'Who?'
Newt hopped in front of me, turned, and walked backward. An impressive feat for a duck.
'You've never heard of Skewered Bob?'
'No.'
'He was a soldier. Fought in some battle somewhere. No one remembers who was battling who or why anymore. Don't even know anything about old Bob's life. Other than this was his first real battle. A small skirmish of no real importance. The kind that pops up all the time over land rights or a maiden's honor or some other triviality.'
He waved a wing. 'Like I said. Unimportant. So Bob, he's just a young grunt, one of dozens of boys looking to kill each other. But Bob's so eager, he wants to be at the head of the battle. Like he's a great hero or some such nonsense. He's so enthusiastic, in fact, that when the bugler blows the assembly call, Bob thinks it's the call to charge. So he dashes onto the field, all by himself, and he's so eager to slaughter his enemies that he doesn't even realize until he's halfway there.'
'What happened?'
'These were military men and great believers in excessive force. So a rain of arrows comes down on Bob's head, and he's thoroughly punctured. Pierced from every possible angle and two or four impossible angles as well. Falls dead to the ground on the spot.'
'And the battle?'
'Who knows? Who cares? Of every man that fought on that field of honor, amid all the bravery and blood- soaked savagery, only Skewered Bob is remembered. Not because he was a great hero. Not because he fought well. Not even for his foolhardy courage. But because he was wise enough to die in memorable fashion.'
Newt flapped his wings and skipped a few steps. 'You see my point? Obviously, Skewered Bob wasn't all that bright. Had he not died as he had, he would've no doubt lived a perfectly dreary life, hardly worth remembering. But now he's famous. He lives forever.'
'I'd never heard of him,' I remarked.
'Now you have, and one day you'll tell somebody else, and his name will go on.'
'How do you know he even existed at all?'
'I don't. But that's not important either because even if he didn't, even if he's just a story, then he only illustrates my point further. A horrible demise, even an imaginary one, beats an ordinary, real life.'
'There's more to life than being remembered,' I said.
'I guess.'
'And I am capable of living forever. In theory.'
Newt shook his head. 'That doesn't mean you shouldn't give the matter serious consideration. Just in case.'
I tested a more exaggerated limp. It slowed my walk and gave me time to think. Much of what Newt said made sense.
Ghastly Edna spoke from my memory. 'You must remember, child, that death is not something to be frightened by. Everything dies. Well, not everything, but most things. And this is as it should be because if everything lasted forever, the world would soon become a very boring place. Death is merely nature's way of mixing things up.
'Not that there's anything wrong with living forever. I myself wouldn't care to, but I suppose it wouldn't be all that bad. Just remember to keep yourself busy, and I suspect forever will pass surprisingly quickly. Time is like that. Even endless lengths of it tend to go by faster than we'd like when we're enjoying ourselves.'
Ghastly Edna was right, of course, but I had to admit a small and unwitchly fear of death. It was difficult enough for mortal creatures to face death's inevitable kiss when they knew it must come. But endless centuries lay before me, and oblivion was a companion I could easily avoid with care and foresight.
When the fork in the path finally sprang up before me, appearing as if by magic around the curve of a hill, I'd made my decision.
'Well?' Newt asked.
I held little fear of either death or eternity. And I did not crave the promise of quiet contentment. Ghastly Edna had not been the kind to bear a grudge, even against her own murderers, but I was not so witchly. If it was within my power to avenge her death, then I really had no choice but to do so. And though I did not wish to die myself in the process, it was just one possibility of many. And it seemed to me that no matter how it came out, the many possibilities of the east were far more interesting than the singular fate to the north.
'We go east.'
Newt muttered. 'I still think we should have gone west.'
And, once again, I ignored him.
The path joined up with a road, and I decided to follow it. I'd made my decision at the fork, and I assumed my fate would now find me. Everything outside the forest was one vast, foreign land. Newt had lived most of his life by Ghastly Edna's side as well and couldn't offer anything in the way of advice. But all roads lead somewhere, even if it isn't always someplace worth visiting.
After finally leaving behind the hills, the edge of the world I had known, an apprehension fell upon me. And a sadness for my lost mistress. And an exhilaration for whatever lay ahead. A strange, heart-fluttering mix.
Newt stopped. 'Can we rest? My feet are killing me.'
I kept going. 'Time enough for rest later. After the sun has set.
The bright orange globe was an hour from sinking below the horizon. I planned on stopping and watching it go. I'd always liked the sunset. Not just the pretty colors of the sky, but the soft dark of early night. The light of day was obnoxious and hard. It burned away the mystery of all it shone upon. Dusk was subtle and gentle. The world always looked a little brighter beneath the gliding shadows.
Newt groaned. 'We've been walking for hours.'
'And we'll walk until I say otherwise.' I didn't care when we rested, but Newt was my familiar. It was important to establish my authority now, while our link was new.
He jogged after me. 'Easy for you to say. For every step you take, I take four. And I've got flat feet.'
'So fly. I don't mind.'
He quacked in an annoyed manner.
Magic is not a something-for-nothing proposition. The enchantments on the duck gave him intellect at the cost of instincts. He'd forgotten how to fly. He could get airborne in a pinch. These were always short flights, no higher than the cabin roof and for brief seconds, awkward displays of clumsy flapping wings and muttered vulgarities. The remembrance made me smile.
'Can't you do something? Something with your magic?'
'There is something, but you won't like it.'
'Anything's better than taking another step.'
'As you wish. First, raise your right leg.'
Newt did so.
'Now, put it back down, and raise your left.'
He did so reluctantly. 'Are you certain this will work?'
'Quite certain. Now put down your left leg, flap your wings three times, and quack once.'
He tilted his head skeptically.
'Trust me.'
After he'd done as instructed, I held up a hand, fingers bent clawlike. I circled Newt while mumbling in witchly fashion. Then I scooped him up, tucked him under my arm, and started walking.
'Is that better?' I asked.
He squirmed. I knew very well that he hated being carried. He considered it undignified, but he didn't complain. His feet must have been very sore.
'What was all that business with the leg raising and wing flapping?'
'Practice. A witch should always keep you guessing. Did it work?'
