L. Camp - The Exotic Enchanter

Bitter-Root passed out the wine and spoke. “Here, before thee, is the only man we have saved from the witch. As his ship split upon the rocks, Moonwort and I carried him off unseen. His companions are all now stones by the beach.”

The wine was light and sweet. Polacek was frowning at the game. Shea smiled to himself. The Czech was several pieces down and Snag had accumulated a pile of American coins.

“Marry, Bitter-Root, is this all your number?” Belphebe asked with concern.

The she-spirit nodded sadly. “Aye, good Quamoclit stands watch on the hill. With her, we are but three, and the sailor.” A blue fairy danced in front of them, “Yea, and the fairies . . . and now, ye. Pray, what shall we do?” the spirit looked into Shea’s eyes expectantly.

The wine danced on Shea’s empty stomach and made him light-headed. “How about breakfast, for starters.” he replied. “Then we can make our plans.” Snag looked up from the game and nodded in agreement.

The two spirits vanished immediately. Moments later they reappeared, each holding a large silver tray laden with food, which they set before their guests. Harold and Belphebe helped themselves to bread and cheese and joints of beef, while the chess game continued. Two more moves, however, and Vaclav was forced to surrender after losing his queen and another fifty cents. Snag stuffed his winnings into a loather pouch and proceeded to devour an entire roast bird.

Shea leaned back and spoke. “As I see it, we need to figure out a way to get that book back from Sycorax. We can practice our magic without it,” he shot Vaclav a dirty glance, “but I don’t want her to have access to the accumulated magical knowledge of six other worlds.”

Polacek grimaced. “It may be too late already, Harold; if we can read those symbols, so can she.”

The meal continued in a somewhat more somber mood. Looking about, Shea noticed the spirits were not eating. He could not help but wonder if conjured meals had any actual substance to them. Still his hunger had been assuaged, and Snag had finished his meal with several deep, satisfied belches.

After questioning Bitter-Root and Moonwort to some length, Shea learned that Sycorax summoned a storm about every fortnight to blow sailors and their ships to doom. The effort, however, drained the witch so completely that she spent the next day sleeping in her cave to regain her power. That, it seemed, would be the best time to slip in and regain the precious magic book. It was soon ascertained that they had two days before Sycorax could brew up her next batch of meteorological mischief.

* * *

That afternoon found the three human beings out in the woods preparing aircraft. Flying broomsticks were a speciality of Shea’s. For once, he had time to build them slowly and carefully. High-speed two-seaters were what he had in mind.

Snag and Polacek tramped into the forest and returned with two straight young oak saplings. With some diligent pruning, these were turned into very large broomsticks. Bundles of straw gathered by Quamoclit were tied to the ends. Belphebe and Bitter-Root contributed eagle feathers, which were securely fastened fore and aft. Finally, short crosspieces were attached to the broomsticks, using strong pliant vines.

“Votsy, you and Snag, watch,” Shea directed. “Belpbebe and I will take one up and show you how it’s done.” Polacek was noticeably unhappy, but his humbling experience as a purple cow was still fresh in his memory. For the moment he was content to let Harold run the show.

The three spirits hovered overhead as Shea straddled his broom, made mystic passes, and began to recite:

“Bird of the Aerie, ruler of sky;

Lend us your wings, so we too may fly.”

The broom jerked in his hands and began to vibrate. Shea looked behind him. Belphebe was astride her end, holding on for dear life.

He looked across to Polacek. “That’s just what you say to get the engine warmed up, Votsy,” stated Harold. “This next part gets you airborne. Once you’re up, use your body to steer,” Shea made more passes and chanted:

“By oak, ash, and maple,

The high air through,

Show me you’re able

To fly swift and true!”

The broom responded quickly and angled skyward with a rush. Belphebe yelped. Shea leaned to the left and the strange craft circled tightly around the hovering splits. He pulled back, shifting his weight forward and the broom went into a tight loop.

“Harold!” cried an anguished Belphebe as he leveled off at treetop height. Shea was pleased. This broom was faster and handled better than any he had made before. The double set of eagle feathers probably accounted for the greater speed and maneuverability.

Shea looked down, and saw Votsy and Snag in an animated conversation. He eased the broom into a downward spiral, but before he and Belphebe reached the ground, Vaclav straddled his broom and began making magic passes. Snag was gesturing too, but the universal language of his gestures told Shea that Snag was not yet ready to become an aeronaut.

Just as Shea was nosing up to make a soft landing, Vaclav shot into the air at an acute angle.

“We have another wager,” yelled Snag, “that he shall not live to touch the earth again!” A desperate scream from above added weight to Snags conviction. Polacek was hanging by his fingers beneath the broom as it plowed erratically up and down through the treetops.

Belphebe hopped off and Shea took to the air in pursuit of Polacek. Vaclav had somehow managed to regain his seat but was still not in control of his wooden airsteed as Shea approached. Polacek circled left and Shea noted with alarm that they were headed straight at each other on a collision course.

At the last moment, Shea executed a perfect Immelmann and came down on top of the Czech. He then reached down and snatched the feathers from the tail of Polacek’s broom and Vaclav nosed up into a stall. While Shea circled effortlessly back to the ground, the Czech came spinning down, landing with an explosion of snapping branches in a clump of juniper bushes.

* * *

It took most of the evening to persuade Snag to ride with Polacek, But on his third flight. Votsy performed some complex aerobatics without incident. Even Shea was convinced that the Czech had finally learned to fly the broom.

That night, after another fine spirit-summoned supper, Shea learned that the spirits would not accompany them on their journey to the witch’s side of the island. They dared not venture near Sycorax, for fear of being put under a spell, as had happened to Ariel.

They wakened before dawn and assembled at the mouth of the owe. Them was ample evidence of the witch’s antics. The trees were lashed by wild winds, and rain fell in heavy torrents.

“Can we fly in this weather?” Belphebe asked with concern.

Harold looked up at the darkening sky. “We’ll soon find out!”

Bitter-Root fluttered up and handed Shea a lock of her hair tied with a golden thread. “Take thou this,” said the spirit, “and if thou seest Ariel, show’t. Perchance he will return to us.”

Shea stuffed the lock into his breast pocket. Vaclav and Snag had walked their broom out into the rain, which had eased up considerably. They straddled their sapling craft and waved at Shea.

“I’m ready.” Belphebe said from behind. Moments later, the two brooms and their passengers spiraled skyward, with the spirits and several colorful fairies flying in company. They rose above the hills till Shea could see great waves covered with whitecaps in the sea around the island.

The rain and wind made the flight uncomfortable, but the brooms handled well. As they flew west, the green forests gave way to an endless vista of lifeless trees. The division between the lands of Sycorax and that of the spirits was very clear indeed.