The Monsters of Stephen Enchanter

by Natelson, D. J.

  “It’s real,” said Craggy. “It may be magical, but it’s not glamoured.”

  “Pity,” Youngster sighed. “I would have liked to wade across, instead of jumping and swimming. At least it’s a warm day.”

  “You can both swim, I hope?” Stephen asked, at a sudden thought.

  “Easily—and happily, under other conditions,” said Youngster.

  Craggy grunted and nodded.

  “Excellent—so can I. And I’ve had considerably more practice that I would like swimming in heavy robes, so that’s not a problem. Indeed, I can hope the swirling fabric will confuse and blind whatever predators fancy an enchanter sandwich. Noble Steed, are you willing to carry across my shovel?”

  Noble Steed pushed her warm nose into his ear as assent, her breath unusually hot. She was frightened and confused and sensed his tenseness.

  Stephen patted her nose.

  Not five minutes later, Noble Steed was loaded up, and three men and a horse stood lined up, several paces back from the creek.

  “On my count,” said Stephen. “No, forget the count. Just—go!” He sprinted forward, eyes on the opposite back, and leapt high into the air, tucking his legs—then ploooshed deep into the water, dunking below the surface, little more than halfway across the stream. He kicked his legs and hit something hard and fleshy, and felt something else tangle in the folds of his robes—something with long, sticky tendrils that had been reaching for his feet.

  Stephen kicked again and surfaced, stroking and kicking without thinking, in blind panic and determination to reach the shore. A moment later he was there, dragging himself up, leaving behind the whatever-it-was that had clung so tenaciously to his robes and snapped at his legs.

  Breathing hard and dashing the water from his eyes, Stephen climbed to his feet and turned back to the creek. Craggy was next to him on the bank, as was Noble Steed, but Youngster—where was Youngster?

  There he was—still in the water, thrashing just beneath the surface. He was fighting something—Stephen could see the shimmer of a sword in one hand, plunging sluggishly against the water, missing. What was he fighting? A squid, maybe, but there were other things also. A trickle of dark blood curled to the surface, catching the noses of other, more deadly creatures.

  Before Stephen could react, before he had rightly assessed the situation, Craggy had dived back into the water, sword drawn. He hacked at the creatures in the water, pulled Youngster up and back and away from them. Youngster’s head broke the surface and he gasped at the air. Craggy hacked again, once, then threw his sword to shore and pushed Youngster after it, although that moved him further into the creek. He regained his equilibrium and swam strongly after Youngster, kicking at anything that approached him.

  Stephen darted forward to pull first Youngster from the water, then Craggy. They collapsed onto the ground, groaning and clutching at injuries and sucking in the wonderful, pure air. Behind them, in the water, sharks swarmed the unfortunate creatures that Craggy had wounded, momentarily distracted from that clever prey that had so deftly escaped them.

  “His hurt is worse than mine,” Craggy told Stephen. “He needs bandages immediately—we need to stop the bleeding.”

  “Not here,” said Stephen. “He can ride Noble Steed for now, but we need to get further from the creek. If the Blue Lady makes it flood, or any of those creatures figure out that they can spend a few seconds out of the water, we’re done for. Help me load him up.

  Together with Craggy’s help, Stephen lifted Youngster onto Noble Steed, and they set off at a brisk walk.

  Despite Craggy’s warnings of blood loss and possibly more serious injuries, Stephen wouldn’t let them stop until they had traveled a full mile from the creek. By the time they had, their clothes were already half-dry in the sun, and all three were considerably calmer.

  “I’m not hurt badly,” Youngster assured them, when they finally stopped. “The blood’s not all mine—and the wound’s already closing up. I just need to keep pressure on it, and I’ll be fine. But I think something got Craggy’s leg.”

  “We can use strips of my robes for bandages,” said Stephen. “If any of the enchantments are left, they’ll help protect the injuries—and in any case, I doubt this robe can look much worse than it does now.”

  Youngster’s hurts were indeed fairly minor; once all the blood had been wiped away, most of what remained was bruising from where tentacles had squeezed him. Craggy was worse off: nasty cuts sliced his legs and several pucker marks around his waist had swollen like giant mosquito bites. Stephen did his best with their extremely limited supplies and even more limited knowledge, then insisted they move on.

  “The Blue Lady wants us to be delayed and damaged when we arrive,” he explained. “We need to keep going for as long as we can, and hopefully take her by surprise.”

  That night, it rained.

  Early in the evening, clouds had gathered thick and obstructive overhead, blocking any guiding light from the stars. Unwilling to move on in such gloom—or to take the chance of one of them mistaking water for land in the dark, and stepping into an impossibly deep puddle—the company stopped for the night. They shared out a little food from the farmhouse and their earlier travels—kept dry and safe on Noble Steed’s back—and settled down to sleep.

  Stephen had barely closed his eyes when something cold and wet struck his nose. He grumbled and pulled up his hood, but soon the rain was falling steadily, seeping through the holes in his clothing and waking Youngster and Craggy. So it was that the company spent a cold, miserable night huddled together trying to sleep.

  By Craggy’s estimation, they had now traveled nearly half the distance to the Blue Lady’s cave. That meant that they could arrive before nightfall the next day, if they hurried and met no major obstacles.

  “Maybe we should take part of the morning to sleep, if we have so much time,” Youngster suggested, turning his face toward the sky. “I think it’s stopped raining.”

  “I think you’re right,” Stephen agreed, “but I don’t dare hesitate longer, lest it rain anymore and our way become impassible. Look at the puddles.”

  “It’s hard not to look at them; they’re everywhere.”

  The puddles were, indeed, everywhere. Every few steps, rivulets of rainwater had collected into shallow pools that weren’t shallow at all, but stretched down miles and contained all manner of creatures. When Stephen peered at a raindrop poised on the edge of a leaf, a giant, round eye stared back at him. He shuddered, and turned his attention to Youngster, who was speaking.

  “We’ll have to leave Noble Steed,” he was saying. “I don’t think she understands the nature of these pools—or their inherent danger. She’s nervous, but I don’t think she knows why.”

  “Noble Steed is an extremely intelligent horse,” Stephen proclaimed faithfully.

  “In which case we ought to be doubly careful with her safety,” said Youngster. “Do we have any rope, anything with which we might lead her?”

  “Not unless you have some tucked in your pocket . . . and I have no desire to sacrifice any more of my robe. But you’re right; we need to guide her. I’ll walk on one side of Noble Steed and lead her. You walk on the other, to catch the dangers I miss.” He patted Noble Steed. “You’ll walk with me, won’t you, Noble Steed? You won’t run off or run against my will?”

  Noble Steed tossed her mane haughtily.

  “It’s like Youngster said,” Stephen assured her. “We’re not doubting you or impugning your brilliance; we’re trying to keep you safe because we care about you. We’d be devastated if you were harmed.”

  This outrageous flattery placated Noble Steed, and she sidled up to Stephen, allowing him to place one hand on her neck so as to guide her. Stephen retrieved his shovel for use as a walking stick.

  The company began forward, but their progress was slow. They constantly had to circumnavigate puddles and narrow streams of running water, forcing Noble Steed to jump mincingly when there was insufficient room
to go around. Noble Steed was unhappy with these constant changes in path; she couldn’t comprehend why her master continually took the longer path, when there was a clear way straight ahead. Once or twice she nudged him, and couldn’t understand why he shouted in fear as he stumbled near a puddle. It was just water, tasty and fresh, and she knew he wasn’t afraid of water. What was wrong with him?

  At last, she decided to show him that there was nothing wrong or scary about water. She pretended to walk obediently then, when he was distracted, bolted forward, jumped, and slammed her right front hoof into a puddle of water—

  —into it and down, deep down—what was going on?—and then there was just pain, and panic, and something horrible, teeth ripping at her leg.

  “Get her out of there!” Stephen shouted, dashing forward, leaping over the offending puddle to haul at Noble Steed. She was struggling, eyes rolling, refusing to calm down, refusing to listen to his voice, bucking, often nearly knocking him into a nearby pool. Craggy and Youngster ran after Stephen helping him, grabbing at Noble Steed.

  Then Noble Steed rallied, hauling herself back, lifting her leg from the water—or the remains of her leg. The back half was completely eaten away, tendons devoured, entire chunks missing. She would never use it again.

  Noble Steed sensed her master’s horror and screamed again, knocking Stephen aside, stumbling backward—and landing in another pool, one of her back legs sinking. She fell sideways and something cracked loudly—her other back leg had shattered under her sudden weight.

  “Noble Steed!” Stephen called helplessly. There was something heavy in his hands. How? He had somehow not dropped the shovel when running to help Noble Steed, and now he stared at its heavy iron blade.

  “I’ll do it,” Craggy offered, holding out his hand, but Stephen fended him off.

  “She’s my horse,” he said. He swung the blade back and brought the flat heavily against Noble Steed’s skull. She slumped, back leg still in the pool. Stephen drew his knife, knelt by her head, patted it once, then slit the neck and watch her lifeblood slip away.

  “Help me push her the rest of the way into the water,” he instructed Craggy and Youngster, not looking at either of them. “She’s too heavy for me on my own.”

  Without a word, they stepped forward and relieved Noble Steed of her luggage, then shoved and maneuvered until she sank out of view, down into the depths of a puddle two feet wide.

  They walked on.

  “She was a good horse,” Youngster said at last. “She was incredibly loyal, too.”

  “And no doubt Tinkerfingers was a good brother, and loyal too,” Stephen snapped back.

  “That was uncalled for!”

  “Yes; it was. So be quiet.”

  Craggy stepped wordlessly between them and they each looked away, ashamed.

  Despite his injuries, Craggy was the strongest of the company, and kept them striding forth at a solid pace—much more solid a pace, it must be added, than had been achieved with Noble Steed. So quickly did they travel, that when Craggy called a halt around five o’clock, he said they had gone the full fifty-five miles.

  “I wonder where the cave is,” said Youngster. “I don’t see it.”

  “We might not have gone in a perfectly straight lines,” Stephen replied, “and who can say the accuracy of the Blue Lady’s instructions.”

  “Sleep now,” Craggy instructed. “We shall find her in the morning.”

  “Sleep where?” Youngster wondered. “There’s hardly any dry ground, and I don’t fancy rolling over in my sleep and waking up halfway down a shark’s gullet.”

  Craggy pointed up to the boughs of a pine tree.

  Stephen sighed. This was going to be one stiff and uncomfortable night.

  “I don’t fancy falling out of a tree, either,” said Youngster. “We’d better take watches.”

  XXIII

  “‘Will you walk into my parlor?’ said the Spider to the Fly”

  —Mary Howitt

  Sunlight struck Stephen’s closed eyelids far too early the next morning and he groaned, wondering what on earth had compelled him to choose a bed near an easterly window—and such a wretchedly uncomfortable one, too. He groaned again and rolled over, reaching for his pillow—only to slip off the edge and fall—

  Youngster’s hand snagged his robes and hauled him against the trunk of the tree. “You idiot!” Youngster hissed. “Are you trying to kill yourself?”

  “I was asleep,” Stephen snipped back, grumpily. Adrenaline and a close call with a twenty-foot drop and a very short stop was not how he liked to begin his mornings. “I don’t often sleep in trees.”

  “I noticed! You were too busy being obliviously asleep to know, but this is the tenth time I’ve saved your skin this watch. You will keep trying to roll! It’s a good thing Craggy warned me about your sleeping habits, or you’d have fallen to your death hours ago.”

  “Then thank you—for your care, not for your sarcasm. Speaking of Craggy—where is he?”

  “Scouting. He woke up about half-an-hour ago, and I told him that I thought I’d spotted the cave. Look, I’ll show you.”

  Youngster climbed to a higher branch and pointed out through its pineneedles, apparently at nothing. Stephen squinted for a long time, but nothing took any particular form, aside from that of ubiquitous land.

  “You must have better eyes than I do,” he admitted. “I can’t see any cave.”

  “It helps that I had nothing else to do—except keep you from rolling—during my watch. I watched the sun come up from this branch, and changing light throws perspective on things. Do you want any breakfast? Craggy and I have already eaten.”

  Stephen gnawed on a chunk of the increasingly stale farmhouse bread and cheese, and waited for Craggy’s return. There wasn’t much food left; they hadn’t had a chance to hunt, or stop by another town or farm, and Stephen suspected they had lost a good portion of their supplies in Noble Steed’s death throes.

  Then again, they might not have opportunity to eat what little remained, after confronting the Blue Lady.

  Craggy returned forty minutes later, his usual stoic expression betraying nothing.

  “Any luck?” Stephen called down. Then, on second thought, continued, “Although I’m not sure if finding the Blue Lady is good luck or bad.”

  “How’s the land? Still soaked?” Youngster added.

  “I found the cave,” said Craggy. “The way is passable.”

  The way was indeed passable, and easily so. Most of the water had soaked into the thirsty ground, so that their path was muddy, but not actively dangerous. Only twice did they have to leap over puddles; the rest of the way—a mile or so—was clear.

  Craggy led them to a grassy knoll, hunched over to guard the entrance to a small, dark cave. The way was worn stone, carved by the passage of water..

  “I’m impressed that you spotted this from so far away,” Stephen told Youngster.

  “Now that I see it,” replied he, “so am I. But at the time, it seemed perfectly natural that I would; the difference between the darkness of the entrance and the brightness of the grass shimmered and stuck out in my mind. It makes me think that the Blue Lady knows exactly where we are, and utilizes her magic to return the favor.”

  “Thanks,” mumbled Stephen, staring at the dark entrance. The Blue Lady was waiting for them. It was not a comforting thought.

  “Torches,” said Youngster. “We’d better make torches.”

  “Everything’s wet.”

  “They we’ll make smoky torches—unless you can enchant a stick to glow?”

  Stephen shook his head. “Torches,” he said.

  “Torches.”

  They spent several minutes searching for suitable sticks, then for something to wrap around them to burn. In the end, they cannibalized yet more of Stephen’s robes—which now fell only to his knees; he’d better get new ones soon, or he’d be arrested for not showing enchanter’s colors. After some trial and error, Craggy managed to catch
a spark on the material’s edge . . . which quickly extinguished. Then another. And another.

  “Oh!” Stephen exclaimed. “I forgot; I fireproofed the material. One moment; I’ll remove the enchantment. Try it now. And don’t you roll your eyes at me, Youngster!”

  Youngster laugh, a strange sound in that gloomy morning, and the company suddenly became aware of where they were, and outside whose cave.

  “Let’s go,” Craggy whispered, when the first torch was lit—he held a second and third in reserve. “These may not last long.”

  “And I don’t want to sacrifice any more of my robe than I absolutely must,” Stephen agreed. He took the torch from Craggy and stepped into the cave.