Squib Ep.13 - What Two Handfuls Are Worth
(Start at the beginning here)
Squib missed Igor. How many days had Squib spent in his old town cell? To think it was only a few days ago that his adventuring party had busted him out. How he missed them- given the state of his new predicament.
The bone cage in which he sat swung gently every time he moved. The pursuit for comfort was unending, with each and every adjustment came its own unique torment. The lock seemed the design of some ancient evil. It resembled the remains of a carcass, assembled to cause as much pain to ones fingers as it did the mind trying to unravel it. This captivity was a special kind of punishment seemingly designed for Squib’s displeasure.
The Crone struck Squibs dangling foot with her stick as she hobbled past beneath him. He’d hardly noticed her enter the room and drew back his legs with a squawk.
“Take it’s toenails I should!” The Crone cawed with the voice of a crow. She threw Squib a glare that said she hadn't forgotten.
Squib hadn't forgotten either. It was precisely why he hadn’t wanted to step near the old Witch in the first place. He could see her feet, even now. One set of toenails was grown long and crooked, darkened from grime and aged out of primordial soup. The other set were considerably shorter, practically maintained given all other apparent standards. It was a wonder how she walked with an even stride given how lopsided one foot looked next to the other.
“I hope they were worth it! I was saving them for a future spell, you devil.” Squib watched as the Crone retrieved something off one of the tables by the distant wall. She turned and made her way back toward him.
The interior of the witches realm was an ethereal, otherworldly place in which one could quite easily get lost. Squib had navigated its rooms and halls once before. Not that he’d intended to, but curiosity had lead him down the dark path. The thought of wealth, the sudden opportunity, at the time it was a wonder what the task might bring.
The walls seemed made of some dark wood, the twisting exterior of a tree that was somehow turned inside out. The floors had a stone like nature, though he could have sooner mistaken them for a great polished or petrified log, vast enough to form a single slab throughout the room.
The space was dark -forever and always- with just enough light to make work and navigation possible. The ambient light had no source and came with the faint quality of shifting smoke, or dark murky water. Spending to long within could generate a headache, and Squib certainly had one given his stint locked behind bars.
The room in which Squib resided had more peculiar things besides. Around him were a number of workbenches, a cauldron in which the Witch had been brewing something for days, and even an altar that Squib distinctly remembered avoiding once before.
All manner of nick-nacks and goodies to spark a Goblins delight filled the many shelves and stores, leading Squib to decide this was undoubtedly the witches work room. Why she had decided to keep him in it had not gone unnoticed by the Goblin, but he’d decided it was either so the Witch could keep a close eye on him, or that she favored a large green skinned canary to keep her company. He wasn't sure either of those were preferred to the obvious alternative.
The Crone approached. She had to look up to stare at Squib, who wrapped his hands around two arm sized bones to peer back. He considered apologising, putting his tongue to work, finding the right words to convey regret for his decision. But Squib doubted he had the words in his vocabulary even more than he doubted the Witches good sense in believing them. It seemed better to keep their relationship at the level of hard boiled honesty.
“Lying to yourself!” Squib shot back, narrowing his own eyes equally to match that of the Crones. “Future spell? Pfht. You was hogging those toenails. Selfish! Was worth it!” Insults and inflammatory remarks might not have been the most diplomatic approach, but Squib and the Witch were far past congenial interaction. That had gone out the window around the time Squib jumped out one with the toenails.
The Crone hissed, baring her teeth like some predatory cat. “Foolish Goblin! Foolish as when you were a pup. As foolish as your entire clan, and look at them now, all gone. How one Fool yet lives, I cannot decide!”
Squib growled his descent like a small dog behind a short fence. It lacked effect despite the passion. “Why doesn't it eat me already and get it over with!” He could barely believe he said it let alone meant it but then the headache was dumbing his senses. Fortunately the Crone just laughed, long and haughty, amused. Squib couldn't see what was so funny.
“Eat you? I could think of no greater injustice, to my stomach, or to the swamp.” The humor sapped away and the Crone gave Squib another hard stare.
Squib stared back, unsure of where that left him.
“You stole from me so now you owe me.” The witch pointed a long bony finger in Squibs direction, the nail sharpened to a point. “So I accept your payment, Squib Swamp Devil. You’re free to go.” She waved a dismissive hand.
The points of Squibs ears twitched at the feeling to caution. He didn't understand. “Witch speaks in riddles. What payment?” One of Squibs ears raised higher as he leaned to listen.
The Witch grinned devilishly. “Three handfuls. One for Squib and the others…” The curled fingers of the witches hand released and a fine leather pouch fell, dangling from the extended finger. Squib thrust forth his hand to snatch it but the Witch drew away.
“Is mine, give it back!” He strained at the bars, his shoulder wedged between two femur.
“A trades a trade, that’s how you live don’t you, Squib Swamp Trader?”
“Purple Powder is magical. Need it for spell!” Squib roared, fighting at the bars in animalistic fury.
“Just like my toenails, which you stole! An even trade, wouldn't you say.” The Witch withdrew, turning to make her way toward her central workbench. Squib relinquished his efforts, running out of strength for the futility of the task. The bones would not bend nor break. This he knew for certain.
“Tricky Witch!” Squib cursed folding his arms and turning his back on her, retreating to his mind. ‘Curses!’ He thought. ‘Curse the Witch. Curse those rotten Adventurers for their double cross. Curse Old Tom for selling Squib out!’ There was a long list of curses Squib could get into but another thought rose and occurred to him. ‘But Squib is free,’ He narrowed his eyes, thinking it over. From somewhere over his shoulder the Crone began to hum a horrid tune. Squib ignored it, busy as he was in thought. He didn't even realise his headache smooth to a dull state. ‘Free yes, free to go. But not free of the Witch. What does she want?’
Squib turned his head to stare at the Witch over his shoulder. He spoke slowly, tempered for caution. “Powder worth more than toenails. Squib find trade more fitting Witches foot.” He tried, testing whatever murky waters the Witch was forcing him to wade into. He didn't feel comfortable negotiating with the Witch, but then Squib had never felt comfortable negotiating with anyone. That was the way of things.
The Crone stopped humming as she thought. “Hmm- One handful for Squib, so one handful you shall have. The other two handfuls for.. one Witch's foot!” The Crone cackled.
“Shiznt!” Squib cussed, grinding his teeth in frustration. “What does it want then? Crone must want something!” His torment seemed high on the list but Squib couldn't see much value in that. The Witch had even stated as such when her pity for his being alive kept him from death. It was enough to make him want to throw himself upon her just to force her hand. But contempt never garnered a good deal.
The Witch turned on her heel and held up two fingers. “One of two things, Goblins choice.”
Squib scooted around where he sat and listened.
“The first is knowledge, the easy-out one would assume. Answer me this- if one handful is for Squib, then who are the other handfuls for?” The Witch turned her ear and leaned to listen, a wry smile crawling up the exposed side of her weather worn face.
Squib narrowed his eyes, his arms still folded. His ear twitched. “I choose two.” He answered indignantly.
The Witch withdrew with dissatisfaction. “Gah, fine. Keep your secret! The Second is a task and you will not like it, but complete it and in trade you shall have your powder.”
Squib crawled forward to push his face against his bars. “Listening.” His ears turned forward at full attention.
“Squib The Guide, someone is lost and you will need to show them the way.”
(Continue to Ep.14)
Support me on Patreon or follow me on Minds for updates.
(Please like, leave a comment, and remind!)