A Nameless Witch

18

Another weeh passed without a single trial to confront us. Nor anything even as interesting as a spot of disagreeable weather or inconvenience of elves. Newt remained lost, but had he been around, he would have surely observed this journey as far too pleasant for a quest of vengeance. I could wait for as long as required, possessing the near limitless patience that came with being ageless and a good witch, but my conversations with Wyst of the West did help pass the time.

It was nice to have someone to share my secrets with. I'd shared them with Newt and Gwurm and even Sunrise, but that had been a one-sided affair. My exchanges with Wyst were fair trades.

He told me of his youth, of his mother and father, of childhood friends and enemies, and what it had been like to be a mortal boy. I spoke of dark cellars, of Ghastly Edna and Nasty Larry, of not seeing the sky until I was eighteen, and what it had been like to be an accursed girl.

We spoke of hidden desires. Small ones, not overwhelming in their importance, but things we rarely admitted to. I learned his favorite food had been turtle soup, that he loved swimming, and that he had a great fondness for dogs. He learned my favorite treat was fresh rabbit brains, that I enjoyed making crafts with bones, and that I too had a certain fondness for dogs, though of a more rapacious sort.

Wyst never judged me. Nor did he pity me. Gwurm and Sunrise hadn't either, but White Knights lived different lives than trolls and prostitutes. It seemed a rare thing that men who had taken the mantle of unspoiled virtue could remain so accepting of others, even if forced by magic and fate into more unwholesome existence. I had to wonder if Wyst was an exceptional White Knight or if all his order were such paragons of righteousness and humility. If so, then the White Knights deserved every bit of their legendary reputation.

I didn't share all my secrets. I kept my beauty and my carnal desires to myself. Certainly Wyst of the West left a few unspoken himself. Everyone should carry a secret or two, if only for mystery's sake.

By the end of the week, we were traveling side by side, close enough to reach out and touch one another. We never did.

But it was nice enough to simply enjoy the possibility.

ON THE SEVENTEENTH DAY of our quest, we came across a river. Men may, in their obsessive fashion, divide the water along imaginary lines, but every witch knows there is only one river in all the world. It winds through the land, gathering wisdom to carry to the ocean. A wise witch always pauses to collect some of this knowledge whenever she can.

Wyst watered his horse and filled his canteens while Gwurm removed his head and dunked it along the shore. I bent on my knees and consulted the shallow stream.

"Greetings, River."

"Hello, witch," the water replied. "Lovely morning, isn't it? I always enjoy a lovely morning. Almost as much as I do enjoy a lovely evening. But I must confess rainy evenings are my favorite by far. Not that I've anything against the sun. But it can dry me out so. Sometimes when it rains enough, I get to run across so much more of the land. I love to carry away the soil and imagine what a fine canyon I might carve one day. Not that I'm impatient, mind you ..."

The River always chattered without end, and I allowed him to blather a few more moments before interrupting.

"Pardon me, River, but I'm on a quest."

"A quest of vengeance," the River said.

"So you know."

"One does hear things."

I ran my fingers along the cold stream. "I was hoping you might offer me some advice. I saw a river in a vision, and I think you're my guide to wherever I must go."

"Indeed, I am, and I must say it is a great honor to be part of your undertaking. I've been important in countless others, but this is especially satisfying. Not to casually dismiss those that came before, but..."

I interrupted the River again. Fortunately, he never took offense.

"What is it about my vengeance that makes it so impor­tant?"

"Something to do with the shape of things to come. Like myself, you'll carve a great passage in the record of time. Or perhaps you'll simply dry out unnoticed as I've done on occasion."

I stooped lower, placing my ear near the water. "How so?"

"Alas, I don't know. That knowledge must lay farther downstream, and your tomorrow awaits upstream, where I can only know less than I do now. But no matter. I've done my part.

"Thank you, River."

"You're quite welcome, and good luck to you, witch. I envy you in a way. I must always travel onward, never looking back, never stopping. Sometimes I think I'd like to stop, even if only for a little while. Or perhaps even go back and see the things I might have missed. Could you do me a favor, witch? There's a lemon tree upstream with dangling branches. It hardly ever drops a lemon. Just teases me, that tree. Could you perhaps take the time to pitch a lemon or two into me? Won't take you but a moment."

"Certainly."

"Thank you. I do so enjoy a fresh lemon. Not so much as I enjoy apricots. But there aren't any apricot trees where you're headed, and I wouldn't dream of asking ..."

The River kept talking, but I stopped listening. I informed Wyst and Gwurm that we would be following this stream and waited for someone to point out that we would be going a southwesterly angle after two weeks of traveling north. Neither made the observation, and Newt was still lost. And the brook's babbling was of no great importance.

Not far upstream, the lemon tree waited. A robin, a crow, and a vulture perched in its branches.

"Keep away," said the tree. "These are my lemons and I'll give them to the brook when I wish."

"Just a few, if you don't mind." I tapped the tree thrice with my knuckles, and two lemons fell into the River.

"Thank you," said the River.

"Well, you won't get any more from me," groused the tree.

I glanced up into the branches again. The robin and the crow remained, but a falcon perched where the vulture had been. All three jumped and soared overhead in wide circles.

It was then that I was struck by a sudden premonition. This was my very first premonition. I'd read the future in omens, but that was easy when one knew how. A true premonition was to know something without aid of signs or portents. It wasn't quite the same as having the magic talk to you. It was more like catching a whispered snippet the magic didn't mind you overhearing. Of course, like most premonitions, this was vague and mysterious information.

"Those birds have been sent to kill me," I said as I climbed on Gwurm's shoulders.

Wyst raised a hand to shade his eyes and looked upon the two ravens and a sizable albatross. Birds hardly posed a threat to me. Or Gwurm or Wyst either. Perhaps the albatross might snatch up Penelope and carry her away, but even my broom was no easy target. Wyst didn't sound skeptical as he asked, "By who?"

"By the sorcerer we seek, most likely."

"More illusions of flesh?" Gwurm asked.

Wyst replied, "Not quite. They're chimera. Shape-shifting creatures, beasts of the dream planes employed by sorcerers. Dangerous as anything alive because they can become anything that has lived and a thousand things that never have."

As I watched, the albatross became a small winged lizard, and a raven transformed into a yellow pelican.

Wyst spurred his horse onward. He didn't seem afraid, but he never did. He tutored us on what to expect while the creatures, in various winged forms, trailed from the air.

"The most important thing to remember is that chimera are compulsive shape-shifters. They can't hold any particular form for long, and that unpredictability can work against as much as for them. Their minds, like their bodies, are fluid, in capable of keeping to any strategy. One moment, you'll be facing a dragon-headed lion and the next, it will be a puppy or a weasel or perhaps a bass. Strike at these vulnerable moments."

A glance showed the chimera flying lower and closer.

"They'll warn before they attack."

The chimera followed for another hour. I mostly ignored them, only occasionally allowing myself a curious glimpse. The assortment of shapes was always different. First, three owls of different colors. Then a mallard, a goose, and a hummingbird. Then a condor, a larger hummingbird, and a flying chicken. Then a bat, a winged serpent, and an eight-legged turtle treading the air with its churning legs.

The chimera swooped just over our heads and screeched with warbling voices. They landed just ahead.

Wyst drew his sword. "They're ready."

Gwurm knelt to allow me to climb off his shoulders. He set aside my sack and cracked his knuckles. An odd act for a troll, given their lack of fleshly joints.

The chimera moved closer. Each took on a different form. There was a liquid grace to their shifting. Heads and limbs sprouted and shrank away and changed. Fur became scales became skin became feathers. Yet no matter what they became, whether natural beast or strange amalgamation, they always seemed to be wearing the right form. My witchly instincts told me the chimera's shapes weren't dictated by chance. There was a pattern at work, albeit the indecipherable pattern of living dreams. Understanding what cannot be understood is a witch's trade.

The first chimera became a great, hairy bear. The head shrank into the body and grew out of its chest. Its forearms became insectlike, ending in bladed hooks. The second chimera became a very traditional ogre. The third took on a serpentine form with a moose's head and a row of deadly spikes running down its spine.

We paired off. Penelope and I faced the bear-thing. Gwurm stood before the ogre. Wyst readied himself to battle the moose-headed serpent.

I knew what I must do to defeat my chimera, but I wasn't a talented enough witch to decipher three dreams at once. I trusted Gwurm and Wyst to overcome their own.

I whispered instructions to Penelope. She twitched her understanding, and then the trial began.

The ogre chimera charged Gwurm, but trolls are twice as strong as ogres. Gwurm hefted his opponent high in the air and slammed it to the ground. The chimera shifted into a monstrous bull. Gwurm held tight to the bucking beast.

Wyst and the serpent circled each other warily. The chimera snapped and snarled. The White Knight stabbed at it. Neither had drawn blood yet.

I was able to watch all this because my own magic had reduced the earth to sucking mud beneath the bear-thing's feet. It sank into the ground, screeching and howling. One bladed arm was the last to disappear. It wasn't defeated. I was merely guiding it into a more acceptable form.

The earth rumbled, and a giant centipede burst forth at my feet. It towered over me, clicking its mandibles and hissing. It snatched me up in its blades, whipping me from side to side, and sliced me in two at the waist. My lower half fell away, but the centipede grabbed me in a dozen short arms. It changed colors, from bright green to dull orange. Mucus dripped from its wriggling mouth. Then it hacked into my neck. There was the gush of blood, the pain of tearing flesh, and my head bounced to the ground where it came to a rolling stop.

The chimera, unable to hold its centipede form, melted and shifted once again. It became a large, two-legged toad with a face that was all mouth. It opened its jaws, showing rows of jagged teeth.

I could feel my body, but it was as if my neck was a thousand miles long. Giving direction to my limbs was a distant, deliberate affair. I was largely helpless. Penelope was not.

The toad pounced at my head only to be swatted down by my broom. The chimera shook its head clear and screeched at her. She moved in small circles before striking again in a full, wide arc. The force cracked her handle and sent the chimera tumbling away. It jumped to its feet, already shifting again. It sprouted feathers and a single enormous eye. Penelope shot forward and speared it in that eye. The chimera collapsed, very dead.

My broom wasted no time. She tugged free of her opponent and floated to my side. She swept my head back to my torso. It took a few moments for me to get my hands to shove my head back into place. The flesh of my neck knit back together, but even my powers of regeneration were limited so that it was a loose fit. A hard nod or a sudden jerk and it would fall off again.

I pushed myself up and studied the fight. Gwurm's chimera was now a thing with dozens of tentacles. The troll struggled, but he was wrapped in its smothering coils. He gasped just before his body surrendered to the pressure and fell apart. The troll pieces slipped from the chimera's hold. The beast became a badger with a peacock tail and kicked around Gwurm's parts, looking for a vulnerable portion.

I found a stone and threw it at the beast. It whirled, slobbering, teeth bared, and scrambled in my direction. The badger shape grew roughly human as it seized me in clawed hands. It expanded to tremendous size and parted its jaws to swallow me whole. At which point, I shoved an arm down its gullet. My curse gives me a knack for tearing flesh, and the malleable flesh of the chimera proved vulnerable. I punched through the back of its mouth and wrapped my fingers around something squishy and warm and hopefully vital. Although with chimera, this was mostly a matter of chance. The monster bit off my arm just as I squeezed. The chimera gurgled, staggered, and fell over. I was buried beneath its enormous form.

With only one arm and no way of freeing myself, I lay beneath the chimera and listened as Wyst battled the last one. There was a lot of grunting and shrieking, and this went on for some time. Finally, there was one last bubbling screech.

Then silence.

The beast atop me swayed. I thought it might still be alive, but then it rolled over. Wyst of the West knelt beside me. Multicolored blood coated his shirt. Sweat glimmered on his dark skin. He wrapped tender arms around me and leaned me against the chimera's corpse.

"Are you hurt?"

"Hurt, but not harmed," I replied. "How is Gwurm?"

"I'm fine, but I lost an eye. Watch for it."

Wyst fetched my legs, and by the way he was walking, I could see he was injured. His White Knight invulnerability must have failed him in some way. Some of the blood on his side was his own.

As I fished around the monster's slackened jaws to retrieve my arm, Wyst retrieved my sack. I reached in for some needle and thread to stitch myself together and instead found Newt. Like all lost things, he was in the last and most obvious place I looked.