The Words Will Set Us Free - 4. Chapter 4

Gregor stood just outside the garden door watching Roger picking weeds out from among a row of carrots. It was a very substantial garden, bigger than any back in his village, which seemed kind of strange from what he’d seen when looking out his window. Down here at ground level, there were lots of rows of vegetables extending in all directions, practically an orchard of fruit trees, and in the middle of the garden stood a mighty oak, its huge branches extending out over the entire garden as if to protect it from the evils of the world, the evils in the castle.

Ignoring Roger, who was lost in his own little world, Gregor walked over to the great oak, placed his right hand—the proper hand for placing on the trunk of a great oak—on the trunk, and felt the energy pulsing from its core. A rootlet came up out of the earth and wrapped around his ankle, pressing tightly against his flesh. Unafraid, Gregor looked down then placed his right ear against the trunk. Deep inside the groans and deep growls of the heartwood could be clearly heard.

Gregor slowly, ever so carefully, not wanting to appear threatening, placed both arms against the trunk as the rootlet climbed up his leg until wrapping itself around his member where it could slip an even smaller rootlet into him. He stayed there absorbing the great oak’s offering of peace and energy, while at the same time he felt part of him being drawn out by the tree. They were in union, a union Gregor didn’t fully understand, had no previous experience of, yet he remained tied to the mighty oak until released.

Immediately after the rootlet left him and pulled back into the soil, Gregor stood back and felt something softly pounce on his right shoulder. Turning his head, he looked at the strangest creature he’d ever seen in his short life. It crawled down his arm until it stood in his hand. Not more than the span of a hand high, the creature felt light as a feather. Its two legs were covered with leggings of some sort of grayish material. Its feet were those of a small rodent, but the hands were definitely those of a human. What flesh that was exposed from under its soft green tunic, was covered with a fine, dense, light brownish fur. The face had piercing black eyes that stared deeply into Gregor’s, the nose was somewhat too long and too narrow, almost rat-like, but the creature’s smile told him there was no danger, though there was a small sword hanging from its belt.

“Why aren’t you the cutest thing,” Gregor said.

“Not cute!” the creature exclaimed quite loud for its size, but in a squeaky, high-pitched voice one might expect from a mouse. “I’m a pixie of the highest order.”

“And, what do they call you my small pixie friend?” Gregor asked.

“Exetor, m’lord,” the creature said with a flourish.

“Well, my dear little Exetor, what is your pleasure?” Gregor asked.

“Can we speak privately?” Exetor asked with a whisper soft as the wind.

“In my tower?” Gregor asked, not knowing where else.

“No!” Exetor exclaimed. “Raven up there. You like raven.”

“His name is Harold,” Gregor said, slightly amused at the threatening nature of something so small.

“Harold?”

“Yes. He’s quite nice, really.”

“No! Raven bad! Kill ravens, all ravens, bad ravens.”

“Well, Harold has been nice to me. Of course I am a bit bigger than he is. Maybe that’s why he’s so nice.”

“Yes.”

“So where do we talk?”

“Up,” Exetor said, looking up into the tree.

“I’m going to look rather obvious sitting on a tree limb,” Gregor said matter-of-factly.

“No, not be seen. Great oak friendly, likes you.”

“Well, how do you suppose I get up there?”

“Magic,” Exetor said, whereupon he slowly rose up into the tree. “Come with me, Gregor.”

Gregor thought about rising up into the tree’s branches, following the pixie, and wasn’t too surprised the magic helped very nicely. The higher he rose the bigger the tree seemed to get. It was almost as if the tree grew around him, until he came to mat-like structure made of small limbs and leaves that was large enough for him to sit upon.

Exetor and six other pixies stood before him on the closest limb. They were a motley outfit, as Exetor seemed better dressed than the others. At least he had leggings and a tunic, whereas the others only had one or the other and one, shorter than the others, had only a great black cape that was tied at the front from what Gregor hoped was a proper sense of modesty. They all had swords and three of them had spears taller than their heads, the tip of the short one’s spear was far above his head. Other than Exetor, who was all smiles, the others seemed grim, almost angry in the presence of a human.

“What can I do for you?” Gregor asked by way of starting the conversation.

“See! Already he’s taking over,” one of the spear carriers said. “I told you you can’t trust biggies.”

“He’s not like the others,” Exetor said. “The oak said he’s different. And, well, he talks to ravens, too.”

“Ravens! Away with this biggy,” the shortest of the bunch exclaimed. All of them, except for Exetor, pointed their weapons at him.

Gregor felt a tingling about his body, but thought very hard and it went away. He smiled at the pixies.

“He’s a good sorcerer,” the shortest one said and then jumped down onto Gregor’s mat. “He has no name, though. He cannot be summoned and he knows not how to summon the greater of him. There is little we can teach, but he might be useful in ridding this place of the hellish menace.”

“The monster,” Gregor said.

“Say not his name!” The short one exclaimed.

“I know, I know all about that,” Gregor said. “I do know it, though, if you need to know. Do you know why he is here?”

“No, his being here is problem enough,” Exetor said. “Everything was fine and dandy until he showed up. You must help us get rid of him.”

“He is tied to the curse on the Master,” Gregor said.

“What is the curse?” Exetor asked. “Speak it biggy.”

“I know it not,” Gregor said. “I do know it involves the Master’s interest in little boys.”

“Not his interest,” the short one said. “He tried to mate with them. He was caught with a biggy boy child upon him, practically a babe fresh from his mother’s breast. His father put him here and wrapped the curse about him. We heard it not. We know not the words.”

“We must know the words,” Exetor said. “The words will set us free.”

“The words are in there, but we cannot enter,” the short one said, pointing toward the castle. “You must get the words and we’ll teach you how to undo them.”

“I will be free, too?” Gregor asked.

“If you stay free of the menace and the evil one,” the short one said. “Once you come under their power you are doomed. See that biggy in the garden? Soon he will join the undead and wander the land forever in search of forgiveness. He will not find it. Will you help us, Gregor?”

“Yes, I want to get out of here, too,” Gregor said with a strong feeling of relief. He’d finally found a key to escaping. All he had to do was find the curse.

“Then we are one in our crusade,” the short one said. “Welcome, Gregor the Sorcerer, to the family.”

And, then, suddenly, Gregor found himself sitting on the ground in front of the great oak. He remembered all of the words that had just taken place, but was surprised it ended so quickly.

The words of the curse were the key to his escape. All he had to do was find the words to the curse, but where? Would the Master know them? Maybe. The monster would certainly know them, but would not give them up knowing their power. Maybe they were elsewhere. Maybe they had been written down. Were they in the library lost among all the books and scrolls? Or, were they hidden somewhere else in the castle? His garret?

The skeleton up there, was it looking for the words? Had that young man been lured by the pixies into searching only to be locked in until he died of starvation? The monster might know more than he let on, but Gregor knew he had to find the words before either the Master or the monster had their way with him.

- - - - - - - -

Later that day, Gregor sat in his chair looking up at the door to the garret. He knew the written curse was up there because it was speaking to him, calling him, tempting him. Yet, he was afraid of its power. A normal curse, a spoken curse, is a rather tame animal, but a written curse had its words set down for an eternity, if necessary. There was a strong chance it might have a protection spell to keep it safe.

If he could read it up there, then he would be safe, but to take it from the garret would be the easy part. Getting it out of the castle and up into the great oak was the problem. He was going to need to use plenty of magic, magic he wasn’t certain he had to use. What if he wasn’t as great a sorcerer as the pixies said?

“Hello,” the raven said after flying down from the window. “Thinking?”

“Yes.”

“Secrets?”

“Yes.”

“Don’t like secrets,” Harold said scratching his neck with a claw. “You made me tell you mine.”

“I know.”

“Tell me secret.”

“I met some pixies.”

“No! Pixies bad! Pixies kill Harold.”

“They don’t like you either, so you’re even.”

“You like pixies?”

“I like you.”

“You like pixies?”

“In a way, yes.”

“Gregor different.”

“Oh?”

“You have more magic.”

“Yes?” Gregor answered. “You mean more than the skeleton up in the garret.”

“I’m going away now. I do not wish to see you killed by dukeling.”

“Is it that noticeable?”

“Yes.”

“Okay, but remember to stay away from the great oak. There are pixies in there.”

“I know. Pixies killed Harold long time ago when Harold stupid bird.”

With that the raven shrunk to a point of light and blinked out. So, Harold was just a ghost. Maybe that’s why he could talk so well. He hoped the raven would come back once all of this was over.

Gregor knew it was now or never. He looked up at the garret door and it dropped open. He rose up into the opening and stood next to the skeleton. He could hear the curse calling to him, but there were too many boxes for him to know where the curse was hidden. He rummaged around them, opening first one and then another, rifling through their contents looking for a scroll, but there wasn’t anything to be discovered. Finally, he looked at the box beside the skeleton and then heard something from below.

“I knew you were a despicable wretch,” a voice called out from below. “Well, suffer the consequences.”

The garret door swung up and Gregor heard the latch click in place. He waited a moment trying to ascertain his situation and then smelled smoke. Whoever was down there had set the tower on fire.

Calmly he focused on the curse and then looked at the skeleton. The forefinger on the right hand was pointing at the box next to it. Gregor slowly lifted the lid and black oily light seeped out around the edges of the opening and spilled down the side in a gooey green mass. Inside, nestled on a bed of purple satin, a smaller box glowed with yellow light. He reached in and felt heat rising from the small box. He was certain it was there.

Now, all he had to do was figure a way out and he had to figure it out soon because the garret was beginning to fill with smoke and the floor was definitely getting warmer. He grabbed the small box and saw a scroll under it, which he unrolled. The letters, written in an old forgotten language, glowed with anger, hatred, and redemption. The language was so old he might not have been able to read it except for the magic around him. The king from long, long ago, spoke to him: To all the people of my kingdom, I give you my eldest son, a bane unto this land and our people. He has committed the gravest of sins and must suffer eternal damnation. I call upon the Demon Rch’K’na to take this killer of children to a place far away and torment him with unspeakable evils until the end of time itself.

The demon’s name was written in Greek and according to the book Gregor read in the library it was the calling name of the demon, the name not written in the book. Gregor then realized that the name he saw in the book was the demon’s other name, the one that would send it back from where it was summoned. These were the words the pixies needed to send the monster away.

He rolled up the scroll and looked at one of the windows in the roof. It shattered and shards fell into the garret. For once Gregor was thankful he was so skinny. It was still a tight fit, but he slipped through and floated quickly out to the great oak.

Slipping into the leaves and branches he headed toward a spot he thought the pixies might be, but they weren’t there, they were nowhere to be seen. Were they going to leave the entire task to him? Was he capable up sending a demon back to the lake of fire?

Well, he had to think of something soon because at that moment a horrendous roar arose out of the castle and rock began to fall away from the crag. The monster growing in immensity rose out of the ground and looked around. Gregor knew what it was looking for. What were the words he had to say?

“Say its name thrice!” a voice exclaimed.

“M’sba’Kna! M’sba’Kna! M’sba’Kna!”

The monster turned toward the great oak, its eyes filled with fire. A mighty hand as large as a barn reached out, but a lightning bolt shot out from the tree burning off one of the creature’s fingers.

“Again! Thrice more!”

“M’sba’Kna! M’sba’Kna! M’sba’Kna!”

The monster looked on in disbelief as flames shot up out of the rock around it. A great whirlwind began to swirl around the demon. In a flash of flames its hideous hair crinkled back onto the skin which started to crackle as more fire overwhelmed it. Fire roared out around the monster totally consuming every part of its being.

“Again! Thrice more!”

“M’sba’Kna! M’sba’Kna! M’sba’Kna!”

The stones fell away from the castle walls, towers, great hall and everything else and tumbled into the hole where the now vanished monster once stood. The roar was deafening as everything fell in, everything except the garden and the great oak, which was now anchored in the side of the mountain as it was when the monster first created the castle to keep the killer of children.

“Well done! Well done!” the voice exclaimed.

Gregor was at a loss at what was to happen to him now. The monster was gone, but was he free? He lowered himself to the ground and sat down on the grass under the great oak. He sighed at his new predicament.

Many pixies came out from among the plants in the garden or floated down out of the tree holding leaves over their heads to slow their descent. Kegs of ale and mead began to show up from who knows where and bonfires were lit which wee pixies began to dance around. There was much singing, hollering, dancing, and clinking of tankards. No one seemed to take notice of the biggy sitting no more than a few feet away. No one that is except Exetor.

“Feeling a bit under the weather?” Exetor asked at Gregor’s feet.

“What am I to do?” Gregor asked. “I’m now a sorcerer. I was supposed to be apprenticed as a butcher, but I don’t know if I can do that. And, well, there’s the other thing, too.”

“What other thing?” Exetor asked as he jumped up on Gregor’s thigh and sat down.

“Well, they, those things in the castle, were trying to get me to do it with the Master, saying I had to or they would kill me and I didn’t want to do it because I thought I wasn’t like that, but now I’m not so certain. You see it’s unlikely I’ll find a maiden who’ll have me now that I’m a sorcerer, so I might as well do it the other way around, if I can find someone, that is.”

“Do what?”

“You know, do it,” Gregor said waving his hands as if expounding on some great secret. “You know, I’m sure you do.”

“Oh, yes, the biggy thing with all the oohing and aahing, moaning and groaning, shrieking and screaming. I watched a few biggies doing it down in the valley once before the monster found them and killed them, but it didn’t make much sense to me.”

“I don’t see how I can find a girl. I’m twenty years old, maybe older. I don’t know how long I was in that castle. I’m too old to find a virgin, that’s for certain, so I’ll have to settle for a widow. Most of my friends back in the village already had a wife and a couple children. Besides, there is the sorcerer thing.”

“Ah, yes, the sorcerer thing. That, I’m afraid I can’t do anything about. You know, you might consider building a hut here, maybe over there beside the spring. I know we wouldn’t mind. You’re kind of nice for a biggy.”

“I suppose so, where else can I go?”