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Authors: David Tysdale
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shack.
"Don't tell me Mariat's in there. Her and her sneaky ways. She's supposed to be in
bed."
"Meeowl!"
"I'm not blaming you, Cleo. I just can't believe that witchling of yours." She opened the
door of the shack and the cat vanished inside. "Mariat?"
There was no answer.
Carole stepped into the gloom, closing the door behind her. That was a mistake. Not
only were there no windows, but it was extremely hot and smelly. "Mariat?"
Silence.
She waited for her eyes to adjust to the dark. After a few moments she could make out
glowing coals in a hearth at the opposite end of the shack. Above the coals hung a small cauldron.
Carole went closer. It was still too dark to see anything, but the smell coming from the vat was
putrid. Holding her nose, she quickly backed away.
A movement attracted her attention. Cleopatra was sitting next to a canvas partly
covering two wooden barrels. Whilst staring at Carole, the cat placed a paw atop an irregular lump
in the canvas.
"What are you doing under there, Mariat?"
"Ya skunk, Cleo." Mariat pulled the canvas off her head. "Didn't I tell ye not to
snitch?"
"You're the skunk, Mariat. You were given strict orders to stay in bed, and now look at
you. Even in this light I can see you're pale as a ghost. You've probably started to bleed again."
"Not so. I jest be a little sore is all."
"If you walked here from Brunstice's cottage, I can almost guarantee you're
bleeding."
"I didn't. I took my broom. Cleo knows the truth. My belly aches only a very little, and
probably Brunstice's wicked broth be the cause of that."
"True, Cleo?"
The cat nodded.
"It's still no excuse, Mariat."
"I makes ye a promise to find out brew's answer, and I keeps it. Westhillers never break
a promise. I still not be strong enough to magic up a way to listen in, but this'll work, fine. We jest
have to sit quite like. It be so dark that none will even know we be here, 'specialy if we cover
ourselfs up. Jest pull another barrel close, Carole, then we be in the perfect hiding place."
Carole was about to argue further when Cleopatra growled a quiet warning. "Who's
coming?"
"Quick multitasker, get the barrel. If Herling finds us here, we be skinned alive."
Carole dragged the empty cask next to Mariat, squeezed behind, and drew the canvas
overtop, just as the door creaked open.
"Lay low, Cleo," Mariat breathed, as a furry body snaked between the girls. A moment
later, someone shuffled inside.
Carole peered through a small rent in the canvas. Professor Philamount and Head witch
Herling were staring into the cauldron by the light of a small oil lamp.
Herling sniffed at the bubbling mixture and croaked, "Tis time. Looks to be a good batch,
Philamount. Cast yer question."
Melodious Philamount poured black powder from a small pouch onto the palm of his
hand. He leaned forward and cast the powder into the vat. Both he and Herling backed quickly
away. Almost immediately, the concoction began to hiss and bubble.
"Gets ready," Herling warned as she doused the light. "This looks to be a riled up answer
fer sure."
A thick column of fluorescent mist exploded from the vat, pancaked into the rafters and
fanned out across the ceiling. Tiny tongues of lightning flashed within the cloud, illuminating
swirling shapes and colors. Soft thunder rumbled, followed by whispering sounds. The thunder
faded, but the whispers grew louder until Carole could hear a chorus of chanting voices:
Two were as one when before shone the sun.
One became two,
in numbers they grew.
One held the high, two sought the low,
fixing their
form in order to grow.
Through ages of battle Conundrum was
cast,
Sylphwood was key to future that's past.
Fates are uncertain, but Hub
witch can view,
if two becomes one, or one becomes two!
The chant repeated over and over until the voices and the mist simply faded away,
leaving the shack deathly quiet. Carole committed the words to memory, though she doubted she
could forget the haunting dirge even if she
"Don't tell me Mariat's in there. Her and her sneaky ways. She's supposed to be in
bed."
"Meeowl!"
"I'm not blaming you, Cleo. I just can't believe that witchling of yours." She opened the
door of the shack and the cat vanished inside. "Mariat?"
There was no answer.
Carole stepped into the gloom, closing the door behind her. That was a mistake. Not
only were there no windows, but it was extremely hot and smelly. "Mariat?"
Silence.
She waited for her eyes to adjust to the dark. After a few moments she could make out
glowing coals in a hearth at the opposite end of the shack. Above the coals hung a small cauldron.
Carole went closer. It was still too dark to see anything, but the smell coming from the vat was
putrid. Holding her nose, she quickly backed away.
A movement attracted her attention. Cleopatra was sitting next to a canvas partly
covering two wooden barrels. Whilst staring at Carole, the cat placed a paw atop an irregular lump
in the canvas.
"What are you doing under there, Mariat?"
"Ya skunk, Cleo." Mariat pulled the canvas off her head. "Didn't I tell ye not to
snitch?"
"You're the skunk, Mariat. You were given strict orders to stay in bed, and now look at
you. Even in this light I can see you're pale as a ghost. You've probably started to bleed again."
"Not so. I jest be a little sore is all."
"If you walked here from Brunstice's cottage, I can almost guarantee you're
bleeding."
"I didn't. I took my broom. Cleo knows the truth. My belly aches only a very little, and
probably Brunstice's wicked broth be the cause of that."
"True, Cleo?"
The cat nodded.
"It's still no excuse, Mariat."
"I makes ye a promise to find out brew's answer, and I keeps it. Westhillers never break
a promise. I still not be strong enough to magic up a way to listen in, but this'll work, fine. We jest
have to sit quite like. It be so dark that none will even know we be here, 'specialy if we cover
ourselfs up. Jest pull another barrel close, Carole, then we be in the perfect hiding place."
Carole was about to argue further when Cleopatra growled a quiet warning. "Who's
coming?"
"Quick multitasker, get the barrel. If Herling finds us here, we be skinned alive."
Carole dragged the empty cask next to Mariat, squeezed behind, and drew the canvas
overtop, just as the door creaked open.
"Lay low, Cleo," Mariat breathed, as a furry body snaked between the girls. A moment
later, someone shuffled inside.
Carole peered through a small rent in the canvas. Professor Philamount and Head witch
Herling were staring into the cauldron by the light of a small oil lamp.
Herling sniffed at the bubbling mixture and croaked, "Tis time. Looks to be a good batch,
Philamount. Cast yer question."
Melodious Philamount poured black powder from a small pouch onto the palm of his
hand. He leaned forward and cast the powder into the vat. Both he and Herling backed quickly
away. Almost immediately, the concoction began to hiss and bubble.
"Gets ready," Herling warned as she doused the light. "This looks to be a riled up answer
fer sure."
A thick column of fluorescent mist exploded from the vat, pancaked into the rafters and
fanned out across the ceiling. Tiny tongues of lightning flashed within the cloud, illuminating
swirling shapes and colors. Soft thunder rumbled, followed by whispering sounds. The thunder
faded, but the whispers grew louder until Carole could hear a chorus of chanting voices:
Two were as one when before shone the sun.
One became two,
in numbers they grew.
One held the high, two sought the low,
fixing their
form in order to grow.
Through ages of battle Conundrum was
cast,
Sylphwood was key to future that's past.
Fates are uncertain, but Hub
witch can view,
if two becomes one, or one becomes two!
The chant repeated over and over until the voices and the mist simply faded away,
leaving the shack deathly quiet. Carole committed the words to memory, though she doubted she
could forget the haunting dirge even if she
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