The Dark and Forbidding Land Page 8

  She started to shiver and thought about adding more wood to the stove, but then her stomach rumbled, convincing her to go downstairs instead. She hadn’t eaten supper, since as usual, if she didn’t make it, it didn’t get made. She ran down the steps to the kitchen/parlor and hurried over to the stove, but it was just as cold as the one upstairs.

  “Uuthanum,” she said, pointing to the lamp by the chair.

  It ignited into a warming glow. Quickly she opened the stove and began filling it with logs. It would usually hold seven or eight depending upon their size. This time only five went in. She hadn’t bothered to scoop out the ashes first. She looked around for some paper for kindling, but there wasn’t any. Besides, by the time the fire took, she would be a block of ice. She decided that this called for some real magic. She knew just the spell. She hadn’t officially learned it, but she had seen Zurfina cast it. She pointed her finger at the stove and carefully pronounced the words as she remembered them.

  “Uuthanum uluchaiia uluthiuth.”

  The stove exploded in fire. Fire shot out of the open door. Fire shot out of the air vents on the sides. The cast iron burner plates on the stovetop flew into the air as flame shot out from beneath them. Senta instinctively covered her face with her hands as the blast pushed her back. Flame sprang up from the rug and the dust ruffle on the comfy chair began to burn. The room began to fill up with smoke.

  Senta grabbed the blanket off the chair and began to beat the fire on the rug. The rug was quickly extinguished but then the blanket was on fire. She threw it down and began stomping on it with her bare feet. The flame from the blanket ignited the frilly bottom of her bloomers and began to run up her leg.

  “Stop, drop, and roll!” she shouted. “Stop, drop, and roll!”

  It was a second though before she remembered that it wasn’t enough to shout it. You had to do it. She threw herself on the wooden floor and rolled back and forth several times. Sitting up, she saw that her underwear was no longer blazing, but the chair was totally engulfed and the blanket now lying on the floor was too.

  “Bloody hell!” she shouted. Then she stopped to cough.

  Setting her jaw in determination, Senta pointed her index finger at one calamity after another. “uuthanum, uuthanum, uuthanum, uuthanum, uuthanum.”

  The stove door slammed shut. The equivalent of several bucket of water appeared out of nowhere, dousing the chair and the blanket. The front door flew open and a breeze sucked the smoke outside. Once the air was clear, the door slammed shut again.

  “Bloody hell,” she said again, surveying the damage. The chair and the rug were a total loss and the blanket was now completely unrecognizable. At least the stove seemed none the worse for wear. Who knows what else had been damaged by the smoke though? She looked down at her blackened bloomers, then at her sooty hands. She put her hands to her face.

  “Kafira’s tit!” she cried, when her fingers found where her eyebrows had been. The hair around her face was singed too.

  Senta found the burner plates and put them back on the stove. She picked up a crate that had once held a selection of potatoes and winter squash from Mr. Callinger’s produce stand, and carried it over to the chair. She put the burned blanket in the crate and took it outside. Stomping the snow off her bare feet as she came back in, she rolled up the burnt rug and took it outside as well. When she came back in, she stopped and warmed herself by the now glowing stove. The room was now quite toasty, despite the front door having been opened twice.

  Opening the froredor, Senta poured herself a glass of milk and cut a hunk of yellow cheese. While she ate, she tried to think of what to do. There wasn’t much to be done about the chair, so she decided to leave it. After finishing her snack, she pulled the dining chair over to the stove and sat thinking. Her head lolling to her shoulder jerked her awake and she realized that hours must have passed. She pulled her burnt bloomers off and tossed them into the fire, put the dining chair back where it went, then went upstairs to her room and climbed into a hot bath. She didn’t stay in long; just enough to wash away the smoke smell. Then she climbed into bed, next to Bessemer, and went back to sleep.

  “So what happened?” asked a sultry voice from somewhere nearby.

  Senta pulled her head beneath the blankets. “It was the dragon.”

  “Really? That’s what you’re going with? The dragon? Really?”

  “It was an accident. He didn’t mean to do it.”

  “How do you explain your half of one eyebrow?”

  Senta peaked out from beneath the blanket. Bessemer snored quietly and Zurfina stood beside the bed with her hand on one hip. She was wearing a black garment that looked to be halfway between a toga and a curtain. She didn’t look particularly angry.

  “I’m sorry.”

  “What happened?”

  “I used a fireball to light the stove.”

  “A fireball?”

  “Mm-hmm.”

  “That’s quite advanced,” said the sorceress, tapping her chin with her index finger. “Maybe it is you.”

  “It was me,” admitted Senta. “It wasn't Bessemer. I caused the fire.”

  “Hmm? Oh, yes. Well, that much is obvious. Did you put out the fire using magic?”

  “Yes.”

  “Most commendable.”

  “But what are we going to do now?” Senta’s voice quavered involuntarily.

  “Don’t worry. I’ve already cleaned up the rooms downstairs and restored the chair. We’ll buy a new rug.”

  “I mean about my eyebrows!”

  “Come with me.” Zurfina pulled her by the hand and led her over to the large cheval glass that stood against the wall. She reached out and pulled a pink handled straight razor seemingly from the air, and with a quick swipe, she removed the remaining bit of eyebrow. The razor disappeared back to wherever it had come from, and then Zurfina swirled her finger over Senta’s head. Her hair flew up and settled back down, all the singed parts having been restored back to normal. Senta felt her head. Her hair was a good eight or nine inches longer than it had been, falling well below her shoulders.

  “Couldn’t you have just fixed my eyebrows too?” she asked.

  “I could grow them back but we would have to spend all day trimming them back and shaping them and well… I don’t want to. Just draw them on with an eyebrow pencil.” She leaned back and looked at the girl. “Clearly I’ve been negligent in teaching you new spells if you feel the need to try one you’re not ready for.”

  “It worked,” protested Senta.

  “Indeed.” Zurfina took Senta’s head in her hands and looked deep into her eyes. “You should go ahead and practice the fireball, but do it outside. And since you seem to have an affinity for potent offensive spell combat, try this: Uuthanum rechthinov uluchaiia.”

  “Uuthanum rechthinov uluchaiia,” Senta recited.

  “That’s another one you should practice out of doors. Now, what are you planning to do today?”

  “I was going into town—if it’s stopped snowing.”

  “It hasn’t stopped snowing, but you should still go into town.”

  “Why?” wondered Senta.

  “I’m in the mood for a bit more peace and quiet. You can take Bessemer with you too.” The sorceress curled her lip. “After all, you are the Drache Girl, eh?”

  “He just ate.”

  Zurfina nodded. It was understood that after eating, the dragon would sleep for at least a day.

  An hour later, Senta was ready to leave the house. She had dressed in the clothing that Zurfina had laid out for her—a pair of leather pants and a strange black blouse with very fluffy sleeves. Fortunately Senta’s heavy coat completely covered her unorthodox attire. On her feet she had her heavy boots and oiled overs. She wore a little black hat and carried a large black umbrella. And on her face were two hand-drawn, slightly crooked eyebrows.

  Outside the wind was still blowing fiercely and the snow was dropping swiftly from the sky at ever-changing angles. So much had fa
llen during the night that the top of the small fence that encircled the yard was no longer visible and with her first step away from the door, Senta sank down to her mid-thigh. Little bits of cold wetness fell into her boots. The wind whipped up under the umbrella and bit at her cheeks and nose.

  “Uuthanum rivah-necht,” she said waving her hand. She immediately felt warmer, but when she stepped forward, she sank even deeper into the snow. The spell helped the body endure extreme weather, but it didn’t make it any easier to negotiate the winter terrain. Taking step after step through the rapidly growing drifts, by the time Senta reached what she thought must be the edge of the road, she was exhausted. As she took several deep breaths, she savored the fresh smell of pine and cedar on the cold air. With the exception of the wind whistling through the trees, all was eerily quiet.

  Turning left, Senta saw at some distance, the figure of a man, black against the backdrop of white, moving west toward her. He was clothed in heavy winter gear and carried an enormous rifle slung over his shoulder. He was moving along quite nicely though through, or rather over, the snow, because he had some kind of contraptions attached to the bottoms of his boots. The figure was almost upon her before she could see that the devices were round, netted constructions not unlike badminton rackets. Now she could see that the rifle was not so large, it was just that the man was short. Pulling back his furry hood, the figure revealed himself as Graham.

  “What have you got on your feet?” Senta asked him.

  “Snow shoes. The dog’s bullocks, right?”

  “Well, yeah. Where did you get them?”

  “My Da made them. And look.” He reached over his shoulder and pulled another pair of the strange contraptions from where they hung, on a string around his neck. “I had him make you a pair too.”

  “That’s ace,” said Senta, dropping to sit in the snow. Then rolling onto her back, she stuck her feet up into the air. “Put them on for me.”

  Graham started fastening the devices onto the bottom of the girl’s boots.

  “Are you wearing pants?” he asked.

  “Don’t peek!”

  “I’m not… I mean I didn’t mean to.”

  He finished tying on the snowshoes, and then lending his hand to Senta, he pulled her back up. She took a few tentative steps to try them out. It was amazing. You could walk along on the snow without sinking down more than an inch or two.

  “Where did he get the idea for these?”

  “Royal Geographic Society Journal.”

  “Well, that was wonderfully nice of him, and you. Thanks. How come you came out all by yourself?”

  “I knew it was only a matter of time before you snuck out. I really thought I would get here before you did. I can’t just let a girl wander around in a frozen forest by herself, can I?”

  “Such a gentleman.”

  “Too right. Nobody’s seen the tyrannosaurus since it killed that triceratops on the other side of town, but there are plenty of big birds hanging around. Aalwijn Finkler saw two utahraptors yesterday right by the Town Square, bold as life. So I brought my Da’s rifle.”

  “Wasn’t your Ma afraid you would shoot yourself with it?”

  “She would have been,” admitted the boy, “if she had seen me leave with it.”

  “Here. I’ve got something for you,” said Senta. She pointed her finger at Graham and cast the endure elements spell on him. Though his cheek twitched a bit when she first pointed at him, he didn’t flinch as the spell took hold.

  “Nice. That’s better than a pipe.” Some of the rosiness returned to Graham’s face. “Mind you, I didn’t need it. I could stay out in the snow all day.”

  “Yes, you’re quite the arctic explorer. Come on. Let’s go.”

  The two of them started down the road toward the Town Square. The snowshoes made the journey almost as easy as it would have been had there been no snow at all.

  “That was really sweet of you to have your Da make these for me,” said Senta.

  “It doesn’t mean you’re my girlfriend,” Graham replied, rather too quickly to Senta’s mind.

  “Of course not. You’d have done it for any of your friends.”

  “That’s right.”

  “So you have a pair for Hertzal?”

  “Um, well… you may not be my girlfriend, but you’re still a girl. I have to look out for you.”

  “You do?”

  “Of course. You just said I was a gentleman.”

  “Did I?”

  “Yes.”

  “I guess we ladies are all very lucky to have you around,” said Senta dryly.

  Suddenly Graham stopped, putting his arm out to stop her as well. Senta watched him as he slipped the strap of the rifle from his shoulder. Only after he had pressed the butt of the stock to his shoulder did she look to see what had alarmed him. Stalking slowly toward them, skirting the edge of the trees on the right hand side of the road were two monstrous feathered creatures. They must have been the same two utahraptors that Aalwijn Finkler had seen. They were magnificent creatures, cloaked in turquoise feathers that slowly turned to forest green at the end of their long tufted tails. Those tails stuck straight out behind them, making their total length nearly twenty-five feet. Their heads, eight feet above the ground, moved forward and back as they walked. One of them would have been more than a match for a grown man.

  Graham carefully aimed down the length of the barrel. He squeezed the trigger, but nothing happened. Lowering the weapon, he flipped the safety to the fire position, and then sighted again. This time when he fired there was a satisfying crack. The utahraptors stopped, startled for a moment, but seemed uninjured. Graham worked the action and fired again. This time Senta saw the bullet strike the trunk of a massive redwood about twenty feet above the ground and quite a bit behind the predators.

  “It’s not sited in right,” muttered Graham, as he pulled back the bolt.

  This time, as with the first shot, they were unable to determine where the missile hit.

  “Um, aim at their feet and a bit to the right of them,” advised Senta.

  This time the bullet hit a tree just to the right of the foremost creature.

  “The next one is in your head!” called Graham as if he had intended the previous shots as warnings.

  The utahraptor did not look at all impressed. He and his cohort were not much more than fifty feet away. When they charged they could clear that distance in the blink of an eye. For the moment though they were still being wary of the strange little creatures that made loud booming noises and refused to run.

  “You better stand behind me,” said Graham bravely.

  Instead of moving to stand behind her friend, Senta pointed her index finger at the gigantic bird. The words just seemed to appear in her mind. “Uuthanum rechthinov uluchaiia.” A bolt of lightning shot from her finger. Illuminating the world beneath the shadowy sky with a harsh blue light, it arced from her hand to the first utahraptor, striking it in the chest and passing through it to strike the second. It lasted only a second before the world turned back to its dull grey and the bodies of the two great beasts crumpled to the ground.

  “Kafira,” murmured Graham, then he and Senta rushed forward.

  The smell of burnt feathers hung in the air when they reached the side of the monsters—burnt feathers and something else. Maybe burnt air?

  “You’d better shoot them to make sure they’re dead,” advised Senta.

  Graham nodded and took aim at the first utahraptor. The end of the gun barrel was no more than three feet away from the massive head and there was a loud crack and a dull thud as the lead bullet entered the beast’s skull. At the noise, the second bird suddenly stirred, kicking its legs out and tossing its head as it struggled to get to its feet.

  “Shoot it!” Senta’s voice sounded more excited than she felt.

  Graham aimed and fired. The bullet made a small crater in the snow beside the utahraptor’s head. Before he was able to work the action, the creature jumped upr
ight. It opened its mouth in something that was half roar, half squawk. Then it turned and ran away through the trees. Pulling the rifle butt back to his shoulder, the boy took aim at the fleeing beast, but it was already almost lost between the trunks of the massive pines and redwoods.

  “Hey!” Half a dozen men were running in their direction from the east. By the time they reached the two children, Graham had thrown his gun over his shoulder and pulled a very long turquoise feather from the utahraptor’s tail, which he handed to Senta. The men stopped next to the fallen creature. Among them were Sergeant Clark and a couple of armed militiamen, as well as Mr. Darwin and Mr. Fonstan.

  “Look Clark,” said Mr. Fonstan. “These children killed the utahraptor that you and your men couldn’t even find.”

  Clark shot him an evil look.

  “If you don’t have any use for the carcass,” said Mr. Darwin to Graham. “I’ll gladly give you two marks for it.”

  While the man and boy were negotiating, with Mr. Fonstan looking on, Clark and his two men followed the trail of the second creature into the trees, leaving Senta standing near the sixth man in the group. He was a stranger, a young man wearing a black greatcoat over a charcoal suit. His blond hair was cut short beneath a furry cap. He examined the girl with steely eyes.

  “So who would you be?” he asked, his voice thick with a Freedonian accent.

  “She would be the Drache Girl,” said Fonstan, turning around.

  “Ja? This little bit?” He was looking neither at Fonstan nor Senta, but was scanning the edge of the trees.

  “That’s right,” said Senta saucily. “What’s that?”

  She pointed to a small, round black and red pin on the lapel of his coat. It was something like a cross, with each of the four legs broken off at right angles. The man sneered.

  “You Brech call it a gammadion, but its proper name is fylfot.”

  “Yeah? What’s it for?”

  “It is the symbol of the Die Wahre Kunst von Zauberei,” he said, turning his attention back to her.

  “Um… painting with wizards?”

  “The true art. Wizardry. Ignorant girl!”