That Frigid Fargin Witch (The Legend of Vanx Malic Book 4)

by M. R. Mathias

  Vanx’s rage spent itself as he spoke. He ended with a heavy sigh and a snarl at the elf’s now wide-eyed gaze.

  “Now, General Posy-Thorn, what course of action is best for your Heart Tree?”

  “You’re as cold as she was,” Thorn’s lips trembled as he spoke. He appeared to be about to burst into more tears because Vanx wouldn’t try to help him.

  “No, General Posy-Thorn,” Vanx shook his head. “I’m far colder than she ever was, and be glad of it, for if I weren’t, and I had Pwca revive the Heart Tree with his vile power, then it would ever after know that stain.”

  Thorn started to reply, but the sound of Pwca’s squeaking procession drew their attention. His rats were beginning to pour into the open entryway of the crystal-formed stronghold.

  Under his breath, Vanx whispered to Thorn,

  “Your queen didn’t give into evil to save her realm, nor should you.”

  “Where is it?” Pwca’s voice reached them before they could ever see him or Gallarael. An undulating carpet of brown fur and beady, pink eyes spread away from the entryway where the rats had entered. None of them would cross the threshold that led into Rimehold, but the covered entryway was filled to the brim with them.

  “Show me she is alive,” Vanx called out over the shin-high mass of vermin. “Let her speak to me with her own voice.”

  “Show me the Tokaton first.” Vanx saw that Gallarael’s stiff body was gliding forth like a ship across the wiggling brown sea. Reclining triumphantly on her abdomen was the little devil.

  Vanx turned and retrieved the foot-high, wire-framed cube that held the sparkling gem and held it aloft for the approaching devil to see.

  “Take it out of the enclosure,” Pwca demanded.

  Vanx expected this. Aserica had told him that the little devil would have stolen the Tokaton long ago had she not locked it into the dimensional cube. As long as it was in the box, only witch blood could retrieve it. Vanx would have to drip a drop of his own blood onto the magical lock for it to open. In the event his didn’t work, he had a small vial of the Hoar Witch’s blood in his pocket.

  “Only after I see that she is well, will I open the case,” declared Vanx. By then Gallarael’s body had stopped at the edge of the threshold. Between her and Vanx was the twenty-pace-long, ten-pace-wide covered entry. The floor couldn’t be seen for the writhing mass atop it.

  “If she fights us she will be stripped to the bone in a matter of heartbeats,” Pwca threatened.

  “Your rats couldn’t even get their teeth through her thick skin before she reached my side, devil,” Vanx replied.

  He’d watched Gallarael’s last few days in the reflecting mirror, and knew this to be true.

  “But that’s neither here nor there. I’m not the Hoar Witch. I care little for this fancy stone.”

  “Very well,” Pwca agreed and slid from Gallarael’s body onto the back of one of the larger rats. As soon as he was off of her, she began to stir. After a moment, the rats beneath her lowered her to the tiles and gave her a few inches of space. It took her a moment, but eventually she sat up and blinked at her surroundings.

  “Where am I?” she rasped.

  “It’s alright, Gallarael,” Vanx said.

  “We’re here.”

  Her eyes focused on Vanx and Thorn, and what might have been a smile formed on her feral face. She started to get up and come to him, but the rats began hissing and baring their little teeth. Vanx put up a hand, palm out, to keep her standing in place. Gallarael’s wild smile faded and confused anger took its place.

  “She is alive and well, warlock,”

  Pwca’s evil voice had a giddy childish quality to it, even though it sounded like mountains being leveled by thunder. “Now take out the Tokaton and let us make this exchange.”

  Vanx nodded. Thorn held out the tip of the old battle-worn sword he now wore, and Vanx sliced his thumb on it. He let a fat, purple drop plop onto the etched fastener that held the cube’s glassine lid in place. A long moment passed as the blood sizzled and hissed on the runes carved there. Then the lid popped open and immediately the Tokaton’s power radiated forth, causing the hair on a million rats to stand on end. All at once Gallarael hissed and Vanx felt hackles that he didn’t have go rippling up his spine.

  Vanx could taste the power as it filled the air with raw static. The taste reminded him of summer lightning on the Isle of Zyth and he wondered just how much damage the devil might do with such a powerful thing. He already knew that once Pwca took it to his own plane, the protective magic from it would evaporate and allow the Trigon’s evil to reclaim these lands. It was too late to worry about that, he decided, and he lifted the jewel out of its case.

  As Pwca led Gallarael to the threshold, Vanx felt an odd yet familiar discomfort in his chest. More, he felt a vibrating tingle sliding from the Tokaton into his palm from where he held it. The sensation worked through his arm and into his shoulder and upper body. From there the feeling eased below his collar. The intensity was deeply unsettling and grew more and more painful as each moment passed.

  “Hand me the stone as she crosses the threshold and our deal will be done,” Pwca said.

  Vanx tossed Pwca the Tokaton as Gallarael stepped to his side. The devil more deflected it than caught it, and it went bouncing across the sea of rats like a glittering sailboat with Pwca hurrying along behind it on his mount.

  No sooner had the excited little thing and its horde retreated from the entryway did Vanx succumb to the power that was now searing a hole through his chest. As if his bones had been liquefied, he crumpled to a heap on the crystal floor at Gallarael’s feet.

  Chapter

  Twenty-Two

  They brag and kill and waste.

  This earth they call their own.

  Never here, Oh never will they

  call our island home.

  – Balladamned (A Zythian song)

  In some half-lidded break in his unconsciousness, Vanx saw Gallarael shift to her normal self. She was crouching down to worry over him, as was Thorn. In the fading distance, or maybe from somewhere within him, a dog barked anxiously and several tiny voices peeped and babbled. Then a misty cloud enveloped him and he began to float.

  There was no panic or worry in this place, for Vanx knew it well. It was the realm of his goddess, or at least that part of it where she spoke to him. He began to wonder if he had failed her in some way, if his choices had been the wrong ones, because as she took form in the mist, he saw a scowl of disapproval on her beautiful face and the irritated posture of her perfectly rounded body. With her hands on her hips she narrowed her brows and seemed to be searching for words.

  “Did I fail you?”

  Vanx’s voice was a croak. He rolled himself to his knees and bowed before her.

  “Not so much,” she said. He looked up to see that her visage had softened slightly.

  “You were very rude to Foxwise Posy-Thorn and that irritates me greatly. You might be my emerald-eyed champion, Vanx, but you are not the only one in the earthly realms who has earned my favor.”

  “I’m sorry.”

  “Apologize to Thorn, not to me. And from now on, you let Gallarael or General Posy-Thorn deal with Aserica Rime. You’ve come too close to the edge, but you do need to glean as much from her as you can before Pwca finds a way to kill her.”

  “Why would Pwca kill her now?”

  She giggled and shook her head. “You didn’t figure it out, did you? You were really just following your heart? Oh, Vanx.” A girlish sigh of pure adoration escaped her.

  “What do you mean?” Vanx felt himself blushing, but wasn’t sure why.

  “Pwca still owes Aserica Rime a single deed. He cannot go back into his own plane and hide the Tokaton until he is released from that debt. He must kill her or grant her that last request to be freed from her service. I suspect that her last request will most likely be for him to kill her.”

  “If the Tokaton cannot be taken into the hells, then its power
will still keep the Trigon away,” Vanx spoke the realization aloud.

  “Yes,”

  She looked at him lovingly and shook her head again. “I’m glad your heart is so loyal and true to your friends, Vanx, for you are just now beginning to see.”

  “I–” he lost his voice as another swell of embarrassment flushed his cheeks.

  “Listen to me closely, Vanx, for time is growing short for the Heart Tree. Take the silva leaf I gave you to the Shadowmane and bury it at the base of the Heart Tree. While you were holding the Tokaton it drew a good portion of that power into itself through your body, enough to quicken the clipping, I hope, so that even if Pwca manages to get away with his gem, the Deep will still be protected when the Trigon comes.”

  She paused and held Vanx’s eyes then. “They will come, Vanx, and it’s not any fault of yours, but I will expect you to learn as much about your witchborn power as you can before they do. It will take our combined might, the entire host of Parydonia, and then some, to oppose them. I know it will be harder for you to gather this knowledge because I forbid you to deal with the Hoar Witch any further, but that is the way it must be. You cannot succumb to the darkness.”

  She brushed her long, graceful fingers through her misty hair and took a deep breath. Even formed of insubstantial substance, she managed to stir Vanx’s more primitive desires.

  “You’ll make a bargain with Thorn, one you’ll not understand now, but that in time you’ll come to see the wisdom of. He is not to give his essence to free Chelda Flar. Chelda will agree. I think she would rather spend her time with Moonsy than anyone.”

  She told him her wishes and bade him to hurry.

  “When I return you, even if you run the entire way back to the Shadowmane, and dig like a gopher once you get there, you might not be able to get the silva leaf buried in time to save the Heart Tree. I will trust you to use what is at your disposal to get this done.”

  With that she was gone.

  Vanx opened his eyes to see Gallarael looking down at him with tears running down her cheeks. Her dark, short hair framed her face severely and Vanx decided to tell her that he liked it long and golden. She was patting at his brow and ignoring both Darl and Thorn, who were making suggestions of remedies for a sudden lapse in consciousness. Vanx couldn’t help but smile. If he wasn’t in such a hurry now, he might have closed his eyes and just listened to the concern and admiration coming from his friends. Instead, he rose and kissed Gallarael’s forehead.

  “I’m sorry about Xavian and the rest of this mess.” He pulled her down and gave her a gentle hug. “We will talk of it later, though. There is something I must attend to immediately.”

  “Thorn, I ask your forgiveness for the way I spoke to you earlier.”

  Vanx rose to a knee, but didn’t stand.

  “I hope you know that I would never follow through with a threat like that. In truth, it isn’t in me.”

  “Bah!” the elf explained. “I already know that, Vanx. I’m just glad you are alright.”

  “Good, then,” Vanx stood. “If you want me to save your Heart Tree, then I’ve got a different bargain for you.”

  Vanx turned and started into the stronghold, found the stairway, and motioned for Thorn and the others to follow. “Hurry,” he added over his shoulder as he started down into the depths of the palace.

  As he made his way down the stairs he put all his concentration into reaching out to his familiar. It was surprisingly easy to open the link between Poops and him now. He greeted his friend warmly, with thoughts of camaraderie and love, but once the greeting was done, he conveyed to the dog what the goddess asked of him.

  Poops was eager to help.

  “What is this bargain?” Thorn asked as he finally caught up with Vanx.

  “I’ve already decided that I will willingly sacrifice myself and lead Chel out of the Underland.”

  “If you did that, though, you would never be able to go back in, ever.” Vanx was pleased to know such a being as this one, who would sacrifice all that he had ever known, and a few centuries of future living, just so another could leave the Underland for a few decades and die.

  “It matters not,” said Thorn.

  “I led her there without warning and only I can lead her out.”

  “If the Heart Tree is spared, you must promise not to do that. You have to swear not to intervene. You have to let the next monarch of the Lurr come to power and release her, otherwise I cannot do what I am almost certain must be done to save the tree.

  “You are asking me to not allow Chelda out of the Underland?”

  “I am,” replied Vanx as they entered Aserica’s lookout one after the other.

  “But you want her free of that binding, don’t you?” Thorn asked, his confusion showing plainly in his voice.

  “I do, Thorn, but your duty dictates that you must do what is best for the Heart Tree, so swear you won’t release her and I will attempt this. If I fail here, and do not save the tree, you can always make your sacrifice. Our bargain only holds if this works.”

  “It’s done, then,” Thorn said.

  “I swear that if you manage to save the Heart Tree, I won’t lead Chelda Flar from the Underland, but know this, Vanx Saint Elm: I would rather that you didn’t ask this of me.”

  Vanx smiled.

  “I know, Thorn. I know.” Vanx found the bag of foul-tasting powder on the cluttered table and after sprinkling a bit of it into the pool, he touched a few grains to his tongue, and handed the bag to Thorn. He kept himself from laughing when the elf began to gag and hack at the horrid taste of the powder. Vanx then took the silva leaf from under his shirt, noticing that it was glowing a bright cherry color again. He pulled the thong over his head and then put the Hoar Witch’s crystal around his neck in its place.

  He used the crystal to order a pair of eyes into the Shadowmane and was glad to see Sir Poopsalot sitting there waiting patiently for him. Beyond the dog, an irritated-looking pixie soldier waited impatiently by the opened doorway back into the Underland.

  “What are you going to do?” Thorn asked.

  “Just watch.” Vanx dropped the radiant silva leaf right over Poops’ image. It plopped into the water, sending ripples out in wavering circles. For a moment it was hard, but not impossible, to see.

  “Babd be boondoogled!” the pixie in the doorway said.

  Poops spotted the falling charm as it appeared in the sky and he leapt to catch it in his mouth. Then, as if trying frantically to bury a bone, he proceeded to dig a sizable hole at the base of the Heart Tree and dropped it in.

  The excited pixie soldier had called some others up, and now a few brownies and gnomes and a half dozen sprites had come buzzing out of the Underland to see what the strange dog was about. They were the lucky ones, for they were able to witness the magic that happened next.

  No sooner had Poops nosed most of the dirt back into the hole did a dull silver vine start up out of the ground. It was as thin as string and chased with sparkling flashes and flares. It slowly coiled up and around the Heart Tree’s substantial trunk and soon the vine was finger thick, with pulsing lavender blooms sprouting and unfurling along its length.

  The vine forked, and forked again, and soon the Heart Tree was covered with swiftly snaking tendrils of magic.

  The vine strangled off the flow of sap from wounds, and dark, infected bark began to rejuvenate across its surface.

  “Amazing,”

  Thorn whispered from beside Vanx.

  “Wow,” Gallarael added from over his shoulder. The fae who had returned with Darl and Thorn began to babble and chirp as they joined the others in the lookout.

  From all over the Deep the fairy folk crept out of their hiding holes to come see. And by nightfall, not only was the Heart Tree no longer waning, but new, heart-shaped leaves were beginning to sprout.

  At the moon’s zenith, on that particular night, another curious thing happened among the fae. A child was born, a pixie boy, and if any had a doubt ab
out who and what he was to become, the Heart Tree ended it when one of the silva tree vines encircled his head, making a crown for all to see.

  The End of Book Four – That Frigid Fargin Witch

  Enjoy this preview of:

  The Legend of Vanx Malic

  Book Five — Trigon Daze

  copyright © 2013 by Michael Robb Mathias Jr.

  All Rights Reserved.

  Chapter One

  Vanx picked up a piece of broken glass from the floor of the Hoar Witch’s dirty old lookout room. A tiny flash of movement had drawn him to it and now he was trembling. It turned out that the Mirror of Portent wasn’t a complete loss after all. In the palm sized fragment he saw ships crashing into docks and unloading their cargo of black armored soldiers. Blue glowing blades, much like Chelda’s, flared forth. Man sized winged things, with eyes glowing the same dull shade of blue swarmed the air and the surprised people trying to defend themselves were decimated.

  His first concern was that it was the Isle of Zyth being attacked, but he soon saw that it wasn’t. It wasn’t Orendyn either. From the structural style of the buildings and lack of ice and snow, he guessed it was either Parydon Isle, or right across the channel at the mainland Port of Parydon.

  Vanx remembered how the Hoar Witch once had him question a deed into the mirror with his will. It would display the myriad possibilities that opened up from the intended action. In this case though, Vanx found that every time he tried he was led back to the same blurry future. Then it occurred to him that he didn’t know how far into the future this was happening.

  Just then Poops came sauntering into the room. The dog came over and nuzzled Vanx. As he did, Vanx felt one of the many strange sensations that his dog familiar, often sent him.

  “That is true, Poops,” Vanx responded aloud and then laughed through his concern for doing so. He could have answered with a thought.