by Anita Valle
Eravis smiled. “Hungry?” He held out a small canvas bag cradled in his palm. It was filled with sugared almonds.
“Thank you,” said Heidel, digging out a handful. Eravis had removed his plumed cap and hung it from his belt. His dark hair had become flattened and Heidel felt an urge to comb it with her fingers. She popped the nuts in her mouth and decided not to look at him.
“Why are you here?” she asked.
“Thought I’d watch this time. It’s rare that I attend the contests.” Eravis shook out some more nuts and handed the bag to Heidel.
“What should we expect?” Heidel asked. “Do you know the rules? Are they the same every year?”
Eravis shook his head, chewing. “They change. And usually one rule presents some kind of challenge.”
“Such as?”
“One year the cakes had to be small enough to eat in one mouthful. You couldn’t cut down a larger cake – my father could tell. It had to be baked small.”
Heidel laughed. “That must’ve been hilarious! All those tiny cakes.”
“Yes... but after the contest there were no tasty leftovers.” Eravis grinned.
“I was there,” a nearby baker spoke up, a short, slouchy fellow with bowed legs. “Devilish hard that contest was. Came in seventh, I did. I been tryin’ to win this contest fourteen years now.”
“Fourteen years?” Heidel and Eravis said together. The slouchy fellow nodded. “Once you win, everything changes. Folk’ll pay more for your pastries. You get orders from high-ranking nobles. Some winners even get employed in a king’s kitchen.”
Heidel raised her eyebrows. This must be what drew most of the bakers: the prestige. Yet her incentives were entirely different. She wanted the prize recipe book. She wanted to conquer her cake-baking weakness. And honestly, she just wanted to win something. So long as Eravis couldn’t enter, she stood a chance.
The air was suddenly split by the boisterous melody of trumpets. Heidel’s heart leapt and she raised her eyes to the wooden deck.
No one was there.
The trumpets blared their joyful notes again and the bakers began to twist in bewilderment. Then someone cried, “He’s over there!”
“What?” Heidel cursed the shortness that kept her below everyone’s shoulders. “Where is he?”
Eravis lifted up on his toes to peer above the crowd. He sank down again, rolling his eyes. “He’s sitting on the church steps.” He sighed. “Where else?”
It took several minutes of awkward shuffling for the bakers to reassemble themselves before Merridell Cathedral at the south end of the square. King Erlamon had seated himself on the stone steps that swept upward to the red church doors. Two trumpeters in liveries were positioned at the top of the stairs, and Maelyn stood rigidly by the king’s side as if trying to lend the scene what decorum she could.
Heidel bit her lip. King Erlamon hardly looked regal or famous, still wearing the motley jester’s cap with small bells dangling from the prongs. His fingers, loosely interlaced, formed a bridge between his knees; he held no scepter or scroll of parchment to indicate authority, and smiled at the bakers as if they were family.
“Welcome, my friends.” He spoke softly and a respectful hush fell over the bakers. They bunched closer to the steps to hear him.
“Many years ago, on a dull winter’s night, I posed a challenge to my kitchen staff: who could bake the finest cake? The contest was intended to relieve the tedium, both for them and for myself. Five goldens to the winner. Their response was enthusiastic and the cakes they made, surprisingly good. The following year they asked to do it again... and they told their friends.”
A ripple of laughter crossed the crowd.
“Seventeen years later this contest has become an event of great prominence. Each and every year I seek the same thing: quality. Do not try to impress me with a cake taller than I am, do not dribble it with gems and jewels, do not conceal live animals inside to surprise me. Quality. Nothing more.”
The bakers nodded. Heidel too. It surprised her how lucid the king sounded, his speech free of the usual oddities. There was no lack of focus. They were in his world now, the realm of food, and here he flourished.
“Please, Sire, what are the rules?” The spritely girl could not control her eagerness. The king did not seem offended, though other bakers frosted the girl in icy glares. He reached inside his tunic and withdrew a small object, closing his fingers around it. “You shall receive only one rule today.”
The bakers were silent.
“One rule today?” said Heidel.
“Yes.” Erlamon nodded. “Three rules. Three days. You must come at sundown, each day, to hear the next.”
Heidel’s eyes shifted among the bakers, noticing that their eyes shifted among each other. She suspected this had never been done.
“All right, then. Let’s here it!” said the slouchy fellow.
Erlamon held up the object in his hand. It was one of Ivy’s stones, painted to resemble a piece of red fruit. “Every cake entered into this contest must include this particular fruit. Do you know what it is?”
“A cherry,” the spritely girl said instantly. King Erlamon shook his head, bells jingling.
“It’s an apple, of course,” said the long-nosed woman, still annoyed.
“No. Not an apple.” King Erlamon smiled.
Heidel’s heart sank like a spoon lost in a bowl of porridge. Erlamon had come to Runa. It made sense that he should choose an ingredient native to that realm. One of the world’s most unobtainable delicacies.
“Lumen fruit,” she whispered.
Chapter 21
Merridell was far behind them. Creaklee too. Night had settled over the meadow and the night was far too big.
Too big. That’s what Heidel thought as she rode her horse beneath the stars, sprinkled like salt on a black dish of sky. Night had a way of reminding you how small you were, how trivial. How your cares and ambitions were no more significant than the insects crooning in the grass.
“Ow! Something bit me!” Coralina slapped at her neck. The pearly moon traced her cheekbone, her right arm clasping the halter, but otherwise she and her horse were dark shapes, weakly defined.
Heidel blew the air from her cheeks. “Sorry, Coco. I didn’t think it would be this far.” They both wore short swords belted around their hips, and Heidel had brought along Squire for added safety. But still she felt exposed and unguarded, a vessel on the swells of a great black ocean.
“Not much further,” Coralina said casually. “The pines are beginning to thicken. Remember, Hexwick is a forest village. You don’t see it until you’re in it.”
Hexwick.
Heidel shook her head in disbelief. Her father had always warned her of Hexwick, forbidden his daughters to go there. A shady village of rogues and scoundrels, dishonorable women, and even worse: folk who dabbled in witchcraft and dark rituals. Joc had gone there on occasion to buy special ingredients for medicine, things he claimed could be found nowhere else. But Heidel had never been there.
“I still think this could’ve waited for morning,” Coralina mumbled.
Heidel shook her head emphatically. “Once that sun pops, the bakers will become like ants, scurrying for Lumen fruit. They’ll try Merridell first, then Creaklee. And somewhere along the way, they’ll hear that Hexwick is the place to go. I’ve got to get there first.”
“Why should Hexwick have Lumen fruit?” Coralina asked. “How do they get it?”
“Can’t imagine,” said Heidel. “But whenever Joc needed Lumen fruit, that’s where he went.” And usually he got it.”
They rode in silence for several minutes. Heidel could hear the whispering rush of a nearby river, the rhythmic thud of their horses’ hooves, the croaks and chirrups of night creatures. Squire jogged along by her stirrup, panting happily at his unexpected adventure.
“Oh - another thing!” Coralina cried. “You certainly surprised me after the festival, saying ‘Take me to Hexwick, I know you’ve b
een there.’ How did you know?”
Heidel snorted. “Let’s see, Coco, what was his name? Haggis?”
“Haegan!” Coralina bent into her horse’s mane, laughing. “I thought no one knew!”
“We all knew you had a secret lover in Hexwick. You dropped too many hints.”
She could feel more than see Coralina’s grin. “Well, I was only sixteen. And proud of myself for sneaking into Hexwick. Haegan was so deliciously rough and reckless, after a diet of polished princes I found him refreshing.”
“What happened to him?” Heidel asked.
“Oh....” Coralina shrugged. “I think I met someone else.”
Heidel shook her head. That was Coco.
The scattered trees began to cluster more thickly, knitting themselves into a forest of oak and pine. The princesses slid off their saddles and ignited small torches. Heidel couldn’t help a wary scan of her surroundings. Trunks of varying width and texture, the closer ones yellowed by torchlight; scruffy ferns and branches edging the dirt path; rocks, fallen branches, animal sounds. Heidel had expected something more sinister. At least a few skeletons.
“Where’s the village?” Heidel whispered. She held the horse’s bridle, guiding him forward, while her other hand clutched the torch. The sword felt strange, an unexpected weight swinging at her thigh.
“We’re in it,” said Coralina. “See?” She waved her torch to one side. Heidel squinted. Behind a thinning patch of trees, she could just make out a small hut, huddled in darkness.
“One house?” said Heidel.
“One here, one there.” Coralina lifted her skirt to avoid a murky puddle. “Hexwickers don’t bunch their homes together, like other villages. Most of the homes are solitary. Too lazy to cut down the trees, I guess - they shove their little shacks into whatever pockets of space they can find.”
“Don’t they have a common gathering place?” Heidel asked. Before Coralina could reply, the foliage crackled and a young woman slid out of the forest and stood before them.
“Welcome to Hexwick, Princesses of Runa.”
Chapter 22
Heidel’s heart flipped like a griddle cake. She wondered if she was meeting her first ‘dishonorable woman’ and felt equal helpings fascination and fear.
The woman was perhaps a few years older than they. She wore a red dress, slightly tattered, that bared her pale shoulders, a bright purple sash, and strings of wooden beads that hung from her neck and looped around her ankles. Her dark hair had grown long and unruly from lack of comb or scissors, and her feet were bare.
“You’ve come to seek my power,” the woman purred. “My name is Zarana. I can reveal your fates.”
Heidel recovered quickly. “Fortune teller,” she muttered from the corner of her mouth. To her great dismay, Coralina perked up with excitement. At least Squire had the good sense to growl.
“Thank you. I don’t think we need your... power,” said Heidel, trying hard not to dip her tongue in sarcasm. “We’re looking for Lumen fruit.”
“You must first hear your fortunes, Princesses of Runa,” said Zarana.
“See?” Coralina turned bedazzled eyes on Heidel. “She knows who we are!”
“Yes, Coco. The crowns on our heads had nothing to do with that.”
Zarana approached Coralina with slinking footsteps. “You,” she murmured. “You are in pain. You long for something beyond your grasp.”
Coralina nodded, purple eyes wide. She seemed in awe of the fortune teller.
“Come. I will ease your sorrow.” The woman raised an arm, gesturing to the small hut they had glimpsed in the forest before.
Coralina passed her horse’s reins to Heidel. “I won’t be long.”
“Coco!” Heidel hissed. “It’s a sham! There’s nothing she can tell you!”
“Maybe. Maybe not.” Coralina raised her lips to Heidel’s ear. “I want to see what she says about Gord. And perhaps she’ll tell me where to find the Lumen fruit.”
Heidel hesitated. “Well... two minutes! Leave your purse and your crown and your jewelry with me. Keep the sword.”
While she waited, Heidel fed an apple to each of the horses and scraped their hooves clean. She refused to show how relieved she felt when Coralina returned.
Heidel tossed the reins back to her sister. “So what did the fortune tramp say?”
Coralina’s smile was peaceful. “She said I will find true love.”
Heidel made a disgusted sound. “Please don’t tell me how much you paid to hear that. What about the Lumen fruit?”
“Oh.” Coralina lead her horse forward. “Half a mile ahead – Thumbscrew Tavern. I’ve been there.”
Chapter 23
They tied their horses to a post outside the tavern. At least the yard seemed to justify Heidel’s notions of Hexwick. Lots of bones –mostly chicken. Some broken chairs. A rat slinking along the base of the wall, tail flicking.
The tavern was a two-story cabin of logs, weatherworn but sturdy. Yellow light oozed from the lower windows, those above were shuttered. The forest cramped the cabin on three sides, leaving only the rubbish-ridden yard. Looking up, Heidel found the moon glittering behind a mesh of black leaves. It must be close to midnight.
“You’ve been here before?” Heidel whispered, eyeing the heavy door behind which came a rumble of men’s voices. Coralina opened her lantern to blow out the candle inside. “Don’t worry. Hexwickers are more strange than dangerous.” She tugged on the door, holding it so Heidel could enter with Squire.
An unpleasant odor. Well, Heidel had expected that. Like sweat and meat and some kind of salty broth. Weak light, muddy yellow. And men, lots of them, crouched around tables. Again Heidel was disappointed. These were not as she’d imagined Hexwick men to be. She had pictured scars, missing eyes and fingers, bones in their ears, blood on their teeth. Men that matched the stories she’d always been fed.
But these men just looked like peasants. Rough. Muscled. Unshaven. Shabby. Laughing over their tankards of ale. One, at least, had a long scar crossing his cheek. Heidel was somewhat mollified.
Squire gave a hostile growl but it wasn’t the noise that drew the men’s attention. Heidel wondered how it must look, two shiny princesses in this haven of brown, with their clean skin, soft hair, and fresh summer smell. As usual, Coralina wore her gown far too low on her bosom. Heidel had also been blessed with a generous chest, but she knew better than to lay it on a platter and serve it to the eyes of men.
Heidel nudged Squire to shush him, and cleared her throat. “Good evening, gentlemen. Please pardon our intrusion, but we’ve come-”
“Coco?” a white-haired man spoke up from behind the serving counter. “That you, Sweetpea?”
“Irch. Hello.” Coralina smiled awkwardly.
“It is!” Irch slapped the counter and laughed. “Our little Coco, fellas! She’s back!” The men around the tables snickered and called out greetings to Coralina.
Heidel trained a glare on her sister that said, ‘Coco?’ Whatever happened to ‘Princess?’ Though Heidel never was a stickler for formality, that was just too familiar.
“What’s your name, Red?” a deep voice asked. Heidel’s head spun back from Coralina. Another man, a young one, stood by her elbow. Dark hair and chin stubble, grinning with yellow teeth. “You’re a cute one.”
Heidel suddenly remembered her sword. She wondered if trying to stab the man would be considered an irrational response.
“Get off her, Rudley!” Coralina laughed and slapped the man away. “She’s here to see Irch, not you!”
“What about you?” The man shifted his dark eyes to Coralina. “Haegan’s not here, you know. Got a new girl now. Third one since you left, I think.”
“Wait.” Irch crept around the counter, staring at Heidel. “We know that one. The Healin’ Princess!”
Several men murmured agreement. “Remember me, m’lady?” one of them cried. “You treated my sore toe!” Heidel nodded, though in truth she remembered his hideous hangn
ail more than his face.
“And me!” Another man waved a dirty hand. “I came last fall when I couldn’t keep my food down. You cleared it right up.”
“Ginger tea.” Heidel nodded again. “It helps to soothe the stomach.”
The hangnail man thumped his fist on the table. “More ale, Irch! We drink to the Healin’ Princess!”
Heidel was rarely thanked for her work. She didn’t need it. Yet it was gratifying to see a roomful of men raising their tankards to wish her health and wealth. She smiled graciously, glad that she wasn’t a crier.
“Ask Irch about the Lumen fruit,” Coralina whispered. “I’ll take care of the men.” She tapped the man called Rudley on the shoulder and asked if he would sing a duet with her. His response was enthusiastic.
Heidel walked the long way around the tables and climbed onto a stood by the serving counter. Irch smiled at her, wiping his hands on a rag. He had a large head, thinning white hair, and a bulbous nose. The kind of face one remembered.
“Well! How can I be of service, m’lady? Must say, it’s a real treat having you in Hexwick. Bring any of them healin’ potions with you?”
“My medicines? No.”
“Ah, well. Wouldn’t make no difference. Got a fellow upstairs, sick as a dying cow. Shame.”
“Oh!” said Heidel. “What’s wrong with him?”
“Came here tonight healthy as a hound, drinkin’ with his chums. When he started sweatin’ and grumblin’ ‘bout the heat, I blamed the ale. But then his face went flamin’ red.”
Heidel gasped. Irch leaned toward her, dropping his voice. “Well, I just took him upstairs and told him to rest. Said nothing else, not wanting to scare him. But you know what I think it is?”
“Yes. Yes, I know what you think it is.” Heidel stood quickly, shoving away the stool. “Take me to him at once!”
Chapter 24
Irch led Heidel up some dark, narrow steps to an even darker, narrow hall. The candle he carried sputtered over six unpainted doors, three on each side. The first door grunted as Irch pushed inward.
