The Rod of Seven Parts

by Douglas Niles

  "He helped me, Mum!"

  Badswell fiercely confronted the bloated hag, and I had a sense that standing up to his mother was not something he did casually.

  "His mistake, then," Bert replied, turning her back to her son as she regarded me with those wicked, piglike eyes. "But our good fortune."

  "Whattaya mean?" grunted Bads.

  "You've never had the taste, boy, but halfling is a rare delicacy." Bertisha nodded ominously at the big pot. "Those plump legs are lined with good, sweet meat. Boiled for a few hours, then sliced thin like I've tried to show yer Pap, it'll tickle yer tongue better'n good venison."

  She fastened those eyes upon me again, starting to drool at the prospect of the meal she'd just described. Apparently worried that the spell of slowness might not be enough to hold me in place, she rummaged in a pile of junk and came up with a length of ratted rope. With a few quick twists, she pulled it snug around my wrists and tied a crude knot to keep me pinned to the bench.

  Her words—not to mention her breath—were making me thoroughly sick. Yet despite my increasingly frantic struggles, I moved far too slowly to do anything effective.

  It was then that I noticed the object dangling from a thong around her neck, remembered the touch she had administered—the touch that had slowed me down to turtle speed.

  A dark stub swung from the leather strap, suspended on her huge, round belly. I saw that the object seemed to be made of the same black wood as the healing stick that I carried. Indeed, there were curious patterns and indentations on both ends of Bertisha's stick, and I got the distinct impression that the piece might match the opposite geometrical facets carved into my own talisman.

  In a flash of insight, I recalled my sense of direction and knew that it wasn't the cave nor the woman that had guided my path.

  It had been that little piece of stick.

  Already I could see that her ebony stub was slightly longer than mine. It also differed in that it had the strange carvings at both ends, while my own piece was perfectly blunt at one terminus. Furthermore, although it was clearly magical, it had a completely different effect. Obviously the strange black stick was the source of the spell that had mired me in this cocoon of invisible mud.

  A shadow darkened the entrance, and Oakgnar shuffled in, his arms filled with dried limbs of hardwood. Without looking at his wife, he sat on a boulder and commenced breaking the logs over his knee, quickly forming a pile of firewood. Bertisha stumped over and began to feed the smoldering fire, which slowly grew into a crackling blaze.

  "But Mum," Bads tried again, "he fixed my leg! I asked him to come here so's you could meet him and say thanks!"

  "I will say thanks!" Bertisha replied, smiling wickedly. "I'll be grateful for each delicious mouthful!"

  Bads slumped miserably in the corner, looking at me with a pathetic expression, as if to say "I tried." I shrugged, unwilling to hold his mother's villainy against him. Once more straining to rise from the bench, I determined that the spell of slowness still held me in its sticky grip.

  A low growl rumbled from the mouth of the cave. Bert, Oakgnar, and Badswell all spun to gape in that direction. I tried to whirl around, but my motion was more of a slow twist than a rapid spin. It seemed as if ten seconds passed before I could see what was going on.

  Crouching low, hackles bristling, a large hound crept forward. Mournful eyes fastened upon me with familiar, remembered sadness, and I realized that the dog from Oakvale had found me again.

  "Hound! Good dog! Come here!" I cried, my words dirgelike and slow under the effects of the spell.

  The forlorn gaze turned toward the ogre-wife as the dog, with apparent reluctance, bared her teeth in a low, rumbling growl. The animal's mouth suddenly gaped, revealing sharp white teeth as she barked explosively.

  "Kill it! Kill it!" shrieked Bertisha, seizing a long club from the corner. I thought she was going to bash the animal herself, but instead she clouted poor Oakgnar on the shoulder, then jabbed the crude weapon into his hands. "Kill it!" she repeated, her words echoing shrilly in the enclosed confines of the cave.

  Oakgnar rose to his feet and lifted the club. The hound stood stiff-legged, floppy jowls drawn into a menacing snarl, staring at the ogre but making no move to advance or retreat.

  "Mebbe it'll go away," declared Oakgnar, without a great deal of conviction.

  The dog looked at me again, and I sensed some sort of plea in those bright eyes. I had a peculiar notion that the animal was trying to communicate with me. Why had she returned? More to the point, could she help me get out of this mess?

  Frantically I wrestled with the knot binding my hands. Of course, as wildly as I struggled, I was still mired in the cocoon of slowness, so my efforts remained maddeningly retarded. The ogre family's attention remained fixed upon the big dog, though I saw Bads flash me a quick look. He saw my hands working at the knot, but said nothing.

  At the same time, a whitish glow slowly suffused one wall of the cave—the rocky surface directly behind Bertisha—and my heart sank in grim certainty of what was coming. Redoubling my efforts, I felt one end of the line slowly slip through the loosening knot. Ignoring the rasping pain against my skin, I pulled one hand, then the other, free of the bonds. Goggle-eyed, I watched the cave wall change, noticing that Bertisha and Oakgnar's attention remained fixed upon the barking, bristling dog.

  Light suddenly spilled into the cave from the surreal opening, and Oakgnar turned, gaping stupidly at the transforming surface.

  "Look out for the dog!" shrilled Bertisha, stepping forward and snatching the club from her husband's nerveless hands.

  The hound still made no move to attack, but when the hulking woman advanced with upraised club, the animal skirted to the side, staying just out of range of the heavy stick, teeth bared, dark eyes regarding Bertisha with almost palpable sadness.

  "Mum—look!" Bads grunted, pointing at the back wall of the cave.

  The ogre-wife showed no inclination to turn away from the hound, even as the opening grew more distinct. Again I saw the long tunnel, flanked by the white pillars or tree trunks. The first lupine monsters, their arachnoid bodies scuttling grotesquely forward, charged into view. More of the horrific creatures raced behind, a half dozen of them closing fast.

  With a growl, Oakgnar picked up several large stones, stepping to the mouth of the aperture in the back wall of the cave. With remarkably effective aim, the ogre pitched one of the rocks, striking the leading spider in its wolfish head. The animal fell, stunned or dead, but several of its fellows leapt over the motionless form, hurtling toward the cave with shocking speed.

  Bertisha turned finally, gaping into the unnatural tunnel, jabbering inarticulately in fury and fear, and the hound picked that moment to spring. The animal smashed into the burly woman's back, driving her to her hands and knees. Growling with frightening savagery, the dog's fanged jaws closed toward the back of her neck.

  I winced, expecting a gout of blood, but instead the snapping fangs severed the leather thong tied around the obese throat without so much as breaking Bertisha's skin. The piece of black stick clattered across the floor as the monstrous woman shrieked in rage, spinning on the floor, raising her club against the snarling dog.

  The hound pounced away, crouching before me, facing the gaping, lighted opening in the wall of the cave. I rose to my feet, still moving like thick molasses, instinctively groping toward the thong and stick that lay a few feet away.

  "Pap! Look out!" cried Badswell, charging toward Oakgnar as the ogre pitched more stones into the magical tunnel. Another spider-wolf went down, but the next one pounced forward, slavering jaws striking toward the bull ogre's face. Oakgnar tumbled to the floor, grappling the creature with his powerful arms, but when those wolflike jaws ripped into his cheek, the ogre bellowed in unworldly pain.

  Oakgnar's back arched reflexively, his eyes all but bulging from his face. Drool spattered unnoticed down the ogre's cheeks as the venomous bite stung him, sending almost visible rive
rs of agony through his convulsing body. In another moment, he lay utterly still, and the spider ripped into him with cruel fangs.

  Bertisha shrilled unspeakable rage, hurling herself at the murderous monster. With a blow of her massive club, she drove the spider-wolf to the ground, then crushed its skull with a single bash of her fist. More of the hideous beasts crowded through the opening, howling, snarling, and yelping, but for a moment, the berserk female held them at bay, slashing the heavy club back and forth like a cavalier wielding a feather-light rapier.

  My hand finally fastened around the thong attached to the black stick, and I pulled it up with agonizing slowness. Jamming it into my tunic, I turned toward the mouth of the cave, taking one plodding footstep after another. I heard the hound barking behind me and knew that she had joined the fray.

  Bads raised a club of his own, bashing the monsters away from Oakgnar's ravaged body, his half-ogre face filled with agony. Tears brimmed from his eyes as he looked toward his mother. Bertisha dropped another of the spider-beasts but was forced to take a step backward, allowing more of the monsters to spill into the cave.

  "Take them—seize them!" growled one of the monsters in a surprisingly clear voice. The command, with its deliberate enunciation, chilled me as much as the appearance of the savage creatures. The speaker had a pair of gruesome arms, covered with bristling hairs, growing from its shoulders. One of those limbs gestured, pointing directly at me.

  "Come on—run!" I urged, my voice as thick and slow as my body. Badswell shook his head, and at that moment, his mother screamed in pain. Looking back, I saw two of the spider-wolves shoot tendrils of sticky web, erupting from the bloated abdomens, spiraling outward to encircle the ogre-wife's feet. As she tumbled backward, the monsters leapt upon her massive body, their cruel fangs tearing into her flesh.

  At the same moment, I stumbled headlong toward the door, as if I had been leaning against a door that had suddenly swung out of the way. My feet kicked free, and I knew that the slow spell had passed. Sprinting toward the cave mouth, still clutching Bertisha's stub of black stick, I cast a backward glance at Badswell, silently pleading for him to follow.

  The hound barked savagely, leaping at the nearest spider-beast, driving the thing to the ground and sinking long teeth into its lupine neck. With a crushing bite, the hound twisted its head, and I heard the snap of bone as the monster fell dead. Silently the dog raced toward me, with Badswell lumbering hastily behind her.

  Several spider-wolves milled around inside the supernatural doorway, growling, worrying the bodies of Badswell's Mum and Pap. With a gesture of its hairy arm, the monster that had spoken in that clear voice gestured toward us and repeated its command.

  "There they are, my kakkuu! Take them!"

  Immediately the howls and yelps rose into the cacophony of the hunt, the spider-wolves lunging toward the cavern mouth in response to their leader's cry. I saw a single chance to save ourselves from the creatures.

  "Here—knock one of these down!" I panted, hurling myself against one of the pillars beneath the massive granite lintel.

  Fortunately Badswell got the idea and swung the big club against the sturdy column. Stones and dust crumbled down on us, but the support remained intact. The half-ogre tossed the club to the ground and lunged at the post, driving his shoulder into the solid block of stone.

  I dived through the cave mouth and skidded onto the ground, turning around to watch, silently urging the big fellow on as a trio of wolf-spiders scrambled toward him, bloody jaws gaping hungrily.

  Then boulders began to tumble free, bouncing beside Badswell, and a split second later the pillar of stone toppled outward. The half-ogre lunged backward as tons of rock smashed into the entrance of the cave, crushing the deadly attackers. More chunks broke free, tumbling with ground-shaking force, sending a great cloud of dust billowing into the air and completely concealing the entrance from our taut observation.

  Yet we both sensed that there was no purpose in further flight. If the cave-in failed to seal off the ogre lair, we might as well die right here as in the trackless woods of the ravine. The hound stood between us, panting, ears upraised as she, too, studied the wreckage, waiting for the dust to settle.

  In seconds, the collapse had ceased rumbling, and the billowing cloud began to thin. I finally got a good look, enough to insure that no passage remained. Taking only a moment to confirm that observation, I turned toward the woods and hurtled myself down the steep slope into the ravine. The hound, ears flopping, bounded after me, while Badswell picked his way, more slowly, behind us.

  Skidding down to the bottom of the gully wall, I scrambled onto a log and jogged away. In the full sweep of darkness, the forest was ominously still around us.

  Finally, minutes later, we paused to catch our breath, straining to listen over the sounds of our own gasps for any sounds of pursuit. Behind us, the night echoed nothing more than a growing circle of grim, ominous silence.

  CHAPTER 9

  TRAVELING COMPANIONS

  Dawn found Badswell and me in the depths of trackless wilderness, blundering wearily along. We had left the gorge hours ago, making our way across a thickly wooded forest floor. Warm air sifted through the ancient trunks, carrying a hint of moistness and decay. Or perhaps the stench was just a result of my mood.

  Finally, exhausted, we collapsed amid a grotto of lichen-encrusted boulders, sipping water from a clear spring that bubbled up from the ground. I caught my breath and allowed my heartbeat to slowly settle, straining once again to listen. Now, at least, birds chirped in the overhanging greenery, heralding the arrival of day as they had each dawn for countless centuries. Their music offered no balm to my pain, but the song eased my fears slightly. I felt certain that if any of the hideous spider-wolves had been nearby, the birds would be unlikely to make the slightest peep.

  "Mum and Pap—d'you think they're kilt?" asked Bads miserably, turning his dark eyes toward me. Water from the spring drooled across his protruding chin, and he carelessly wiped it away, shifting his gaze back to the direction from which we'd come.

  "I'm afraid so," I said, surprisingly saddened by the acknowledgment. Bertisha had been a hateful creature, but it was hard to feel that even one such as she deserved that horrid fate. Furthermore, Oakgnar, I now felt certain, had paid many times over for his crime of kidnapping the human woman.

  "What was those things?"

  "I... I don't know," I admitted. "I saw them once before...." Memories of Oakvale's plaza, of a bloodstained shred of green silk, overcame my efforts to speak.

  "And that dog—you called her like she was yours."

  "Not mine... but I saw her before, when the monsters attacked me for the first time." With that thought, I whirled around, looking for the floppy-eared hound that had fought so bravely. The animal had padded after us as we plunged through the woods, but now there was no sign of her.

  "Must've wandered off," Badswell concluded. "Too bad. She was a good dog."

  "The best," I agreed fervently, wishing I had been more alert as to the hound's presence. Still, it wasn't as though I would have tied a leash around her neck. The dog was free to come and go as she pleased.

  I was struck by another thought. Pulling the chip of wood and broken thong from my tunic, I extended it toward Badswell. He took it as I removed my own piece of stick from my belt pouch. "I'm afraid those monsters have something to do with this—or these."

  Indeed, it seemed almost certain as I looked at them together that the two pieces of wood were in fact part of the same longer shaft. "Where did your mother get that?"

  "I dunno. I guess she found it in the cave jist a few days back—asked me if I brung it there, then thumped me when I told her I hadn't."

  He looked at me, a plea for understanding in his guileless face. "But it was the truth!" he insisted. "Me an' Pap din't know how she come to get it, but there it was. She even used it to slow me down so she could catch me and whup me."

  His eyes misted, and he looked at me,
speaking through a choking voice. "What am I goin' to do now?"

  I shuddered, remembering my early intention of rescuing the hapless human woman from the clutches of the brutish ogre. Still, though Bertisha might not have been much of a mother, she was the only 'Mum' Bads had ever known, and it grieved me to see his agony.

  "You can come with me," I said, without even thinking of the future ramifications. "At least, till I get..." My words trailed off.

  "Where's you goin'?"

  "Well, to tell you the truth, I don't know."

  "What was you doin' when you come along to find me yesterday?"

  Good question, I thought, but then I remembered the answer. "It's that stick of your mother's, I think. The one that I'm carrying seemed to be attracted to it somehow. At least, it made me attracted to it. I sensed where it was and had a general idea of going that way."

  "They're the same color, huh?" Bads squinted at his chip of ebony, then looked at the piece I held.

  "Yup. And these patterns here—see the way they're carved? Like some kind of matching puzzle piece." I had a sudden idea. "Let me have that one for a moment. I want to see if they fit together."

  Bads looked strangely reluctant, holding the piece next to his chest as if he thought I'd snatch it away from him. At first I was irritated at his distrust, but then I realized that the ebony talisman was probably the only memento he had of his mother.

  "I promise I'll give it right back," I pledged seriously.

  "Well... okay."

  He handed me the piece and I looked at it closely. As I had earlier observed, it was slightly longer than my own and perceptibly thicker toward one end. Taking one segment in each hand, I raised them before my face, trying to determine which end of Badswell's stick seemed the best match for my own. I brought them toward each other—and the larger piece abruptly vanished from my grip.

  "Where'd it go?" demanded the half-ogre, glowering with barely contained anger.

  "I—I don't know!" I stammered. "It just... went away! It simply vanished!"