“Haunted.”
This time Johnny didn’t startle. He merely turned around and said, “As, it would seem, am I.”
“Oh, aye. That you are.” The stranger smiled his gap-toothed smile; Johnny closed his eyes and sighed. He was not shot or stabbed through the heart. Nothing happened but that the man continued speaking. “That you are, Johnny boy. You took something as don’t belong to you, and Herself be wanting it back.”
He had no idea what the man was talking about, but he doubted that protesting his innocence would help matters much. Anyway, if he was accusing himself of stealing something, he was unlikely to convince himself that he was wrong, wasn’t he? Playing along might see him find his way to a town, and a physician. “What does… Herself think I took?”
The robber shrugged and looked rueful. “No telling with Her.”
“Then how does she expect me to give it back?” Though, if he weren’t delusional and the lady wanted something he’d taken unwittingly, he was probably safe until she got it back. Whatever it was. So Johnny dusted off a chair with the brim of his hat as he waited for the other man to speak. He sat down and found himself on the floor, the chair fallen to pieces from the weight.
The stranger guffawed, twirled Johnny’s gun and settled himself down on the floor too. “Your horse or your life she ordered. You pick one.” The man drummed on his knee with the fingers of his free hand. The gun lay on the ground beside him. “I like you, Johnny boy. Remind me of a son I knew once. Themselves love games and riddles. ‘Tisn’t fair to play when you’ve no knowledge of the rules.”
Johnny sighed. “So you’ll help me?” He started to dust off his hat as the man shook his head.
“Bound not to. Your horse or your life. Best you decide before Herself gets bored.”
So Johnny thought as he tried to get the dust off his hat. He couldn’t hear Bessie outside, but he had two options. Either none of it was real and he was just suffering from heat exhaustion or it was all real. If the former, he and Bessie were in no danger from the stranger. If the latter, the man didn’t seem particularly inclined to decide for Johnny; he just sat opposite of him, still as a boulder. Either way, Johnny was young and he had no desire to die yet. Giving the man, or Herself, his life wasn’t worth considering, but giving over Bessie in the middle of nowhere was suicide just as surely. He mulled it over a while longer to see if he could find any other solution, but after a while he said, “I guess I should let you take Bessie.” As crest-fallen as the robber looked, even though he jumped to his feet, Johnny still had to raise his hand to keep him from speaking. “Haven’t decided.”
The man sat back down.
“If you take my life,” Johnny continued, trying to dislodge a particularly annoying bit of dirt from his hat, “you’ll only take the horse anyway. And if you take the horse, you’ll only have my life later.” Johnny certainly hoped that the way the man’s mouth twitched into a grin was a sign of approval rather than a trap. Regardless, he carried on. “I’ll let you have the horse once I’ve found a town.” If he found a town.
“Dead horses are no good.”
Johnny shrugged. He studied his hat’s cleanliness a moment and put it back on. “If you’re haunting me, you can come to take her before she dies.”
“Aye, but there’s no guarantee you’ll die before the horse.”
“That’s what makes it a game.” Johnny grinned. “Where’s the fun in playing if Herself doesn’t risk losing anything?” He froze halfway through getting up when the robber pointed the gun at him.
“Only if you’ll ride the green roads for me.”
Holding his hands out in a shrug, Johnny said, “Sure.” If it got him out of whatever mess his brain had come up with, he could certainly ride the highway like he should’ve been doing in the first place. It was only desperation and hallucination had driven him off. When the stranger teetered, Johnny didn’t help him, though he did thank him for returning his gun at last. He stuck it back in its holster, then left to prepare for the journey.
“Here. I’ll show you one of the roads,” the stranger said, having followed him outside. “They get easier to spot after a while.”
“That’s very kind of you.” His robber even helped him prepare rations and canteens, but it still took them until twilight to get everything ready and Bessie saddled. She begged the man for more sugar; he gave her some and stroked her nose, muttering to the horse in a language Johnny didn’t understand. Reluctantly, the man stepped away from her.
“The green road’s just there.”
Johnny looked where he was bidden, but even so it took him a while to find the bright greenery shimmering just in the corner of his eye. It took him longer to manage to catch hold of it so he didn’t lose it immediately. “I see it.”
The man nodded and grinned his gap-toothed grin again. “May the best player win.”
“Thanks.” But he wasn’t sure the man had wished him luck. In any case, he wanted no reply and he got none because the man and the oasis vanished from around him. The highway remained. It looked just as green as the first had done, but it was still a highway and he was very likely addled in the brain.
Bessie danced away when he tried to spur her onto the highway several times before Johnny had the idea to ride beside it, close enough to see how it ran and far enough to calm his horse. He hoped that the next town he came to had a good physician.
When the wind laughed behind Johnny, he could just about convince himself it didn’t sound like a girl.
Bessie is a perfectly good name for a horse. All of my beta-readers told me that it wasn’t, that it was an absolutely terrible name for a horse. Bessie does not agree with them. At all.
I know this because I’ve tried to change her name and got stuck immediately. Given how stubborn and how much trouble she was to write, I think it’s entirely possible that Bessie is, in fact, a pony and I have severely messed up my horse-writing skills. (Which, admittedly, are only as good as they are because I had fantastic betas.)
There once was a poem that wouldn’t play ball.
It wriggled and writhed ’til it came to a fall.
Into the ocean and down it went!
Struggling and fighting ’til all strength was spent.
And still the poet ran into a wall.
Limericks are how I got into poetry when I was a little girl! I love limericks! They’re brilliant fun to work on. If I recall correctly, this one was written to vent my frustrations about getting my poetic retelling of The Frog Prince to work how I’d wanted to.
Even though this piece didn’t help me as much as I’d hoped, I enjoyed working on it and I hope it brings a smile to people’s faces!
– Why’s Granny not here, Krista?
– Because she’s sick, midget. The physician told everyone she has to have rest, so mamma will be telling us a story instead.
– But I wanna know ‘bout the box! Granny promised!
– Granny’s sick. So mamma promised to tell us a story instead.
– I don’t want mam’s story! I want Granny’s!
– Granmamma isn’t here, small-fey. She can’t tell you a story.
– I don’t want mam’s story! I want Granny’s! I WANT GRANNY!
Alva… Mammam isn’t here. She’s very sick and if she heard you yelling so she’d never tell you a story again. There. That’s better. Don’t cry, dearheart. Mammam’ll get better again, don’t you worry none. She always does. Now. This is a maerje, as I’ve heard it told in times past. Mark the way of it that the tale won’t be lost. Once there lived a young girl and her brother, and they ran away from home together.
– Why? Mam! Krista hit me!
Pffffffhhh. It’s a wonder Mammam hasn’t yet lost her temper with you both. Krista, tomorrow morning you can help carry water from the well.
– But –
No ‘but’s. Your sister is not a plaything. And, Alva, you must behave yourself better as well. It isn’t polite to interrupt a storyteller. You’re bo
th respectable, young ladies and should act accordingly.
– Yes, mamma.
Well, then. Let’s try this again. This is a maerje, as I’ve heard it told in times past. Mark the way of it that the tale won’t be lost. Once there lived a young girl and her brother, and they ran away from home together because their stepmother was a mean witch who consorted with the unseelie, and she had used her magic to make their father fall in love with her and marry her. The brother, Coen, feared that the witch would soon turn her attention to his sister, for she was very beautiful and the hag’s own daughter was not. That was why, one night, Coen convinced his sister to run away with him. When their stepmother found out that the children had gone, she went into a rage that would make even Mammam shake in her boots with fear.
– Where’d they go, mamma?
Ach, didn’t I tell you girls not to interrupt? They were just children, Krista. Not too much older than you. They went into the nearby forest and hoped to lose their stepmother that way.
…
– Buuuuuut?..
But they didn’t, of course. No wonder Mammam has such troubles with you. They didn’t lose their stepmother at all. The witch called on all the unseelie spirits she could to find the children and drive them back home. She called on them to poison the waters in the forest and sour the berries and the herbs the children might find to eat, so that thirst and hunger would either kill them, drive them back to her, or ensnare them in her witchcraft. She did not need them, per se, but they would have been useful.
However, some of the Good Folk took pity on the children that had run into their forest for protection. The unseelie magic was too strong for them to undo on their own, so they merely worked to temper it. When the children saw blackberries in the distance, the kind forest fey would hide them when they got nearer and the paths the children took always led them away from water instead of towards.
Hush, Alva. Coen had been wise enough to bring food and water for them both, but such does not last forever and the goodwill of Themselves can change as fast as the weather. When the children ran out of water, they searched for it in earnest. Coen knew that they could not survive for long without it and, while their father had taken the boy into the forest with him many times, he was lost. The Good Folk had led them far from any paths Coen knew or might have recognised. Worse yet the children did not know that the Fair Folk of the forest were watching over them. And so, unrewarded, the fey now let the children wander where they would. In time, Coen and his sister, Aoife, stumbled across a stream.
Coen wished to drink from it, for he had given much of his share to his sister and he was thirsty, but one of the water-nymphs that lived in the stream saw him. The small fey lost her heart to him for she could see he would grow up very handsomely and, her voice rushing like the stream, she said to him, “Whoever drinks from me will become a lion.” Coen did not hear her words, but his sister did and she stopped her brother from drinking the water.
– But why didn’t Coen hear her, mam?
– Because he’s an idiot.
Krista! Coen didn’t hear because he was too thirsty to think of anything else. As I told you, he had given much of his water to Aoife and he was thirsty. He listened to her when she told him what the water-nymph had said, though. They walked on and Coen gave the last of his bread to his sister, so when they came upon some wild strawberries Coen felt he was starving and wanted to eat them. It had started raining as they’d walked, however, for the water-nymph had followed them. Her voice like pitter-patter, she sang, “Whoever eats me will become a wolf”, and again it was Aoife who heard the nymph and saved her brother from the unseelie magic.
Now, with evening falling, Coen and Aoife sought a place to rest. They searched long until they found an old oak tree with a hollowed base big enough for them both. They nestled in its embrace and shivered through the night.
The next morning they wandered on in hopes of finding some kind of woodsman who could help them. All day the children wandered, hungry and thirsty and wet with rain, but not a single berry, nut, or glimpse of water did they see.
Eventually, a glint caught Coen’s eye and he ran. He ran too fast for Aoife to keep up with him, though the water-nymph followed him easily. Coen ran all the way to a large stream. Her voice like a ripple, the nymph said to Coen, “Whoever drinks me will become a deer,” but the boy was too thirsty to hear and his sister too far away. He filled his little flask and ran back to Aoife, to let her take the first sip.
Aoife refused, remembering too well the warnings of the water-nymph, and she begged her brother not to drink this time either, to drink from her share. Coen would not listen to her and drank from the flask. Their stepmother’s unseelie magic rippled through his body even as the water did and Aoife cried at the sight of the fawn-who-was-her-brother.
In time she wove a collar of grass for his neck and used her belt as a leash, so that her brother might never flee from her and be lost in the magical forest. Hungry, thirsty, and with aching heart and bleeding feet, Aoife slowly found her way out and into lands too filled with iron for the Fair Folk to follow.
She wandered further on and on until she found a small, deserted hunter’s cabin in another forest. When Aoife was certain that no one was using the cabin, she made it her home, though her fawn-brother was never allowed outside for fear that hunters would shoot him.
It happened one day that Aoife did not close the door properly, or perhaps the water-nymph had found them, or perhaps it was their stepmother’s evil magic — no one knows — but the door was open and Coen darted into the forest and did not return until nightfall.
The next day too he managed to escape the cabin and run wild, but that day a hunter found him and almost wounded him. The hunter gave chase until nightfall when Coen returned home and what did the man see but the prettiest girl he had ever laid eyes on? The hunter saw her put her arms around the deer and cry into the soft fur, and suddenly he was glad that he had not wounded the beast. Are you falling asleep, Alva?
– ‘m not sleepy.
– Of course she’s not sleepy, mamma. I’m not sleepy either. Granmamma always tells us longer stories. Please finish it. Granmamma never finishes her stories.
No, darling. I’ll finish the story tomorrow night. I promise. Right now it’s bedtime. Look at you both, yawning like you’re about to swallow the moon whole. For tonight, you shall sleep. Be good girls. I’ll be back tomorrow.
You were very good today, dearhearts, and I’m very proud of you. I know how hard you worked on those recitals.
– Will you finish the story, mamma?
Yes, liefie, I will. I did promise and you were both wonderful today. Mammam said she’s feeling much better too, so hopefully she’ll be able to tell you stories again soon. Now, girls, do remember what I told you yesterday. It isn’t polite to interrupt a storyteller, so please refrain.
– What’s ‘refrain’?
It means you shouldn’t do it, Alva. Now both of you snuggle under the covers. Hop, hop.
…
There. All ready? Good. I left the story at the cabin, when the hunter had just seen Aoife hugging her transformed brother. Do you remember?
– Yes, mamma.
Wonderful. All right then. This is a maerje, as I’ve heard it told in times past. Mark the way of it that the tale won’t be lost. The hunter left Aoife and her brother as quietly as he’d approached, so they never knew that he was there. When he’d returned to the castle, he told the king all that had happened in the woods.
The next day, Coen managed to escape the cabin a third time and it was much like the first and the second. Early that morning Aoife left the cabin to wash, forage and find kindling, certain she had closed and barred the door, but even so Coen managed to free himself and run wild in the forest.
While she was gone, the hunter led the king to the cabin and bade him hide there and see what would happen come the evening. For all the long day, the hunter chased Coen, but he never loosed an arrow and when
evening fell the fawn returned home, unharmed, to his sister. Again, Aoife embraced her brother and cried in his fur and, in that moment, the king came forward to declare his presence and startled the siblings.
Released from his sister’s hold, the fawn sprang back into the forest. The king spoke to her of love and riches, but Aoife strained to run after her brother and would hear none of the king’s promises if she could not take her fawn with her. Love made the king relent so he bade the hunter catch the fawn and took both the girl and her brother to his castle. He gave Coen a finely threaded golden band as collar and married Aoife.
And a sad day that was for the two children for their stepmother, having thought them dead long ago, had moved to that kingdom with her daughter and they too had been invited to the wedding.
– Mam? Where’s their pappa?
Well… The poor woodcutter had died of a broken heart long ago, Alva, for even grand sorcery cannot quell the love of a pure heart. When the witch learned of her stepdaughter’s good fortune, she was filled with a terrible rage and she vowed that her true-daughter would take that fortune for her own instead. She charmed her way to the king and his new queen. Aoife was glad to see her stepmother and sister and saddened to hear of her father’s death, but Coen made as much fuss as a fawn can because he did not trust them.
They lived a while like that, liefies, with the king and queen content in their union, the witch and her true-daughter plotting and waiting. Coen was too well-watched and beloved for them to get at him, but finally the witch managed to charm one of the fawn’s attendants into helping them. The poor boy chased the fawn into the woods and caught another deer in his place. Now, the witch thought, Coen would not be able to trouble them in their scheme.
– I bet he comes back.
Wait and hear, Krista. You might be surprised.
Feather by Feather and Other Stories Page 13
