Chapter 2
The routines of our working lives latched onto Tova and I like leeches, unwanted and sucking all our energy away. We worked sunup to sundown and usually went straight home, too exhausted to stay out.
When we did see each other, I never left feeling reassured that she’d be alright. It seemed like every time, she was more crestfallen. I sometimes asked her if she wanted to talk about it, but the answer was always no. Other times I’d run home first and grab the toy sword I still kept for her. I’d offer it to her, and at first she’d take it with a glimmer of excitement shining in her eyes. But lately she’d been rejecting it. “My hands hurt. I can’t get a good grip,” she’d say. I’d look down to find her hands so chapped from doing laundry all day that they cracked and bled in places. I’d set the sword down and massage her hands instead.
Last night had been one of those nights. She hadn’t even glanced at the sword before shaking her head. She’d looked off into the distance and hadn’t seemed to hear me at all as I told her one of her favorite Cearo stories. My heart ached seeing her that way. Tonight I wanted to change it.
I had been working on something secret when the craftsman, Harold, wasn’t watching, and earlier today I’d finally finished it. It was a new wooden sword. This one was larger, like a practice sword for adults, since Tova looked silly now with my toy one. It was smooth and perfect. The last thing I wanted was for Tova’s already hurt hands to get splinters. Which was why I’d also saved my rare tips to buy her a nice leather glove and some good salve.
Harold was up front, speaking with a customer. I took the second to stare at the sword and admire my work. It was the best thing I’d ever made.
My parents and I had been right years ago when I took this apprenticeship. I didn’t have a particular skill for it. But I was good enough to get by, and Harold said he didn’t want to train another.
This sword though…it looked like a real craftsman had made it. I hoped it would bring sparks back to her fiery eyes. I was about to run my finger over it and confirm its smoothness when Harold walked in. I scrambled back to my stool and bent over the tiny hob chair I was working on. That’s what I worked on most of the time here: hob furniture. I wasn’t anywhere close to as good as Harold at fae sized items, but he didn’t have the best eyesight, so I could do these tiny things better.
“How’s it coming, Randolph?” he asked me.
“Very good, sir. Nearly finished.”
“Hmph. Well, try to pick up the pace. You’ve been working on that one chair all afternoon.” He gave me a look that said ‘how can you be so slow?’ and then got back to work on his own piece, a side table that he’d started an hour ago and was already almost done with despite frequent interruptions from customers.
“Yes, sir,” I replied. We worked silently, the only sound the scraping of our blades against the wood. This is what I hated most about working here. “Sir?”
“What, boy?”
“Have you heard the tale of Cearo and the fox? It’s quite interesting. She was traveling, you see, wreaking havoc as usual, when she came upon a town that was bizarrely unafraid of her. It was because the town was already being tormented by a most vile fox. It was constantly stealing their food, scaring their livestock, and even attacking their children. They hadn’t had any luck in capturing or killing the fox, so they’d started to think it was no normal fox. They thought it was an evil, immortal spirit.
“Anyway, they had enough on their hands with this fox, so they barely paid Cearo any mind. She was offended by their lack of respect, so she destroyed the village with a single flick of her wrist.
“The fox was both sad that he no longer had a village to torment and impressed with Cearo’s power. He decided to stick with her from then on. Cearo tolerated his presence, especially when he helped her rain down terror on new places. Then one day, when they were—”
“Stop, stop, stop,” Harold cut me off. “Why would I want to hear one of those nightmare stories? Just get back to work.”
I frowned and slouched over the hob chair. I tinkered with it even though I’d finished it around the time that Cearo had destroyed the fox’s village in the story. I wished he had let me finish. There was a point to that one. Sort of. I thought he would like how it ended. It started with Cearo terrorizing people, but all of them did. This one was one of the few that didn’t end that way as well.
One day when Cearo and the fox were setting fire to a village and stealing grain and livestock, the fox found itself trapped. These villagers had heard Cearo had a new companion, and they thought they’d at least be able to take a fox out. So they waited for it to enter a chicken coop, and then a man made a false attempt on Cearo’s life before running toward the coop to hide from her. Cearo blasted the man and the coop with her flames. The man died, but he was alright with that because the fox was trapped in there with him.
After the village had been reduced to ashes, Cearo waited on the edge for her companion to join her. When he failed to show, she went looking for it. She finally found its bones buried in the remains of the chicken coop.
Cearo was saddened by the loss of the fox. She’d grown to enjoy its company. She liked its intelligence and admired its trickery. She had hoped it really was immortal like the villagers where she’d found it had thought, so it could stay with her forever. But it was not.
She said her final goodbye to the fox, but before moving on, she broke off a piece of wood from a tree just outside her ring of ash. Before she forgot its face, she carved the piece of wood into its likeness. She has carried it with her ever since.
Even the mighty Cearo carved wood. I thought Harold might like that. I did. Tova had been the one to tell me that story. She’d told it after I’d had a particularly bad day here when Harold had been out on errands all day and customers were upset over my comparably shoddy work. I had truly hated woodworking that day, and Tova wanted to show me that even the greatest of fairies did it. Maybe she’d made the whole thing up just to make me feel better. It didn’t matter. I still liked that story.
I fled the shop as soon as soon as the sun began to set. I’d swiped the sword from its hiding place as Harold was closing up in the front. Now I was practically running to Tova’s in my excitement.
When I got to Tova’s door, I heard clanging from pots and pans inside. With the sword behind my back to keep it a surprise, I knocked hard to be heard over the din. A few shouts came from within before the door flew open to reveal Tova’s mother. “Oh, hello, Randolph,” she smiled at me. “Would you like to come in and sit? I’ll have dinner ready soon if you’d like to join us.”
“I was hoping Tova could come out with me,” I said. She hesitated at that. On the one hand, I think her parents liked me, but on the other, they knew Tova often used her time out with me to practice sword fighting, which they despised. I added, “I’ve been cooped up all day in the shop. Maybe we could take a picnic.”
“Oh, well, that seems alright. Come in for a moment while I put something together for you.” I obliged but left the sword outside so she wouldn’t see it. Tova abandoned the laundry she was elbow-deep in as soon as she saw me. She wanted to get out as bad as I did. “Tova, finish the wash. You can join Randolph when you’re done,” her mother told her.
“I’ve been at it all day. Why can’t the Bowens do their own laundry anyway?”
“Because it’s not their job. It’s yours. Now finish it.”
She stomped petulantly back to the basin and resumed washing. “I don’t see why I have to have this job,” she muttered quietly. “I could do better things. More exciting things.”
“Tova, I don’t want to hear it,” her mother reprimanded. “I don’t want you speaking anymore nonsense about being a guard or playing with swords. It’s unladylike, and I won’t have it.”
Tova gave her mother a scowl that would kill a lesser being. I shifted uncomfortably in my seat, knowing what I had stashed just outside the door. I tried to paste on a normal looking smile as T
ova’s mother bustled over to me with a basket of bread, cheese, and fruit. “Here you are, dear.”
“Thank you, ma’am.”
I waited as Tova rushed through the rest of the laundry, then she bolted for the door without even drying off her hands. I followed quickly, wanting to cover the sword before she saw it. Should I give it to her knowing how much her mother would disapprove? I was unsure, so I decided to wait a little while.
“Come on, usual spot,” Tova said, glancing back at me.
I kicked the sword down to the ground as fast as I could and prayed she hadn’t noticed it. “Alright, lead away,” I told her.
Tova was bouncing on her toes by the time I caught up with her. We were on the edge of the field where we used to play as kids. There hadn’t been anymore children since Tova—since fairies lived so long, we tended to take breaks between generations—so now this place was empty but for the two of us. The moonlight shined down on Tova, lighting up her smile as she waited for me. I hadn’t seen her smile like this in a while. I was glad she was in such a good mood, especially after she’d seemed so hopeless last night.
“What are you so excited about?” I asked her as I spread out a blanket on the ground.
“You know how last night was terrible?” she said leaning toward me.
“You could say that.”
“Well, afterward, I was lying in bed thinking about it. Actually, it was mixed in with dreams, some about Cearo, some about when we were kids—remember when I defeated that whole herd of lake kelpies?!” she said, referencing one of her more impressive imaginary victories.
I chuckled. “Yes, Tova the Great slaughtered all of the mighty kelpies but one—the leader of the herd. That one Tova the Great made her steed.”
She laughed at the memory. “When we were little, I never let anything stop me. Why should I let my mother’s stupid rules stop me now?” She became serious and looked at me in question.
I didn’t know what to say. Was she saying what I thought she was saying? Did she actually want to be a guard? I always thought the toy swords were just a fun way for her to let out some of her energy that she had an endless supply of.
“Do you have the sword?” she asked, the smile coming back to her face as she resumed bouncing impatiently.
“The what?” I blurted, coming unfrozen. How did she find out about my gift?
“What do you mean what sword? The one you bring every time we come here. I want to get stretched out.”
Oh, right, obviously. “Uh, no, I forgot to bring it. But why don’t we eat? Besides, your hands…” I pointed to her hands that were in as bad shape as they were last night. Fortunately, I had not left the good salve behind with the new sword. I pulled it out and showed it to her. “I got this for you.”
Her eyebrows rose. “Randolph, how much did that cost?”
“Nothing I couldn’t afford. Come here, give me your hands.”
She walked over somewhat reluctantly. “You really forgot the sword?”
I shrugged. “I guess I was so anxious to get out here it slipped my mind.”
“Oh.” She slumped in disappointment.
“Hey, your hands are looking better already,” I said after applying the salve. “Let’s eat and I’ll put some more on later. You’ll be good as new in no time.”
We ate in near silence for a time. Tova was descending back into the hopelessness from last night. I tried telling her stories, but nothing made her feel better. I felt terrible.
She hadn’t said anything in a while, and it made me uneasy. Finally, I couldn’t take it anymore. “I’ll be right back.”
“Where are you going? Should we call it a night?”
“No, stay here. I’ll be back in a minute.” I ran to her house. I tiptoed the last bit so her mother wouldn’t hear me out here. I carefully retrieved the sword I’d made and ran back to Tova as fast as I could. I hoped she’d stayed.
I was beyond relieved when I saw her still sitting on the blanket. She didn’t turn to face me though, so I came to a stop right in front of her and waited for her to look up. When she finally did, I said, “I got you a couple other things.” I pulled the gloves from my pocket and held them out to her.
She took them slowly. “Gloves?” she asked, confused. “They’re nice, but it’s not like I can wear them when I do laundry.”
“That’s not when you’ll be wearing them,” I said. Then I pulled out the sword from behind my back.
Her reaction was instant. Her eyes were huge as she stared at it. “Where did you get this?”
“I made it. At the shop. I thought you could use one that isn’t child-sized.”
Her smile returned even bigger than it had been at the start of the evening. She shot up into a standing position and pulled on the gloves. “This is the best gift I’ve ever gotten!” She took the wooden sword by the hilt and ran into the open, already spinning and slashing and thrusting it at the air.
I smiled as I watched her. I didn’t care that her mother didn’t approve of this, that she might not approve of me if I kept enabling it. It was worth it to see Tova this way.
I started up with the narration when I could finally focus on putting words together. It became just like old times. When the village behind us had gone to sleep and Tova was finally exhausted, having defeated twenty—or was it thirty?—enemies, she headed toward me.
“Thanks, Randolph.”
“It was noth—” I was cut off by her kiss.
***