"Big deal. What difference does it make, if I'm stuck here for the rest of my life?"
Philamount twanged the tip of his nose with a forefinger and the sound reverberated through the air. He placed his hands lightly upon Carole's shoulders, "I do not think that needs to be the case. As I've already remarked, I believe you are quite capable of finding and reconnecting the dimensional connector yourself."
"But how do I do that?" She fidgeted under his clammy touch. "You just told me the connector has to be at The Hub in order to do a transdimensional jump."
"True enough," He removed his hands and blew upon them as if they'd been burnt. "But it wasn't always this way. At some point in the very distant past, The Hub was not the center of all things, and the dimensions were not all neatly connected. Mind you, there are no records of those ancient times, only meager scraps of fables and legends. Those fragments hint of an age when we multitaskers explored the dimensions by free-fall. And I believe that is what you have done.
"When I met you last night, you had already jumped between two dimensions, and you did so without being tethered to a connector. You, Miss. Sylphwood, free-fell. An incredible achievement, totally unheard of for millennia. Unfortunately, it also means that no one else can tell you how it's done. You'll just have to discover the rules for free-falling on your own."
"Great! That makes me feel a whole bunch better."
"Give yourself a little credit. Anyone who can survive the monobrains for nine years should have no problem completing a transdimensional connection while in free-fall."
"Of course not. A piece of cake, except I haven't the foggiest what to do, or where the connector's located or where The Hub is, for that matter."
"Don't fret, my girl. Think of the adventure. Besides, I'm certain the connector won't have strayed too far away."
"That's the best you can do? Pat me on the back and say, 'Don't fret'?"
"You must also trust your inner voice. Events may seem very confusing at this juncture, but your inner voice is never wrong, if you're open to hearing it. Do that and I'm sure everything will turn out just fine."
"Maybe I should just forget the whole thing."
"That would not be advisable." The professor stood up abruptly. His body was wobbling as if he was made of gelatin. "Oh fiddle-faddle, we are beginning to separate. I feel I must warn you, now that you've experienced free-falling, it is highly likely you'll leap completely into the next dimension you bump into. It was relatively easy for me to do, so I'm certain a free-faller such as yourself couldn't resist the opportunity."
"But that's not good, is it?" Carole could see the maple tree through Philamount's now translucent belly button.
"No. Jumping is exceedingly risky these days. We've had a number of incidents."
"What's that supposed to mean?"
"Let's just say there are a few vacancies in my class, should you wish to go on a senior field trip next semester."
"Still, that's not likely to happen, is it? Crashing into another dimension? I mean it's never happened to me before."
"The fact that you've bumped into the Ghostly Spirit Realm undoubtedly means your Monobrain Dimension is on the move; most probably spiraling in towards The Hub. I'm afraid it is extremely likely that you will cross paths with other dimensions, many dimensions in the very near future."
"So what am I supposed to do if that happens?"
Philamount's body was now twisting up like a corkscrew. "Travel cautiously and use a familiar to guide you out as quickly as possible."
"A familiar?"
"Yes, an animal familiar. Certain animals are naturally familiar with transdimensional travel. They're not so easily confused nor nauseated by dimensional fluxes. At The Hub, novice jumpers must always travel with a familiar guide. Not to do so, is grounds for immediate detention, if they manage to make it back in one piece, that is."
"But I don't have a familiar!"
He was barely more than an outline. "Your even-toed ungulates. Excellent choices, either of them."
"Runt and Smoky? You mean a brainy pig can be a familiar?"
"Yes," his voice was less than a whisper. "And one more thing. I'm not certain as to the exact configuration of the monobrain connector, but most connectors tend to resemble a woooo..."
"What? I didn't get that. What's the connector resemble?" Carole struggled to read the man's lips, but his face was already stretched paper thin. "Philamount, what the heck is a woo?"
Seconds later there was a wavering pulse of air and then nothing more. It was as if Melodious T. Philamount had never existed.
* * *
- 12 -
Carole strode towards the farm, her mind reeling. She could scarcely believe that in the span of a few hours, she'd nearly been devoured three times, made a new friend and discovered her true identity--if that part was actually true.
She still wasn't completely sold on Professor Philamount or the idea of being a multitasker, especially if everyone else at The Hub looked like he did. Considering the handful of nasty surprises the Ghostly Spirit Realm had already thrown her way, she had no reason to doubt that other dimensions were dangerous places and that she was somehow attracted to them. She needed to be prepared.
She needed to find a familiar and fast.
The latest batch of piglets wouldn't arrive for weeks and she knew of no other brainy animals in the area, which left only Runt and Smoky. True they had a good lead, but knowing Smoky, he'd use any excuse to stop for a snooze. If she left immediately, she figured she could catch up within a day or two.
At the Murtz property line, she turned towards the forest trail and stopped short. What about Hal? She'd barely given a thought to her father-not, and after everything he'd done for her; everything he'd sacrificed.
She couldn't afford to waste time. Every second allowed the pigs to move that much farther away and some dimension to come that much closer. She worried her bottom lip before the obvious answer came to her.
Bursting from the weeds, Carole scrambled across the yard, into the barn and over to Runt's stall. She emptied her rucksack onto the floor and gathered her jackknife, a piece of flint rock, a roll of string, an old canteen and the bar of wolfbane soap, and put them into the pack. Pulling it closed, she threw it over a shoulder and, with a grim smile, took a final look at the place.
The barn had never been more than an eyesore, and now that the hogs were all gone it was just cold, empty space. On her slate board Carole wrote two lines: Moving on. Thanks for nothing. She read the note over a few times before reluctantly wiping off the last line and signing her name. Setting the slate atop a bale of straw where the Murtzes would be sure to find it and taking her boar's head staff in hand, she turned to go. As she did so, her foot struck a cob of feed corn.
The corn skittered across the floor. Food! She'd packed nothing to eat and there was little more than eggs and vegetables in the cottage. Wait! Maude always kept oat cakes on hand for emergencies and uninvited guests. The cakes were tough to chew--an added incentive for the guests to leave--but they kept well and would pack easy. The problem was getting to them without getting caught, especially since Beatrice was likely to be nosing about the kitchen this close to dinner hour. Still, there was no way around it. Food was essential.
She ran to the farmhouse, tucked her staff under the back stairs, and tiptoed up to the porch. Peering through the screen door, she saw that the kitchen was empty, and she eased the door open. She heard nothing, so she stepped inside and went directly for the pantry. The sack of oat cakes was in its usual place on the bottom shelf.
Carole had nearly finished stuffing her rucksack with cakes when she heard an all too familiar voice.
"Mom I'm hungry, got anything to eat?"
"Wait 'til supper, Beatrice."
"I can't. I'm starving!"
"Take an oat cake if you must, but don't spoil your appetite."
"I don't want a stupid old oat cake."
Carole dove under the kitchen table just as Beatrice came i
nto the kitchen and pulled a tub of ice-cream from the icebox. She dished herself a huge bowl, sat down at the table.
"Did you find the cakes?"
"Yup." Beatrice shoved a large spoonful into her mouth. She sniffed. "You'd better get Carole and Gimpy to muck out the barn, Mom. I can smell pig stink all the way in here. It's disgusting. It's ruining my appetite."
"Talk to your father about it when he gets home."
"That's not going to help me now." She picked up her bowl and shuffled out of the kitchen.
Once she was certain Beatrice wasn't coming back, Carole crawled out from beneath the table and returned the half empty sack to the pantry. She wrestled her now bulging pack onto her shoulders and slipped outside, where she recovered her staff and strode off for the cottage.
* * *
- 13 -
"But I don't understand," Carole sniffed, the tears running freely down her cheeks, "if you're not staying, why can't you come with me?"
"Carole. Daughter-not," Hal smiled kindly, as he secured the top of his own pack. He set it on the table next to hers. "I can still see your face that day I wiped the muck out of those intense hazelnut eyes. How you scowled. How you demanded that I take you home to your fadder and mudder. And how, when I told you it wasn't possible, you declared, 'Den I wait for dem!'
"I gave you my word that we'd wait, and that's what we've been doing these past nine years. Well, the waiting's over. Your long awaited journey home is about to begin. From everything that's already happened and what your professor friend said could happen, I know that I'd only be in the way, that I'd only hold you back."
"You wouldn't. You know lots of stuff and you're wise and strong--"
"Look at me. I'm just an old, slow, one-armed monobrain. I can't hold an intelligent conversation with a pig. I can't glide away from danger, and I certainly can't leap to and from different dimensions. Heck, these days I barely make it to the bathroom in time. What possible good would I be against a werewolf, or a killer fog, or who knows what else?"
"Who cares? You're my father and I want you to come with me."
"Carole, listen. You're more than I could've ever hoped for in a daughter, and you mean more than the world to me. You always will, but we both knew this day would arrive. It's what we've been hoping for; it's what we've been preparing for. And just like Runt and Smoky and all those other brainy pigs, you too are ready."
"It's just... I just didn't think it would end this way. "
"Who said anything about ending? This is a beginning. You have a job to do, Carole Sylphwood. An important job. You must connect our dimension to The Hub and help get this wayward planet of ours back on track. And once you've finished with that little task, I expect to hear all about it over a nice cup of hot chocolate."
"But how'll I ever find you again?"
"Have a little faith, my daughter-not. Your heart will show you the way. It always has. Now come on. We'd best skedaddle."
Despite the urgent need to be moving, Carole wished she could see the look on Marvin's face when he realized just how much work the pig barn actually was. Maybe he'd even make Beatrice take over the chores. Carole smiled at thought of her longtime tormentor mucking out piles of manure-soaked straw.
* * * *
They were nearing the site of her first encounter with The Ghostly Spirit Realm, an encounter which seemed so long ago, even though it was only last night, when Hal spoke. "We'll split up as soon as we're over this hill and out of sight of the farmhouse. Then you'd best hightail it after those pigs of yours."
"What about you?"
"Oh, I'll meander along, same as before I met you, 'til I find a nice place that suits these old bones of mine. And here we are." He stopped just short of the hay field. "I'll keep out of sight 'til I get clear of the neighbors. That way there won't be any troublesome questions."
"Can't you go at least as far as the forest? It'd be easier to keep hidden in the trees."
He pulled her into a tight bear hug. "This is not goodbye. This is 'til we meet again; 'til you accomplish your job. I believe in you, Carole Sylphwood, remember that. I believe in you! Now off you go. Find those pigs and fix that connector." And planting a loud kiss on her forehead, Hal released his daughter-not and strode off, wiping at his eyes.
She watched her father-not disappear from sight over the rise with tears running down her cheeks. With a deep sigh she headed for the woods, feeling the weight of her supplies pressing upon her shoulders. Not that she couldn't handle the pack, but loaded down this way she wondered if she'd be fast enough to catch up with Runt and Smoky. If only she could glide.
Wait a minute, if I am a multitasker, I should be able to soft-walk. She wiped her tears away, positioned herself as if at the start of a race and gave a hard, push-off shove.
She nearly did a face plant.
But why? Philamount said it's got nothing to do with the ground.
She wiggled her toes in the long grass as she mulled over her dilemma. If it's not actually about the ground, then it must be what I believe about the ground.
"Okay feet, listen up. I'm in big trouble. I need to catch those pigs, so I need to travel fast, and the only way I can do that is if I glide. Got it? I need to glide!"
She concentrated on finding her pigs and gave a tentative push. This time her foot slid a little. She gave a second push and slid a little further. It was more difficult; required greater focus, but in almost no time at all she'd crossed the field and was standing at the entrance to the forest trail, without feeling the least bit winded.
Over the years she'd led many Brainy Pigs to this path, and now it was her turn. The Boar's Head trail, leading first to Runt and Smoky and then to The Hub. Or was this the right direction to take?
They'd started off this way, but were her two pigs still on the trail? And would it lead her closer to, or farther away from the dimensional connector?
How could she really know? And why was Philamount so certain she'd know what to do?
Carole thought about her final conversation with The professor. He'd said something else, something about an inner voice helping, about it never being wrong. But what the heck was that supposed to mean? After a moment's reflection, understanding dawned. She raced into the forest.
The path widened after a few hundred feet, and though the forest was dense, the canopy allowed plenty of light to filter through. The woods smelled good and earthy and were full of life, not at all like that dreadful Nightshade forest, and yet try as she might, Carole couldn't really relax.
It's one thing to know what I'm supposed to do, she thought, as she rounded a large tree, but quite another to actually do it. Like, exactly how am I suppose to hear this voice? Sure it's helped me out in the past, but how?
Darn you Philamount. Wasting time talking about conundrums and dynamite, instead of telling me important and useful stuff.
She shifted her pack to a more comfortable position. Well, let's see. If it really was the voice that told me about this trail, then the first time would've been with the first escape, and the first pig I ever helped was... Patch!
With a smile, Carole remembered that day so many years ago when Patch had trotted over and flopped onto her lap. They had become instant best friends; playing together in the mud, chatting in the shade for hours at a time, tormenting that crazy old rooster. She'd even snuck into the barn some nights to sleep, cozy and warm on a bed of straw, beside Patch, despite Hal's objections.
As usual, Beatrice had shattered the joy. "Pigs can't talk."
"Can too!"
"Can't. Just grunt and stink, like you."
"He only talks to me 'cause he's my friend, not yours!"
"Pigs can't be friends. You and yer smelly dad don't got no friends."
"Your stupid and you stink! Patch says so."
"Arrrrgh!"
Maybe Beatrice wouldn't have actually used the pitchfork, but Patch never gave her the chance. He'd charged in like a raging bull. That was the last time Beatrice had dared
to venture near the pigs.
It was also the first time she helped choose which pigs to send to the butcher.
Carole hadn't been able to stand the thought of Patch becoming Beatrice's breakfast. Not knowing what else to do, she'd simply refused to leave his side, clinging to him all night long. It was dawn when she'd heard the solution. She'd been wrapped around Patch's neck, drifting in and out of a troubled sleep, when suddenly she knew she had to take him to the sun.
Together they'd crossed that cold, dew-drenched field into the first blinding rays of light. The path had been a ribbon of liquid gold cutting through the gray. The Boars' Head Staff had been there too, less than fifty feet in, leaning against the blackened and shattered stub of a tree.
It suddenly dawned on Carole that she'd solved other dilemmas in a similar way. The solutions had not appeared until she'd almost given up trying to find them. Getting banished from the schoolroom had been a terrible blow, not because of being alone or even because of the weather, but because she'd wanted to learn.
Read her lips.
It hadn't been like hearing a voice in her head that rain-spattered morning. It was more like catching the scent of something good, like fresh-baked bread, and just knowing what it was.
She realized now that although the answers had seemed simple enough, following them was often a different story.
Losing Patch hadn't been easy, even though letting him go had saved his life. And lip-reading had taken a lot of practice, studying and talking to her own reflection for hours on end.
Exactly where had those answers come from?
The source was obviously someplace deep, and in order to hear she needed to be quiet, to stop the chatter in her head. Could that be what multitasking was really about? Working with different levels of her mind at the same time?
No wonder Philamount found monobrains tough to be around. They never stopped chattering long enough to hear anything. Except Hal wasn't like that. Hal could listen. The professor would definitely like her father-not.
Carole was so taken by these new ideas that she failed to notice how narrow the trail had become. It was so narrow, in fact, that her glides began to resemble short, brisk steps. She also missed the two forms keeping pace, until rustling leaves drew her attention to their shadows moving through the woods.
The Lost Witch Page 7
