Trixter

  Trix waited a while, just to be sure the cat had disappeared for good. He threw open the front door to where Lizinia stood, a lovely statue of anticipation. “We are free to go!” he announced.

  Instead of the enthusiastic response he expected, she tilted her head at him like a broken bit of clockwork. “Trix? Is that you?”

  Girls did ask the strangest questions sometimes. “Of course it’s me! You’ve been here the whole time. Did you see anyone else walk through this door?”

  Lizinia tilted her head the other way. Raising her eyebrows, she looked him over from head to toe. “It’s just…” She squinted at his face. “You look…taller.”

  Trix straightened proudly at the compliment. Come to think of it, his shirt did feel a bit tighter around the chest and arms. Did that happen when one grew taller? His older brother Peter was as barrel-chested as Papa, which came from being a Woodcutter, but he wasn’t as tall as, say, Saturday. Not that Peter was around to ask. “Well, it’s still me, and I’m still anxious to get to Rose Abbey. You’re still coming with me, right?”

  The joy Trix had anticipated earlier returned to her face. Lizinia clapped her hands. “Let me just collect a few things.”

  Trix moved to let her past him but he remained in the doorway, just in case Papa Gatto had any ideas of locking her up again. From the bedrooms, the golden girl fetched a cloak the color of the sky that covered her from head to toe. From the pantry, she fetched a satchel. “I thought we might collect some apples for our journey.”

  “Great idea,” said Trix, happy that she was traveling light.

  Lizinia paused on the threshold. She turned back to the main room and blew it a kiss before closing the cottage door, which she locked with a golden key that hung from a chain around her neck. Trix said nothing; he knew how difficult it was to leave one’s home behind, prison or no.

  "What should we do with this?" Trix asked of the golden apple he'd split in half. While they had prepared to leave it had turned solid metal, from the rind to the pips.

  “Bring it," said Lizinia. She put the smaller half of the golden apple in the pocket of her cloak and handed the other half to Trix. “We might need to spend it on something."

  "Thank you," said Trix.

  "Not at all," said Lizinia. "Only...I do have a small favor to ask of you."

  Trix bowed to her as he had to her godfather. Surely whatever she asked couldn’t be as silly as anything Papa Gatto had invented "Name your task, milady."

  He could not tell from the shadows cast by the hood of her cloak, but judging by her body language, his comment had left her blushing. (Trix certainly had enough sisters to know.)

  "Before we start on the journey to your mother, would you please take me to this ‘magical sea’ that you spoke about? I have never seen the sea, magical or otherwise.”

  It was miles out of their way, back over the hills and through the never-ending hayfields. Trix looked up at the sky, noted the position of the sun, and assessed their bearings.

  “This way!” he said excitedly. Because no matter where they went, at least they were going. There were no clouds in the sky: neither storms nor cats would cause any more mischief this day.

  Trix was happy to note that his enthusiasm pleased Lizinia. Obligingly, she followed him through the hay. “So what did you and Papa talk about?”

  “Oh, all sorts of things,” said Trix. “I don’t expect we’ll ever be the best of friends, but we worked it out. And I didn’t end up dipped in anything, which I consider a triumph. Mostly I was relieved when he stopped being mad at me. He really does grin, doesn’t he? That’s a strange sight.”

  “Mad? Whyever was Papa Gatto mad at you?”

  “Because I forgot to tell you I was a prince. Come on, now, keep up. Adventure awaits!”

  6

  The True Story

  Trix and Lizinia made their way east along the edge of where the impossible ocean met the land it had swallowed. Lizinia kept her hood up, even in the heat of midday, to avoid the urges of any greedy passersby who might want to steal her for themselves. Not that they had encountered anyone as of yet, but Trix was thankful for the gesture as well. He found he liked to look at people when he spoke to them. When Lizinia faced the sun, any conversation was positively blinding.

  They took turns carrying the sack of apples they had collected—it remained heavy, as they each needed only one a day to stay energized. When they stopped to rest, Lizinia wove a sturdy chain of daisies and vines from which Trix could hang Wisdom's tooth around his neck. It had not yet ceased to amaze Trix how nimble her small fingers were, despite the fact that they looked to be made of solid gold.

  “You’re very good at that,” he said, when he remembered that Mama had advised him it was not polite to stare. “My sister Friday would like you. She’s deft with a needle. And weaving. And mending. And pretty much anything else that involves laundry.”

  “You mention your sisters a lot,” said Lizinia.

  Trix shrugged. “Hard to avoid, what with there being seven of them and all.”

  The golden girl smiled—her teeth, like her eyes, had not been coated in the cats’ magic metal. “The way you talk about them, though…the tone of your voice, the look on your face…you all must love each other very much.”

  “We do,” he said. The guilt of poisoning Mama, Papa, Saturday and Peter rose up in his stomach again and the shame left a bitter taste in his throat. He did not yet feel comfortable confessing this transgression to Lizinia. Thankfully, she had not asked why none of his family accompanied him on this trip. Trix pushed the terrible feeling aside and tried not to think about it.

  “So…Sunday is good with words. Saturday is a hard worker. Friday is good at sewing.” Lizinia pulled a knot tight and moved onto the rest of the plait. “What are you good at?”

  “Making messes,” Trix said proudly.

  Lizinia looked up at him. Her irises held an amber hue and Trix wondered if they had been that color all along, or if they had been changed by the magic gold as well. “You shouldn’t do that,” she said.

  He’d been so caught up in imagining what Lizinia had looked like before her gold bath that he didn’t hear exactly what she’d said, but Trix was familiar enough with the women in his family to recognize a scolding tone. “Do what?”

  “Talk about yourself like you’re a pest,” she said. “Do you honestly think you’re such a horrible person?”

  “No,” Trix said with a little less confidence. “Of course not.”

  “Do your brothers and sisters call you names?”

  “We’re siblings,” said Trix. “We’re always calling each other names. No harm is ever meant by it. It’s all in good fun.”

  “Peppina used to call me horrible names,” said Lizinia. “Mama too. They also said it was ‘in good fun.’ Only I was not the one having fun.”

  Trix noticed that her hands had begun to tremble. He took them in his own, as he would have had she been any of his other sisters. (Except maybe Saturday, who was careful to never show weakness.) “My family is kind, Lizinia. We are loud and messy and we make up stories and we call each other names. We work and we play and we eat and we love and we have great adventures. It’s a good family. You would like them. And they would love you, just as they love me.”

  “But do you love yourself?”

  “I…” It wasn’t a question anyone had asked Trix before, and so it was nothing he’d ever previously considered. It was true, he was good at making messes, better than anyone else he knew. And he rather enjoyed the results of those predicaments, be they disastrous or otherwise. He was a Woodcutter, after all: adventure was in his blood. “I believe I do. Do you?”

  “I don’t know,” she said softly. “I don’t think so.” Her voice wavered.

  “If you cry, are your tears water or gold?”

  Lizinia’s shock at the question distracted her from her sadness, as Trix had hoped it would. “I don’t know. I haven’t had cause to be s
ad for a long time. Wistful, maybe. Lonely. But not sad.”

  “Good. Stay not sad.” Trix squeezed her hands. “And don’t worry. I will love you.”

  “You will?”

  Trix nodded as solemnly as a soldier going into battle. “As if you were one of my very own sisters. How about that?”

  “I would like that,” said Lizinia. “But don’t start calling me names right away, if you please. I may have to work up to that.”

  “As you wish, Princess Shining Star. Oops! Sorry. Won’t happen again.”

  Lizinia cocked her head. “Well, that one wasn’t so—”

  “No!” Trix put a hand over his heart. “You made me swear not to call you names, milady, and so I shall not, until you give me leave to do so once more.”

  “Now you sound like a prince.”

  “Ugh.” Trix pulled a face that made Lizinia laugh. “It’s not my fault I’m a prince. I’m just a boy.”

  “Well then, you are a funny boy, Trix Woodcutter.”

  “I am a funny boy who excels at making messes.”

  “Indeed,” said Lizinia. “Well, then. I suppose I’ll just have to stick around to see these messes for myself. Who knows? You might excel at a few other things you’re not even aware of.”

  “I hope I do, milady.”

  Lizinia smiled as she shook her head, in that exasperated way all his sisters did, and Trix knew that everything would be fine.

  “You know,” she said as she wound the thin, supple vines around the largest part of the tooth, “we should cut the golden apple into smaller chunks. That way, when we need to spend it on something, we won’t be flashing all our funds in front of whoever we’re bartering with.”

  “We’d also be less likely to get cheated,” said Trix. “When a vendor knows you have money, they don’t knock their prices down as much.”

  “Learned that the hard way, did you?”

  Trix grinned. “One day, I was at the market haggling over magic beans to keep my family from starving. The next, I was handed a bunch of royal tokens and told to buy anything I wanted. A strange juxtaposition, to be sure. But one that supports your theory. Look, the tooth agrees with you.”

  Wisdom’s tooth glowed a happy rose color, deeming Lizinia’s plan to chop up the golden apple a wise one. Trix was starting to enjoy having the tooth around…when it didn’t remind him of Mama. Already it had warned him against venturing back into the sea, and climbing a tree near the edge of a cliff to look for bird’s eggs, and walking on slick rocks near a waterfall. Once he had introduced Lizinia to the tooth’s properties, she went a little overboard seeking its advice. Trix had to stop her when she started asking it where to put one foot in front of the other. For a while, he worried that they’d never get to Rose Abbey before his mother was buried.

  Trix pulled the golden dagger from his belt and shaved the golden apple down into smaller slices. Lizinia forced him to stop long enough to slip the necklace she had fashioned over his head.

  “I’m going to collect firewood before it gets dark,” she said. The tooth continued to shine, even after she’d let go.

  “If you spend any more time with this thing, you are going to start glowing, Wise One.”

  Lizinia raised her finger at the name calling, but smiled as she turned and set to her chore.

  Trix was far more accustomed to foraging in the Wood, so he had given Lizinia this easy task and left the hunting of edibles for himself. They would tire of the magic apples soon enough, and Trix didn’t want to risk them accidentally ingesting something they shouldn’t. He placed a hand over his stomach, remembering the horrible cramps the poison stew had given him. He’d certainly had enough difficulty in that area to last a lifetime.

  A squirrel and a chipmunk obligingly led him to a thicket of ripe blackberries. Trix shoved enough berries into his mouth to stuff his cheeks as full as the chipmunk’s, and then took off his shirt and collected scads more for Lizinia. The chipmunk also assisted with the location of a few root vegetables, while the squirrel showed Trix the path that led to a coven of wisps from whom they were able to steal fire without being detected.

  Lizinia had accomplished her mission successfully. Trix returned to a bounty of firewood of varying thickness and length (the cats’ blessing seemed to have made Lizinia at least as strong as Saturday, a useful asset). A pair of groundhogs made quick work of digging a pit, inside which Trix fashioned a square of larger wood full of twigs. He tilted three more sizable logs into a tower above the square, and then placed the wisps’ light inside with the kindling. The wind was with them and the fire lit quickly and successfully. Trix thanked the Four Winds and the Fire Angels and the God of Travelers, making a mental note to acquire some more flint at the first opportunity.

  The herd of deer they’d passed had told them it was but another day or so to the Abbey (given that humans were considerably slower than deer), but Trix had a history with this kind of excessive good fortune. It never lasted for long.

  Lizinia loved the berries, as Trix suspected she would, and the root vegetables cooked nicely in the embers. The squirrel, the chipmunk, the groundhogs, and several other small animals joined Trix and Lizinia for the meal and slept by the warm fire. Before they fell asleep, Lizinia and Trix swapped stories under the stars. Lizinia told Trix some of her mother's and sister's escapades, though it had been so long she didn’t recall much, nor did she want to. Trix regaled Lizinia with tales of life as a member of the legendary Woodcutter family and growing up in their towerhouse by the enchanted Wood.

  "So your birthmother left you in the branches at the top of a tree for your papa to find? A baby? In the winter? That sounds dubious, even to me. I suppose your mother might have been able to climb a tree as well as you...but what if your papa hadn't noticed you way up there? Aren’t those trees very old and terribly tall?”

  Lizinia’s questions were innocent, but the more she asked, the more the story Jack and Seven Woodcutter had told him all his life sounded a bit farfetched. "But Papa did notice me. Or, at least, I think he did. I don't know. I didn't even know who my birthmother was until a few months ago.”

  “But she was your foster mother’s sister. If she knew her, why leave you in a tree? Why not just hand the baby over? Did your Mama hate her sister so much that she would have said no to her baby?”

  Trix furrowed his brow and was forced to concede the issue. “Okay. Maybe it didn't really happen that way.”

  “Or maybe it did,” Lizinia said kindly. “It sounds more like something’s missing. Maybe you just don’t have the whole story. The true story. Regardless, it is a good story."

  That would have been just like Papa, making up a wonderful tale for Trix to tell instead of the tragic story of his abandonment. Perhaps that had been Papa's first gift to him.

  "And you're traveling all this way to say farewell to a woman who didn't even know you? I may be kindhearted, Trix Woodcutter, but you're the purest soul I've ever known.”

  "I'm not so innocent," he said. "I've done terrible things."

  Lizinia petted the fur of a mottled brown rabbit who had nuzzled into her stomach and fallen asleep there. "I have no doubt that your terrible things are still leagues better than most people's terrible things."

  Trix thought about the terrible things that had been done to Lizinia in her life. Even the "gift" her Papa Gatto had given her seemed as much of a burden as a blessing. The two of them had this much in common—they had both been cast out of their original birthfamilies in favor of households who loved and valued them. "We're both very lucky," said Trix. Lizinia gave a small hum in what Trix assumed was agreement.

  "Trix," she asked, "do you believe in ghosts?"

  "I believe in a lot of things," he answered honestly. "Some things exist only because we believe in them."

  "So if I told you that I think I've been seeing the ghost of Papa Gatto now and again since we left the cottage, you would still be my friend?"

  "My
birthmother comes to me in my dreams, speaking riddles of the elements. She tells me I need to go see her," said Trix. "Are you still my friend?"

  The whistle and wheeze of their little fire filled the space between sentences with cheerful song. "Of course you are my friend," Lizinia said finally.

  "As you are mine," said Trix. He could almost hear her relief in the darkness.

  “Papa says we need to take the rocky path,” she whispered. “Not the one the deer told you to take.”

  “Okay,” Trix answered sleepily. “I’ll look at it in the morning.”

  By the light of day, however, the ghost cat’s advice seemed positively ridiculous. The path Papa Gatto had suggested wasn’t just “rocky,” it was nigh impassable. Trix and Lizinia would have to scale a cliff wall down to a dry ravine cut deep into stone that looked as if it stretched all the way to the White Mountains. There would be no water, no food, no trees for shelter, and few animals to let them know where exactly they needed to climb out of the ravine and continue on to the Abbey.

  The path the deer had suggested was lush and lined with giant flowers, which meant water sources and food and many other things Trix looked forward to discovering. There was nothing to discover in this ravine, other than how long Lizinia could walk on sharp rocks without her golden feet hurting. Trix didn’t see Papa Gatto magicking him up a pair of golden boots any time soon.

  Lizinia seemed up to the challenge—even excited by it—but Trix glowered. He’d been ordered around his whole life. By Mama and her magical powers of persuasion. By his absent, suddenly-attentive, and incredibly vague birthmother. And now thanks to an insubstantial cat he just so happened to adopt as a result of his own adventuring, he was being forced to endure pointless hardships. Was this another test he had to pass to prove his worthiness as Lizinia’s companion?

  Trix looked down the ravine once more and made a decision. “We’re taking the garden path.”