Wand of the Witch

Copyright © 2012 by Daniel Arenson

All rights reserved.

This novel is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are either the product of the author's imagination, or, if real, used fictitiously.

No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by an electronic or mechanical means, including photocopying, recording or by any information storage and retrieval system, without the express written permission of the author.

FOREWORD

Wand of the Witch
is the second volume of
Misfit Heroes
, a fantasy series about creepy monsters, underdog heroes, and epic adventure.

If you haven't read the first book,
Eye of the Wizard
, you should still get the gist of things here. The same heroes return, but they face a new enemy; the story stands alone fairly well.

If you're a person who always does things the proper way—using the correct cutlery at fancy restaurants, signalling the turns on your bike, wearing pants—you should probably read
Eye of the Wizard
first. Otherwise, leap right in. You'll miss a few references, and scratch your head once or twice, but otherwise you should be fine.

If you've read my
Song of Dragons
books, a word of warning: The tone here is lighter. While
Song of Dragons
is dark and epic, the
Misfit Heroes
books are lightweight romps—mere fun and escapism.

With this introduction out of the way, I welcome you (back) into a world of misfits, monsters, and magic....

Chapter One

The Witch

Henry shivered. "I don't like this, Christie. A witch lives in this forest. You know the story."

His little sister laughed. "Don't be a scaredy cat."

He glared at her. "I'm not a scaredy! I'm just... trying to protect you."

Christie rolled her eyes. She was eight years old, a girl of skinned knees, pigtails, and freckles. She carried a walking staff and a knife; she was always carving staffs from fallen branches. Henry was two years older, but today he felt very young. He looked into the forest and shivered again.

The oaks rose tall and twisted, bark grey as corpses, leaves blood-red. Those leaves didn't rustle; the entire forest was silent, deathly.
This place is cursed,
Henry thought.
We should never have come here.

"Come
on
!" Christie said. "I
dared
you, remember? You
have
to go into the forest now."

Henry gulped. She was right, he knew. You never backed down on a dare, especially not a dare from your younger sister. What self-respecting boy would? And so he stood here, outside the gates of his town, and stared into this shadowy, silent forest.

"Let's go," he said, trying to keep his voice deep. He began walking into the forest.

Leaves and twigs crunched under his boots. The sound reminded him of snapping chicken bones and crackling skin.
I wonder if human bones and skin would sound the same.
He clutched the knife at his belt.
Does the witch in this forest eat human bones and skin?

"You look pale," Christie said. She walked beside him, eyes narrowed and determined. If she was also afraid, she was hiding it well.

"So do you," Henry said.

"Ooh, good comeback."

He glowered at her. "Shut up, Christie. Let's walk quietly."

She snorted. "Why's that? Are you still scared of the witch?" She made a scary face, pulling her mouth wide, sticking out her tongue, and crossing her eyes. "Scary witch, scary witch!"

"Quiet!" he said. He clenched his jaw and looked around, but saw nothing. Nothing but these trees, tall and stern and knobby, topped with red leaves. They looked like old men with bleeding heads.

"Afraid the witch will hear us?" Christie asked.

"She heard Jeremy Cobbler."

He shuddered just to speak those words. Even Christie paled and gripped her staff tight.

"You don't know that," she said.

"Everybody knows it," Henry said. He stopped walking and approached Christie. He loomed over her, staring into her eyes. "The whole town does. He walked here too. Tania Miller dared him, so he walked here alone. They say he made too much noise, talking to himself and singing. He fell silent when he saw a shadow among the trees. At first he thought it a swooping owl, or maybe a bit of mist. But no. It was
her
. She had heard him. He tried to run, but you can't run from the witch." He leaned closer to Christie so that their faces almost touched. "She caught him with her claws. She turned him into a toad. And she placed him in a cage in her house, where he still lives."

Christie's face was ghost white. Her eyes were wide. Her knees knocked. But she managed to frown and push him back.

"That's rubbish," she said. "Absolute twaddle. How would anyone know that? How could they? Nobody saw it, Henry. There was nobody to come back to town and tell the tale."

He shrugged. "Somebody saw it. Maybe a woodsman—a hunter or lumberjack. People know about the witch. Everybody knows. And now Jeremy Cobbler is croaking in some cage."

Christie scrutinized him, eyes narrowed, as if seeking some conceit. Finally she snorted and kept walking.

"Absolute twaddle," she repeated, walking deeper into the forest. "Come on, I'm going farther. I dare you to follow."

Henry groaned and his stomach sank. He did not like any of this. But he kept walking. He could not let his little sister, an eight-year-old girl, walk here alone. He could not let her call him a scaredy cat. And so they walked among the trees.

There were no animals, Henry realized. He heard no birds, saw no squirrels, not even insects. Lichen hung from the branches, brushing against him like fingers. He imagined the witch's claws caressing him and shivered. His heart pounded and his tunic clung to him with cold sweat. Mist floated among the branches, and he couldn't see the sky. He kept searching for a shadow like in the stories, but saw nothing.

No shadows,
he told himself.
No witch. Maybe Christie is right. Maybe those are only stories.

Beside him, Christie gasped. Henry spun toward her, heart thrashing. Cold sweat drenched him.

"What is it?" he whispered, staring from side to side, seeking witches.

Christie pointed at the forest floor, gaping. "Candy!"

Henry looked and saw a cluster of honeyed almonds. It looked just like the treats Misty Baker would prepare back at town.

"Don't touch it," he said when Christie started walking toward it.

She ignored him, raced toward the candy, and lifted it. "It smells good."

"Don't eat it!" Henry said. "What if the witch baked it, or—"

But Christie ignored him and shoved the candy into her mouth. She chewed lustfully. Henry stared, eyes wide and fingers trembling. Would she turn into a toad? Would she shrivel up and die? His breath caught.

"Mmm mmm," Christie said. "It's dee—li—"

Suddenly she gasped and clutched her throat. Her eyes crossed, and her tongue hung from her mouth.

"Christie!" Horror pounded through Henry and he raced toward her. "Breathe! Can you breathe?"

She hopped around, eyes crossed and tongue lolling. "I... I'm turning into a frog!
Ribbit, ribbit!
"

As Henry stared in shock, Christie doubled over laughing.

"Real funny," Henry muttered, frowning at her.

She rolled around in the dry leaves, laughing and pointing at him.

"You should have seen your face!" she said, howling with laughter. "Oh Henry, you are such a scardey cat. That candy was splendid. I bet you wish you ate it."

Henry grumbled under his breath, but had to admit that he
was
rather peckish. He craved honeyed almonds too. His belly grumbled, which made Christie laugh harder. Henry smiled hesitantly, feeling a little better. Maybe there was nothing to fear here after all.

The siblings took a few steps deeper into the forest. Henry gasped. A second candy lay on the forest floor ahead.

He looked at Christie. She stared back. For an instant they stood frozen. Then they bolted forward.

Henry had longer legs and reached the candy first. He stuffed it into his mouth, closed his eyes, and sighed with content. It was
delicious
. It was the best damn candy he had ever eaten, even better than Misty Baker's creations. The almonds were thin, crunchy, and bursting with nutty flavor. The honey melted in his mouth. He tasted berries too, sour and sweet at the same time.

"Good, innit?" Christie said.

He nodded and pointed. "Look! There's more candy ahead."

They raced through the forest. This third piece of candy was a purple square of jelly, nuts, and fruit. Christie broke it in half, and they shared the treat. Henry had to close his eyes as he ate. It was, without doubt, the best thing he had ever eaten. He tasted grapes, almonds, and pears. He let out a long, happy sigh.

They kept moving through the forest. Every few feet, another marvel of confectionery awaited them: ginger cookies, nut-clusters, honey oat squares, and many other treats. The siblings raced between the trees, stuffing their cheeks full. Honey covered their faces and crumbs covered their tunics.

"Comin' to this fo'est wa' a great 'dea," Christie said through a mouthful of cookies.

Henry nodded, mouth full of licorice. "Mhmmm."

The kept walking through the forest, eating more and more, until they saw the house ahead.

The siblings froze and stared.

The house looked ancient; holes filled its thatch roof, its clay walls were cracked, and its door hung crooked on its hinges. And yet somebody must have lived there, Henry thought. Strange plants grew in the garden. He thought they were mandrakes. Wind chimes hung from the trees around the house, clanking discordantly. Henry looked more closely and his breath caught. Those wind chimes were made of bones.

"What is this place?" Christie whispered. She held her knife before her.

"The witch's house," Henry said.

The trail of candies led toward the house. These candies looked marvellous. Henry could smell them over the forest's smells of moss, rotting leaves, and old bark. He saw gingerbread men, Turkish delight, cookies, and more wonderful creations. He wanted to eat them all, but dared not move closer.

"Those look good," Christie said and reached for a treat.

Henry caught her wrist. "Wait. We better turn back home now. I'm... not so hungry anymore."

But he was lying. He
was
hungry—famished. The more treats he ate, the hungrier he felt. His mouth tingled for more.

"I dare you, Henry," Christie said. "Just one more candy. Just the one closest to us."

Henry looked at it. It lay a foot away—a gingerbread man smiling up at him from the ground. It still lay a good thirty feet away from the house. Henry gulped, stepped forward, and grabbed it. Before his courage could leave him, he stuffed the gingerbread man into his mouth and chewed. It tasted like heaven, like childhood, like pure joy. A sigh fled his lips.

"I dare
you
," Henry said. "Eat the next one."

"Nooo problem," Christie said. She walked toward the next treat, ate it, and smacked her lips.

A dozen candies more, and they stood right outside the house. Henry looked up at it. Shredded grey curtains swayed in the windows like ghosts. Dead spiders covered the porch, and dead ants filled cavities in the walls. A faint stench of rot wafted from within, but above it rose the smell of more treats—cookies, cakes, candies, and endless wonders.

"Double dare you to peek into the window," Christie said.

"No way."

"Come on! Are you being a scaredy cat again?"

He growled. "Shut it, Christie. I'm much braver than you."

She stuck her tongue out at him. "Prove it."

Henry hesitated. He didn't want to. What if the witch waited there, a shrivelled crone with fangs, long claws, and red eyes? But Christie began taunting him—"Na-na-na na-na!"—and sticking out her tongue. Henry squared his jaw, clenched his fists, and walked toward a window.

He peeked inside... and his breath died.

"Oh my God," he whispered, trembling. "Oh my God...."

"What is it?" Christie ran up and peeked through the window with him. Her eyes widened. "The mother load!"

Inside, the house looked like a candy shop—the best candy shop in the world, ten times better than Misty Baker's back home. Cookie jars covered tables, brimming with goodies. Cupcakes piled atop shelves and lollipops stood like flowers. Candies of all colors filled jars along the walls. Henry's mouth watered. Christie drooled beside him.

"Let's go in," Christie said. "I dare you."