A Nameless Witch Part 21

"You didn't ask."

There are many who study the ways of magic, and a select few have the talent to be great. Of these elite, there are an even smaller group who have the power to shape history, to alter the world (and sometimes even the universe) in ways that are never forgotten. To become legends that will live until the end of time.

And then, there are the Incarnates. They are magic given flesh. Or flesh given magic, depending on how one looks upon such things. There is only ever one upon the world, and in whatever craft of magic they practice, they are unequaled. Strangely, they were a mixed lot. Many never accomplish anything of great note. Such power doesn't always go to those who have a desire to decimate kingdoms or better the world. The magic chooses its Incarnates by its own reasons, and none are privy to those reasons.

Ghastly Edna had mused on occasion that Nasty Larry might have been an Incarnate. If so, I was all his awesome wizardly might in one accursed form, but I was not an Incarnate.

Gwurm picked Newt up and deposited him on my lap. "A sorcerer Incarnate," my familiar said. "Then it can only be one man."

"Soulless Gustav," said Gwurm.

I hadn't heard the name before, but I didn't need to ask. I only had to listen.

Newt's eyes grew wide and fearful. "Not so loud. He'll hear you."

"That's just a fairy story."

"No, it's not. I knew someone who knew someone who said His name and attracted His attention." Newt spoke with hushed reverence. Apparently, even p.r.o.nouns weren't safe enough distance from Soulless Gustav.

"And what happened to this friend of a friend?" Gwurm asked.

"What do you think happened? The poor b.a.s.t.a.r.d died. Miserably, I might add. His tongue swelled up. His skin turned to maggots. His heart jumped from his chest, grew arms, and beat him to death."

"That is horrible," I agreed.

"Superst.i.tious nonsense," Wyst remarked.

"No it's not!" Newt nodded at me. "Tell them. Tell them an Incarnate can do that."

"I suppose it is possible," I said. "Of course, it's also possible his heart was upset with him for reasons all its own."

Both Wyst and Gwurm laughed. Penelope shook with her own silent giggling.

"I wasn't aware you had so many friends," I said.

"I wasn't always a familiar, or just a duck. There's more to my past than you'll ever know."

I'd never thought about it, but I hadn't been born in Ghastly Edna's tutelage. A demon-infested waterfowl must surely have had as colorful a background as an accursed witch.

"Fair enough. And in that past, I take it you've met this Soulless Gustav."

Newt sputtered. "Don't say His name. Weren't you listening?

"Skin to maggots," I said to prove I was.

"Swollen tongue," added Wyst.

"Pummeling heart," said Gwurm.

"Exactly. And that's just saying His name. None who have ever seen Him has lived to tell the tale."

"Sounds like a fairy story to me." Gwurm shrugged. "If everyone who's ever seen him has died, then how do you know he exists?"

"Because none of the unfortunate fools died right away. First, they all went mad. Then they stumbled back to civilization before they perished."

"I thought you said no one lived to tell the tale."

Newt rolled his eyes. "That's just a figure of speech. Of course, they lived to tell the tale."

"What about the swollen tongues?" asked Wyst of the West. "Wouldn't the swollen tongues get in the way of the telling?"

"That was just my friend's friend. Everyone perishes in a different way. Sometimes their eyes burst. Or their brains liquefy. Or their intestines strangle them. I've heard of a man who was compelled to chop himself to pieces with a rusty ax. And another who gasped with such terror that his lungs exploded."

"Sounds dreadful," Wyst said.

"Dreadfully horrible." Newt shook out his wings. "Ghastly and gruesome and appalling and any other terrible word you can think of. Which is exactly why we shouldn't even be talking about Him. Even just thinking about Him is dangerous."

"Stuff and nonsense. We trolls don't believe in such foolishness." Gwurm hunched carefully so not to throw me off his shoulders. "I'll be d.a.m.ned if I'll be afraid of a sorcerer who doesn't have better things to do than send strangling intestines after those who say his name. Even if he does exist." He raised his hands in gnarled fas.h.i.+on. The large size and flexibility of troll fingers makes them quite terrifying when held like that. Like great, twisted claws. "Soulless Gustav can scratch my unmentionables."

"Stop saying His name!"

Gwurm fiddled with his little finger, twisting it all the way around. "Who? Soulless Gustav? Do you want me to stop saying Soulless Gustav? Because if you really want me not to say Soulless Gustav anymore, I'll stop saying Soulless Gustav. You just have to ask."

"Stop saying it!"

"What's that?" Gwurm adjusted his ear. "Stop saying what?"

"Stop saying Soulless Gustav!"

Penelope smacked Newt on the bottom with her bristles. Thinking it the sorcerous wrath of Soulless Gustav himself, the duck jumped in the air with a howl. He flapped his wings madly, fell to earth, and jerked tensely upright. His head twisted back and forth, up and down. My undead ears heard his heart thundering.

Gwurm cracked a crooked grin. Penelope shook. Even Wyst chortled ever so lightly.

"Fine. You got me to say it. Very funny. All I'm saying is that even if He's not real, even if He's just a story, there's no point in taking the risk, however negligible it might be."

Gwurm and Penelope decided they'd tormented Newt enough and agreed. But the sorcerer was still a topic of conversation. Though he refused to sit on Gwurm's shoulders, Newt relented to talk about Soulless Gustav as long as the name went unspoken.

"They say he was born without a soul," Newt said. "That's why he's so mad and evil. And that he must feast upon the souls of virgins to survive, like the Lords of Inferno themselves. And that all the unfortunate soulless virgins are kept as his slaves, an army of beautiful, empty flesh. Neither dead nor alive nor undead but something wholly different and unnatural."

"I'd heard the same," said Gwurm. "Only I'd heard it told that he was born with a soul but lost it."

"Sorcerers don't often traffic with demons."

"I didn't say he'd sold it. I said he'd lost it."

Wyst agreed. "They say he was a good man, but one day, he misplaced his soul."

Newt sighed. "That's preposterous."

"It's just what I've heard." Wyst remained serious, and I couldn't tell if he was jesting or not. "It doesn't seem any more preposterous than having one's brain liquefy for merely saying a name."

Gwurm said, "I lost my mother's nose not long after leaving home."

Newt balked. "Her nose."

"It's troll tradition. Something to remember her by. But I lost it, and it drove me quite mad with irritation. Took me weeks to get over it, but in the end, it was just a nose. I remember my mother just as well without it."

He ran a thumb across his wide chin. "But still, it did get to me those weeks. And I would imagine misplacing one's soul would be a thousand times worse. It is is your most personal and irreplaceable possession. I think even the greatest man would be driven mad by that. Mad enough to kill those who dared utter his name." your most personal and irreplaceable possession. I think even the greatest man would be driven mad by that. Mad enough to kill those who dared utter his name."

"I still think it makes more sense that he was born without one."

"More sense, perhaps," I agreed, "but magic isn't always sensible."

"You didn't see any souls while you were lost did you?" asked Gwurm. "Good chance if you had it would have been his."

Newt wasn't amused and ignored the question. "Your mother's nose, you say?"

Gwurm nodded. "It was blue with a wart on the end. You didn't come across anything like that either, did you?"

"No. No misplaced souls. No lost ears. No mislaid noses."

"Well, keep an eye out for it next time you're there."

"I will."

He muttered something about eating it should he ever find it.

CHAPTER 22

We came across an old road and followed where it led. In the early evening, the countryside became somehow familiar. I didn't recognize it. I'd seen very little of the world, but a good witch has a sense of the land. old road and followed where it led. In the early evening, the countryside became somehow familiar. I didn't recognize it. I'd seen very little of the world, but a good witch has a sense of the land.

My curiosity got the better of me, and I hopped off Gwurm's shoulders to speak with the road. I knelt low and asked, "Have I been here before?"

He spoke with a rough, dry voice as any neglected, dusty road should.

"Leave me alone."

"I beg your pardon, but I think I've been here before."

"Perhaps you have," he grunted. "Perhaps you haven't. A great many feet have trod upon this old road. I can't be expected to remember them all."

Despite his protests, I knew every road recollected all those who'd traveled upon it. I also knew that such an old, neglected road wouldn't volunteer information freely.

"And how very presumptuous of you," the road added, "to ask me anything after treading so callously on my back."

"I'm sorry, but isn't that what roads are for?"

"Oh, yes. To be walked and rolled across without thought all hours of the day, that is my job. Answering questions is not. Now on your way. Stomp away with your cruel hooves and clomping troll feet, but stop pestering me with questions."

Not all roads were so bitter. A well-used, well-tended road is a contented beast of burden. All too often, prosperity leads men elsewhere, and the streets are left behind to grow resentful. This particular road could never have been that important to begin with. He didn't even have remembered greatness to ease his ill temperament.

I stood for a moment, saying nothing.

"Off you go," the road growled.

I remained. None of my companions questioned my motives though Newt did clear his throat impatiently.

"Oh, the cruelty of it," the road lamented. "I, who have helped a thousand travelers find their way, can't even flee from a single bothersome witch. Wait as long as you like. I have nothing but time."

I let Penelope go, and she immediately set to sweeping.

"Oh, my. That feels ..." The road exhaled. Soft clouds of dust rose and fell. ".. . splendid. It's been ages since I've been tended to. That's it. Now to the left. More. More. Just right."

I snapped my fingers, and Penelope returned to my side.

"Don't stop! Don't stop!"

"Answer my question, and I'll allow her to continue."

The road didn't hesitate. "Yes, yes, you've walked with me before."

"When?"

"Years are meaningless to me, but I know it was when I was more well traveled. Long ago. Your promise. Keep your promise."

"Of course."

Penelope was every bit as eager as the road. She danced back and forth as he sighed pleasurably at her tender caress. He directed her between approving murmurs, and his pleasure drove her into a fervor of sweeping.

"What's wrong with her?" asked Newt.

I climbed back on Gwurm's shoulders.

"Harder," groaned the road. "Oh, yes! That's it. That's the spot!"

Newt squinted curiously.

I covered his eyes. "It's impolite to stare."

We continued. Penelope fell behind, tending to the road. I trusted she would catch up and left her to her pa.s.sion. It was barely an hour later that a broken-down cottage came into view. Like the land, it was oddly familiar. I ordered a stop.