Free The Wicked Wand by Steve Shilstone Page A

with what might be called a satisfied wriggle. “Yes, well, the Golden Shoe sank and drifted away while I myself floated helpless in the current. I bumped into a spit of land and instantly regained movement magic. I rolled along from reeds to grassy bank. I were shocked with surprise. My elusive bolt magic rushed around inside of me. Were it laughing? I thought as much. I trembled to rise. I floated up. I found myself near fields of oats. The current had deposited me a good span west of the Danken Wood. I asked myself questions. What had happened? Were I rid of the Golden Shoe despite my plan being ruined? Should I try to cross the river again? I could not truly believe what had happened to me unless it were repeated. I were lackwitted and young, a common enough combination. So I floated again to the river and fell. It were not unpleasant, but it were annoying and tiresome to await bumping into a clump of gathered logs and to wriggle and roll over them to the shore. Yes, I could float through the air, but no, not above water. Yes, I had learned to move on my own, but no, I could not control the elusive bolt magic inside me. What to do? Slip back into the cottage. The Golden Shoe were gone. Slip back into the cottage unseen. The troll didn’t know I could float. The witch didn’t know. It were a safe secret. I would slip back into the cottage and assume an innocent motionless pose on the floor. They would never suspect that it were I what stole the Golden Shoe. I would practice patience. I would strain to obtain control of my magic whenever I were left alone. So resolved, I lifted to float and return to the cottage.”

Chapter Twenty-Seven
    WATERWIZARD, TROLL, WITCH
    â€œAnother mistake. I should not have returned to the cottage,” sighed the wand. “I should have found a place to hide where I could have worked on mastering my bolt magic. But I were helpless to resist the pull of innocent mischief. Ye see, I were certain that the witch could not withstand the powerful lure that I were. She had a need to use me. She would pick me up. I knew her. I knew her well, muddled purple creature that she were. The Golden Shoe were gone. She would approach me warily at first. I would obey her wishes and carry out her spells for a goodly while before tossing in a bolt of mischief. She would believe that the mischief were her own clumsy fault. That were my plan. A fine plan. I would gain time to work on acquiring mastery of my magic unaided by any creature’s touch. And in addition, I would have time to muse and plot a solution to my passing over water problem. Mistake. Mistake. Big mistake. Such a mistake.”
    â€œWhy mistake? What happened?” prodded Kar, notes of annoyance in her voice.
    â€œAfter I fell in the tricklestream and rolled free into ferns on its cottage side, I floated up the hill and found the cottage well occupied when I drifted low through the clearing,” answered the wand. “I settled under a window and listened. The troll’s voice rumbled. He said in eight different ways that I were dangerous. The witch’s voice piped up that she would be more careful. She needed her powers to be complete. She needed her wand. I chuckled to myself. I did know her well. At the same time I wondered how she had untarred herself. I wondered no more when I heard the voice of the waterwizard. Briny Brook reasoned that I were not to be trusted without the Golden Shoe. ‘Can ye not locate the wand in your crystal ball?’ he asked. The witch answered, ‘It is for Praw Fuh Sigh, not ... bunting ... hunting for lost blondes ... wands.’ ‘Whoever stole it is welcome to it!’ roared the troll. The day brightened. They had not guessed that I could move on my own. Then the day became drenched in gloom when I heard Briny Brook’s next words. ‘It be too mischievous, uncontrollable, without the Golden Shoe. If the Golden Shoe be lost and the wand found, the wand, I