Toil and Trouble

Everything seemed dark and despondent that morning. Breakfast was eaten in the atmosphere that usually accompanies a funeral. And nobody was happy when they heard a small bird singing outside…

Mizzy sighed and looked darkly at the pages of the book she had found. Mag was sitting on her lap, his paws on the table, and they were reading together. It was interesting, really, but nobody was in the right mood…

"This spell is unusually complicated, and involves a mixture of potions and enchantments," she read, and then slammed the book closed.

"All hope isn't lost," Gawain grudgingly, with the tone of somebody who hated saying it but would sacrifice himself for the comfort of others.

"But… a whole month…"

"Get up, Mizzy," said Hat's voice.

Mizzy remembered now—they were going to all go to Blizzard Manor, where it was safer. She stood up sadly, picked up Mag, put Gawain on her shoulder, and followed the others out.

The cart was there again, and the horses unharmed. They all gathered inside as Tash drove the horses once more.

The cart swayed and bumped over the hills as the horses ran, and all of the occupants huddled together, cold, hopeless, and miserable. It would take even longer to get back, as they were going all the way around the forest… Everybody was silent and the only sounds were the horses' hooves hitting the ice.

Mizzy lay down and closed her eyes. She was still tired, so tired… The hoof beats seemed to grow more distant, and then faded away altogether.

"Vake up…" Somebody was shaking Mizzy awake, so she opened her eyes. The cart had stopped in front of the Manor, which was hard to see though a sheet of rain. Mizzy shuddered and realized that she was covered in water. Mag was curled up in a dispirited ball of wet fur in her hands.

Hat took her hand and helped her climb out, and then they walked together through the doors, following everybody else.

They all entered the corridor and went towards the dining room, Hall and Hat telling the others where they would sleep. Mag jumped out of Mizzy's arms and wandered away again.

Mizzy felt a cold, wet hand on her arm.

"Are you hungry?" Tash asked.

"No… no thank you. I'm tired."

Tash nodded and let go of her.

Mizzy sighed deeply and turned down a different hallway, one that led to her room. She was almost running, wanting to go and sleep again. When the door was looming ahead of her, she opened it, set Gawain down on the table, and climbed into bed, not even taking off the muddy, wet robes she was wearing.

Her dreams were riddled with dead animals, running, snarling, hissing; they were everywhere, and when Mizzy finally woke up, she was shaking with terror.

"Right…" she muttered, getting out of her bed and kneeling down by the wooden chest. "This needs to stop. Really."

The lid swung open, revealing a large, dusty book. It was bound in green leather, and, written in gold on its spine, were the words:

A Record and History of Fighting and Destroying the Undead

She lifted it nervously, finding it to be extremely heavy. Several spiders ran out from between the pages and vanished somewhere.

Mizzy set the book down on the table and opened it at the beginning. The pages were huge and crammed with dull, dry paragraphs.

"The undead are creatures of darkness, ones that are meant to be dead, but something brought them back to life. Unlike ghosts, they have no will of their own, or visible intelligence—they must serve whoever brought them back, usually a powerful necromancer of dark mage.

"They are usually used as warriors, those that can be disposed of at any time, as they are not strong fighters. A normal mortal could easily defeat one, yet when they gather in large amounts, they can become undefeatable by even a skilled warrior.

"They have existed ever since the existence of magic, and they prey on the fears and weaknesses of unknowing humans. The first notable undead slayer was Laisrean, a valiant warrior, born in Ireland, who died in the Middle Ages, but destroyed many enemies. He is unknown amongst many humans, but immortal races that have been here for centuries respect him deeply.

"The next slayer of notice is Svetlana, who gained the title 'the swift', even greater than Laisrean. She was bitten by a vampire in the Middle Ages, and is believed to be alive today, though it is questionable…"

It went on in that spirit, and, when Mizzy fell asleep on a text about the great slayer Veronique, she already felt a bit better.

When Mizzy woke up again, it was dark. She stood up, stretched, and turned on the light. She was going to go out, but she left it on anyways, because it made her feel better.

She went out, closing the door behind her quietly, and went down the hallway. This part of the Manor was unusually silent now. Her footsteps were the only sound to be heard… She found herself breaking into a run.

What if they're all gone? Please make them be there, please…

The dining room was empty. She left the door swinging behind her, running now even faster.

She stopped only when she heard voices

"…Terrible indeed… But we need to live with that," said the voice of Lord Dark.

"I can't stand it when you say things like that," snapped Cancri's voice.

Mizzy came around the corner, and saw a partially open door. It was what seemed to be a study; at least she guessed that by the desk and the papers and books that seemed to fill it. Cancri and Lord Dark were glaring at each other, Hall standing against a wall behind Cancri and looking miserable.

"Well then, keep your mouth shut," Lord Dark growled, and turned his glare to Hall. "Can't you keep even a mortal in check?"

Hall sighed. "What do I have to do with it?" He asked in a tone that said that he wasn't even hoping anymore.

"Because she is your responsibility. You took her in, and you have to stop her from disobeying her elders and getting into trouble."

"Leave him alone," Cancri snapped. "You just want to pick on him because he's sick and he'll give in easily."

"Cancri… please," Hall said in a pleading sort of voice.

"TAKE YOUR USELESS MORTAL OUT OF MY SIGHT!" Lord Dark bellowed.

"How can you talk to somebody that way if you're in his house?" Cancri shouted as Hall dragged her out.

"Come on," Hall said to Mizzy with another sigh. "Lord Dark… isn't in the best of moods."

Cancri snorted. "He's never in the best of moods, Hall. Why do you let him beat you up like that? He's just telling you things like that to make you feel worse."

"Yeah, well…" Hall looked around the walls for inspiration. "It wasn't such a good idea to ask him to make a barrier, Cancri."

"But… it was a good idea," she protested. "It doesn't matter if we can't get out either! We don't need to get out for a month!"

Hall shook his head. "Let's just go and have dinner or something."

"Yes," Mizzy said, nodding enthusiastically.

Cancri gave the wall a moody glare and then followed.

"What are you going to eat?" Cancri asked Mizzy.

"Don't know."

"Helpful," Cancri snarled, almost breathing steam out of her nostrils.

"Sorry… what do we have?"

"Pancakes," Cancri said viciously. "We brought some proper food from the meeting house."

She shoved a plate of pancakes under Mizzy's nose, and Mizzy ate them quickly, wise enough not to protest or complain in any way.

"I'm going outside for a while, okay?" Hall said. "I'll be back in about half an hour." With that, he left the room.

"That nasty… idiot… can you believe the way he talked to Hall?" Cancri muttered.

"No, not really," Mizzy replied meekly.

Cancri sat down and began to eat, still muttering and glaring at the air.

Mizzy sighed. This was going to be a long, long month.

Outside, it was cold and dark. A villager peered out from behind the door of his house. It was very quiet.

He liked nights like these. Nobody would stop him tonight from stealing a few things. Everyone was too busy hiding from some nonexistent monsters, the fools. The people here believed in all sorts of crazy things—omens, dark creatures…

He stepped outside onto the wet ground. In the rain, the snow on the ground had turned to slush. He didn't mind really… He went around one of the houses and saw some laundry hung up to dry.

The thief tore down several sheets and a couple dresses that looked like they could be sold…

And then the smell reached him. It was a rotting smell. 'Dead' was the first word that came to mind. He looked down and saw a mouse sitting on his foot… a very odd mouse, at that.

He screamed as if somebody had cut him with a knife, and ran. Seconds later, he was leaning against the door of his house, all the lights on, swearing that he would never, ever steal again…

…Odd creatures, those mice.