Farling's Wall by Chris Turner

Author:Chris Turner [Turner, Chris]
Language: eng
Format: epub, mobi
Published: 0101-01-01T00:00:00+00:00

“Boo-hoo and tiddle dee,

How does it feel to be?

Frozen and woven,

In a spell so potent!

With a twinkle and a brew,

I’ll sit you in my morning stew,

Where you’ll not be able to spy,

My magic stick or I!”

“Quiet, you little chit!” Graeitch growled from the kitchen, stamping her hoof. Her eyes remained glued on her recipe book, which involved a certain sinister means for creating a procreative stimulant for the grooms.

Cognizing no movement from her sisters, she became suspicious and bawled out in a booming voice: “What are you up to, you little brat? More mischief? I’ll tan your hide. Dispense with your impish rhymes. Ah, my wand! Where is it?” Before the hulking creature could blunder to snatch it, Esling had scampered off behind her cot.

Graeitch was beside herself with anger. She leaped from her cooking station and moved side to side to corner the miscreant. But the grey, pig-Wickle could only trap her between Baus’s post and the wall. She was wise to Esling’s tricks and would brook no foolishness.

She snatched at the wand and cached it deep in her hunter’s cloak. “Well, that’ll teach you to play jiggery-pokery with me. These are items that don’t belong to you!”

Esling pouted. “The wand is mine, Graeitch. You know it! I discovered it long ago on Baus when we first lay hold of the groom.”

Graeitch’s meaty shadow loomed ever monstrously over the little Wickle. A self-absorbed sneer stuck from her fat face. “While that may be true, I alone, as eldest, harbour the sagest wisdom—so only I can harness its potency.”

“That’s a fib, no more!”

“Silence!” stormed the hag. “I’ll have no more of your backtalk.” Stamping her hoof with a vengeance, she glared. “One more outburst like that and it’s the back shed for you. The stick is mine—an item of utility.” She swung her torso around and whirled the ganglestick with an imperial motion. “Such technique is what I use to wield the magic—not in a manner of frivolous little loops and swats like your child-like ways!”

Esling slunk into a corner. She was cowed, but she huddled behind her strawberry-coloured cot with thoughtful appraisal. After several jarring shoves, Graeitch revived her two sisters. Each snorted their bewilderment and struggled to account for their lapse of memory, with neither the wiser of their immobilization.

Baus shook his head with regret. A botched opportunity. A scenario of woe clouded his world. Esling, the creature of guile and whimsy, had a curious breed of sprite and wilful energy about her, which could just possibly help them at an opportune moment.

The afternoon waned. The time of trials was upon them as Poli was the next pilot in the ‘drum’. Baus gave himself to poignant reflection.

The Wickles would not abate in their experiments—until success was breached. One of the feverish beasts must achieve their ambition, or decide that it was time to enforce a necessary union with the men.

Baus gave a miserable shudder. Coupling with any of these grotesques was a heinous prospect. A further frantic urgency overcame him as he strove to refine his agenda along lines of an escape.

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