Ghastly Edna was right, of course, but I had to admit a small and unwitchly fear of death. It was difficult enough for mortal creatures to face death's inevitable kiss when they knew it must come. But endless centuries lay before me, and oblivion was a companion I could easily avoid with care and foresight.
When the fork in the path finally sprang up before me, appearing as if by magic around the curve of a hill, I'd made my decision.
"Well?" Newt asked.
I held little fear of either death or eternity. And I did not crave the promise of quiet contentment. Ghastly Edna had not been the kind to bear a grudge, even against her own murderers, but I was not so witchly. If it was within my power to avenge her death, then I really had no choice but to do so. And though I did not wish to die myself in the process, it was just one possibility of many. And it seemed to me that no matter how it came out, the many possibilities of the east were far more interesting than the singular fate to the north.
"We go east."
Newt muttered. "I still think we should have gone west."
And, once again, I ignored him.
4
The path joined up with a road, and I decided to follow it. I'd made my decision at the fork, and I assumed my fate would now find me. Everything outside the forest was one vast, foreign land. Newt had lived most of his life by Ghastly Edna's side as well and couldn't offer anything in the way of advice. But all roads lead somewhere, even if it isn't always someplace worth visiting.
After finally leaving behind the hills, the edge of the world I had known, an apprehension fell upon me. And a sadness for my lost mistress. And an exhilaration for whatever lay ahead. A strange, heart-fluttering mix.
Newt stopped. "Can we rest? My feet are killing me."
I kept going. "Time enough for rest later. After the sun has set.
The bright orange globe was an hour from sinking below the horizon. I planned on stopping and watching it go. I'd always liked the sunset. Not just the pretty colors of the sky, but the soft dark of early night. The light of day was obnoxious and hard. It burned away the mystery of all it shone upon. Dusk was subtle and gentle. The world always looked a little brighter beneath the gliding shadows.
Newt groaned. "We've been walking for hours."
"And we'll walk until I say otherwise." I didn't care when we rested, but Newt was my familiar. It was important to establish my authority now, while our link was new.
He jogged after me. "Easy for you to say. For every step you take, I take four. And I've got flat feet."
"So fly. I don't mind."
He quacked in an annoyed manner.
Magic is not a something-for-nothing proposition. The enchantments on the duck gave him intellect at the cost of instincts. He'd forgotten how to fly. He could get airborne in a pinch. These were always short flights, no higher than the cabin roof and for brief seconds, awkward displays of clumsy flapping wings and muttered vulgarities. The remembrance made me smile.
"Can't you do something? Something with your magic?"
"There is something, but you won't like it."
"Anything's better than taking another step."
"As you wish. First, raise your right leg."
Newt did so.
"Now, put it back down, and raise your left."
He did so reluctantly. "Are you certain this will work?"
"Quite certain. Now put down your left leg, flap your wings three times, and quack once."
He tilted his head skeptically.
"Trust me."
After he'd done as instructed, I held up a hand, fingers bent clawlike. I circled Newt while mumbling in witchly fashion. Then I scooped him up, tucked him under my arm, and started walking.
"Is that better?" I asked.
He squirmed. I knew very well that he hated being carried. He considered it undignified, but he didn't complain. His feet must have been very sore.
"What was all that business with the leg raising and wing flapping?"
"Practice. A witch should always keep you guessing. Did it work?"
He shifted to a more comfortable position. "It was very peculiar."
I blushed. Being peculiar was something all good witches should be. Anyone could act mad, but it took a special knack to be strange without overdoing it.
The road led from the hills to another forest very much like the one I had just left, yet different. Ghastly Edna's woods had always treated me well, and we'd become old friends. This new forest was a stranger. So I paused to introduce myself.
"Hello. Very pleased to make your acquaintance."
"What?" Newt said.
"I wasn't talking to you."
A squirrel scrambled across the road. It bounced to my feet and placed a walnut before me.
I bent on one knee, collected the walnut, and scratched the squirrel on his head. "Thank you. I have nothing to offer in return."
"Your presence alone brightens the woods, child. But if you keep to this road, you will find a blight in this forest. We would be most grateful should you remove it."
"Of course."
The messenger of the forest scampered away.
"We can't even eat that," Newt said. "You'd think the woods would pay you something more practical."
"It's not a payment. It's an offering."
"I'm just suggesting that perhaps something more substantial wouldn't be out of line. A fresh rabbit wouldn't be asking too much, would it?" He licked his bill.
"It didn't have to give me anything."
"Exactly. And nothing would have been better than a nut. This is just drawing attention to it."
"You're missing the point."
"Apparently. So can we stop now?"
"Just a little farther."
"Oh, can't we remove the blight tomorrow?" he asked.
I kept walking. He muttered anew.
It wasn't five minutes later that we came upon the blight of these woods: a pair of robbers. One was a man, unkempt and unarmed. He was not entirely unattractive in a disheveled, wild sort of way. The most handsome man I'd ever seen, but I'd only seen three others. And this was only if one counted my father, who had been a blackened silhouette in the bright light of the cellar door.
The second robber was a troll. The first I'd ever seen, but he looked as I'd been taught. He was short, barely as high as my shoulder, but nearly as wide as his height. His body was thin, but his limbs were thick, ending in hands and feet made for a creature twice his size. His head was a flattened oval with two large, yellow eyes, a small crooked nose, and a broad mouth capable of swallowing a hog in one bite. There were giant, pointed ears. Light fuzz ran down his mottled gray skin across the arms to his shoulders and down his spine. He was naked, save for a belt whose sole purpose was to hold a leather pouch, and he wore a ring on one of his fingers.
An interesting fact about trolls is that they are not held together by joints of flesh. Their bodies are modular. An innate magical cohesion keeps them from falling apart. The benefits to this are several. It makes them hard to kill. Only a fatal stab to the heart or head can reliably destroy one. Even then, if another troll happens upon the corpse, he can always sal vage the remains as their parts are interchangeable. The lack of joints also allows them to move in ways that are impossible for other creatures. They can strike from all sorts of unpredictable angles. They're also strong as two ogres.
Fortunately a troll left to his own devices is rarely a danger. They aren't violent by nature. A more ambitious troll might occasionally claim a bridge and extort a toll. But for the most part, they would rather be left alone.
This troll seemed possessed of a quiet sadness. I could see it in his eyes and the slump of his shoulders. As troll shoulders were usually slumped to begin with, this was a subtle difference.