Wand of the Witch (8 page)

Willow's heart pounded, and her head spun with joy. Surely, now Madrila would teach her some spells—powerful and evil ones. Finally she—humble Willow, a lumberjack's daughter—would become a dreaded witch.

"You did well, my dear apprentice," Madrila said. She tapped her whorled, golden wand against her thigh. "Maybe I was wrong about you. Maybe you'll amount to something after all."

Willow nodded. "Thank you, my lady. Do you think that...." She gulped and clasped her fingers behind her back. This was the moment of truth. "Do you think that, before we attack Burrfield, you could teach me a new spell? Something really
nasty
and
evil
. I want to be evil like you."

For an instant, anger flashed across Madrila's eyes... but it soon vanished. The witch sighed. "You will never be as evil as me. Nobody is as evil as me. But since you pleased me today, I will teach you a spell."

"A nasty evil one?"

Madrila nodded. "A downright beastly spell."

"Hooray!" Willow leaped for joy, then collected herself. She cleared her throat and steepled her fingers. "I mean... excellent, my lady." She attempted an evil cackle. It sounded to her more like a giggle, but Madrila seemed not to notice.

The witch stepped toward the shelves and began pulling off jars and leather pouches. She tossed them to Willow, who caught them and held them in her arms, soon wobbling under the weight.

"Piglet snouts," Madrila said, tossing a pouch of them. "Monkey fingernails... snake eyes...." She tossed a couple jars. "Let's see, let's see... ah, here we go. Mermaid scales, very rare." She tossed a box to Willow. "What else? Oh yes, some lovely unicorn blood." She threw the vial. "And finally, a bottle of dragon drool."

As Willow struggled to catch and hold the ingredients, she also struggled to remember them. What was it? Monkey blood? Pig scales? Unicorn tails?
Oh dear, being evil is so complicated.

Madrila approached an empty cauldron placed over embers.

"Come here, Willow. I will teach you this brew."

Willow walked toward the cauldron, a hill of ingredients wobbling in her arms.
This time I won't make cookie dough,
she swore.
This time I'll create something so horrible, Madrila will know I'm evil—almost as evil as she is.

"What are we making, my lady?"

"I will teach you how to create a monster. I used similar spells to create my grunters. You will create a beast—a terror your mind will invent. Add the snake eyes first. Only two of them."

Willow placed the items on a table and rummaged. She found the jar of snake eyes, opened it, and spilled two into her palm. They were gooey and cold, but Willow refused to cringe; she would not show Madrila her disgust. Still, she couldn't help but breathe in relief once she tossed them into the cauldron.

"Now add three piglet snouts. And as you add them, I want you to imagine your monster forming. Imagine its eyes seeking enemies, its nose sniffing for blood."

Willow tossed the pig snouts into the pot. She tried to imagine a truly horrible beast, something that could hunt, kill, and terrify. But her mind went blank.
Come on, Willow,
she told herself.
Think! Think of something that'll give people nightmares.

"The unicorn blood," Madrila said. "Add four drops. Slowly! One at a time. And stir. Now imagine the monster's body take shape, the blood flowing through its forming veins."

Willow added the blood, stirred, and tried to think.
Go on... think, Willow, think. Imagine those evil eyes, that warty body, those sharp teeth.

She kept adding ingredients, following Madrila's instructions. Soon it came time for uttering spells; she called them out clearly, repeating Madrila's words. The brew bubbled. Green and purple smoke rose. A creature unfurled there, growing and twisting.

"A monster of my own," Willow whispered. She tossed in the final ingredient—two bat wings—and uttered the last spell. The broth blasted out a puff of blue smoke, then cooled.

"Reach into the cauldron," Madrila said, face flushed. She smiled. "Pull out your baby monster."

Heart hammering, Willow reached into the cauldron and pulled out a fluffy bunny.

Madrila groaned. "Willow!"

The bunny wiggled its nose.

"It does have a wart," Willow said hopefully.

Madrila screamed. Jars and vials flew. Willow fled the room, bat wings and snake eyeballs flying over her head. She raced downstairs, the bunny in her arms.

"You are hopeless!" Madrila screamed above. "I should banish you into the forest! I will turn
you
into a bunny!"

Willow fled the house and ran into the forest. She huddled behind an oak, hugged her knees, and trembled.

"And stay out!" Madrila shouted behind her. Willow heard the door slam shut.

A cold wind moaned and leaves rustled. Willow sighed and hugged the bunny to her chest.

"Looks like another cold night outside," she whispered to her adorable monster. "But tomorrow we'll attack Burrfield. Tomorrow I'll prove that I can kill people like Madrila does. I promise you, Fluffy. We'll show her how evil we are."

She fell asleep with the bunny cuddled in her arms.

Chapter Seven

Fluffy

Rowyn was walking through the forest, staff in hand, when the monsters attacked.

They burst from between the birches—green, warty things with long claws and fangs. There were three, each uglier and smellier than the last. Grunting and drooling, they charged toward him, feet kicking up dry leaves.

Rowyn gasped. He fumbled for his wand, a stick of birch painted green and gold. One grunter slashed its claws and pain blazed. Blood soaked Rowyn's tunic. The two other grunters leaned in to bite.

"We love a good elfling for breakfast," they said. "Sweet elfling flesh!
Grunt grunt.
"

"Get back!" Rowyn shouted. He kicked one's face, crushing its nose. Blood and mucus flew. As the grunters screeched, Rowyn raised his wand and uttered a spell.

A bolt of lightning shot from the wand. It slammed into a grunter. The creature howled and fell back, trembling. The two others screeched.

"Back!" Rowyn shouted. His hair fell over his eyes; he could barely see. "Stand back, creatures."

One grunter lay on the ground. The other two cackled. "Madrila said we can eat elflings.
Grunt grunt!
You look tasty."

They slashed claws. Rowyn swung his staff, knocking those claws aside. One grunter attacked from his left, and Rowyn kicked it back. The other leaped at his right, and its fangs tore into Rowyn's shoulder.

"Mmm tasty elfling flesh!" it said.

Rowyn pointed his wand and cast another spell. Fire streamed from his wand and hit the grunter. The creature howled, fell, and rolled.

Only one grunter remained standing. It lashed claws, drooling and grunting. Rowyn leaped back, dodging the claws, and pointed his wand. He shouted a spell, and grey smoke flew from his wand. When the smoke hit the grunter, it froze. Its mouth opened, but it could not scream. Its skin turned from green to grey, and soon it had turned to stone.

Rowyn spun to face the two wounded grunters. They lay in the dry leaves, smoking and groaning.

"Be gone or I'll turn you to stone too!" he shouted.

The grunters groaned, clutching their burned flesh. "We will come back for you, elfling! A thousand of us will soon fill this forest. We serve Madrila, greatest witch in the world, and—"

Rowyn cast a spell. Smoke flew and turned another grunter to stone.

The one surviving grunter, its flesh burned, scurried to its feet and fled. Soon it disappeared between the trees, grunting in fear.

Rowyn stood panting. His pulse hammered in his ears, and his fingers shook. He had never seen grunters so deep in Glaswood Forest, this peaceful home of the wood elves.
Or elflings, as most call us,
he thought, wishing as always that his people were tall and noble like high elves, or night elves, or even the evil underground elves
.

He was sixteen years old, still a youth, an elfling of average height (shy of five feet in his favorite boots), pointy ears that thrust out from his brown hair, and blue eyes that many thought too solemn. In truth, he was neither solemn nor somber, but prone to be reflective. He often thought of his parents, whom trolls killed ten years ago, and enjoyed admiring the woods in silence, while others sang or danced.

His grandfather, the clan elder, was raising him to be a wizard. Rowyn knew only three spells so far—lightning, fire, and stone—and carried his wand everywhere. Like all elflings, he sported a glowing goldencharm on his forehead. His was shaped as a star, which suited him; he often preferred night to day, and enjoyed contemplating the stars while the other elflings slept.

"Grunters in Glaswood Forest!" he said and shook his head. He approached the petrified grunter, stared into the stone eyes, and shuddered. The statue seemed to stare back.

I must tell Grandfather about this,
Rowyn thought. Madrila's beasts often slunk around the borders of Glaswood, and sometimes sneaked in to grab mushrooms, walnuts, and firewood. But to find them here, miles deep into the forest?

Wand held before him, Rowyn began moving through the forest, walking as fast as he could. Red and orange leaves rustled, glided, and covered the ground. Mottles of sunlight moved in the breeze. Moss covered twisting roots that flowed and melted into one another. The trees rose everywhere—birches, beeches, and oaks—their trunks twisting and mossy, their branches holding curtains of lichen.

Branches creaked.

Rowyn froze and held his breath.

Grunters?

A shadow leaped from the trees. Rowyn yelped. He glimpsed red hair and green cloth. He pointed his wand, and began uttering a spell, when the assailant slammed into him. He fell into a pile of dry leaves, and his attacker pinned his arms down.

"Got you!" she cried.

Rowyn groaned. "Ellywyn! I almost turned you to stone."

The elfling girl laughed and leaped back. She curtsied and gave Rowyn a crooked, mocking smile.

"You'd never have a chance! If I were really attacking you, your wand would now be broken... and your nose."

She laughed. An elfling girl his age, she dressed like a boy—in tattered grey leggings, a muddy green tunic, and a brown cloak fastened with a silver clasp. Her hair was red as flame, freckles covered her face, and her eyes were green and mischievous. Her dagger Sunfire hung from her belt, leaf-shaped and forged of pure elfsilver; it glowed like the moon. She stood an inch shorter than him, and a goldencharm shaped like a sun glowed on her forehead.

"This is no laughing matter," Rowyn said. He pushed himself to his feet, spat out a dry leaf, and brushed dirt and leaves off his clothes. "Spells are a dangerous matter, and so's jumping out from the trees on people." He stared into her eyes. "Ellywyn, I saw grunters. Three of them, less than a mile back."

She laughed... then saw that he was serious. She frowned and finally gasped.

"Grunters!" she whispered. She drew her dagger with a hiss. She spun from side to side, eyes narrowed, as if seeking grunters in every tree.

Rowyn nodded and told her about encountering the three beasts, and how he killed two.

"The third went to get help," he finished. "Madrila will send more into our woods, I'd wager."

Ellywyn breathed out in frustration. Her knuckles were white around Sunfire's hilt. "But why, Rowyn? Madrila has never sent her monsters this deep into our forest before, never told them to eat elflings." She shuddered. "This means war, Rowyn. It's time we march to her house and kill her."

Rowyn too shuddered. His wand trembled in his hand. "Many humans have tried to defeat her—tall knights in armor, armed with swords and hammers of steel. We're only elflings, Ellywyn. We're short. We don't have as many weapons or spells as the humans. How are we to fight her?"

Dry leaves glided onto Ellywyn's head, as red as her hair. She stared at him, her eyes green like the moss covering the trees. "We might have to fight, like it or not. Protecting our borders is one thing. If she's invading our lands now, we'll have no choice but to declare war against her."

War? In Glaswood Forest? It seemed impossible to Rowyn. The big people fought wars. Humans marched on their crusades. Armies of high elves warred against ogres. Even spiderlings—relatives of elves—fought wars sometimes, clashing against goblin hordes. But elflings were peaceful folk—smaller than the high elves, fewer than the humans, weaker than the spiderlings.
We live for meditation, for music, for beauty... not for war.

"Let's go see Grandpa Snagglefoot," he finally said. "He'll know what to do. He always does."

Ellywyn nodded and took his hand. "We'll walk straight to the clan. And I pray we see no more grunters on the way."

A cold wind blew, rustling the trees. The two elflings walked through the forest, weapons raised and hearts heavy.

* * * * *

Jamie and Romy crouched behind a fallen log, spying on Madrila's house. It stood ahead between the trees, crumbling and mossy. The trees around it were naked and frost covered them, glimmering in the moonlight. Winter had come early to this place. Fifty grunters surrounded the house, guarding it.

"Are you ready, Romy?" Jamie whispered.

Romy wore her cloak and hood, concealing her flaming hair.

"I'm read—" she began happily, but Jamie elbowed her stomach.

"Hush!"

Heart hammering, Jamie peered forward. Had the grunters heard? They were grunting, looking around, and two began stomping toward the trees where Jamie and Romy hid.

"Oh bloody hell, Romy," Jamie said. "You couldn't whisper? Damn it! Grab me and
fly
, now!"

"Oh, all right, Jamie, sheesh. No need to yell."

Romy flapped her wings, grabbed Jamie, and flew. They crashed through branches and soared toward the house. The grunters below howled and pointed.