Dire Woods

Emily Lavender stared into the wood paneled vegetable bin. “It looks pretty small, Grandma.”

“Have a little faith, my dear,“ said Mrs. Wickaby. “We might not have much time.”

Emily gave her grandmother a wavering smile and stepped gingerly into the bin. John Joseph, his heart beating rapidly, grabbed his backpack and put one foot into the transformed drawer.

Mrs. Wickaby grinned. “Consider your options, my boy, and climb on in!”

John Joseph grinned back, placed his other foot on the floor of the drawer and scuttled in beside Emily. He was careful to put his pack between them.

Mrs. Wickaby grabbed her bag and scrambled in behind them. “Scoot over, you two,“ she instructed. “Nobody’s got cooties.“

Emily glared at John Joseph, then scrunched over. Mrs. Wickaby pulled the drawer shut, rattled out a complicated tapping and they disappeared from the kitchen with a whoosh. John Joseph could hear Emily squeal as they plunged through a tunnel of darkness, broken by random flashes of multi-coloured lights. They dropped out of a rectangle of darkness six feet up in the moist air, plummeted to the ground and splashed down in the swamp. They were spat out of the portal and into Dire Woods like three bad grapes.

John Joseph blinked his eyes to clear the moisture. Emily Lavender sat ten feet away from him, dirt, water and various varieties of water plants hanging from her hair and draping her shoulders.

“Welcome to the swamp,” she sputtered.

John Joseph spat out a mouthful of algae-filled water. Mrs. Wickaby landed with a delicate whoosh and a tinkling splash to the left of him.

“Everyone okay?” asked the old hedge witch, standing up and throwing her bag across her shoulder.

“Just wonderful,” answered Emily, and then she screamed, pointing over John Joseph’s head.

He looked up.

A massive, furred body hurtled towards him and leaped at his head. John Joseph dove and landed face down in mud as thick as tapioca pudding. He thrust his hands into the ooze, pushed himself into a sitting position and spun awkwardly around to see what was going on. A huge, unidentified blob was rising out of the swamp. He saw teeth the size of butcher knives and a whirl of dirt-encrusted fangs before the two shapes collided.

Water, mud and green goo was flying, as the two whirling shapes battled their way across the swamp, snapping dead branches as they went. John Joseph could see at least six eyes flashing, four feet flying, eight tentacles thrashing and too many glistening teeth to count.

“What the heck is that?” he screamed.

“Stay back,” warned Mrs. Wickaby, rushing forward to pull John Joseph to his feet. Emily Lavender scrambled over tussled mounds of weeds to grab her grandmother around the neck. They all watched in horror.

Snarls, bellows and strange squelching sounds filled the fetid air. The mist whirled with motion as teeth and limbs thrashed. John Joseph was scrabbling through his pack for his wand in desperation, when a slobbering groan filled the air. The wrestling mounds of flesh settled into the sediment. There was a deep, hollow roar, then a giant cat raised its blood-stained muzzle towards them.

“Grandmother, what is that?” whispered Emily Lavender.

“A bog cat,” answered her grandmother. “Very rare, quite intelligent, and potentially quite dangerous.”

“And the thing it’s standing on?” asked John Joseph.

The old woman inched forward and sniffed. “A deathwold, by the look and stench of it,” she responded. “Not quite as rare, but just as dangerous.” She put a wet hand on John Joseph and Emily’s shoulders. “We should leave as quickly as possible.”

John Joseph stared at the huge cat standing over the rank, grey carcass. “He saved my life,” he whispered.

“He just saw a larger meal,” hissed Emily Lavender.

Mrs. Wickaby tightened her grip on their shoulders. “Actually, no one eats a deathwold. Their intestines are highly poisonous. I don’t know what the animal’s reasoning was, John Joseph, or even if he can reason, but he didn’t tackle that monstrosity to devour it.”

“Maybe he was just worried that it would eat us before he had a chance to,” Emily suggested.

The giant cat, deep brown fur glistening with beads of swamp water, golden eyes glowing, stepped silently into the muddy water surrounding it. A deep rumbling throbbed from its throat.

“Grandma???” squealed Emily.

John Joseph reached toward the approaching feline. “Here, kitty,” he called, “Come on, I won’t hurt you.”

Emily‘s eyes widened in horror. “Are you insane? He’s going to kill you!”

John Joseph ignored her and tapped his tongue against his teeth, making a shallow clicking sound. Mrs. Wickaby put a finger to her granddaughter’s lips.

The giant cat tilted its head, made a deep trilling sound in its throat and licked the boy’s hand. John Joseph raised his other hand and scratched the bog cat behind the ears. A loud purrrrr rumbled from the cat’s throat.

“Thank you,” whispered John Joseph, “I would have been a late night snack, if it wasn’t for you.”

“I’m sure Grandmother would have come up with something,” said Emily, before the old lady shushed her again.

“We’d best be going, John Joseph,” said Mrs. Wickaby. “We need to use this time before your aunt notices you missing. And we have to go while the bogcat is in a good mood.”

John Joseph gave the cat’s large head a final pat, picked up his knapsack from the muck and threw it over his shoulder.

“I’m ready any time you are,” he said. “Let’s go.”

Mrs. Wickaby led them from tussock to tussock, trudging through bubbly, green froth. Bugs the size of small birds whizzed around their heads eating the smaller bugs that were interested in sucking their blood.

“Are there any dangerous snakes in the Dire Woods, Mrs. Wickaby,” asked John Joseph.

“I’d say just about all of them are,” she answered. “But the worst is the Water Wasp. It’s highly inquisitive and its bite is quite deadly.”

“Yellow and black?” queried John Joseph.

“Exactly,” responded Mrs. Wickaby.

“Like that one there?” John Joseph asked, pointing at the small, thin yellow shape with thin black stripes, rapidly approaching his left leg.

“Exactly,” answered Mrs. Wickaby.

“Any suggestions?” asked John Joseph.

“This is the perfect opportunity to use what I’ve been talking about John Joseph. Just feel for the energy flow around you,” instructed Mrs. Wickaby in a calm voice. “Then use it to direct the flow of the water.”

Oh, that sounds simple. John Joseph searched frantically through the air around him. He figured he had about thirty seconds before the snake sank its poisonous fangs into his leg. He could almost feel the energy surrounding him, but he just couldn’t seem to grab it. He shot a quick glance down into the water. The snake was now within a foot of him.

A large, mud encrusted paw swept into the water. The snake wriggled in the air as it was tossed thirty yards to the right.

John Joseph hadn’t even known the big cat was following them. “Thanks again,” he sighed.

The bog cat grunted and stalked off to smell a large, dead log.

“That’s was brilliant,” commented Emily, with a chuckle. “You moved so fast, I didn’t even see you.”

“Oh, Emily,” admonished Mrs. Wickaby. “John Joseph was a little flustered, that’s all and we haven’t even covered more than theories. We’ll work a little on his concentration when we stop for the night.”

“Anything else we should be worried about?” asked John Joseph with a nervous glance at the water. “Like the bogcat that’s following us??”

“We’ve got about a thousand different things to worry about, including the bog cat, but as long as it’s not displaying any predatory tendancies let’s worry about the rest of them,” said Mrs. Wickaby and then she huffed loudly. “Oh, forget it we haven‘t got the time to go into it at the moment. Just tell me if you spot anything interesting.”

John Joseph walked gingerly through the swamp his eyes sweeping the murky water. Everything was interesting … and potentially deadly.

Gradually the thin, rapier-like grass began to thicken. The trees, dark and dripping with moss began to have fewer vines and more leaves.

The cat followed behind them. It moved soundlessly through the water, giant paws sliding with barely a ripple, ears swiveling at the slightest sound.

“Why is that thing still hanging around?” asked Emily.

“I like it,” said John Joseph.

“You should,” muttered Emily. “It’s saved your bacon twice.”

Mrs. Wickaby glared at both of them. “Quit fighting and keep moving. The moon will be down within an hour and we need to camp as soon as we find a bit of land suitable for a tent.”

The dry land came quicker than expected. One minute they were slogging through mud up to their knees, the next they were stumbling up a moss-covered slope. Broad, elegant willows hung over the water. A small river tumbled down the hillside in a series of pools. It was like they’d walked from one world into the next.

“Welcome home,” said Mrs. Wickaby, with a grin. She put a tanned finger to her wrinkled forehead and squinted. “Place looks familiar,” she said pointing towards a small copse of trees. “There should be perfect spot to set up camp right between those two oaks.”

“Anything we should be watching for on land?“ asked John Joseph.

“Anything that moves,“ said Mrs. Wickaby.

Well, that’s encouraging.

John Joseph, Emily and the bog cat followed the old woman farther up the hillside. She led them through a gap between two stately trees. A meadow of grass and white and pink daisies greeted them. The river John Joseph had seen earlier meandered at the edge of the clearing.

The bog cat flopped to the ground like a rag doll, stretched and started cleaning his paws.

“Nice to see the memory’s not gone yet,” mused Mrs. Wickaby, plunking her knapsack down on large, moss-covered rock. She opened her bag with a flick of her hand and pulled out an oilskin pouch. “Time to set up the tent.”

“Tent?” sputtered, John Joseph. “You’ve got a tent in that thing?“

“Full-sized and quite comfortable,“ answered Mrs. Wickaby, delicately lifting a folded square of canvas from the pouch. She placed the cloth down gently on a nice mossy site, closed her eyes, spread her arms wide and starting in on a low hmmmmmmm.

A wind, pulsing with the scent of spring, swept into the clearing, scattering petals before it. The little fold of cloth started to quiver, then to wobble. With a rustle and a shimmer, the folds of canvas started to expand as if being blown up from inside. Creech, groan, rustle. The canvas shuddered and quaked. It unfolded, and unfolded and unfolded, until it was the size of a small cabin. John Joseph and Emily stared, mouths open. The bog cat opened one eye then closed it again. With a snap, five poles rose from the tent and hoisted it into the air. A small white flag with a green, three-pronged leaf flapped from the tallest pole. A small rush mat, of green and gold flopped out of the open tent door.

“It’s amazing,” sputtered John Joseph.

“Why didn’t you teach me how to do that?” asked Emily, in an accusing tone.

Her grandmother laughed softly. “You’ve got a bit more studying to do yet, young lady. Speaking of studying,” she said. “We need to work with John Joseph for a few minutes.”

Both Emily and John Joseph groaned. The old woman ignored them.

“Now, John Joseph,” the old woman began. “Could you feel the energy around you when you were trying to deal with that snake?”

“Really randma,” Emily said. “What about the deadly predator about, oh twenty feet away?”

“The bogcat?” she commented. “If it hasn’t eaten us yet, I really don’t think we have to worry. As stated before, they are highly intelligent and I’ve heard they can be tamed.”

“So, it’s waiting until we’re relaxed or it’s someone’s pet?” John Joseph commented. “Although I do sort of like it.”

“No idea,” Mrs. Wickaby commented, “I just know it’s not interested in us in a predatory sort of way. Really you two, you need to read how animals are projecting. So right now, bogcat aside, we’re waiting for John Joseph to answer the question about energies. And so, John Joseph, where are they: Where did you feel them?”

“Everywhere,” he answered. “The air and the water were thick with it, but I just couldn’t seem to grab it.”

Mrs. Wickaby rubbed her chin with her fingers. “So, you could feel it, but you just couldn’t focus on it?”

“Exactly.”

She snapped her fingers, startling John Joseph into flinching backwards. “Where’s that wand of yours? We need it.”

John Joseph reluctantly pulled his wand from his pack and handed it to the old woman. She ran her gnarled fingers back and forth over the gorgeous wood with its silver inlay.

“I usually just use it to poke a bit of dinner,” he admitted reluctantly.

The old woman shook her head slowly.

“It’s absolutely beautiful,” she murmured, “But it’s so cold, so lacking in life.”

Her fingers paused as she rubbed a small, sanded knot, the wand’s only imperfection.

“I wonder,” the old woman said and she handed it to John Joseph pressing it into his hands. “I want you to try something,” she said. “No questions asked. Just try it.”

The young boy nodded silently and Mrs. Wickaby continued. “Just hold your wand. Gently please, and feel for the energy around you.” She touched a hand to his shoulder. “But remember, gently.”

John Joseph was sure he could feel Emily’s eyes burning into his back. Might as well show EVERYONE how pathetic I am with this darn thing. Then maybe Emily will have something else to laugh about.

“Come on, John Joseph, just try it,” Mrs. Wickaby whispered. “I’ve got a good feeling about this but you’ve got to remember. Lightly.”

John Joseph held the wand he hated lightly in his hands and tried to feel the powers around him. They were there, he could feel them, an air stream off to the right and a flow of earth deep beneath his feet. As he tried to connect with their power he found himself caressing the wand that had brought him so much embarrassment. The magic that was the earth seemed to surround him. The wand in his hand grew warm and throbbed with a gentle pulse. John Joseph opened his eyes (he hadn’t even realized he’d closed them) and looked at the wand in his hands.

Where before there were just swirls of silver, now there were silver leaves, tinted with a hint of green. Even more amazing was what had happened to the small knot on the wood. The dead lifeless wood had sprouted a small green bud. “It’s truly your wand now,” Mrs. Wickaby said.

John Joseph’s couldn’t stop running his hands up and down the wood. “It’s amazing,” he said. “Absolutely amazing! “

“Not amazing, just magic,” Mrs. Wickaby stated. “Now that’s finished, it’s time to have a snack and head off to bed. We’ve got a lot of traveling to do in the morning.” She stole a glance at the bogcat lounging on the grass beside them. “And by the way, if you need to pee, please go in groups.”