by Heidi Lang
The first time Lailu had woken up and found her mother gone, she’d been six. Days passed, then weeks. Everyone talked about it. Their village was small, only about fifty different families, and news traveled fast—especially such juicy news. “Did you hear? Lianna Loganberry up and left. Just left! Can you imagine?”
Lailu’s father ignored all of it, retreating to his workroom and carving for hours upon hours until Lailu felt like she’d lost both her parents. Her mother’s absence felt like a hole where a tooth should be, and the village was a tongue, constantly probing.
“It’s no one else’s business,” her father would say, always in that quiet voice of his. “Whispers will go away like wasps in winter.”
But that was hard for Lailu to believe when there was nothing but whispers around her all the time. “Her mother’s a foreigner, what can you expect?” they’d say. And, “It’s too bad her mother’s gone. She’s already so boyish, and it’ll just get worse.” Or the worst, the absolute worst, “She’s so weird. It’s no wonder her mother left her.”
This one was whispered by the other girls Lailu’s age, the ones who’d never really understood her. To be fair, Lailu had never understood them, either. She was too interested in hunting and building forts with her brothers, too busy learning how to use knives with her father. Too messy, too dirty, too strange to be friends with the other girls. And now they had another reason to shun her. They’d whisper just loudly enough that Lailu could hear and then giggle when she ran off, crying.
Then, one day, Hannah—tall, beautiful Hannah—had sauntered over, pushing through the girls clustered near Lailu. “Don’t you have somewhere better to be?” she asked them, her lovely face filled with scorn. At seven, she still managed to carry herself like an adult, her head tilted just so, lips pursed. “Oh, I forgot. You don’t.”
The girls scattered, none of them daring to talk back to Hannah. Everyone was a little in awe of her. The perfect daughter of the village headman, always more mature than the rest of them, more confident. But perfection and responsibility brought their own form of isolation.
“I know what it’s like,” she’d whispered, taking Lailu’s hands in hers. “All those eyes, those whispers. But don’t worry. None of them matter.” And then she’d smiled and asked if Lailu wanted to play with her wooden chess set. “My mother says chess is for boys, but I like it,” she admitted.
“I’ll play,” Lailu said. She knew how; her father had carved the pieces.
And just like that, they were friends.
Lailu stumbled over a root, the memory dissolving like salt in water as the forest crashed back into focus around her.
Slipshod frowned. “You okay?”
“Just . . . just thinking,” Lailu said.
“Well, stop it. You’re giving me a headache. And we have some serious work ahead of us.”
Lailu shrugged.
Slipshod frowned and stopped walking, throwing out an arm to stop Lailu too. “Look, Hannah’s a good girl in her own way, I’m sure. But let’s be honest, her impulsiveness was distracting you from your full chef potential. Maybe you’re better off without her. I mean, stealing—” He stopped abruptly. But Lailu didn’t want to talk about Hannah with her mentor, so she pushed past him and headed farther into the forest.
“So, what are we hunting?” she asked.
“Basilisk fish,” he panted, jogging after her.
“Basilisk fish?”
“Yes. The meanest, toughest fish of lakes anywhere.”
Lailu remembered reading about them at the academy. The only other fish that was worse was the medusa fish, a close relative that lived in the oceans. Both species had to be fished using a blindfold. If they caught your eye, they could turn parts of you to stone while they feasted on the remaining fleshy parts. Mean little suckers, they grew to be six feet long with two rows of long, serrated teeth, making them dangerous enough even if you didn’t have to hunt them blind.
At least basilisk fish only had the one mouth to worry about, whereas medusa fish usually had as many as seven or eight, and in one rare instance over a dozen. Someday Lailu wanted to take one of them on. But not yet.
“If this doesn’t take your mind off your woes, Pigtails, then nothing will.” Slipshod clapped Lailu on the shoulder as the trees opened up ahead of them, revealing a large lake.
Moonlight glittered across the lake’s dark, sparkling water, making it look more like a miniature ocean. With the trees rustling and whispering around it, Lailu felt strangely at peace. She breathed deeply, tasting the night air with its mingling sweetness of lebinola and pine, then joined Slipshod at the edge of a rocky outcropping. He handed her a fishing line and some rubbery, slimy batyrdactyl innards. Lailu wasn’t a huge fan of the way they felt, but she knew a true chef wouldn’t be reluctant to get her hands dirty. Ignoring the pungent smell, she carefully secured the innards to the fishing line and waited for the next step.
Master Slipshod pulled out two blindfolds. “Are you ready for this?”
Lailu swallowed hard, then nodded. She’d never hunted anything blind before.
“You don’t really need your eyes, girl. Use your other senses.” He slipped the blindfold over her eyes, tying it securely so only the faintest trickle of light from the full moon shone through.
“O God of Cookery, help us out this one time,” Lailu said quietly as Master Slipshod wrapped her hands around the fishing pole and nudged her toward the lake’s edge. “I really don’t want to be fish food.”
Slipshod chuckled.
Lailu cast the line out before settling down on the rocks to wait, her fishing pole secure in her hands, her knives loose in their sheathes around her waist. The breeze picked up, and her shoulder blades prickled like someone was watching her.
A few minutes passed with nothing but the hooting of an owl in the distance and the rustling of some small creature in the grasses a few feet away. She could hear Master Slipshod breathing softly next to her. That, and the gentle lapping of the lake in the breeze, the clicking of the insects, the croaking of a frog nearby, and—
Splash!
Lailu barely had time to steady herself before her line went zooming, and she knew it was on.
“I’ve got something,” she cried out, all thoughts of anyone watching them forgotten.
“Good, haul her in!”
Lailu didn’t need Slipshod’s words to spur her into action. She spun the fishing reel as fast as she could, her shoulders burning like a stove top from the effort. She could picture the thing fighting her; from the strength of its resistance she was sure it had to be one of the six-footers, longer than she was tall.
Lailu’s line suddenly went slack.
She froze, confused, until a tremendous splash made her realize the fish had stopped fighting the pull and was using the momentum to launch itself from the water. For one terrifying moment she imagined all those rows and rows of needle-sharp teeth coming straight at her face. Then her training kicked in and she ducked, feeling the fish swoosh over her head. Before it landed, Lailu had her cleaver drawn. She could hear the gnashing of its teeth as it thrashed toward her, and she let her knife fly. A soft thunk echoed in the quiet night, followed by the wet thud of the basilisk fish hitting the ground.
“Way to go, Lailu!” Slipshod roared, applauding.
Lailu undid her blindfold to see that Slipshod had already taken his off. “You saw?” she asked.
“Of course I saw! I wanted to see my amazing protégé in action.” He beamed at her.
“Isn’t that dangerous? What if it looked at you?”
“Oh, it did.” He held up his left hand to show fingers that had gone gray, the skin hard and bumpy like granite all the way down to his palm. “Blasted fish caught my eye in its dying moment.” He seemed completely unfazed, but Lailu knew if that fish had held his gaze for longer than a second, he would have more than just a few stone fingers to worry about. That kind of confidence in her ability made her feel pleased as pie, if not a lit
tle worried.
“Anyway, it’s nothing one of Paulie’s potions can’t cure. And look at the size of the beast, just look! It’s worth a few fingers, I’d say. Temporarily, at least.”
Lailu looked down at her kill. The fish’s head was neatly severed, its golden eyes open but harmless in death, the teeth bared in a last snarl of defiance. Lailu let her gaze sweep down the body. It was a fat one, two handspans wide, the scales shimmering with reflected moonlight. It looked delicious.
Slipshod threw an arm around Lailu’s shoulders. “And you took it down in a single stroke without any help from me. One of these days, Pigtails, you’re going to make history.”
14
DEALS WITH THE ENEMY
Welcome to Mystic Cooking. Please have a seat wherever you like.” Despite her wide smile, Lailu felt like she was asleep on the inside. Still, business today was going pretty well. In addition to the basilisk fish, which they were saving for Elister, Lailu and Master Slipshod had caught some very delicious freshwater carper fish last night. Granted, the only mystical thing about them was that they lit up like lightning bugs at night, but they were still tender and juicy, and had been baked to perfection for the carpe diem special.
“Hey there, Lulu,” called a familiar voice
Lailu’s heart stuttered. Vahn leaned against the open doorway, his hair flowing down his back in dark gold waves that stood out against his teal shirt.
“H-hey, Vahn.” She mentally went over her own appearance. Her hair was plastered down in its usual pigtails under a fluffy white cloud of a hat, but she knew there were circles under her eyes and her outfit was slightly less than clean. Still, no hope for it now. “Are you here to eat?” she asked, then immediately regretted the question. Of course he was here to eat. Why else would he stop by? Not to see her, surely.
“I’m here to see you, actually.”
Lailu gasped.
“But I’ll take some food, too,” Vahn added. “As I recall, you owe me a meal.”
“I—I do?”
“We had a deal, remember, kiddo? I was going to regale you with stories of my current heroic deeds, and you were going to feed me a delicious meal.”
“Oh! Right, I remember,” she said quickly.
“Of course you do.”
“Uh, does that mean you’re done? I mean, did you finish your quest?” Lailu’s heart sank. If Vahn was done here, who knew when she’d see him again?
Vahn glanced around at the nearest diners, then leaned in closer, so close Lailu could smell him, all soap, sunshine, sweat, and . . .
“. . . almost finished, but I can’t quite figure it out,” Vahn was saying. Lailu mentally cursed herself for being distracted.
“Figure what out?”
He ran a hand through his long hair. “Where they are being held,” he muttered, “or how. But I think . . . I think I know who.” He was quiet for a second, and Lailu could hear the sounds of people happily eating her cooking in the background. “Which is why, Lailu, I’m here to see you.” He flashed her another brilliant smile.
Lailu almost fell over. “My name.”
He raised an eyebrow.
“You got my name right.” Suddenly she was nervous. Why did he get her name right? Whatever it was he had to talk to her about, it must be very important. “Well, uh, let me just get your food going, and, uh, sit wherever you like.” She felt her face flush, and she fled back to the kitchen.
“You all right there, Pigtails?” Master Slipshod asked.
Lailu nodded, then loaded up a tray of food.
Slipshod’s eyes narrowed. “That blond boy out there again?”
“W-what blond boy?” Lailu’s heart clenched. Had Master Slipshod noticed?
“Don’t play dumb, Pigtails. I know I didn’t pick a dumb apprentice. That hero, the one you keep giving free meals to.”
“Uh . . .” Lailu glanced down at her heavily loaded tray. “He’s a family friend. And anyway, you’ve been giving free food to Mr. Boss.”
Master Slipshod stiffened. “That is hardly a fair . . . totally below the belt . . . not at all the same thing,” he spluttered. “Fine. Feed the idiot boy, for all the good it’ll do you. See if I care.” He turned his back on her and tenderized the carper fish more vigorously than necessary.
Lailu escaped back into the dining room, but before she’d gone two steps she saw that Vahn was no longer alone.
An elf sat with him. The elf. The one with the blond braids and the cruel smile.
The tray rattled in Lailu’s hands and she thought she might be sick. Was he here about Hannah? Had something . . . Did he do something to her? But he said three days! It hadn’t been three days.
She took a shaky step forward, then another, and the elf glanced up at her. His eyes narrowed and he said something to Vahn before standing in one smooth, angry motion and leaving the restaurant.
“W-what was that about?” Lailu set the tray down on Vahn’s table. Her hands felt numb and she didn’t want to drop it.
“Oh, nothing too important.” Vahn smiled, but his eyes were lined with worry. Lailu suddenly realized how tired he looked, how strained. “Sorry, kiddo, duty calls. I’ll have to collect that scrumptious meal of yours at a later date.”
As he disappeared out the door, Lailu was left with nothing but questions and an uneasy feeling pooling in her stomach. Vahn and the elves. Nothing good could come of that.
The rest of the day passed in a mindless, tired fog. When the last customers trailed out, Lailu gratefully flipped the sign over to CLOSED.
“I’m meeting someone tonight,” Master Slipshod said, tossing the paper at her. “Don’t wait up.”
“Who are you—” But he was already gone.
Frowning, Lailu flipped open the paper. Greg’s smug face practically filled the first page under the headline: ALL DAY, LASILVIAN’S FLAMING FYRIAN CHICKEN FEAST. Lailu knew he was just trying to insult her and rub in her slight weakness for those horrid creatures, and after finding her own advertisement squeezed in the back, she ripped the paper to shreds.
She threw away the pieces, then started sweeping the floors as the sun crept well below the horizon, but still no Hannah. Lailu tried not to feel lonely. She told herself it was better this way. “You don’t need them,” she said, her broom whispering across the floor in time with her words. “You don’t need any of them.”
Still, when the bell above the door chimed, Lailu was actually relieved, even if it was only Ryon. “What are you doing here?” she asked.
“Besides enjoying your pleasant company?” He winked.
“Would you stop winking so much?”
“Now, why would I do that when it obviously makes you so uncomfortable?” He winked again. Lailu flushed, and Ryon’s smile broadened. “What can I say, I just love making a pretty girl blush.”
Pretty girl. He’d called her a pretty girl. Lailu hurriedly fished a rag out of her apron and started scrubbing tables, her face now so hot it was a wonder her hat wasn’t smoking.
“So, how’s your friend doing today?” he asked. “Did she find the item she . . . misplaced?”
Lailu froze. “How do you know about Hannah?”
“I know many things.”
“What kind of answer is that?”
“A purposely vague answer. I could throw in another wink, too, but I’m showing restraint.”
Lailu sighed and resumed her scrubbing. “I don’t know if she found it yet. We got into a fight yesterday and I haven’t seen her since.”
“I hope she has, for her sake.” His eyes were no longer laughing.
“What’s so important about a silly haircomb?”
Ryon studied his fingernails. “Well, to start, it’s an expensive heirloom that has been passed down in the oldest elven family for generations.”
Lailu shuddered.
“How she got ahold of it . . .” He shook his head. “Right off Livea’s head while she was paying a social call to Madame Pompadour. The girl’s got guts, I’ll g
ive her that.” He actually sounded impressed.
“How do you know how she got it?”
“It’s my job to know these things,” he said. “Look, I’m telling you this as a friend—”
“Yeah, right.”
“—but the elves are serious about getting it back. If she doesn’t return it, they will make her pay, and pay dearly. You need to find her and warn her.”
“I’ll . . . I’ll let her know,” Lailu croaked. “Next time I see her.” If I see her, she silently amended. Maybe Hannah would never come back here again. Maybe she had cut Lailu out of her life for good. That thought hurt too much. Lailu had to keep moving, had to keep working, just to stop her chest from aching so much.
Turning her back on Ryon, she headed to the kitchen, where a mountain of dishes waited for her. Might as well get started there. She grabbed two empty buckets, then opened the back door and trudged toward the well.
It was a dark night, the moon mostly hidden behind a veil of clouds. A chill wind picked up, smelling crisp and woodsy like the start of autumn. Back home they’d probably had their first snowfall already, Lailu reflected with a sudden pang of homesickness. She loved the first snowfall, how it coated everything, wrapping the world in silence and peace like icing wraps a cake.
Lailu could picture her brothers out chopping firewood, having to work extra hard to make up for her absence. That made her smile. Between the extra chores and the bland, burned food she was sure they were eating, they’d definitely be missing her. Especially Lonnie. Lonnie was only one year older than her, and he’d been her best friend before Hannah. He’d have no one to help set snow traps for their oldest brother, no one to complain to when Laurent got all bossy, no one to build ice forts with . . .
Lailu’s smile fell away. She told herself she was doing what she always wanted to do; there was no reason to be sad. But without Hannah around, her village seemed so much farther away. Lailu shivered as she filled up the first bucket and tried not to feel so alone. She put that bucket down and filled up the second, suddenly uncomfortably aware of the silence.
