Suddenly the air came alive, as if it were being pumped full of electricity. Carole felt her hair rise and her skin tingle. Her fascination with the spectacle turned into horror as she realized that the witches really intended to do something unpleasant.
"Wait, stop! I'm not a monobrainer, I'm a multitasker. Philamount was trying to help me get home. My name is Carole Wood...Sylphwood. Carole Sylphwood. I'm from The Hub!" This last she had to scream, so as to be heard above the growing din.
But hear her they must have, for the chanting stopped as abruptly as it had begun. As the sound faded from the room, so too did the prickly sensations.
"Sylphwood?" The first witch spoke. "The lost child Sylphwood?"
"Yes. I've been stranded on the monobrain planet for nine years."
"Be the connector with ye also?"
"Mr. Philamount thinks so. Back on the monobrain world, I mean."
"Then child, ye be not a great curse but our great hope. Since The Conundrum, much here has slid into disarray and we oft be suspicious and short of temper. My apologies fer about to spell ye."
"That's okay." Carole wiped a trickle of sweat from her forehead. "At least you stopped in time. But what problems has The Conundrum caused in your world?"
"Werewolves be the biggest ache to our heads. They be everywhere. Sprouting up like nasty weeds. Even wolfbane be of little help, such be the mood of the wolf these days. That be why we Westhill Witches travel so far north. Built this hall hoping fer The Whistler and The Wood to keep us safe. Better the evil that stays put than the one who's fleet of foot, eh?" she cackled. "So where be that fraud Melodious now?"
"I don't know. We were talking just before I fell off the planet."
"He be along in proper time, then. Most like to seek us out to help with the search fer ye. Little fer it but to wait. Ye be an honored guest, Sylphwood multitasker. Come join the party."
As if hearing an unspoken order, the coven broke into small groups and the hall quickly filled with the noisy cackles and meows.
"I be Herling," she added, smiling a toothy grin. "Head Witch of the Westhills." She glanced around the room before calling out, "Mariat witchling, come hither, girl."
From behind a group of youngish witches came a girl who looked to be about the same age as Carole. She was wide-eyed, but was clearly trying to appear as knowing and wise as Herling.
"This be Mariat," Herling said. "She be apprenticed to the coven, to be schooled in the way of Westhill Witches. Tis a great honor, fer we Westhillers accepts only the best."
Mariat blushed as if embarrassed to be singled out with such a compliment.
"Still be a lot of learning fer ya, girl, so don't be getting a swelled head just yet," Herling added, with a wink to Carole. "Come show Sylphwood the way of we witches." And with a rustle of her skirt, Head Witch Herling shambled off towards two of the more elderly looking crones.
"Be ye truly a multitasker?" Mariat said straight away.
"That's what I've been told, but I really don't remember."
"But ye escaped The Whistler and The Wood! I've never heard tell of any other able to do such."
"I'm not surprised," Carole shuddered. "But your cats don't seem to believe me."
Mariat giggled. "Never ye mind Brutus. He be always boasting about something or other. Do him good to get beat with his own game. Come, I show ye the makings of the new brew, but it won't be ready fer three more nights now. Not since the other batch spoilt."
Carole followed her to a corner hearth where a big black cauldron simmered away overtop some low burning coals. She wrinkled her nose at the bitter smell wafting out of the pot. "You actually drink this stuff?"
"Drink it?" Mariat let loose a cackle. "Sylphwood, ye be funny."
"What's so funny about that? And you can call me Carole."
"We don't drink the brew, Carole. We see the future with it."
"You do? How?"
"By what we adds to it. If ye wish to know answers 'bout the summer, ye add the things of summer: grass, flowers, thistles, bugs and the like. If ye wish to know 'bout autumn, ye adds the things of autumn. If ye wish to know 'bout many years off, ye add that which lives a long time: bark of the ancient forest trees, shell of a grandad tortoise, bones of an old one. Stuff and such like that."
"So if I wanted to know about my own future, would I add, say, some of my hair to the brew?"
"Tis so. Many things may be added, so many types of brews can be made. Tis witch lore of the most complex sort and I not be so good at it yet. Head Witch Herling be the best of the coven, but it takes three full days and three full nights to cook a brew, and this night's past upset did spoilt her last batch. So Philamount will get no answer tonight, should he show."
"Oh, so Professor Philamount was looking for answers, was he? What to?"
"Not certain. I be only a witchling still, so many things kept secret from me yet."
"Do you have a broom?"
"Course. What witch doesn't?"
"Have you ever fallen off?"
"Pssshaw. Be I look like a crawling babe to ye? Course I never fall. Westhill Witches never fall."
"Thought so," Carole said. Just then her stomach let out a low grumble.
"Be ye hungry, Carole Sylphwood?"
"It has been a while since I've eaten."
"Then ye come and sample witch fare like none other. 'Tis The Feast of the Planting Moon we be celebrating. This be the best meal second only to the Harvesting Moon." Mariat led Carole to the other side of the hall to where a large table was laid out with an assortment of food, none of which Carole recognized.
"Ah... There's no bat's wings or newt eyeballs in this stuff, is there?"
Mariat giggled again. "Be all ye multitaskers so funny? Bats wings and such be ingredients for brew, not for food."
"Oh, I'm so glad. What do you recommend?"
The witchling pointed out her favorite dishes. Carole, sampling them, discovered that the food was delicious. She was famished and filled her plate. Mariat did likewise, saying that being a good hostess also meant she got to eat before the older witches, instead of after, which was her usual witchling place.
They took their food to a bench near the brew pot. Between mouthfuls Carole continued to ask questions.
"This here feast be to celebrate the end of the snows. 'Til now there still be killing frosts covering the ground, but they be gone now 'til after harvest."
"So is this the longest day of the year?"
"No, that be the Birthing Solstice; still a few moons off yet." Mariat's eyes sparkled. "That be a most powerful night fer spell making and witch lore. The most powerful night of all fer live spelling."
"Live spelling?"
"Healing spells. Helping spells. The Death Solstice be its opposite, in the season of the snows, when it be mostly cold and dark. That be the time fer death spelling. Nasty business that. Still, gots to know it all if ye want to be a Westhiller." Mariat sighed, "To bad this here feast be stuck way up here in the north in such a stuffy hall. Times past it be out-of-doors with great bonfires, warming spring breezes and merry music from nearby villages and such."
"Because of the werewolves?"
"Yup. They be such a problem that even here we Westhillers mostly stay indoors at night, even fer the Moon Feast. Such an embarrassment that be too!"
"Do the werewolves bother the ghosts and spirits, too?"
"Oh, no. The spirit folk be not hindered by fleshy types. In fact Herling thinks 'tis other way arount. Spirit folk in uproar over shifting dimensions and be taking out their frustrations on others, such as they can. Werewolves be not very bright and easy to bother, so they be bullied most often. Then they gets all riled up and looks arount fer someone to bite. It makes fer intolerable time, so the Westhill Coven comes here to northern country fer some peace and quiet."
"Hmm, nice vacation resort, with killer forests and man-eating fog. So there aren't any werewolves around?"
"Be but a few, though so far none is able to
get into the hall."
"Is that why the windows are so high up?"
"That be so, high and smallish. Though if pesky enough, a wolf still be able to break through."
"Does all that cat pee on the doorway have something to do with the werewolves too?"
"True enough." Mariat smiled, seeming impressed with Carole's quick perception of the workings of witch society. "Cat pee makes wolf forget about the windows and try to get at cats through the front door. That be why such thickness to the door. Wolf attacks until it gets tuckered out and goes home to bed."
"But the door wasn't locked. What if a werewolf pulls down the latch during an attack?"
"Wolves always howl into the night. That gives us witches plenty of time to prepare," Mariat said.
"What else do you do, to prepare, I mean?"
"We spread wolfbane about. Plant gardens of the stuff on the hills which surround the coven. That be one of my witchling duties, to tend wolfbane gardens. It smells real bad to werewolves. Smells real bad to witches too," Mariat added as an afterthought. "'Specially when we needs to bathe in the stuff. And sometimes, if a wolf not be put off by our witch defensiveness, we prepare a spell to fry the critter before it gets to us, but that be only as a final resort. Wolves not really be bad or mischievous creatures, and they usually give us no never minds at all. Just these days they be riled to distraction by the Conundrum.
"Everybody be riled by the Conundrum, though if truth be told, Carole, I don't remember a time that be other than like this."
"Me neither, though sometimes I think I dream about what it used to be like. What my home was like."
"Dreams be powerful magic stuff," Mariat nodded.
"Mariat, a wolf was after me last night when I got stuck between this and the Monobrain Realm."
"Be ye alone at the time?"
"No, I had a couple of brainy pigs with me."
"Be that the smell on ye?"
"Probably."
"Wolves like pork very much. Maybe they's able to smell it clear through to the other dimension during the overlay."
"If that's true, than it's a sure bet they can smell it on me now."
"We best tell Herling. She'll know what to do. Herling be a very old witch, very wise."
Mariat skipped over to where the head witch was still talking with the two other crones. A minute later Herling followed Mariat back to Carole, who stood up and set her empty plate on the bench.
"Be that true what Mariat say, Sylphwood? A wolf be searching ye out from the other dimension?"
"Philamount thinks so. He said I only made a partial jump to this realm and that's why the werewolf couldn't find me, but the creature was prowling all around us."
Herling remained silent for a moment, deep in thought. "Philamount be very wise fer an old fraud. More to this than just pig smell. Probable some spirits thinking ye be a monobrain and be wanting to teach ye a lesson. Probable they who led the wolf to ye. If such be the case, then we have wolf fer certain this night."
Herling spun around and clapped her hands together, instantly getting the attention of witches and cats alike. "Coven, prepare fer wolfish attack. It be near certain that one comes this night, and likely to be peskish sort of attack, also. Make food safe behind pantry door. Lock the latch. Cats, be strengthening yer diversionary pee. Prepare brooms fer time of need." She clapped her hands again and witches and cats jumped into action.
Mariat clasped Carole's hand. "Come. Tis my job to prepare brooms fer flight."
"In case you need to escape?"
"If wolf gets into hall and we can't spell such, 'tis easier to fly off fer a time, 'til the creature gets bored and runs off into night. That way none gets bit nor bothered."
"But I don't have a broom."
"Ye ride with me and my cat, Cleopatra. She be a beauty and not mind the company. It'll also make Brutus extreme jealous that multitasker snubs him for Cleo." Mariat snickered.
She led Carole up a flight of stairs to a large room where dozens of brooms lay propped against three of the four walls. Mariat picked up a few that had fallen over, and made sure the rest were spaced evenly apart.
The fourth wall was actually a large set of double doors held shut by a heavy cross bar. Mariat checked that one end of a rope was securely attached to the crossbar. The rest of the rope fed up and through two ceiling mounted pulleys and down to a huge weight, balanced precariously on the edge of a shelf. Mariat tested the rope knot at this end and gently pushed against the weight. It wobbled uncertainly.
"This be the way to open doors in a hurry," Mariat smiled. "Drop the rock and doors fly open. If need be, all witches can leave in one big hustle, like bats from a cave." She selected a broom and brought it over for Carole to inspect. "This be mine," she said with love in her voice. "Tis made special by me and works only fer me. What thinks ye, Carole Sylphwood?"
Carole lifted the broom from Mariat's hand, surprised at how light it felt. "Wow! It tingles, like it's full of energy."
"Tis exactly so. My broom be fastest of the coven, cause I added special magic gifted to me from my grandwitch. It be magic only granny and me knows. Every good witch keeps a few spells just to herself and family. But I show ye someonce, when we gets more time to play."
"I'd like to. Except for the brainy pigs, I don't really have any friends to play with."
"We be friends," Mariat stated. She placed her hands on Carole's shoulders and stared straight into her eyes. "We be good friends. And when ye fix Conundrum, and pesky wolves no longer be so bothersome, ye visit with Mariat all the time and learn the ways of we Westhillers."
"You've got yourself a deal." Carole put the broom back against the wall and followed Mariat out of the room.
Downstairs, preparations for the wolf's arrival seemed complete. The cats had obviously taken their job seriously, because the entranceway reeked even more than before, if that were possible. All the food had been removed from the main hall to a side room, though the witches were still coming and going, talking, laughing and eating as if nothing were out of the ordinary. Carole suddenly realized that if events had been occurring this way for the past nine years, such preparations would now seem very routine indeed. She tried to follow the witches' lead, and to relax and enjoy herself as much as possible, though the stronger smell of cat pee in the air effectively squashed any remaining appetite.
Brutus sounded the alarm with a low throaty growl. It was picked up and amplified by the other cats.
"That be warning plenty enough," Herling told them. "We be quiet now, so as not to rile the beast excessively. Come, Sylphwood, ye get to the middle of we witches. Mariat ye stand next to Sylphwood."
The rest of the witches and cats moved to form two large circles around the girls, cats on the outside and witches on the inside.
"Westhill Witches," Head witch Herling spoke softly, "Sylphwood multitasker be our great hope for ending Conundrum, and saving our realm from such as the last years has brung us. Shield her with yer magic and, if needs be, with yer blood."
She turned to the girls. "Mariat, be there need, take Sylphwood to flight by yer broom. No lollygagging about neither."
Mariat's reply was cut off by a bloodcurdling howl that sent shivers screaming up Carole's spine.
"'Tis close," Mariat whispered. "Not much by way of warning with this beast, neither. Tis unusual, that."
Moments later the howl came again, this time directly outside the door. It was followed within a heartbeat by a second howl from the back of the building. The witches shifted about uneasily.
"That be real strange," Mariat said in a near whisper. "Northern wolf always travels alone."
"Be ye ready, girl!" Herling warned in a raspy whisper. Cats and witches began chanting softly.
Carole could feel the prickly power rising in the hall. This time it felt as though the energy was being directed around her instead of at her. She held her breath.
The werewolf gave no more warning. It smashed through a window and came crash
ing down in a howling flurry of twisting fur and gnashing teeth. But before it touched the floor, it exploded in a puff of black smoke.
Carole got a much better view of the second werewolf, which dropped through the window on the heels of the first, before the coven could charge up a second spell. It landed behind the witches.
With an enraged roar, it leapt directly for her throat.
"Run!" Mariat screamed, trying to step between Carole and the wolf.
Carole wasn't about to lose her new found friend. She dove hard at Mariat's waist, tackling the girl heavily to the floor. The wolf flew over them, its jaws, snapping on thin air, narrowly missing Carole's neck. It crashed headfirst into a table, momentarily stunning itself.
"Now we run." Carole yelled as she ran up the stairs as fast as she could.
Behind her, pandemonium reigned as witches screamed, cats screeched and the beast roared back to life. She stole a quick look behind to make sure Mariat was still with her. What she saw chilled her blood. Instead of the witchling, the werewolf was bounding after her.
She dashed into the broom room, flinging the door shut just as the wolf slammed against it with a howl of frustration. Knowing the door wouldn't hold, she triggered the pulley rope. As the rock toppled, a dark shape came at her from the shadows.
She screamed and grabbed up the nearest broom. Before she could swing the makeshift weapon, clawlike fingers gripped her arms, stopping her cold.
"Miss Sylphwood, I do not believe that now is the most opportune time to learn the proper mechanics of broom flight."
"Philamount! There's a werewolf--"
The door exploded in slivers and snarls.
"Quickly," Philamount ordered, dragging Carole to the now open escape route. "Out!"
"But we'll fall!"
"Focus on home. Concentrate on a familiar image and jump."
* * *
- 9 -
Carole screwed her eyes shut, but instead of hitting the ground she was jerked backwards with a neck-snapping velocity. Twisting, she saw Melodious Philamount wrapped in a shimmering rainbow vortex, struggling to hang onto her shoulders, but he lost his grip and spun off into a black, starless void. An instant later her rucksack flashed through her mind. She latched onto it, and found herself sprawled, chilled and shivering, beside the pack on a carpet of warm grass.
The Lost Witch Page 5
