Trix & the Faerie Queen

  “Something has bound the magic in Faerie. Those with fey magic can no longer work spells, and those with any animal magic have turned into animals. They’re scared and running wild.” Trix felt that sense of urgency crawl under his skin again as he spoke, and he ordered it to be still. “I have to speak for the animals.”

  “Still.” Lizinia poked at the fire with one hand. The gold protected her from the flames, but she had to be careful not to touch anything directly afterward with a scalding palm. “Faerie is a country…”

  “…and I am just one boy,” Trix finished. He was beginning to feel more and more inadequate by the moment.

  “Then it’s a good thing I’ll be along to help you,” said Lizinia. “And your sister, too.”

  “My…Saturday?”

  “Well, it just makes sense, if we’ll be passing by the abbey anyway,” said the golden girl. “That is where she’ll be headed, I imagine, based on everything you told me before.”

  It seemed like ages since Trix had bespelled Mama and Papa and Peter and Saturday and fled the towerhouse. He’d been compelled by a vision of his birthmother—he’d be happy to never experience another vision again for as long as he lived—to make the journey to Rose Abbey all on his own. That was when the earth had broken. Saturday had somehow broken the world because he had run away from home.

  Trix smacked himself in the forehead. What with all the questing for fathers and volunteering to save the world, he had almost forgotten. “Saturday is looking for me.”

  “It does make sense,” said Lizinia. “I’m sure she will want to help us.”

  “Yes, yes,” Trix said, adopting the brownie’s speech pattern playfully. “Our odds will be far better with Saturday on our side.” He’d be much more comfortable with his invincible sister and her magical sword on hand. He’d have complete peace of mind if Wednesday and Aunt Joy were in fighting form…but if that were the case, the Faerie Queen wouldn’t have needed to call upon him in the first place.

  “There’s just one thing we need to do first,” said Trix. “I need a weapon.”

  Lizinia tilted her head to the other side. “You have your dagger.”

  “Exactly what I told the Faerie Queen,” said Trix. “She did not feel it was enough.”

  “Rose Red might be able to find you something at the abbey. What sorts of weapons can you use?”

  “I had a bow, briefly, as a boy.” Thursday had given him the bow this past spring; he’d been a boy up until only a few weeks ago.

  “The abbey employs hunters. I’m sure someone has an extra you can use.”

  “I suggested that too…sort of. The Faerie Queen said that wouldn’t be enough. She told me to find a woman on an island. She can give me a bow that will be more effective against the beasts we’ll be facing.”

  “But I thought you were summoned to make peace with the animals,” said Lizinia. “I don’t understand why you’d need a weapon.”

  Trix tried to sort it out, but his mind was quickly overwhelmed by that desperate need to get to Faerie as soon as possible. “If some are too far gone to communicate, that could be a problem.”

  Lizinia sighed. “You had to wait until all the water was gone to search for an island.”

  “Wasn’t my idea. Besides”—he nodded to the sleeping brownie—“the queen said he could help us.”

  “Then I suppose we should follow our guide’s example and get some rest.”

  They banked the fire and laid down close to the embers. Trix’s mind was racing, full of so many stories and questions that he was sure he’d never fall asleep. He closed his eyelids, desperate to try.

  The next time he opened his eyes was when Trebald stuck his nose in one of them.

  Trix shot up, surprised by the damp and uncomfortable greeting. It was morning, but just barely. Only a blush of pink on the horizon gave a hint that the sun would soon be making an appearance.

  “Good morning, Giant-brother,” Trebald replied. “Metal-girl says you need my help, yes? To find an island, yes?”

  Trix stretched, scratched, and wiped the sleep from his eyes. Glad as he was that the brownie had not absconded in the night—brownies were nocturnal by nature—his dreamless sleep had been incredibly pleasant.

  “Yes, yes,” Trix said without meaning to. He accepted the piece of bread and chunk of cheese Lizinia passed to him.

  “I took the liberty of updating Trebald on our own adventures,” she said. “I told him that we are on our way to Faerie at the special request of the Queen, but that she specially requested that we stop and collect something for her along the way.”

  Trix smiled to himself as he chewed—Lizinia was too clever by half. She hadn’t told Trebald everything, but there was no sense in troubling the brownie with the rest. Though she wouldn’t have known it, that was the best way to converse with animals. Too much information sometimes led to confusion down the line. He made a mental note to commend her for her quick thinking…later, when he was far more awake.

  “I told him all of this, but I’m not entirely sure he understood me,” said the golden girl. “Back when I lived with the cats we would have conversations—they were mostly one-sided anyway, even with Papa Gatto.”

  Leave it to cats to make life difficult with as little effort as possible. It was a miracle that Lizinia had put up with them for as long as she did…no doubt the reason why Papa Gatto had rewarded her so greatly. Trix dropped his hand and stroked Trebald’s fur. It was coarse, yet soft, and the thickness of it was beginning to shed. The days were growing colder, as usual with the turn of the seasons, but Trix imagined it was still warmer here than at the Top of the World.

  “Yes, yes. Tell the metal-girl I understood her just fine,” said Trebald. “I see why you travel with her, yes, yes. She makes a fine companion. Her belly rubs in particular are quite wonderful. Yes, yes.”

  Trix chuckled.

  Lizinia waved a golden finger at them. “Now then, it’s all fine and well that I can’t hear the animals like you, Trix Woodcutter, but I’ll not have you sharing jokes at my expense right under my nose.”

  Trix caught her hand and kissed the back of it playfully. “Trebald heard you just fine. He was commending your excellent belly rubs.”

  Lizinia took back her hand and covered her own smile with it. “Oh. Well, he’s very welcome.” She turned to Trebald and said loudly, “YOU’RE VERY WELCOME.”

  Trix winced a little. “He’s blind, Lizinia. Not deaf.”

  “Sorry.” The brownie accepted her apology by nosing his way back over to her and graciously accepting more belly rubs. “He reminds me of the kittens,” she said. “He even purrs a little.”

  The colony of cats that had employed Lizinia was where felines lived out the last of their nine lives. Trix hadn’t considered that there might be kittens among their numbers. He didn’t want to think about what awful thing would have ended the nearly-immortal life of a kitten so soon.

  “Trebald,” said Trix, “the Faerie Queen said that you could help us find this island. Do you think you can?”

  The brownie reluctantly turned out of the belly rub and brushed his whiskers. “Yes, yes. Have always been good at finding water, yes.” He ambled off Lizinia’s lap onto the ground, stuck his nose in the air, and turned a small circle. “No water here, though. No, no.”

  “Then we should start heading west. Are you ready?” Trix asked Lizinia.

  The golden girl stooped and addressed Trebald in a normal tone of voice. “Might I have the honor of carrying you for a while, good sir?” The brownie answered by walking up Lizinia’s arm and settling down in the curve of her neck, beneath the curtain of her golden hair.

  Lizinia looked out into the forest, took a deep breath, and exhaled slowly. “The cats had a saying about how unlucky it is to retrace one’s steps. I hope that’s just a saying.” She adjusted the pack on her shoulders, making sure Trebald was resting comfortably. “And I hope your Faerie Queen’s not in a terrible hurry.”

  “I
rather think she is.” Trix felt the pull of the urgency in the pit of his stomach and tried not to dread how long it would take to acquire this mysterious bow. He fixed his eyes on a movement in the leaves, a shift in the dappled shadows of the sunrise, and he smiled. “Happily, I don’t believe speed will be a problem.”

  3

  The Great Stag

  Trix made a shushing sound and clicked his tongue against his teeth two times. Lizinia stayed very still, becoming a golden statue in the autumn-painted woods. The deer approached Trix cautiously.

  “Hello there,” he said softly. A fawn this young would not be without her mother. The last thing he wanted to do was spook her.

  “Hello,” the fawn answered, skittish, but still cheerful. “Are you lost?”

  “Always,” said Trix. “But today I have a direction. What about you? Are you lost?”

  “What kind of mother would I be if I allowed that to happen?” The large, black-tailed doe emerged from the brush in her daughter’s wake.

  “One with a headstrong child.” Trix bowed to the graceful beast. “Or so my own very good Mama says.”

  “Your Mama is a smart woman.”

  “She is a woman who had ten children, though only one as beautiful as your daughter.”

  This time, it was the doe who bowed. “You are kind, Boy Who Talks to Animals. Is there some way the deer can be of help to you in your quest?”

  With the help of the deer, the journey time to Faerie would be cut in half. “My friends and I are traveling west, milady. To Faerie, on an errand for the Queen. I am to be her Emissary.”

  “Goodness,” said the doe. “Faerie is awfully far from here. Even for the eagles.”

  Trix wondered if her choice of bird was coincidental. “Her feyest majesty has also tasked me with a side errand: to find a woman who lives on an island.”

  “The Spirit Sister.” The doe named the woman as naturally as if she were speaking of her own sister.

  “You know her?” said Trix.

  “I know of her,” said the doe. “But I have never met her.”

  “Her brother is a Great Spirit,” the fawn added enthusiastically. “And her island is invisible! Daddy told me the stories. The Island of the Spirit Sister floats in the air. But in the morning when the mist is thick, or in the evenings when the clouds bend to kiss the trees, that’s when the Spirit Sister comes to earth.”

  “Her father is quite the storyteller,” said the doe.

  Trix knelt to meet the fawn’s eyes. “I have a Papa who tells stories, too.”

  “We can help you travel to Faerie,” offered the doe, “but I’m afraid I don’t know the location of the Spirit Sister’s island.”

  Perfect. Trix’s skin tingled in anticipation. He’d half a mind to hop on the doe and gallop straight to Faerie without stopping. But even if he skipped catching up with Saturday, the Queen had ordered him to fetch that infernal bow. “One of my friends believes he can find it,” said Trix. “In the meantime, whatever speed you can lend us will be much appreciated.”

  “Who are your friends?” asked the fawn. “I don’t see anyone. Just that shiny statue there.”

  “That’s not a statue. That is Lizinia! Doesn’t she have a marvelous disguise?”

  “Hello,” said Lizinia. The skittish fawn leapt away from her, and then slowly crept back as she spoke. “I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean to frighten you. This is Trebald. His clever nose is going to find the island for us.”

  Upon hearing his name, Trebald emerged from beneath Lizinia’s golden fall of hair and waddled down her arm to perch in her cupped hand. He wrapped his claws around Lizinia’s fingers and nosed the air, whiskers atwitch. “Deer, yes? It has been a long time. There are deer in the Great Mountain, yes, but not at the Top of the World, no.” He sniffed the air some more. “Young deer, yes. Very young. And very old. Yes, yes. Old as the sky and the land. Only one beast older I know, yes. Ran from it yesterday.”

  Trix eyed the doe, grateful that many beasts did not communicate between species. Having grown up beside a mother and many sisters, he knew women rarely enjoyed mention of their advanced age. This doe may have been an experienced mother, but she didn’t seem particularly old to his eyes.

  “It seems even I cannot hide from Sir Trebald’s considerable talents.”

  The deep voice made Trix’s bones hum. Trix saw the antlers first, the height and breadth of them almost as large as the animal himself. Glad that he was already kneeling, he bent his head low. Beside him, Lizinia took to one knee and lowered the brownie in her hand to the ground.

  “Daddy!” The fawn pranced over to her father. Her tiny, spotted body danced around his regal form.

  “Your Majesty,” said Trix. “You honor us.”

  “I am likewise honored by the presence of the Boy Who Talks to Animals and his esteemed companions,” said the Great Stag.

  “I can hear him,” Lizinia whispered in awe. “The words echo inside my head. It is…he is…magnificent.”

  “The Great Stag was born with the Wood and the Winds,” Trix told her. “Or so says the legend Papa told me when I was his daughter’s age.”

  “Your Papa was correct.” The Stag’s voice was strong and comfortable and dangerous. In many ways, it reminded Trix of Papa. “But then, Jack Woodcutter always was an eloquent man.”

  “You know my Papa, your majesty?” asked Trix.

  “I have often found myself in the Elder Wood,” answered the Stag. “I have made myself known to the men allowed to fell trees in that part of the Enchanted Forest. They are a rare breed—there have been but a handful in my time.”

  “I offered to aid them, my love,” said the doe. “They are destined for Faerie, but they first seek the Spirit Sister.”

  “You mean to ask for her brother’s bow,” said the Stag. It was not a question.

  “Yes, your majesty,” answered Trix.

  “I find myself reluctant to help you acquire a weapon of such magnitude. This weapon has been desired by many hunters, but only a few have been worthy enough to wield it. Do you think you are worthy, Trix Woodcutter?”

  Worthiness, Trix had found, was never decided by the person being tested. “I am only one boy—one man—and I try my best. The Faerie Queen deemed me worthy enough to be her Emissary. It is up to this Spirit Sister to decide whether or not I am worthy enough for her brother’s bow.”

  The Stag stepped forward, looming over Trix with his glorious presence. As much as Trix had grown over the past few weeks, he suddenly felt smaller than he had in a very long time. “You are a credit to your parents.”

  The Stag hadn’t specified which parents, his birthparents or his foster parents. Trix supposed it didn’t matter. “Thank you, your majesty.”

  “We will carry you to your destination, on one condition.”

  It didn’t sound like Trix had much of a choice. “Yes, your majesty?”

  “Whatever weapon the Spirit Sister gives you, you must promise not to hurt any living animal.”

  Trix and Lizinia (and Trebald, if he followed them that far) were about to descend beneath a Hill full of wild animals with wilder magic. How was he to defend himself if not with this bow? He had accepted the Faerie Queen’s mission, so he had to fetch the bow, even though the Stag’s provision rendered it mostly useless. The only other option was arriving in Faerie on foot, when it was too late to save the world from being torn apart from this magical imbalance.

  Trix clenched his fists a few times, trying to shake the nagging feeling that they were already too late. It was the Stag’s duty to protect the animals of the Wood. Trix could never fault the protector for doing what he’d been born to do. “Yes, your majesty. I promise.”

  “Then let us not delay. My wife will bear you. I will take your companion.”

  “Thank you, your majesty,” said Lizinia.

  “And what about me, Daddy? What can I do?” The fawn pranced about again, eager to help.

  “What say you, Trebald,” said Trix. “
Would you like to have your own mount for this journey?”

  “Yes, yes,” said the brownie. “I think that would be a splendid idea.”

  “Tell him to be careful with those claws,” said the fawn as Trix moved Trebald from Lizinia’s hand to the fawn’s back.

  “Trebald will watch his claws,” Trix said. “But he is sometimes a nervous traveler, so you must be careful not to jump around or go too fast and scare him.”

  “Yes, sir.” The fawn held her head high and made sure to stand as still as she could.

  Trix helped Lizinia up onto the back of the Great Stag, and then mounted the doe in one fluid leap. In his boyhood, he’d had a regular communion with such animals. He missed those days.

  “You are a good man, Trix Woodcutter,” the doe said to him as they turned away from the rising sun.

  “As you say, milady,” Trix answered. “I just hope I’m good enough.”

  It had been too long since he’d ridden with the deer. The brush of the wind through his hair, the burn of it on his cheeks. The beat of his heart increasing with the beat of the doe’s hooves on the ground and then stopping—along with his breath—as they leapt impossibly high over rocks and creeks and fallen trees. His muscles seemed to melt into the doe’s and they became one beast, flying over the landscape.

  It seemed that the magical storm had left its mark on the forest. Typically, the dying leaves of autumn were red and gold and amber. However Saturday had disposed of the ocean and remade the earth, she had done so with the full spectrum of an artist’s palette. Some trees boasted leaves of the richest umber, some were turquoise…one of the maples they passed was bedecked in shades of pink. Some trees had leaves like the Faerie Queen’s eyes, running the gamut from blood red to indigo to intense violet.

  Every time he closed his eyes, she came to him. Save us, Trix Woodcutter. Save us all. He had hoped not to be haunted by the queen as he’d been haunted by his mother’s vision, the one that had compelled him to take his first adventure, but he hoped in vain. The memory of her kept coming back to him, along with her words, and the desperate need inside him to move onward, farther, faster, to reach their destination.