Fortune's Magic Farm

by Suzanne Selfors

  “Magic’s when you close your eyes, make a wish, and it comes true.”

  “No, that’s coincidence.”

  “Magic’s when a princess kisses a frog and it turns into a prince.”

  “No, that’s evolution.”

  Isabelle scratched her neck. “Well, then, what is magic?”

  “A gift, dear Isabelle. A gift from long, long ago.” He flicked the reins again. The oxen snorted. “Tenders are the only people in the entire world who can grow magical ingredients.”

  “What do you mean, exactly, by magical ingredients?”

  Walnut peered around the edge of the caravan, then leaned in close. “If someone wants to cast a magical spell, that person needs certain ingredients. Do you see? Only a tender can grow those ingredients.”

  “Like Love Apples?”

  “Exactly. Now, we must be quiet. Keep your eyes peeled for Rolo. He will warn us if danger lies in wait.”

  Isabelle tried to be quiet but a sneeze forced its way out.

  “Pneumonia Stubbornia, which is Latin for a cold that won’t go away,” Walnut said, shaking his head. “Poor Isabelle. I’ll give you some medicine for that as soon as we get to the farm.” Then he asked, a bit shyly, “This Mama Lu you mentioned. Is she married?”

  “She used to be.”

  “I’ve been searching for a wife for some time. Do you think…”

  “No!” Isabelle stuck out her tongue. “She’s horrid and rotten and mean.”

  Walnut sighed. “I’m sorry to hear that.”

  Late afternoon turned to dusk, as it typically does. The trail followed alongside a river, climbing steadily into the mountains. In places the river flowed deep and smooth. In other places it rushed by, churning around rocks and stumps. Beyond the river stood a forest with trees taller than the boarding houses that lined Boggy Lane. They grew in clusters, reaching out to one another with arched branches like friends holding hands.

  Who were these horrible people who wanted to hurt tenders? Isabelle scanned the sky for signs of the raven. She watched for Sage at each bend in the trail, hoping he would be waiting to say that all was well. The sky darkened and for a moment, she lost sight of the trail. Her heart began to beat wildly as the oxen slowed even more. Then, she nearly fell off the bench. “What’s that?”

  “What?” Walnut, who had nodded off, sat up straight.

  “That!”

  He cleared some soil from his ear. “Bat? Did you say bat? Which species? Vampiria or Fruitola?”

  “No. I said, What’s that?” Isabelle pointed at the ridge of light above the trees.

  “That is a moonrise, of course.” Walnut took a knit hat from his coat pocket and pulled it over his bald spot.

  The moon peeked over the trees, quickly gliding into full view. Hanging alone in the sky, it reminded Isabelle of the lightbulb in her bedroom, only the moon didn’t have to abide by Mama Lu’s eight o’clock shutoff rule. And it was much, much bigger. “How does it do that?” she asked. “How does it make so much light?”

  Uncle Walnut cleared his throat. “Yes, well, er… You see…” He cleared his throat again. “A very complicated system of circuits and wiring but the details have escaped me at the moment. Nothing to do with magic, I know that much.”

  “It’s beautiful,” Isabelle said with a sigh, momentarily forgetting that danger might await them around the next corner. Her head filled with music as a song begged to be born. So many things rhymed with moon she could write a dozen songs.

  Walnut yawned and stretched his legs, as did the marmot. The reins slipped from his hands and his chin dropped as he fell back to sleep. The oxen seemed to know where to go without his help, plodding along the steep trail at an even pace. Isabelle still couldn’t believe she was sitting next to a member of her family. She reached out to touch her great-uncle’s wrinkled hand, but drew back, reminded of Grandma Maxine’s hands. She turned away, trying to squeeze the image of the empty bed from her mind.

  Moon, June, tune, spoon, monsoon…

  The caravan tilted as the trail took a sharp turn. The oxen stopped and snorted a greeting as Sage ran toward them. He reached up and grabbed the slack reins. “We’ve got to get off the trail,” he whispered. Then he pulled the oxen into a small clearing. “Walnut, wake up.”

  The old man’s head lolled to the side.

  Sage climbed onto the seat and pulled a newly sprouted fern from Walnut’s ear. “Wake up,” he repeated.

  “What’s that?” Walnut opened his eyes.

  “We’ve got company,” Sage said.

  While the marmot dozed on the bench, Isabelle and Walnut followed Sage down the trail and crouched behind a large boulder. An odd sort of contraption sat up ahead. The words SUPREME GYROCOPTERS—FOR THOSE WITH SUPREME TASTE WHO PREFER TO SOAR were painted on its side. Two men sat next to the contraption, eating sandwiches. They wore long white coats, just like the assistants back in the umbrella factory. White goggles perched on their heads. One of them sported a bulbous wart on his nose. “I say we wait until morning, then we see where this trail goes,” he said.

  “Waste of time if you ask me,” said the other one, who sported a unibrow. “Why would somebody keep a farm up in these mountains? There ain’t no farms up here. I say we’re looking in the wrong place.”

  “That’s the point, stupid,” said Wart Nose. “The farm’s hidden somewhere where you wouldn’t think to find a farm. We got our orders. Mr. Supreme says we can’t leave ’til we search the entire area.”

  Was Mr. Supreme looking for Fortune’s Farm?

  The marmot scampered onto Isabelle’s lap, a rock held firmly in her paw. The men stuffed their cheeks with sandwiches.

  “That gyrocopter is blocking the trail,” Sage whispered to Walnut. “And the old mountain pass is too dangerous for the oxen.”

  Walnut took his glasses from his pocket and slid them onto his nose. “I wholeheartedly agree.” He reached into another pocket and pulled out a paper packet. “I don’t see another way. Do you?”

  Sage glanced at the packet. “Let’s do it.”

  “Do what?” Isabelle asked, hugging the marmot to her chest.

  “Stay here,” Walnut told her. “This is far too dangerous for an untrained tender.” He patted Isabelle’s back, then walked around the boulder and onto the trail, with Sage at his heels. “Good evening, gentlemen.”

  The two men jumped to their feet. “What’s this?” Wart Nose asked. “Where’d you come from?”

  “Wondering the same thing about you,” Sage said.

  “Stop right there,” ordered Unibrow, pulling something shiny from his pocket and pointing it at Sage.

  Keep quiet,” Sage called out to Isabelle. “And stay down. He’s got a gun.”

  The only gun Isabelle had ever seen was the one Mr. Hench used to kill factory rats. One bullet was all it took to send a rat soaring across a room, dead. She peered around the boulder. Don’t kill Sage, she wanted to yell. He’s not a tender. But instinct told her to mind Sage and keep quiet.

  Unibrow pointed the gun at Walnut, then back at Sage. “You two wouldn’t happen to know anything about a place called Fortune’s Farm, would you?”

  Isabelle clutched the marmot tighter. How could Mr. Supreme know about Fortune’s Farm? It was supposed to be secret.

  With his teeth, Walnut ripped open the packet, then poured something into his hand.

  “Hey, what are you doing?” Wart Nose asked. “What do you got there?”

  “They’re just little plants,” Walnut replied, holding out his hand. Green shoots slithered between his fingers. In an instant, the shoots shot out like arrows and coiled around Unibrow’s feet and torso, growing so quickly that before he could scream, he was ensnared in a tangled mass of thick vines. Unibrow made not a sound as he completely disappeared from view.

  “What the… ?” Wart Nose scrambled for the gyrocopter. The marmot climbed onto the boulder and hurled her rock, which hit Wart Nose in the back of the head. “AHHH!” Wa
rt Nose cried. As Walnut poured more seeds into his palm, Rolo flew from a tree and dropped another rock onto Wart Nose’s head. More shoots flew through the air and entangled Wart Nose before he could climb into the gyrocopter. With an eerie whoosh they completely encased him and he disappeared from sight.

  Isabelle ran out from behind the boulder. She circled the large green lump that had once been Mr. Supreme’s unibrowed assistant. “Was that magic?” she asked.

  “Indeed,” Walnut replied, folding the seed packet and returning it to his pocket. “My tending skills make things grow extra fast. It’s mostly annoying but sometimes it comes in handy.”

  Sage rolled the green lump to the side of the trail.

  “Is he dead?” The question made Isabelle queasy.

  “Oh, no. If I had wanted to kill him I would have used the seeds from the Piranha Plant.” Walnut wiped his hands on his coat. “I used Vice Vines, aptly named for their vice-like grip. They are happiest when they have something, or in this case, someone, to squeeze. Vice Vines, however, have very short attention spans and quickly grow bored with squeezing.”

  “Then we’d better get going,” Sage said, rolling the second lump to the side of the road. “There’s no telling how many more of Supreme’s goons are out here. I’ll go get the caravan.” He ran off.

  “Isabelle,” Walnut said, placing a hand gently on her shoulder. “We tenders do not normally use magic for violent purposes. But there are times when it is necessary.” He straightened his hat. “But an untrained tender should never use Vice Vines because they can backfire. I learned that the hard way and it was six whole months before I returned to my normal shape.”

  Isabelle imagined flinging Vice Vines at Mama Lu. The tenants would cheer as the blue bathrobe and fleshy face disappeared, until all that stuck out was a pair of enormous fuzzy slippers.

  Under Sage’s guidance, the oxen pushed the gyrocopter off the trail and into the rushing river. The travelers climbed onto the caravan’s bench where Sage took the reins, with Isabelle and Walnut on either side. The marmot curled up on Isabelle’s lap. “I think she threw that rock to protect you,” Isabelle told Sage.

  “I think you’re right.” Sage patted the marmot’s head.

  “Marmoticus Terriblus never miss their target,” Walnut said.

  Isabelle stretched her kelp shirt over the marmot’s body, enclosing her little friend in a warm cocoon. “I’m going to name her Rocky.”

  Isabelle’s eyelids began to droop. She didn’t have the energy to ask all the new questions that had lined up in her mind. Her neck felt rubbery and her head fell forward a few times. She closed her eyes, vaguely aware that the oxen had pulled off the trail. She dozed for a while, until Walnut took her hand. “Wake up, Isabelle.”

  A sheer rock wall towered before them, so tall that Isabelle could not see where it ended. “Isabelle,” Walnut said, “I’d like you to go and touch the side of that mountain.”

  Sage frowned. “Not yet. She has to make the promise.”

  “I don’t think that’s necessary. She can do that later.”

  “She must make the promise.”

  “Oh, very well.” Walnut pulled a piece of lichen from Isabelle’s hair. “Isabelle, all Fortunes must make a solemn promise to never reveal the whereabouts of Fortune’s Farm. Are you willing to do this?”

  She rubbed her sleepy eyes. “You mean I can’t tell anyone? Not even Gwen?”

  “No one. You must also promise never to take anything from Fortune’s Farm without the Head Tender’s permission. The Head Tender is currently your grandfather.”

  “I won’t take anything,” she said. “I’m not a thief.”

  “Swear it,” Sage demanded. “Swear it on your life.”

  She was fully awake now. “I swear it. I swear it on my life!” She spoke so loudly that it sent her into a coughing fit.

  “Poor little thing. We’ll get you better in no time.” Walnut smiled reassuringly. “Now, go and place your hand on that mountain.”

  Isabelle climbed down from the driver’s bench.

  The rock wall looked as smooth and black as an umbrella. She glanced back at her great-uncle, who nodded encouragingly. She reached out and placed her palm against the cold surface. A delicate vibration arose, growing stronger and stronger. The wall began to move. Isabelle darted behind an ox’s head, watching over its twitching ears as black leaves popped out from the wall. The leaves continued to emerge until they had formed a large patch. Then they fanned out, revealing a tunnel.

  “Well done,” Walnut said, clapping his hands. Even Sage was smiling. “Only a tender’s warm hands can do that. Those plants are called Camouflage Creepers.”

  Sage leapt from the caravan. “Follow me,” he told Isabelle. With Rolo on his shoulder, he led the oxen through the tunnel. Once everyone had passed through, the leaves shuddered and the tunnel entrance closed. The travelers stood in total darkness.

  “I’ve got one here somewhere. Just a moment,” Walnut mumbled, searching his pockets. “Right. Found it.” He pulled out a glowing blade of grass. The light bounced off the tunnel walls.

  Isabelle followed Sage as they made their way. Eve the cat meowed from inside the caravan, so Walnut opened a little window behind the driver’s seat and she leapt onto his lap.

  The tunnel ended at a ridge. Isabelle ran in front of Sage. Emptiness lay before her as time hung between the moon’s departure and the sun’s arrival. Nothing, she thought. Just a big fat disappointment after all.

  Nothing. No one. Nowhere.

  But with the first trickle of dawn, Isabelle’s heart soared. All the thousands of times she had imagined Nowhere, it had never looked like this.

  Walnut stood on the driver’s bench and held out his hands. “Welcome, Isabelle Fortune. Welcome to Fortune’s Farm.”

  A rosy glow crowned the distant mountain, then spread across the sky like spilled dye. Isabelle clutched Rocky to her chest as tendrils of gold and red washed down the mountain as fast as a coursing river, illuminating the valley below. An “ooh” and an “ahh” slid from her lips, for no words could express her amazement.

  The birds awoke. A delicate twitter was joined by another, quickly building to a symphony of song. Rolo added his own notes as he flew off.

  Though she didn’t want to, Isabelle had to turn away and shut her eyes. The light had become too much to bear. The marmot wiggled from her grasp and jumped to the ground.

  “You need these.” Walnut pressed something against her nose. “Sunglasses, my dear.” He slid the ends over her ears. “You can open your eyes now. But don’t look directly at the sun. Never do that.”

  The sun.

  Isabelle opened her eyes. The glasses felt strange but the brightness didn’t hurt anymore. She looked out over the ridge.

  The valley came to life in soft yellow light. A meadow sparkled with morning dew. A stream meandered through, criss-crossed by brightly painted bridges. To the right lay an orchard with trees planted in perfect rows. Their tops jiggled as songbirds continued their morning exultation. To the left lay a checkerboard garden, with little dirt paths between the plantings. Past the meadow sat an enormous glass building, a red barn, and a thatched roof cottage where smoke trailed from a chimney. A stone tower stood behind the cottage. Its little thatched roof looked like a hat. At the edge of the valley, just below the mountain, sat a lake shaped like a half round of cheese with an island in the middle.

  Still, Isabelle couldn’t find the words. “It’s so… It’s so…”

  “Beautiful?” Walnut asked.

  “More than that.”

  “Splendiferous?”

  “Much, much more.”

  “Hmmm.” Walnut removed his knit hat and scratched his bald spot. “Radiant? Dazzling? Breathtakingly stupendous?”

  “No. It’s… delicious.”

  And so it was, for Isabelle’s puckered skin drank up the sun’s rays like a dried-out sea sponge drinks salt water. She rolled up the kelp suit’s sleeves an
d held out her arms. So this was what it felt like to be warm all over—like an enormous hug. She wanted to feel the sun on her face, so she took off the sunglasses. Something had changed and she didn’t seem to need them any longer.

  Walnut pulled his glasses from his pocket and perched them on his nose. “How interesting,” he whispered, gazing through the thick lenses. “My oh my. What an unexpected change. Your eyes, my dear. They’ve turned green.”

  “My eyes?”

  Walnut stepped closer. “And your skin. Take a look.”

  Isabelle inspected her arm. The skin that had always been as puckered as a dried-up slug and as pale as moonlight, looked smooth and slightly pink. Her other arm had transformed in the same way and the mold patches had disappeared. “You look lovely. Sage, doesn’t she look lovely?”

  Sage stared from behind his tangled hair. Isabelle felt certain he’d tell her she was still as ugly as ever. But he just stared.

  “Sage? Isn’t she lovely?”

  Sage looked down at his feet. “I don’t know.”

  “Of course you know. Just look at her. Why, she’s radiant.”

  Sage cringed. “She looks… better, I guess.” He turned away. “What do I care what she looks like, anyway?” He and the oxen started down the path, with Eve the cat leading the way. Rocky the marmot followed, scurrying here and there, stopping to smell ox poop and everything else she encountered.

  “Come,” Walnut said, tipping his hat. “There’s so much to show you.”

  The path continued its steep decline, then leveled at the edge of the orchard. Sage unhooked the oxen. As they lumbered off, he shot Isabelle another puzzled look. He can barely stand to look at me, she thought. I’m the ugliest girl he’s ever seen.

  “I’m starving. I need some breakfast,” Sage said. Abandoning the caravan, he ran off through the trees. Eve the cat hissed at the marmot, then followed Sage, bounding down the orchard path with her tail perched regally in the air.

  “Don’t mind him,” Walnut said, taking Isabelle’s hand. “We haven’t had a girl around this farm in a very long time. Just been us three boys. Sage doesn’t quite know how to act around girls. I’m sure he doesn’t mean to be so rude.”