This is a tale about a witch. A wicked witch. Some say she
came from the west. But I think she came from Heaven.
This is the story
of how we met, of how I fell in love with her. This is the story of my happy
ending, and, I pray, hers.
It was that bridge. I never trusted it. Trolls occasionally lurked
under it. I have lived long enough in these forests to know that those beasties
migrate. They are like birds—big, hairy, bipedal birds that will rob you blind,
then cook you alive. That is, after skinning you first. And laughing about it
the whole time.
I was there to help
clean up the carnage after they attacked the Munchkin Commissioner Keljrad on
that very bridge. He won, but not before most of his entourage died, and he
too, later, from injuries. It was an impressively gory battle.
I tried not to
think of it. Still, it must have been quite a sight—tiny Munchkins and their
tiny spears and swords and bows and arrows swarming over those monstrous
trolls, and being thrown about like fleas. Or bite-sized beef pot pies, which was
how, I was certain, the trolls thought of them.
After that
disaster, the Prefect of Munchkinland declared the bridge off limits to his
people. He went to Oz to petition the Great Wizard’s support, but the Wizard,
apparently, had no interest in lending the Prefect his voice, and off the Prefect
went, angered once more with him.
The Wizard of Oz.
What a peckerwood.
Anyway, back to
that bridge.
I thought of going
another route, and in fact had ever since that battle. It was creepy before;
now it was just evil.
It was shadowed
under the boughs of tremendous fir trees and made of black granite, and arched
over a tumbling stream in a minor gorge some forty feet deep. The trolls hid on
the bridge’s bottom. They typically flattened themselves against the stone using
their inhuman strength, and waited till you were right on top of them.
Bastards.
I have the gift of Foresight. Or ... I was supposed to. My mother was a Seer. A
really talented one, actually. But she didn’t see the illness growing in her
belly, and one day she died. It crushed me. I grew up with my father and two older
brothers, all of whom died after being conscripted to fight in the Second Ogres
War in the Enchanted
Forest, which was just a
walk (or in this case, march) through a portal away. Mom wasn’t around to warn
them, and I, supposedly also with the Gift, felt nothing but guilt ever since
that I didn’t foresee their doom and steer them clear of it.
Alone, I rattled
around in this big house, miles from nowhere, and did my best to stay sane. I
was not entirely certain I had been successful.
Forgive me. Where are my manners? My name is Nathan Vach
(“Vok”). I’m human, but don’t hold that against me. I think I’m one of the nice
ones, rare as we are.
More on
“successful.” You see, they weren’t Visions I was experiencing, but something
else. They started a few months after my twentieth birthday. I was very confused
and frightened by them. They felt totally alien—but somehow very familiar.
Increasingly panicked, I packed my bedroll and several days’ worth of food,
enough to get to Lageb, the nearest village and first stop on my journey, made
sure I had my passport, and off I hiked.
My ultimate destination was Echeld, in the
heart of Munchkinland, more than a week away. In my case it was closer to
eleven days, since I was determined to avoid that damn bridge. A highly
regarded metaphysician lived there, and I had plenty of gold to see him. Don’t envy
me for that. That fortune came at a tragic cost—losing my entire family.
Long story short
... Oh, hell, I’ll just give you the long version.
I got to Echeld in
the late afternoon of the tenth day, booked a bed at the inn (the only one there
that accommodated humans), and tried to relax. My father had been highly
respected by Munchkins, having supervised the construction of several major
civic projects of theirs, including this very inn (humans didn’t typically
stoop—physically or in any other way—to help Munchkins). I visited Echeld once when
I was ten, yet Mr. Dinys, the innkeeper, still recognized me and ordered the
help to ready the best room, then insisted after I cleaned up and settled in to
feed me at the Carrot Table, which was reserved for human luminaries passing
through. I felt thoroughly humbled and red-faced sitting there while other
patrons glanced at me and whispered animatedly.
Mr. Dinys’ daughter
served me. I was shocked—she was human! After she brought out my soup (which
was delicious—beef with barley), I couldn’t keep my mouth shut.
“I’m sorry,” I
blurted. “Forgive me ... but you’re human.”
She snickered sweetly.
“You noticed.”
I laughed nervously.
“I did.”
I hoped she would
provide an explanation, but she blushed and hurried off. With some
disappointment (for she was quite pretty), I took a spoonful of soup.
Delicious. Mr. Dinys appeared soon after and filled my mug with some of his
famous ale. It was as good as rumored. After the fourth refill, I was
lubricated enough to relax the reins on my mouth.
“Your daughter is
quite pretty.”
He was walking
away. He stopped and glanced over his shoulder.
“Oh?”
I held up my hand.
“No offense. I was just commenting.”
He turned to face
me fully. “Her name is Brynn. She’s sixteen. We adopted her.” He gave a short
bow. “I will convey your compliments.”
“Oh, no,” I
started. “Please don’t—”
But Mr. Dinys had turned
away and was speaking to a couple at a nearby table.
I finished the cup,
dropped more than enough coin on the table to pay for everything and tip the
very pretty help, and left for my room.
Once inside, I stripped off my clothes and fell into bed and was asleep instantly. Thankfully, I wasn’t visited by another one of those “visions.”
