"You make it sound so easy."
"It was."
"But if your soul was in perfect balance, not good or evil but neither and both, how could you decide at all?"
He turned on his side, his back to me. "Usually there's a sign. Some spend months waiting for it, but I wasn't that patient. I flipped a coin."
I laughed. I'd laughed before, but never like this. It was soft and musical and very mortal. I didn't mind at all.
"So how does one become a witch?" Wyst asked.
"It's a secret."
Wyst propped himself on an elbow and turned his head in my direction. "White Knights are very good with secrets."
I gazed into those deep, dark eyes. A heat rose in my chest, and my stomach grumbled. And I savored the sensations.
"Yes, I suppose they are."
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.