They had left the cabin just as the pale moon had peeked over the dark contours of the foothills and with Duckworth Bowe
commenting that the potter's field lay over two miles away, the last Witch of Underhill had demanded a heavy pace to get
to there as soon as possible.
"These buggers might not be as lazy as the ones we last entertained" she remarked amusingly over her shoulder at the
puffing practitioner of medicine and asked again if he could recall those days. Duckworth struggled to dredge his memory
for the specifics of their first encounter with the Dancing Dead, but his featured brightened when he remembered one name
that Myrddin had stated.
So without contemplation of the verbal effects, he gave it life again with utterance and caused Peggy to turn swiftly around
with blazing-eyes and unconsciously clutch her satchel. "Jack Dor" Duckworth hissed and the memories came tumbling back.
...................................................
As the trio of weary wizards had sat on the wall of the well in Hatton in the Corn's marketplace, the sounds of singing came
to their ears as the returning farmers enjoyed the camaraderie from their recent act. Under Myrddin's orders, the remains
of the unknown bodies were deposited in the trench they'd dug earlier, the ditch that Duckworth and Peggy had first lined
with the contents of the last sack of majick powder. Now just a slight mound remained.
It was morning in the little village and jubilation waited to be unfettered. With the men-folk all patting each other on the back
and their women coming out of their little homes, Hatton in the Corn could get back to being a peaceful settlement again.
"You've done well, my dilettantes..." Myrddin cooed and standing up, he stretched his aching spine. "...Now we've only one
last task to perform" he added and walked away towards the dark entrance of the Blacksmith's foundry.
With questions unanswered, the two puzzled and tired younger members of majick lumbered after their teacher with the
enigmatic prose, both sets of eyes demanded what was this 'last task?'. Standing on the threshold of the business, they
watched their master at work.
The forge was cool through lack of use and the Smithy was one of the men outside enjoying the village's merriment, but to
Myrddin, such a stark reality meant nothing. Rolling back his sleeve, he began to mouth words and wave a hand over the
coke-filled furnace, Peggy and Duckworth glanced at each other and then stepped further in together.
"You are Madame Ruth Powler's daughter..." the sorcerer stated over his shoulder and continued with his whispered spell.
"...She is a great Witch and you will be too, one day" Myrddin added and moved his fingers as if drawing flames from the
cold forge.
Peggy stepped closer and watched the strange proceedings. Making fire from thin-air was something she'd seen her Ma
enact back at the Carnival, but the young girl believed that such lessons waited somewhere up the path of her future.
Maybe teaching was in session right now -she thought and attempted to catch the magician's words.
Then the coals began to glow.
"It's called a Lapis Veneficus, a weapon of great power" Myrddin muttered and the bare-footed young girl beside him could
see his eyes were shut tight and he was sweating. Moving her own eyes back to the incandescent blue-white embers, Peggy
ogled at the oval-shaped object appearing in the shimmering air above the burning cinders. It smouldered with colours of
bubbling magma and seemed to hold a terrible storm inside its surface.
"With this, we will defeat the master of those we've put to rest..." the distressed Magus hissed and added "...and you will
be the one to deliver the death-blow". Peggy looked towards the other person that stood beside Myrddin and waited for
his input, but all Duckworth could do was gawp like a fish out of water.
"We'll be needing a container" the Warlock grunted in his mystic exertion and seeing Myrddin's pained expression, the
two apprentices knew they didn't have much time left.
...................................................
Peggy Powler softly tapped the hand of the man beside her and pointed towards the derelict that was once a graveyard.
Doctor Bowe had been snoozing on the warm sand of their agreed hideout and now he raised his head and peered over
the collection of brush that concealed their position.
"Otshee Soneto" the Witch muttered and Duckworth had to scramble his brain to recollect its meaning. Wiping his eyes of
the Sandman's glue, he whispered back in the form of a question. "Bad Spirit?" and a single nod confirmed that his acuity
was still valid.
All but one of the coffins had be desecrated and to those uninitiated in the realms of majick, it would seem wild dogs or
other desert predators had dug up the resting places and yet, no bones or torn clothing lay about in the gritty soil. But the
tell-tale sign was that all the loose dirt from the graves had been pushed outward and from a force from within the hole.
"See the one over near the boulder?" Peggy breathed and her lover of former times squinted his eyes to see in the gloom.
The moon was out and right above the cemetery, but its frail radiance reminded Peggy that winter was still hanging around.
It was skeleton climbing out of its tomb, a long-dead miner with it's jaw smashed -probably due to a cave collapse and now
the murkiness of the night lured it instead on the darkness of the mine.
Then another bulged from its makeshift casket and unfurled like a filthy flower seeking the false light above from the remote
tide-mover. More aped the taboo-actions until the ten-or-so Dancing Dead arose from what was supposed to be their eternal
slumber and began to do their horrible masquerade.
Duckworth's hair seemed whiter under the blanched sky-pumpkin and his skin tried hard to copy the colour. "Do you think he
will come tonight?" he said with a tone of dread and the little Witch in the poncho patted the bag on her bare thighs and
answered softly "Aye... Ah' hope so".
commenting that the potter's field lay over two miles away, the last Witch of Underhill had demanded a heavy pace to get
to there as soon as possible.
"These buggers might not be as lazy as the ones we last entertained" she remarked amusingly over her shoulder at the
puffing practitioner of medicine and asked again if he could recall those days. Duckworth struggled to dredge his memory
for the specifics of their first encounter with the Dancing Dead, but his featured brightened when he remembered one name
that Myrddin had stated.
So without contemplation of the verbal effects, he gave it life again with utterance and caused Peggy to turn swiftly around
with blazing-eyes and unconsciously clutch her satchel. "Jack Dor" Duckworth hissed and the memories came tumbling back.
...................................................
As the trio of weary wizards had sat on the wall of the well in Hatton in the Corn's marketplace, the sounds of singing came
to their ears as the returning farmers enjoyed the camaraderie from their recent act. Under Myrddin's orders, the remains
of the unknown bodies were deposited in the trench they'd dug earlier, the ditch that Duckworth and Peggy had first lined
with the contents of the last sack of majick powder. Now just a slight mound remained.
It was morning in the little village and jubilation waited to be unfettered. With the men-folk all patting each other on the back
and their women coming out of their little homes, Hatton in the Corn could get back to being a peaceful settlement again.
"You've done well, my dilettantes..." Myrddin cooed and standing up, he stretched his aching spine. "...Now we've only one
last task to perform" he added and walked away towards the dark entrance of the Blacksmith's foundry.
With questions unanswered, the two puzzled and tired younger members of majick lumbered after their teacher with the
enigmatic prose, both sets of eyes demanded what was this 'last task?'. Standing on the threshold of the business, they
watched their master at work.
The forge was cool through lack of use and the Smithy was one of the men outside enjoying the village's merriment, but to
Myrddin, such a stark reality meant nothing. Rolling back his sleeve, he began to mouth words and wave a hand over the
coke-filled furnace, Peggy and Duckworth glanced at each other and then stepped further in together.
"You are Madame Ruth Powler's daughter..." the sorcerer stated over his shoulder and continued with his whispered spell.
"...She is a great Witch and you will be too, one day" Myrddin added and moved his fingers as if drawing flames from the
cold forge.
Peggy stepped closer and watched the strange proceedings. Making fire from thin-air was something she'd seen her Ma
enact back at the Carnival, but the young girl believed that such lessons waited somewhere up the path of her future.
Maybe teaching was in session right now -she thought and attempted to catch the magician's words.
Then the coals began to glow.
"It's called a Lapis Veneficus, a weapon of great power" Myrddin muttered and the bare-footed young girl beside him could
see his eyes were shut tight and he was sweating. Moving her own eyes back to the incandescent blue-white embers, Peggy
ogled at the oval-shaped object appearing in the shimmering air above the burning cinders. It smouldered with colours of
bubbling magma and seemed to hold a terrible storm inside its surface.
"With this, we will defeat the master of those we've put to rest..." the distressed Magus hissed and added "...and you will
be the one to deliver the death-blow". Peggy looked towards the other person that stood beside Myrddin and waited for
his input, but all Duckworth could do was gawp like a fish out of water.
"We'll be needing a container" the Warlock grunted in his mystic exertion and seeing Myrddin's pained expression, the
two apprentices knew they didn't have much time left.
...................................................
Peggy Powler softly tapped the hand of the man beside her and pointed towards the derelict that was once a graveyard.
Doctor Bowe had been snoozing on the warm sand of their agreed hideout and now he raised his head and peered over
the collection of brush that concealed their position.
"Otshee Soneto" the Witch muttered and Duckworth had to scramble his brain to recollect its meaning. Wiping his eyes of
the Sandman's glue, he whispered back in the form of a question. "Bad Spirit?" and a single nod confirmed that his acuity
was still valid.
All but one of the coffins had be desecrated and to those uninitiated in the realms of majick, it would seem wild dogs or
other desert predators had dug up the resting places and yet, no bones or torn clothing lay about in the gritty soil. But the
tell-tale sign was that all the loose dirt from the graves had been pushed outward and from a force from within the hole.
"See the one over near the boulder?" Peggy breathed and her lover of former times squinted his eyes to see in the gloom.
The moon was out and right above the cemetery, but its frail radiance reminded Peggy that winter was still hanging around.
It was skeleton climbing out of its tomb, a long-dead miner with it's jaw smashed -probably due to a cave collapse and now
the murkiness of the night lured it instead on the darkness of the mine.
Then another bulged from its makeshift casket and unfurled like a filthy flower seeking the false light above from the remote
tide-mover. More aped the taboo-actions until the ten-or-so Dancing Dead arose from what was supposed to be their eternal
slumber and began to do their horrible masquerade.
Duckworth's hair seemed whiter under the blanched sky-pumpkin and his skin tried hard to copy the colour. "Do you think he
will come tonight?" he said with a tone of dread and the little Witch in the poncho patted the bag on her bare thighs and
answered softly "Aye... Ah' hope so".
Edith Head Gives Good Wardrobe.