A happy and productive village leads good lives for all, but take heed, for there is a hint of evil once banished, evil that once again may visit, with a vengeance…
It was a fine autumn day: the air was scented with bonfire smoke, the harvests in progress, and the leaves ablaze with fiery hues. The late afternoon light was suffused with gold and cast long shadows. I had come to the village to barter a dressed deer carcass to the butcher.
“Hullo, Patrick. Good hunt, I see,” Jacob greeted me as I entered the shop and placed the meat on a side counter.
As the village’s skilled huntsman, I supplied the townsfolk with plenty of meat. Having settled with Jacob, I asked: “Where is the schoolmaster with the kids now?” My two, Sam and Carli, would be among his charges. The day would soon wind down, and I’d collect them for the journey home.
“Alain is taking them through the town square to visit the fair’s trade booths. Then he’ll show them the Stone Witch. They’re old enough to know the full story.” Jacob answered.
Both Jacob and I exchanged glances. “May she remain forever cursed,” Jacob spat.
“There isn’t a hellfire hot enough for her.” I returned Jacob’s sign against Evil Eye and headed to the market.
#
In the town square, the fall trade fair was in full swing. I slowly made my way among the many trade booths. Colorful banners bellied and fluttered in the gentle breeze. Street vendors raucously hawked their wares, intermingled with the babble of townsfolk haggling over goods. The clop and clatter of horses bearing riders or pulling rattling carts added to the bustle.
I found Henri the blacksmith’s booth and dropped off my knives and a sword for sharpening and repair. The burly blacksmith admired the sword.
“Good workmanship, this,” he said. “It’s seen some action.”
“Aye, friend, but both blade and bearer are long retired,” I replied and moved on.
Soon I found the physick’s booth, where the surgeon treated minor ailments. My wife was there as the town’s apothecary, selling medicines. Katy was perched on her stool, surrounded by vials filled with colorful potions and powders. Her long, flowing hair, once jet-black, shone cornsilk blonde, and she had the bright green eyes of a white witch healer. Our village was lucky to have such a benign protector.
“Hi, love,” I said. We kissed briefly, and Katrina ran her fingers affectionally through my long mahogany locks of hair. “Alain is going to show the kids the stone witch soon. I want to hear what he has to say.”
“Really?” Katrina replied. She shook her head slightly and gold highlights raced through the strands of her hair. “It’s more likely you want to tell the tale.” She smiled as she said that.
I grinned. “Probably.”
Having helped Katrina pack the vials in carrying cases, we made our way to the square. We made an odd couple: I, tall and swarthy, and Katrina a pale petite beauty. I considered myself lucky that for whatever reason Katrina fell in love with me.
We caught up with the school group. Alain, the town’s cleric and schoolmaster, was wrangling youngsters not quite old enough to be apprenticed to a trade and in need of an education. Ferdinand, our town scholar, accompanied him. Ferdinand was frighteningly smart, and the town had scraped together enough money to send him to Sorbonne for higher education. He had returned for the harvest, and in his spare time, tutored some of the older children.
I watched the group sample warm cider, sweetmeat, and other treats. I felt pride as our children conducted themselves properly and bargained for items with the merchants. Our path took us slowly to the edge of the square, towards a walled area known as the witch’s garden. Alain unlocked a warded gate, and after a brief prayer, everyone entered.
The garden ran riot, choked with weeds and noxious plants. An uneven flagstone path led to a statue in its center: the Cursed Stone Witch. The children stared at it with the intense curiosity of youth.
The life-size statue was of a woman clad in a plain dress. Its gray stone, dappled with bird droppings, caught the woman’s features and the fibers in her garb in intricate detail. However, not all was right with her: The face was contorted in a rictus of rage and one arm was raised upright as if to ward off blows. The other hand clenched a small brass sphere that shone brightly despite its age, its surface etched with runes. Large, deep slash marks scored the figure all over and two stone arrows were buried in her heart. The statue stood on a low stone plinth that had a single word graven on it: MORGANA.
“Why is this statue here?” Sam asked, hiding behind my leg as if the statue was dangerous. His instincts were correct: it was.
“For decades, our town was threatened by Morgana, a dark witch,” said Alain.
“Why was that?” The question came from Max, the potter’s apprentice.
“Good question,” Alain admitted. He turned to Ferdinand. “Perhaps our scholar can explain…?”
“It has to do with the townsfolk’s bloodlines,” explained Ferdinand. “They made it easy for the witch to hex townsfolk into familiars that carried out her deeds wicked. Occasionally, that meant attacking the townsfolk. The creatures were difficult to kill because of the sorcery and, well, they were one of us.”
“Why do this to us? What gripe did Morgana have with the town?” asked Giocco, the weaver’s boy.
“She had no grievance with the town at first,” said Ferdinand. “It was that she kept taking more townsfolk to make more familiars. We all lost someone: family, relatives, and friends to the witch.”
“What happened next?”
Alain took over the conversation. “About thirteen years ago, Huntsman Patrick, home from the Ducal wars, taught us how to mount a coordinated defense. We began killing the familiars with small losses to our ranks.”
“But you were killing townsfolk!” cried someone.
“I’ll answer that,” said Katrina. “Once a person becomes a familiar, they were, in a sense, already dead. There is no turning back. Only through death could our cursed neighbors be free.”
“It didn’t make the job any easier,” I added, with a catch in my voice.
“Needless to say, Morgana wasn’t happy with the situation,” said Alain. “So, she created a monstrous familiar out of several people and sent it out to put the townsfolk in their place. By now, we had made concealed traps and Patrick lured it into one of them. Once snared, we killed it readily. Morgana was furious, she declared a curse on the entire town, to take effect in a fortnight.”
“Curse the town? What does that mean?” that was Sam.
“We’re not certain,” Ferdinand admitted ruefully. “She probably was going to turn everyone into a familiar.”
I couldn’t hold back any longer. “That’s when we decided to carry the fight to the witch,” I growled. “We assembled a party to destroy Morgana. We trapped her in her lair, and our good witch hexed her into stone.” Some of the older children stole glances at Katrina.
I gestured to the statue. “So, this isn’t a statue at all. It’s the witch.”
The group circled the statue warily. They were silent for several minutes, studying it and considering what I had said. Meanwhile, I spoke to Alain, catching up on how Sam and Carli were doing. Then I noticed the kids jumping up onto the plinth, touching the statue, and hopping back off. It was the typical behavior of youths: Daring each other to get close to it.
“Carli, come away from that,” I said. My daughter had clambered onto the plinth and touched the witch’s hands. “You’re not supposed to be on there. The spell on Morgana could turn you to stone.”
I heard a sharp intake of breath from Katrina. She had a haunted look. I mouthed “What’s the matter?” to her. She came close and whispered: “I feel something dark stirring. Please, can we get away from here?” I shot a glance at the statue, but it was lifeless.
I wondered how to politely get the group moving when the potter’s boy presented an opportunity.
“You were there?” he asked. “Tell us what happened.”
I smiled. “Let’s return to the square to find some tables. We’ll get more cider, and I’ll tell you.”
#
The fortnight was at an end, and a motley group of townsfolk warily approached Morgana’s haunt. Henri, Ferdinand, Jacob, Alain, and I were part of the group. Katrina, our witch-healer, was also present both to conceal us and counter Morgana’s spells.
The haunt was once a noble stone manor house, standing proudly among the lush groves of a fruit orchard. Now it was a crumbling ruin, surrounded by stands of wild, untended trees. Dead brown leaves clung stubbornly to their branches, clattering in the autumn wind.
The road to the building’s grand entrance was choked with brush and wild thorny vines. As the obvious approach to the manor house, I wasn’t going to use it. Instead, we would use a cobblestone path that led to the kitchens. The narrower path, obscured by bush and scrawny saplings, should offer some cover for our approach.
A lone graven door, not quite overgrown with ivy, offered the only relief on the harsh stone façade. Henri studied it carefully and shook his head. Despite its weathered appearance, the wooden door seemed depressingly sturdy. “I hope there’s a more discrete way in,” he said. “Knocking probably won’t garner a warm welcome.”
“More likely too warm,” I replied. “But I’ve studied the grounds thoroughly. This is the best among several poor alternatives.”
“We haven’t much time,” Katrina urged, weary from forging the cursed talisman that was our best hope of destroying the witch. “I can’t hide us from Morgana much longer. Worse, her power is building. She will cast the curse soon.”
“We won’t do a conventional knock,” I said, gesturing to a grotesque stone gargoyle perched in a nearby desiccated fountain. “We could use that as a battering ram.”
“Good idea,” said Katrina. “Any protective spell barring the door will react to something foreign. As the gargoyle is part of the haunt, it shouldn’t trigger a response.”
“The gargoyle it is, then.” We clustered around the thing while Henri used a pry bar to detach it from the pedestal. The statue was tipped onto its side, and Katrina fastened an amulet about a limb. A faint glimmer flickered across its stone surface. “This charm reduces its weight and increases its destructive power,” she said. We carried the statue to the path.
I had the group back along the path a dozen more paces. “We need all the speed we can muster, lads,” I explained. “If we don’t open the door on the first try, we won’t get a second. Morgana will see to that.”
With grunts, groans, and much huffing and puffing, we started along the path with the statue. We were building speed nicely. I hoped it would be enough.
The gargoyle’s horned head lead the charge. It slammed into the door.
With a tremendous crash, the two halves of the door were smashed open. In an instant, we had raced past the cobwebbed and dust-clogged kitchen and–still carrying the statue–found ourselves in the building’s Great Hall. In its center was a massive cauldron. By it stood the witch. Nearby were tables laden with alembics, beakers, and bottles that held exotic substances.
Sudden inspiration hit as we rushed along: We could do far more damage with the battering ram besides forcing an entrance.
“Hit the cauldron! Hit the cauldron! Hit the cauldron!” I roared. You always shepherd a crowd by repeating an order in threes.
Our course veered and when we reached one of the tables, hurled the gargoyle. With a din of breaking glass, the statue slammed the table flat. Stone shrieked upon stone as the gargoyle slid along the flagstone floor and struck the cauldron. The vessel pealed like a great bell and toppled over. A wave of glowing, frothing liquid sloshed from it and swept across the floor, knocking over the other tables. As the jars and vials fell into the fluid and shattered, multicolored sparks fountained, and sharp reports resounded. Flames of unknown hues danced across spreading fluid. The liquid’s nacreous glow flickered and faded.
Concocting a potion in such large amounts meant Morgana was crafting an equally large spell. The cauldron had undoubtedly held the town curse. Not anymore.
However, there was still the witch to deal with.
“You cretins!” Morgana shrieked. “You think you’ve stopped the town’s demise? You’ve merely delayed it.”
Ferdinand spoke up. “Some of the ingredients for your spells are very rare and took a lifetime to collect in usable amounts.” He gestured towards the glass wreckage and a pool of liquid that was busily dissolving the gargoyle. “You lack the means of casting many a spell now.” Silently, I congratulated him on keeping Morgana off-balance, rather than allowing her to wonder how we made our entrance. The final stage of Katrina’s plan required the element of surprise. It was why the good witch hid at the rear of the group.
“I don’t need curses. I’ll simply slay you one by one,” snarled Morgana. “Mark my words: The town is doomed while I live.”
I drew my bow, nocked an arrow into it, and took aim at the witch. “We’re here to take care of that, too.”
Morgana’s face wore the expression of a maniac. “If you’re so determined to do that, I’ll send you to hell first,” she sneered. She pointed her wand at me.
At that moment, Katrina rushed to the front of the group and hurled the cursed talisman at Morgana. Morgana caught it with her free hand.
From Katrina’s gasp of dismay, the plan had gone awry.
“What bauble is this?” said Morgana. In reply, her hand transformed into a glove of mottled gray stone clasping the talisman. The hex traveled up her arm, the flesh in its wake turning into a rough gray mineral cobwebbed with cracks. Soon, the witch would be nothing but stone.
Morgana looked at Katrina with contempt. “You thought a petrification curse would destroy me? Kat, I expected better from you.” She stared at her ensorcelled arm and muttered something in a guttural language. The advance of the stone transformation, which had progressed past her elbow, slowed.
“See? I simply focus on your spell and undo it,” said Morgana. I realized then what had gone wrong. Katrina had hoped to land the talisman on Morgana’s breast, where its rapid effects on the heart and lungs would prevent the witch from countering the transformation. By catching it, Morgana had a chance to deal with the spell. Unfortunately, Katrina–now slumped to the floor–was too exhausted to muster any more magic. I stepped forward, placing myself between the witch and Katrina, prepared to take whatever spell Morgana planned to hurl at her.
Something in what Morgana said hinted at a vulnerability. My mind raced, wondering what that might be.
Ferdinand figured it out first. “If you are busy countering that hex, then you can’t counter this,” he snarled and flung an axe at Morgana. The weapon pinwheeled and struck the witch’s other hand. Though Ferdinand wasn’t a skilled axeman, the weapon still knocked the wand from it and drew blood. However, that effort wasn’t in vain: Separating the wand from the witch greatly diminished her ability to cast spells.
Morgana let out a shriek and made a gesture with the now-empty hand. Streaks of light rushed inwards to her palm to merge and form a flickering clot of lightning. It leaped from her hand to Ferdinand. The discharge sent him flying and he landed on the floor yards away. A groan from the man meant he was still alive.
However, the stone hex had resumed its progress up Morgana’s arm. Seeing that, I knew we had a chance: The witch could only deal with one thing at a time. If we rushed her, forcing her to defend herself physically, she couldn’t counteract Katrina’s petrification spell and would turn to stone. If she dealt with the hex, she couldn’t ward off our blows and would die.
I shouted to the others. “Everybody! With all your might! Rush the witch now!”
With weapons drawn and howling with fury, we set upon her.
#
Katrina, the children, and I sat at the back of a rattling wagon. A farmer had offered to carry us by our residence, just outside town. Twilight was falling, draping darker scarlet, turquoise, and violet veils across the heavens. The ale glow from the town’s night lanterns pressed the darkness back.
Katrina was still uneasy since leaving the witch’s garden. However, the kids were eager to talk about what they’d seen. I hoped questions about witchcraft might eventually draw Katrina out.
“So, the witch decided to turn to stone?” asked Sam.
I shook my head. “She didn’t choose. In warding off our blows, the petrification spell overtook Morgana before she knew it. Luckily for us.” I grunted as the wagon jounced over a rut.
Carli spoke up. “Why use a talisman for the spell? Couldn’t Mom have cast it like Morgana did with her wand?” Our daughter was keen on the details of witchcraft.
“Casting a spell takes a lot of effort, and it lacks the strength and permanence of a spell contained in a cursed object,” I replied. “Your mother wanted to place a powerful hex on Morgana, one that would last permanently. We didn’t want her to return.”
We had reached the edge of town, where the buildings became ebon silhouettes dotted with amber light glowing through the windows. A thin fog, scented with burning wood, hung low across the countryside’s rolling hills and blurred distant details.
“The talisman turned anything it touched into stone. Why didn’t it do that to Mom while she held it?” said Carli.
“Ummmm…” I muttered, groping for an answer.
Katrina’s distant look disappeared. She managed a wan smile. “Remember that talk about the town bloodlines? I did the same with the talisman. I crafted its spell not to react to my bloodline.”
The wagon rumbled to a stop. “Here ya are,” the farmer announced. I jumped to the ground, then assisted the kids and Katrina off. We said our goodbyes and entered the house through the kitchen door.
Katrina prepared the children a small supper of bread and cheese at a large cutting table that dominated the kitchen’s center. Heavy panels formed the table’s sides and were dotted with hooks that held knives, cleavers, pans, and other kitchen tools. Originally, I used the massive thing to dress and quarter carcasses, but Katrina stopped that after we were married. Meanwhile, I went past one end of the table to start a fire in the hearth.
Katrina’s anxious look had returned. I went to the other end of the table to talk to her, bumping into one of the shelves that held cooking pots and crockery. I always lumbered about.
“Something is wrong,” I said.
“Yes,” Katrina answered. “Worse, its presence is growing. Could you please put the children to bed? I need to check my crystal for what’s happening.”
I nodded, herded the kids to their bedroom, and began to tuck them in.
“That was neat how you overcame the witch,” said Sam, as I put a blanket on him.
“It wasn’t just me. The townsfolk all worked together,” I replied. “Best of all, some good became of it.”
Sam looked at me, puzzled, but Carli jumped in. “Dad fell in love with Mom then,” she said smugly, her voice a singsong.
“More importantly, your mom fell in love with me,” I answered, having experience in how relationships did–or did not–work.
I saw Carli place a small colorful pouch on her nightstand. “What trinket did you get at the fair?” I asked.
“Nothing at the fair. I got this off the statue,” replied Carli. She opened the pouch to reveal a brass orb, covered with runes.
I felt a sudden chill. “Tell me you didn’t. Where did you get that, exactly?” my voice rising.
“The statue’s fingers loosened when I grabbed it. It’s not the talisman, because I would have turned to stone, right?”
“You have your mother’s bloodline. That both lets you remove the talisman, and it doesn’t turn you to stone. Nobody else can do that.”
“Is that a problem?” Carli said anxiously.
“Yes, it’s a problem! The spell only works if Morgana’s holding it. Remove it and it stops working. She’s going to get loose!”
“I’m sorry,” said Carli, on the verge of tears. “Here, take it!” She wailed and held out the orb to me.
I reached out, then paused. I wasn’t of Katrina’s bloodline. I fished out a small piece of silken cloth that was worn and smudged with grime. An indigo thread woven into the fabric formed occult symbols.
“What’s that?” Sam asked.
“It’s an enchanted cloth your mom gave me. After I make a kill, I first touch the carcass with this, and it shields me against any hexes placed on it.” I wrapped the orb with the cloth and pocketed it.
“Now children, listen closely. Do exactly what I say because your lives depend upon it. Go and fetch Alain, quickly. Don’t take the road, use one of the footpaths. Tell him Morgana is free and here. Have him gather anyone and anything to fight her and come as fast as possible.”
“But Dad…!” they chorused.
“No buts!” I snapped. I hustled the children into the kitchen. While they put on their jackets, I plucked charms from the mantle. These would provide both light and protect them. Then I sent them on their way. I rushed to the rear of the house to Katrina’s lab. Katrina had risen from a table that held a crystal ball as I entered. She was gathering her wand and assorted charms. “Pat! We’re in danger, because–”
“–Morgana is loose,” I finished, showing her the talisman. “Our daughter removed it.”
“I warned them not to go near the statue. I didn’t think one of them might touch it.”
“They’re kids! The group was doing dares.”
Katrina shook her head, dismayed. “Morgana will focus her wrath on whoever hexed her.” Her eyes opened wide. “She’ll come here. The children…!”
“Are gone,” I answered. “I’ve sent them to get help. I need my bow and axe. What will Morgana’s condition be after being under a curse for years?”
“The petrification spell fades slowly. It’s why she didn’t come to life when Carli removed the talisman. Right now, she won’t be able to move fast.”
A tremendous blow shook the place. I heard the kitchen door burst asunder, its fragments clattering about the kitchen.
“KAT!!! Where are you!!!” a ragged, high-pitched female voice screeched. Dogs in the distance began barking. “It’s time for a reckoning!”
“Doesn’t sound like she’s slowed down at all,” I grumbled. “I’ll go first. You follow up behind me.”
“Pat, she’s a witch and you’re a huntsman. You’re ill-equipped to deal with Morgana. Don’t go noble on me.”
“I’m not being noble. I’m going to distract her so that you can get the drop on her.” With that, I strode to the kitchen, going to my probable doom.
At the kitchen’s entrance was a footstool. I kicked it into the room, where it thumped across the floor. A jagged bolt of lightning blasted it into kindling. I rushed in low and got behind the cutting table. I grabbed a meat cleaver from a hook.
Peering cautiously over the tabletop, I caught a glimpse of Morgana, who was staring at the stool’s remains. Her flesh was mottled in gray and pink blotches. The witch moved jerkily, like a marionette. The two arrows were still embedded in her.
Morgana held a small branch with several withered leaves on it. It looked comical, but the branch was bad news: Morgana had fashioned it into a wand that focused spells.
I moved to the end of the cutting table nearest the shelves, stood up, and pitched the meat cleaver at the witch’s wand arm. The knife struck the limb with a gritty thud like an axe hacking wood. As I ducked down, I saw flecks of pink marble fall from the limb. Unfortunately, Morgana didn’t drop the wand.
Curse it, the witch was partially stone. It slowed her down, but one couldn’t inflict serious injuries with any knives, either. I dearly wished for a hammer.
“Is that you, Kat?” the witch shrieked. I seized a skillet and popped up briefly to hurl it at her. It struck with a clang and bounced away. It didn’t injure her and worse, the woman caught a glimpse of me.
“What’s that dullard of huntsman doing here?” said Morgana. An evil smile creased her face. “Ah…you’ve shacked up with the man, haven’t you? Kat, I expected better of you.”
Morgana’s wand twitched and a grape-sized ball of incandescent yellow fire shot from it towards where I was hiding. The fireball hit the cutting table’s surface and sputtered for several seconds before finally burning through. Fortunately, that gave me time to move elsewhere. The witch’s arm swiveled slowly, casting the next fireball lower to hit my legs. In response, I dodged and shoved the table onto its side with a crash. The heavy cutting board would delay Morgana’s spells. I kept moving about, evading the fireballs before they burnt through the paltry cover provided by the tabletop. I returned the favor by flinging more cutlery at the witch. Was the fading petrification curse slowing Morgana’s attacks, or was she toying with me? Unfortunately, I was running out of cover, as most of the tabletop was now a charred mass. Jumping into the open, I seized a large chunk of firewood by the fireplace, hoping to throw it. Morgana pointed her wand at me…
Suddenly, there was a blinding flash and a thunderclap like a lightning strike, and Morgana howled. Katy had arrived and hit Morgana with a hex. The wand twitched and a fireball meant for me missed.
The two witches waved their wands, with eldritch streamers and traceries of brilliant colors flung toward each other as they cast spells. There were flickers and flashes of different hues, punctuated with energy crackles. Magic barriers appeared like iridescent soap bubbles between the two, then shattered under furious mystical assaults. For being partially petrified, Morgan was mounting a good offense. I ducked behind the ruined table again. I knew better than to get involved in a duel between witches: It would be like bringing a stick to a sword fight.
A serpent slithered around the cutting table, purposefully making its way toward Katrina. I smashed its head with the firewood, then worked my way on hands and knees around the cutting table and Katrina, hoping to retrieve my bow. When I reached the other end of the table, several large scorpions scuttled into view. I found the skillet I’d thrown at Morgana earlier and flattened them with it.
I needed my weapons, but couldn’t leave Katrina alone for an instant. Somehow, I had to help. Jumping up again, I seized crockery from a nearby shelf and hurled it at Morgana. I wasn’t a sorcerer, but I could be a distraction. The plates and bowls shattered when they hit their mark, enabling Katrina to land enchanted blows. She was wearing Morgana down.
Running out of earthenware to toss, I prepared to pitch some of the iron pots and lids. Unfortunately, I saw a hex struck Katrina squarely and she stood transfixed.
“A paralysis spell for you, Kat,” Morgana purred. “Now you can watch your huntsman burn!”
I desperately needed a shield. As Morgana lobbed another fireball at me, I snatched up a large iron cooking pot lid from the shelf and blocked its path. The fireball struck the lid and glanced off at an angle to burn a hole in a shelf. We gawped at one another, surprised that I was still standing. I recalled Katrina had charmed this pot and lid to be resistant to spells so it could serve as a cauldron. I had lucked out.
Morgana shrieked and flung more fireballs at me. I maneuvered the lid high and low, deflecting them. The fireballs seared holes in the roof, back wall, and mantle as they made their exit. Maybe I could keep Morgana busy, giving Katrina time to recover from the spell. Unfortunately, the wild rebounds of the spells were destroying our home and might set the place on fire. Or worse, strike Katrina. I had to control where the fireballs went.
That’s when inspiration hit.
“You didn’t kill me then. Nor can you kill me now, Morgana!” I taunted. For good measure, I stuck out my tongue. That should rush her and not let her think things through.
“Enough foolery!” snarled Morgana. A peach-sized orange fireball coalesced at the wand’s tip and rushed at me.
I had only one chance to get this right. I judged angles and tilted the lid. The fireball struck the lid with a bright flash and bang, followed instantly by another glare and boom. An agonized scream told me I had deflected the spell back at Morgana. I was nearly knocked off my feet and the lid became burning hot. I yowled as the lid burnt my hand, yet I had sense enough to fling it at Morgana’s wand arm. The lid’s handle took strips of flesh with it.
Morgana was slumped against the far wall and in a daze. The wall around her was covered with a sunburst of scorch marks. The witch herself was no better off: Portions of her dress that weren’t petrified smoldered, and flesh that wasn’t stone was blistered. The arrow shafts were gone; burnt away. A black ichor began weeping from the wounds as the woman turned more and more into flesh.
Morgana’s wand lay on the floor, where the combination of magical and physical blows made her drop it. Rushing forward, I snatched a broom with my uninjured hand and batted the wand into the fireplace. The flames licked at the limb fitfully for a moment and then it caught fire. The wand disappeared with a tremendous bang, followed by a huge gush of crimson flames from the fireplace that singed my boots. Destroying Morgana’s wand took away some of her magic. Katrina gasped as the curse on her began to lift.
Unfortunately, in avoiding the fireplace fireball, I had blundered into Morgana’s reach. She seized my throat with a claw-like hand. Slowly, she began to crush it.
“I’ll squeeze the life out of a toad like you,” Morgana sneered. Grabbing her arm with both my hands, I tried pulling her hand away from my throat. Morgana crackled with glee as I struggled to draw air into my lungs. She didn’t realize that while I was pulling to free my throat, I was also pushing her…into the path of Katrina’s wand.
Abruptly, there was a flash of light and Morgana shuddered and screamed. She screeched again when Katrina struck her with another hex. Her hand twitched open. I staggered away and drew in ragged gulps of desperately needed air. The arrow wounds on Morgana now leaked a black sludge.
Yet another flash, dimmer this time. Katrina could only muster so much magic in her condition. Morgana turned and began curling her fingers together to cast a spell at Katrina. To her, the good witch posed the bigger threat.
That was a mistake.
I stumbled back to Morgana while groping at my pocket. Carefully keeping my hand covered with the enchanted cloth, I plopped the cursed talisman onto her palm. Caught in mid-gesture, her fingers closed over the orb, and her hand instantly returned to stone. The curse progressed rapidly up her arm, turning any flesh into rough gray rock. Meanwhile, the black sludge leaking from her wounds began gushing from them in earnest. It seems that a dark witch’s blood is black.
I saw fear in Morgana’s eyes. She began a chant to combat the spell. Meanwhile, I had retrieved an iron poker from the fireplace.
“Witch, you have two choices, and both of them bad,” I growled as I approached. “You can turn to flesh and bleed to death. Or return to stone.” I raised the poker. “Let me offer a suggestion.”
I swung the poker hard and there came the sound of shattering stone.
#
Katrina stood at the cog’s bow, marveling at the view. She had never seen the sea before. Her long locks fluttered in the breeze, and her eyes were radiant. “The world is far vaster than I could imagine!” she exclaimed. As a soldier, I had seen the sea once. The view was still impressive, where the shifting waves stretched into the distance and the noon sun strew flecks of silver across their crests. Mounds of white and saffron clouds marched across the far horizon.
I turned back to check the cog’s deck. The seamen had trimmed the ship’s single sail so it wasn’t catching the wind and bringing the cog to a halt. Its shipmaster approached me while giving the large crate on the deck a wide berth. We had told him its contents were cursed.
“This is as far as we go, sir. We’re almost out of sight of land and the crew don’t like that,” he said.
I looked at the others who had come along to ensure this job was carried out: Henri, Alain, Ferdinand, and Jacob.
“Is the water deep enough?” I asked.
The shipmaster nodded. I stared at the ocean. Its waters were wine dark, and therefore very deep.
“Let’s see that Morgana is secure.”
Jacob and Henri shifted loose boards on the crate.
The neck of the statue was cracked, and any loose fragments were held in a bucket whose lid was soldered shut. Iron bands surrounded the statue’s hands to prevent gestures and keep the talisman in place. Finally, iron chains were wrapped around the figure. If Morgana somehow overcame the curse and restored her health, she was still bound physically and magically. She would drown before being able to free herself.
“Let’s finish the job,” I said.
Jacob and Henri nailed the boards into place. We used the ship’s yardarm to lift the heavy crate over the cog’s high gunwale and then drop it over the side. The box hit the water with a splash. It bobbed uncertainly among the waves, then slowly sank as water found its way into the holes drilled into it. With a prolonged gargle of escaping air, the crate slowly sank, taking Morgana into the cold dark depths…where she belonged.
END
