A Nameless Witch

We journeyed in a silence of words but with a great chatter of glances. Wyst and I would steal sidelong peeks, but we weren't fooling anyone. Gwurm and Penelope were polite enough to ignore them. Newt voiced his objections with snarls and grimaces and one exceptionally displeased glower. And the miles passed away.

Late in the morning, Wyst's horse became uneasy. He stopped without warning.

Wyst patted his mount's neck. 'What's wrong?'

'This isn't right,' snorted the horse.

'How so?' I asked.

The horse blinked three times very deliberately. 'Up ahead. The countryside is wrong. Not right at all.'

I hopped from Gwurm's shoulder and cleared my head. Beasts possess senses even witches lack, but now I knew to look for something. It took a few long moments of careful study to spot the horse's observation.

Nature is chaotic. Even a tranquil field of flowers is full of disarray, even if it is subtly so. But the landscape before us was a picture of perfect order. The first thing I noticed was the trees. There were four ahead, and yet each was the same in every detail with a bending trunk and an exact arrangement of branches. Even the bark was the same shade and texture with the same knot in the trunk of each.

I noticed the stones scattered ahead next. They were more varied, coming in three different shapes and sizes. Only three. Once I saw it for what it was, I even noticed the grass was arranged in uniform rows with the deliberate patterned arrangement of three short blades, a taller blade, and two midsize. This wasn't nature. It was only an incredible simulation.

The horde of phantom goblings was one thing, but to recreate the world so completely was an act of unparalleled sorcerous might. It was also the product of a madman. This sorcerer didn't want to remake the world in his own image. He just wanted to remake it for no other reason than he could. Sorcery for sorcery's sake, a grand experiment intended to wipe away the heart of the world.

Only now did I understand just how insidious such a design was. Only now did I truly grasp the power I faced. I was afraid, fearful that my magic wouldn't be a match for it.

Fear is only a bad thing when it provokes poor decisions. Otherwise, a little dread can be healthy. I held my trepidation close. When the time came, it would serve me to keep from underestimating what I might face.

'What is it?' Newt asked.

'A dream of madness.'

I left it at that. None of the others could understand. Nor did they need to. Wyst spurred his horse onward. The steed hesitated, but as the boon companion of a White Knight, he had the courage to cross into this sorcerous reflection.

There was a stillness to this false world, and even its small movements were calculated. The fields swayed with unerring predictability. The tree branches bobbed in unison. The clouds overhead swirled in precise, lazy shapes. The phantom kingdom acknowledged our presence with a minimum of response. Our footfalls kicked up small dust clouds, each identical regardless whether spurred by hoof or troll foot. The grass parted, only to snap back into rank and file.

I was horribly uncomfortable. We all were, but I could feel the void in this land. There wasn't life in any of this. I couldn't talk to the grass or speak with the trees. They were dead, empty things. If this was how mortal men saw the world, what a cold, dark place they lived in. I understood why they gathered together so obsessively now.

We must've been close to the end of our quest, but this was only a guess. I couldn't find a single omen in this empty land, and any whispers of the magic were muffled beneath the smothering sorcery. I was so ill at ease that I didn't see the first spontaneous movement in the land until Gwurm pointed it out.

'That's a strange-looking cloud.'

A white puff broke formation and darkened. Small pock ets of lightning sizzled within, creating two glowing, electric orbs. The cloud leered with its sparkling eyes. A mouth parted in its rumbling billows, and it chuckled. It was an ail-too-human chuckle, too soft to be heard all the way on the ground, but we heard it anyway.

Wyst drew his sword.

'Oh, my,' said the cloud. 'Tell me, my good Knight, just how do you plan on slaying a cloud with that blade, assuming you possess some method of reaching me way up here in the first place?'

The voice was flat and even. It sounded as if spoken gently in my ears, as if this cloud were beside me. But space was a triviality in a place that didn't truly exist.

The cloud squinted. Rather, its eyes dimmed. 'Now let's see what we have here. A White Knight, a troll, a duck, and a witch. An odd assortment of adversaries, I must say. What a pleasure it is to finally meet you face-to- face, so to speak.'

I tipped my hat to the cloud. 'And you must be Soulless Gustav.'

'If I must. My reputation precedes me.' The puff resumed its part in the lifeless dance, and the face disappeared. It reappeared in the tall grass. Purple flowers bloomed for its eyes.

'There really is a Soulless Gustav?' whispered Newt.

He was heard. I suspected everything unusual was heard by this realm's master. 'Well, I would certainly hope so. Who else could send out those plagues of strangling intestines and melting brains?'

'You really do that?' Newt asked.

The grass split into a wry grin. 'On occasion. When it suits my purpose. Or when it strikes me as amusing. Or when I just feel bored and in the mood to sow some terror. Not so nearly as often as people claim, but that is the advantage of a well-cultivated reputation. After a while, it does its own work.'

One purple bud closed in a wink.

'You've done well to get here. Of course, I expected you would. My magic is not so strong in that place you would call reality, but you've crossed into my kingdom now. Foolish mistake, that. I'd tell you to turn back, but it's too late.'

Wyst struggled with his uneasy horse for a moment. He put away his sword. 'Hear me now, sorcerer. I am Wyst of the West, Defender of the Weak, Destroyer of the Foul, Sworn Champion of Decency, Avowed Foe of Evil, and by the Order of White Knights, I shall see your madness ended.'

'Firstly, my good Knight, my madness ends when I say it does. Secondly, I could argue that anyone who threatens grass is perhaps grappling with madness himself.' Soulless Gustav moved from the field to a tree. 'Thirdly, the lifestyle you have taken upon yourself is surely a sign of a far more twisted mind than my own. Tell me. Do you ever wonder what sort of man sacrifices even the simplest joys for the good of the world?'

It was a trick question. I would've answered it with a barbed response, but Wyst was no witch.

'A man with a great passion for justice!' he shouted.

The tree rattled its branches. 'A great passion, yes, but isn't too great a passion madness in and of itself?'

Wyst fell deeper into the trap. 'Not if that passion is righ­teous.'

'Well, there you have it. Righteousness is a great moral quandary, isn't it? Such debates are for scholars and learned men who have nothing better to do but sit around and talk about life rather than live it. I am merely a legendary sorcerer, and you, a virtuous, quite possibly mad, White Knight. My point is, both of us have our goals, and both of us are willing to do whatever we must to achieve those goals. You've given up everything worthwhile in your quest for justice. I've seen thousands devoured by my phantom gobling horde. I see very little difference in the two, save for mine is a lot more fun.'

Wyst drew his sword and snarled. 'Come forward and face me, sorcerer. Or are you frightened because you know your doom is upon you?'

'Ah, there it is. The bravado, the fervor, and fury. How heroic. How courageous. How inane. Wyst of the West, you are no doubt a great White Knight, judging by your perfect banality. But you are also a great boorish simpleton. Afraid? Of you? My dear, dear Wyst, you really have no idea what you're up against. Well, courage is merely equal parts overconfidence and idiocy'

'I'm not the one hiding in trees and grass.'

'I'm through talking with you, Wyst. You are of no con­sequence.'

He left the tree. A whirlwind of dust kicked up before us and congealed into a man of sand. He was tall and thin, wearing a robe of gravel. His face was gaunt with a pointed chin, and he had polished jade for eyes. This was Soulless Gustav, if not quite in the flesh.

He walked to Gwurm. 'Did you know, I've always had a fondness for trolls. In fact, my horde of goblings was