Yes, she would stay on a bit longer.
She thought again of Haltwhistle. He would always be with her, the Earth Mother had promised. Was that so? He did not require food or drink or looking after.
Mistaya needed only to say his name at least once each day to keep him close.
Her hand came up to her mouth. She had not done that. She had not said his name even once. She had not thought to do so. She opened her mouth and stopped. Nightshade did not know of the mud puppy. What would she say? Would she send Haltwhistle away? And Mistaya as well?
Mistaya’s mouth tightened. Well, it didn’t make any difference if the mud puppy wasn’t there. She might as well find out before she worried about any of the rest of it.
“Haltwhistle,” she said softly, almost inaudibly.
Instantly the mud puppy was next to her, staring down at her from out of the darkness with those great, soulful eyes. Elated, she started to reach for him and stopped. You must never touch a mud puppy, the Earth Mother had warned. Never.
“Hey, boy,” she whispered, smiling. Haltwhistle thumped his odd tail in response.
“Did you call, Mistaya?” Nightshade said from out of the darkness in front of her, and Mistaya’s head jerked up sharply. Abruptly, the Witch of the Deep Fell appeared, bending over her. “Did you say something?”
Mistaya blinked and looked down for Haltwhistle. The mud puppy had disappeared. “No, nothing. I must have been talking in my sleep.”
“Good night, then,” the witch said, and slipped away again.
“Good night,” Mistaya said.
She took a deep breath and let it out slowly. She looked again for Haltwhistle. The mud puppy appeared anew, materializing out of the night. She watched him for a moment, smiling. Then she closed her eyes and was asleep.
Bumbershoot
The instant Nightshade’s witch fire enveloped them, Landover disappeared and time stopped. Soft, gauzy light cocooned Abernathy, and he lost sight of Questor Thews completely. He drifted, suspended in the light, wrapped in silence and consumed by a numbness that emptied him of all feeling. He did not know what was happening to him. He supposed that he was dead and that this was what dying felt like, but he wasn’t sure. He tried to move and couldn’t. He tried to see beyond the white brightness surrounding him and couldn’t do that, either. He could barely manage to form a coherent thought. He didn’t even know if he was breathing.
Then the light disappeared in a sudden rush of wind and brilliant colors, and the sights, sounds, tastes, and smells of life rushed back into focus with brilliant clarity. The lake country was gone. He was pretty sure that Landover itself was gone, as well. He was sitting on a grassy flat that spread all around a great stone basin. A fountain at the center of the basin spouted a plume of water that arched high into the air in a feathery spray. Light caught the water and created small, shimmering rainbows. People were seated all across the lawn and at the edge of the fountain. Children played in the fountain, having ventured down into the shallow stone bowl, darting in and out of the spray, laughing and teasing one another. It was summer, and the day was sunny and hot.
Abernathy sat up straight and looked about. There were people everywhere. It was some sort of festival, and everyone was celebrating. Across the way were a pair of jugglers. A clown walked by on stilts. At a nearby table a small boy was having his face painted. Walkways bordered the lawn, the one nearest him packed end to end with makeshift booths selling the works of artisans and craftsmen: glass prisms, wood carvings, metal sculptures, and clothing of all sorts. Other walkways were jammed with carts and stands selling food and drink. Garish signs proclaimed the types of edibles and libations offered. Abernathy did not recognize the names.
But he could read the signs. If he was not in Landover, he should not have been able to do that.
His first thought was, Where am I, then?