“You see, life can never mimic the romantic visions of storybooks. But it needn’t do so. The illogicalities that exist within our lives give shape to what defines us. Illogicality begets ingenuity, ingenuity begets invention, invention begets progress. Once we see past and through the tinted glass of the preconceived we view splendors so great that we do not weep to shatter the pane.” Blaise continued. “Life does not exist as always logical or always not so. In any given land life may proceed for a time in a comical nature, but this flow of lightheartedness is interrupted with the harsh reality of life. And from these contrasts we see more clearly the traits of both. We see honor cast against cruelty. Bravery against cowardice. And selflessness against greed.”
The prince blinked and seemed to be broken from his trance. “I am sorry I have talked for so long. I must have put you nearly to sleep. We have a long journey ahead of us to make it to the first letter tomorrow. You would do well to get your rest.”
The prince began to lay out the bedding on which each of them would be sleeping.
Max didn’t move. He just continued to sit on the log as he stared into the starry night sky.
Chapter 6
Rough hands shook Max from his sleep. He rolled over, bleary eyed with fatigue still clinging to him. His blanket had fallen off in the night and a nasty chill ran through his body.
He rubbed his eyes, attempting to see through the darkness. How long had he slept, he wondered? The sun was nowhere in sight.
“Sorry, we have to get an early move on if we want to have enough time to handle business and make it back to camp before dark.” A hushed voice spoke off to his left. “We’ll have to send the horses back. It will be much too dangerous to ride them through the forest in the dark.”
Blaise patted them on the back and sent them scurrying out of the forest, back home.
Blaise picked up one of the tattered burlap sacks and tossed the other one to Max. He picked up the bag and followed after Blaise who had begun trotting toward their destination.
The morning trek was boring as Max trod through the thick underbrush. Cuts and scrapes covered his arms as he pushed through pricker bushes and briars. The thorns seemed to almost shy away from touching Blaise; his arms and cloak were unmarred.
As they walked up a steep hill Max was distracted by two wolf cubs playing down at the bottom of the ridge. He stopped and watched as they happily bit and scratched at each other. They wagged their tails as they wrestled and played. They bit each other playfully and with innocence. In a flash one of the pups bit his brother hard on the neck. The wounded pup fell motionless to the ground.
“Quit standing around. It’s just over this hill,” Blaise called from the top of the hill. “I can see it from here.
Max looked once more at the dead pup and then ran up the hill. As he reached the top he saw a small thatched-roof cottage with a small chimney. Smoke billowed from the chimney.
“Don’t be deceived. Keep on your guard, for we are in great danger here.” The prince spoke with no ounce of insincerity in his voice.
Max and Blaise made their way down into the valley below. Sitting on a bench just outside the house was a small, elderly woman. Her face was old and wrinkled. A large crooked nose protruded like a gnarled branch from her face. Strapped across her back was a set of clearly fake pixie wings that hung crookedly. She wore a small purple cloak atop a larger black one. Beneath the black one it seemed she attempted to hide (rather unsuccessfully) a large broom.
“Hello, and how may I help you two on this beautiful day?” She smiled as she spoke and her eyes became slits more serpentine than human.
“We are looking for a lost letter of the alphabet. We believe you may be in possession of it.” Blaise spoke with his hand resting on the hilt of his sword.
The smile faded from the women’s face and she rose from the table. She kicked off from the ground and hovered a few feet in the air.
“Excuse me,” she said, “I couldn’t help but think you were accusing me of something.” Her voice was like honey.
“I accuse you of no wrongdoing, but I believe that an item of great importance to us may be in your possession.” Blaise said.
“How can you accuse a woodland fairy on any wrongdoing? We are pure and good. Anything in my possession I have come to own rightfully.” Her face grew dark and her teeth clenched as she spoke.
“What you consider ‘rightfully’ and what the king’s council does are two entirely different matters! You are no pixie or fairy. You are a filthy evil witch.”
“How dare you? You insolent little slime! You are nothing compared to me. You are worthless in the eyes of your father! You are lower than the servants who cleaned his bathroom!” She stopped shouting and smiled: “Welcome to the dungeon.”
The ground beneath Blaise opened like a gaping wound. Down he fell into the depth of the pit. He crashed hard against the stone floor and he cried out in pain.
“You will pay for this!”
The woman turned her attention toward Max. She studied him up and down, appraising what challenge he could offer.
Max stood glancing toward the cabin. A small straw door hung haphazardly, flanked by two stone gargoyles. The creature’s long tongues hung from their mouths as they sneered. Max felt a shiver and he was thankful they were only statues.
“We are going to play a little game.” The witch shrieked in delight.
“And if I refuse?” Max asked.
The cackling ceased and the smile soured. The witch seethed through clenched teeth, contemplating a response. Finally settling on one she spoke. “OK, you’ll do it.”
Without waiting for any response from Max she began to explain her challenge. “It is quite simple really. Each one of us shall have ten tries to get this ball,” with a snap of her fingers a small ball appeared hovering between them, “into that hoop.” She waved a hand toward a lone tree that stood not far from the cottage. Upon it hung a small circular hoop with netting draped from it.
Max felt his heart leap to his throat at the prospect. He was the farthest thing from a basketball player he believed could exist. Always the last pick and never passed the ball, he was a skinny uncoordinated child with no size or talent.
“You can go first.” She seemed to speak sweetly but Max could hear the contempt that dripped in each word.
Tossing the ball to Max the witch hovered above the ground, waiting for her adversary to make the first move. Max ran forward clutching the ball against his breast. He stopped, wondering if he should dribble. Deciding against it he ran.
The witch swooped down crashing into Max and sending him sprawling to the ground. As he fell Max flicked his wrist hurling up a Hail Mary shot. He stared in disbelief, as the ball seemed to bend through the air toward the basket before finally sinking through the wooden rim.
Anger gripping her, the witch waved her wand rapidly through the air. The two stone gargoyles sprang to life and flew into the air. With cackling laughs they circled around, their long tongues hanging out, salivating. As Max grabbed the ball and tried again, the gargoyles stopped him cold. They hurtled from the air, crushing him into the hard ground and knocking the ball from the air. He tried again and again, but each time he failed.
“You have one turn left,” the witch spoke smugly. She hovered on her broom as the two gargoyles did all the work. Bruised and battered Max knew he was going to need to do something remarkable to give him a shot at winning. He wasn’t quite sure why, but he got an idea.
“You shouldn’t even try, honey,” the witch smiled. “You’re not going to score.”
It was Max’s turn to smile. “I don’t plan on it.”
The smile vanished from the warty face of the haggard witch. She clenched her yellowed teeth and hissed in displeasure. She waved her hand and the two gargoyles shot toward Max.
Max had noticed something about the two stone miscreants. While they both seemed to be living they acted more like puppets. Without fail one would plow Max into the g
round while the other blocked the ball from entering the hoop. He was going to test whether they had any common sense. For his own sake he hoped they didn’t.
He tossed the ball straight into the air and, like all the times before, one of them shot up after it. Reaching out he grabbed onto the leg of the gargoyle as it darted after the ball. Max was yanked hard upward. The other gargoyle gave chase. Using the weight of his legs Max swung from the gargoyle and spun through the air. The second gargoyle made like a missile toward him. Tucking in at the last second the gargoyle soared over Max’s head and crashed headlong into the basket. The rim exploded in splintered fragments as the tattered net fluttered to the ground.
Silence hung in the air as the witch struggled to reason with what had just occurred.
“You lost fair and square. There is no longer a net so you can’t score to beat me. You have to pay up!” Max yelled with a clear air of uncertainty in his voice.
“Sadly, little boy, there is nothing you can do.” The witch laughed in a high-pitched voice.
Max fidgeted. He fiddled through the pouch that hung on his side. He wasn’t sure what he was looking for but he knew he couldn’t let the witch see him. He knew he couldn’t let Blaise down. He barely knew him but for some reason he felt that he owed Blaise more than he could ever repay.
White-hot pain shot through Max’s finger. He felt a weak trickle of blood spill out onto his hand. The skinning knife. He had found what he was looking for.
He gripped the smooth wooden handle and he took a few steps toward the witch.
“What are you doing?” The witch shot up into the air, moving safely from Max’s reach. “Stay back or I’ll end you right now! Do you hear me?”
Max, unsure of what to do, continued to inch forward. The witch shot forward, brandishing what Max assumed was her wand.
Jets of red and blue sparks fired out like a swarm of angry hornets. Max dove behind the bench as flames tore into the ground he been on a few moments before. The witch wheeled and flew toward Max again, issuing flames from her wand. Max hit the deck and the bench behind him burst into flame.
As the witch circled back for her next strike Max prepared to retaliate. His knees were weak and his sweaty palms made it difficult to grip the blade. He knew he had only one shot at this and he knew there was no way it would work. He was just a kid. He lived a normal life. Moments like these were for heroes and for storybooks. Moments like these were not for people like him.
Max broke into a sprint toward the witch. Hot sparks flew past him as he sidestepped to the left. He could feel his skin singeing as the heat waves passed him. He crouched as he ran and, pushing with all his might, exploded into the air. The startled witch attempted to veer past him but her broomstick caught him square in the shoulder and she toppled to the ground.
She rolled end over end across the grassy ground and stopped with a loud crack as the broomstick gave way and broke in two. She regained her composure and scrambled to find her wand.
A look of horror stole across her face as she saw that the wand was only a few feet from the prostrate figure of Max. She took off across the ground as Max began to stir. He saw the wand lying near him and he sprang to his feet.
The witch neared the wand, her outstretched fingers brushing against it; Max dove. He collided dead on with the witch and she went toppling backwards. Max grabbed the wand and broke it against his knee.
The witch struggled to get back to her feet but Max moved behind her. He swung his arm over her neck to hold her in place while he pressed the knife to her throat.
“Free Blaise now!” Max hissed. His heart pounded like a tidal wave against the coast. Sweat poured across his forehead, blurring his vision.
The witch started to protest but Max strengthened his grip. Luckily she was a frail old lady and not a brute orc. Max was able to overpower her but it wasn’t without effort.
“Bring him up now!” Max shouted. He was becoming impatient and losing strength.
The witch snapped her fingers and Blaise appeared next to Max with a dazed look on his face. He shook his head and gathered in his surroundings.
“Nice work, Max. I’ll take over from here.” Blaise took hold of the witch and held her up in the air.
“We’ll be taking that letter now.” Blaise spoke with a smile on his face.
“Of course, of course. Let me just go fetch it.” She struggled to break free of Blaise’s grasp but he only strengthened his grip.
“I’ll go with you.” Blaise escorted her into house and returned a short while later with a brown paper package clutched in his right hand. He was dragging the witch by the hair with his left.
“I’ve got the letter, Max. We better make off quickly. Once she tells us where she got the letter, that is.” Blaise shook her by the hair.
“Ow, ow, OWWWW. I’ll tell, I swear. Just put me down.” She screamed with agony in her voice.
Blaise released his grip on her hair but his hand was still resting on the hilt of his sword.
“Tell us now.” Blaise’s face was like a stone mask. No emotion showed through it.
“I got it from a hermit over the hill. I traded him a few magic seeds for his garden. I don’t know where he got it from though.” She looked at Blaise and then back to Max.
“Max, head up over that path. I need to take care of a few things here.” Blaise’s face was grim, and a sadness was hidden deep in his eyes. His green cloak rustled like a flag in the breeze. The fading sun cast dull shadows across his once lustrous armor.
He turned his back to Max and he seemed now somehow more intimidating. His stature seemed to rise before Max, growing large and powerful. He drew his sword from its sheath. He turned the curved silver blade over in his hand.
It shone even in the fading light and it was so pure a silver it seemed almost white. It looked to Max like a sheet of ice pressed into the shape of the blade.
Blaise seemed to hesitate as he sensed that Max had not yet left. He turned to face the child, a sad look on his face.
Max refused to meet his gaze.
“How can you just kill her?” asked Max in a disappointed voice.
“I wish I had a choice but—”
Max spoke, “We always have a choice. I don’t like the hag much either but you can’t just kill her.” There was a pleading look in Max’s eyes.
“She is dangerous, Max.” Blaise stated. “We can’t leave her behind to aid our enemies or to seek vengeance.”
“Then we can take her with us.” Max shrugged his shoulders.
Blaise groaned at the prospect. She would have to be carried by him and there would of course be the matter of feeding her. They had enough rations to last only another day before he would need to begin foraging and hunting. Providing for Max and himself would prove difficult enough. Providing for the prisoner would stretch them to the point of malnourishment.
But perhaps Max was right. Perhaps to kill was wrong. Who was he to end another’s life so carelessly? He had killed hundreds of men before without regret but that had been in battle where his own life was threatened. He could not kill a prisoner. Then he would be the same as those he fought and any judgment made against them would be hypocrisy.
“I will not kill her,” Blaise relented. “We will have to tie her up nice and tight here. My father’s men will find her.” He was warmed by the smile that crossed Max’s face. The prince had never allowed himself to look up to other men, but he found himself drawn to the approval of this child.
Max assisted Blaise to tie and bind the witch. Blaise wound several lengths of rope around her ankles and wrists to prevent her from escaping.
“Hope this doesn’t hurt your wings, fairy,” Blaise jested as he tied the knot hard across the witch’s back, crushing the plastic wings.
Blaise used bandages to gag her and cover her eyes. Her muffled protests sounded like the humming of an angry hornet.
“You must understand,” Blaise looked at Max, “this goes against my better judgment.�
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“Don’t worry; it will be worth it.”
Max could have sworn he heard Blaise mumbling something about doubting that, but Max just shook his head and trotted off down the path.
Chapter 7
The density of the foliage was baffling. Visibility in the interwoven forestry was limited to feet. Rain beat steadily off the canopy of leaves. Little streams trickled down, bouncing from branch to branch before plunging with life-giving grace into the soil.
The moon hid behind the clouds and all was dark, save two lights that danced along the forest floor. The lights traced a circuitous path, hindered by a series of gullies and ditches that were hidden by the night. Backtracking was unavoidable and progress was slow.
Two flames flickered, and the rain and howling wind threatened to put them out. A pair of cloaked figures held the torches close to themselves, shielding the flames to keep them alive, to stave off what horrors lurked in the shadows.
Audible gurgling could be heard from both of them as hunger pangs shot through their stomachs. The larger of the two spotted a cave against the cliff wall and moved quickly toward it. His partner followed behind him. A raised root caught his foot and he stumbled face first into the oozing mud. With a grunt of frustration he rose to his feet and followed after his companion.
“We’ll make shelter here, Max.” Blaise spoke as loudly as he dared. “I’ll get the fire going. You can tend it while I go and get us some food. The storm should have driven most animals to shelter. Perhaps if I am lucky I shall stumble across a nest.” Blaise smiled as a shiver ran through his spine. The damp air weakened his lungs and made every breath an effort. He rested his hands on his knees as the pouring rain beat down on his back.
Max nodded and hesitated a moment before moving into the cave mouth. Blaise followed close behind. Always alert, the eyes of the hunter did not linger any longer in one place than was necessary. He strained them for any movement, even a rumor of movement within the cave. His hand rested on the hilt of his blade
Maxwell's Closet Page 4
