Fortune's Folly

by Deva Fagan

  My stomach turned over. Even the holy blade of Saint Federica would not help us now. There were three of them, and that spear had a far greater reach than Leonato’s sword. It would pierce his breast and throw him down from Snowdrop in an instant.

  I seized the closest thing at hand, a fallen branch no longer than my arm, and heaved it at the spearman. He hadn’t been paying me heed, and the blow took him off guard. He staggered back. The stab of the spear went wild. Unfortunately, the axman had also charged Leonato. The prince blocked the blow, but the powerful recoil nearly unseated him.

  I searched the mossy ground for another branch, a rock, a handful of acorns, but my fingers closed only on fistfuls of moldering leaves. I caught motion from the corner of my eye, and ducked, not quite in time. A dagger sliced past my cheek, sending a finger of fire along my shoulder. I cried out in pain and rage, kicking and flailing at my attacker. My foot struck something that crunched. Someone yowled in pain. Father’s shoes remained sharp-heeled and sturdy as ever. I rolled back. Bits of dirt and leaf tangled in the loose hair that fell across my eyes. I brushed them aside and tensed for the next blow.

  Snowdrop whinnied and filled the air with the stamp of his great hooves. Leonato sat atop the beast, battling furiously to keep back the two other brigands. Meanwhile, the man with the dagger crouched not six feet from me. Blood streamed from his nose, lending an even more fiendish look to his haggard features. “Ah, she’s a little demon, she is,” he said. “She shall need to be taught a lesson, then, shan’t she? That pretty white skin will soon be tracked with red, red blood.”

  “Fortunata!” Leonato charged Snowdrop forward. The brigand staggered as the prince’s blade caught him across the back. His gurgling scream prickled my skin, but I did not pause nor look. I scrambled up, keeping my back fast against the tree trunk.

  Leonato wheeled Snowdrop around, reaching out. I caught his outstretched hand. He pulled me up behind him, even as the horse clattered along the trail. “Hold on!” he called. I needed no urging. I wrapped my arms tightly around Leonato as Snowdrop galloped on. The trees whipped past us, and the shouts of our attackers dwindled into weak, wordless roars.

  The rush of trees was dizzying. I shut my eyes. I was not aware of time passing, only the warmth of Leonato’s strong back, the rise and fall of his chest under my embrace, the powerful surge of Snowdrop beneath us as he carried us away. Despite the peril behind us and the uncertainty ahead, I was at peace. Leonato and I were together, and that was all that mattered. “I think it’s s-s-safe now,” said Leonato.

  I opened my eyes to find that we had stopped, though my heart continued to hammer. I realized I still had my arms wrapped tightly around the prince’s torso. Quickly, I pulled free. “Your pardon, Highness.”

  “Be careful, you’ll fall—”

  I ignored his hand and slithered down from Snowdrop’s high back. The ground was spongy with layers of mulching leaves, softening my fall. I looked around. The prince was correct that we were safe, from the brigands at least. But I could see no sign of anything familiar. Safe, but lost. Which was not exactly safe.

  “Are we still on the trail?” I asked. My shoulder throbbed painfully.

  “I don’t know,” he said, dismounting more gracefully than I had, to land lightly beside me. His eyes lighted on my shoulder in alarm. “Your sh-sh-shoulder. The monster cut you.”

  His look of concern melted away my pain for a moment. I craned my neck, trying to check the wound. It felt like a brand across my shoulder, but I could at least still move my arm.

  “Here, let me s-s-see.” Leonato gently pushed aside my hands. His golden head bent near to mine as he examined the wound. He had the spicy scent of ferns and wet earth. “It’s not a bad cut. I’ll bind it up. I wish I had s-s-some woundwort.”

  “Perhaps we can borrow some from the witch,” I said wryly, hoping to cheer both our spirits. I was rewarded with a quick grin from Leonato as he cut a strip from the hem of his wheat-colored shirt.

  “Not many wounds get s-s-such a fine bandage, I’d bet,” he said, looping the silk around my shoulder and tucking the loose ends. “It’ll hurt, but I don’t think it’s deep enough to fester badly, if you keep it clean.”

  “Better than a slit throat. Thank you for saving me.” I smiled. “I suppose it’s good practice, for the princess. Saving other less worthy maidens from peril.”

  “You don’t have to be a princess to be worthy.” He took my hand, squeezing it tightly. “You s-s-saved me as well.”

  I knew in that moment why all the young lovers who listened to my lies believed me. I would have paid a gold coin for the certainty that Leonato would always gaze at me as he did then. I wanted someone to paint a bright future where we walked hand in hand. A future I could embrace, rather than fear. But all I had was that brilliant moment, so I clung to it, and to him. I likely could have stood there for quite some time, if I hadn’t noticed a large white shape starting to edge off into the woods. “The horse!” I shouted, pulling my hand free from his.

  Leonato sprang after Snowdrop, catching hold of the trailing reins just as the beast broke into a trot. The prince yanked the horse to a halt. Snowdrop turned his great head around to regard us with plain annoyance. He gave a snort and started forward again. “S-s-stop, you brute,” Leonato said, barely holding the gelding back. “Where are you trying to go?”

  “He knows the way,” I said suddenly. “Back out of the forest. He can find our way out of here.”

  Leonato heaved on the reins, dragging Snowdrop back around to stand beside me. “All right, then. Up you go.” He held out an arm as if to help me up, but I held back.

  “The witch, my fortune—”

  “Can wait. You’re injured; that cut needs better tending. And S-saints know what’s become of Captain Ribisi. We’ll have to find the witch later.”

  “But . . .”

  His jaw was set. I let my protest die away. At least I hadn’t specified when the witch was to be defeated. Leonato was right. We had time.

  Leonato insisted that I ride Snowdrop while he walked alongside. The prince remained tense, casting about for any sign of danger. He had Saint Federica’s sword tight in one hand, the other wrapped around Snowdrop’s reins. Once unhindered, the horse made his way peaceably.

  What signs or instinct directed Snowdrop, I did not know. But clearly he knew exactly where he was going. His white ears remained pricked forward. He walked along unerringly, turning left or right on occasion, at no landmark I could see. I sighed, beginning to relax. My shoulder still ached. I decided that a hot meal and a cup of good wine would be most welcome before venturing back into these cursed woods.

  “It’s getting lighter,” Leonato said. “I think we’re nearing the edge of the forest.” Snowdrop was nearly trotting now, so Leonato had to jog alongside. We broke through the last of the trees and out into the open. But it wasn’t the edge of the forest. Tall oaks bounded the glade on every side. And in the center of the clearing stood a small cottage.

  “The witch’s house,” Leonato said. “We’ve found it!”

  I had to think quickly. Some innocent woodchopper might live here. And even if it was the old herb-woman I’d heard about, I still didn’t want Leonato striking her down. “We must approach carefully,” I said. “There may be magical spells protecting this place.”

  I scanned the grove. Besides the cottage itself, there was a small stable and a garden surrounded by a low stone wall. A few plump chickens scratched in the dirt near the stable, but that was the only sign of life. The cottage itself was a quaint old place, whitewashed pristinely under its peaked thatch roof. Two large diamond-paned windows flanked the front door, which was painted a bright blue, like cornflowers. Red and yellow roses climbed riotously over an archway that led into the garden. They cast a strong sweetness into the air. The place as a whole looked far too cheerful to be the home of a warty, evil old witch. But I would take what fortune the Saints had granted me.

  I slipped down fr
om Snowdrop’s back. The horse set off instantly toward the stable. “It’s as if he knows this place,” Leonato said.

  “Why should an old horse from Doma know of a cottage in the middle of the Black Wood?” I wondered aloud.

  “But he’s not just an old horse from Doma. He’s the white s-s-steed from your prophecy.”

  “Oh, yes. That’s right,” I said, feeling my skin flush. If my prophecy had been true, I might have taken comfort in that.

  We crept toward the side of the cottage, over a low hedge of lavender, and up to a small window. “I’ll look,” Leonato said. He held the sword of Saint Federica unsheathed and ready. His lips were set in a stern line as he edged up to the glass panes and peered within. “No s-s-sign of the witch, though it’s crammed full with her magical potions and the tools of her dark— Wait! I s-s-see it!” He turned shining eyes back to me. “It’s there, as you foretold.”

  He took my hand in his own, still holding the sword ready in the other, and led me around the corner to the blue door. As we entered, a riot of twittering and chirping filled the air. Leonato’s grip tightened. We froze at the threshold. “Is it a s-s-spell?” Leonato asked.

  “No, look.” I pointed to the right wall of the cottage, where stood an array of what looked like small palaces built of twigs, filled with fluttering, winged forms. “Birds.”

  “Do you think they’re poor s-s-souls, enchanted by the witch? I’ve heard tales of that.” Leonato studied the cage, frowning.

  “No,” I assured him, for of course there was no such thing. “She probably just likes to hear them sing.” They did make a sweet noise, as fair as any minstrel. “But we’d best get the slipper and be gone, before she returns.” I looked about the rest of the large room.

  It was crammed full of every leaf, root, flower, and tuber one could imagine. The rafters were thick with bunches of drying herbs, some fresh and green, others faded and dull. They stirred with the slight breeze that now whisked in through the open door, releasing a cascade of pungent scent. Across from us, a huge fireplace occupied almost the entire back wall. An iron cauldron nearly large enough to bathe in was set on the cold embers. Fresh kindling stood close by, stacked at the ready. Leonato pulled me around the huge table that occupied the center of the room. As I brushed against it, I saw a scattered pile of familiar silvery leaves beside a mortar and pestle.

  “There, look,” Leonato said, pointing up at a slightly crooked shelf.

  He had said it was here, but I hadn’t believed him. I had thought the prince had been seeing what he wished to see, like so many others. A copper bowl from a distance might look like a glittering gold slipper. But there it was. The twin of the shoe I had first seen in Doma, ornate with gems and glimmering even through a layer of dust. Leonato reached up to take it.

  My thoughts whirled. My fortune was a lie. I had made it up. How, then, was this shoe here? I backed away, trembling, searching behind me for a stool or chair. I bumped up against something soft, and gave a yelp. I spun around.

  “Thieves, is it?” the old woman cackled. She held up one crooked finger and shook it. “Tsk, tsk, you should know better than to try such things with old Grimelda, my dears.”

  “The witch!” Leonato cried, dropping the golden slipper as he sprang forward. “Get back, Fortunata.” He grasped my shoulder, pulling me away from that waggling finger. He raised his sword, drawing himself up, shoulders back. “Her foul powers will not avail against the holy blade of Federica.”

  “Witch, am I?” said Grimelda, with a snort. “I promise you this, boy, you steal from me and you’ll find yourself under a spell quick enough. And you won’t like it.” She showed a mouthful of ragged teeth that looked frightfully like fangs. Leonato swallowed, but his sword did not falter. “Fortunata, get the s-s-slipper. We’ll take pity on this creature and leave her with her life. It’s not theft to take back what sh-she s-s-stole from my grandmother.”

  Grimelda’s brows rose up to the tangled thatch of gray curls that peeked out from under her brown cap. “Stole?” She gave her crow’s caw of a laugh again. “Stole? You’ve got the story wrong, lad. So you’re her grandson, are you? I suppose she was too ashamed to tell the true tale. But you’ll not be taking that slipper.”

  I scooped up the golden shoe. Was the woman crazy, to stand so brazenly under the blade of Leonato’s sword?

  “My grandmother was no liar!” Leonato cried, his cheeks flushed. “S-s-stand aside!”

  “That toy won’t help you here, boy,” she said, sniffing. Leonato gritted his teeth and swept the sword around in a warning cut between them. Grimelda moved more quickly than I could see.

  The terrible clash made my bones rattle. I closed my eyes instinctively. When I opened them, I saw Leonato standing stricken, staring at the hilt of the sword in his hand. Only a hand span of the blade remained. It had shattered.

  The old woman held up a large black frying pan and grinned. “You see, my loves, there’s no blade can harm old Grimelda.”

  “But this was the holy blade,” Leonato said. He looked at me. I felt as if my heart had stopped beating, or else that it hammered so fast I could not sense it. I had failed him.

  I turned on Grimelda, full of fierce rage. She was not a witch; she couldn’t be. My fortune was a lie. How dare she try to frighten us with threats of spells and magic? “You can’t stop us!” I cried, brandishing the golden slipper.

  “Foolish children,” said Grimelda, shaking her head. She swept something up off the table beside her, and cast it at us. I coughed as a cloud of bitter dust filled the air. I batted at it, but the stuff clung to my nose, my lashes, my lips. My lungs burned. Tears sprang to my eyes. I was dimly aware of Leonato coughing, calling my name. Then the darkness swept over me and I knew no more.

  CHAPTER

  9

  SOMEONE WAS SAYING my name. I blinked, blearily, but everything was gray and hazy. A pair of green eyes pierced that mist, bending close to my own. “Fortunata?”

  I groaned. My head was cloudy and my shoulder ached terribly. I closed my eyes, but a pair of strong hands pulled me upright.

  “Fortunata? Please, s-s-say s-s-something. Are you well?”

  I opened my eyes, dragged out of my stupor by the fear in his voice. “Yes. Well enough. If the world would stop spinning.” I concentrated on his face, and slowly the whirling ceased.

  “Thank the S-s-saints. I thought the witch’s s-s-spell had killed you.” He squeezed my hand.

  Witch’s spell. I struggled to calm my racing heart. Had I been mistaken? I reviewed what had happened, searching for some explanation that did not involve a real witch springing to life out of my fabricated fortune. Grimelda had cast some sort of powder at me, at both of us. I’d fallen asleep, like Ubaldo after some of Allessandra’s special nut cakes. I recalled the silvery leaves on the table. Dreamwell. That was it! The witch had simply poisoned us with a ground-up powder of the leaf. Put us asleep so that she might . . . what?

  I looked past Leonato, trying to discover where we were. I could see the rafters and the bunches of herbs. It was darker than before. A lattice of woven branches crisscrossed my view in every direction. We were in a cage.

  “Grimelda?” I asked.

  “Not here. Not for s-s-some time.”

  “We’ve got to get out!” I said. I should have been overjoyed to have found the slipper and Grimelda, just as I had prophesied. But the truth was, it terrified me. I wanted to get as far from her as possible, before I started to believe anything more than herbcraft was at work here. I had to concentrate on Father, on getting the slipper and saving his life. This was no time to indulge in baseless fears about being turned into a toad or stewed up for dinner.

  “I’ve tried to get out,” said Leonato. “It’s just branches and vines, but I can’t break them. The witch must have put a s-s-spell on them.”

  The cage was wide enough that we could both stretch out upon the floor, but not high enough for us to stand. It was a ramshackle, flimsy-looking thing,
but when I tried the walls myself, I could not even twist loose the smallest twig. The gaps were only large enough to admit my hand, and a quick survey showed there were no useful implements within reach. The single square door was secured by two bright padlocks: one silver, one gold. Our cage was set up against one corner of the cottage, so that whitewashed walls stood behind and to our left. The hearth and table stood before us. A pair of blue jays, a crow, and several sparrows watched us with bright black eyes from the smaller cages to the right.

  I rocked back onto my heels, telling myself it was simply a well-woven cage. Leonato had propped himself against the wall, knees drawn up. He drummed his fingers on the floor, which was cursed uncomfortable as it too was a lattice of branches and vines, atop the hard wooden floorboards. “Is it me?” he asked at last. “Is that why the s-s-sword didn’t work? I’m not worthy to wield it, and now I’ve gotten you into this mess.”

  “Don’t worry, Your Highness, we will escape,” I said, trying to sound confident. After all, I knew Grimelda was no true witch. She had caught me off guard with the dreamwell, but there were two of us and one of her. We had only to break free. She wouldn’t be able to stop us.

  The door creaked open, and Grimelda trotted in with a sprightly bounce to her step. “Ah, awake are we? And all refreshed from the nice nap, my chicks?”

  “What are you going to do with us, witch?” demanded Leonato, crawling forward to seize the branches of the door.

  “Hmm . . .” Grimelda tilted her head consideringly. “What are witches supposed to do with little boys and girls they catch in the dark wood? Cook them up in a stew and eat them—that’s the way of things.”