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Authors: Steve Shilstone
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third, then every other time, why had we never asked her about it? Too much other else was ever happening. Excitement, adventure, danger. Such was so. And now here we were, no longer bendo dreen younglings, but a new Harick and a shifting jrabe jroon, sitting on an island in the shadow of a mountainous volcano far north of north in the Wide Great Sea, and the wand was about to tell us about the Golden Shoe. I shivered a thrill.
âGolden Shoe it were,â continued the wand. âThe waterwizard told Babba Ja Harick never to use me unless she were wearing the Golden Shoe. He warned her, truth, not even to touch me unless she were wearing it. He whispered something else into her ear while glaring at me. She stumbled her thanks and asked if he needed help cleaning the tar from around his pool. Briny Brook drew himself tall and said that he had already taken care of those murky waters. Tar. It were my mistake. Why had I spelled the grass into tar? The meddling waterwizard never would have known of my future mischiefs. He would not have brought upon me the curse of the Golden Shoe. Blessing, I mean! Blessing! It controlled my mischief. How I wish ye had it now! But no! It be not needed. I be wise now and thoughtful. No more mischief. None. None now. But truth, there were more than enough mischief in me then.â
Chapter Twenty-Four
FORGETFUL WITCH
âGolden Shoe. Please ... continue ... about ... about the ... the,â I struggled to find the words.
âGolden Shoe!â helped Kar, jabbing me a good one in the ribs.
âGolden Shoe,â said the wand with a wooden sigh. âYears passed. Bars of years. The witch hurried here, rushed there, ever on the whim of the crystal ball. The monster troll Gorge continued to grow and his thick night blue coat of hair slowly whitened as the years and the years and the years went by. Whenever the witch were away or frozen, I strained to move, to lift, to float. I strained to catch hold of the merest wisp of my elusive bolt magic. But elusive it remained when I were not in the witchâs bony grasp. And when she gripped me, she used me as a plaything, a toy! She would take the Golden Shoe from the window sill where she kept it, place it on the floor, and step her purple and black striped stockinged foot into it. Then she would search for me. She had no special elegant place where she kept me. No. She flung me away to land where I would when she were finished with me. Sometimes she had to find me in one of the boring trollâs basements. That was the worst and took the longest. Be it not understandable that my dream were to work some pleasing mischief on her? When she wore that Shoe, what did she do? Boring things, deadly dull. Playful to her, boring to me. She enjoyed rearranging her furniture or redesigning her cottage. Change the black licorice lattice to red, then back to black. Not to orange or green, something new, but black to red, red to black. Boring. She changed cookie shingles to candy brittle shingles. Boring. Nuts replace chocolate chips. Chips replace nuts. Boring. And worse, worse ever than that, she almost never took me anywhere with her. Only a few times. She never forgot to bring the ugly Golden Shoe. She should have brought me more places instead of almost always leaving me trapped in the cottage or in one of the boring basements of the boring troll where she sometimes liked to conjure boring cakes to share. But, oh, true, some days, some glorious few days in the cottage, she forgot to wear the Golden Shoe! Then were I unshackled. My bolt magic were mine! I rushed every time to throw a bolt before she might remember the Shoe. I transformed her door to tar. Ha! Yes. She dropped me and didnât pick me up for a month. It were worth it. Another time, the best time, the troll were there, and I turned him into a patch of tar. Ha! Mischief! Fun! ... But wrong! So wrong! I vow so never to ...â
âI have bird ... heard your cow ...
âGolden Shoe it were,â continued the wand. âThe waterwizard told Babba Ja Harick never to use me unless she were wearing the Golden Shoe. He warned her, truth, not even to touch me unless she were wearing it. He whispered something else into her ear while glaring at me. She stumbled her thanks and asked if he needed help cleaning the tar from around his pool. Briny Brook drew himself tall and said that he had already taken care of those murky waters. Tar. It were my mistake. Why had I spelled the grass into tar? The meddling waterwizard never would have known of my future mischiefs. He would not have brought upon me the curse of the Golden Shoe. Blessing, I mean! Blessing! It controlled my mischief. How I wish ye had it now! But no! It be not needed. I be wise now and thoughtful. No more mischief. None. None now. But truth, there were more than enough mischief in me then.â
Chapter Twenty-Four
FORGETFUL WITCH
âGolden Shoe. Please ... continue ... about ... about the ... the,â I struggled to find the words.
âGolden Shoe!â helped Kar, jabbing me a good one in the ribs.
âGolden Shoe,â said the wand with a wooden sigh. âYears passed. Bars of years. The witch hurried here, rushed there, ever on the whim of the crystal ball. The monster troll Gorge continued to grow and his thick night blue coat of hair slowly whitened as the years and the years and the years went by. Whenever the witch were away or frozen, I strained to move, to lift, to float. I strained to catch hold of the merest wisp of my elusive bolt magic. But elusive it remained when I were not in the witchâs bony grasp. And when she gripped me, she used me as a plaything, a toy! She would take the Golden Shoe from the window sill where she kept it, place it on the floor, and step her purple and black striped stockinged foot into it. Then she would search for me. She had no special elegant place where she kept me. No. She flung me away to land where I would when she were finished with me. Sometimes she had to find me in one of the boring trollâs basements. That was the worst and took the longest. Be it not understandable that my dream were to work some pleasing mischief on her? When she wore that Shoe, what did she do? Boring things, deadly dull. Playful to her, boring to me. She enjoyed rearranging her furniture or redesigning her cottage. Change the black licorice lattice to red, then back to black. Not to orange or green, something new, but black to red, red to black. Boring. She changed cookie shingles to candy brittle shingles. Boring. Nuts replace chocolate chips. Chips replace nuts. Boring. And worse, worse ever than that, she almost never took me anywhere with her. Only a few times. She never forgot to bring the ugly Golden Shoe. She should have brought me more places instead of almost always leaving me trapped in the cottage or in one of the boring basements of the boring troll where she sometimes liked to conjure boring cakes to share. But, oh, true, some days, some glorious few days in the cottage, she forgot to wear the Golden Shoe! Then were I unshackled. My bolt magic were mine! I rushed every time to throw a bolt before she might remember the Shoe. I transformed her door to tar. Ha! Yes. She dropped me and didnât pick me up for a month. It were worth it. Another time, the best time, the troll were there, and I turned him into a patch of tar. Ha! Mischief! Fun! ... But wrong! So wrong! I vow so never to ...â
âI have bird ... heard your cow ...