by Mac Flynn
Carey thrashed and kicked in the top marches shoulder. "Le me down!" she screeched.
Marge turned to Greg and jerked her head at her captive. "I'd be grateful if you could do something about her."
Greg smiled, bowed his head and stepped over to them. So he stood so that he stood behind Marge and faced Carey. My apologies for what I am about to do," Greg told Carey.
She sneered at him. "I don't-" Greg swung his fist and connected with Carey's cheek. Her head snapped to the side and her chin fell onto Marge's back. The rest of her body hung as limp as her head and she didn't even twitch.
"Is she dead?" Marge asked Greg.
Greg stepped in front of her and shook his head. "No, but she will not appreciate my putting her to sleep when she awakes."
Marge sneered. "Pity. It might've been better for us if you'd permanently taken care of her."
"We won't kill our foes when they are at our mercy," Erik spoke up. He turned to Methuselah. "Lead on."
We followed Methuselah back through the woods on the same trail that led to Hazel's house. Halfway along the path he turned onto a left-hand trail that I hadn't noticed before, supposedly because we'd been marched prisoners-style the last time we came through.
Marge walked in front of me and stopped at the head of the trail. She turned her head left and right at the looking at the old and new trails. "I don't remember this being here before," she commented.
Methuselah paused and glanced over his shoulder to look at her. There was a look of disdain on his lips. "There is more than meets the eye in these woods," he commented. "You merely have the inability to see the truths among the trees."
She glared back at him. "What's that supposed to mean?"
"It means that that you were unobservant the previous time you passed them by this way," he replied.
"Weren't you kind of knocked out?" I reminded her.
Marge shook her head. "I was over a shoulder, but not knocked out for most of the trip, and I didn't see this path," she insisted.
"I believe what he is trying to explain is there is magic at work here to which we are not privy," Greg spoke up.
Marge readjusted Carey's body over her shoulder. Her eyes flitted to Methuselah. "And you can see this magic?" she questioned him.
"I can," he replied.
"That isn't important right now," Erik spoke up. "Take us to the witch." His eyes settled on Greg. "There are many questions to be answered."
We continued on our way down the enchanted path. The shadow of the trees stretched over us as like sentinels. Their branches clawed at our arms and legs. I took in a deep breath and choked on stagnant air.
"Any way we can get some gas masks back here?" I called to Methuselah.
"No."
"What's making the air so thick, anyway?" I asked the group.
"The forest itself is against us," Greg explained.
"I don't like the way that sounds," I commented.
Greg's eyes swept over our surroundings. "I, too, believe that isn't good sign," he agreed.
"It will not attack you so long as Cassandra's son is among you," Methuselah assured us.
Erik frowned at him. "Why is that so important? Is it because of my mother's true identity?"
"Yes. She is the one who enchanted the forest many centuries ago," Methuselah revealed.
"How do you know so much about all this?" Marge spoke up.
"After she found me in the cave Cassandra told me her story," Methuselah explained.
There was silence among our group until we reached an opening in the path. A small meadow was revealed to us, and in the center of the meadow was a group of rocks positioned in a circle. The stones were rectangular and stood two feet off the ground. In their center was a wide, round pit that was as deep as they were tall. Atop one of the wide stone slabs lay Hazel. She lay on her back and her eyes were closed. Her chest rose up and down with a regular breathing movement.
"What is this place?" Erik asked our guide.
"This is where Cassandra performed the spell of the fog," Methuselah told us.
We stepped into the clearing and froze. A creaking noise came from forest shadow. The shadows lengthened and their limbs stretched towards us.
"Get away from the trees!" Marge shouted.
We rushed away from the path and to the center of the stones. Marge dropped her heavy load onto the dusty ground and we turned to face our wooden enemies. The trees twisted and stretched towards us like pieces of putty. Methuselah himself stood near the path. The tree limbs passed by him without so much as a tap and surrounded the stone circle, and us.
"I thought you said they wouldn't attack us!" I yelled at him.
"They see him as an unworthy successor to his heritage," Methuselah nonchalantly replied.
"What must I do to prove it?" Erik shouted thought
"Have faith and have no fear," Methuselah told him.
Erik stood beside me and I saw his hands fall into fists at his side. He stiffened his chin and stepped towards the trees. He stood proud and tall before the start branches. His firm voice echoed around the shadowed meadow.
"I am Erik, son of Cassandra, and I demand that you stand down!" he ordered the forest.
The trees wavered as though indecisive. We all held our breaths awaiting its decision after. After a tense moment the branches slithered back into the forest and the shadows left with them. The trees once again became normal pieces of wood with stiff, unmoving branches.
I breathe a sigh of relief and slipped onto one of the stone benches. "I think I've had enough adventure for tonight," I commented.
Marge settled herself on a nearby bench. "I have to agree," she chimed in.
Methuselah came up to us and I was surprised to see there was a small hint of a smile on his lips. He stopped so he that he stood before Erik. "Your mother would be proud to see you hold some of her skill," the vampire commented.
Erik frowned. "How did all this come to be? How is my mother the witch who cast the curse of the fog and her barrenness over my people?" he questioned our undead guide.
Methuselah gestured to stone seats. "I will tell what I know."
Erik's eyes flickered to Greg. "And you will join him." Greg close his eyes and bowed his head.
Everyone but Methuselah took a seat on the hard benches. Erik sat down beside me and I slipped my hand into his. He turned to me with haunted eyes and I managed a small smile.
"I'm sure this will be okay," I whispered to him.
"We shall see," he replied.
Methuselah stood in the center of the ring just to the side of the pit. For first time I noticed there was a small stack of unburnt wood in bottom of the hole.
"I need not repeat the history of your people," Methuselah began his story. "And I only know what Cassandra confided in me. She told me that she was wronged by the chieftain of the werewolf clan. She was blinded with a red rage and cursed the werewolves to be barren of women. No girl would be born to them until the time came when a woman who so loved her mate would sacrifice herself. Only then would the spell would be broken."
"Then there is a way to break the spell?" Marge spoke up.
Methuselah frowned at the interruption, but nodded. "There is. Cassandra herself sought to break the spell when she joined herself to the chief of the werewolves."
"My father," Erik commented.
"Yes," Methuselah agreed. "She changed herself to a normal human and slipped among the women who were captured. She had herself chosen as the mate of the chief."
"How did she do this?" Erik asked him.
"She bewitched the bowl and was chosen," Methuselah explained. "Unfortunately, her use of magic to procure a mate meant the bond needed to break the spell could never exist."
I held up a hand. "Wait a sec. I know some things about witches, but how powerful are they really? I mean, she's how old and can work what kind of magic?"
"She is six hundred years old and has a limitless amount of magic potential," Methuselah rep
lied.
"So why couldn't Cassandra just lift the curse?" I pointed out.
"Even some spells are outside her ability to control," the vampire told me. "Spells have rules, conditions that must be met in order for them to be enacted or lifted. The rule for this curse is that true love must break it."
"After so long why did my mother only recently wish to atone for her curse?" Erik asked Methuselah.
A sneer appeared on Methuselah's lips. "Her human compassion overrode her better senses. There were also complications she did not foresee."
"The dying earth," I guessed.
He nodded. "Yes. She felt regret for cursing the werewolves to extinction, and for the death of the land on which they dwelt."
Marge stood up and her eyes swept over us. "I've heard a lot of talk but not a lot about how were going to save the captain the crew and all the islands question," she pointed out.
"I must concur with the lady," Greg spoke up. "We have answered questions except those that are most important."
"Maybe we haven't," I argued. "Maybe we can get Cassandra to wave her hands and work her magic against Blackwood."
Methuselah shook his head. "She will not use her magic against him."
My face drooped. "Why not?"
"Because she no longer wishes to meddle in the affairs of werewolves beyond what she's capable of in her current form," Methuselah explained.
I threw up my arms. "So she's just going to let us all get killed?"
Methuselah's eyes turned to Erik. "She wishes to pass on the responsibility to a new generation, one that is not tainted by sin and death."
Erik raised an eyebrow. "We have tried much and succeeded at very little without the use of magic. How can she expect us to succeed now?" he wondered.
"She does not expect you to succeed without magic," Methuselah argued. "She expects you to use magic to the benefit of all."
CHAPTER 8
"Okay, that makes no sense," I spoke up. I held out my empty hands. "We don't have anything except her journal, this witch-" I gestured to Hazel, "-and some beans she gave me."
Methuselah raised an eyebrow. "Beans? Show me these beans."
I shrugged and rummaged through my pockets until I found the bag. "These kind of beans," I told him as a revealed the bag for all to see.
Methuselah's eyes fell on the bag and they widened. "Those will be very useful in your coming fight."
I frowned. "You're going to tell me they're magic beans, aren't you?"
He bowed his head. "I am."
"So what are they capable of?" I questioned him.
"They are capable of the powers of the one who holds them," he replied.
I threw up my arms and nearly tossed the bag into the woods. "Could you please start making some sense?" I growled at him.
"I believe what our undead friend is trying to say is that the one who wields the beans decides their power," Greg suggested.
"Yeah, that still doesn't make any sense. What are they going to do, give someone gas?" I wondered.
Greg rubbed his chin in one hand and furrowed his brow. "They are unpredictable. That may be an outcome."
I cringed. "That'd be a horrible way to kill someone."
"But what of my ability to use magic?" Erik spoke up. "I have no such skills, and I don't believe beans will ensure our victory against my cousin."
Methuselah nodded at Hazel. "She will assist you."
I snorted. "I don't think she's sleeping beauties going to be teaching anybody anytime soon."
Methuselah raised a hand and snapped his fingers. Hazel's eyes fluttered open and she rose to a seated position. She clutched her head and grimaced.
"By all the gods, what-" Her befuddled eyes fell on our staring faces. She whipped her head from side to side and her gaze stopped on Methuselah. Her eyes narrowed, and her lips slid back in a scow. "You," she growled. "What business is it of yours to attack me and drag me here against my will?"
"It's our business that you help us," Erik spoke up.
Hazel attention turned to him and her sneer was no less full of disgust. "Whatever trouble you found yourself in is none of my concern," she argued as her eyes fell on his jacket. "I only wish to have that little memento of my beloved teacher that you so selfishly hold to yourself."
"You will now be the teacher," Methuselah told her.
Hazel raised an eyebrow. "What benefit is it of mine to help any of you? Our last arrangement gave me nothing but trouble with my clients."
I snorted. "With clients like those who needs competition?"
"If you help us we won't kill you," Marge told Hazel.
The witch scoffed. "As though that was possible."
Marge jerked her head towards Methuselah. "I bet he could do it, and I wouldn't be one to stop him."
Hazel cringed, and her eyes flickered to Erik. "How am I expected to help any of you? The ability to cast magic is not contained within everyone."
Erik stood from his seat and walked over to Hazel's stone bench so that he stood before her. "I am the son of Cassandra, the witch who wrote the journal you so desperately desire."
Hazel's eyes widened and her mouth dropped slightly open. She studied Erik up and down. Her voice came out in a hushed whisper. "You. . .you are a son to Sandra?"
"If that is the name of the witch who cast the spell of the fog and the curse, then I am," Erik affirmed.
Hazel reached out a shaking hand and grabbed the lower part of his shirt. She looked him in the eyes and I could see there were tears in them. "Then. . .then she is alive?"
Erik nodded. "For now, but we need your help to save her and all other werewolves on the islands."
Hazel shook her head. "I don't care about the rest of them and I don't care about the werewolves. I only care that Sandra is still alive. I thought she had been killed by one of her own spells."
"A ruse to fool you so you would not go looking for her," Greg spoke up.
Hazel looked past Erik and at the servant. "What do you know this?" she questioned him.
Erik turned to Greg and raised an eyebrow. "You have not told us your full part in this," he reminded him.
Greg closed his eyes and bowed his head. "My apologies, my Master. As I said before, I was under oath from My Lady and thus I could not speak freely."
"And now you will break that oath?" Erik asked him.
Greg gave a nod. "I will because the circumstances under which I took the oath have changed, and I believe My Lady would wish me to tell you." He gestured to the stone benches. "If you would all take a seat." We all obeyed him except Methuselah. Greg turned his attention to the vampire. "You, also, I believe, would benefit from being seated." Methuselah raised an eyebrow, but he obeyed and took a seat on the opposite side of the pit from us.
Greg took center stage in the middle of the circle of stones and gestured to Methuselah. "What our friend told you of My Lady Cassandra is true. She is the witch who brought the spell of the fog and the curse of the barrenness to our people the werewolves. Several centuries passed and she watched the werewolves struggle to retain our population. She also noticed that her curse settled deeper than our bodies. It sank into the very soil of our islands. The soil and the lake were drained of life. Plants died and fish did not reproduce. The desolation fell over the lands, and My Lady saw this and was horrified by what she had done. She took it upon herself to lift the curse, and so she left her magic behind and wed herself to the chief of the werewolves. She thought that surely he could be the one whom she could love the most and who could lift the curse on his people. Unfortunately, she found her deceit in bonding with him meant she herself could not lift the curse, and so she waited. A son was born to her in whom she hoped he could do what she could not."
Erik frowned. "How does she expect me to lift the curse?"
Greg's eyes fell on me. "She knew her abilitiy to cast magic would be passed on to you and you might use it, but she had only hope until Sophie came."
All eyes turned to me and I
shrugged and shook my head. "Don't look at me. I have no idea what to do, either. Besides, we're not exactly the most willing couple."
"My Lady Cassandra hopes that such a difficult beginning will ensure a more solid union at the end," Greg explained.
I tilted my head to one side and frowned. "So what would happen if we decided to go carries route and split up?" I asked him.
Greg closed his eyes and shook his head. "The consequences would be catastrophic for our people."
I jumped to my feet and my voice came out higher and louder than I intended. "What the hell? We're supposed to somehow love each other so we can save a bunch of werewolves who've tried to kill us?"
Greg smiled. I could've socked him right then and there. "I believe that your combined stubbornness would be able to save the world. The small islands on Wolf Lake are in the best of hands."
"This sounds like just a lot more jabbering that isn't getting us anywhere," Marge spoke up. "All of you are talking while my captain could be dead or worse, like those monsters that girl was using against us." She kicked Carey's limp body for emphasis.
Hazel snorted and waved her hand. "That can be undone with a simple spell." Everyone's surprised eyes turned to her and she glared back at us. "What? It is possible."
Marge crossed her arms over her chest. "Fine, it's possible, but how are we going to do anything from here and how long is it going to take for her-" Marge nodded at Hazel, "-to teach him-" She looked to Erik, "-how to do all these spells we might need?"
Hazel's eyes fell on Erik and she rubbed her chin. "If he has the ability to be a warlock than I shouldn't have any problem teaching him."
"And if he doesn't?" I spoke up.
She shrugged. "Then he has no abilities and I'm unable to teach him."
Erik bowed his head to her. "I promise to be a quick student."
Hazel jumped to her feet and pushed past him to the pit with its unburned wood. "Then let's get started."
"This better not take long. . ." I heard Marge mutter.
I stepped forward and opened my mouth, but Greg slipped behind me and caught my shoulder. He pulled me away from the circle of stones and the pit. I glanced over my shoulder and glared at him.
