TO THE CHARBORR FOREST
The Charborr Forest was known to Kar and to me. We passed through it on our way to the Blue Hills when I was yet a bendo dreen, and we flew over it on our return when I brought the blue sands of magic back with me as the new lavender witch, the Bekka Ja Harick. We’d been on a vital mission, leaving us no time to explore the mysterious land of the tall black trees. So such had been my only fleeting visit to Charborr Forest. Now snow fell on the black trees, snow to bury ‘em, and fire would rage unless I, the Harick, found a creature I’d never seen and coaxed it to eat a boulder. This Ommy Anthus must truly be an impressive monster, I thought.
“Most lucky fortune, isn’t it, Bek? I have an entire bar month left to me before I am expected back on the Island. We don’t have to spend it idling and lazing with lackwit games like as usual. We have a true adventure to jump on! I’ll be the first to see the new Harick enduring her very first Prophesy test! Don’t worry. I’ll help. Should I fly as Dragon or Rakara or winged cloud or …”
While Kar bubbled on happily, my knees shook and I pawed through spearmint cupboards, wondering which of my potions and amulets I should pack in my pouchbag. Finally, I took every tiny stoppered crystal vial and left all the rest of my magic, including the Wand. Why? I didn’t know, but I had to have nothing but trust in my hidden guidance. I wanted to be a good Harick. I wanted to be reliable. I surrendered completely to my hidden guidance, determined to trust it. What other else could I do?
“Snow is falling, Bek. If I was Harick, I might say, ‘Time is basting’, meaning ‘Time is wasting.’ Would you say the snow is falling thicker than it was when I came in? I would. Shall we go?” urged the impatient Kar.
I didn’t know if I was ready, and so such shrugged a reply. Kar caught my broom up from where it leaned in a corner and thrust it at me with a purpose. I took it and closed my eyes to see if something would tell me something. My mind remained a motionless pond. Not a ripple of thought disturbed it.
“Yoss. We should … should … should …” I stuttered.
“Leave?” completed Kar.
“Yoss,” I blurted boldly, jamming my pointy hat onto my head, running from the cottage and shouting, “Awaaaay!”
I bent low and rode my broom hard and straight over the trees of the Danken Wood. East I aimed, and east I sped with nary a loop nor a cackle. I came fair close to passing over the Redgalla Tree and into the skies above the Woods Beyond the Wood before Kar caught up with me. She swept under me, spiraled a few loops, and settled on my right side. She was a magnificent silver and purple Dragon with a row of sharp black spines marching down along her back and tail.
“How do you like it?” she asked. “I call it ‘Royal Dragon’. I added the spines for Charborr. I’m the first jrabe jroon to ever make this shift. I invented it just for this adventure. The tail is …”
On and on she went just like as she does whenever she is fizzed with excitement. I nodded like as I do more than ever since becoming the Harick. It’s easier to nod than to stumble in witch speak. Besides, as well, Kar’s voice held a comfort for me. Always has. I felt no desire to interrupt her flow. Her tales of being Queen Jebb of the Acrotwist Clowns on Fan Wa’s Island were amusingly odd and kept my mind away from the yellow Prophesy glow. We raced above the Woods Beyond the Wood. Too soon a gray thick ribbon on the distant horizon made the Prophesy loom in spite of Kar’s continuing chatter. Her voice faded from my hearing. In its place sounded a rhythmic slow chant, “Praw Fuh Sigh, Praw Fuh Sigh, Praw Fuh Sigh.” My head throbbed. I slapped a hand to my forehead. I grimaced.
“What’s wrong, Bek? What’s wrong, Bek? What’s wrong, Bek?” Kar’s voice sounded like a clanging echo.
We reached the storm, and I dove down and swept into it, followed by Kar. A single snowflake touched my nose, and the pounding chant disappeared at once. I drifted in the silent fall of snowflakes. Gently they fell. I landed on a thin carpet of white. A scuff of my buckleshoe revealed the blue-black moss of the forest floor. Kar settled beside me and shifted to bendo dreen. She, too, scuffed at the snow with her highboots.
“Remember how good this tasted?” she whispered, leaning down to pluck up some moss.
It seemed so such proper to whisper in the silence of the tall trees masked by the white snow floating softly down. The so said trees of the Charborr Forest surrounding us reached high, tops lost in the storm. Black of trunk, black of needle, branch and limb, the trees stood proud. Snow falling softly would certainly take a great long span of time to bury ‘em completely. A spark of relief ignited in me, but was quickly doused when the snow began to fall thicker and faster.