Another part of Trix—the part that was concerned about the seawater now flooding into his mouth—was sad at the thought that he might never speak again. Not to the animals who were his friends; not to the family who would still love him despite his terrible behavior. Trix had to leave them for this quest, but he'd always planned to return. Shameful that his last act had not been one of love, but tricks and tales. The thought of never seeing Mama and Papa and Peter and all his sisters again added to the shame in his heart, the pain in his broken limbs, and the ache in his chest for want of a lungful of good air.
As he spun wildly in the churning tumult, randomly alternating betwixt air-not-water and water-not-air, he was reminded of something an old river trout had told him. When there was rain, or a terrible storm, or even rowdy children cavorting about on a summer’s day, the water was only disturbed on the surface. To maintain his desired level of peace and quiet, the trout simply swam to deeper depths. Unfortunately, amidst the mayhem, Trix could not discern up from down long enough to choose a safe direction in which to dive.
A large body crashed into him—a bear? A whale?—pushing Trix downward, further into the sea, and those parts of Trix that weren’t in terrible pain mentally thanked the stranger for obliging. He opened his eyes—the salty water stung a bit—and tried to quell the fear inside him long enough to get his bearings. The small breath he’d managed to capture in his lungs wouldn’t last for long.
He’d not been the only one caught up in this storm. Denizens of earth and sea tumbled above him in terror and confusion. A donkey sped by. A school of purple fish. A wagon full of crabs. A cow, turning leisurely end over end, the bell around her neck silenced.
Trix was a mischief-maker of the first order, but this madness was spectacular.
A turtle sped by and Trix stretched out his good arm, reaching for its foot, but he missed as it pulled back into its protective shell. Something else, a small body, rough and pliant slapped into his palm instead. Trix could not see what it was—it might have been a bundle of wet cloth for all he knew—but it did not matter. He pulled the thing in to him, tucking it inside his shirt. Happily, it was not a bundle of cloth after all; he felt the body stretch out against his chest and hold on to his skin with some sort of knobby tube feet. Trix was no match for this violent sea, but perhaps, with a little luck, he could save this one life.
He wished he could save them all.
Mouth closed and muscles locked, Trix concentrated on the pressure building inside him. The broken ribs felt like shattered glass in his lungs. That one small breath he’d stolen needed to leave him now, and he had to let it go. Trix wondered in that moment about Lord Death and his Angels of Feathers and Fire. Every young child speculated which of the Angels might come for him should he not clean his room or eat his peas, but what Angel delivered those lost at sea into Death’s loving embrace? Water was anathema to both feathers and fire. It was conceivable that Lord Death also employed Angels of Fins, only no one who saw them ever survived to tell the tale. Maybe it would be Jack Junior or Tuesday, those beloved siblings who had died before him that would appear to usher Trix to the Great Beyond. That would be a small comfort.
Or Death might send Trix’s mother to fetch his departed soul. Memory brought her words from his vision back unbidden.
Come to me, my sweetheart. My sweetheart, come to me. There is so much you should know, and still yet so far to go.
Violently and uncontrollably, that small, precious breath he’d been holding escaped him. A murmuration of tiny bubbles fled upward, taunting him with the life he would never get back.
This was it, then. He was going to die. Trix tried to remain calm about it, hoping that his fear would pass from discomfort into acceptance. His body had other plans. It wanted to fight this losing battle. Trix’s arms and legs spasmed. He opened his mouth and awaited the unwelcome rush of water that would put an end to his very interesting boyhood.
That end did not come.
Trix took a deep breath of not-air-not-water-but-still-life. Somehow he continued to live, suspended in this watery otherworld.
He felt a humming vibration from the tubed feet on his chest. Reaching into his shirt, he traced the body of the animal there. It felt a bit like the tail of a large lizard…but a lizard with five tails and no body. The vibration emanated from the center of the animal, resonating through Trix from the top of his head to the tips of his toes. It was a comfortable, tingly feeling—pleasant even in the broken places. The vibration washed his pain away, as well as the chill of the increasingly frigid waters.
And then the hum turned to words—not in Trix’s ears, but in that place in his mind where he heard things. I'm scared, said the hum.
So am I, Trix hum-thought in return.
The tube feet squirmed on Trix's skin. It might have been a reaction of surprise or happiness—whatever it was, accompanied by the tingling vibration it tickled mightily. Trix’s body twitched involuntarily in response. The muscles of the animal contracted and gripped Trix’s chest like the fingers of a strong man, a man keen on ripping Trix’s heart clean out of his chest.
Hello, Boy Who Talks to Animals.
Trix grinned into the not-air. He and his sisters often spoke to each other without words, but never like this. He knew such a thing was possible but he’d always assumed it was a talent reserved only for animal-kind, or the true fey.
Trix answered as calmly as he could manage, with the animalest part of his soul. Hello! he said, and almost at the same time, What are you?
I am a sea star, said the sea star.
I have never been to the sea, said Trix.
You cannot say that anymore, said the sea star.
Trix smiled at that, the seawater slipping across his teeth as he did so. The salt didn’t sting his eyeballs so much anymore. He took advantage of the opportunity to discover what wonders the ocean had dredged up from its depths and brought for him.
Before him played a tumultuous masterpiece.
A melee of brilliant colors swirled above and below him. As the waters rose the larger aquatic life made their way to the bottom, away from the crashing, churning waves far above. Trix grabbed the tail of a large flat beast whose body was also its wings and caught a ride farther down. He realized as they swam that he was holding on with his left hand, the hand connected to the arm that had—until a short while ago—been broken. Perhaps the magic that had summoned this water somehow healed him as well. If that were so, he was a lucky boy indeed.
Schools of shimmering fish slipped by boulders and trees that slammed their way past. Some of the larger beasts were not so lucky. Trix hovered above a kraken who took a chunk of stray chimney in the side, and the watery world in which he floated turned briefly black with ink. Curious, Trix darted the tip of his tongue into the spreading dark cloud. The ink was thinner than blood, bitter and fishy and mysterious. It was all so beautiful to him, this new and strange forest. And it was peaceful here; Trix's mind rarely found such peace. If Death’s Angels were coming for him today, he rather hoped they took their sweet time. He was enjoying himself.
Some creatures of the forest were not faring so well. A family of opossums sank slowly as they clung to each other for safety. A herd of confused deer galloped nowhere together, their eyes wild as their legs tread the water below them. From Trix’s vantage point it looked as if they were flying above the rooftops below—for there were houses below them now, and barns, and fences, and empty roads traveled by no living soul.
But there were living souls in the sea, Trix realized suddenly. They were—all of them: dogs, cats, fawns and fish alike—still living. He placed his hand over the sea star that still sought asylum on his chest. Beneath the star, Trix’s heart was definitely still beating.
How is this possible? Trix asked in his mind.
It is the custom of falling stars to grant a wish, the sea star hummed in return. Thusly have I granted yours.
Had he made a wish? Trix
remembered only salt and storm and funnel clouds and the songs of impending Angels. Am I dead? he asked, though he didn't really want the answer. It was entirely possible that he had subconsciously wished to save his own life, but at what price? There was always a price.
You are not dead, said the star. Nor is any soul touched by these magical waters. You have saved them, Boy Who Talks to Animals. You have saved us all.
Trix vaguely recalled such a thought crossing his mind as he had reached for the turtle…and caught the star. He was one very lucky boy indeed. With one exceptionally powerful ally.
I thank you for granting that wish, friend, said Trix. You did not have to save my life.
Nor were you obligated to save mine, said the star. Perhaps we are more alike than one might think.
I believe you might be right, Trix agreed. Still, that must have taken a monstrous amount of magic.
It did, admitted the star. But it will last. However, I cannot tell you how many of these earth creatures will remember their adventure, once they reach solid ground again.
Probably for the best, said Trix.
Nor do I know how long you will stay alert, said the star, so it’s best if you tell me now which shore you ultimately wish to alight upon.
So that was the price to be paid for this magic—he would not get to experience the fullness of his undersea adventure. Shame. He had rather hoped to see a narwhal. Or a capricorn. Or that waking goddess Needa had mentioned; perhaps she only needed someone to talk with to make her less angry. Trix had enough experience with his seven sisters to know.
Despite all that, Trix thought a sleep-spell a fair price indeed. Hadn’t he just forced his family to the same fate? North and east, he said to the star. More north than east.
Noted. We should advance in the direction of… The vibration spread through Trix’s limbs again and the sea star’s hum changed in tone. Oh, dear.
Trix cupped his hands and waved his arms to the left, awkwardly turning in the thick, watery depths. By now, it was clear that the sea star needed no eyes to intuit its surroundings, but Trix had no such talents that he knew of. The shadow of another great beast swam in slow circles above them; the sky was so far away now that Trix had to squint into the darkness. An errant ray of light struck a school of silver fish that darted like a cloud of lightning before him, and then parted to reveal three white shapes before him.
People! Trix thought. How wonderful! Magic and adventures were always better when shared.
Not people, hummed the sea star.
Trix was inclined to disagree with his new friend, but he kept his mouth—mind?—shut for the time being. The current created by the beast’s passing brought them closer to the almost glowing creatures, close enough for Trix to make out arms and faces. Women! Three women, in fact, barely moving, their skin so sallow that they appeared… Trix made out deep, empty gashes along their rib cages.
This must have been what the sea star meant by “not people”—the women were corpses. Trix had been assured that his wish had saved every living thing in this sea, so these poor, unfortunate souls must have passed away before the magical tide had come rushing in. No doubt the victims of some ghastly murder, buried in a shallow grave, revealed and swept away with the sinks and pots and butter churns. For a moment he saw his sisters in their faces—Friday, Saturday, Sunday—lifeless and just out of reach. The current drew him in closer. He did not pull away.
Their long hair tangled about their limbs, all of it streaked so bright red with blood that Trix could not make out which tresses belonged to whom. Mercifully, some dark cloak still sheathed their lower limbs, and their eyes remained closed. Would some kind person bury this sad trio on a foreign shore, he wondered, or would they ultimately be swept back out to the larger sea?
We should move on, urged the sea star.
Trix felt terrible about abandoning the dead women, but even Mama would have told him there was nothing more to be done here. He began offering up a silent prayer to the Earth Goddess before deciding she probably had her hands full at the moment. Instead, Trix beseeched kindness from Lord Death on behalf of these nameless women and wished them a safe journey in the arms of…whatever Angel came to fetch them. Trix quickly looked about on the off chance he managed to catch a glimpse of his imagined Angel of Fins.
When he looked back, one of the women was staring at him.
One by one, eyelids began to open. Layers of eyelids. The first revealed the milky eyes of the dead. The second revealed the hollow black eyes of monsters. Trix had been wrong. There were no souls in these not-women at all.
RUN! Trix thought-cried.
SWIM! hummed the sea star.
Trix kicked frantically in the water, but his meager legs were no match for the sirens’ thick ebony tails, slicing through the current like poisoned daggers. They surrounded him in but an instant, transforming into a violent cloud of translucent white skin and red hair and sharp teeth and those empty, hungry eyes. They reached for him with their bony fingers, colorless but for a splash of crimson at the tip of each one. They snapped at him, snapped at each other as they fought over him.
The great shadow passed above them again, showering the attack in mottled darkness. Trix reached into his shirt and pulled the reluctant sea star from his chest. He could feel the star’s hum of fear, but there was no time to explain. I just hope that’s what I think it is. With all the might he could summon, Trix tossed the star skyward.
He continued to fight off the sirens with everything he had, but they were too fast for him. He felt a hand on his wrist and a mouth on his neck just as the water around them turned black with ink.
Trix took advantage of the sirens’ blind confusion and kicked up with all his might, in the same direction he’d thrown the star. As he cleared the ink he realized the retreating shadow was not an octopus, as he’d supposed, but another large animal with similar legendary properties.
A hand gripped Trix’s wrist and he flailed about wildly, but it was not bony fingers attached to a siren. He recognized soon enough the feel of familiar knobby feet. A great squid, hummed the sea star. Well done, friend.
I still cannot swim fast enough, said Trix. The muscles of his poor legs were beyond exhausted. We cannot escape them.
We don’t need to, said the sea star. I have called a friend.
Trix felt another vibration, from outside his skin this time, coming to him through the water itself. Approaching them was the largest turtle Trix had ever seen…but this turtle had no shell, only spotted, leathery skin, and its forelegs were more like flippers than feet. Trix maneuvered himself astride its back and settled his legs into the ridges there. He relaxed slightly as the turtle quickly put more distance between them and the ink cloud of sirens. The energy of all the excitement beginning to leave him. Yes, this would be a good, safe way to travel, for as far as the turtle was willing to take them.
Thank you again, brother-kin, Trix told the sea star.
The address seemed to please the star, whose tube feet wriggled and tickled Trix’s skin again. It is my honor, Boy Who Talks to Animals.
Excellent. Now then, I may be unconscious soon. Trix’s eyelids were already starting to feel the heaviness of sleep-fog. What other sorts of mischief can we get up to in the meantime?
The sea star’s hum was melodiously pleasurable. I look forward to telling the King of Stars of this day, and our adventures here.
So do I, brother-kin, said Trix. So do I.
3
The Head of Wisdom
Come to me, my sweetheart.
My sweetheart, come to me.
There is so much you should know,
And still yet so far to go.
Trix forced his reluctant eyelids open. The world was a russet-stained muddle around him, and from that haze walked the shining image of a woman in a flowing violet dress woven with vines. Her wild cinnamon hair curled around the shafts of light delivered by the morning sun. She bent down and
tutted over his barely conscious form but did not touch him.
“It should have been Snow White, you know. Fate dealt my sister all the winning cards, and yet somehow the Faerie Queen still managed to trump her hand. And so I had a son.”
His birthmother wore a different costume than she had on previous visits, but she carried herself the same, commanding in both voice and bearing. “Four” she had been born, fourth daughter of his unimaginative grandmother. Until this spring she had been nothing to Trix but a shadowy character in the stories Papa told about his wife's family. Mama never told stories.
“The prophecies of gods must be fulfilled by someone, and I was their backup plan: ill-equipped, untrained, and unprepared. What a disappointment I must be to you. Not that it makes you any less powerful.”
Tesera was the name she gave herself before taking the stage and treading boards across the world, returning only to abandon her babe on the doorstep of her fertile little sister so that she could return to her life unburdened.
“I could not know you until now, but I could not be prouder of you, Trix Woodcutter,” she said. “You have already accomplished so many wonderful things in your short life. Just think of all the places you have yet to visit, all the adventures you have left to live.”
He wanted to speak at her words, but his wretched body would not obey him. There were still secrets left to reveal, questions yet unanswered. Who was his father? Why had she and he both abandoned him? What did the gods have planned for him beyond the towerhouse where he grew up? And what in Heaven or Earth was so important that his birthmother’s spirit was moved to place a compulsion upon him from the land of the Dead? What weird knowledge did Tesera Mouton have to impart to him, a boy she barely knew?
“Fly to me soon, my sweetheart, my son,” his mother whispered in his ear. “Earth breaks; fire breathes; waters bless. Both the witch and your father are searching for you. Help us.”
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