"So... Giant squirrels."
Sam looked around the campfire. It felt good to be back on land, in the wilderness, away from civilization and all that it created. Back in control, somewhat, of her destiny. She only wished Jack was there, sitting next to her. His hand on her leg, strong fingers writing secret words meant only for her. Someday...
"I will be honest," Lil said, "now that the damned compass has, finally, done more than just point... I'm scared." She hugged herself, despite the closeness of the fire. Kik, perched next to her, held her close. The fairies sat on a wooden cross, shoved into the dirt between Sam and the other two humans. Sam had made it for them a month before their ocean journey, crossbeam padded to protect bare bottoms. Kik looked over at Heather and Cathy, seated on a log.
"Did either of you... sense something? About the fur?"
Heather nodded.
"It felt wrong. As if it was a human skin hanging there."
"But it's an animal skin," Sam pointed out. "It's odd, but..." Her shoulders slumped. "Yeah, it's freaky." The fact they had bought it was even creepier. What the hell were they going to do with an oversized, evil squirrel skin? The first sign of bad luck, Sam was going to burn it. At least it was on Cathy's animal, and not hers.
"And the damned compass likes it," Lil sighed. "Where the heck did you get that thing anyway, Heather?"
Cathy and her servant exchanged a glance.
"We've told you this story, haven't we?"
Sam saw the reluctance on their faces. She didn't blame them. The past... well, should be the past. Her own part had been that of bystander, but in a way wasn't that itself a choice? Youth, she now knew, was not an excuse.
"Did you?" Lil frowned. Sam couldn't help but chuckle. The old saying that the little people could only hold so much in their heads before it was pushed out to make way for the new was a sore subject with the black skinned fairy. At the thought, Sam's expression hardened. The Witch had done that to her Jack. The Witch Wendy... Shaking her head to clear that from her mind, she looked at Lil.
"I think we started the story, before that pack of wolves interrupted us. Never got back to it."
Heather's eyes widened with the memory, bringing the smile back to Sam's face. The larger girl had tripped, sword flying off into the darkness, as the wolves advanced. Sam had literally stood over her, defending the woman until she managed to get to her feet and grab Sam's dagger from her belt. Fun and exciting, in that way brushes with death tend to be after you've survived. As for why the blonde teen was now blushing as her eyes lowered away from Sam's... well, Sam had never been a good one for reading other women.
"It's a long story," Cathy said. Her eyes were downcast. "Maybe, another night..."
"I'll tell it, Lady." Heather glanced once at Sam, her expression conveying something the teen could not interpret, before looking at the fairies. "If things are coming to a conclusion, one way or another, the stories must be told now, while we have time." She took a deep breath. "I probably should start when I took service with the Duke..."
****
It seemed weird, to Heather, that now that she was a slave she was dressed in better finery than she had ever come close to owning.
Well, actually, slave was too harsh a term. She had been sold, yes. Sold by her mother into service of the Duke. Not as a sex slave, no, although it had been made clear that her body was not hers, and "no" was never to be uttered in response to ANY order or request. She probably would be raped, eventually, by some guard or cook. Not by the Duke, though. While Heather's fourteen year old body would be considered incredibly desirable by any who held interest in the female form, the Duke... at least, so the rumors said... tended to favor those not so feminine (so far as actual gender went, at least). That he had a daughter did not disprove those rumors, although it did create others as to the actual origin of the Princess. The Duchess was certainly not one to ignore her own needs if her husband was not satisfying them.
Heather paused before the nursery door. Her first day. Her first introduction to the royal brat. And, if the girl did not approve of her... she swallowed hard. Then, it probably would be a merchant's bedroom, or some brothel, for her. Mother needed money, more money than brother could bring in. Heather's wishes were, well, not important. She didn't hate Mom for this. No.
Pity, maybe. Hate would only come if things went bad.
Composed, smile on her face, the girl reached out a hand still smooth and unaffected by work and opened the door. The castle nursery was large. A canopied, four post bed stood against the opposite wall, its pink sheets and white lace standing out against the smooth stone walls. A large fireplace stood to her left, warming the room. The floor was wood, polished to a shine, while hangings tried with mixed success to cover the walls and make the room more friendly. Toys and books were scattered in piles along the floor. In one corner, a small table and chairs, where the girl took most her meals. In the opposite corner...
The six year old sat in a large stuffed chair by the window, a book in her lap. She was dressed in a long gown, dropping past her feet. Almost, Heather thought, as if to deny their existence. Her brown hair was long, neatly brushed. Gathering herself, Heather closed the door behind her and slowly walked up to the girl. There was no reaction. Stopping five feet before her, as she had been taught, Heather curtsied.
"Miss Cathy. I am Heather, your new lady in waiting. I am pleased to meet you."
There was a moment's silence. Heather stood, hands clasped in front of her, head bowed. What happened next, would determine her entire life.
"I don't need a servant. Go away."
Heather's throat went dry. She licked her lips.
"Your mother, the Duchess, she hired me..."
"I don't NEED anyone! Go away!"
Her mind raced. She had to do something, fast. There were other girls who could be brought here, others to take her place at a moment's notice. She was nothing special. Heather's eyes darted around the room, looking for something she could use. She noticed the books. Many books. The girl, for all she was only six, seemed to love to read. Not children's books, either. The one in her hand, for example, was one Heather's brother had read. An adventure book, about an exiled child Prince and his knight protector, roaming the countryside. Fighting bandits, monsters. Not something you'd expect a young girl to enjoy...
"My Lady."
Heather bowed, low. A male bow, a knightly bow, one hand on her chest while her other swung behind her back in a gesture of respect. She held that pose. Eyes peeking upward, she saw the Princess drop the book in her lap, eyes wide in surprise. Good. Maybe this would work.
"My Lady, I apologize. I know a strong, intelligent girl like yourself does not need servants, or ladies in waiting. However, perhaps I can be more. Might I humbly suggest, you accept this poor woman as your loyal knight?"
"My knight?" The Princess giggled. Not a mocking giggle, but a genuinely happy one. Heather stood up.
"Yes, my Lady. Your knight, servant and protector, sworn to your service."
"You don't have a sword."
Heather looked around. It was forbidden to move without permission, but she ignored that. Moving across the room to the fireplace, she grabbed the iron poker. She turned to the girl, rod held in front of her as if it was a sword, legs shifting as she had seen her brother do when he played war with his friends.
"This is my sword, my Lady. I dedicate it to your service and honor!"
Cathy laughed, clapping.
"A knight of my own! Oh, but we can't tell Mother, or Father! They won't like me having my very own knight!"
"Then," Heather said, coming up before the girl and kneeling down, "we will not tell them. I pledge myself to YOU, my Lady. If... if you accept me."
The girl drew herself up, bearing becoming royal. She reached her small right hand out, leaning forward and placing it on Heather's bowed head.
"I accept you into my service, Sir Knight."
****
"No, no. Straighten that arm! That's it! Yes! Just like in the picture!"
Heather held her pose, sword held out before her. It was a heavy sword, like all of them tended to be. Not the largest they had, no, but the biggest she could comfortably smuggle back to the nursery. How she had been talked into swiping it from the armory, she still didn't know. As her muscles strained, her eyes peeked over at Cathy. The girl held a large book on military training, eyes completely focused on whatever instructions were in front of her. Heather hoped the next instruction came soon...
A slight noise came from beyond the nursery door. Cathy bolted up, book slamming shut.
"Places!"
Heather ran for the bed. One hand, attached to an arm much stronger than when she first came here, lifted the edge of the large feather mattress. She shoved the sword in, far enough that the pommel left no indication of its position. Hurriedly, she redid the bedspread, smoothing the silk and lace. She finished just as the large wooden door creaked open.
Heather turned, curtsying to the Duchess. Her Highness was beautiful, naturally. For all the questions as to the male involved with the birth of the Princess, Cathy was clearly her mother's daughter. The same long brown hair, the same lovely eyes. The spark behind them was different, though, and if Heather had to guess she would say that was where the male influence lay. Those eyes regarded the lady in waiting for a long moment, as if trying to find fault. Cathy came to her rescue.
"Mother! Hello!"
Cathy was sitting up straight, book hidden away somewhere, a cloth doll now on her lap. Her eyes were wide, happy, her body moving to the edge of the chair. The Duchess's expression became a weary, almost pained smile. She slowly moved to stand before the chair. Cathy wrapped her arms around her torso, hugging tight.
"I missed you, Mom! Are you going to stay?"
"No, no, I'm afraid I can't, my dear." She placed one perfect hand on her daughter's head. "There's a dinner party tonight, and I'm afraid I must prepare for that." She saw Cathy about to speak, and shook her head. "And, no, you can not attend. It is in the main hall, and I will not have you carried in like some peasant cripple. I will have Heather bring you your dinner, as always."
Even from across the room, Heather could see all life leave her Mistress's eyes. Cathy pushed herself back in the chair, hands folded in her lap.
"Yes... Mother."
****
"I hate my body."
Heather said nothing. She stood next to the small table as Cathy picked at the roast chicken and carrots. The almost eight year old girl dropped her fork, the silver utensil clattering on the china. Looking into her lap, she began frantically pulling her dress up, the silk bunching in her lap with no concern for wrinkles. Her bare legs thus exposed, the Princess glared down at them. They were thin, white, wrinkled. Never had they supported her weight, or been exposed to a sunny day. Balling up her fist, Cathy slammed it into her thigh.
"I want to walk!" She began hitting herself, again, and again. Heather bit her lip, at a loss. If... if only...
"Mistress... have... well, have the Duke and Duchess tried magic?"
Cathy's fist froze mid punch. She looked up, surprised. To Heather's amusement, the girl bit her own lip before answering.
"Father does not LIKE magic. Says it is evil. The books say it is evil."
"Not all magic," Heather said. Bowing her head to the girl, she sat herself down in the chair nearest her. Heather reached a hand over, covering Cathy's fist. "My brother, for awhile, ran errands for a man who did magic. A Warlock. He... Paul said he was a good man, an honest man."
Cathy's eyes widened as she listened. She swallowed, fist relaxing, fingers intertwining with Heather's.
"Oh... Oh, Heather, do... do you think he could do something? Heal me? I'd do anything! Pay anything!"
"I do not know." Which was true. She had never met the man. Did not, in fact, know if he was still there. She took a deep breath, knowing what she was doing could go horribly wrong. But... wasn't she the girl's Knight Protector? She smiled. "I can find out, though."
****
Heather was allowed one day free every fortnight. She had earned this, after a year of service without once attempting to flee. She was still required to be there for the Princess for breakfast, and be there again by dinner, but the between time was hers. Usually, she just wandered the city. Avoided places her mother might be. Not because she hated her, no. No, not because of that. It was more... seeing the woman, and not seeing the emotion in her eyes that Heather needed to see, WOULD make hate rise up in the teen.
Thus, best not to see her.
She had contacted her brother, through another maid who knew a thief. He had sent her an address, and a name. The man she sought should be there. Paul also warned her to be wary. To agree to nothing quickly. Time was of the essence, though. For Cathy. The Princess... she was nearing the breaking point, for all she had been sheltered in her young life. Not knowing real distress, this was becoming too much.
The room her brother directed her to was inside a building in one of the more tidy, but not rich, parts of the city. A dozen rented residences were contained in the three level structure, which allayed some of her fears. After all, an evil warlock would pick a more isolated home. So she hoped. Gathering herself, she knocked on the wooden door at the end of the hallway.
The man who answered the door was normal. Unnaturally normal, at least compared to what the teen expected. He was thin, of average height, with a nose not quite pointed, as if it had been sanded down at some point. Sandy hair was neatly trimmed on his head, his clothing simple and functional. Literally, nobody special. He blinked, brown eyes looking her over in wary confusion.
"Um... can I do something for you?"
She had the wrong address. That had to be it. This... this could not be a powerful magician, able to bring life to dead limbs.
"I... ah, I'm looking for a man called..."
"Timothy!"
Heather whirled at the woman's call behind her, almost dropping into one of the combat stances Cathy had been drilling into her. Given the lack of any weapon, this would have just looked incredibly foolish. Instead, she just stood there, mouth open in surprise. The newcomer was just a few years older than her, curly black hair falling to her shoulders. Her body was shapely, breasts full. Her clothing, though, seemed a bit un-tailored, too big for her frame. That seemed wrong, for a woman this beautiful. Only when she was closer did her mind recognize what her eyes were seeing.
The woman was hiding she was with child.
Heather stepped aside as the woman came up to them, blushing as the newcomer put a hand on the man's flat chest, raising herself on her toes to give him a gentle kiss. She then turned to Heather, brown eyes questioning.
"And who do we have here?"
Her voice was musical. Heather blushed a bit more. She thought of Cathy, mind focusing on her mission. She straightened.
"My name is Heather. My brother once ran errands for a man he says lived here a few years ago. The one I serve at the Palace wishes to ask a favor from that man, if he is here."
The couple exchanged a quick glance. The woman paused, seeming to be calculating something. Smile returning, she held out her hand.
"I'm Polly, and this is my husband, Timothy. Please, come inside."
****
The apartment was clean, although one glance was enough to tell the teen the "wife", Polly, did not in fact live here. She moved around as if it was her domain, yes, going to a small kitchen to make some tea, but this was a male place, with none of the niceties any woman would insist on. Books were everywhere, ordered but not neat. The man showed her to a wooden chair, before settling himself in an old but obviously very comfortable stuffed love seat. He leaned forward, eyes bright with curiosity, arms resting on his knees.
"So, what is this favor?"
Heather gathered her thoughts, wishing she had that cup of tea in her hands. From the sound, the stove hadn't even been on, so such things would not be quick in coming.
"My Mistress... well, she can not walk. Has never been able to walk, her birth being a hard one. She, we, are willing to pay, handsomely, for a cure."
"And you think I can help."
"I do not know. My brother, Paul, talked about you in such a way that, well, I have hope."
Timothy furrowed his brow. He wasn't throwing her out. That, at least, was something. Heather bit her lip, willing the answer she wanted. Polly, the tray in her hands NOT holding tea, but instead a bowl of freshly cut fruit, offered the solid refreshment to the girl. Heather took a slice of orange, grateful. Leaving the tray on a small table next to the chair, Polly sat down next to the Magician. One small hand moved to his knee.
"Can it be done?"
"Can is usually not the issue, my Love. Should, and at what cost, are what I'm considering."
"We will pay anything." Heather spoke confidently, although how this would be done was beyond her. She had no money, and Cathy had no concept of what things cost. Timothy's eyes suddenly widened. He looked Heather in the eye.
"You said this was for someone in the Duke's family." Well, actually, she hadn't. But, it was true. She nodded. The couple before her exchanged another glance. "The girl," he went on, Heather wincing a bit at the accuracy of his guess, "her father does not approve of magic. I know this for a fact." His voice was dry. Heather nodded.
"Yes. But... if you do this..." She left the rest unsaid. Always good, when you have nothing to say. Timothy suddenly stood.
"I need to look in a few of my books."
****
"He needs a lock of your hair," Heather said, her brush moving swiftly through its appointed task. "Also, two small vials of your blood, one from each leg. In payment... he wants a meeting with the Duke, and permission to work openly within the city walls, as well as a hundred gold pieces."
Cathy was practically vibrating, eyes alive with hope. Her hands, on her useless knees, squeezed tightly.
"Do it. Promise it."
"But..."
"DO IT!" Her head whipped around, expression fierce. "It's an order, Sir Knight! I'll deal with Father! Once..." Her eyes became distant. "Once it is done, I'll walk in on them, in the throne room. Walk... show them. They'll be so happy... happy...."
Placing the brush on the vanity, Heather stepped around and knelt before her Mistress. Cathy threw herself into her arms. Her tears were those of joy.
****
"It's going to take longer than I expected," the Wizard apologized, regret clear in his voice. He placed the small round box with the hair clippings on the shelf, next to two perfume bottles now containing drops of blood. Turning back to Heather, he sighed. "You can't believe how much energy this is going to take. To make it long lasting, and not just a trick that will wear off." Hand going to another shelf, he brought down a cheap necklace and locket. "When I'm done, so long as she wears this, she'll be normal. Able to walk, run, skip, trip, and stub her toe. Take it off, and her legs will be useless again."
Heather nodded. She looked around the room. He was alone, "wife" gone. She could see the feminine touches, though, ones she had been too nervous to see before, or were in fact new. The woman was making a place for herself here, one square foot at a time.
"There... might be a slight problem, though." Heather whirled at his words. He held up his hands. "Slight. I may not be able to keep these apartments. There are... issues."
"What issues?"
"The what isn't important. What is, is that I can't contact you, and you can only come to me once a fortnight. We need a way for you to locate me if... I have to, temporarily, relocate for a bit. If you can stay another hour, until Polly gets here, we can sort this out."
****
Heather had her fist in her mouth, holding back a scream.
Timothy's dagger left his wife's arm, blood spurting from the wound. It writhed and squirmed, rising upwards, alive, horrible. The Warlock had chanted words, in an unknown tongue. Had... slit his own wife's arm open. As the serpent of blood became tendrils, searching outward, Heather fled the room.
****
"Take this."
Polly handed the wooden box to Heather. The teen was almost afraid to touch it. To touch... her. The scar on the woman's arm still pulsed red, one of a half dozen. Evidence that this had not been the first. That she stayed... that she LET that monster...
Would Heather submit, if Lady Cathy asked?
Her fingers, of their own volition, closed around the wooden box. Polly smiled, a tired smile.
"Now, that is nothing. Just a box, with a clear oil, and some shavings. Do not spill a drop. Once Timothy casts your spell, though, it will awake. It will point you towards the locket. You can come to whichever of us has it." Heather nodded, unable to speak. Polly hesitated, reaching out to touch the teen's hand.
"What we do for love, Heather, is never what we expect."
****
The birthday had been a disaster.
Heather tried to find some positive point as she carried the laundry basket through stone halls. Cathy had tried. That had been clear, at least to her. She had held her tongue at every pitying remark from relatives and officials. Had resigned herself to being seated for hours, while others danced and played around her. The gift had been the last straw, though. A doll. A little girl's doll, with bad legs. A "sister", the Earl's wife had said. Throwing the thing back in the woman's face probably hadn't been the best thing for the newly eight year old princess to do, but what was done was done.
The next few weeks would be interesting, spell or no spell.
She came out into sunlight, the shadows short in the laundry courtyard. Other girls were already at the fountain, gossiping as they cleaned the garments of those better than them. Not in a talkative mood, Heather moved around to a vacant side.
"...and he never returned to the barracks!"
"Well, can you blame him?!? I'm glad he did it! They shouldn't punish him!"
"I heard he cut his head off!"
"And gutted him!"
"He wouldn't do that! Not with his daughters there!"
"What, do you know him?"
"He bought me a drink one night... and THAT'S ALL."
"The prick deserved it. Evil warlocks..."
Heather's head shot up, eyes wide. The three maids regarded her curiously. Shaking with dread, she drew closer to them.
"What happened?"
"Oh," the oldest replied, eyes softening, "were you one of his lady friends too? Well, they haven't caught Gary yet, so that's good."
"What. Happened."
"Some evil magic using freak was with his daughter, that's what happened! Impregnated the poor girl, and was using her! Imagine! Gary went over there and killed the fucker!"
Heather's mind went blank. The spell. Cathy's hopes, dreams. Gone. Gone, in an instant...
****
"Heather!"
The cry that greeted the teen as she entered the Princess's chamber was ecstatic, jubilant. She was bouncing on the chair by the window, hands held together before her. Her eyes were wide.
"Heather! There's an arrow! There's an arrow in the box! He did it! My necklace is ready!"
Heather froze, shocked. What... how... was the tale a lie? Or, perhaps, this was a fluke, some magical reaction to the death of the caster?
"Lady..." Heather advanced, slowly, as if delay was her friend. "Lady Cathy, Timothy the Warlock is dead. Killed, they say, by the enraged father of his wife Polly." The girl's expression was uncomprehending. Heather licked her lips. "Lady, it is over. We tried."
"No..." Cathy looked down at the compass. Heather, now, could see inside the round wooden box, see the iron shavings forming an arrow pointed south. As she watched, mind still searching for some response, some way to soothe her mistress. the arrow moved, slightly, now a bit more east than south. Her eyes snapped up, catching Cathy's in the same act. Maybe... She knelt, one hand going to her Lady's knee, the other to the wrist holding the compass.
"Lady Polly has it, perhaps," she whispered.
"Where would she go?" Cathy's reply was soft, caught between hope and despair.
"Fled... with her father? By choice, or not?"
Cathy closed her eyes, the eyes of a child.
The eyes that opened were old, haunted.
"My Knight, we must follow."
****
Heather looked into the fire.
"It took us three days to be ready to leave the palace, another two to get out of the city. By then, we were far behind." She was tired. The telling, yes, the dredging up of memories, that was some of it. The lateness of the night, the ache of muscles after a month onboard ship. Those, too, were a cause. But, mostly, it was all of it. The quest. So long... so long on the road...
"We will find it," Cathy told them. The girl's eyes were set. "I WILL walk…"