mischief. 'They will have need of a good witch again. And soon.'
'Will there be bloodshed?'
'Mayhem and danger, certainly. Bloodshed, perhaps.'
The promise of such was enough to satisfy him.
'So what did Wyst give you?' asked Gwurm.
'How did you know he gave me something?' I said.
'Just a feeling. You gave him your squirrel.'
'He didn't give her anything,' said Newt. 'You were watching.'
'On the contrary, he gave me many things, both ordinary and beautifol. But perhaps, least importantly he gave me a name.'
Newt perked up. 'What is it?'
I smiled.
'You aren't going to tell us.'
Silence was my only reply.
I didn't expect him to understand, but it was enough to have the name. Letting others hear it would have robbed it of its worth, made it a mundane, ordinary thing. I didn't want to share it. I wanted it all for myself. Now I truly was The Witch with the Unspoken Name. Or, more truthfully, the Witch with the Name That Had Been Spoken Once. But that was a bit long and awkward, even for a good witch.
'I still don't see what good an unspoken name is,' said Newt.
'Then you've never heard the story of Nameless Walter,' said Gwurm.
'Wait a minute. If his name is Nameless Walter, then he can't be nameless.'
Gwurm chuckled. 'Ah, but therein lies the tale ...'
I only half listened as my troll began the story. It was an amusing and colorful fable, but my mind lay elsewhere. Some part of me still wanted to turn back and run to Wyst, but being with him would only make me into the monster I was supposed to be. In the end, it would destroy everything worthwhile he'd given me. Knowing this made it less difficult to walk away, but it didn't make it easier.
I wanted to glance one last time over my shoulder, but there was no reason to. Looking behind would only show me the things I'd seen, and everything of importance I could always see. Every time I smelled fresh bread. Whenever I closed my eyes. Or the caress of a breeze on my lips.
And every time my name was never spoken.
