Dire Woods

They were back on the trail in moments, the bog cat and six wolves coursing along at their sides.

“Where are the others?“ John Joseph asked.

“Stargazer must have sent them ahead as scouts.” Mrs. Wickaby answered as she gave the huge wolf a fond glance. “Hopefully, not necessary, but a good idea nonetheless.“

John Joseph had never traveled so quickly in his life. Now that they were accompanied by both the bog cat and the pack, there was no need for caution. They just raced along the sparse trail as quickly as their legs could take them.

He was stunned at the agility of the old woman. He and Emily were panting like they’d done a cross country race (which they had), but Mrs. Wickaby just kept forging forward.

The sun was high in the sky when Emily collapsed onto a fallen log. “Can’t we rest for a minute, Grandma?” she puffed. “I feel like I’m going to drop.”

“Just for a moment,” her grandmother agreed. “I tend to forget just how sedentary young people are nowadays. You just don‘t traipse through the woods enough. I think I‘ll talk to your principal about more physical education when we get back.”

John Joseph slouched on a mossy boulder. If we get back. He was just starting to breath normally when the old woman motioned them back on their feet.

“Let’s get going, you two,” she urged. “We’re almost there.”

John Joseph couldn’t decide if his aunt would end up killing him, or the trip would.

Another agonizing hour later, they reached the top of a large hill. Emily and John Joseph were the last ones up the slope. John Joseph figured his feet must have become part of his boots. He was sure he could feel them molding together. Emily, who had been quite nice lately, was muttering rather rude words under her breath.

“Come on, you two,“ Mrs. Wickaby beckoned “I want you to see something.“

“Unless it’s a feather bed and a platter of steaming food,“ Emily mumbled, “I’m not interested.“

John Joseph mustered the last of his strength and joined the others. She’ll probably start complaining about me next.

They stood in a blaze of sunshine. The old woman had a wide grin upon her wrinkled face. “We’re here,“ she declared.

John Joseph felt a surge of energy. He bounded into the sunbeams with Emily close behind him, then he stood and stared.

Below them, filling the landscape, lay a gorgeous, brilliant green valley. A small, gurgling stream meandered through a meadow, then headed into a large area of tall, broad trees. Beyond the main grove, a chain of glistening lakes reflected the snow-covered peaks of a massive mountain range.

“This is it?” he sputtered.

The old woman gave him a quick hug and grinned. “Yes, it is,” she answered. “Before you is the village of Blighter’s Bend. Nicer than you expected, isn’t it?“ she stated. “We‘ll be gobbling down a hot meal before you know it.”

Emily scanned the landscape. “There’s nothing there,“ she stated.

Her grandmother shook her head and chuckled. “Now really, young lady. Did you honestly expect a group of people who revel in their privacy to build a village out in the open?”

“Well, no,” Emily said, “I guess not.”

Mrs. Wickaby headed down the hill, the wolves and bog cat galloping ahead of her. “Prepare to be amazed!”

They flew down the hillside, then followed the little stream as it wound along the valley floor. It was bigger than it looked from the slope. Broad and merry, it chuckled and gurgled at their feet. Small, brown birds with pert tails dipped in the shallow pools.

As they got closer, John Joseph could see that the largest stand of trees were the tallest he’d ever seen. Broad and limbless at the base, they reached at least eighty feet into the air. Their numerous, golden branches were at least twice as wide as they were tall.

He was so busy staring into the canopy that he tripped over the small roots that were scattered under his feet.

The old woman grabbed his arm to keep him from falling. “Try looking around you, John Joseph,” she suggested. “Instead of up.”

John Joseph stopped and stared at the wilderness surrounding him. As if by magic, cottages appeared. Made of the same wood as the trees, they were almost invisible until you were really paying attention. Once you realized they were there, their lines became apparent. What he had taken for haphazard vines were really plantings in tidy little window boxes.

“Amazing,” he murmured. This definitely wasn’t the assortment of ramshackle huts he’d expected.

“These are just the outer homes,” Mrs. Wickaby informed him, “for people who like a little more room. The village proper is in the center of the grove. Come on, you two.” She gestured at her granddaughter. “It’s just around the corner.”

Around the corner it was.

The trees were more spaced out here, their leaves still giving privacy, but allowing in much more light. Under the awning of sun-speckled leaves was a picturesque square of grass. It even had a statue of a centaur in its midst. A rather rough looking flock of sheep was nibbling on some flowers. A goose and some goslings were taking the tour around a small pond. The peaceful scenery was astonishing in itself, but around the patch of grass was a village. A real, actual village! John Joseph spotted a blacksmith shop, a tiny cobblestone bakery, a general store with a large porch and a substantial looking wayside inn and pub.

There were also the occupants of the village. A couple of humans, in rather somber clothing were chit chatting with someone who looked extremely troll-like. A woman in a long, flowing cape was conversing with what had to be a dwarf. Three tiny, rotund figures were just coming out of the bakery, nibbling on steaming buns.

“Are those gnomes?” John Joseph whispered.

Mrs. Wickaby didn’t even turn her head. “Probably the Greenleafs; they’ve lived in the village for as long as I can remember.” The old woman pointed to a half-timbered inn. A picture of a rather gargantuan woman in a ruffled purple frock was painted on the wooden sign. “That’s where we’re going,” Mrs. Wickaby pronounced. “We’ll be staying at the Twirling Troll Inn for the night.” She licked her lips. “They serve the best food this side of January and their cider isn’t bad, either.”

John Joseph felt they stuck out like a sore thumb, but no one gave them a second glance. Were wolves, bog cats and rather bedraggled humans an every day occurrence?

Emily obviously had the same thought. “Why doesn’t anyone even say anything to us?” she asked in a whisper.

“People come to Dire Woods for a variety of reasons, Emily, a great portion of them for privacy.” The old woman nodded at a passing dwarf. “The residents of the village like to give it to them.” She gave them a broad grin. “Don’t worry, things will be livelier in the pub.”

Mrs. Wickaby was right, as usual. They could hear exuberant voices even before they opened the wide iron-strapped doors. John Joseph caught a glimpse of an array of rough, wooden tables, a low roof and sturdy looking chairs before the old woman was surrounded by a small group of people. The loudest and most exuberant was a stocky, black haired dwarf.

“Mrs. Wickaby!” the dwarf exclaimed. “How wonderful to see you again! Sit down, sit down.” He waved the welcoming crowd away as he herded them to a broad table near the fire. Mrs. Wickaby gave out a few quick hugs, then followed the dwarf to the table. “Enough time for hello’s later,” he grunted. “First, our friend needs to enjoy a glass of our famous cider.”

There were a few groans and chuckles from the group by the door. Three humans, two other dwarfs and an assortment of gnomes scrambled back to their seats. Their conversation started back up again within moments.

“Thank you, Dunston,” Mrs. Wickaby said, sitting herself on the chair nearest the fire. “We’ll be needing some food momentarily; we haven’t had a chance to enjoy breakfast, or lunch.”

“Certainly, certainly,” the dwarf agreed. “I’ll have Esmer out here in a moment with the special.” He glanced around him at the old woman’s companions. “It seems some introductions are in order.”

Mrs. Wickaby blushed. “Oh, I’m sorry, Dunston, it’s been such a hurried morning. I’ve completely forgotten my manners.” She gestured towards the pack. “Stargazer, Moon Shadow and their family, you already know. The bog cat, well we only met a few days ago and we haven’t been formally introduced.”

The dusky dwarf smiled at the large cat lounging before the fire. “We call him Bounder. Seems friendly enough and he’s good in a fight. And?” he nodded towards the two other humans.

“The young lady is my granddaughter, Emily Lavender and this is her friend, John Joseph Alabaster.”

The dwarf’s face darkened, his thick hand going to the long knife on his belt. “Not any relation of that she-witch, Angerona, are you, my boy?”

John Joseph shrunk in his chair. “She’s my aunt,” he squeaked.

Mrs. Wickaby placed a soothing hand on the dwarf’s arm. “He’s a friend, Dunston, a dear friend,” she assured him. “And one who’s in danger.”

The dwarf’s face smoothed as he ran a worn hand down it. “Sorry, my boy, but that aunt of yours isn’t too popular around here. The last time she came through she had a run in a few of the villagers. She ended up killing some of my favourite people. We were glad to see the last of her when we‘d finally run her out of Blighter‘s Bend.” He stroked his blade. “But the memory of her lingers.”

Mrs. Wickaby tightened her grip on the dwarf’s arm. “We have a little more than memories to worry us at the moment,” she whispered. “You see, Angerona Alabaster is back.”