by JL Bryan
Overhead, a fuzzy creature the size of a small dog with huge, leathery wings swooped down at Aoide with its mouth open. She and Rhodia screamed and ducked, while Icarus backed away, drawing his bright iron sword.
The creature ate a swath through the flying bugs, leaving a streak of empty air behind it. It tilted upwards and flew high along the trunk of a giant old cane. It grabbed onto the thick leaves on the cane’s side and hung upside down, chewing its mouthful of bugs.
“What was that?” Aoide asked.
“A sugar bat,” Icarus said. “The sugar cane makes the swamp water sweet, and the sugar water attracts all these swarms of bugs. So the bats grow very fat here.”
“Ugh,” Rhodia said, waving away more of the trumpet-mouthed suckerflies. “I can’t believe we had to come all the way to the sugar swamps. I’m ready for a nice bed and a tea-and-pastry.”
“You won’t find those here,” Icarus said. He swung his long sword at a wall of sugarcane, felling a dozen of the plants. Then he stepped forward and swung the sword again, hacking a path through the dense growth. “Come on.”
Aoide and Rhodia followed at distance, leery of his sword. Iron was deadly to fairies, which was why the Queensguard used iron weapons.
The mud slurped at their feet with every step, and they swatted flies from their faces and arms as they walked along the path of chopped sugarcane. High, dense staffs of cane surrounding them on both sides.
“We are literally in the sticks,” Rhodia complained.
“Watch out for the swamp bugs,” Icarus called back. “They’ll suck the sweetness right out of you.”
“I don’t have much sweetness left,” Rhodia said.
They hopped over a creek of dark sugar water onto the next marshy island, which was also dense with cane. Icarus held up a hand for them to stop, and then untied a spiral-shaped goat horn from his belt. He blew a long note to announce their arrival.
“Who blows there?” a deep, gristly voice asked through the screen of sugarcane.
“I am Icarus, a captain of the Queensguard,” Icarus said. “With me are Aoide the Lutist and Rhodia the Harpist.”
“Fairies!” the voice sneered. There was a sound like hacking, and then spitting. “Go away.”
“We’ve come on the orders of the Queen,” Icarus said.
“Your Queen,” the gristly voice said. “We are queenless here.”
“All of Faerie is the domain of Queen Mab,” Icarus said.
“Not this patch of swamp,” the voice replied.
“We’ve come to hire your services,” Icarus said. “The Queen offers a generous payment.”
“I don’t take fairy gold,” the voice said. “It has a way of turning to broom flowers in a day or two.”
“We have brought many forms of payment,” Icarus said, looking Aoide. Aoide carried in her pouch an assortment of jewels and silver coins, all of her savings, as well as the savings of Rhodia, Neus, and Skezg. The Queen was making them pay the hunter’s fee.
“Then come around,” the voice said. “There’s a break in the cane off to your left.”
Icarus sheathed his sword. The three fairies followed the wall of cane around the curve of the marshy island and found the opening. Aoide and Rhodia shared worried looks as they followed Icarus through.
At the highest point in the island sat a hut made of sugarcane, brambles and mud. A garden of beets grew beside it.
Next to the hut was a sugarcane the size of a tree. An elf with graying beard stubble and a tattered old gardening hat sat back against it, chewing a juicy splinter of cane, his horsehair clothes and sandals caked in dried mud. The elf eyed them suspiciously.
“Thank you for the invitation,” Icarus said. “We would like to hire you as a tracker and hunter. Four objects of high magic must be found.”
“And you fancy city fairies came all the way here, just to ask a simple country elf for help.” The elf smirked.
“But you aren’t just a simple country elf,” Icarus said. “The scrolls say you were a highly decorated knight in the Great Elf and Fairy War.”
“A war your side won,” the elf said. “It wasn’t so ‘Great’ for our side.” The elf spat.
“That was thousands of years ago,” Icarus said.
“Doesn’t seem so long ago.” The elf sneered at Aoide and Rhodia. “The whole realm used to be known as Aelfer, or the Elflands. I bet you young brats didn’t even know that.”
“I’m not a young brat,” Aoide said. “I’m nearly seven centuries old. And Rhodia just had her five hundredth birthday.”
“And I’ve lived ten thousand years longer than you children!” the elf barked. “Show some respect for your elders.”
“The Queen requires your service,” Icarus repeated.
“Now, hold your quarterhorses there, city fairy.” The elf stood, leaning on a thick staff of sugarcane. He looked at the golden seal of the Queen on Icarus’s breastplate, and then pointed at Aoide and Rhodia. “I know what you are, warrior, but who are these two?”
“As I said, Aoide the Lutist and Rhodia the Harpist. Musicians.”
“You’ve brought musicians?” the elf asked. He raised his hat in greeting, revealing long and stringy hair. His left ear was tall and pointy, but his right ear ended in scar tissue, and the tip of it was missing. “Ladies, welcome to my back corner of the sugar swamps. I am called Hoke the Swamp Elf, unfortunately. A wind of ill luck blew me here long ago.”
“Hoke?” Rhodia said. “I’ve never heard of an elf name like that.”
Aoide elbowed her to be quiet.
“If you like, you can call me by my given name, Hokealussiplatytorpinquarnartnuppy Melaerasmussanatolinkarrutorpicus Darnathiopockettlenocbiliotroporiqqua Bellefrost. But most people call me ‘Hoke.’” He chewed on his sugarcane splinter. “So, you brought musicians to entertain me. Why don’t you play a song for us?”
“That’s just the problem,” Aoide said. “Someone stole our instruments.”
“And so the purpose of our visit—” Icarus began.
“I would think musicians could improvise,” Hoke said. “Can’t you sing or nothing? There’s not much music to be had, way out here. No taverns, no amphitheater. Nobody to talk to, really.”
“I would like to discuss the terms of our bargain—” Icarus tried again.
“First, I want my song,” Hoke said. “Then I’ll hear whatever it is you want to say.”
Aoide and Rhodia looked at each other. Rhodia cleared her throat.
“Mi mi mi mi miiiii…” Rhodia sang, warming up.
Aoide sang the first line of the song, and then Rhodia joined in. It was “Sometimes in the Night,” a ballad about an elf and a fairy who fell in love during the Great War, and had to keep their love a secret. It began as a sweet and romantic song, and ended tragically.
As Aoide and Rhodia sang the last verse, Aoide thought she could see a little wetness in Hoke’s eyes. He wiped them with the back of his muddy hand and looked away.
“I do miss being young,” Hoke said. “Young and foolish and ready to love.”
Aoide and Rhodia smiled and curtsied, as if he’d applauded.
Hoke looked at Icarus and sighed.
“What is this help that you and Mad Queen Mab want from me?” Hoke asked.
“You will not refer to Her Majesty that way! It is forbidden!” Icarus snapped. His black-gloved hand flew to the handle of his sheathed sword.
“She’s the one crushed the whole realm under her iron boot.”
“Treason!” Icarus said.
“Relax, Icarus,” Aoide said. “He’s ready to listen now. Right, Hoke?”
“I will listen, but no promises,” Hoke said. “I am very busy here.”
Rhodia looked around the swamp with a puzzled expression, probably wondering what could keep him busy in this dismal place.
“Go ahead, Icarus,” Aoide said.
“As I have been attempting to say,” Icarus said, “Four instruments of high magic have been stol
en.”
“And I can guess it from there,” Hoke said. “You want me and my cornhorses to track them down.”
“What’s a cornhorse?” Rhodia asked.
“Some call ‘em unicorns, I call ‘em cornhorses,” Hoke said. “Best creature for sniffing out magic, except for a banshee wolf, and good luck finding one of those for hire.”
“So, where are the unicorns?” Rhodia asked.
“Unicorn’s a shy critter,” Hoke said. “Everybody get down low, on your knees, so you don’t look so darn big.”
Aoide and Rhodia lifted their skirts and squatted on their heels in the mud. They looked around the thick stands of cane, eager to see a live unicorn. Aoide had only seen them in sculpture or paintings. They were very rare, very skittish.
“You, too,” Hoke said to Icarus.
“A Queensguard will not kneel to an elf,” Icarus said.
“You aren’t kneeling to me, wasp-brain,” Hoke said. “You want these cornhorses to come or not?”
“Just sit down already,” Aoide whispered.
Icarus scowled at her. He spread an embroidered silk handkerchief on a muddy log of fallen sugarcane before sitting down on it. He kept his hand on his belt, near his sword.
Hoke squatted and lay his sugarcane staff on its side in the mud. He hummed a high note.
“Cinnamon!” Hoke sang out. “Berrymuffin! Buttercake! Come on, girls!”
There was a tiny splashing sound behind a thick patch of sugarcane. The first unicorn nosed her way out, timidly, tiptoeing on her cloven hooves. She was smaller than a pygmy pony, with a reddish coat. Her tail and mane, and the spiral horn that spiked out from the center of her forehead, were the color of dark cinnamon.
She took a few steps forward on trembling legs, then stopped, staring at the fairies.
“She’s just a little scared,” Hoke whispered.
“Awww,” Rhodia whispered. “It’s okay, little girl.”
The second unicorn emerged just as cautiously. Her coat was the color of brown sugar, her mane and horn a strawberry shade of red, her eyes like big blueberries. She stood close to the first unicorn, their sides nearly touching.
“Buttercake!” Hoke called again.
The third unicorn walked out meekly, with her nose lowered until it almost dragged the swampy earth. Her coat was the color of yellow cake, and her mane and horn were like pink frosting. Buttercake stayed behind the first two unicorns, gazing at Aoide with huge chocolate-colored eyes.
“Hi, Buttercake,” Aoide whispered, smiling.
“Don’t speak to my cornhorses!” Hoke snapped.
“Are we ready to give them the scent?” Icarus asked.
“Not so fast, city fairy,” Hoke said. “First I see my payment.”
Icarus nodded at Aoide.
Aoide sighed and lifted the drawstring pouch. She was determined to keep as much of her friends’ savings as she could.
She chose a big ruby, one of her own jewels, and held it out to Hoke. “Will this do as a first payment?”
The elf yawned.
Aoide took out a pearl, also her own, and laid it next to the ruby in her palm. “This?”
Hoke crossed his arms and looked away.
“You don’t have to use all your own things to pay him,” Rhodia said. “Throw in that emerald Neus gave you.”
Aoide added the emerald to her palm.
The elf squinted one eye and leaned close to Aoide’s hand, then snatched the gemstones away. They disappeared from his hand—he must have slipped them into a pocket somewhere in his mud-caked clothes.
“And twice as much when the task is done,” Hoke said.
“We can do that,” Icarus said.
Aoide bit her lip. It was going to cost nearly everything, leaving the four musicians broke. They had no choice, though.
“Now, we’ll need the scent,” Hoke said. He pointed at Aoide. “You. Come and stand by me. Don’t move too fast, or you’ll spook off the cornhorses.”
She did as the elf said, stepping lightly and carefully.
“Buttercake,” Hoke whispered. He pulled a beet from the garden and held it out. “Come here, little girl.”
Buttercake advanced slowly towards Hoke, giving Aoide a wide berth and a spooked look. Buttercake nibbled the beet in Hoke’s hand, and the elf petted her mane.
“There,” Hoke said. “Now, we need to find these missing instruments, Buttercake. Have a sniff.”
His calloused hand seized Aoide’s and put it close to the unicorn’s mouth. Buttercake sniffed Aoide’s palm, then swished her pink tail.
“What kind of instruments am I looking for, exactly?” Hoke asked.
“I play a lute,” Aoide said. “Rhodia has a silver harp. And there’s pan pipes and a drum. But the instruments can change depending on who plays them. If a fairy blew on Neus’ pan pipes, they might turn into a flute.”
“So what do they look like now?” Hoke asked.
“It depends who took them,” Aoide said.
“You don’t have any idea who it was?” Hoke asked.
“Nor do we know their intentions,” Icarus said. “The Queen’s seer tells us they have left the realm of Faerie. These instruments could cause incredible destruction in the human world. In the hands of anyone not properly trained by the Musicians’ Guild…”
“It could be a nightmare,” Aoide said.
“The man-world.” Hoke lifted his hat and scratched around in his stringy, dirty hair. “Haven’t been there in a century or ten. So, we don’t know what the things look like or who has ‘em or why. They’ll take some time to track down. Buttercake’s my best sniffer, though. Next fairy!”
Aoide backed off and let Buttercake sniff Rhodia’s hand. Rhodia giggled and tried to pet the unicorn, but the little creature skittered back out of reach.
“Hands off my cornhorse!” Hoke barked. “And where’s the scents for the other two instruments?”
“Here.” Aoide opened another pouch. It contained a swatch of Skezg’s filthy shirt, to give the unicorn the ogre’s smell. It also had a locket of Neus’ white fur, since he didn’t wear clothes. The faun let the shaggy goat fur on his hips and legs serve as trousers. He didn’t even wear shoes, because the bottoms of his stubby feet and toes were coated with hard hoof.
Buttercake sniffed inside the pouch for a couple of minutes. Then she stuck out her tongue and backed away.
“What about the other unicorns?” Icarus asked. Cinnamon and Berrymuffin had wandered away a little bit, to slurp from a pool of sugar water.
“If you think I’m taking more than one unicorn up to man-world, then you’re madder than Queen Mab.”
“I warned you!” Icarus reached for his sword, but Aoide grabbed his arm and shushed him.
“It’s just a figure of speech,” Hoke said. He snorted, then spat a ball of bright orange elf-snot into a puddle near Icarus’s boot.
Icarus opened his mouth. Aoide was pretty sure that whatever he said next would lead to an argument or a fight, so she cut him off.
“Is that all you need to begin your search?” Aoide asked Hoke.
“Sounds like that’s all you have,” Hoke said. “Do we at least know through which doorway the thief entered the man-world? Was it Glastonbury Door?”
“We don’t know,” Aoide said.
Hoke shook his head and lowered the brim of his hat. He resumed sitting under the shade of the leafy sugar cane by his hut. Buttercake nibbled some flowering weeds beside him.
“When do you intend to begin searching?” Icarus asked.
“After we’ve had time to rest.” Hoke pulled the hat down over his eyes. “Buttercake’s a delicate one. Needs her beauty sleep.”
“This is urgent!” Icarus snarled.
“Then I’d be better get plenty of sleep,” Hoke said. “Don’t want me slipping up.”
“He said he’ll do it, Icarus,” Aoide said.
“He’d better. Or we’ll show him that Her Majesty Queen Mab does, indeed, rule the swa
mplands!” Icarus stepped away, out through the break in the wall of cane.
“What a sourdrop,” Hoke said.
“He’s kind of cranky,” Aoide said. “We really do appreciate your help. We really, really need our instruments back. Sorry about Mister Whineyboots out there.”
“If they can be found, Buttercake will find them,” Hoke said from under his hat. Buttercake looked up and blinked at her name, then resumed grazing.
Aoide and Rhodia walked toward the gap in the sugarcane.
“Will this really work?” Rhodia whispered. “Those unicorns look useless.”
“They say unicorns are more than what they appear to be,” Aoide whispered. She nudged Rhodia’s arm and pointed.
Cinnamon raised her head from a sugary pool, grasping a black and red swamp cobra in her mouth. Its hooded head arched above the unicorn’s face, and its fiery red eyes glared down at her. The cobra hissed, with its long fangs dripping venom, and poised to strike the unicorn’s soft nose.
Cinnamon snapped her head from side to side, whipping the cobra like a rope. Cracking sounds burst all along the snake’s spine. When Cinnamon finally stopped shaking, the long cobra lay limp in her mouth. She sucked up the cobra’s body like a noodle. When she’d devoured it, she belched, her ears flattening and her mouth flaring wide. Then she trotted off into the swamp.
Chapter Fourteen
Jason decided to stop by The Creamery in the middle of Friday afternoon, well after the lunch rush but before people got off work, so the place would be as quiet as it got. Erin sometimes talked about being bored that time of day, with nothing to do.
As he rode his bike through the streets of the little town, he imagined how it might go. She’d be happy to take a break. They could have an ice cream at one of the little tables outside on the sidewalk (and he’d have a cone of Chocolate Cashew Snowslide, his favorite flavor). He was determined to tell Erin how he felt about her.
Normally, the idea of talking about such things created a tense ball of nerves deep in his gut and stopped his mouth from working properly. The more he played his new guitar, though, the bolder he felt. It made him feel like taking risks.
He’d even brought the song “Angel Sky,” again on a folded page of notebook paper in his pocket, though he’d rewritten some of the verses a number of times since his last attempt to present the song to the band. Maybe telling Erin how much he liked her and giving her the song at the same time would be too much, and she would deem him a creepy stalker guy. But having it in his pocket was like a statement to himself that he was going to make things happen today.
