Trix & the Faerie Queen Page 6

  And he’d made fun of her! Saturday took a ribbing as well as she could parry a direct attack—those who sought to bait her did well to prepare themselves for the subsequent thrashing. Peregrine stood beside Saturday and goaded her without fear.

  One move. Once sentence. To a brother, they spoke volumes. Trix suddenly held the odd fellow in much higher esteem.

  “How did you find us?” asked Saturday. “Aunt Rose’s animals told her you’d turned back to Faerie. We left the Abbey to find you.”

  That’s right…if she’d just seen Rose Red, then… “You know about Mama.”

  “I know.” Saturday looked at her feet, a move she always made when she felt guilty about something. “If that witch hadn’t stolen me away, I might have been able to save her from Aunt Sorrow’s horrible sleeping spell.”

  “Or you might be asleep too,” said Trix. “Oh! And did you get to meet Jack?”

  Saturday cracked a smile at the mention of their long-lost, back-from-the-dead, legend of an eldest brother. “I met Jack,” she said. “And my fist would love to meet him again.”

  Trix laughed at that—punching Jack was exactly something Saturday would do. He told her the abbreviated version of meeting Trebald, and the brownie’s description of her as the bad-tempered giant in a skirt. “Then again, maybe he meant you. Trix nodded to Peregrine’s double-breasted coat with burgundy piping. It flared out around the knees; instead of trousers beneath it, he wore hose. “If I were a blind brownie, I might guess that was a skirt,” he said. “Goodness knows I’ve worn my share a time or two. Price of growing up with sisters.”

  Talk of Trebald reminded him of the companions he’d left behind in the forest. Now that he’d found Saturday, they could all get on with the mission. “We need your help, Saturday. The Queen of Faerie has named me her Emissary.”

  “Now I’m worried,” said Saturday. “The Faerie Queen must be desperate indeed to have made such a choice.”

  Before Papa Gatto’s aging spell Trix would have kicked Saturday in the leg for that remark, but he was a young man now. His sister should thank her lucky shins. “She asked me to speak to the animals. And for the animals.”

  “So the animals are in trouble?”

  “Yes,” said Trix. “All the animals in Faerie, and the Queen, and Wednesday, and Aunt Joy, and…well…pretty much everybody in the whole world.”

  “Again?” asked Peregrine.

  Saturday smiled. Yes, there was definitely a story there. No matter who told the tale, Trix looked forward to it because it contained dragons. “You in?” she asked Peregrine.

  “Always,” he answered, his voice dripping with smoochiness.

  Trix resisted the urge to step between Saturday and this man-in-the-skirt, if only in order to prevent further delays.

  “Same here,” said a third voice.

  From the bushes stepped the most magnificent creature Trix had ever laid eyes on. No horse of his acquaintance had ever been so blindingly white. Nor did any of them possess wings. Oh, such enormous wings!

  “Saturday,” Trix said reverently. “You have a pegasus.”

  Saturday patted the withers of the pegasus. “Trixie, dear, I have a lot of new surprises.”

  “As do I,” Trix replied. “I’m traveling with companions as well. I should go fetch them. We can be off at dawn.”

  “No need,” said a lower, gruffer voice. “We can collect them on the way. Sassy won’t mind pulling the cart through the night.”

  Trix caught the flash of yellow eyes. He’d been so stymied by the presence of the pegasus—he still was—that he hadn’t noticed this man lurking in the shadows. He wore a wide-brimmed hat and a large coat, but neither were enough to conceal the fact that this was not a man at all. This was a wolf. A wolf that walked and talked like a man. No wonder the squirrel had warned him away. Even without his animal sense, Trix was wise enough to be very, very afraid.

  “Are you the King of Wolves?” asked Trix.

  The wolf’s laugh sounded like gravel and thunder. “Gods, no. Do I look like an Animal King?” The wolf narrowed his yellow eyes. “How many Animal Kings have you met?”

  “Just the two,” said Trix. “Well…unless you count the Great Stag. Would he count? I don’t suppose it would make sense to have a separate King of Deer. And I know the cats don’t have Kings, but if they did, I’d nominate Papa Gatto. He’s certainly powerful enough. And then there were the gods. Well…the sister of a god. And maybe another one too, but I only heard her voice in a vision. And the Queen of Faerie, of course. But that was another vision. Are we counting visions?”

  The wolf said nothing.

  This time it was Peregrine’s turn to laugh. “And you think Saturday is bad at telling stories.”

  “Enough.” Saturday was either too tired or too emotional to be having any of their nonsense right now. Trix guessed the latter. “Betwixt can take Trix and me ahead to collect his companions. We’ll meet up with the cart further down the road.”

  “And then to Faerie,” said the wolf.

  “With all due haste,” said Trix.

  The wolf pulled on the brim of his hat and sank back into the shadows.

  Peregrine grabbed Saturday’s elbow before she could mount. “One quick thing,” he said to her. And then to Trix, “Do you mind?”

  “Not at all,” said Trix as Peregrine pulled Saturday out of sight.

  “Those two have a lot to work out,” said the pegasus.

  “I wish them luck,” said Trix. “I’m not sure anyone has ever ‘worked things out’ with Saturday in her life.”

  “You do know your sister well,” said the pegasus.

  “As do you, it seems,” said Trix. “How is that exactly?”

  “A witch was holding us all prisoner in a cave high in the White Mountains.”

  The Top of the World, Trix guessed. Trebald’s home. “So you woke a dragon and destroyed the mountain to escape.”

  “And killed the witch, too.” The pegasus pawed at the ground, then bent to nibble some grass there. “Storytelling is a lot less fun when the audience already knows the ending.”

  Trix shrugged. “I still don’t know the details. Like how a pegasus and a dragon exist in this world when both are supposedly extinct…for instance.”

  “The dragon was put under a sleeping spell and frozen in time,” said the pegasus. “But you’re right about the pegasi. They don’t exist. I’m a chimera.”

  Chimeras weren’t supposed to exist either, but Trix refrained from mentioning this to his new friend. “A chimera named Betwixt. That’s very clever.”

  Betwixt blew out his lips in a long sigh, a sound horses often made when either pleased or bored. “It’s the only name I can remember.”

  Before Trix could ask more about Betwixt’s mysterious name and the exact nature of chimera, the breeze brought them the sound of Saturday’s laugh, followed by Peregrine’s shout.

  “They’ll be about done now,” said Betwixt. “You ready?”

  Trix mounted the pegasus, making sure not to ruffle the enormous feathers on his way up, and then scooted back to make room for Saturday. Saturday emerged from the trees with Peregrine hot on her heels. He helped her up, but instead of saying goodbye, he looked her dead in the eye and said, “You owe me an explanation.”

  “Fight me for it,” said Saturday. “Let’s go.”

  “Where’s your sword?” Trix asked as Betwixt walked them to a less dense path of woods.

  He felt her muscles tense in front of him. “Do I need it?”

  “No,” said Trix. At least, he hoped not. And then he hoped for nothing more in the world as Betwixt bent his hind legs, spread his wings, and flew. Trix held onto Saturday tightly, hooting and hollering as Betwixt soared and dipped. The crisp wind stung his cheeks and made his eyes water, like riding a deer without ever touching the ground. Beneath his grip, he could feel Saturday laughing.

  It didn’t take them long to find Lizinia in the dark of the night. She had started a s
mall fire, small enough that it might have gone unnoticed had it not been for the reflection of the flames off her shiny gold skin. Trix pointed, but Betwixt had already spotted her and started his descent.

  Trix kept his eye on Lizinia as the pegasus dropped from the sky to land before her. She jumped up from her seat beside the fire in surprise and then kept jumping, clapping with excited glee.

  “Your companion is a girl entirely made of gold,” Saturday muttered as Betwixt settled. Though she said nothing else, the tone of her statement made fun of Trix in every way possible.

  “Your companion is a man who makes you cry,” Trix responded in the same tone.

  Their eyes met as they dismounted, and between them they called a silent truce.

  “Saturday, this is Lizinia.” Before Trix had even finished his introduction, Lizinia had launched a hug at Saturday from a running start. Saturday, giantess that she was, caught her with ease, but still had to take a step back from the force of her gesture. “Just like Friday, eh?” he said to his sister.

  “Uncannily,” said Saturday. “It’s lovely to meet you, Lizinia.”

  “Trix has told me so much about you,” said Lizinia. “About all of his sisters. Forgive me for getting carried away…it’s just, I feel like I know you.”

  “I look forward to knowing more about you too.” Saturday eyed Trix, silently scolding him for not preparing her at all for this meeting. “This is Betwixt, my pegasus-for-now.”

  Lizinia cocked her head. “Pegasus-for-now?”

  “Until I decide to be something else,” said Betwixt. “But changing takes an awful lot of effort, so it’s pegasus for the time being.”

  Lizinia curtseyed to the chimera as if she were being received by royalty. “It’s an honor, Betwixt.”

  Saturday continued to examine Lizinia. Trix recognized the expression; it was the same one Saturday used when trying to size up an opponent. “Now she reminds me of Sunday.”

  “Didn’t you say ‘companions,’ plural?” asked Betwixt. “I don’t see anyone else here.”

  “I’ll fetch him!” Lizinia said perkily. “You were gone a long time,” she whispered to Trix. “It made Trebald nervous. He’s eaten almost all the food.”

  “We’ll be fine.” Trix went with her to retrieve the packs, both of which were considerably lighter than they had been before. Lizinia scooped up Trebald. Together they put out the fire.

  As they walked back to Saturday and Betwixt, Lizinia held out her cupped hands, which cradled the brownie inside. “This is Trebald,” she announced.

  “You!” Saturday shouted at the brownie. “You have got to be kidding me,” she said to Trix.

  Betwixt snorted and whinnied.

  “What?” said Trix.

  “You told me you had spoken to that idiot brownie, not that you were traveling with him.”

  “Sorry,” said Trix. He loved his sister, but he knew how hotheaded she could be. Defiantly, he stuck up for his friend. “Trebald’s help has been invaluable to us. We wouldn’t have made it this far without him. What happened between you?”

  Trebald trembled in Lizinia’s hands. “Don’t want to talk about it, no, no.”

  “I’ll tell you what happened,” said Saturday. “In a moment of…compassion”—she spat out the word—“I saved that wretched brownie’s hide. And how did he repay me for it? Did he thank me? No.” Saturday brandished the index finger of her right hand. “He bit me!”

  The tip of Saturday’s finger boasted an angry red gash that didn’t look to be healing well at all. Trix stared at it in horror.

  His sister was no longer invincible.

  6

  The Spriggans

  “You’re a better shot than me,” Trix said as he retrieved Lizinia’s arrows for the tenth time that day.

  Thankfully, teaching Lizinia what little he knew about archery distracted from Trix’s jumpiness every time the adventuring party stopped to rest. What with the addition of a pegasus and a wagon to the party they’d made good time, so Trix couldn’t complain, but he still couldn’t shake the pressing need to be at the Faerie Queen’s side.

  The urgency seemed to grow stronger the closer they got to the Hill. Like the previous visions of his birthmother, Trix saw the Faerie Queen in his mind every time he closed his eyes to sleep, and that first moment every morning before he opened them to wake. Her glowing violet eyes bore into his very soul.

  Save us, Trix Woodcutter. Save us all.

  They hadn’t stopped much, only as needed for food and stretching and the swapping of steeds. Only Wolf never gave up his role as wagon driver. Despite his human appearance, Wolf had far more animal in him than fey. Even if he could endure riding, no beast would have been comfortable bearing Wolf as a burden. It was a wonder that Old Sassy tolerated Wolf as well as she did, but Trix knew some bonds of friendship could never be explained. Or broken. Whatever the reason, the mare trotted along, happy and unfazed.

  Wolf had been the one to kindly point out exactly how little Trix knew about bows and arrows. He’d stood before Trix, coarse hand outstretched. His yellow eyes bored into Trix’s soul, and there was the faintest hint of a growl on his breath. Trix had simply handed over the bow and stepped back.

  Wolf used Trix’s bow to demonstrate how Lizinia should hold the rain-bow, how and how far she should pull back the string. Ever eager to learn, Trix went through the motions beside them empty-handed, practicing the stance Wolf instructed, drawing his crooked finger back to his chin every time. Wolf’s stance didn’t seem so very different from his own…until Wolf gave him the bow back. Trix loosed an arrow and the bowstring slapped the inside of his arm on the first try. Trix cried out from the burning pain of the welt on his already tender forearm. Saturday and Wolf had little sympathy.

  It was Peregrine who wrapped a spare shirt around Trix’s arm. “You need a proper bracer, but this should do for now. Don’t let those bullies get to you,” he said, indicating Wolf and Saturday. “They’re all bark and no bite.”

  Peregrine meant well, but Trix had seen Saturday swing that sword, and Wolf’s wicked teeth had not gone unnoticed. Regardless of how much barking either of them did, those two had serious bite.

  Lizinia practiced with the rain-bow, but Wolf decided to leave the star arrows in their quiver, since no one was quite sure what sort of magical havoc they were meant to wreak. He started Lizinia on Trix’s arrows instead. She had no need for bracers, what with being covered in gold and all, and she hit the target on the very first try. From that point on, she’d only gotten better.

  “It must be magic,” Lizinia said with great humility. “The only things I’ve ever been good at are cleaning house and tending cats.”

  “And talking to gods. And wearing golden armor. And blinding people in direct sunlight. And…”

  “All this shooting off at the mouth.” Wolf’s voice was so close behind Trix that he nearly jumped out of his skin. “You want to shoot something, shoot that tree. Ten more times each, and then we’re back on the road.”

  They passed no stream before twilight, so Betwixt took to the skies with Saturday and Peregrine to find the nearest source of water. After much coaxing, Trix convinced Wolf to let him be the one to unhitch Old Sassy and rub her down. Sassy was as old as her name implied, and she talked more than Grinny Tram after three pints of honey mead.

  “Sassy isn’t my real horse-name,” she’d said when Trix first introduced himself. “Humans and fey give names to us domestic types, but only because we can’t tell them our true names. Which is a shame, really, since true names are usually much lovelier and far more original. You wouldn’t know it to look at some of us, but horses can have the wildest imaginations. My horse-name is Falada. Isn’t that beautiful? It was my grand-mare’s name.”

  “Very beautiful,” said Trix. “Well met, Falada. Would you like me to tell Wolf your true horse-name?”

  “Goodness, no. You don’t need to make no nevermind,” said Sassy. “Heaven knows Wolf wouldn’t like it
one bit. Wolves don’t take too kindly to change.”

  “How well do you know Wolf?” he asked casually. Trix knew that Wolf met up with Saturday and Peregrine at Rose Abbey, but he knew nothing more about the man-beast himself. Unlike Old Sassy, Wolf wasn’t particularly chatty.

  “Know that fool better than his own britches, I’d say. Been with him nigh on…my goodness, it’s been so long. Would you believe I’ve lost count? He and your Uncle Bear have been best friends since I was knee-high to a spriggan. We always thought that would be a double wedding. Shows how smart we were…and how vicious Fate can be.”

  Sassy spoke with such enthusiasm that the conversation lost Trix before she paused to take her first breath. “What’s a spriggan?” he asked.

  “Guardians of Faerie,” said Sassy. “There are a slew of great stones framing the entrance to the Hill, on either side. Those stones are the spriggans, ghosts of giants who roam the Wood looking for miscreants. Sometimes they take the form of men. Sometimes they take the form of the giants they once were. Sometimes they are shadows. Sometimes they are the stones themselves. They are always ugly. Even when they are stones. So ugly that the grass beneath their feet withers and dies with every step they take.”

  Trix wasn’t sure he’d ever come across an ugly stone. He’d have to pay more attention in future. “The spriggans keep unwanted beings out of Faerie?”

  “You know the old rag about humans and fairies and the balance of power?” Trix nodded. It was a tidbit Papa frequently included in his stories. There always had to be as many humans inside the borders of Faerie as there were fairies in the human world, to maintain a balance of power. If that balance shifted—if a particularly powerful fairy passed either way through the gates unannounced, or if a powerful spell was cast or broken—massive storms would break out all over the world, just to get the gods’ attention. “Spriggans maintain that. As enforcers. They’re also in charge of changelings and whatnot—they’re fairly good thieves, what with their being ghosts and all.” Sassy sighed and whuffled. “They do their best, poor dears, what with all the nonsense that’s been going on lately.” She eyed Trix with her big, brown horse’s eye. “Mostly caused by your family.”