“It’s no better for princes,” said Princess gloomily. “I’ve known them to be turned into toads, and bears, and swans, and monsters. Your own brother is a shield.”
“It all seems terribly unfair. You don’t hear of these things happening to kings and queens, or the lesser nobility, and almost never to the common people. It’s always the beautiful princess or the handsome prince. What does everyone have against’
“Just jealous, I guess.” Princess wiped her fingers daintily on a leaf, took a final sip of water, and stretched out, pulling the cloak around her. “I’m going to turn in, Louise. I’m exhausted.”
“It’s been a hard day for you. I think I’ll stay on the alert for a while. One never knows what’s likely to happen in a place like this. Oaks tend to attract an odd crowd.”
Princess mumbled an indistinct and sleepy reply. Louise, propped up securely in the fork of a branch, surveyed the dait forest. Scarcely anything was visible now, nor could any sound be heard save the soughing of the wind in the treetops. It was a restful, lulling sound, and in a short time Louise was ready to turn herself into a staff and rest, but then she had a glimpse of light far off. It disappeared for a moment, then she saw it again, and saw, out of the corner of her eye, another light in the opposite direction. They seemed to be converging on this spot. She watched them closely, to make certain, and when she saw a third light approaching on a course to meet the other two, she decided to wake Princess.
When she had explained the situation, she said, “It’s probably a band of brigands meeting to divide their spoils.
Nothing to worry about. Just take a good grip on me and do what comes naturally. I’ll take care of the rest.”
Covering a yawn, Princess asked, “What if it’s fiends, or demons? Or witches? We’re near enchanted ground, and this is the high season for witches.”
“Use your magic.”
“I don’t know if I could handle three of them. Especially if they’re major witches. The Witch of the Isles, or the Witch of the Cold Seas, could turn me inside out,” said Princess uneasily.
Louise did not reply for a moment. They both watched the lights closing on the tree, and finally the blade said softly, “Let’s just keep quiet and hope they don’t notice us.”
“Good idea,” said Princess. She stretched out on her stomach so that she could peek over a limb, through the leaves, to the open ground below, and arranged Louise in a good viewing position at her side. There they waited.
A cloaked figure arrived at the oak, joined almost at once by a second cloaked figure. Each bore a globe of swirling light in one hand. They dropped their lights to the ground, where the two flowed together to form a pool of brighter light, growing still brighter when the third traveler, and the third light, arrived. The figures threw back their hoods, revealing stringy white hair, warty faces, and pointy chins, and at once began to cackle with laughter and exchange greetings.
“Welcome, my sister, Witch of Sticky Little Things! Where have you traveled, and what have you seen since last we met beneath this venerable oak?” asked the first arrival. Her question was preceded and followed by a great deal of cackling from all three.
The second witch to arrive answered, “I have traveled to the sea and raised a squall to cause mild seasickness in threescore and seven sailors. And what has my sister, the Witch of Over There Someplace, seen and done, and where has she gone?”
After more cackling, the last arrival said, “I have been to the castle of the King of the Murky Lake, where I caused the roof to leak and the chimneys to smoke, to everyone’s annoyance. And where has our sister the Witch of Mud been, and what things has she seen and done?”
The witch who had been first on the scene said, “I have made the rounds of the fairs, where I caused jugglers to drop plates and balls and apples, and soured the cider and made flat the ale and burned the cakes.”
They cackled once again, with noticeably less enthusiasm. The cackling dwindled and died out, and there was a long silence. Someone sighed. One of the witches said in a dull dispirited voice, “Another year shot.”
“Makes you wonder, doesn’t it?” said one of her sisters. “Might as well sit home by the fire, gumming a crust of bread.”
“If I
had
a crust of bread, I’d sit home and gum it, believe me.”
“It’s the walking that does it. It I wasn’t so worn out from walking, I could do a nice bit of evil now and then, but I’ve been at this since I was a slip of a girl and I still haven’t scraped together the price of a broom.”
“A broom? I can’t even afford to keep a
cat!”
“I had to sell my cauldron last year to pay the rent on my hovel.”
“Look at my cloak. It’s a rag. Shameful, I call it.”
The complaints came flooding out! in whiny querulous voices. Princess and Louise listened from the darkness above. When the three witches began to argue over who had the largest holes in her shoes, and whose garments were most ragged, Princess whispered to the blade, “These are not major witches.”
“Obviously,” Louise replied.
The complaining went on until the witches had gotten it all out of their systems, long after each of them had ceased to pay any attention to the grousing of her sisters. They trailed off into a diminishing three-part harmony of grievance. Indignation slowly modulated to annoyance, thence to a sullen despondency that silenced all three. For some
time no one spoke. Finally, one of the witches rose and scratched herself vigorously.
“Maybe things will get better,” she said without conviction.
“Can’t get much worse,” one of the others muttered.
“Has anyone heard any news? There must be something going on that will give us a chance for some decent mischief,” another said.
“Well, someone’s gone and cleared up the Desolation of the Loser Kings, that’s what I heard. A pair of wizards went in and blew all the magic to bits.”
“No! What did they want to do that for?”
“Just showing off, I suppose. You know wizards.”
In the tree, Princess nudged Louise and smiled proudly. “That’s Keddie and me they’re talking about,” she whispered.
One of the voices below said, “Lovely place, the Desolation. Hideous spells and curses and enchantments all bubbling and stewing together. Lots of fiends lurking about
. . .“
“And demons. Mustn’t forget the demons.”
“Oh, ever so many demons, yes. It was grand, the Desolation was.”
A pause, then a nostalgic sigh, and one of the sisters said, “It’s a shame to see the old places change. You’d think wizards would have a little consideration for the rest of us.”
“They’re an independent lot, those wizards.”
“Out for themselves, wizards are. That’s what I always say. Wizards are out for themselves.”
Princess’s nostrils flared a bit, and she gritted her teeth audibly, but did not speak. Louise whispered to her very softly, “Pay no attention to them.”
“I hear tell the Knight of the Empty Scabbard is at it again, dashing about with his band of loyal followers,” a witch said.
“A great simpleton, that one.”
“Oh, yes. Just like his father. And his grandfather.”
“He’ll never find it. The Mother of Darkness has been lost since I was a girl. Longer than that.”
Louise gave a little jump at the words. Princess laid a steadying hand on her hilt and patted her pommel to calm her and keep her from crying out. “I’m all right now,” Louise said after a moment. “It gave me a turn, hearing my name.”
“I understand, Louise, Let’s listen to what they say,” Princess whispered.
The witches’ mood had improved. They were cackling again, now and then emitting a bloodcurdling shriek of laughter.
“Ah, that Vorvas. There was a wizard for you,” said one fondly.
“Never did a kind thing in his life. You wouldn’t find Vorvas mucking about with the Desolation of the Loser Kings, except to make it even nastier.”
“A great one for putting uppity princesses in their place, Vorvas was,” said one witch, eliciting a fresh outburst of happy cackling.
“That little snip Blamarde has been snoring away for nearly a century because of her proud tongue.”
“And those redheaded twins from off beyond the mountains. Fixed them good and proper, Vorvas did.”
“His best one was right nearby, in the Kingdom of the Singing Forest, when he changed that great cow Louise and her brother and sister and—”
“Wretches! Villainous, venomous crones!” cried Louise in a voice that set Princess’s ears ringing. The blade was fairly vibrating with passion. “You’ve gloated your last gloat, hags! I, Panstygia, Mother of Darkness, the great black blade of the west, will be avenged!”
With shrieks and howls, the witches snatched at the pool of light and caught up their glowing spheres. They raised them high, hopping about in jerky motion, staring upward, pointing at every quiver of the leaves above them. The lights blazed up. Cries of “There! No, over there! It’s a demon! Where?” overlapped.
“Well, you’ve done it now,” Princess said.
“I couldn’t help myself,” Louise replied, still quivering with barely controlled anger.
“I suppose not. Do me a favor, and let me handle things from now on. I’m going down there and talk to them.”
“Talk to them? Carve them to bits! That’s what they deserve! Just swing your arms, Princess, and leave the slashing and smiting to me.”
“There will be no slashing, Louise. And no smiting, either.”
“Just a few good whacks with the flat of my blade. Please.”
“These witches know things that may be helpful.”
“Well.
. .
if they try anything, I’ll be ready for them.”
“So will I, Louise.” Gripping the sword firmly by the hilt, Princess lifted off with a soft hum of her wings, circled the tree, and landed lightly and silently behind the shouting witches. “Looking for someone?” she asked.
They turned, emitting startled cries. In the lurid light of the globes, Princess was a formidable sight. She stood erect, gripping the great dark sword with both hands, the flat of the blade resting lightly on her shoulder. Her expression was severe. Her circlet twinkled and glittered in the glow of the swirling lights.
“It’s a fairy godmother!” cried the Witch of Mud.
“They don’t come that big,” said the Witch of Over There Someplace.
“I don’t care how big she is, sisters, look at her wings. Those are the wings of a fairy godmother, mark my words.”
“That’s no wand she’s carrying.”
The third witch wailed, “It’s Panstygia! It’s the Mother of Darkness!”
“The great black blade of the west!” cried the first.
All three began to shriek and mill about desperately, throwing up their hands in wild gestures of abandonment and despair and crying out incoherently about swords, curses, and revenge. Princess looked on, silent and un
moving. Eventually the three weird sisters ran out of breath. They turned, panting, to inspect Princess more closely.
“What are you doing here, a pretty little thing like yourself?” asked the Witch of Over There Someplace sweetly.
“Gave us a turn, you did,” said the Witch of Mud.
“Oh, yes. You don’t expect to have anyone drop in like that in the middle of the forest,” said the Witch of Sticky Little Things, baring a single grayish tooth in a grin.
“Especially someone carrying a big black sword,” said the Witch of Mud.
“Much too big for you, my dear. But it’s ever so becoming. Matches your hair, you know,” said her sisters, nodding eagerly.
“It must be terribly heavy, though. Your poor little arms must ache from carrying that thing around,” said the Witch of Over There Someplace with great solicitude.
“Why don’t you just put it down and come over here and sit with us? We can have a nice chat,” said the Witch of Mud.
“Oh, that would be lovely, wouldn’t it? So seldom we get to meet the young people and have a little talk with them,” said the Witch of Sticky Little Things. “Let’s do that. Come, dearie, put the nasty old sword down and join us.”
The blade vibrated angrily. Princesè whispered reassurance until Louise was calm, then said to the witches, “This is not a nasty old sword. This is Panstygia, Mother of Darkness, as you well know.”
“Well, now, dearie, we might have shouted out all sorts of things in our surprise. Hearing voices up in a tree, and then seeing a sweet little thing like yourself right in our midst with a big black sword on her shoulder.
. .
oh, my, there’s no telling what we might have yelled out,” said the Witch of Sticky Little Things.
“Now that I can see it clearer,” said the Witch of Mud, shielding her eyes with one hand, “I’m beginning to
have my doubts. That blade’s not broad enough to be Panstygia.”
The metallic voice of the sword rang through the darkness. “Wretched hags! Know that I am Panstygia, and I am returning to my kingdom!”
“No! You can’t do that!” the weird sisters shouted in unison.
“I can and I will,” the sword declared, and Princess stoutly added, “And I’ll see to it that she does.”
The witches were staggered by these words. They gaped at Princess and her dark blade, then turned to one another.
“The spell will be broken,” said the Witch of Over There Someplace, her voice quaking.
“The curse will end!” cried the Witch of Mud.
“Our power will vanish!” wailed the Witch of Sticky Little Things. "We must seize her, and take the blade!”
They turned on Princess, their skinny hands outstretched. She lowered the sword and cocked her slender arms for a swing. Louise—now Panstygia—was comfortable in her grip, perfectly balanced. “Don’t try it, girls. You know what this sword can do,” Princess said evenly.
They faltered and fell back. Princess advanced a step, raising the sword aloft. That was too much for the witches. With cries of “Flee, flee!” and “Every witch for herself!” and “Fly to the farthest corners of the earth!” they seized their globes of light and vanished into the dark forest. The little residual pool of afterglow faded and slowly dwindled, like water seeping into the ground.
“I wonder what all that was about,” Princess said.
“Apparently, once the enchantment on me is lifted; something is going to happen to those three. Serves them right,” said Louise.
“I wish we could have found out more before they ran off.”
“What more do we have to know? We’re close to my kingdom, and the fact that those crones were so worried must mean that I have a good chance of becoming myself again.”
“But
why
were they worried? They seemed to be involved in your spell. They knew Vorvas. This whole affair may be more complicated than we suspect.”
“I refuse to be troubled by the babbling of a few tenth-rate witches,” said Louise grandly.
“And who’s the Knight of the Empty Scabbard? Whoever he is, he’s looking for you, and he probably expects you to be a sword.”
“I certainly hope he’ll be disappointed.”
“Louise, you’re not taking a very helpful attitude. We’re talking about magic, an enchantment of great potency that has lasted for several generations, and the more involved it gets, the more lightly you treat it. You really must take these things more seriously.”
Louise did not reply at once; then, with a tremble in her voice, she said, “Oh, Princess, I so detest being a sword, and I want so badly to be a real woman again! I simply can’t face the possibility that I’ll have to go on this way. I can’t bear to talk about it, and I don’t even want to think about it!”
“There, now,” said Princess, laying a gentle hand on Louise’s pommel, “I understand. I often felt the same way back in the bog. I hated being a toad.”
“Then you know how I feel.”
“Oh, I do. And I sympathize. But it was worse being a toad. I mean, I was just one more ugly toad. The bog was full of them. At least you’re something special.”
“Don’t tell me how much worse it could be, and how fortunate I am, Princess. I don’t think I could bear it,” Louise said pettishly.
“All right, Louise. I guess we’re both tired. Let’s fly up and get some sleep. We’ll make an early start.”