The Missing Link (6 page)

"Okay, okay." Carole held up her hands, conceding defeat. "Where do you want me to
jump?"

"Try the brew shack down at the end of this lane."

Carole spied the building a few hundred yards away. "This is a little different isn't it?
Jumping to a thing. I didn't think that was possible?"

"For the average multitasker you are correct. But neither you nor your methods are
average, Miss Sylphwood. Off you go."

"Give me a second." Carole decided that the professor had a knack for making a
complement sound like an insult. She closed her eyes, imagined a line between her heart and the
shack, and jumped.

The ground lurched beneath her feet. When she opened her eyes, she found herself
standing in the middle of a field of stubble. She'd overshot the brew shack by a good hundred
yards.

Professor Philamount beckoned with a spider-like arm.

She focused on him, closed her eyes and leapt a second time.

Wham!

"Ow!" Carole stumbled backwards, rubbing her forehead.

Professor Philamount was lying on the grass, gingerly exploring his chest with long,
bony fingers. "Better." He rose and dusted himself off. "Might I suggest leaping with your eyes
open?"

"That's a lot more distracting."

"Perhaps not as distracting as head-butting your intended target."

Carole fingered the goose egg growing above her left eye. "You've got a point."

"Once more. To the shack."

This time Carole kept both eyes open. A moment later she was standing directly outside
the door. "Yes!" She pumped her arm triumphantly. Twisting around, she got a bead on Philamount.
In a flash was standing beside him.

"Much Better. Visual input greatly increases accuracy. Now try for something out of
sight, but still within the confines of the coven. And again, keep your eyes open."

Carole opted for the mill, and a heartbeat later was next to the grindstone. A second
after that she was back with Professor Philamount, and grinning from ear-to-ear.

"Problems with location?"

"Nope."

"Excellent. Now to a place still within this realm but much farther away."

The northern hall was the obvious destination. Carole leapt and there it was, with its
tiny windows and weirdly angled walls. She couldn't believe she'd actually thought of this
misshapen structure as warm and inviting. Of course at the time she'd been running from
werewolves.

A bitter wind raked over the frost bitten ground, whipping her dress between her legs.
Carole shivered. She returned to the professor.

"About time. Problems?"

"Nope."

"Location?"

"The northern hall." She rubbed her arms trying to warm up.

"Accuracy?"

"Bang on."

"Did you happen to notice whether you were traveling within a tunnel?"

She considered. "More like a giant soap bubble."

"And how are you feeling?"

She was shivering from head-to-toe, and feeling weak in the knees. "It was cold up there,
but not that co-cold."

"Was there a haze or mist within the bubble?"

"Mayb-be a lit-tle." Her teeth wouldn't stop chattering.

"Cold or warm?"

"An icy mi-mist, n-now that you me-mention it."

"Residual effects, I should think. Enough for now, Miss Sylphwood. Wrap yourself in a
warm blanket and eat something to recover your strength. In the future, make a habit of keeping a
bit of food on hand. It'll forestall the more drastic side effects, I should think."

"Si-si-side effects?"

"Dimensional travel requires energy to support the transport tunnel, or in your case,
bubble. Normally that energy is derived from the Hub's power station, but it appears you somehow
supply your bubble's energy, which means that fatigue must be factored in. Longer distances will
likely consume more energy and therefore require greater fortitude. You'd do well to familiarize
yourself with the signs of travel fatigue. They appear to be similar to hypothermia."

"How ca-ca-come I d-da-don't need a ta-ta-tunnel?" Her teeth were still chattering
violently.

"You do."

"Bu-bu-but..."

"Think of your bubble as a tunnel which is closed off at both ends. Because it is not
stretched between the Hub and another world, you are free to direct it where you wish, providing
of course you have the energy to reach your destination."

"What hap-p-pens if I run out-t of energ-gy b-b-before I r-r-reach.--"

"Most likely you will feel the effects after a leap, not during."

Carole hugged herself for warmth. She was feeling not at all good.

Professor Philamount seemed to misinterpret her grimace. "Do not think of it as a limit
to your abilities Miss Sylphwood, but rather a conditioning problem. You must train your body to
withstand the rigors of Free-Falling. One cannot expect to run a marathon simply by putting on a
pair of sneakers and trotting off.

"Practice these exercises until they become second nature to you, and your teeth will no
longer chatter. Practice, practice, practice. However, again let me stress that no one else is to know.
Now off you go. Find some suitable food, rest and regain your strength."

Carole returned to the apothecary, where she met Brunstice and Herling on the front
walk.

The herbal crone grabbed her shoulder. "Hold on witchling. What ye bin up to?" She
leveled a finger at Carole's forehead. "Where gets ye that bump, and why ye be shivering so?"

"Practicing with Professor Philamount," Carole said.

"What? That old fraud trying to kill ye off, and ye be going along with him? Bad as young
Mariat, ye be. Skeedadle in there and fill yer belly with a bowl of Mariat's broth, and stay put awhile.
I swear there's never bin a couple of hard-headed, trouble-making witchlings as to match ye two."
Brunstice walked away shaking her head.

"Head witch?" Carole asked before Herling started after the healer. "Can I have a word
with you?" She talked quickly to prevent Herling from interrupting. She explained what she
needed.

"'Tis highly irregular," Herling said, when Carole finished.

"But you can see my point?"

"I can. I will give it some serious consideration Sylphwood. Now off ye go, as Brunstice
says. Fill yer belly with healing soup."

Inside Mariat was propped up in her cot, sipping away at a bowl and making faces after
each swallow. She had a new chain draped around her neck. "How are you doing?" Carole said.

"Brunstice says I be staying put 'nother whole day at least, and not going to tonight's
party."

"That's rough." Carole ladled herself a bowl of broth from a steaming pot. She sat next to
Mariat and, under the watchful eye of her friend, spooned some into her mouth. She gagged, and
spat it out again. "Ewww! It tastes like cat pee."

Mariat snorted. "This cure be worse than the cause, that be fer sure."

Carole tried a second spoonful, but coughed it back up. "How can you drink this
stuff?"

"Hold yer nose and swallow quick before ye chokes on it."

She tried Mariat's suggestion and managed not to gag. "I'll stay with you tonight if you'd
like. I don't care about the party."

"No! The celebration be fer the arrival of the new witchlings, assignments of older
witchlings, and fer catching up on news about what be happening arount the realm. Needs be that I
know all that stuff soon as possible. Ye do that fer me and I find out the brew's answer fer ye."

"How are you going to manage that? You can't even get out of bed."

"Still have me sneaky ways." Mariat smiled, catlike. "Not ye worry Carole."

The banquet hall looked like a black sea, churning beneath the flickering candlelight of
three gigantic chandeliers. Dozens and dozens of witches swirled about, linking up into islands of
animated chatter and breaking loose again to join the free-flowing party. Carole was certain this
wasn't just the regular Westhill crowd. Every witch from miles around must have been in
attendance. And the noise they were making. A raging waterfall would have been quiet by
comparison.

She waded into the throng, steering towards a channel of calm between two long,
central tables. They both were heaped with food that was steadily disappearing, though no one was
actually sitting at them. She grabbed a plate from a nearby stack and selected a few morsels for
herself, before looking around.

Her attention was drawn to a corner where five witchlings were bunched together. One
looked up, gave Carole a cold stare and shifted, so the crowd blocked her from sight.

I'd sooner trust my neck to a vampire.
Carole turned away.

At the front of the hall and crowded against the head table, was a very different group of
witchlings. These young and wide-eyed children were huddled around two matronly witches who
were urging them to eat. The encouragement fell upon deaf ears.

Brunstice was seated across from, and oblivious to, the group. She was sipping from a
large mug of what could only have been dragon's fire brew. Carole watched the witch slosh back the
lively ale, amazed she could drink the stuff without setting fire to her face. Professor Philamount,
seated next to Brunstice, was keeping an eye on the mug too, though his interest seemed to be one
of self-preservation rather than of a desire to drink.

She wandered throughout the hall, listening to various conversations, and finding for
the most part that the witches were just catching up on old friendships. A streak of color caught her
eye. A calico cat was weaving its way across the floor and under a table. A second cat followed, and
a third.

She peeked beneath to see a group of the felines seated around an enormous wooden
bowl. Some were drinking, others were howling together in song. She noticed that many were
swaying unsteadily, and asked one of the matronly witches about it.

"Ye be right, Carole Sylphwood. Those howlers be enjoying their catnip wine a little too
much. They be waking with aching heads tomorrow, silly fools. Course..." The witch looked
thoughtfully in Brunstice's direction. "Cats not be the only ones holding their heads when the sun
does rise."

Carole peeked under the table again. At the opposite end of the table from the cat
revelers Brutus was growling impressively at a collection of adolescent kittens, which were
crowded close. The kittens seemed utterly spellbound. Unable to resist, Carole listened in.

Brutus was recounting the werewolf encounter at the northern hall. It was a relatively
truthful rendition, except for the part where he chased the wolf up the stairs and single-handedly
dispatched the vicious creature. Carole chuckled, but left the cat to his yarn. She wasn't going to be
the one to set him straight, and no doubt those kittens would learn the truth, soon enough.

When she stood up, she saw Lucreta approaching, accompanied by two unfamiliar
witches.

"This be Carole Sylphwood," Lucreta said, and smiled warmly. "She be a good friend to
we Westhillers. Carole these be my older cousins, Jasmine and Jantice. We be talking 'bout what be
best fer me after my schooling here be done."

Both witches nodded formally to Carole.

"Jasmine lives in a small cottage two or three villages to the west, and Jantice did live in
a large town far to the south, where winter snows almost never touch the ground."

"Did live in a town? You don't live there anymore?" Carole said.

"Enough of non-witch folk fer me." Jantice spoke brusquely. "I be living with Westhillers
from here on in. And such be my counsel to Lucreta."

"They did both ride out the Conundrum years mostly with non-witch types," Lucreta
said. "Remember I said most folk turned against us during that time? One town elder saw the
dangers of not having a local witch about, and it be she who convinced Jantice to stay and keep the
nasty critters away. But the rest of the townsfolk treated her poorly and often sought to blame her
fer every little thing that went wrong.

"You saw how pesky the werewolves be at the northern hall, Carole, well even though
Jantice's town had high stone walls all around it, there still be wolves aplenty that she needed to
fend off. Sometimes fer nights on end she got less than a wink of sleep."

"And not a lick o'thanks from them churls neither," Lucreta's cousin said, "except Elder
Marion. She be always a welcome friend at my hearth, but none other from that cursed place."

"Marion be the town elder who convinced Jantice to remain."

"I did my duty as I said I would," Jantice agreed, "and now I be done with them
two-faced dastards. And they not likely to get any Westhillers from this time on, neither. Not by my
reckoning at any rate."

"Are you staying too?" Carole asked Jasmine.

"I not be certain yet, multitasker. My time not be so bad as Jantice's 'cause the folks at
my village did know me well, but I admit it freely that they not be very warm and friendly these past
years. That be a bitter brew to swallow, regardless of all else. Were serpents and vampires not such
a constant bother, I think they'd have wanted me to skedaddle, too."

"But wasn't it the Conundrum that made them act that way?"

"In part," Jasmine said. "But only in that the Conundrum made it easier for them to slide
into darkish behaviors. At the end of the day we all must take responsibility fer what we do, eh?
Can't rightly blame another witch when ye be the one who casts the spell."

"Do they realize how they acted, now that it's over?"

"That be the strange part," Jasmine said. "A few feel right rotten 'bout how they acted
and the things they did say--"

"But most behave as though they didn't do a thing wrong in the whole realm," Jantice
added. "If the townsfolk acted sorry fer treating me like worm dung these past years, I suppose I
might consider forgiveness and forgetness. But they act as if they made it through those plague
years all by themselves. Some don't even believe in the Conundrum, that they jest had a bad critter
infestation. The fools!