sides and my legs pressed together. My tongue was sticking out of my mouth.
Afraid of looking silly, I scrambled to my feet in a hurry and brushed myself off. To my surprise, Jozlyn wasn’t laughing.
She pulled me into a tight hug. “I’m so sorry,” she wailed into my ear. “It must have been awful for you.”
I shrugged and patted her back gently. I’d been expecting more teasing. “It’s all right now. You fixed it,” I told her reassuringly.
I had wanted to yell at her for changing me into a snake, but it didn’t seem right now. She hadn’t meant to do it. Plus, I was the one who’d encouraged her to test the wand.
Still, I couldn’t help hissing into her ear one more time.
She swatted me lightly on the head with the hand that wasn’t holding the wand. “Next time you might not be so lucky, snake-boy,” she smiled, but her happy look vanished in a hurry.
We both looked around. “Now that we’re in the swamp, where do we go?” Jozlyn asked, almost whispering.
Swampland crowded all around us. Hulking trees and vined plants grew close together in snarled clusters as if they didn’t have room to spread out. Fog swirled about in streaming patches like ghostly tentacles.
Whenever I turned my head to the right, my nose started to tingle. “Mean cat,” I mumbled after feeling the strange itch for a third time. Would the scratch ever heal?
“What do you mean?” Jozlyn asked.
I waved my hand. “Nothing. Just remembering that cat from the festival is all.”
I didn’t want to talk about it. There was something odd and mysterious about that cat. Black cats were supposed to be bad luck, and I was sure that included black cats with one silver ear that ran off with pixie dolls.
“Come on, let’s go this way,” I suggested, pointing to our left. I didn’t want anything to do with an itchy nose or with going to the right.
Our progress through Croneswart Swamp was slow. Logs, roots, and pools of murky water appeared in our path every few steps and we were often forced to climb over or go around obstacles.
Pretty soon, our new outfits from Wizard Ast were torn and spattered with globs of sticky mud. The swampy muck covered our hands and faces and even clung to our hair.
Exhausted, we stopped at the edge of a dirty lagoon. The water was dark and smelled like dead fish rotting on the shore.
The lagoon covered a large area and we couldn’t see the other side. The water disappeared in a thick bank of fog.
Jozlyn sat down on a big brown rock and let out a long sigh. “We’re lost,” she moaned. “There’s no way across that lagoon. Unless …”
She looked up at me suddenly. The mischievous look was back in her eyes. Before I could ask what she had planned, she pulled out her wand and squatted in front of the rock.
“Griznt,” she said with surprising authority. Then she tapped the rock with the glowing tip of the wand.
I turned my head and squinted, expecting the brilliant purple light again. Instead, the rock glowed softly and started to melt. Then it slid off the edge of the shore and disappeared into the murky water.
The lagoon bubbled once, then went still.
“What did you do?” I asked. I hadn’t expected my sister to melt rocks. That wasn’t going to get us across the lagoon.
“I don’t …” she started to say, then excitedly pointed out into the lagoon. “Look!”
Something was swimming toward us, something big with a long, skinny neck. The creature came all the way up to the shore and slapped two big fins down at our feet.
It was a turtle, the biggest I’d ever seen. It was pale green with a tan-striped brown shell.
The turtle’s neck extended and its oblong head dipped in a bow. “Master Gramble, Turtlecraft Extraordinaire, humbly at your service,” it said in a deep voice.
31: CROONING IN CRONESWART
LEANING close to Jozlyn, I whispered into her ear so that the turtle couldn’t hear me. “A turtle? Couldn’t you think of anything better? A boat, maybe, or a raft?”
I paused for a smirk. “A big log?”
“He’ll do just fine,” Jozlyn snapped defensively and plenty loud enough for Gramble to hear.
Great, I grumbled silently. Now I’ll have to ride across a swamp on the back of a turtle that knows I’d rather be in a boat. The idea didn’t make me feel confident about the trip.
“You’ll carry us across the lagoon, won’t you, Master Gramble?” Jozlyn asked, patting the turtle on its head.
“It will be a sincere honor and pleasure to bear you to any destination, near or far,” the turtle responded in a slow drawl. Every word and syllable was pronounced precisely, and he paused between sentences.
In other words, it took him a long time to say anything.
“Please climb aboard and we shall depart at once,” he instructed.
Gramble was big, almost five feet wide. There was plenty of room on his shell for Jozlyn and me.
“Should we just … step on you?” I murmured awkwardly. It was an odd question.
“Aye, if you please, young sir,” Gramble replied.
Trying to hold back grins, we carefully stepped onto the turtle. The situation was just a bit silly, and we both wanted to giggle. Who ever heard of heroes riding off to vanquish a witch on the back of a turtle?
True to his word, Gramble didn’t seem to mind us standing on his shell, and in almost no time, we were bobbing far out in the lagoon. I turned around to check but couldn’t see the shore behind us. Like the far shore, it was lost in the fog.
“Please, good travelers, do instruct me as to our destination,” Gramble requested after we’d gotten underway. He sure had a formal way of speaking.
“To the witch’s lair, Master Turtle,” Jozlyn requested, mimicking Gramble’s speech.
We both assumed that Gramble would know the way to Cleogha’s lair. He lived in the swamp near her. That made them neighbors.
“Hmm, hmm,” Gramble drawled. “I am afraid that I do not know the way, my lady. I have seen a witch only once. She actually placed her vile foot upon me, but I know not where to find her now.”
Jozlyn frowned and looked to me for a suggestion.
Gramble was really a rock, not a turtle, I realized. Rocks didn’t get up and move around by themselves. But maybe he’d seen something or someone that would give us a clue.
“Gramble, uh, sir,” I asked, trying to sound formal, “have you seen anyone else, or maybe heard anything unusual recently?”
That wasn’t exactly what I’d wanted to ask, but I couldn’t come up with a polite way of asking, We know you’re usually just a rock, but can’t you be more helpful? If I’d have asked that, I was sure I would have ended up in the lagoon.
“Well,” the turtle said, “when the witch stepped on me, a cat was with her. It was an odd black cat with one silver ear.”
Jozlyn and I looked at each other in surprise. That silver-eared cat sure had a knack for showing up in strange places. Thinking about it, I started to get an idea.
“The cat was her pet then?” I asked.
Gramble didn’t respond right away. He seemed to be thinking. His head tilted this way and that.
“Nay, sir,” he finally said. “I do not believe the cat and witch were in cahoots. Nor do I believe the cat was the witch’s familiar.”
It took me a minute to translate that. Gramble meant the witch and cat weren’t friends and that the cat wasn’t the witch’s pet. Witches and wizards often have magical pets called familiars.
“In fact,” Gramble went on, “I am confident in asserting that the witch and cat were most certainly enemies. The cat was hissing vehemently at the witch.”
I smiled at Jozlyn who scrunched her eyebrows together in thought. I could tell that she was putting the pieces together the same way I had.
“So the cat—” she said, thinking aloud.
“—has been trying to help us,” I finished.
At the festival, the silver-eared cat had taken Rosi
e, probably to get us to follow it. Then it had gone to town and tried to get Sheriff Logan’s attention.
If those things were true, then the itch on my nose must mean something, too. But why did it tingle only at certain times?
I had an idea and snapped my fingers. “Master Gramble, please stop swimming for a moment. Just float while I try something.”
The turtle stopped paddling, and we drifted to a slow halt. We rocked gently in place like a swimmer treading water.
Concentrating on my nose, I turned in a slow circle. I spun around three times. Sure enough, I felt the tingling itch whenever I faced my right.
Satisfied, I said, “To the right, Gramble. The witch lives to the right.”
I winked at Jozlyn and tapped my nose. If the cat really had been trying to help us, the most important thing it could have done was tell us where to find the witch. The tingling in my nose, I figured, was the cat’s map to the witch.
“Starboard, sir,” Gramble corrected. “When on the water, right is starboard.” With that, the turtle turned to face the correct direction and started paddling again.
Starboard and port. I’d heard those before but hadn’t ever had reason to use them. On a boat, starboard meant right and port meant left. I’m not sure why, but that’s what sailors called them.
We continued for quite some time. Every so often I asked Gramble to stop so that I could get a fresh direction for the tingle on my nose. Then we made an adjustment to our course and got on our way again.
I couldn’t be sure if we were making good time because I didn’t know how far we had to go, but at least I was sure we were headed the right way.
“My feet hurt,” Jozlyn complained, fidgeting.
Mine did too, I realized. It was hard standing in one spot for a long time. I kept shifting my weight from foot to foot.
Gramble cleared his throat to get our attention. “If I may be so bold as to suggest a song to pass the time? Rocks are renowned for their pleasant voices and for knowing many things.”
“Please, Sir Gramble! That would be lovely,” Jozlyn exclaimed.
I couldn’t help but agree. We were getting close to the witch now. Anything to get Cleogha and my sore feet off my mind would be appreciated.
“Ah, very good, then,” Gramble said, clearing his throat once more. Then he began his song.
From the dark and the damp
Of Croneswart Swamp,
I’ve a tale to tell.
Listen up, listen close,
It’s a joyful romp.
One I know quite well.
Sing high, sing low—
Sing out, don’t you know.
Hey you, hey me,
Sing out joyfully.
Raise your voice, sing along,
And gather near.
Climb aboard my shell.
Say goodbye, wave your hand,
We’re leaving here
To swim ’round a spell.
Sing high, sing low—
Sing out, don’t you know.
Hey you, hey me,
Sing out joyfully.
Through the fog and the mist,
We’ll travel far.
Anywhere you name.
Close your eyes, make a wish,
Think of a star.
Dream high, that’s our aim.
Sing high, sing low—
Sing out, don’t you know.
Hey you, hey me,
Sing out joyfully.
For a few minutes, Jozlyn and I forgot all about being on a dangerous adventure and having sore feet. We even forgot about witches and cats and frogs.
We tapped our feet to Gramble’s song and hummed along to the catchy tune. In no time, we were singing the chorus with him.
When the last notes drifted off into the silence of the fog, Gramble spoke. “It seems, hmm, that we have arrived.”
I glanced up. A jagged shoreline appeared out of the mist straight ahead, and a creature paced along the water’s edge. Its black paws stepped gingerly on the damp ground.
I should have expected the silver-eared cat to be waiting for us.
32: FROM MUD TO BEAST
WITH my rapier held tightly in my hand, I followed Jozlyn onto shore.
The cat watched us cautiously from a few feet away. Its back was arched and the fur on its tail was puffed up and sticking straight out. Its silver ear twitched.
Jozlyn pulled out her wand and started toward the cat. She had a determined look on her face. “Where’s my doll, cat?” she scowled. “Where’s Rosie?”
Oh no, I thought. Jozlyn didn’t know that I had Rosie tucked inside my doublet. I wondered if I should show the doll to her.
Before I made my decision, the ground exploded. Dirt and rocks shot into the air. Twigs, mud, and leaves pelted my face and rained down on my head.
From everywhere, slimy mud-creatures rose up from the ground. They were made of the dead things lying about the swamp—vines, deadwood, mud, and leaves. Some were short and wide, others tall and thin. But all of them came right at Jozlyn and me.
Without doubt, I knew they were some sort of witch’s creation.
One reached Jozlyn and its crooked fingers clawed toward her face.
“Griznt!” she roared in a voice I’d never heard her use before. Then she slammed the wand like a club against the mud-creature’s forearm.
Purple light exploded, surrounding the creature. When it faded, the mud-beast was gone and a brilliant monarch butterfly fluttered daintily nearby.
“Nice one!” I shouted encouragingly, and meant it. I honestly didn’t think I’d ever felt so proud of my sister. But I couldn’t enjoy the feeling long because a mud-creature swatted at me with its gooey arm.
Without thinking, I brought up my rapier to block the creature’s attack. The muddy arm was aimed at my face. I deflected the blow and sent it over my head.
Then the most amazing thing happened. My rapier burst into flame.
Silvery fire ignited along the length of the blade with a roaring whoosh. I cried out in alarm until I realized my hand was perfectly safe.
My rapier was magic!
I gripped the flaming sword in both hands and swung it back and forth. The advancing mud-creatures stopped. Some even cowered.
“Stay back,” I yelled, waving the rapier. Its fire hissed like an angry serpent.
In the corner of my eye, I saw Jozlyn fall. A pack of mud-creatures surrounded her. They were slowly forcing her back toward the lagoon. Then her heel caught against a root just as she shouted, “Griznt!”
She landed in the mud with a wet squish and the wand tumbled from her fingers. She clawed after it but the mud-beasts were closing too fast.
“Nooooo!” I screamed, thrusting with my rapier once more. The silvery flames brushed against the nearest
mud-creature. In a blink, the beast melted into a pulpy mass.
I saw my chance then. Jozlyn needed me.
Holding my sword like a lance, I charged the mud-creature to my left. My blade connected with its thigh, and the flames worked their magic. The beast collapsed like a glob of hot wax.
As if in slow motion, I watched another mud-beast snatch up Jozlyn’s wand. The creature raised its arm and prepared to swing down.
It was going to use the wand on her! It was going to turn her into something horrible that only a mud-creature could imagine!
I screamed again, louder and full of anger. Then I dove forward with my rapier straight in front of me.
The fiery blade caught the wand just as the mud-beast brought down its arm. When the two magical weapons clashed, a violent explosion and deafening crash thundered through the swamp.
Purple light and silvery fire erupted in a hissing geyser. The wand shattered into fine, sparkling dust, and the flames on my rapier flickered and died.
33: TRUE ENEMY
THE explosion burst outward like the ripples in the water after a boulder drops into a pond. A piercing noise filled my ears, and blast of wind knoc
ked me to the ground.
The witch’s mud-creatures stumbled about blindly. They bumped into trees and each other. Some even splashed woodenly into the lagoon.
All the while, they sagged and fell apart, melting like snowmen caught in the rain. The ground swallowed them, and they quickly vanished.
The magic all around me was coming apart. Even the silver-eared cat mewed and clawed at the red collar about its neck. As I watched, it dropped to its stomach, twitched, and went still.
I would have felt sorry for it had I not heard Jozlyn groan. She lay inches away. Her face was covered with mud and her new tunic was torn and dirty.
She weakly pushed herself up on her elbows and fluttered her eyes open. “What happened?” she asked breathlessly.
“The wand exploded,” I whispered, “I think…I think destroying it destroyed all of the nearby magic. The mud-creatures fell apart. Even the cat—”
Jozlyn cut me off and sat all the way up with a start. “What’s Cleogha doing here?” She pointed at something behind me.
I turned to see Cleogha lying in the mud where the black cat with the one silver ear had been moments before. Her long hair was streaked with silver and she wore her black outfit with the red trim.
I gasped with understanding and threw my hand to the scratch on my nose. Cleogha’s silver-streaked hair and red-trimmed outfit were too much like the cat to be a coincidence.
My mind put the last piece of a puzzle into place.
The silver-eared cat and Cleogha were the same! Cleogha had been the cat all along. The cat had been Cleogha. When the wand had exploded and destroyed the nearby magic, it had changed Cleogha from the cat into a person.
“The cat!” I explained quickly to Jozlyn, my words rushing out of my mouth. I couldn’t believe that Cleogha had been the cat all this time. “The cat was Cleogha. But the wand changed her back.”
Jozlyn nodded slowly. The pieces in her puzzle were fitting together, too.
“But, Josh, if Cleogha was the cat, who turned everyone into frogs?” she asked. “Remember, we saw the cat on Trooping Fairy Day. The day before the frogs.”
I stared at Cleogha’s unmoving body. Maybe she hadn’t been our enemy after all. But if not her, then who?
From the fog ahead, a harsh voice cackled evilly, slowly, and softly like dried leaves swirling in a breeze.
“Eh-heh-heh-heh. Figure it out yet, fools?” the voice taunted.
A woman stepped from the mist. She was tall, old, very skinny, and had a long crooked nose. If someone had asked me to draw an ugly witch, my drawing would have looked exactly like her.
Like Cleogha, she wore a witch’s costume—a pointed hat, curl-toed shoes, and a long dress. But her outfit was dark blue with orange trim, not black with red like Cleogha’s.
The new witch leaned heavily against a blackened broom as if it were a walking stick and bowed her head slightly.
“I am Witch Zeila, children,” she sneered, “your true enemy. You have been chasing the ghosts and phantoms of the wrong witch.”
She cackled again and I shuddered. Somehow Zeila’s laugh sounded even more terrifying than Cleogha’s. In fact, everything about her was more terrifying.
I knew immediately that this woman would never have been allowed to live on the edge of Tiller’s Field selling troll charms the way Cleogha had.
Witch Zeila pointed at Cleogha’s body with the end of her broom. “I appreciate you ridding me of that one,” she said arrogantly. “For that, welcome to Croneswart Swamp. Now you pests are mine.”
34: EIGHT-LEGGED PRISON
WITCH Zeila lifted her long bony arms. She muttered to herself then raised her voice in a short spell:
Rustle rowdy, stir
Cauldron Cooker's Night (Epic Fantasy Adventure Series, Knightscares Book 1) Page 16
