The Faery Godmother, page 2
“Too busy to remember to eat this morning?” he asked as they walked along the avenue toward the tavern. They were greeted by a rather fantastical sign hanging outside the Cat & Stork public house–otherwise known to locals as the Tabby. Rogit’s great-great-grandsire’s bristling likeness decorated the bottom half of the sign, leaping toward the named stork as it flapped away at the top in expertly-rendered panic.
“How did you know I forgot to eat?”
“I have sisters.”
“I see,” she replied. “And where are these sisters?”
“That’s part of the long tale,” he said, pushing open the door and holding it open for her.
They seated themselves at one of the long wooden tables. The tavern was doing brisk midday business. “You can trust the food here,” she told him, tucking her skirt neatly so that the wand lay quiet against her hip. “It only occasionally kills someone,” she added, startling another laugh out of him.
A serving-maid came over to greet them with a sassy tilt of her chin. “I thought I was your only friend, Morath,” she lamented in mock-dismay.
Morath did her best to keep a stern look on her face, but couldn’t help giggling. “Stef, this is…” She raised her eyebrows at Padgett as if to say, You told me not to speak your name .
He huffed, playing along. “I have no name, mistress. Just a humble, weary traveler hoping for some… is that bird's-nest pie I see?” he added hopefully.
“It is, and I’ll bring you a piece so long as you have money to pay for it. Names we don’t require here. Coin we do.”
He grinned, and patted the wallet at his belt. “A bit thin it might be, but I think it’ll stand me for a noontime meal.”
“That’s a relief, as I wasn’t planning on paying,” Morath said dryly.
Padgett grinned. “You certainly speak your mind.”
“I wonder if anyone’s ever said that to a man.”
“Point taken.” He perked up as Stef came toward them carefully balancing two loaded trenchers. “That looks delicious.”
They both dug into heaping portions of the savory-sweet, baked-egg-and-cream pie liberally stuffed with sliced, spiced apples. Padgett pushed his empty dish away with a groan. “Please don’t judge me too harshly if you find me lying in a sunny meadow later for a nap.”
“I wish I had the time for a nap,” Morath said. “I really shouldn’t even be sparing the time for this.”
Or the money. Thank goodness for Stef; I know she’ll only charge me a pittance. I need to make her another peace-charm–that one hanging over the door is losing its power.
“Why don’t you?”
“Far too much to do,” she said. “Between trying to keep the farm going, take care of the menagerie, and test petitioners, I’m exhausted. In fact, I’ve just written a letter to the bursar asking for an increase in my honorarium so I can afford to pay an assistant.”
If I had an assistant, I could think about doing things for my own pleasure once in a while.
“It sounds like rather thankless work,” he said. “So I’m sorry that I’ll be adding to it.”
She squinted suspiciously. “What do you mean?”
“I’m, er… here as a petitioner.”
Eyebrows near her hairline, Morath responded, “Are you?”
Padgett laughed self-consciously, and for the first time she heard something in his voice that suggested life hadn’t been all roses for him either. “Yes, me. I know I don’t look like much.”
Morath ran her eyes over him again. Lanky rather than built like a knight, bodyguard, or even a farmer’s get. Friendly eyes and an open smile suggested it would be easy enough to trick him out of his purse, or worse. No weapons whatsoever.
“What were you planning on using to complete the trials?” she asked delicately.
“My wits?” he suggested. When she didn’t say anything, he sighed. “I don’t know, really. I thought I would come here and figure out the rest along the way.”
“You just came here on chance?”
Her opinion of his intelligence dropped several notches, even as she warned herself not to take his words at face value. Nobody traveled these days without a very good reason. With Syndaryan thugs roaming the country, it was much safer to stick close to a fortified town like this one–or to stay outside the borders of Ket Alaa altogether.
Either he truly was a fool, or he was hiding something. Morath would have bet an entire pouch of the rarest faery dust on the latter.
Padgett squirmed a bit. “Not… not exactly on chance. More like there wasn’t much for me back at home. My eldest brother inherited the, um, family farm. The middle brother is his–steward. And so I am the third son, with little to recommend me other than my wits. Such as they are.”
She nodded slowly. It made sense, and yet she still sensed that he wasn’t telling the full truth. It was a feeling she had learned to trust as a tester of petitioners.
Having made up her mind, she stood. “We’re taking up room here, and I have things I need to get done. You’ll find me at Longchance Farm. It’s just on the outskirts of town. If you get lost, just ask anyone for directions. Come tomorrow in the morning. Not too early.”
His face brightened. “Thank you, Mistress Morath.”
“Just Morath,” said she . “And mind you don’t forget to bring some kind of weapon for the trials–even if it’s just a heavy tree branch.”
Anyone watching her toss and turn through uneasy dreams that night would have found it quite curious that just as Morath cried out in her sleep, her face suddenly relaxed, and she smiled as if greeting someone.
“This must be a jest,” she said in disbelief the next morning.
“No jest,” Padgett assured her, lugging his choice of weaponry into the yard. “Just making -do with what’s available to me.”
Horrified and amused in equal measure, Morath watched him drag the ancient harpoon toward the nearest pen and prop it against the railing. “Where did you even find that?”
“By the shore, of course,” he said with a shrug. “Where I slept last night. And the night before that. Being a poor traveler, I have to live by my wits and find what accommodations I can.”
That does explain why he’s so dusty-looking all the time.
“I hope you weren’t expecting a knight in a suit of armor,” he added, with a little quirk at the side of his mouth.
Morath kept her expression neutral. “ It’s counted as a good thing if a quester is able to think on their feet,” she said. “After all, heroes have to face all manner of unpredictable situations. However, I think you can leave the harpoon behind for today.”
He saluted her. “Then I am ready to begin the trials.”
For a brief, crazy moment, she was tempted to call the whole thing off and invite him inside for a cup of tea.
What prompted that? I haven’t even had tea leaves in a very long time.
Morath stood straighter, shaking off the odd sensation. “There are five trials,” she said. “You must pass all of them in order to be considered acceptable to move on to champion-training. The trials test five characteristics a champion is expected to have: agility , strength, cunning, honor, and valor. You won’t know which test was which until you pass or fail each trial.”
He nodded. “Do you have any questions?” she asked him.
“Just one,” Padgett said. “How many have passed the trials and moved on to champion-training?”
She faltered. “I–well–no one, so far.”
He blinked twice. “I see.”
Morath cleared her throat, and led him toward the first gate where the catoblepas waited, looking surprisingly alert, probably because the day was markedly less sweltering than the previous two before it. She supposed if Padgett was going to botch the trials, he might as well do it quickly and get it over with.
Oddly enough, she would be a little sorry to see him fail. She wondered if he would move on from Windshire quickly to try his luck elsewhere, or if he would linger in the area for some reason.
It’s no concern of mine what he does after he’s gone from here, she told herself.
“When do I begin?” he asked.
She fiddled with the clasp on the gate. The recent hot, damp weather had made the wood swell a bit, and the mechanism of the lock was stuck fast. “Just a moment.”
Morath grunted a little with the effort of trying to pull it open, and got a splinter in the pad of her thumb for her pains. “Damn,” she swore, sucking at the offended digit.
He vaulted over the rail with ease. “Don’t worry about it.”
Well, maybe he’ll pass the agility test at least, she reflected.
Man and animal circled, sizing each other up. The catoblepas shook its shaggy mane out of its eyes and feinted toward Padgett, who leaped out of the way. It snorted, dropped its heavy head for a moment, and then charged him with real intention.
Padgett bounded for the fence and used his momentum to propel himself in a different direction from the animal, which whipped its head around to follow his movements. Turning ponderously, it advanced again.
Morath watched with interest as the contest continued. Again and again, Padgett dodged the catoblepas’s charges as it grew increasingly frustrated. It put up its head and let out a bellow that was redolent of sulfur and char.
She stepped back a little from the fence, anticipating its next move.
Black smoke began to wreath its nostrils. It snorted again, took in a huge draw of air, and then blew a noxious cloud toward Padgett, who was pinned between the fence and the rapidly-spreading plume of breath. Morath leaned in again despite herself.
Padgett whipped his tunic up and over his face, barreling through the cloud on his way toward the other side of the pen. Once he reappeared on the other side, Morath watched him shake himself a bit dazedly, as the shirt clearly hadn’t prevented all of the catoblepas’s breath from reaching him. He staggered a little, but stayed on his feet.
She gripped the fence railing hard. The trial didn’t end until the catoblepas was finished.
It fired another puff of fetid breath in Padgett’s direction. Lagging now, but still gamely evading the animal, he was so focused on dodging the creature’s attacks that he failed to notice a small hillock behind him.
He went down hard. The catoblepas took the opportunity to waddle in quickly, and gathered up its resources for a final breath. Morath held hers.
But the blow never came. Padgett was back on his feet more quickly than she would have thought possible. The cloud of breath spun harmlessly through the space where he had been lying, missing him completely as he lunged for safety atop the fence.
Disgusted, the catoblepas turned its back and lay down in a huff. From his perch atop the fence, Padgett called, “Was that all? Did I pass the first trial?”
“Congratulations, petitioner,” Morath responded formally. “You have passed the Trial of Agility.”
“Hooray!” he shouted boyishly, sliding off the fence to rumple the weary catoblepas between the ears. It snorted in pleasure, and sheer bad luck and a sudden breeze sent its breath spinning into Padgett’s face.
Morath groaned as he toppled over face-down in the pen. “Lucky for you, I already granted that as a win,” she commented, pulling out her wand and aiming it at him.
A few moments later she had him conscious and looking around wildly. “Did I pass?”
“Yes, you just had a bit of an accident afterward.” She reached out to help him to his feet. “How do you feel?”
“A little dizzy.” He put a hand to his head.
“Sit here.” She indicated a shady spot under a fine, mature lemon tree. “I’ll get you something to drink.”
Plucking a few of the ripest lemons, she went inside. Taking out her precious supply of honey and a spoon, she put it on the table next to a pitcher and cups. For a moment, she eyeballed a jar of herbs, but shook her head.
It wouldn’t be fair to do anything that might give him an advantage, even a slight one .
Instead, she quickly crushed some lavender and mint in a mortar and then mixed those into the bucket of well-water she’d drawn earlier that morning. She let them soak for a minute as she juiced the lemons into the mixture, and then used the spoon to hold back the solids as she transferred the liquid from bucket to pitcher. Into each cup she ladled several generous tablespoons of honey, and then poured the juice over top. She stirred them quickly and headed back outside.
Padgett was sitting with his back against the tree, eyes closed, face still a little peaked. She nudged him gently with the tip of her boot and his eyes opened.
“Thanks,” he said with a grateful smile as he accepted the cup from her.
She sat next to him as he sipped at it. “Everything here tastes ten times better than anything back home,” he commented. “This drink, for example.”
“Who was it that said ‘adventure is an irresistible seasoning’?” she replied. “I imagine if I was in your homeland, I might feel the same way, simply for the sake of new things to see and do… and taste.” Morath was hard-pressed to keep the longing from her voice.
“I mean it,” he insisted. “This really is very good. Who taught you how to make it?”
She shrugged. “Whoever lived here before me must have planted the herb garden. I learned basic instruction in herbcraft from…”
“From?” he prompted gently as she trailed off, staring into the middle distance.
Her expression shuttered as her eyes came back to meet his. “If you’re feeling better, it’s time for your next trial.”
For a moment he opened his mouth to speak again, but then he stopped himself. “I’m ready.”
They both got to their feet, and Morath led him toward the kitsune’s burrow.
The kitsune was out of her burrow, dozing and enjoying the sunlight while the breeze ruffled through her fur with curious fingers. Upon hearing their approach, she opened her eyes.
“Another petitioner so soon, Mistress? Let’s hope that this one has all his wits about him.”
“Be nice,” she admonished the kitsune, though not without a smile. The fox-creature turned her back and began grooming its tails, seemingly having forgotten the humans in her vicinity.
“Time to begin,” Morath said to Padgett. Then she walked away through the trees.
As soon as she was out of sight, she took out a small mirror. Sitting comfortably down on a grassy knoll with sleepy bumblebees investigating the clover around her, Morath looked down as the silvery surface rippled for a moment and clouded over. Then it cleared, showing Padgett looking at the kitsune with a confused expression on his face.
“Er… how do you do?” he asked.
The kitsune continued to wash her tails, taking no notice of him. Morath could hear Padgett muttering to himself. “What am I supposed to do? What am I being tested on here?”
He paced the clearing, studying the disinterested kitsune from afar. “It can’t be strength or bravery. That little bit’s not even to my knee.”
Digging in his satchel, Padgett came up with a handful of grain and knelt down in front of the kitsune. “Any chance you’re hungry?”
The kitsune’s nose came up as she sniffed the air. Morath permitted herself a smile. The fox-creature’s appetite was rather legendary. Padgett had made a good start.
I wonder if he traveled here to sell his family’s wares and decided at the last minute to try a new path. He doesn’t seem like the kind of person who would be particularly content to live under the yoke of another man, even a brother.
Casually, the kitsune turned to face not Padgett, but the treeline behind him, where she fixed her attention on something invisible to anyone else. Her nose continued to twitch.
Then, as if she had only just noticed the offering, the kitsune strolled over and cleaned his hand neatly of grain.
“Altheia region?” she commented, licking her lips. “My, you did come a long way.”
He looked startled. “You can tell where I’m from just by tasting it?”
Smugly, the kitsune began washing her face. “I know a great deal more about you than just that.”
Morath watched him closely as he replied, “What do you know about me?”
“Where you come from, and why. Who you’re trying to become–and what you want to escape.”
Padgett’s face blanched. Morath waited for the kitsune to reveal his secrets, but instead, the creature sidled up to him and said softly, “I won’t tell if you don’t want me to.”
“Please.” It was all he said, but he clearly meant it.
A shriek cut across the clearing, and they both looked up.
“Help! Please, somebody help me!” cried a woman’s voice, threaded through with distress. Through the mirror, Morath watched Padgett run toward the source of the sound.
A river cut through the corner of the forest. She tracked his path toward it. Despite the recent heat, the waters were actually running higher and faster than usual due to run-off from snowmelt in the nearby mountains.
A woman in a red cloak fluttered frantically at the edge of the riverbank. “My child!” she cried, grabbing Padgett’s arm and pointing. “I can’t swim! Please save him!”
The situation looked desperate. Unable to even get his head above water long enough to cry for help, the boy was clinging to a log with all his might. Only his face was visible above the surface of the water, but the pressure of the rushing water threatened to wash him downstream in the flood, and quickly.
Padgett ran to the edge of the forest and returned with a sturdy branch, holding it out to the youngster. “Grab hold!”
The child reached out a hand, but his arm was sucked below the turbulent flow. A moment later, he slipped under the water and was gone from sight. The mother screamed, one long drawn-out cry of despair.
Padgett didn’t hesitate. He dived in after the disappearing boy. Morath kept a close watch. She was willing to stop the river as necessary, but to do so would cause the trial to become forfeit. So long as the petitioner himself was safe, she kept her hand still on her wand.
He swam hard with long strokes, trying to catch up with the bobbing head of the downswept boy. No stranger to a river rescue, this one, she noted with interest, observing how he kept his body parallel to the bed of the river and his feet level in order to avoid submerged branches and sediment holes.
