. “As I cannot disobey my Master, you cannot enter through this gate.”

  “Sir, we are in real peril, is there any way you can assist us.” I needed to get an answer. The last rays of daylight were just dipping below the horizon. The monster patently ignored me.

  “Son, ask your friend if there is another way in, and if he allows us entry through someplace other than this gate, will his deceased master be offended.”

  “Can you tell us of another way in where you won’t have to eat us?”

  “Very wise question, young Master.”

  Sigh.

  “You may use the postern gate if you can find it. Though if you could see me then you should be able to see it.”

  “Can my Daddy and brother come in, too?”

  “Another fine question, young Master. You will make a fine Master wizard in your elder years.” There was a low, deep-throated rumble there that could have been a purr if it didn’t sound so much like a distant earthquake.

  “And, since you have blessed me with company not enjoyed in several centuries, I will allow your followers to accompany you into the keep. As for the Geetchiegatha, you should hurry, for they assemble for attack at the forest edge even now.”

  “DADDY!”

  Josiah’s panicked cry physically spun me around to face dozens of dull glowing eyes blinking at us from the deepening darkness at the tree line.

  “They have no other real purpose besides expelling any and all humans from the Darkwood. I am deeply grieved, young Master, but the element within you has not grown enough for them to know you for what you are or fear you if they did. Turn now toward the north, just past the humming mound is the postern gate. You and your followers may enter there, young Master. It is my hope that the Geetchiegatha do not pursue you, though I cannot guarantee it.”

  I had heard every syllable uttered by the beast, yet I stood transfixed by the glowing embers staring at me across the un-mown glade. I stared unblinkingly as they multiplied in number every half moment. In my mind, they only delayed their attack for fear of the great magical animal behind the gate. I no longer feared him, as he had set the parameters of our relationship quite clearly. But surely they would not advance upon us with so great a beast mere strides away. Or were they gathering their numbers for just that scenario. There were easily more than four or five score by now, several daring to show their greasy black bodies in the rosy dimness as the sun dipped fully behind the keep.

  Savoye’ began to tug at my wrist, snapping me out of the fearful and pensive daze.

  “Which way is north, Daddy, to the left or to the right?”

  I think it was the absolute normalcy of the question that woke me to the situation. Josiah had again wrapped himself around my leg, but Savoye’ seemed somehow too young to be anything but pragmatic about the situation.

  I grabbed Josiah and Savoye’ each by the wrist, “This way, boys, hurry.”

  We trotted away from the gate and its monstrous guard as it growled out, “Move quickly, young Master, the Geetchiegatha are upon you!”

  It made no sense for me to look back, and thankfully I did not. My logical mind knew that knowing how close or how far these vermin were would not aid my steps or my speed. However, hearing the rustling of a hundred or more of the rat-like terrors emerging from the forest in an attempt to overtake us prompted me to again tuck a child under each arm and run my quickest northward along the high, curving stone wall.

  Soon the chittering and squeals of the horde behind us was overmatched by a droning hum ahead. Within the next dozen strides, my break neck pace was brought to an abrupt halt at the sight of an colossal dirt mound that began fully eight feet from the base of the wall and towered over five feet above it. The droning hum emanated from the beating wings of several hundred Wisps lazily hovering about their hive.

  It was an insect-sized mega-city, speckled with hundreds of eye-sized holes where Wisps of black and yellow or black and red stripes entered and exited on whatever business Wisps went about. Suddenly, the droning became insistent and angry. They were aware of us and hundreds of them hovered protectively about the hive, while dozens more exited the mound every second. I could see that each of those on the outermost rank held a small needle-like spike in each hand and their legs were spread enough to allow the black stinger to protrude tail-like from their lower back as their third and most deadly weapon.

  I knew then that our lives were forfeit; everything I knew about the species said that they would never tolerate a trespass such as this so close to their hive. And yet, no attack came. I chanced a glance behind me expecting to be overrun by the Grabme-gotchas or Geetchiegatha, or whatever their true name. Astoundingly, the horde of rodent-like beasts had stopped their pursuit far behind us, well away from the Wisp hive.

  They waited armed with small, sharpened staves and spikes, pointed slivers of metal and stubby clubs. Some were on all fours with their weapons clenched between a double row of sharp teeth. Others sat on their rear haunches, with each clawed fist clutching a sharpened implement, their rat-like snouts quivering with the lust for the kill and the frustration of its continued denial.

  Three parties at a standoff, and mine, weaponless aside from a belt knife I could hardly use while toting my boys like flour sacks, seemed to be no real impediment to the destructive intent of either of the other two parties. But as it seemed like imminent death had paused its advance, I set my sons down to extract the knife, knowing how silly it was being caught between two armies as we were. Still, as any parent would, I was determined to protect my children with whatever resource I could bring to bear.

  It was Josiah that brought the situation into clearer focus. He reached into his pocket and pulled out a handful of the flowers Savoye’ had presented to him on the grassy hill that seemed like years ago.

  “Ha!” He yelled defiantly at the Wisps, as if he brandished a flaming sword instead of the small wilting bouquet.

  “Back you beasts!” And astoundingly, the Wisps moved back and up. Still poised to
attack and defend their hive, but so repulsed were their keen senses by the smell that must be pouring from our clothes and packs, that they had stayed their attack to avoid what they considered the foulest possible reek.

  “Good job, son! Let’s go.”

  Without bothering for the knife, I guided my sons in a wide arc around the hive. As we closed on the other side of the mound, I could hear the enraged squeals of the Geetchiegatha as their prey moved to the far side of an army of Wisps whose threat had kept them from attacking this long. After we had put ourselves on the far side of the Wisp swarm, I again trotted my sons along the wall toward the safety promised by a hidden postern gate.

  “Wait, Daddy. You passed the door!” Savoye’ pointed back several feet to a spot on the stone wall.

  “Where, son? Show me.” Now that I knew that my son possessed some level of magical ability not seen in a human in over three hundred years, I decided to trust his eyes over mine. He walked me back several feet to a place on the wall that seemed no different than any other place on the wall.

  “Right here.” He placed my hand on the wall. Though I anticipated the rough abrasion of cut stone, I instead felt heavy wooden beams. I looked to my left, over Josiah’s head, still poised to defend his brother and father with the bunch of flowers now even more devoid of petals. I could just see the mob of mutated rodents facing off with a cloud of angry Wisps. It seemed that the Wisps having allowed the malodorous lesser threat to pass were less than obliged to allow this mob of miniature monsters to trespass in kind.

  A few of the Geetchiegatha had doubled back to cut a wider arc, effectively outflanking the Wisp front lines to gain access to their quarry. Each of these were set upon by groups of a score or so detached from the main body of the swarm. Over forty of the Geetchiegatha lay dead of the Wisp poison or likely stabbed through the eyes by the miniature spikes carried by each Wisp attacker.

  Here was a true standoff. Any handful of Geetchiegatha could easily be outnumbered and dispatched by several dozen times their number in Wisp adversaries. However, there was no way the Wisps could do battle with the total number of opponents without succumbing to fatigue and then being overwhelmed. It seemed that the Geetchiegatha had not yet realized this or had not decided on the number of acceptable losses.

  Wasting no more than these few precious seconds to gauge the situation, I turned my attention back to the wooden door spelled to look like a stone wall. As I ran my hand over it, I could tell that it was narrow, only three to four feet wide with each plank being about one hand’s breadth across. I pushed against it. It seemed that time had done nothing to reduce its sturdiness. It felt as if the planks were actually beams as thick as they were wide. Then my hand lowered to a bar. I probed it and found that it had only a large pin head, easily the size of my fist, at its center. I moved to the right and pushed down mightily, but with no result.

  Damn it! No wonder people hated wizards; they seem to insist on making the simplest things so unreasonably difficult!

  “Try the other side, Daddy.”

  Savoye’ was watching my efforts intently. I sighed, “Should I say some magic words, too?”

  Stress tended to bring out the sarcasm in me, though I usually made an effort to shield my boys from that less than attractive aspect of their father.

  “Do you know any magic words, Daddy?” It seems sarcasm can be an inherited trait.

  Turning back to the door, I tried the left side of the bar; of course it lowered releasing the lock and allowing the door to swing inward with only the slightest of creaks.

  “Come on boys, inside.”

  As I moved Savoye’, then Josiah inside I could hear the squeals of numerous rat-men being attacked by the Wisps. The standoff was ended. It would only be a matter of time before the battle would be decided. Each Geetchiegatha would take at least several stings to kill and once depleted of their vitality the Wisps would be no match for their current enemy. Many of the rodent-like beasts would die, but I had no doubt who the ultimate victor of this battle would be. As I shut and locked the door behind us, I only hoped that the Geetchiegatha would give up the chase after finding their prey had eluded them again.

  Somehow, that hope rang hollow and slight to my logical mind.

  Now, on the safest possible side of the keep wall, I took my boys by the hand and we made our way through a long abandoned courtyard. It was evident that there had once been sculpted gardens, paved walks and manicured lawns throughout the area that seemed to lead up to the Keep proper, the several storied stone mansion at the center of the estate. Now, the lawns were knee high and riddled with crab-weed and dandelions, blue-thorns and prickly-thistle. The only safe place to walk without having the flora tear at ones clothing and the flesh beneath was the marginally less overgrown paths through the weed choked gardens, and even then we had to walk single-file.

  As we made our way forward and up the gradual incline of the lawns, I tried to look back to the entry gates to see the beast that guarded the gate. Of course I could not. Without either the animals’ desire to be seen or the wizard’s sight that my son seemed to posses, the beast could be walking right beside us for all of my awareness.

  We reached a sort of gravel covered patio. While the grade was level, there were regular “pools” of sharp, cracked rock. The patio was very large, at least forty or fifty strides from the outer to the inner edge and made a full half-circle about the front of the mansion. It was widely rimmed in a concrete frame and but for the smooth eight-foot wide walks that webbed out at regular intervals toward the outer rim it seemed altogether treacherous to attempt to walk across the areas filled with the dark, fist-sized gravel. As we made our way across this area, it occurred to me that these “gravel pits” would have made lovely reflecting pools if filled with water instead of rock. If that was the original intent of the design, it would have made a truly impressive entryway.

  On the other side of this level we climbed a set of four steps similar to ones that met the end of each walk. At the top we found ourselves on a wide, level patio. As it too arched semi circular around the front of the building, large decorative pots with long dead trees framed a wide walk funneling in from the outermost stair on either side guiding visitors toward the set of large ornately carved double doors at the entryway.

  Before moving forward, however, I turned and strained my vision to see any sign of the battle we had left only minutes prior, but with the larger of the two moons having set, it would be almost a full hour before there would be light enough to see more than a few dozen strides in front of me. In the dusky rose glow of the small moon left in the sky, the boys and I made our way quickly to the door.

  Although I found that it was unlocked and unbarred, it was very difficult to open and took a great effort to move just one of the doors wide enough for me to squeeze through, though my sons walked through without even turning sideways.

  After gaining entry to the house, we all put our backs to closing the door once again. And, after thanking my sons for their assistance, I lowered the locking bar in place.

  I didn’t really believe that even a hundred of those rat-things could move the door enough to gain access once closed, but the locking bar reassured me mentally. Besides, ‘one never knows until it is too late,’ as the saying goes.

  The foyer was only ten feet across with heavy red and gold drapes covering the walls from ceiling to floor. The room was lined on either side with carved wooden benches sporting upholstered red velvet seats and the floor beneath our feet was some type of light-colored, carved marble. Brass oil sconces were placed above the corners of the door to provide subtle lighting to the small room, but unfortunately this was the extent of what we could see by the ruddy light of the lesser moon as it shined redly through the large window set twenty plus feet above the entry doors.

  “Daddy, I’m hungry.” Josiah plopped down on the bench to the left of the entry room, surprisingly raising very little dust, though the inner cushion did collapse into a recess forme
d to my son’s rear.

  “And I’m tired, Daddy.” Savoye’ joined his brother on the bench adding his impression to the newly formed relief sculpture.

  “I know boys. Let’s rest here a while and have the last of our snack. Then, when there is a bit more light, we’ll see if we can do some exploring and find something useful in this big house. What do you say, boys?”

  “O-kay, Daddy.” The droned out sing-song reply really meant, I don’t care, as long as we can eat and don’t have to run anymore. So, I took my seat on the edge of the bench closest to the door; placing Savoye’ between Josiah and myself. I immediately sunk to the frame of the bench, completely collapsing the cushion and releasing the most embarrassing sounding whoosh of air possible. Both of my sons looked at me in surprise.

  “Well, pardon me!”

  I exaggerated the shock and chagrin of one not in control of their own flatulence. Both boys erupted in spontaneous laughter, caught in a fit of giggles. I’ll admit, I had a good laugh myself, and in contrast to the last hour or more of our lives, this was a most welcome break.

  “Lets’ have a little food, shall we?”

  I opened the pack and handed out an orange for each of us, shares of the second half of bread and we all shared the last of the honeyed water. This meal was only designed to keep us for the few hours it would take to return to Ms. Mika’s house, now it would need to serve us a bit longer.

  Josiah was the last to finish eating and the first to speak, “Daddy, are the Grabme-gotchas going to get us?”

  “Son, I am going to do my best to make sure that nothing bad happens to us. I want you and Savoye’ to do your best as well. Because if we all work hard to keep each other safe then the Grabme-gotchas and any other creature that tries to get us will have quite the fight on their hands, right?”

  “I guess so.”

  “Son, what do you mean, ‘you guess so’? You fought back an entire army of angry Wisps with a bunch of flowers, didn’t you?”

  “I did, didn’t I?” His face visibly brightened, even in the gloom of the foyer.

  “Sure you did, you saved myself and your little brother. I was so proud of you, I almost fell over!”

  “You did!?!”

  “Why certainly! And what about Savoye’?”

  “Yeah, he talked to the monster and found the door for us.”

  “That’s right, he saved us, too.”

  “Wow, I guess it’s your turn now, huh Daddy?”

  Again I couldn’t help but laugh, “I guess so, son.”

  Savoye’ had fallen asleep on my arm. If we hadn’t gone through the Slipth, it would be roughly an hour and a half past their regular nap time. We should be lying peacefully beneath the sun, napping another hour before getting up for the return walk home.

  I looked down at my little boy, the crown of his head just visible in the moonrise. After gently shouldering my pack, now empty of all but a handful of dead honeysuckle, I lifted Savoye’ to my chest. He instinctively wrapped his arms around my neck and laid his head on my shoulder. I felt instantly refreshed.

  “Okay, son, let’s go.”

  “Where are we going now, Daddy?”

  “Well, first we need to find someplace safe to spend the night. In the morning we are going to try to find our way back to the Slipth that brought us here and then go home.”

  “Slip?”

  “Remember the big tree with the three tree trunks?”

  “Yup.”

  “That thing.”

  “Oh.”

  I hooked Savoye’s pack to my belt as Josiah threw his over his shoulder. In the blue-gray light cast throughout the moonlit halls, we made our way out of the foyer and into the main hall.

  The red veined marble floor extended from the foyer and into the main hall. It was a wide, two-storied room decorated in a classical style with thick draperies to cover and soften the smooth stone face of the walls as well as to insulate them in colder seasons. The long, heavy curtains were pulled away from every window, letting the moonlight pour in. The design must have been specifically for that purpose, for there were very few wall sconces for lighting and what ones there were seemed to be placed at a height and intervals that suggested mood lighting rather than a need for illumination. However, we had no trouble making our way across the wide floor to one of the two sweeping staircases that framed the back half of the hall.

  Between the two was an open, doorless entry into a formal ballroom or large dining area. But, since the light from the large windows in the front hall did not seem to penetrate into the room, I decided that it might be better to move to the higher floors where we were more likely to find bedrooms with moonlight exposure. Besides the adage, ‘only fools stumble in the dark for a candle,’ sprung to the fore of my mind and repeated until Josiah and I began climbing the stair.

  “Be careful on the stairs, Daddy.”

  “I was just going to tell you that, son.” I said through a smile.

  At the top of the landing there were large, glass paned double doors. They were closed but unlocked. We entered into the second floor living space. Before moving on, I closed and locked the door behind me. Josiah offered me his hand and, hefting the still sleeping Savoye’ higher on my shoulder, we walked across a thick burgundy carpeted hall to the centermost one of a row of five large rooms. Looking into its glass paned door, I could tell that this was a library and den area. While the desk and wall shelves of books denoted its use for the owner, the several clusters of armchairs in groups of two and three also intimated the owner’s penchant for entertaining.

  The academic within me ached to explore those shelves, but that ache was easily overshadowed by Savoye’s thirty-eight pounds currently weighing down my left shoulder. I needed a secure room with a bed to wait out the night.

  Quick exploration of the two rooms to the right proved to be guest quarters, but dark ones. Even the outer room was darkened due to the heavy curtains that were pulled over the windows. We took another side stair, only three strides across, to the third floor.

  The three large main rooms there were locked tight, though the settees and wine tables that lined the corridor between the rooms and opposite the third floor balcony seemed to suggest these rooms were likely for guesting friends and associates of a higher social status.

  Unlike the previous floors, this one had no matching stair cases framing either side. To the left of the row of rooms was a heavy burgundy curtain trimmed in gold. As I moved toward the drapery, I sincerely hoped they concealed access to servant’s quarters with a well placed window. We had only been exploring the abandoned house for fifteen minutes or so, but Savoye’ was getting really heavy. I moved him to my right shoulder and pulled away the left panel.

  I sighed deeply at the revelation of yet another set of stairs.

  “More stairs, awwwe!” Josiah seemed to pluck the sentiment directly from my mind.

  “I know, son. But I think these are the last. There are only four floors to this home.”

  I hoped. After all, we were in the home of a wizard; even if he, or she, had been dead for over three hundred years, who could predict what we would encounter here. I had half expected an imposing, long-robed figure to have appeared by now and threaten to turn us all into rabbits if we did not leave at once.

  Josiah counted the fifteen steps as we climbed them, more likely to keep his mind off the fatigue of being two hours past his normal nap time. If we did find a place to spend the night soon, I would be surprised if both boys had trouble sleeping straight through. I didn’t think I would sleep until I figured a way to get my family home safely.

  We reached the small landing at the top of the stair and pushed open the simple, but sturdy wooden door. Inside, the rooms were sumptuously appointed, decorated with carved hardwoods and trimmed with gold leaf at every opportunity.

  The outer room, much like the rest of the home, seemed to speak directly for the owner’s need for company. Against the wall facing the entryway, there were three chai
rs and a luxurious settee surrounding a cold yet clean fireplace. Inside, and on the wall to the front of the house was a ceiling to floor bookshelf with a set of plush reading chairs each framed by two wine tables. The entry room was windowless, yet well lit, since it was only separated from the bedroom by a set of wide, multi-paned glass doors with only shear ivory panels to filter the moon’s light. These were partly opened and I led Josiah through them to the bedroom inside.

  Directly in front of us was a matching set of multi-paned doors; though these were closed, they let in enough moonlight to illuminate much of both rooms. To the left of the doors, toward the back of the rooms was a heavily curtained bed the size of a modest boat, yet even that had couches and armchairs surrounding it. Like everything else in the house, the bedroom gave me the impression of newly gained and greatly appreciated wealth, spent with ardor and intent, as if fulfilling a life-long dream.

  On the right of the doors was a much more simple area, containing only a table, and armchair. A squat, three tiered bookshelf was placed at the wall behind the table, and the table itself held only a four-armed candelabra with no candles and three small, leather-bound books each of a different solid color. They were all of similar size, each only slightly larger than my hand but stacked neatly in a fashion that I plainly recognized. Familiar to me because it was a habit that I practiced as well.

  The first and third tome were placed exactly with each corner atop the other, while the book at the center of the stack was turned forty-five degrees precisely to allow ready access if the writer, reader, or student needed to quickly retrieve it without knocking the other books to the floor. This was a practice taught at the academies, where professors and librarians would insist that books should be stacked this way in heights of three, five and seven or not at all.

  Turning away from the table, I selected a large couch to the inside wall of the room and laid Savoye’ down.

  “Are we home, Daddy?” He groggily asked without even bothering to open his eyes.

  “Not yet son, but soon.”

  “Okay, Daddy.” And he was asleep again.

  “Josiah, over here, son.”

  Josiah was standing unsteadily on his feet, as if he would have gone to sleep then and there had I not chosen that moment to call him.

  “Lie down here, with your brother.”

  “‘Kay, Da-ha-haddy.” He pushed out the words and the yawn simultaneously. I don’t think he had the strength to do them independent of each other.

  With both boys asleep and relatively safe, I moved over to the bed. I knew that this was the cliché place to find the owner of the estate, decayed in repose. I was only partially correct. As I parted the bed curtains enough to light the interior, I met the wizard of the keep. Though not the desiccated corpse I expected, but preserved almost as if carved of wax and as dust free as the rest of the place.

  He was sitting up; propped upon twenty or so pillows (this bed could have easily slept fifteen adults comfortably). He was dressed in bedclothes and robe, though the wizard wasn’t sleeping his eyes were lowly lidded, though not fully closed as if caught in a moment of drowsing off.

  After a look to check on the boys, I pulled the curtain back further to get a better look at the bed’s occupant. The wizard’s arms were crossed about his chest. The sleeves of the opulently quilted robe were pushed back slightly to expose pale, slender wrists. The wizard himself was obviously from one of the northern cultures, his angular features, yellow-blonde hair and lack of any skin color fairly shouted this fact. This explained the nature of the home, as I knew of none of the northern cultures that had anything approaching this level of wealth, or the obvious academic knowledge necessary to achieve the level of magical skill required to gain and keep it.