Wand of the Witch

by Daniel Arenson

  The squires shoved the Bullies out of the fort and into the mud. Neev fumed. He wanted to blast the entire castle with balls of fire. Scruff looked ready to bash the place with his mace, and Jamie was still shouting curses at Quill. Cobweb had tears in her eyes and hugged herself. Even Romy seemed upset; a duck waddled only a foot away from her (her most feared bird), making her squeal, suck her thumb, and tremble.

  At home that evening, tempers were still high. Jamie kept pacing the living room, swinging her sword. Scruff drowned his troubles in lemon pudding. Cobweb and Romy embraced in the corner, comforting each other with whispers (and occasional gasps and giggles when Scruff reached for yet another bowl of pudding.)

  Neev stood watching his fellow Bullies, lost in thought. What if more grunters arrived? Would they kill the old doorman and storm into town? All of Burrfield could burn! The only bright side is that Quill might burn with us, he thought with a sigh.

  That morning, one of Quill's paperboys—a chubby youth far too large for the donkey he rode—tossed the morning Gazette onto their porch. When Neev read the headline, he felt ready to explode.

  "BULLIES FOR BUCKS MURDER PEACEFUL FOREST CREATURE"

  He brought the paper inside, woke the others, and read them the article.

  "'Yesterday afternoon, the Bullies—already caught eating puppies and worshipping the devil—committed yet another crime. While wandering the forest outside our town, they encountered a family of peaceful, forest dwelling creatures. The demon Romy explained that they were wood elves. In cold blood, the Bullies murdered the mother of this friendly family. The bully Jamie, the runt of the pack, tried to murder the elf's babies as well; they miraculously escaped her grasp.'"

  Neev was so angry, he could barely keep reading. His voice trembled with rage as he read the second paragraph.

  "'True, our woodland friends might appear strange to our eyes. Their skin might be green and their ways foreign. But to murder an innocent being because she looks different? This, my friends, might be the Bullies' worst crime to date. Be wary, fellow Burrfieldians! Hide your kids. Hide your wives. The Bullies are loose... and hungry for your blood.'"

  He tossed the paper aside in disgust.

  "I told you it was an elf," Romy said. "Even the newspaper says so."

  "It wasn't an elf!" Neev howled. He crashed into the armchair and buried his face in his palms.

  Chapter Four

  The Apprentice

  The grunters never returned.

  Night fell, dawn broke, night fell again... and still no word of them. Willow was getting worried. She didn't much care if the Bullies lived or died. She didn't much care if Burrfield burned or thrived. But Willow, apprentice to the witch Madrila, cared very much about her mistress's moods.

  This night her mood was foul.

  Screams, curses, and explosions came from Madrila's study. Red and green smoke spilled under the door. Glass and wood shattered. Willow stood in the hall, shivering.

  "Oh God, it'll be a mess," she whispered. "She's breaking every last plate, chair, and vial, and I'll be the one who has to clean it."

  Willow took a shuddering breath. She smoothed her purple robes and tried to steady her heart. She would have to attempt the impossible: calm Madrila. Hesitantly, she knocked on the door.

  "What is it?" Madrila shrieked behind it.

  Fingers shaking, Willow twisted the doorknob and peaked into the study. Dread flooded her and she gulped. Madrila's hair was wild. Her eyes blazed. Her cheeks were red. Sparks of black magic coiled around her fingertips. The witch was young—not yet thirty—but still a decade older than Willow and infinitely more powerful.

  "My lady," Willow said. "Would you... would you like some wine to soothe your spirits?"

  She knew at once that was a mistake. Madrila shrieked.

  "Do I look like I need soothing?" she bellowed, grabbed a statue of an imp, and smashed it. A hundred other statues, plates, and pieces of furniture lay shattered across the room.

  It'll be a long night of cleaning for me, Willow thought. She hated cleaning. She hated preparing mulled wine. She had chosen to apprentice for Madrila because she wanted to do magic—real magic, not beginners' tricks like they taught you at the Coven, where everyone else apprenticed. Willow craved the good stuff—dangerous, wonderful, and evil spells like Madrila cast.

  I want to hold a wand, not a broomstick, she thought. I want to summon demons, raise armies of skeletons, be a great and powerful ruler... not a servant.

  But she only bowed her head and said, "Forgive me, my lady."

  Madrila stomped forward, grabbed Willow's shoulders, and hissed. "Do you have any idea how valuable those grunters were? I spent a week molding them in my cauldron. A week! And now ten are lost in the forest, probably dead. The Bullies killed them. I know it. They killed my lovelies like they killed my father."

  Willow swallowed. Here goes nothing. "My lady, you sent grunters to spy, and they never returned. Grunters are great warriors, but they are perhaps poor spies. All the grunting and stinking, you know." Before Madrila could get angrier, she finished quickly. "Allow me to spy for you. I'll take a few of the slinkers you created this morning; they're dumb but at least they're quiet. We'll size up Burrfield's defences, see what the Bullies are doing, and report to you within three days."

  Madrila stared, silent.

  Willow swallowed. Her knees knocked. Please let her agree, she prayed. If Willow could go on a real mission—not just to fetch groceries or do the laundry, but actual spywork—maybe, just maybe, Madrila would teach her some spells. Maybe, just maybe, Willow could replace her broom and ladle with a wand and spellbook.

  Madrila stared for several long, painful moments. Her eyes narrowed, her lips tightened, and her fingers dug into Willow's shoulders.

  Finally the witch nodded and turned away.

  "Very well," she said. "Take the slinkers. Spy on the town. Be back in three days."

  Willow couldn't stifle a shaky, thankful gasp. She wanted to sound stern, evil, and powerful. She wanted to say something like, The Bullies will suffer, my lady—we will crush them and grind them into dust.

  Instead, she only squeaked and said: "Hooray! Thank you, I'll do it!"

  How evil sounding, she thought and sighed.

  Madrila touched a broken statue, raised her eyebrow, and said, "Oh, and Willow? Clean the room before you leave."

  Damn.

  Willow sighed and grabbed her broom.

  * * * * *

  "Weww," Cobweb said, "if B-b-bwamblebwidge won't guawd d-d-da city wawws, why d-don't we?"

  The Bullies were sitting around the hearth in their home, nursing mugs of cider (Scruff's was topped with whipped cream). The fire crackled and cast orange light over the rugs, armchairs, and paintings on the walls. Walnuts roasted over the flames, filling the room with their scent.

  Cobweb sat on a sheepskin, leaning her head against Scruff's chest. His arm was slung around her, nearly as wide as her entire body. She felt warm and protected.

  "It's not a bad idea," Neev said. He sat in an oversized armchair, leafing through a spellbook. Romy sat on his lap, sucking a lollipop and playing with her hair.

  Jamie sat in the corner, polishing her sword. "Why should we even protect Burrfield when everybody here hates us?"

  "B-b-because dis is ouw home," Cobweb said. "Because d-d-dis is whewe youw woots awe... whewe you and youw p-pawents wewe bown, whewe youw childwen wiww be bown."

  She wiped her brow. Speaking so many words hurt her tongue and left her winded. She was getting better, she knew—she could talk more clearly than a year ago—but still hated speaking. Every word felt like climbing a mountain; a sentence the others could speak in an instant took her long moments to complete. She hated seeing Jamie tap her fingers, waiting for her to finish stuttering. She hated seeing Romy grow bored whenever she spoke, twirling her hair and whistling.

  I can speak perfectly in my mind, Cobweb thought. I wish I could speak the way I think, quickly and smoot
hly. But I'm getting better. Scruff is teaching me.

  Still catching her breath from her little speech, Cobweb wondered at her words. Her home lay far from here, across mountain and meadow and lake. She had no roots in Burrfield. Her home lay in Spidersilk Forest, a land of fireflies, birch trees, mystical runes, and fellow spiderlings with purple skin, silver hair, and spiderweb tattoos.

  Scruff seemed to read her mind. He tightened his arm around her and kissed her head. But this is my home now, she thought. This is where I live with my husband. This is where our children will one day live. I want to protect it.

  She grabbed her bow and quiver of arrows from their pegs on the wall.

  "Wet's go," she said. "We have a t-t-town to pwotect."

  Within an hour, Cobweb and Romy stood outside the town's northern Teasel Gate, armed with bow and pitchfork. Autumn trees rustled before them and the grass swayed at their feet. Jamie had gone to the southern Barley Gate, armed with her sword. Scruff and Neev had stayed home to sleep; they had agreed to take the night shift.

  Cobweb breathed the crisp, autumn air, prepared to shoot arrows at any enemies that attacked.

  The leaves rustled.

  Squirrels raced across the trees, birds chirped, and grasshoppers hopped.

  One time, a lone goose flew overhead, honking.

  "Bo-ring!" Romy said. She yawned, stretched, and scratched her belly. "I hate guard duty."

  Cobweb put a hand on her shoulder. "It's n-n-not so b-bad, Womy. We g-g-get to enjoy natuwe."

  She snorted. "Nature can go to hell. I hate nature. I hate these birds everywhere; horrible things." She shuddered. "I hate bugs. I hate trees. I want to go hoooome."

  "You can g-g-go," Cobweb said. She tightened her grip on her bow. "I can defend da gate mysewf."

  Romy moaned. "But I'd be bored at home without you! Scruff and Neev are sleeping, and Jamie's guarding the other gate. Can't we do something more interesting? Can we play a game at least?"

  Cobweb shook her head. "Womy! If we p-p-pway a game, how wouwd we guawd da town pwopewwy? We wouwdn't n-n-notice if anyone appwoached."

  Romy groaned, growled, hopped, flapped her wings, and finally began to sing.

  "One hundred bottles of beer on the wall, one hundred bottles of— Ow, Cobweb, why are you poking me?"

  "Wisten!" she whispered. "I tink I heaw someting."

  Romy fell silent and Cobweb frowned. She heard it more clearly now: a rustling in bushes. Just the wind? No; the trees did not sway, but the bushes kept moving. She nocked an arrow and drew the bowstring. Her heart raced.

  "Who goes der?" she demanded.

  Five creatures burst from the bushes. Cobweb gasped; she had never seen such strange beasts. Covered in white fur, they walked on tiptoes, and what toes those were. Most of their height was just those toes—hugely elongated and furry. Their bodies were small, their eyes beady, their noses long like an anteater's. Their arms ended with gleaming claws.

  "Kill them, slinkers!" cried a voice, and a jet of pink sparkles flew.

  Cobweb screamed and fired her arrow.

  The long-toed slinkers squealed. Cobweb's arrow slammed into one. It screamed, baring sharp teeth. Romy screamed too, flew, and lashed her pitchfork at the creatures.

  As Cobweb nocked another arrow, she saw that one of the attackers was a young woman—sixteen or seventeen years old—with black hair and purple wizard robes. She pointed a wand at Cobweb.

  Cobweb ducked. Pink sparkles and hearts flew from the witch's wand. Cobweb fired her arrow. It missed the young witch by a finger.

  "Damn it, shoot bolts of lightning, you stupid wand!" the witch cried and shook her wand. "Not hearts!" She turned to the monsters. "Slinkers, kill them!"

  The toey beasts nodded. "Yes, Lady Willow! They will die." They charged on their tiptoes and their claws lashed.

  Cobweb ducked and claws swung over her head. She grabbed a fistful of dirt and tossed it. The dirt hit the slinker's eyes, blinding it long enough for Cobweb to draw her dagger. She tossed the blade; it sliced the slinker's neck. Cobweb fired a third arrow, hitting its chest. It screamed and fell dead.

  "Oh God, no!" Willow screamed. "Madrila will kill me for this. She spent all night creating that slinker."

  The witch pointed her wand at Cobweb and uttered a spell. Candies flew from the wand, incurring a stream of curses from Willow.

  "Oh God," the witch said and tossed her wand aside in disgust. "This thing is useless."

  Cobweb snarled and kicked. Her foot hit Willow's shin, and the witch fell. Cobweb leaped up and kicked again, hitting Willow in the stomach. Above her, Romy flew and swooped, thrusting her pitchfork. Slinkers dell dead beneath her.

  Cobweb grabbed Willow's hair and pulled her head back.

  "Who is Madwiwa?" she demanded. "W-w-what do you peopwe want fwom us?

  Willow blinked back tears and managed a snarl. "I will kill you, Bullies. I will kill you and make Madrila proud, and finally she'll teach me spells. Finally she'll teach me to be a great witch."

  Sniffing, Willow kicked. Her foot slammed into Cobweb's knee.

  Pain filled her. Cobweb fell. As Romy killed the last grunter, Willow scurried to her feet and ran into the forest. Within seconds, she disappeared among the trees.

  "Wet's catch hew!" Cobweb said. "She's g-g-getting away."

  Romy landed by her. Panting, the two girls began running after Willow. Branches slapped their faces and leaves crunched under their feet.

  They ran through the forest for a long time.

  "She's gone," Romy finally said. "We'll never find her."

  Cobweb shook her head. "We'ww find hew. See how da weaves awe pwessed d-d-down hewe? See dat smudge of m-m-m-mud on dat bouwdew? She wan hewe. She's f-fast... but we'ww catch hew."

  Romy got down on all four, lowered her head to the ground, and sniffed like a bloodhound. Her tail wagged. She straightened and nodded.

  "She walked here," the demon announced. "I can smell her trail. Let's keep looking."

  It was slow progress. Many roots, bushes, and boulders impeded their passage. Streams gurgled, full of slippery rocks. Sometimes they had to stop and climb over a fallen log, a towering boulder, or bramble. As she followed the trail through the forest, Cobweb thought about the other Bullies. What will they think when they don't see us come home on time?

  Soon the sun began to set. When it grew dark, Cobweb could no longer see the trail, and they had to rely on Romy's nose. The demon stopped every few feet, leaned down, and sniffed the earth. Then she'd wag her tail and run forward. The stars emerged and the sun vanished. The only lights came from their hair: Romy's flamed like a torch, and Cobweb's glowed softly like moonlight.

  Romy whispered. "What if we walk right into the witch's camp and meet a thousand monsters?"

  Cobweb clutched her bow tight. "Wet's be cawefuw. If we f-f-find da monstews' camp, we'ww spy on dem, den wetuwn to Buwwfiewd. Wet's not p-pick any fights."

  Romy walked ahead, sniffing and wagging her tail. Cobweb followed her. Leaves crunched and branches snapped under their feet. If there are any witches in the darkness, they'd hear us from miles away, Cobweb thought.

  It seemed like they walked for hours when Romy paused and said, "I smell grunters." She sniffed. "Ooh, and some cookies!"

  "Cookies?"

  Cobweb paused and sniffed. It did smell like cookies ahead—honey cookies with almonds, she thought. The sweet smells mingled with a stench like rot.

  "Wet's pwoceed quietwy," Cobweb said. "T-t-tiptoe and d-d-don't make a sound!"

  They inched forward, careful not to rustle any dry leaves or twigs. Romy pulled her hood over her head, hiding the fire of her hair. Campfires burned ahead; Cobweb smelled them and saw their soft light. She parted branches before her and saw a camp of creatures.

  The young witch Willow stood over a cauldron, mixing its contents with a ladle. A hundred monsters surrounded the cauldron—warty grunters, long-toed slinkers, three-headed dogs with flaming eyes, reptiles with red hor
ns, and many others. A dilapidated house rose behind them, cloaked in shadows.

  "Boil and bubble," Willow chanted as she stirred. "Toil and trouble. I brew a poison of evil and pain!" She tossed powder into the cauldron, tightened her lips, and stirred with more vigor. "Curses and hexes, devils and spirits, poison this brew with your evil! Here I stir a potion of wretchedness."

  Delicious smells of honey, roasted nuts, and baked apples wafted from the cauldron.

  A grunter sniffed the brew. "Mmm, cookie dough!" he said. "Grunt grunt, can we eat this batch too?"

  Willow growled and pulled her hair. "This is not cookie dough! This is a foul, evil poison. This is a brew of terror, of demons and ghosts!"

  The grunter dipped his finger into the mix and licked it. "Yum yum, tastes especially sweet this time."

  Willow seemed close to tears. She tossed the ladle aside, sat down with a groan, and covered her eyes.

  "Cookies again. Every bloody time I try to create an evil potion, it comes out as cookie dough." She heaved a sigh. "Very well, I suppose you might as well eat this one too."

  The monsters around the cauldron cheered and began to feast, smacking their lips and licking their fingers.

  Cobweb watched with fascination from between the trees. "She's not m-m-much of a witch," she said.

  Romy was wagging her tail furiously under her cloak. She was drooling like a hungry dog, and her stomach growled. Luckily, the monsters were too busy eating to hear.

  "Cookies!" Romy whispered in awe. "I want some. Please please, can I go eat some too?"

  Cobweb shook her head. "No, Womy. I'll b-b-bake you some at home tomowwow, okay?"

  Romy's drool dripped onto the forest floor and her stomach gave another growl.

  A shriek tore the forest.

  The monsters around the cauldron froze, and Willow's face paled. The young witch's eyes widened and she trembled.

  "Willow!" came a shriek from the house.

  The witch shut her eyes and began to mumble; it seemed to Cobweb like she was praying.