//------------------------------// // Chapter 12 - The Witch of Haven // Story: True Magic // by CodeMonkey //------------------------------// Chapter 12 - The Witch of Haven When Trixie finished her meal, Magus left a few bits on the table, picked up his bag and proceeded to leave with haste. The front door to the establishment swung open and shut just as quickly as they rushed out. Trixie stayed with him as best she could as they walked down the street at an unusually brisk pace. Wherever they were going, Magus wanted to get there in a hurry. Almost an hour of zigzagging through the streets and the occasional crowd left Trixie feeling more than a little winded from their rushed speed. The fact that they’d been walking all day, or night, she couldn’t tell anymore, didn’t help any as she tailed him. “Where are…we going……Master?” Trixie said between pants, almost gagging on the last word for more than a few reasons. “Weren’t the shops the other way?” Magus slowed his pace gradually, as if realizing how fast he was going, before glancing back. “We’re not going there. And before you ask,” he said, turning back to the road, “the brisk pace is necessary if we want to catch her in time.” “Catch who?” Trixie said impatiently. “We have at least a hundred different books and enough amulets to fill a barn, not to mention all the other stuff you put into that bag. What else could I possibly need?” Looking back once again, Magus said, “You already have everything you need for your training. This…this is something for myself.” “Like what? What is it?” she asked anxiously, hoping for an answer. Staring at her, he paused for a moment before turning back to the road. “That is not your concern. It won’t take but a moment and we can return to the caravan immediately after. So, for once, be patient.” Trixie snarled under her breath, aggravated by his show of dominance. The day when she would never have to take orders from him again couldn’t come soon enough. If it wasn’t for the immense magical power that could be learned from him, she would have told this snob to get lost a long time ago. But the question of why he was so determined to get to wherever he was going was burning in her mind. For the rest of the trek, Magus kept a slow, easy pace as they walked through the busy streets. Eventually, they entered a large plaza with a number of buildings outlining the perimeter, like the one they were in when they first arrived in the city. The structures all had a similar, well-kept appearance except for the odd building directly across from them, which appeared to be covered in green fur. Moving next to Magus, Trixie said in an almost taunting way, “I assume that’s where we’re going?” motioning to the furry building. Without acknowledging or saying a word to her, he walked toward the structure. Trixie scoffed as she rolled her eyes at the arrogant stallion before following. As they got closer, Trixie found that what she had at first taken to be green fur was actually a cluster of ivy and vegetation clinging onto the wall. The voracious plants consumed much of the building, leaving only a few red bricks of the original structure visible. A strong, unfamiliar aroma scented the air as they approached the front door, smelling as bizarre as the place that emanated it looked. The door was clear of any plants and looked almost brand new with a single, golden ring serving as a knocker in the center. The ring glowed red as Magus used his unicorn magic to knock on the door with a few quick taps. There was no answer. After a minute, Magus repeated the process, knocking a little harder and faster than before. Trixie waited behind Magus, tapping her hoof impatiently on the ground as he knocked again and again. After the fifth time of listening to him knock, “Maybe no pony’s home,” she said, mildly annoyed by the constant thumping. Magus shot her a venomous glare, causing her to take a cautious step back, before trying the door once more. Before he could finish the sixth attempt at beating on the door, a muffled voice called out from behind the door, “I heard you the first time! I’m coming…give me a minute.” The voice was raspy, but Trixie could have sworn it was an older mare’s voice. “Who, who is it?” the voice said, sounding closer, as if they were right behind the door. “It’s Magus,” he answered. “Who? I don’t know a Migus,” the rough voice said. He sighed before replying, “Magus. This is Magus.” “Madgos?” “No, I--” “Are you here to fix the water heater?” Trixie laughed as quietly as she could, trying to muffle her amusement as she brought a hoof to her mouth. Whoever this pony was, she liked her already. He took a deep breath and exhaled in the form of a long, aggravated sigh. “I am Magus, The Emperor of the Crimson Flame. Master Pyromancer of Highrock. Exalted, Grand Archmage of the Circle.” The voice went silent for a moment before, “……Magus!” the mare shouted in both surprise and joy. “Well why didn’t you say it was you?” Trixie trotted up next to Magus, interested to see who would aggravate him so. A number of locks and tumblers could be heard moving behind the door as the voice said, “You youngins now-a-days. Never speaking clearly. Wants my tired, old ears to work harder than they ought to.” The last lock finally clicked before the heavy door slowly creaked open revealing an elderly, green colored mare standing behind it, a pair of hazel eyes trained on the two of them. The old mare looked haggard with her messy greyish-black streaked mane hanging off her head, like the twisting vines that engulfed her house. She wore a dark purple blouse leading down to a tattered black skirt that, unlike her blouse, partially covered her boney knees. Both of her ears seemed to be damaged with small cuts along their length. A hairy wart grew on her large, cleft chin giving her the appearance of a witch, and a wicked one at that. “Magus dearie!” the old mare said with a joyful smile, displaying a few crooked teeth sticking out from behind her lips. “My, how long has it been? One, two hundred years maybe?” “It’s been a month,” Magus replied without the least bit of enthusiasm. The old pony cackled before noticing Trixie standing next to him, her eyesight was obviously far from perfect. “And who is this?” she said curiously as she took a step forward, leaning in, trying to get a better look. Their eyes locked as the old mare observed, getting progressively closer as she did so, making Trixie feel a bit uncomfortable. The azure mare leaned back as her personal space was invaded. Up close, she could see her shriveled features more clearly, something Trixie felt she could have done without. “This is Trixie,” Magus said, “an Initiate.” “What’s that?” she said, breaking eye contact with Trixie to look over at him. “Oh, yes of course,” the mare said looking back at her before retreating a few steps. “Sorry dear, my eyes aren’t what they used to be. Takes them a moment to adjust to a new face, you see,” she said with another witch-like cackle. Bowing her head, the mare said kindly, “I’m Ginger and it’s a pleasure to welcome you to my home.” “Yeah, sure,” Trixie replied, trying not to seem as uneasy about the situation as she felt. “Well come in, come in,” Ginger said, stepping to one side of the door. As Magus entered, she turned her attention to Trixie who remained still, nervously eyeing the suspicious old pony. “You too dear. Come on, I’m not gonna bite,” she said kindly, waving her hoof inside. Trixie hurried in behind Magus, watching the seemingly friendly mare as she did. The strange aroma was even stronger inside and it appeared as if the source was either the enormous number of herbs that dangled from the ceiling or the large, bubbling cauldron in the corner of the room. The walls were not much different from the outside with leafy green vines growing on their surface. What parts of the walls could be seen were constructed from blackened brick and mortar with some parts cracking as the plants grew through them. The wood floor was in surprisingly good condition, save a few creeping vines reaching out from the corners and between the floorboards. As Trixie took a couple steps through the room, she noted a number of colored bottles strewn about the numerous shelves, in no particular order, with some carrying a mysterious, luminescent glow within them. The ivy outside blocked out many of the windows, allowing little light to filter through, leaving the room dim but for the light of a few candles held by tall stands. The center of the room had a large, purple, circular rug with a small chandelier hanging overhead, illuminating a counter and door in the back of the room. “What kind of place is this?” Trixie asked as she heard the old mare resetting the door's many locks behind her. “I suppose you might say it’s a specialty shop,” Magus said as he sat his bag down on a nearby table. “For private customers only.” ‘Private customers?’ Just then, the elderly mare walked past as she said, “My wares are only for unique mages, like Magus.” She stopped in the center of the room and turned to them before continuing, “Only ponies with the proper motives are allowed to buy from me. You might say my potions and ingredients are…well…not necessarily ethical,” she said with a slight cackle. For her own sake, it was probably best if she didn’t ask what she meant, but the question of what Magus could want that would be considered ‘unethical’ intrigued her. With him so close, though, she’d be lucky to get the old mare to utter another word about it. “Oh, you should meet my husband,” Ginger said, turning around to face the back of the room. “He’s a bit of an aged, old fool, but he would love to meet you.” Hearing her suggestion triggered Magus’ eyes to grow wide and he almost leaped in front of Ginger. “No, no, that’s not neces--” “Herald!” Ginger shouted, appearing not to have noticed Magus’ objections. “Wha-what’s that!?” shouted a stallion’s voice behind the backdoor. “Did you say something?” Magus cringed slightly as he heard the voice call back. With a sigh, he rejoined Trixie’s side, as the green mare continued to shout, “Get your flank out here and meet our guests!” Seeing his discomfort, Trixie couldn’t help but chuckle. “I thought you said that nopony interrupts you?” Magus responded with an irritated snarl, which was a pleasant sound to hear from the otherwise self-important pony. Trixie resolved to make him do it more often. “Eh? What!?” the elder pony shouted back. “I said, come out here and meet Magus and his friend!” “…….What?” “Hurry up you old fool, come out her so you can hear me!” “………What? Hang on! Let me come out there so that I can hear you.” Magus rolled his eyes as he quietly snarled again causing Trixie chuckle at his anguish. Hearing her amusement, Magus looked at her with his common angry stare. “I’m glad you’re finding this entertaining.” “Oh, I am,” she replied humorously. It was the first, small taste of revenge she’d had on the pony after all that had happened. It was a good feeling, even if he didn’t find it appealing in the least. Magus turned his attention back ahead, ignoring her small fits of muffled, mocking laughter. After a moment, a shaggy old earth stallion stepped from the backdoor, closing it behind him as he entered. It looked like a hairy monster was eating his head as white hair from his overgrown mane and beard covered his face, leaving only his muzzle and the tips of his ears visible. His faded, yellowish-brown coat appeared not to have been groomed in months, making it difficult to see the image of three scrolls on his flank clearly. As he walked toward them, his hooves clopped loudly, demonstrating that he wore a set of horseshoes beneath his messy, unshorn fetlocks. “This would be my husband,” Ginger said eyeballing the old stallion as he wearily approached. “He can no more hear you than he can see you, so be warned.” “Eh? What was that?” the old stallion said as he stopped next to Ginger. He smelled like a brewery with the knockout fragrance of alcohol scenting his breath. “Herald,” Ginger said, almost shouting as she spoke into his ear, “you know Magus--” “Who!?” he spontaneously replied. “...and this is Trixie.” Ginger said again, ignoring his confusion. Just as she said her name, Herald unexpectedly grabbed Trixie’s hoof and began shaking it frantically in a fast hoofshake. “Good to see you again! You have to stop these long trips away, we miss you so.” It felt as if her leg was about to be torn off by the violent shaking and she found it difficult to break free of the old stallion’s vice-like grip. Before it could get any worse, Ginger grabbed hold of his hoof, causing him to let go, before firmly placing it on the ground as she said, “Dagnabbit, Herald! Quit that or you’ll break her arm off!” “Eh?” Herald responded looking at his wife in what Trixie had to assume was a confused gesture as she could not see his face. “This is Trixie, you two have never met you coot! Open your eyes.” “What’s that you say? Trixie?” he said as he directed his attention back to her. Herald leaned in close as he lifted part of his wild mane, revealing a pair of jade green eyes. He carefully scanned her, squinting a few times as if attempting to adjust to what he was seeing. “Oh,” he said leaning back, allowing his bushy hair to fall back down. “Sorry, thought you were that nice filly scout who always delivers those yummy coconut cookies. …You’re not her, are you?” Trixie wasn’t sure if he was covering something up, like Ripper had when he assumed they had met before, or if he was really as senile as he appeared. “No,” Trixie began in an uncertain manner, “I’m n--” “What!?” Herald shouted, leaning in close. Was he really as deaf as he made himself out to be? Trixie had never had a conversation with an elderly pony, at least one that did not last for any more than a few seconds, who was so hard at hearing. She tried to speak louder, “I said, I’m not--” “My name is Herald Tribune!” Before she had time to respond to the doddering old pony, he was smacked in the back of the head by his wife as she shouted, “Quit fooling around!” Turning her attention to Trixie, Ginger kindly said, “Sorry for my husband dearie. He’s not always so irritating.” Herald shook his head, before frantically looking around the room. He soon turned his attention to Trixie and Magus before he said, overjoyed, “Hey! Magus, Trixie, when did you two get here?” Ginger groaned as she brought a hoof to her face. “Just ignore him dear. It’s what happens when you drink too much Firemander Ale.” “Firemander Ale?” Trixie responded, curious about the oddly named drink. “Second best thing in my life!” Herald said impulsively as he put a hoof around Ginger. Trixie wasn’t sure if he was referring to his wife or the alcohol. They were certainly an odd couple, she wondered if all married couples go as crazy as these two after such a long period of time together. “Not that this isn’t touching,” Magus said, “but I do have an order to pick up and I’m short on time today. So, if we may continue.” Ginger scratched her chin, as if she was unsure what he was referring to, before her eyes grew wide. “Oh, right,” she said, smacking away Herald’s hoof before walking to the back. Magus followed as she said with a cackle, “Sorry dearie. I get off track easily these days.” “Not at all,” Magus replied, appearing, in a sense, happy that he was finally getting waited on. Trixie followed Magus with the senile Herald waddling in a zigzag fashion behind her. As Ginger arrived at the backdoor, she stepped to one side and opened it partway, showing a dim, odd-smelling room. She couldn’t wait to see what was inside and what was so important to Magus. She only caught a brief glimpse of it, though, before her vision was obscured by Magus stepping in front of her, giving her a serious stare. “Stay here,” Magus commanded. “What?” Trixie objected. “You can’t just leave me out here.” “And why is that? This is a private matter that you don’t need to be a part of.” Trixie scoffed at his logic. “How do you expect me to learn anything if you stop me from at least looking around?” “This is an alchemy shop. That is all you need to know. I won’t be but a moment.” Despite Trixie’s irritated expression, Magus turned and entered the room as he said, “Ginger, if you would.” “Eh?” she said confused before realizing what he meant. “Oh, alright, if you insist.” Ginger looked to her husband, standing behind Trixie, and said, “Herald, lock the door and watch the front as well as our guest until I get back. Do you understand?” “What!?” “Eh?” “I forget.” Ginger sighed before saying, “Are you going senile?” “Maybe!” Herald quickly and noisily responded. It appeared as if Ginger saw it best not to continue speaking and instead just entered the backroom, closing the door shut behind her. Like a bolt of lightning, the once slow Herald dashed in front of Trixie and pulled out a small brass key from the depths of his beard, locking the backdoor with a loud click before stuffing it back. He immediately spun around and stared out into the room, standing perfectly still, as if he was one of those guards she saw earlier. “What are you doing?” Trixie asked, questioning his bizarre and sporadic behavior. “Eh!? What’s that?” Trixie spoke louder, making sure she was heard, “I asked, what are you do--” “You’ll have to speak up!” “I…!” Trixie shouted before stopping herself, realizing what his response was likely to be. The geezer picked at his ear as Trixie snarled irritably at his stupidity. She was determined to get into that room no matter what. It would fascinate her more than a little to find out what the stallion was hiding, even if it may not answer everything. But without that key, she had no chance of getting in and, even if she could search for it, it didn’t seem possible to find much of anything in that rats nest of a beard. With little choice left, Trixie decided to look around the room, curious as to what the store sold other than strangely fragrant herbs. A number of luminescent bottles drew her attention to a nearby table in the back corner of the room. The wooden surface was covered with containers that glowed and flickered like candles with almost every color she could imagine filling their sleek glass frames. They were all neatly stacked in a single, rather tall, pile that looked like a tower of lights, each labeled with a small tag around its neck. Among the ones on the bottom row, a few of the tags read: Transmogrification Potion, Aging Potion, Sleeping Potion, Giant Potion, Wing Po--'Wait,' Trixie thought as she looked back at the tag. 'Sleeping Potion?' Glancing back at Herald, Trixie could see that he hadn’t moved an inch but was still on a vigilant watch, staring out at the other end of the room, not appearing to be paying attention to her. The gears in her head turned as she formulated a plan to get past the senile sentry. Granted, if the potion was strong enough, Trixie would be able to simply take the key and be in and out of the room before any were the wiser. Even Magus, as observant as he is, could overlook the fact that Herald was ancient and old ponies were always prone to falling asleep. She could play innocent should he question whether she took advantage of his state or not. It was foolproof. The problem became how to get the old stallion to drink it? Carefully, Trixie grabbed the misty, blue colored bottle with her magic and brought it towards her, making sure not to disturb the containers above it. When it was safely in her possession, she looked back at him, thankful to see that he hadn’t noticed what she had done. As doddering as he seemed, even he couldn’t possibly be so stupid as to drink it without noticing something amiss. With any luck, she might be able to find something to mix it with to outwit the old timer, not that it would be hard to do in the first place. Looking back at the mound of bottles, it appeared as if fate was on her side, for behind the sleeping tonic she just pulled was a rather large burgundy colored bottle that read, in big bold letters: Firemander Ale. It was an incredible coincidence that filled her with joy. If he enjoyed the drink as much as she expected he did then this was perfect. Making doubly sure she was not being watched, Trixie swiftly removed the brew from the stack with her magic. As she slipped the liquor out of place, the whole stack of bottles began to wobble and sway, threatening to tumble over. Trixie panicked and, after quickly setting the spirits down, used her magic to attempt to steady the tower of wavering glass. Keeping each individual bottle from spilling over proved a greater challenge than she had predicted as they continued to rock individually, clinking lightly against one another. Her magic strained as she concentrated, trying to steady the bottles that came loose and ran the risk of falling over. It took everything she had, but thankfully the stack held, the last container finally settling. Trixie was about to let out a sigh of relief when she noticed the tiny bottle at the very top had not completely stabilized. Before she had time to react the flask toppled and plummeted toward the floor. With no time to use magic, Trixie leaped toward it, reaching out her hooves in hopes of catching it before her plan was ruined. She slid against the floor as she landed, stretching her forelegs as far as they could. With a soft chime the small bottle landed securely in her hooves. Trixie exhaled, exhausted, as she allowed her brow to fall against the floor with a thud. Placing the flask back on the table with care, Trixie returned to the two bottles that were the keystones of her entire strategy. Picking them up, she turned her back to the elder pony, who appeared not to have noticed the commotion. Trixie didn’t know much about mixing potions or alchemy, but just hoped that pouring one into the other wouldn’t cause the concoction to explode in her face. Grabbing hold of the cork to the sleeping remedy with her magic, she carefully removed it with a pop. The contents had a minty, aromatic odor that reminded her of medicine she took when she was small. The smell made her eyes water as it cleared her sinuses, and she gagged on the overpowering scent. She set it down as quickly as she could, trying to banish the unpleasant memories, and turned her attention to the jug of alcohol on the floor. Save for the name, it appeared to be an ordinary container. The cork was larger than the other and Trixie had to really tug just to get it to move a little. With another pop, the cork came loose and the strong, bittersweet aroma of the brew flowed out. Trixie had to hold her mouth shut to keep from coughing at the staggering smell. Focusing back on the task at hoof, Trixie, with some magic, took hold of the sleeping formula and began carefully pouring the foul smelling white liquid into the bottle of liquor, which appeared to be half full for some reason, making sure she didn’t spill a drop. Fortunately, the brew did not explode as she'd previously predicted, but did nothing more than make a fizzling sound as she filled the burgundy bottle to the top. After re-corking the new and, in her opinion, improved bottle of Firemander Ale, Trixie shook it a little to make sure that the taste of sleeping draft wasn’t recognized over the flavor of the ale, which, considering the potent smell of the drink, didn't appear to be a likely scenario. She just hoped it would be enough to knock the pony on his tail. With her work complete and the rest of the sleeping potion sealed and placed back onto the table, she walked over to the still vigilant pony with hidden glee, her bottled accomplishment floating next to her. With a slight skip in her step she stopped in front of him, hoping he was able to see and hear her through the hairball that covered his head. “So, Herald,” she said slyly, trying not to warrant suspicion, “you and your wife have an amazing collection of potions here. You know, I was looking around and just happened to find this.” She levitated the bottle in front of, what she assumed were, his eyes and shook in a tantalizing way allowing the liquid to splash around inside. She expected him to grab it, but he didn’t move a muscle. Confused by his stable reaction, Trixie said in an enticing manner, “Come on, your wife won’t mind if you have a little to drink.” Still no answer. Uncorking the bottle, she held the opening under his snout, “Why not have a little fun?” Something was certainly wrong. Did he notice what she was doing? Does he know that the drink is drugged? Everything hinged on him drinking it, if he didn’t, she might as well drink it herself because there was nothing more she could do save bash him over the head with it. She paused for a moment, contemplating the thought. It wasn’t a bad idea actually. Then again, it would blow her whole “innocent” alibi. It was strange that he didn’t say anything, even as she corked the bottle once more. It made Trixie wonder if he was smarter than he appeared…or perhaps a much more likely answer was apparent. With a puzzled expression, she took a step closer to him and said curiously, “Hello? Mr. Tribune, can you hear me?” He didn’t say a word or move even as she waved a hoof in front of his face. “Hello?” Trixie said as she tapped on him gently. Instantly, he wavered and rocked from one side to another from her touch, looking like the tower of bottles a few minutes earlier. Trixie took a step back as he fell onto his side, as if the strings that held him up were cut. Before Trixie could say anything, Herald released a long, roar-like snore that sounded as if it would be able pry the vines right off the wall. “…You have got to be kidding me,” Trixie said in disbelief. Shaking him a bit proved that he really was sound asleep. After all that work, he was already slumbering and seemed to have been the entire time. “Old ponies really are prone to falling asleep,” she muttered, still a bit shocked from the outcome of her pointless labor as she set the bottle of ale down. Kneeling down, Trixie sifted through his mess of a beard, hoping to find the key as the stallion snored away. Fortunately, it soon revealed itself when the brass of the material shined against the candle light through the grey strands of hair. Trixie lifted the key into the air, attached to him by a small string around his neck, with her magic, and gently pulled it off his slumbering head as he began to drool. She took the key in her hooves and briefly admired the end result of her efforts. Whether she considered the plan a success or not, she’d gotten what she wanted. Without a second thought, Trixie put the key into the backdoor and turned it, making a loud clank. Mouth dry with anticipation, Trixie grabbed the handle and began to pull. The door opened slowly, proving to be heavier than she first thought. When the gap had widened enough for her to fit through, she stopped and took a peek inside. The room was considerably darker than the one she was in, with the majority of the light radiating from a few of the glowing jars and bottles on the shelves inside, their eerie luminescence beckoning to her. No stranger to the unknown, Trixie cautiously entered, unsure of what awaited her within the ghostly halls.