neetha Napew - Son Of Spellsinger

Buncan swallowed. “Uh, what happens if we can’t put you back?”

“WHY, THEN YOU HAVE A VERY LARGE CORPSE TO DISPOSE OF AND A BLOOD FEUD WITH ALL MY BRETHREN.”

Since Buncan had from time to time entertained thoughts of traveling upon the sea, and since this desire might be rendered difficult to fulfill if every great whale upon the waters was made of a mind to kill him, he thought it wise to do his best to prevent that condition from coming about. Preferably as soon as possible.

“It was an accident.” He tried to explain, gesturing in Neena’s direction. “My friend was hungry and wanted a fish.”

“DO I LOOK LIKE A FISH?” inquired the sulphurbottom.

“Only marginally.”

“WOULD IT NOT BE INCORRECT OF ME TO ASSUME THAT MY INVOLUNTARY PLACEMENT IN THIS INSIGNIFICANT ESTUARY IS THE RESULT OF SORCERY GONE AWRY?”

“Like I said, it was an accident.” Despite the whale’s intimidating size and manner, Buncan held his ground. After all, it wasn’t likely to burst from the river and come running after them (he hoped).

Certainly, they had to save it by sending it back where it had come from. He couldn’t stand the thought of having its death on his hands. His conscience wouldn’t stand for it.

Besides, his father might find out.

“Don’t worry. We’ll send you back. I’m not entirely sure how we brought you here, but we’ll send you back. As soon as I can get my friends to stop trying to kill each other.”

“I SHOULD APPRECIATE THAT,” boomed the whale.

Though it was not unlike trying to unwind a hurricane, Buncan managed to separate the otters. Squill glared at his sister, recovered his precious hat, and taunted her as she struggled to make sense of her makeup.

“Go on,” he urged her, “tell our guest ‘ow you really wanted to eat him.”

“Go sit on your face.” She looked to Buncan as she brushed dirt and grass from her clothes. “ ‘Ow do we send this back to the deep ocean, spellsinger?”

Buncan mumbled a reply. “You two came up with the lyrics that brought it here.”

“I was ‘ungry. I’m inspired when I’m ‘ungry. I thought our singin” would get us a little bitty somethin’ out o’ the river. Not this bloody great mass o’ blubber.”

“IT IS ASSISTANCE I REQUIRE, NOT FLATTERY.” The otters conferred, finally nodding at Buncan, who began to play with more hope than assurance. Perhaps because they were becoming more confident, or perhaps out of fear of what Mudge would do to them if they failed, they rapped with greater facility than ever before. Buncan’s accompaniment was equally accomplished.

The green mist coalesced afresh around the immense bulk, from which eventually issued a relieved sigh of satisfaction. “BE MORE CAREFUL NEXT TIME. AMATEURS,” it concluded. Buncan gritted his teeth and offered no comment, not wishing or daring to do anything that might interrupt the flow of the spellsinging.

“Send it back, back

Back to the sea, back to the water, back ‘ome

“Ome, ‘ome, not the Shortstub to roam

Down in the depths, in the depths, away from ‘ere

Steer it clear, steer it free

Don’t y’see, free, away from me and away from Thee.”

There was a sharp bang, and a brief but intense gust of green wind knocked the three of them off their feet. Previously dammed up by the whale’s bulk, the abruptly released accumulated flow of the Shortstub surged in a towering wave downstream, racing toward its distant juncture with the mighty Tailaroam.

Squill watched the wave recede around the far bend as he levered himself up on his elbows. “I don’t know if it ‘as occurred to any of you lot yet, but it strikes me that this ‘ere sudden spurt o’ water ‘as the potential to be somewot upsettin’ to them wot lives downriver.”

“There’ve been floods on the Shortstub before,” his sister pointed out.

“Not this time o’ year, fungus-lips.” Her brother jabbed a thumb skyward. “Not in this kind o’ weather.”

“Boats, docks, front porches.” Buncan envisioned wholesale downstream destruction as he contemplated the turbulent tributary. “Maybe it would be a good idea if we didn’t mention this little episode to anyone for a while?”

“Capital idea.” Squill was quick to second the suggestion. “Like maybe, never.”

“I think we could leave now.” Neena was eyeing her friend and her brother intently. “And get ‘ome fast.”

There was no need to wait for concurrence.

As they hurried back through the Bellwoods, Bur.can couldn’t resist nudging the otter nearest him. “It worked, Squill. Maybe not exactly the way we intended, but it worked. We spellsang. We performed great magic.”

The otter squinted up at him. “Blimey but you’re a ‘ard one to convince, Duncan. Next time we’re ‘aif likely to bring a mountain down on top of us.”

“Come on,” Buncan prodded his friends. “Aren’t you proud of what we just accomplished? Didn’t you get a little charge out of it?”

“Well. .just a flicker, maybe.”

“Yeah, right.” Buncan was grinning hugely. “We put a little too much into the spell, that’s all. With practice we can do better. Modulate, refine. Neena, you want to try for your fish again?”

“I’m not ‘ungry anymore, Bunkies. We’ve got to do some serious thinkin’ about this.”

“An otter, serious?” he chided her. When she didn’t reply, he lowered his tone. “All right. We can talk about it tomorrow. And if anybody asks us about what happened on the river, we don’t know anything, right?”

“Bloody right,” Squill muttered.

“But we’re a team. Don’t forget that. Sure I’d like to be able to spellsing like that all by myself, but being part of a team has its advantages, too. I can concentrate all my efforts on the duar.”

Neena glared at bun. “CM, and the next time we do somethin’ equally stupid we can run away in three different directions and maybe one o’ us will survive.”

“Don’t be so negative. You’d think you’d never seen a whale before.”

“Never ‘ad,” said Squill solemnly, “and neither ‘ad you, except in pictures. Seemed like a right enough bloke, though. Just a bit put out.”

“Think about this, though.” Buncan was hard put to rein in his enthusiasm. “If we can spellsing up something like that when we’re just trying for a fish dinner, imagine what we might do if we take our time and really make an effort to do something serious. We could do better than Jon-Tom, or maybe even Clothahump. We could change the world.”

“Ain’t sure I want to change the world, mate.” Squill spat to one side as he jogged through the woods. “ “Us a nice day. Maybe if it were blowin’ cold I’d try somethin’.”

“Just think about what we’ve done. That’s all I ask.”

All three fell into a contemplative silence as they hurried on through the forest, the Belltrees chiming uneasily around them.

CHAPTER 5

After the episode in the woods Buncan made a show of tending seriously to his studies, but each day he waited for the opportunity to meet with Squill and Neena. They chose a small glade well away from the river in which to practice. Not out of fear of encountering any more polite but irritated cetaceans, but to avoid those angry citizens whose waterfront homes and business establishments had been damaged by the mysterious tidal bore of some days previous.

They sang only small spells, conjuring up nothing they couldn’t deal with on a nontheurgic level, practicing and refining their ability to match Buncan’s music to the otters’ improvised lyrics. Repetition gave rise to confidence as they invented raps for recovering spent arrows or blunting sword points.

Sharpened skills enabled them to turn grass blue, or open sizable holes in the ground without the use of spade or shovel. They spellsang into existence not raw fish but cooked food, and sleeping platforms complete with fresh linen.