The Witches of Ne'arth (The Star Wizards Trilogy Book 2) (17 page)

“According to lore, to the east is the village of the Little People.  West is said to be the village of the Big People.  Who votes east?”

Three hands went up.  They headed east and descended into a vale.  A single wisp of smoke betrayed the village.  Mirian and Carrot both located the trail by the smell of the previous passing of many bodies.  They saw no persons at first. 

They entered a clearing.  There were several huts arranged in a circle.  They had broken roofs, moldy sides, vacant interiors, bushes and trees growing alongside and even within.  No sign of people, not even smoke from cooking fires. 

“These homes are normal sized,” Norian said.  “Yet where are – “ 

Mirian shoved Norian.  Carrot heard a
phfft
and an arrow streaked through the clearing.  The pair took concealment behind a tree.  Carrot lept after. 

Thunk.  Thunk thunk.  Thunkity thunk thunk!
 

A rain of arrows carpeted the grass.  Carrot searched the gloom beneath the trees on the other side of the clearing.  She saw no one, she smelled many. 

Thunk.  Thunk thunk thunk.
 

The arrows came in waves, like a hard rain.  Mirian notched her bow and Carrot drew her sword, realizing as she did how useless it would be against the invisible. 

Mirian contemplated an arrow embedded in the grass nearby.  She leaned out of cover, snatched and examined it.  “I haven't used one this size since I was a child.”

“Can it harm?” Norian asked.

Mirian tapped the tip.  “I detect no poison.  It will only prick and annoy.  Still, masses can kill.  And today we have masses.”  She surveyed the arrow-littered grass, then squinted at the trees; whatever she saw, Carrot did not.  “They're encircling.  We must retreat or be trapped.”

“We didn't come to run away,” Carrot replied. 

She faced the far side of the clearing and shouted:  “We wish to speak to you in peace!”

A high-pitched voice cried: “Go away!  We don't want your kind!”

“We
must
speak!” Carrot shouted.  “It is a matter of greatest importance to all the peoples of this land!”

Mirian snorted.  “You have such a lofty way of saying things!  I'm sure they're impressed!”

Carrot hesitated only a moment.  She dropped her sword, raised her hands, and stepped from cover.

After some sidestepping, the arrows stopped, and Carrot spoke again.

“My name is Arcadia of Umbrick, and I come in peace!  I wish only to talk!”

A single arrow responded, but that was that.  For a long time there was silence, save for Mirian's quiet sing-song cursing.  Carrot saw no movement amid the shade, heard no rustle among the brush.   

Finally, the same voice cried: “
What
did you say your name is?”

“Arcadia of Umbrick.”

“By chance, do you go by another name?”

“I am also known as Carrot.  You can call me that.”

The silence prolonged, and then the leaves parted.  A man stepped into the clearing.  He was perfectly proportioned, but stood no higher than her hips.  If not for an ample beard, he might have been mistaken for a child.

He gazed up at her from a gap greater than that between herself and her father, and said, “Are you the 'Carrot' who is the queen who fought the Romans in the Forest of Darkness?”  

Carrot glanced sidewise, following his gaze.  Yes, the strands were orange, and perhaps for once it was a good thing.  “I am named Carrot and I have fought the Romans.”

The man turned to the woods, waited quietly.  Then he turned back to Carrot. 

“You may come.  By yourself.”

Carrot answered Norian's alarmed look with a nod.

The man slipped effortlessly through the woods, while Carrot had to stoop and slide sideways to avoid the sharpened branch tips.  Soon they arrived in another clearing, which like the first was ringed by huts.  These huts were in good repair and full of life, and their peaked roofs came no higher than Carrot's chin. 

The villagers emerged and surrounded her.  None of them came higher than her chest.  All the adults, men and women alike, carried bows and full quivers.  Their knives were no more than paring knives, but there were a lot of them.  Carrot had one certain thought: 
No sudden movements
.   

The crowd parted.  An old man with a bare pate and a flowing white beard hobbled on a walking stick.  He fumbled with his spectacles.  Silently he circled Carrot.  She stood still and waited.  Finally he stopped and squinted up – a long way up – at her face.

“I am called Erto,” the old man said.  “I am the village wise man.  Or so they say to my face.”

Carrot bowed.  “I am called Carrot.  I am a traveler from the East and seek only knowledge.”

“You say you are the Queen of the Dark Forest.”

“Others say that I am a queen, but I do not.”

“They also say the Queen is very strong.” Erto indicated a boulder.  “Can you lift that?”

This seems familiar,
Carrot mused.
Slowly, she went over and lifted.

Erto pointed near a stump and said, “I've often thought it would be most useful over there.” 

Carrot lugged over the boulder and dropped it into place.  He motioned for her to sit on the boulder.  He in turn climbed upon the stump and sat there.  It gave him a slight advantage in height. 

“Ahhh,” Erto said, rubbing his neck.  Then he smiled half-toothily.  “Might you tell of your battle against the Romans, my good young lady?”

  Falteringly at first, Carrot described the Battle of the Dark Forest.  As he listened, Ertos produced a long-stem pipe which he lit and puffed, completing the resemblance to a miniature, balding version of Archimedes.  The rest of her audience was wide-eyed, open-mouthed, and rapt.  She supposed that being as secluded as they were, their nightly village storytellings were not being refreshed by travelers and had grown stale. 
Any
story would have fascinated, while hers seemed to be the one they had been yearning most to hear.

She concluded:  “. . . So you see, there wasn't much to it.  We set a trap, and they walked into it.”

“Amazing!” the old man exclaimed.  “All the planning! The strategy! The training!  Therein is brilliance!”

The others made approving comments, then burst into applause.  Carrot warmed to them.  Here were warriors who appreciated the technique of the ambush, that retreat was not cowardice but a tactic. 

“I speak for everyone,” the old man said, “when I say that we appreciate your unaffected manner.  Truly your graciousness speaks of the royalty in your blood, Queen Carrot.”

“I'm not really a queen, though.  That is simply a myth that has gained currency.“

The old man didn't seem to hear.  “What is it that we may do for you?” 

“In trade for my story I would like to hear a story too.”

An hour later, Carrot returned to the clearing of the abandoned village.  Norian was snoozing and Mirian was sitting cross-legged with arrow and bow resting in her lap.  Mirian's eyes lighted at the gift basket and she popped nuts and berries into her mouth as Carrot relayed the tale of the wise man.

“Erto says that in the days of his grandfather, their village was set here as we see, close to the road.  A group of men came through with a cart that had a blanket thrown over its load.  The travelers stayed for the night and warned that no one was to go near the cart.  However, when the travelers were preoccupied, a group of villagers ventured near the cart out of curiosity.  It was then that a young woman's voice came from under the blanket and spoke to them, even though there was not enough room underneath for a person.”

“It was the Box,” Norian said to Mirian.  “It's able to talk.”

“I gained that,” Mirian said.  “So what did the Box say?”

“Well,” said Carrot, “it asked if they had a request.  They explained that their greatest concern for the future was whether there would be enough food in the years to come, for their land was so bounded, and their children growing so much, that they all had barely enough to eat as it was and they feared for future generations to share even smaller portions.  They asked the unseen woman, whom they believed was a divine spirit, if she had magic that could make their crops grow better.  She said no, that was not among her powers.  She said, however, that she would make it so that there would be enough food for their children.”

“Uh oh,” Mirian said.  “I can tell where this is going.”

“Let her finish,” Norian said.

Carrot continued:  “And up until that time, the people of the village were normal size, but thereafter the children born were half size – as they all are today.”

“I see,” Norian said.  “They did not realize that the Box intended to resolve the discrepancy between the fixed amount of food and the growing number of mouths by reducing the size of the mouths.  Who indeed would foresee such an outcome?”

“Anyone who has heard a typical fairy tale,” Mirian replied.  “With the typical moral, 'Careful what you wish for.'  I'm surprised the villagers didn't kill the travelers in anger.”

“At the time,” Carrot said, “they didn't know any of this would come to be.  It was several months before the first dwarfish child was born.”

“Where did the travelers take the Box?” Norian asked. 

“To the north.  And here is another coincidence.  At the time, the village chief said, there was no such thing known as a troll.  Yet shortly after, when their own children were starting to be born small, the villagers heard rumors of a tribe of fearsome giants who dwelt in the north lands beyond the river.”

“The trolls,” Norian said, “are perhaps descended from a people who wished upon the Box to become fearsome warriors.”

“The little people were fearsome enough,” Mirian said.  She glanced at the needle-like arrow shafts embedded in the meadow grass like stalks of wheat.  “Now we go on to meet those whom they fear.”

“I understand your reluctance,” Carrot replied.  “If I were you, I too would question following someone as young as myself.”

“Yet for now I'm willing to go farther.”  Mirian arose and stretched.  “What you did here today – well, it smacked of sense as well as courage.  For the time, I have come to accept Norian's judgment of you.”  She bowed with sweeping arms.  “Lead on, your queenliness!”

“Please don't address me so.”

Mirian smiled.  “Well, I understand people also call you a witch.  Would you rather that?”

“I.  Am.  Not.  A.  Witch.”

“What's wrong with being a witch?  To me it's a higher status than wizard, because it speaks of inherent powers as well as those acquired.”

“Mirian,” Norian said.  “If Carrot wishes to be known as a commonplace human – though why anyone would – let her be.”

And so for the day, at least, Mirian did. 

Late afternoon came and the angle of the sun caused the trees to cast long shadows that enveloped the path in gloom and chill.  They passed a couple of traveler encampments and considered halting for the day themselves, but Carrot knew from the aerial view that she had memorized that the legendary Land of the Trolls was near.  They pressed on, and over a ridge they spied the river. 

“The River Troll,” Mirian said. 

Whether or not the people of the northern lands were as described, the River Troll was big and even in a sense hairy, with frothing rapids splattering against outcroppings of jagged rocks.  It would have been difficult to ford under any circumstances, but then – along the southern bank grew the hedge.

The Hedge towered ten meters high, dark leaves and interwoven vines so dense that no light penetrated.  The walls of Londa were easily outclassed.  The vegetation seemed as solid as stone.   

“Do you suppose it does devour people?” Norian said.

“Let's not find out.”  Mirian tugged him back. 

“Let's try the bridge,” Carrot said. 

The remains of the old road descended to the river bank, to what Matt's satellite view had shown was a bridge.  To their sight on the ground, it appeared to be a square four meters on a side, embedded in the face of the hedge, which at their new viewing angle blocked sight of the river and land beyond. 

“I smell copper,” Mirian said. 

Carrot nodded.  Her metal-sense sensed that while the structure itself might only be made of wood, it was encased in sheets of metal.  

The building had a single door, about three and a half meters high.   There was a sign by the door.  In faded yet ornate script it read: 

KINGDOM OF HENOGAL.

TOLL BRIDGE.  (NO PUNS PLEASE.) 

ALL VISITORS MUST HAVE SPONSORS. 

TOLL IS ONE KILO SILVER FOR EACH VISITOR. 

NO REFUNDS. 

“Stay here,” Carrot said. 

She approached the door.  She stretched and reached the knocker and slammed it several times.  They waited. 

Above the knocker was a hand-size porthole, whose cover slid aside.  A pair of eyes set beneath bushy eyebrows glared.  A scent, human and yet not, wafted to Carrot's nostrils.