Emma and the Banderwigh

by Matthew S. Cox

  “Aemon was a dutiful protector.” Nan’s voice floated out of nowhere. “He’d made her promise never to leave herself defenseless.”

  Princess Isabelle took a dagger from a sheath at the back of her belt, and wedged it into a gap by the lock. She grimaced when it slipped out, and almost stabbed herself trying to catch it before it could bounce out of the cell. The princess’s green eyes burned with determination as she worked the blade back and forth until the door gave way.

  “And so, Princess Isabelle crept through the dungeon until she found a guard asleep at his post. He wasn’t a man, but he wasn’t too far from it either,” said Nan’s disembodied voice. “A head shorter, pudgier, and much, much, smellier.”

  Tam’s giggle echoed from the shadows.

  “His dark green skin was as thick as armor, but his pale yellow eyes gave off no light while he slept.”

  Emma’s dream self followed behind Isabelle as she tiptoed up to the snoring creature and helped herself to a plain sword on the table. With a grin of victory, the girl darted up a flight of stairs towards daylight.

  The crinkle of paper moving came from everywhere as Nan turned a page.

  “Pale fog rolled through the trees outside. The dawn came cold, and damp; Princess Isabelle did not know where she was. Two monstrous man-creatures, no taller than her but much thicker and stronger, walked out of the mist. Isabelle pulled back her hood, letting her hair fall to her waist and flashing her wide blue eyes. She hoped her sweet smile would make them not want to hurt her.”

  “Wrong!” cheered Tam’s disembodied voice. “Hobgoblins don’t like pretty princesses.”

  Princess? The thought nudged Emma back from the edge of sleep. A princess with a sword? Emma propped herself up on one arm, squinting at Nan who waved her hands around to illustrate the ensuing swordfight with a pair of creatures resembling the sleeping guard. Emma shifted, pulling her heels under her.

  “The wretched creatures hissed and spat, and raked at Isabelle with knobby claws.” Nan mimicked a clawing gesture, which made Tam squeal. “Their eyes burned with hate for anything pure. When they failed to grab her, they drew weapons from their belts. If she got away, the wizard’s plan would fail, so for him, they would kill her.”

  Nan flipped pages as she half described-half demonstrated a girl holding off two hobgoblins with her blade and agility.

  As the princess fought, the burden of responsibility slipped from Emma’s shoulders. She stared with rapt attention, gripping her knees as her mouth hung open, and grinning as Isabelle cut one of the monster’s hands, forcing it to drop its weapon.

  “Enraged, it grabbed her arm and tried to bite her throat.” Nan grabbed at Tam, who screamed. “Isabelle jumped away, but its claws raked over her hand, taking her sword away.”

  Emma bit her lip when the princess stumbled, clutching the sheets to her chest with wide eyes.

  Nan grinned. “Or so they thought. Isabelle’s fall was a trick, and when the monsters tried to jump on her, she rolled out of the way and got to her blade. They’d piled on each other, and before they could get up, she stabbed them through to the ground.”

  Tam made a sputtering noise.

  Nan stopped, glancing at him. Emma shoved at his back.

  “Something the matter, Tam?” asked Nan.

  “That’s silly. Princess can’t beat up hobgoblins wif a sword. The knight’s gotta save her.”

  “The knight got frozen!” Emma blurted, not even realizing she had been so into the story. “She’s gotta find the hearthfire potion the faerie queen told her about to thaw him or he’ll stay trapped in ice forever.”

  Nan smiled at Emma, making her feel childish.

  “Knights saves princesses,” said Tam.

  “Not all the time,” whispered Nan.

  “Nan, does Isabelle find the potion?” Emma pulled Tam into her as though he were a living doll. He squirmed. “Does she break the spell? Do they get married?”

  “Eww!” wailed Tam.

  The door creaked open as a pair of yawning parents walked in.

  Nan snapped the book closed. “Well, Emma. I suppose you’ll find that out tomorrow night.”

  Emma whined, drawing in a breath to protest, but gasped when she saw the cover of the book: plain brown leather with the seal of the town guard. Sleep left her mind at the sight. Nan’s got father’s logbook. That’s not a storybook. She swallowed the urge to cry. Nan couldn’t see what she held. The story came out of her head, not the book. Nan’s going blind.

  She crawled over Tam to get to Nan’s lap, crying.

  “What in the name of Belephir did you tell them?” asked Father.

  “Just a story,” said Nan. “Just a story about things your daughter is too old to believe in. It certainly wasn’t a sad one.” Grandmother gave her a pat on the back. “Come now, Em. There’s nothing to cry about. It’s time for bed.”

  Emma did not move until Father plucked her from Nan’s lap and deposited her on the bed. She crawled between Tam and the windowsill, staring at Nan as the old woman ambled off down a short hallway to her own bedroom.

  mma swung her feet back and forth as she sat at the table, watching her toes scuff at the floor. Father had not said a word when she had changed out of her nightdress into her favorite article of clothing, but she dreaded the day would end with her having to give it up. Two small rolls and some fruit sat untouched on the wooden plate in front of her. Tam was already outside, playing in the meadow behind the house. Father took his time eating, splitting his bread and adding a hunk or two of cheese.

  “Y’avent touched your food, girl,” said Father. “We’re going into town when I’m done. I’ll not wait for you to finish if you aren’t even trying.”

  Tears ran down her cheeks. “But, Da, I have a dress. I like this one. Nan made it.”

  “We’ve been ‘round this before.” He took a bite, pointing at her while murmuring. He swallowed. “I’ll not have my daughter being thought of as some beggar orphan. You look like that Drinn girl. Fauen thinks we’re not takin’ proper care of you.”

  “Oh, is that what this is about?” asked Mother. “Your reputation?”

  He put his roll down. “Half the town thinks we refuse to feed and clothe her.”

  “I talk to them too, and they most certainly do not.” Mother winked at her. “She’ll grow out of it.”

  “She already has.” He gestured at her.

  Emma picked up her bread, nibbling at it with disinterest. “Nan can’t make another. She can’t see the needle anymore and she’s not got much time left, like Wooly.” She rubbed the coarse cloth over her leg. “It’s like she’s wif me.”

  Both of her parents stalled at the unexpected childishness in her voice, staring. Mother frowned and came over to rub her shoulder.

  “That ol’ bat will outlive me,” muttered Father.

  Mother squeezed Emma’s shoulder. “It is the way of all things, child. You shouldn’t be sad; she will rejoin the woods and the animals.” She kissed Emma atop the head. “Death is only the start of a magical journey.”

  “You know she doesn’t believe in all that”―Father waved his hand over the table―“that faerie story stuff. What’s this about Nan not seeing?”

  “And you don’t?” Mother smiled at him, patted Emma on the back and set about collecting empty plates.

  Emma pointed at the shelf. “Nan was pretending to read from―”

  Armored boots tromped to the door, followed by the expected loud banging―no one jumped.

  “Captain Dalen?” shouted a man outside.

  Father moved to answer, adjusting a burgundy tunic on the way. Emma shifted in her chair, sitting sideways to watch. Six members of the Widowswood Town Watch waited outside, five in the street.

  “What is it, Haim?”

  “Captain, there’s been a break in at Carrow’s Field. Someone got into the house last night. Lucky thing the boy woke up when he did. Screamed himself hoarse, he did. Woke the whole family s’well as th
e neighbors. The Mum got a glimpse of a burglar runnin’ off into the night. Big, hairy fellow.”

  “Damn bandits.” Father left the door open and went for his armor. Emma’s head turned to follow him across the room. “Em, I need to go.” He ducked through his breastplate and buckled it under his arms. “Sorry, child. We’ll go to the tailor tomorrow.”

  She gnawed on the hard roll. “Okay. Don’t get hurt.”

  Once he’d gotten his armor and sword in order, he tromped over and ruffled her hair. “I won’t. It’s just a burglar. They’d rather run than fight.”

  Mother handed him a leather-wrapped bundle and kissed him. He tied it to his belt, kissed her again, and rushed out to meet the guardsmen.

  Emma grasped the seatback, peering over it at as Father left. The scent of weapon oil still hung in the air. After the door closed, she continued staring until Mother ran a hand over her head. She looked up, unable to hide her worry.

  “Em, what’s got you worked up so? It’s not the dress business, is it? You should be happy you can wear that rag another day.”

  She swung her legs around, sitting proper. “I don’t know why I’m scared.”

  “He’ll be alright. He’s got the whole town guard with him.”

  The berries went down faster than the bread. Mother puttered around at the cabinets while Emma ate. By the time she finished her breakfast, Mother had set a small pouch at the corner of the table.

  Emma picked it up and shook it. Coins.

  “Be a sweetheart and run to Marsten’s shop. There’s a list in there.”

  The pouch dangled from two small fingers. “You’ve not taught me to read.”

  Mother gave her a weary look. “Aye, I suppose I haven’t. We should remedy that soon. Today, give him the note.”

  She slid off the chair and started for the back door.

  “Don’t take your brother there. He’ll get into something dangerous and put it in his mouth.”

  Emma swiveled around and tiptoed to the front door.

  “Em, are you alright? I’ve not seen you so skittish in years.” Mother’s curiosity gave way to a smile of understanding. “Oh, it’s Nan’s business about that monster, isn’t it? Poor Hannah.”

  Emma grasped the doorknob, afraid to turn it. “Do you believe Nan?”

  “Even if I did, the story says it doesn’t come out during the day.” Mother made a shooing gesture at her. “It’s a tale to scare children inside at night, isn’t it?”

  “Yeah.” Emma blushed, feeling foolish for being afraid of stories. “Tis.”

  The road curved downhill, past open fields and a few sparse huts. Early summer winds carried the smell of meadow flowers and warmth across the road. Emma returned the smiles and waves that greeted her from passing windows. Her father’s house seemed out of place at the edge of the village. All the other homes here were single-room, dirt-floor affairs, while hers had a living room, a loft, a pantry, and a back bedroom for Nan―not to mention wooden floors. She grinned, remembering the story of how Mother had insisted they stay here, where she was born. Nan loved telling of how Father had expected his “peasant wife” to jump at the chance to live in the big city. Like Emma, Mother loved the touch of the earth on bare feet. Her family had lived in the Village of Widowswood since Nan’s Nan was Emma’s age. Mother would have been miserable cooped up in a big city like Calebrin.

  Emma paused, digging a toe into the dirt road and hugging the pouch. Mother said his choosing to stay out in the sticks proved he loved her. She closed her eyes for a moment, happy to have good parents. She sighed and cast a forlorn glance at the town, wondering why the ‘gods’ the townspeople always spoke of couldn’t protect Kimber from having a bad family. The rustle of wind in the trees soon chased her guilt to the side, replacing it with worry. She crept to the edge of the path until she reached grass, gazing into the dark shadows among the shifting pines. At this hour, that poor girl would be off alone in the woods gathering apples.

  She thought of Hannah and backed away from the forest, heart racing. Her favorite dress had nothing resembling a belt from which to hang the pouch, so she clutched it to her chest and ran. Wind pulled through her hair as she picked up speed, driven on by a strange sense of something chasing her. She stared down, as if not looking behind her would make it go away.

  The dull thuds of her footfalls became sharp claps as dirt gave way to cobblestones in the heart of town. The scent of roast beef, chicken, and stew floated thick from the tavern at the corner, mixed with the flicking strums of a mandolin. Her eyes opened at the change in the ground, a second before she collided with a man in armor. He caught her by the arms before she could crack her head into his armored chest, and took a knee to bring himself closer to eye level.

  “Belephir protect you, child. What are you running from? Is something the matter?”

  Emma tried to say something, but was out of breath. While she gasped, he craned his neck to peer over her shoulder. She lowered her hands, hanging onto the pouch by one finger hooked through the cord. Warmth rushed over her face with a blush.

  “It’s nothing, Kavan. One of Nan’s stories got the best of me.” She glared back the way she came at a scrap of forest visible between buildings. “I’m too old for such silliness. I thought something was in the woods, watching me.”

  Guard Kavan let go of her and brushed a few strands of hair out of her face before he stood up. “Aye right, lass. Way too old. What’re ya, ten now? Almost ready ta marry off. Definitely not a child.” He winked. “Be walkin’ with a cane in another week, ya will.”

  She stuck her tongue out and sputtered. He ruffled her hair, chuckling, taking a step before he turned back. “You sure you didn’t see anythin’? We’ve ‘ad reports of bandits nearby. Keep away from the woods.”

  “Yes. I’m fine. Just fetching herbs for Mum from Marsten.” Emma looked down, picking at her dress.

  “What is it, Em?”

  “Is Kimber missing?”

  Guard Kavan coughed. “What makes you think something’s happened?”

  “Umm…” The Banderwigh let Hannah go, and Kimber runs around alone all the time in the woods. The monster would… Emma’s face scrunched up. You sound like Nan. “She seemed ‘fraid of her Da.”

  “Aye.” Kavan glanced down the street. “Right mess, that. I’ll go ‘ave a look.”

  Guard Kavan stood up to his full seven-foot height, making her feel tiny. She curtsied to him and jogged deeper into the town center. On the next patch of street, she shuffled all the way to one side to avoid the tailor’s shop. Monsters she didn’t believe in, but there was no sense risking a jinx. A passing merchant in a blue silk doublet covered his coinpurse at her approach, until he saw her face.

  “Good day, Emma.” He flashed an embarrassed smile. “My word, girl. I mistook you for a filch.”

  “Allo, Mister Valis.” She smiled and curtsied at him, unaware of the meaning of his gesture.

  “Your old man really ought to bring you to my daughter-in-law’s shop. That rag is unbecoming a young lady of your station.”

  Emma’s face reddened and she looked down. But, Nan made it herself.

  “Well, I suppose you’re little yet. No sense you ruining silk by running around in the weeds. Might as well enjoy it whilst you can.”

  She forced a smile as the wealthy merchant tipped his hat at her and walked away. Like father, he was from Calebrin, but still lived there. Whenever he ran wagons, he’d ask Father on as a guard. For a few minutes, she stared down at her dress. Every little hole she could stick a finger through and every smudge of dirt that refused to wash out had a memory attached to it. Emma hugged herself, as if at any moment someone would attempt to force her to wear something nicer.

  The town square bustled with activity: traveling merchants, a skald, a great fat man in a brown robe shouting to everyone in an effort to sell his ale. Emma watched him, smiling at the silly faces he made while waving a wooden stein at anyone who got close. She crept up to his table, peer
ing over the lip of a wooden mug. The stuff inside smelled nasty and she wrinkled her nose. He seemed about to yell at her to get away, but relaxed at her disgusted face. Emma lost interest and ducked around a flower cart where she bumped into the side of another man selling sweet breads.

  “Sorry, sir.” She took a step back.

  “Oh, you poor dear!” He handed her one of the pastries. “Here. Take it.”

  A little black cloud formed in her mind. “Thank you, sir. But…I’m not a beggar.”

  “Don’t worry yourself, girl. It’s fine.” He took her arm, twisted her palm face-up, and set the roll in her hand. “I insist.”

  The fragrance of sweet cinnamon and spice was too much to resist, and she took a bite. The flavor rid her of any sense of insult at his thinking her a street waif, and she flashed a smile of genuine thanks. The treat was half-gone by the time she reached the far end of the square and darted down a winding, narrow road. Clusters of old women paid her little mind as she weaved among the adults on her way to where the cobblestones faded back to dirt.

  Beggar. She appraised the half-roll. I should give this to Kimber.

  Marsten’s shop made her house feel small. Two stories tall, the great porch beckoned her toward a pair of double doors with square-paneled glass windows. She grasped the railing, leaving sticky handprints as she climbed. Creaky rocking chairs on either side moved in the breeze, stalling her as soon as she set foot on the last step. Emma again felt silly for thinking anything but the wind could be responsible.

  The door on the right was wedged open, allowing her to walk into the choking stench of dozens of herbs and plants. Bins of Beauflower, Amethyst Moss, Azurevine, Faeberry, and Goldleaf lined the first row of shelves. Pungent Rotweed dangled out of a low-hanging bin; she could almost see the fumes wafting from it. She craned her neck, taking several steps on tiptoe to peer at the strange plants, wondering if Mother would ever teach her what the apothecary did with each one.