Dire Woods

Mrs. Wickaby, eyes twinkling merrily, chose a comfortable looking rocker by the door. “I figured it out,” she answered, patting her wild hair.

“That pass is just a legend,” Dunston blustered.

“And quite a few legends are based on truth, aren’t they?” the old woman replied.

“Some of them,” the dwarf admitted. “But only some.”

“Well, I think this is one of them. In fact I’m sure of it.”

The dwarf looked extremely uncomfortable. “Okay, let’s pretend the pass does exist,” he continued. “IF it does, not one human has found it in a thousand of year. I don’t have enough hands to count the treasure hunters who’ve gone looking for it, only to end up on the menu at a Mountain Troll barbecue.”

John Joseph felt some game was being played and he didn’t know who was holding the better cards or any of the rules.

Mrs. Wickaby put her hands to the fire and rubbed them briskly. “A few years ago, a dwarf came looking for some very rare herbs. It seemed a relative was deathly ill and the concoction that could be made from them was the only thing that could save her. I found the herbs and created the brew. He was so overjoyed, he gave me something quite special in payment.” She took a small pouch from her neck and tipped it into her hands. A brilliant orange stone, the size of a walnut dropped into her hands. “He gave me this.”

Dunston hunched forward. His dark, hooded eyes were gazing in rapture at the stone that glowed in the old woman’s hands.

“It’s a sun diamond,” Mrs. Wickaby said, twirling the gem in her stained fingers. “And according to legend, they only come from one place, the place we need to find, a certain pass through the Talon Mountains.” She leaned forward and carefully placed the stone in the dwarf’s massive hand.

“I’ve never been there,” Dunston murmured, caressing the jewel lovingly. “My great-uncle used to make the trip once a year, until he got too old.”

“Did he tell you where it was?” Emily spouted. Her grandmother gave her a stern look and a shake of her head.

The dwarf was too busy staring at the stone to even notice where the question had come from. “Never,” he whispered.

“Well, that’s that then,” Emily stated. She raised a smooth hand into the air and started counting on her fingers. “One, we go stumbling over troll infested mountains looking for a legendary pathway, where we‘ll probably end up as dinner. Two, we head back into January, break into John Joseph’s portal, which is probably bespelled and will blast us into smithereens. Three, we head back through January and try taking the road to Haven.” She waggled her head and pursed her lips. “That should take about two weeks if we‘re not run through with pitchforks by the farmers who have been terrified by the lovely Angerona. Four, we tie a note to a hawk’s foot and send IT off over the Talon Mountains, hoping it will be discovered by a helpful witch or wizard.” She clapped her hands together. “I vote for option four, the hawk. It seems to be the plan with the best chance of success.”

John Joseph started laughing; he couldn’t help it. He didn’t know if it was the fatigue or plain old fear, but it suddenly seemed uproariously funny. “I vote for three,” he sputtered. “I’ve always had a way with farmers.”

Emily gave him a sharp glance, which slowly turned into a sheepish grin then her laughter joined his.

“I vote for one,” Mrs. Wickaby added. “We can use the sun diamond as a compass. I can tune it in on the mine. It may take a bit more time than I’d like, but it’s our best option.”

“I vote for five.”

The group turned and stared at Dunston, the sun diamond cradled gently in his hands. Its light was sparkling through his fingers.

“There isn’t a five,” Emily complained. “Would you please pay attention?”

The dwarf ignored her and tightened his grip on the gem. “I vote for option five, where we go and talk to my great uncle.”

“He’s alive!” they all screamed at the same time. Even the bog cat roared.

“Was last time I checked,” Dunston stated.

“And when was that?” Mrs. Wickaby asked in a strangely tremulous voice. Stargazer just yawned.

“Last night,” the dwarf answered. “He looked hale and hearty then.”

Mrs. Wickaby lurched to her feet. “Well, why didn’t you tell us, you idiot!”

The dwarf gave her a wry smirk. “Just because my great-uncle is alive doesn’t mean he’s going to tell you anything. He doesn’t much like humans.” His smirk widened into a grin. “It seems he thinks they can’t be trusted.”

It was a long and arduous process, but finally, the old hedge witch convinced the dwarf that they needed to talk to talk to his uncle now! “Time is of the essence,” she assured him, “and it’s only early afternoon.”

“Doesn’t really matter what time it is,” he commented, heading towards the barred door. “He probably won’t tell you a thing.”

They made their way through the common room, Mrs. Wickaby waving sociably at the occupants. “I’ll talk to you later, my dears,” she assured them. “We’ve got a bit of an errand to run at the moment.”

Dunston led them through the back door by the kitchen. It opened onto a tidy yard with goats and chickens.

“Through here,” he instructed, pointing to a worn wooden gate. “He’s on the other side of the village.”

They followed the dwarf down a narrow alley, then onto a well-worn trail.

“Just a few minutes more,” Dunston assured them. “He’s getting pretty old and I moved him in here a few months ago. It’s easier to keep an eye on him.”

They came to a huge Cambia tree with a tidy little cottage nestled among its roots. Fabulous orange flowers shaped like lanterns draped the eaves. Two window boxes, festooned with yellow, box-like flowers, which tumbled to the ground below, hung under the curtained windows.

“He likes his plants,” said the dwarf, knocking firmly on the worn wooden door.

A deep quavering voice echoed from the small hut. “Who’s there?”

“Just me, Great Uncle Tan, and a few of my friends,” Dunston responded. “We’d like to visit for a bit, if you don’t mind.” He motioned for the pack and the bog cat to stay behind. “It’s a small living room,” he whispered. “Just wait in the garden beyond the largest root. There‘s plenty of room for all of you.”

The animals strode calmly around the side of the house as the front door creaked open. The most wizened old dwarf that John Joseph had ever imagined slowly opened the door. Every feature on the old dwarf’s face was magnified. His white eyebrows were bristled like small hedges, his nose grew out of his face like an over-cooked loaf of bread. His ears were the size of saucers. But his eyes, his eyes were amazing. They were a deep gold-flecked brown and they shone with a light all their own.

Great Uncle Tan opened the door wide and peered into the sunlight from the darkness of the cottage.

“I’d like to introduce some friends of mine,” his great nephew said, gesturing at his companions.

The old dwarf scanned over them casually, then he spotted the old hedge witch. A magnificent grin lit up his gnarled face. “Mrs. Wickaby!” he bellowed. “Is it really you?”