Trixter

  "There's no use getting all upset," Trix told his stomach. "It's not like there's another choice. We'll just have to walk until we find something."

  Trix continued walking as promised, until his feet began to complain as well. This ground, untouched by magical waves, was cracked and dry and gray. Hay stalks that broke as he pushed through them, stabbing into the bottoms of his feet like tiny iron fire pokers.

  “Sorry, feet,” Trix said. "We can't rest until we find something to eat. But as soon as we do, we will rest for a very long time."

  Trix kept up his pace, grumbling stomach and feet and all, across the endless hay field. The sun continued to rise in the cloudless sky as the sun does, clouds or not, and Trix's now-dry head and face began to burn.

  “Stay sharp, head,” Trix said to his overly warm pate. "Even if this hay would make a fine hat, we cannot stop until we find something to eat. When we do, we will eat and rest in the shade." Despite the pep talk his head continued to burn, hotter and hotter, so much so that he finally took his shirt off and wore it as a very limp hat.

  All the while, Trix walked on, up and down the rolling hills, with nothing for miles in any direction but hay. When he got to the top of a particularly steep hill, he realized that the endless hay was an illusion. There, nestled in a small valley between two hay-covered hills, was a small cottage. Outside the small cottage was a giant apple tree, filled with apples. Trix’s head and stomach and feet all cheered.

  He took the measure of the cottage as he raced down the hill toward it. The grass on the paths around it was overgrown. The sod on the roof was sprinkled with wildflowers. No smoke rose from the chimney. No window or door, even on this beautiful day, was open. Trix decided that the cottage was abandoned, which explained the neglected hayfields. This was good news, for it meant all the apples he could eat and all the rest and shade he could soak up before continuing his journey onward. Oh, happy day!

  Trix reached the bottom of the hill and stretched his arm out for the lowest, ripest apple on the tree.

  "Who comes to steal my apples?"

  The voice was female, slightly crackled with cold or age. The front door of the cottage was now open a crack. The voice had come from the darkness inside.

  Trix bowed low to the cottage. "Trix Woodcutter, milady. I am but a poor boy journeying alone to an abbey in the north. My belongings were swept away in the magical sea. I thought this cottage abandoned, or I would never have presumed to take an apple from your tree without asking. That said, you do have many fine apples here. Could I trouble you for one or two of them, please, and the use of your tree’s shade to rest my weary bones?”

  "You may have as many apples as you desire,” said the voice, "and you may rest as long as you like. But I would first have you do something for me."

  Trix bowed again. His stomach growled mightily at the teasing abuse. "Name your task, milady."

  "You must fetch me the topmost apple on that tree and bring it to me.”

  What luck! Having grown up next to the Wood, Trix was a master at climbing trees. He could do it in his sleep (and had on a few occasions, according to Sunday). This full tree, thick with branches, would be nothing at all for him to scale. "I will have your prize in the jiffiest of jiffs," Trix declared, and he quickly scrambled up the tree. As he leapt from limb to limb, he was so happy to be somewhere familiar that his aching head and feet and stomach forgot to complain.

  In the jiffiest of jiffs his head emerged from the branches and leaves at the very top of the tree. From this vantage point, the white-capped mountains in the distance were larger than he'd ever seem them before; the magical ocean had taken him much farther north than he'd anticipated. A fortunate bit of chaos, that. A shorter journey was always good, once the worst obstacles had been cleared.

  Not forgetting his task, he looked about to see which apple hung highest on the branches around him. There were plenty of apples here as well, but surely one must stand out…a-ha! He spotted it at once: a perfectly shaped apple made of solid gold. It snapped right off into Trix's hand as if it had been waiting to be plucked. Prize obtained, Trix slid down the branches and hopped down to the ground in a shower of leaves.

  He bowed again, offering the fruit in his outstretched palm. Its weight reminded him of a certain golden ball his sister had been forced to sell at the market once…a bauble given to her with love by a frog who would be king. “Your apple, milady.”

  The door opened. Before him stood not the old witch he’d expected but a young woman. She was gold from head to toe. Her hair was gold. Her eyes were gold. Her clothes were gold. In the bright light of the sun he could even make out a small gold star in the middle of her forehead. Stunned by her blinding beauty he bent further, lowering his face to the ground.

  "Would you share the apple with me, good Trix?" Her voice cracked again and she coughed daintily. Out here, all alone… Trix imagined this girl spoke to no one regularly, not even herself (which was a shame).

  "But of course," said Trix. He unsheathed his lingworm-blessed dagger, golden as the apple in his hand. Putting it to the test, he set the blade to the cold metal surface. The flesh of the fruit parted easily for the dagger. Oh, happy day! The bright smell of deliciously ripe apple filled the air. Trix’s stomach did somersaults in appreciation.

  Papa was far better at slicing apples in midair than he. Trix had been a little more successful cutting off the head of the lingworm. The two pieces he now held were woefully unequal.

  Trix's stomach took the opportunity to weigh in on the decision before him. Take the larger half, his stomach growled. You're starving.

  Take the larger half, his feet winced. You're tired.

  Take the larger half, said his head. You deserve it. You've come such a long way, and you still have so far to go.

  And then suddenly, unexpectedly, the voice in his mind was that of Saturday. "GIVE HER THE LARGER HALF!" cried his warrior sister. Her words were hollow and felt far away, as far away as a towerhouse on a magical ocean, but they rang across the distance clear as a bell.

  Oh, Saturday. How I miss you.

  Trix smiled. All the voices were right. But this golden girl had promised him all the apples he wanted. Just because this particular apple was gold didn't make him want it any more than the plain old red and green ones still hanging happy and fresh on the tree behind him. Trix held his hands out to the girl, offering her both halves of the golden apple.

  "For you, milady," he said. "The humble apples on yonder tree are more than enough for a poor Woodcutter like me."

  There was a singing in the air that sounded like a swarm of bees, a riot of cicadas, and a sword being unsheathed all at once. The girl grinned at him with a smile as bright as the sun, and then flung herself into his arms. He had expected her movements to be stiff as a moving statue’s and not quite so effervescently fluid, but there she was in the blink of an eye. Her enthusiasm reminded him of Friday, unabashedly throwing love around for all to share. He braced himself as he would have for one of Friday’s hugs, which was good, because this girl did seem to weigh as much as someone who’d been dipped in gold.

  "Thank you!" she cried. "Thank you for releasing me from my spell!”

  She smelled of honeysuckle and smoke, delicious scents than made Trix’s stomach churn in frustration. The girl must have heard it for she released him soon after, walking over to the tree and picking a shiny red and green apple for him.

  “For those vociferous hollows,” she told him. Her voice was stronger now, though her skin and eyes and skirts and hair were no less golden.

  "That and twenty more like it, with great thanks.” Trix greedily took the apple from her and bit into its tart flesh.

  "All you need is one," she said. "You'll see."

  She spoke truly. By the time Trix finished the apple, he felt as fat as a pig before Midwinter Feast. "Thank you, milady," he said as he wiped the juice from his chin.

  “Please call me Lizinia," she t
old him. “You also wanted to rest in the shade of my tree. Join me here and I will tell you my story." She spread her golden skirts and sat gracefully on the ground beside the apple tree. Trix didn’t have Friday’s eye for material, but he’d never before seen metal move like silk, no matter how finely hammered.

  Oh, Friday. How I miss you.

  Shade and stories...Trix sighed. This was almost like being at home, except that his family’s clothing wasn't half so fine. "Should I fetch you a blanket?" he asked. "Aren’t you worried you'll muss your splendid dress?”

  She laughed again and her golden fingers flew to her golden cheeks, as if the act of laughing itself was foreign to her. "My clothes can never wear or tear or stain," she told him. "Nor can anyone else remove them but me. That is part of my story."

  Satisfied, Trix settled back against the trunk of the tree. He gazed up into its thick leaves, bright and green with sunlight. His stomach and feet and head quieted as he settled in to hear Lizinia's tale.

  "I haven't always lived in this cottage," she began. "I grew up in an old house not far from here, with my mother and older sister Peppina."

  "Where was your father?" Trix asked lazily.

  "Mother told us that he died when we were very young," said Lizinia.

  “You sound dubious.”

  “Mother was not known for being truthful. Or generous. Mine was a happy, humble life, but in Mother's eyes we were destitute and deserving of so much more."

  "And your sister?"

  "My sister, unfortunately, took after our mother. She dreamed of places she would never live and riches she would never own and men she would never marry. Then she would get mad because she didn't have those things."

  "She must have been mad a lot," said Trix.

  "They both were. And so I spent my sunny days working in the garden and playing with the birds and squirrels and rabbits who came to visit me. They cared only for kindness and did not mind my humble trappings.”

  “As it should be.” Trix made the comment in a low voice, so as not to disturb the natural rhythm of his new friend’s narrative. Just as Papa had taught him.

  “On rainy days, I cleaned the house. At night, I would cook dinner and tend to the mending. I had peace of mind, but nothing was ever enough for my mother and sister. So when the cats offered to pay my mother in exchange for my servitude, I went with them freely."

  "Cats?" Even with his fantastic talent, Trix had always been leery of cats. Cats could see things most humans and many fey could not. They were not always wise beyond their years, but they acted as if they possessed the knowledge of the ages. Worst of all, they spoke—when they wanted to be heard—in riddles that could drive even the most fey-blessed denizens of the Wood mad with frustration.

  Lizinia indicated the small cottage beside them. "There were dozens of them, maybe even a hundred, and I was brought here to live with them. I cared for them: made their meals, washed their sheets, and kept the house in order. The only difference from my old life was that I had more free time to myself."

  “And no grouching at every turn,” said Trix. “It sounds rather nice.”

  "It was.” Lizinia leaned back against the trunk of the tree as well, her voice dreamy with memory. “A full year went by before I began to miss my old bed, my old garden, and my mother and sister. Since it had been a successful year, Papa Gatto felt that I had more than earned my keep, so he let me return home."

  "Papa Gatto?"

  "Papa Gatto was the leader of the cats, the wisest and most powerful of them all. It was he who hired me, and thusly he who rewarded me for my service."

  Lizinia touched the star on her golden forehead, her golden cheek, her golden dress in wistful thought. Trix didn't have to ask her the extent of Papa Gatto's reward. "Was it scary, being dipped in gold?"

  "A little," she admitted. "Thank you. No one has ever asked me that. But then, no one before has offered me the golden apple either."

  "Did they eat it?" asked Trix.

  "No," said Lizinia. “They would steal it, or try to melt it down. Those that melted the apple were left with ashes, or dust, or a pile of fragrant mush.”

  “And those that stole the apple?”

  Lizinia shrugged. “Nothing pleasant, I imagine, but I never followed them to learn. Per Papa Gatto’s instructions, once a visitor failed the test, I closed the door and locked it tight. Another golden apple always appeared on the tree the very next day.”

  "Good," said Trix. Those greedy gobs deserved whatever they got. “So what did your mother say when you returned home looking like…that?”

  "She was overjoyed, as you can imagine. Until she realized that she could not cut my hair, or remove my apron, or take off my shoes. All of this gold at her fingertips, and none of it hers! She locked me in a cupboard, and then told Peppina to go to the cats' cottage and offer herself up for servitude."

  "I'm going to guess that didn't go well," said Trix.

  "You guess rightly. To Peppina, cats were pompous, smelly animals that made her itch. Not that it mattered—had they been unicorns, lazy Peppina wouldn’t have served them for more than five minutes. It wasn’t two weeks before Papa Gatto offered to release her from her contract and send her home. Thinking she was going to be rewarded as I had been, Peppina let herself be dipped in a vat of pitch."

  "Ouch," said Trix, thinking more of the sister's pride than pain.

  "It got worse. She did not follow Papa Gatto's precise directions on how to return home. By the time she arrived, a donkey's tail had sprouted from her forehead." Lizinia pointed to the star on her own brow.

  “Oh no.” Trix had made many mistakes in his life; he couldn’t imagine having to wear his shame so blatantly.

  "Oh, yes. Peppina went out of her selfish mind with grief. Mother was beside herself. Neither of them could bear to look at me after that, so they threw me out of the house. I ran away—here—the only other home I have ever known. Papa Gatto graciously took me in. I went on to care for him and the rest of the cats for the whole of their lives."

  "Are there none still living?" asked Trix.

  “No.” There was sorrow in her eyes. "This cottage was where they all came to live out the twilight of their ninth life after the first eight had been spent. Because of the wisdom and power that he held, Papa Gatto was the last to go. He put a spell on the cottage that gave me everlasting life, until someone finally came along who was worthy of my goodness. Only then would I be allowed to leave this place and travel as I chose. This apple tree was both my sole sustenance, and my sole means of escape. Papa Gatto promised to always be there for me, to guide me on my way." She squinted up into the leaves above Trix's head. "I can almost see him up there in the branches of this apple tree, smiling down upon us. I think he is happy that you have come at long last. As am I.”

  "Cats can smile?" Trix asked playfully.

  Lizinia turned her body to face him. “Trix Woodcutter, may I accompany you on your journey?"

  "I am going to see my mother."

  "I would love to meet her," said Lizinia.

  "She is dead.” Papa told him it was always best to be honest.

  "All the more reason that you should not travel alone," said Lizinia. "I will accompany you to the grave of your mother, and we may decide from there whether to companion each other further. Do we have a deal?"

  It was a fairer offer than most of his other siblings would suggest.

  “Adventure awaits!” said Trix. He spat in his palm and held his hand out for Lizinia to shake. She did, her warm metal hand slipping into his.

  As soon as their palms touched, the tree above them began to shake. Apples flew everywhere, pummeling both Trix and Lizinia, and Trix did not have the benefit of golden armor to protect him. The blue sky was devoid of clouds and yet the tree bent and waved wildly, as if belatedly tossed in the magical storm Trix had left behind the night before. The cottage, too, was suddenly abuzz with movement. Shutters clattered against
the window panes. The door opened wide and slammed shut nine times in quick succession.

  The tenth time the door opened, Lizinia gasped.

  “What?” Trix asked the golden girl. “What’s happening?”

  “Papa Gatto.” Her eyes were wide. “Did you not see him walk through the door?”

  “I saw nothing,” Trix said in earnest, but he had enough experience in an enchanted Wood to know that didn’t necessarily mean nothing was there to see. Especially when it had to do with cats.

  Lizinia slowly turned her head to Trix. “Papa Gatto would like you to go inside.”

  That hadn’t been a daunting prospect before the empty house had come alive on its own. “Am I to be dipped in oil? Peanut butter? A vat of snakes?”

  “I don’t know,” said Lizinia. “No other traveler has passed the test before.”

  “Well done, me,” Trix said to himself. And then to Lizinia, “Any advice you’d care to impart would be greatly appreciated in this moment.”

  “Just be careful. Be kind. Be wise.” She picked a shiny apple off the ground and tossed it to him. “Be yourself.”

  The front door of the cottage loomed before him. Even with all the talents he possessed, he wasn’t sure he had what it took to stand up to a Cat Lord and declare his intentions toward his goddaughter. As he exhaled, Trix boldly walked up the stoop and lifted his fist to knock. Silently, the door slid open a crack, as if anticipating his entry.

  “Adventure awaits,” he whispered, and stepped inside.

  5

  The Grinning Cat

  The door slammed behind Trix.

  There was no wind.

  He took a deep breath—the air did not possess that stale tang of old silence. It smelled instead as Lizinia did, of honeysuckle and banked embers. His eyes searched the shadows. The main living area was spacious. Couches and chairs formed a circle around a grand fireplace—every one of them soft and inviting. Even the rug looked comfortable. There was a small piano and several stout bookcases—the cats could read? Or they had been collected for Lizinia, who had been trapped with them inside this cozy prison for who knew how long. Trix bet she could quote every page from memory.