The Wizards of Once Page 3

  “But my mother has enchanted objects herself!” said Wish. “What about this, then?”

  To Bodkin’s horror, Wish drew a large ornamental sword from her scabbard.

  It wasn’t like an ordinary sword. It had a very dirty, old-fashioned hilt, and even beneath the greenish grime that covered it, you could see that it was beautifully designed, with intertwining leaves and mistletoe and the leaves of other sacred trees twisting all over it.

  On one side of the blade was carved these words, in very fancy curly old-fashioned script:

  Once there were Witches…

  And when Wish turned the blade over, the other side was engraved with:

  …but I killed them.

  “Where did you get that sword?”said Bodkin in awed tones.

  “Well, it was quite odd, actually. I found it lying in the main courtyard yesterday afternoon, and it didn’t seem to belong to anyone, so I picked it up.”

  “Didn’t you hear the announcement at breakfast this morning about how a very valuable sword had gone missing from your mother’s dungeons?”Bodkin gasped. “Didn’t you guess it might be THIS sword? Didn’t you wonder if picking things up that don’t belong to you might be STEALING?”

  “Yes, I did,” admitted Wish, stroking the sword longingly. “But I was just going to hang on to it for a while longer, pretending it was mine. I’m so ordinary, and it’s so special, and it would be lovely to own something so special, don’t you think?”

  “No, I don’t think! Thinking is DANGEROUS! The Defenders of the Royal Household are turning the fort upside down looking for this sword, and you’ve STOLEN it!”goggled Bodkin.

  “I haven’t stolen it, I’ve only borrowed it. I was just about to give it back, but then you frightened the spoon and I thought we might need something special to protect us if we were going into the Badwoods on our own. I have a very strong feeling that it might be an Enchanted Sword,” ended Wish triumphantly. “Even my mother has enchanted objects, which means they must be all right!”

  “Your scary mother isn’t keeping that sword as a PET!” cried Bodkin, waving his long, thin arms around. “You don’t keep pets in DUNGEONS! She’s locked it up in the dungeons to keep it safe!”

  Wish looked at the sword in a slightly worried way, as if this was only just occurring to her. “Ohhhh… yeeeessss… Now that I come to think of it, you could be right about that. It did seem kind of out of character for my mother… She doesn’t really like anything Magic, does she?”

  “Where have you been living for the past thirteen years?” cried Bodkin. “There are whopping great signs up all over the fort—you can’t have missed them! Your mother LOATHES the Magic! She HATES the Magic! She has sworn never to rest till she has rid THE ENTIRE FOREST OF ANYTHING MAGIC AT ALL!”

  Wish furrowed her brow. “Yes, I have to say I don’t really understand that. Surely, just because SOME Magic is bad, it doesn’t mean that ALL Magic is bad?”

  “You’re not supposed to understand!” screeched Bodkin. “You’re a WARRIOR; you’re not supposed to be asking questions! It’s very, very simple—you’re just supposed to be obeying the Warrior rules!”

  Wish suddenly looked very dejected.

  The spoon now standing on top of her head drooped.

  “Bother, you’re right,” said Wish sadly. “I’ve messed up again, haven’t I, Bodkin?”

  “You most certainly have,” said Bodkin.

  And then he added hurriedly, “Your Highness,” for in the excitement of the situation he had forgotten the Warrior rules about “How to Correctly Address Royalty.”

  This was the problem with Wish.

  Whenever you spent any time with her, you found yourself breaking rules without even realizing it.

  “If my mother ever finds out about this, she’s going to be hopping mad, isn’t she?” said Wish, even sadder still.

  “Absolutely hopping,” agreed Bodkin, giving a little shiver at the thought of it.

  “I wish I was NORMAL like everyone else,” said Wish. “What can I do to make everything right again?”

  Bodkin gave a sigh of relief, for it looked like at last, the princess was seeing sense.

  “Okay, don’t be sad, all is not lost,” he said, giving Wish a little pat on the shoulder to cheer her up. “You didn’t mean to do the wrong thing. But you need to release this spoon into the wild RIGHT NOW and take this sword back to the fort immediately, and you have to stop doing things like this and start behaving like a normal Warrior princess and—Hang on—What was that?”

  There was a sudden noise above them, like the snapping of a twig when something brushes up against it.

  They had been so busy arguing they had forgotten that they were not in the safety of iron Warrior fort, about to dig into a splendid dinner (for Warriors were very keen on their food).

  They were all alone in the Badwoods, after dark.

  And for the first time, they realized they were being watched.

  I mentioned, did I not, at the beginning of this chapter, that something bad was watching them, quiet and dangerous, up in the treetops?

  A cold feeling came over the back of Wish’s neck, where the hairs pricked up like the spines on a hedgehog. She looked all around, at the silent black trees, their branches twisting, gnarled like the knobbliest of goblins’ fingers.

  She looked up, and she could not see anything, only perhaps a certain darkening and a shimmering thickening of the air above them as if that air was choked with something awful, as indeed it was. And the coldness radiating out of the heart of that shining density was a coldness you have never felt before.

  Colder than the coldest depths of the northern ocean, colder than icicles, colder than polar caps, colder even than death itself.

  The freezing mist of the wildwoods’ ancient past crept under Wish’s armor and sank like death into her bones.

  Was it Wish’s imagination, or did the very air above them seem to be GRINNING?

  The spoon stood straight up on top of Wish’s head and sniffed the air around them.

  Suddenly he went rigid as if sensing something terrible… and dived down into Wish’s armor to hide.

  Wish put on her helmet.

  “Run, pony, run!” squealed Wish, and the exhausted little pony started violently and broke into a shambling, terrified, wobbling gallop.

  Anybody watching would have thought that they were mad, for it looked like they were running away from nothing at all.

  But there was definitely something very odd going on.

  Wish and Bodkin could see nothing above them except for the dark night sky, stars, and trees, but something about the way the tree branches were moving suggested that an invisible presence was hurtling against them.

  And the air rushing above them was so cold that it burned the top of Wish’s forehead, and as the pony galloped faster and faster, the wind blowing directly behind them began to make an odd noise, like no wind that Wish had ever heard before.

  “Now, you see, Bodkin, aren’t you glad I brought the sword with me? I thought we might need it,” panted Wish, trying not to panic.

  “Glad? Glad? We could be sitting right now in front of our dinner safely in the dining room in Warrior fort—and I think today it was going to be deerburgers, which is my favorite—and this pony is going in the wrong direction!” flapped Bodkin. “The fort is the other way!”

  But whatever-it-was that was chasing them didn’t want them to go back to the fort, so it was chasing them farther and farther and farther into the Badwoods.

  “Does anyone know we’re out here?” cried Bodkin, who had drawn his bow and was shooting desperate arrows upward even though he was a terrible shot and he couldn’t see what he was shooting at. “Will they send out search parties?”

  “I’m afraid not,” said Wish, squinting up, trying to work out what was pursuing them, “or not till the morning, anyway. I told my mother I was going to bed early with a headache.”

  “Brilliant,” said Bodkin, “bril
liant. As it happens, I think I can feel a bit of a headache coming on myself… Don’t worry, Princess… You mustn’t worry… I’m here to protect you…”

  Wish shook the spoon at whatever-was-following-them.

  She may have been a somewhat weird Warrior princess, but she certainly had courage.

  “YOU BETTER NOT FOLLOW US, WHATEVER-YOU-ARE!” shouted Wish at the terrifying, screeching nothingness. “For WE are armed with an ENCHANTED SPOON!”

  “The sword, Princess,” murmured Bodkin through white lips. “The sword sounds more scary…”

  “AND A SWORD!” shouted Wish, waving the sword in her right hand and the spoon in her left. “A sword so dangerous it was LOCKED IN MY MOTHER’S DUNGEONS!”

  But that, if anything, seemed to encourage whatever-was-following-them even more, for the wind above them gave a hungry whine and rushed after them even faster.

  “Never fear, Princess!” cried Bodkin, shaking so much with anxiety that he could barely load his bow. “This is a bad situation, but I will save you, for as a personal Assistant Bodyguard to the princess I have been trained in the most Advanced Arts of Bodyguarding!”

  Unfortunately Bodkin discovered in those desperate moments that he had a terrible disadvantage as a potential bodyguard.

  He had a medical condition that caused him to fall asleep in situations of extreme danger.

  He had barely said the last words of that brave speech before he collapsed on the princess’s shoulder, snoring loudly.

  “Bodkin!” shrieked the princess. “What are you doing????”

  Snore, snore.

  “Bodkin!” shrieked Wish. “Wake up NOW!”

  Bodkin woke up with a start, mumbling, “Where? What? How?”

  “Badwoods…” panted the princess. “Being chased… something terrible… Advanced Arts of Bodyguarding…”

  “Oh yes! I’ve been carefully trained for exactly these sorts of life-or-death emergencies!” cried Bodkin, fitting another arrow into his bow, and unfortunately falling asleep again at the moment of aiming it, so that he tipped forward, and accidentally shot the poor pony at the hindquarters.

  The pony squealed protestingly as the arrow grazed his bottom, and then ran on in wild desperation through the pitch-dark forest.

  Wish’s heart was beating fast like a rabbit’s, and she didn’t even notice when the brambles shredded her clothes to ribbons and tore long, painful scratches into her legs.

  The pony came upon an ice-cold stream and forced his way through the briars and splashed down into it—though the cold of the water burned them all like fire—in the hope that whatever-was-following-them would be put off the scent.

  The pony clambered out the other side and galloped through the darkness.

  Oh murmuring mistletoe… thought Wish in terror.

  I should never have done this.

  Magic is banned for a reason.

  Warriors are not allowed out after dark for a reason.

  Iron Warrior fort is built like it is for a reason.

  She could feel her heart beating so hard it felt like any moment it would break out of her chest.

  “Faster! Faster!” urged Wish, so choked with panic she could barely breathe. The pony galloped into a sudden clearing in the forest.

  The whining of this strange wind had an edge to it now, like the painful scritch of chalk on stone—a sound that grew louder as if building up to attack.

  Louder and louder the noise grew…

  SCRRITTCCHHHHHH!!!

  There was an extraordinary noise as if the very air itself were being torn apart like a giant piece of paper.

  Terrified, Wish turned her face upward to confront the attack with her drawn sword…

  There was a shout from a human voice somewhere behind her and…

  Suddenly everything happened very quickly.

  3. The Witch Feather Begins to Glow…

  Okay, I’m getting a little fed up now,” said Rush, who was lying, pretending to be wounded, in front of a concealed net that was Xar’s Witch-trap. “We’ve been here for hours.”

  “Make your ‘helps’ a bit more pathetic,” Xar called out bossily from his hiding place behind a nearby tree.

  “I could wound Rush if you like,” grinned Tiffinstorm, showing little fangs. “He looks quite tasty.”

  “I’m fine, thank you,” said Rush hastily. “Face it, Xar, maybe Witches really are extinct like everyone says… and it’s getting really late. Frankly, I’m more worried about Warriors than I am Witches.”

  “Don’t worry,” said Xar breezily. “CRUSHER WOULD TELL US IF THERE WERE ANY PROBLEMS, WOULDN’T YOU, CRUSHER?”

  Crusher’s job was hanging on to the rope to pull the net tight when the Witch came upon them, and keeping lookout. The giant was a long way up, so Xar had to shout to get his attention.

  “Hmmm…” said Crusher thoughtfully. “There IS a bit of a problem, actually,” he admitted, but Xar could not hear him because the giant was so far away and he spoke so ve-e-ry, ve-ry slowly. (Giants operate in a slightly different timescale from everyone else.)

  However, it didn’t really matter, because Xar wasn’t listening anyway and the problem that Crusher was thinking about was slightly different from Xar’s idea of a problem.

  Some people think that because giants talk slowly, they must be stupid. But they could not be more wrong. Giants are big, and they tend to have BIG thoughts, and Crusher was a Longstepper High-Walker giant, one of the deepest thinkers of all.

  So the problem, thought Crusher, is this: Is there a limit to the expanding universe, or will it go on expanding forever?

  (I told you it was a BIG problem.)

  If space is infinite, and stars are infinite, thought Crusher, doesn’t that mean that there must also be infinite numbers of Crushers out there? How is that possible and what are the implications of that?

  Which was all very interesting, but unfortunately it did mean that although Crusher was vaguely holding on to the rope, his mind was wandering among the stars and therefore he was entirely unaware of any approaching danger.

  A Longstepper High-Walker giant does not make the ideal lookout.

  “Just a little longer, Rush…” whispered Xar, eyes bright. “There are Witches about—I’m sure I can smell them…”

  Xar closed his eyes and sniffed the air. Please… thought Xar, please, gods of the trees and the water… You don’t know how hard it is, growing up in a world full of Magic when you have no Magic of your own. Everybody laughing at you, pitying you… Let that be a Witch because I need to be Magic. I want to make my father proud of me.

  At that very moment, Xar’s sprites sprang out of the darkness to rotate around Xar’s head in a glowing spritely halo, eyes blazing red suddenly, hissing like a nest of wasps: “Witchessss… Witchessss… Witchessss…”

  “I knew it!” said Xar in excitement. “Draw your wands, sprites! Get your bows ready. We’re about to be attacked!”

  “No, we’re not…” sighed Heliotrope, who was now thoroughly fed up with Xar and his mad schemes and wanted to go home. “Witches are extinct—everyone knows that…”

  But Rush, lying on the ground, felt the air all around him grow suddenly so cold that he shivered.

  Xar called down encouragingly, “Don’t move, Rush! You’re doing brilliantly… You look very victim-like… The Witches are really going to be fooled.

  “Crusher! Get ready now!”

  Silence from above.

  “CRUSHER!!!!”

  “Yes? I think I’ve made a breakthrough!” announced Crusher, thrusting his head down through the tree canopy, with snailish slowness in human time but surprising quickness in giant time, because Crusher was excited. “I’m leaning toward the idea that space might be FINITE…”

  “Crusher! That’s not important right now! And I told you not to think deep thoughts!” snapped Xar, for the process of deep thought made a giant’s head smoke and smolder like a forest fire, and this meant that their exact location coul
d be pinpointed from a considerable distance by, say, enemy Warriors or Rogrebreaths or, indeed, Witches.

  “We’re being attacked!” shouted Xar in exasperation.

  “Oh!” Crusher broke off from his giant daydreams, remembered where he was, and got a good hold on the rope.

  What nobody noticed, in the anxiety of the moment, was the great black feather swinging from Xar’s belt.

  If anyone had been looking at the feather at that moment, they might have noticed that it had begun to GLOW, dully but ominously, in the darkness.

  I’m sure there’s some sort of reasonable and scientific explanation for it…

  But a crow’s feather would not do that, however large the crow.

  4. The Witch-Trap Catches Something

  From Xar’s point of view, here is what happened.

  Xar was waiting, hiding behind the tree, trembling with excitement.

  The sprites hummed louder and louder, whirling around his head, screeching, “Witcheswitcheswitcheswitches!!!!!!!!!”

  Xar heard the sound of hoofbeats, and something galloped into the moonlit clearing, too fast to stop, something that if Xar could have seen it properly had the legs of a pony below, and human bodies in the middle, and a great indistinct cloud above it.

  What strange monster was this?

  Rush was frozen with terror, he could not move, he would be run down…

  SCRRITTCCHHHHHH!!!

  There was a tearing noise, as if the atmosphere were being ripped apart like paper.

  And then Xar’s senses were assaulted all at once by the worst smell you could possibly imagine: rotting corpse and moldy eggs and dead-man-six-weeks-gone with unwashed-feet-and-underarm-reek, while a splintering scream like the death agony of five hundred foxes buried itself in Xar’s brain and reverberated inside his head till he felt like he might go crazy.

  What is going on????? thought Xar, with the tiny part of his mind that could still think.

  Rush curled up like a little hedgehog, rather pathetically putting his hands over his head, as if that would protect him from whatever horror was making THAT noise and THAT smell.