Wizard's Knoll

Audrey stepped up over the hill, Roger limping behind her.

“There’s a stump over there,” she said. “Sit down for a while.”

He hobbled over to the stump and took a seat. “I guess I just missed that last step,” he said. He held his foot and rotated it, feeling for where it hurt. “I don’t think anything’s broken.”

Audrey looked out over the hill. It overlooked the woods, the trails disappearing under their protective branches. “Take your time,” she said. “The view is wonderful.”

Roger looked up from his foot. “Yeah.”

Audrey looked all the way around, but stopped short in the middle of her rotation. “What do you suppose that is?” she said, pointing to a bunch of sticks piled up against one another. They formed a sort of pyramid, with the tops of each stick nestled among the others. 

Roger craned his neck to see. “Oh?” he said. “It looks like a wickiup. That, or maybe someone got bored stacking sticks.” He rubbed his ankle. “Could you see if any of those would make a good walking stick?”

Audrey looked at the bundle. Most of the sticks were covered in lichen, and those that weren’t were either covered in slugs, bird droppings, or were rotting through. However, nestled among them was one free of any problems. It was twisted down its entire length, and at the top it had a crook, like the kind used by shepherds. She pulled it, trying to work it free. A cluster of twigs tangled around its base, but after a good yank, she was able to disentangle it. She brought it over to Roger, tapping his shoulder with the crook.

“What do you think of this one?”

His eyes widened. “That one looks pretty good,” he said. He took it and held it before him. “It didn’t have any slugs on it, did it?”

“No.”

He placed the heel of the stick on the ground. Using both hands, he managed to stand from the stump. “Works pretty well,” he said. He took the opportunity to look out across the land below. “You were right,” he said. “This is a pretty nice view. Does this place have a name?”

Audrey pulled the crinkled map from her pocket. She ran her finger down the dotted trail printed on it. “It says here,” she said, when she reached their current location, “it’s called Wizard’s Knoll.” She scrunched her eyebrows. “What’s a knoll?”

“It’s like a hill,” said Roger. “Like this.”

She swatted him with the map. “You don’t know either, do you?”

He laughed. “Wizard’s Knoll? Huh?” He looked at the pile of sticks. “That must have been the wizard’s hut.” He pointed at the stump with the stick. “That was his seat where he’d think up new spells.” He paused and looked at the thing in his hands. “And this must have been his staff.” He laughed.

A chill wind rustled the trees. Audrey wrapped her arms around herself. “Don’t joke about that,” she said. “It’s creepy.”

He waddled over to her. “Wizards do not idly make jokes,” he said in his best wizard voice.

“Stop it,” she said.

He laughed. “What’s the matter? It’s just a name.”

“It was just that,” she said, turning to face the sticks, “it felt like something was holding onto that stick when I was trying to get it free. Some twigs or something. Reminded me of a hand.”

He tottered over to the wood pile and gave it a look. “I don’t see any bones or anything.”

“Can you get a different stick?” she said.

He looked at the one he held, then at the others. “The rest of them are gross. Besides, this is a cool stick. I think I’ll keep it.”

“Just don’t do anything weird with it, okay?”

“What?” he said. “Like tap it three times on the ground,” he did so, “and say something like ‘Widdershins’?”

Something cracked in the wood pile. Something darted out. Someone shrieked, and Audrey and Roger were halfway down the hill before they realized what had happened.

“Was that you?” she asked.

“No,” said Roger.

“Honest?”

“No joke.” He looked back up at the hill. “It was probably just a squirrel or something in the sticks.” He looked down the path. “Come on,” he said. “Let’s move on.”

She nodded.

They hiked down the rest of the hill. While they walked, Roger, still bracing his steps with the stick, asked. “What’s the next landmark called?”

Audrey consulted the map. She laughed. “You’re not going to believe this.”

“Try me,” said Roger, glancing back at the hill.

“It’s called Witch’s Creek.”

Roger laughed. “Well,” he said, waving the stick at her, “don’t go picking up anything that looks like a broom, okay?”

She swatted him with the map.