They spoke low in their parliament: all told the same tale, a tale of children terrified, a tale of women demanding the old ways again; and as they spoke they eyed window and crevice, none knowing what might come.
And Oth said: “Let us folk go to the Lord Orion as we went to his grandfather in his long red room. Let us say how we sought for magic, and lo we have magic enough; and let him follow no more after witchery nor the things that are hidden from man.”
He listened acutely, standing there amongst his hushed comrade neighbours. Was it goblin voices that mocked him, or was it only echo? Who could say? And almost at once the night all round was hushed again.
And Threl said: “Nay. It is too late for that.” Threl had seen their lord one evening standing alone on the downs, all motionless and listening to something sounding from Elfland, with his eyes to the east as he listened: and nothing was sounding, not a noise was astir; yet Orion stood there called by things beyond mortal hearing. “It is too late now,” said Threl.
And that was the fear of all.
Then Guhic rose slowly up and stood by that table. And trolls were gibbering like bats away in their loft, and the pale marsh-lights were flickering, and shapes prowled in the dark: the pit-pat of their feet came now and then to the ears of the twelve that were there in that inner room. And Guhic said: “We wished for a little magic.” And a gust of gibbering came clear from the trolls. And then they disputed awhile as to how much magic they had wished in the olden time, when the grandfather of Orion was lord in Erl. But when they came to a plan this was the plan of Guhic.
“If we may not turn our lord Orion,” he said, “and his eyes be turned to Elfland, let all our parliament go up the hill to the witch Ziroonderel, and put our case to her, and ask for a spell which shall be put against too much magic.”
And at the name of Ziroonderel the twelve took heart again; for they knew that her magic was greater than the magic of flickering lights, and knew there was not a troll or thing of the night but went in fear of her broom. They took heart again and quaffed Narl’s heavy mead, and refilled their mugs and praised Guhic.
And late in the night they all rose up together to go back to their homes, and all kept close together as they went, and sang grave old songs to affright the things that they feared; though little the light trolls care, or the will-o’-the-wisps, for the things that are grave to man. And when only one was left he ran to his house, and the will-o’-the-wisps chased him.
When the next day came they ended their work early, for the parliament of Erl cared not to be left on the witch’s hill when night came, or even the gloaming. They met outside Narl’s forge in the early afternoon, eleven of the parliament, and they called out Narl. And all were wearing the clothes they were wont to wear when they went with the rest to the holy place of the Freer, though there was scarcely a soul he had ever cursed that was not blessed by her. And away they went with their old stout staves up the hill.
And as soon as they could they came to the witch’s house. And there they found her sitting outside her door gazing over the valley away, and looking neither older nor younger, nor concerned one way or the other with the coming and going of years.
“We be the parliament of Erl,” they said, standing before her all in their graver clothes.
“Aye,” she said. “You desired magic. Has it come to you yet?”
“Truly,” they said, “and to spare.”
“There is more to come,” she said.
“Mother Witch,” said Narl, “we are met here to pray you that you will give us a goodly spell which shall be a charm against magic, so that there be no more of it in the valley, for overmuch has come.”
“Overmuch?” she said. “Overmuch magic! As though magic were not the spice and essence of life, its ornament and its splendour. By my broom,” said she, “I give you no spell against magic.”
And they thought of the wandering lights and the scarce-seen gibbering things, and all the strangeness and evil that was come to their valley of Erl, and they besought her again, speaking suavely to her.
“Oh, Mother Witch,” said Guhic, “there is overmuch magic indeed, and the folk that should tarry in Elfland are all over the border.”
“It is even so,” said Narl. “The border is broken and there will be no end to it. Will-o’-the-wisps should stay in the marshes, and trolls and goblins in Elfland, and we folk should keep to our own folk. This is the thought of us all. For magic, if we desired it somewhat, years ago when we were young, pertains to matters that are not for man.”
She eyed him silently with a cat-like glow increasing in her eyes. And when she neither spoke nor moved, Narl besought her again.
“O Mother Witch,” he said, “will you give us no spell to guard our homes against magic?”
“No spell indeed!” she hissed. “No spell indeed! By broom and stars and night-riding! Would you rob Earth of her heirloom that has come from the olden time? Would you take her treasure and leave her bare to the scorn of her comrade planets? Poor indeed were we without magic, whereof we are well stored to the envy of darkness and Space.” She leaned forward from where she sat and stamped her stick, looking up in Narl’s face with her fierce unwavering eyes.
