Got Hope

by Michael Darling

  It looked like there was no way around it. Literally. I’d have to keep riding.

  “Sorry, Peachfuzz. I tried.”

  We rode on. Me and my butt kept track of the leagues as they passed. The landscape was beautiful with rolling hills and thick forests and we passed through them at a pace that was both agonizingly slow and pointedly not fast. Lunch was heavily on my mind when we stopped in a wide meadow with wildflowers and food.

  Napoleon famously said an army marches on its stomach, and it was true no matter the size of the army. Cooks waited for us and stable hands waited for the horses and everything had been prepared ahead of time in anticipation of our arrival.

  The whole camp was portable with tents and cooking fires and watering troughs and bales of hay. I didn’t want to stay on poor Peachfuzz’s back but I was also afraid to dismount. By my reckoning, I’d been riding for six hours. My legs had lost their strength and turned to wet cement. I was a strong guy, but these were all new ways of using my muscles and I was not in shape for it. Odds were good that I’d fall on my face trying to stand.

  Sir Siorradh dismounted as soon as everyone arrived and led Trident toward the water and hay.

  I pulled back on the reins until Peachfuzz stopped. I took a deep breath and imagined myself swinging my leg in a smooth arc around the back of the saddle, but instead I dragged my rubbery leg in a trembling semi-oval and kicked Peachfuzz in the rump, which startled her forward a step. As soon as my right foot hit the ground, my left foot slipped out of the stirrup, assuming my right foot needed immediate company. Western saddles had a proper pommel, but the Behindbeyond was more English than Queen Elizabeth when it came to equestrianism. I tried to grab the saddle as I fell but the smooth curve of leather provided little help. Clutching the reins in a death grip over the past six leagues had left my fingers numb.

  Grab it. Grab it!

  My other hand found the strap of the stirrup. I tried grabbing that too, with little success. Finally, I slid my hand into the stirrup itself, where my foot had been, instantly inventing the “saddle crutch” which I would patent immediately upon returning to the mortal realm.

  At least I didn’t fall.

  With the elegance of a one-year-old, I got my feet underneath me in some semblance of balance. Peachfuzz turned her head to see what all the commotion was about. And to get a sneak peek at my soon-to-be-patented saddle crutch in action.

  Our eyes met. “Do NOT laugh at me,” I said.

  She wisely turned her head without laughing.

  I took a halting step. Then another.

  Peachfuzz patiently waited for me to hobble forward until I could get the reins back in hand and lead her to the watering troughs.

  Good girl.

  Sir Siorradh observed my progress.

  “Are you well?” he asked.

  “You want to have a toddling contest?” I replied. “I will wobble you into the ground, buddy. I got moves like stagger.”

  “Heh heh,” Siorradh offered.

  I parked Peachfuzz next to the white mare Hope had been riding. I’d lost track of her during my dismount-a-thon but finally spied her coming back from a row of tents on the far side of the meadow.

  Peachfuzz noisily slurped water from the trough. “Careful with the drinking,” I said, leaning with one hand on her shoulder. “You’re driving later.”

  I waited for Hope. She smiled but I saw her brow go to furrows when she got close.

  “Forget how to walk?” She was half-serious.

  “I remember. My legs forgot.”

  “C’mon. I found a place that’ll help.” She slipped under my arm and let me lean on her.

  Ah. The blonde crutch. Almost as innovative as the saddle crutch.

  It’s sweet of her to help. I let my annoyance at her evaporate and turned my attention to my legs. They were on fire but at least they listened to me when I gave the “engage” command.

  “We’ll head to those tents,” Hope said. “Can you make it that far?”

  “I don’t know. There’s a lot of wildflowers in the way. They look pretty sturdy.” I took a few more steps. Wildflowers notwithstanding, we made good progress, especially after the muscles in my legs had a chance to reacquaint themselves with self-actuated locomotion. I tried not to lean on Hope too much and told myself I was letting her help me because it would fulfill her desire to be helpful.

  Yup. Yup. Yup.

  A shadow flew over us, large enough to give me pause. The sun was to the south but had reached its highest point of the day. Hope and I watched a large bird wheel around and glide toward us. It was mostly white but the wings were black at the ends. For a moment it looked like it might make a dive at us, and I almost summoned my power, but the bird pulled up and landed ten feet away. Thin and graceful, it had disproportionately long legs with feathers that made it look like it was wearing pants. There was a splash of red across its large eyes above its hawk-like beak. At the back of its head, a smattering of feathers stuck out at crazy angles and the feathers bobbed as the bird walked toward us.

  The bird bowed. “Prince Luck. My name is Douglas. I have a message for you.”

  Chapter Twenty-Two: Mrs. Fergus at Yer Service

  I bowed back to the bird. Seemed like the thing to do. “A message for me?” I asked.

  The bird tilted its head forward and down, closing his eyes for a moment, then looked up and said, “Ahem. Dear Prince Luck. Congratulations on your arrival in the borderlands. I am pleased to know you are on your way and I look forward to our meeting two days hence. Travel safely. Sincerely, The Máithrín.” The bird did the tilting head motion again. Message end.

  “Uh. That’s great, Douglas.” I replied.

  The bird turned and took a running start with his stilt-like legs, flapped twice, and launched himself into the air. Hope stepped out from under my arm, watching Douglas fly away.

  “I love this place,” she said.

  “Yep. Talking bird. Pretty cool,” I groaned. Having all my weight back on my own legs was surprisingly owie.

  “Oh. Poor baby.” Hope slipped back under my arm.

  We resumed our limp across the meadow. Wince must have been watching Hope and I holding each other because I caught him looking at us with a pickleface. I found it hard to care. Hope had her arms around me again and I felt lighter, as if Hope were afloat with effervescence, lifting me too.

  “What kind of bird was that? Do you know?”

  “You’re going to laugh. I think it was a secretary bird.”

  Hope laughed. “Is this place always so literal?”

  I didn’t have an answer. Other than the occasional visit to Laoch or dinner with friends at The Angle, I hadn’t spent all that much time here, so I didn’t know. After defeating Deamhanlord Brón I’d gone back to my mortal life, figuring my duties were more or less completed here.

  The banner on the tent where we stopped depicted a mortar and pestle. It took a moment for me to realize we were at the tent of an apothecary. Strange, strong smells wafted out of the open flap, not like barnyard smells, but cinnamon and sulfur and bile in a mix that was nauseatingly random. On the other hand, if there was a healer here, I could put up with a whole lot of stink.

  “Oh, this is great, Hope,” I said.

  Hope beamed at me.

  We stepped into the tent.

  “Come in! Come in now! Mrs. Fergus at yer service. I watched ye a-walking. First day on horseback?” The plump woman surrounded by dried herbs and bottles of suspect sinkers and floaters had a smile that was a little too far on the smarmy side of the aisle.

  “Nope. Just the first day riding since 1999. When Prince promised us a party.”

  “Prince? Party?” The confusion I’d sown was sufficient to remove the smarm.

  Sweet.

  Hope said, “He’s a little out of practice and he’s saddle sore. Can you help him?”

  The woman waved us off. “Ye’ve come to the right place, dearie. Sit him down. Let’s have a look.” She bust
led over as Hope eased me onto a stool, which was much harder than a saddle. I almost didn’t groan again.

  Mrs. Fergus leaned over my knees. “Hast thou nae magic of thine own?” Her hands erupted in blue power. So much power her hands were like torches fueled by natural gas.

  “Me?” Hope asked.

  “‘Course, lass.” The woman’s volcanic hands clamped onto my right thigh and I flinched.

  Ow.

  “Thine husband here would prefer the attentions of his young wife much more than mine, though I’m likely quicker.” Mrs. Fergus’s left hand slid up toward my, erm, hip neighborhood.

  “Oh, I’m not his wife,” Hope said.

  An icy sensation ran deep through my leg and backside as the pain faded from a shout to a whisper.

  Oh yes. So much better.

  Nurse Fergus stood up to gape at Hope.

  “Not his wife? What’s wrong with ye?”

  “Would you mind?” I pointed at my left leg. “The other side?”

  “Ye’re clearly attracted one t’other.” The woman put her fists on her hips, still aflame. If she turned in a circle, she’d make a great lighthouse. “‘Tis clear as the dew from heaven at sunrise.”

  “Well, I’m mortal,” Hope said.

  “That’ll nae stop ye’re lovin’,” Nurse countered.

  “The left leg?” I said. “If you could.”

  “But he’s the king’s son. Prince Luck.” Hope said.

  “Oh,” Mrs. Fergus turned back to look at me again. “Art thou?”

  “Unofficially. The left side?” I begged.

  The flaming blue light was dwindling. I prayed it was because she was distracted and not because she was wasting all her power.

  “Hast thou nae told her anythin’?”

  I had no idea what she was referring to nor did I want to figure it out. I did glare at her, willing her to pay attention to the healing we’d come for.

  Painful moments passed. She waved again, her hands leaving bright blue ribbons arcing in the air. “Well, isna my place,” she said. Her power flared again and she assaulted my left leg and, erm, hip neighborhood.

  I’d been taught healing while using a focus, like my medallion, but whatever magical technique Mrs. Fergus employed was exponentially more effective.

  “That should set thee to rights.” The blue glow flowed in reverse as Mrs. Fergus stepped away, the power returning into her hands as if she’d splashed water and then the splash had gone backwards in time.

  I stood up. No pain. “That’s wonderful,” I said.

  “All part of the service when ye come to Mrs. Fergus.”

  “Thank you, Mrs. Fergus.”

  The words were in the air before I could stop Hope from saying them. A glimmer of something greedy and cold came alive in Mrs. Fergus’s eyes, like a rheum of liquid silver.

  I stepped between Hope and Mrs. Fergus. “It’s her first day in the Behindbeyond,” I said. “She didn’t know.”

  Mrs. Fergus slid to the side, side-stepping to get a better view of Hope. “Ne’ertheless,” she replied, “The contract is writ. Thou mayest touch the flame and ask it not to burn, but burn it shall.”

  I felt a twist of tragedy in my stomach. The round little woman who had been so pleasant when we’d arrived had turned predatory. Full-on Fae.

  Hope covered her mouth with her hands. Her eyes grew wide. She’d seen the change.

  My thoughts raced. I went with her analogy. “The flame warns of its burning by its light and heat. Hope had no warning before giving thanks.”

  “‘Tis the duty of the bringer to give warning,” Fergus replied. “If she were blind to the light, the fault be thine.”

  “There are many things I have yet to tell her,” I replied. Hope had found her way here through her own cleverness but the power she’d used had been mine. “On my first day, I gave thanks to the king himself. He didn’t hold me to the contract. He released me.”

  “A king can afford such. I could use the help of a pretty maid.”

  I felt like we were starting a negotiation. One I couldn’t afford. I had to do something to end this. Now.

  “‘Tis true. As thou sayest.” I saw Mrs. Fergus narrow her eyes. Hope was close behind me, peering around the side, watching Fergus. I turned and put my arm around Hope and pulled her to stand beside me. I traced a line down her cheek with my fingertips.

  I kissed her.

  Our lips pressed together. Hope’s breath quickened as she leaned into me. We held each other for a moment, then two, then three.

  “Oh,” someone said.

  I brought my puppy eyes to bear on Mrs. Fergus. “As thou sayest,” I repeated. “I ask thee not to come between us.”

  Mrs. Fergus returned my gaze, the silver sheen dancing over her eyes. Then she blinked and the rheum was gone.

  “Aw,” she said. “‘Twould be a tragic day ‘twere I to keep ye apart.” She nodded at Hope. “Thou hast no debt with me, dearie.”

  Hope opened her mouth.

  “Just nod,” I said, too quick and too loud.

  Hope nodded, cheeks flushed.

  Mrs. Fergus smarmed like she’d overheard a secret meant for someone else. She bustled back to her table of desiccated flora and dehydrated fauna and picked out a couple of sticks with straight stems and clusters of broad, round leaves at their tips. “Take these with thee. The greens have special enchantments of my own invention. They’ll keep thee from getting sore in the seat. Dinnae chew more than one leaf each day or thou shalt sleep and fall off thine horse instead.”

  I nodded my gratitude.

  “Now off with ye,” Mrs. Fergus said. “Afore I put ye to work.”

  Hope and I headed out of the tent. It felt nice to walk quickly again. Even nicer to put some distance between us and Mrs. Fergus.

  The aroma of food cooking gave us a new quest.

  The simple food was simply perfect. Roast pork and buttered rolls and boiled potatoes and nectarines and grapes and three kinds of cheese. We filled two platters and sat on a log beneath a beech tree.

  As Hope ate, she glanced at the tents. Every time she did, she made a “Hm” sound that was almost a giggle. I didn’t have to be a private eye to guess what was on her mind.

  “You kissed me,” Hope said.

  “We’re just going to dive right in then?” I asked.

  “I guess we’re both impetuous,” she replied.

  “I guess we should talk about it.”

  “Did you mean it?” She glanced at me in a way that communicated how important my answer would be.

  My blood rose in the back of my neck. Hope made a shy attempt to take my hand but she only succeeded in brushing her fingers across my knuckles.

  “You didn’t deny it when Mrs. Fergus said we were attracted to each other,” I said.

  “You didn’t either.”

  “Well, I was distracted by all the pain in my legs and my, uh, backside.”

  “I can’t believe she grabbed your butt!” Hope laughed.

  “Uh, yeah. Both the gluteus and the maximus.”

  “She’s a cheeky gal.” Hope’s smile turned sly.

  I almost missed it. “Wait. Did you just make a pun?” I let my jaw drop.

  “Maybe your jokes are growing on me.”

  “Like fungus.”

  “Ha ha. No. Not like fungus.” She spoke softly. “I just needed some time to appreciate that you’re funny.” Hope was suddenly serious and her eyelids went middling dreamy.

  My private detective skills, and internal alarms, told me she wanted another kiss.

  Oh boy.

  “Hope,” I started, before she leaned in any closer.

  “I know. You kissed me because that woman got a scary look in her eyes. I don’t understand why kissing worked, but it did. How did you know?”

  “Mrs. Fergus reminds me of the woman who raised me. She made us foster kids call her the Mama. She watched her soaps, she listened to the Carpenters, and she read romance novels all day. Once,
when I was seventeen, I got home after curfew. I told her I had a girlfriend and I’d been helping her with her homework. Instead of grounding me, she gave me ice cream.”

  “You brat!”

  “I know. I ended up seeing a lot of Felicia that spring.”

  “And Felicia was . . . “

  “Completely fictional. The Mama couldn’t resist a romantic story. I thought Mrs. Fergus might react the same way.”

  Hope nodded. Her fingers found the edge of her doublet and she played with the hem. “So what are you supposed to tell me? What made Mrs. Fergus go all scary?”

  “Right. It’s very important to never thank one of the Fae. Not even Halflings. Not in the Behindbeyond. It has something to do with their culture but it’s more than that. Saying ‘Thank you’ creates a debt and you could end up a slave. Or worse.”

  “All right, I can remember not to do that.”

  “Good. That would be great.”

  “Can I tell you that I’m grateful you saved me? Again? Because I was freaking out there for a minute. She looked . . . possessed.”

  “You can say anything when we’re home. There are forces here way beyond what we know in the mortal realm. That’s one reason I worried about you coming here. I don’t know all the dangers. I’m still learning.”

  “I’m glad I’m here.” More defiance. Hope tossed stray strands of hair out of her face. “What we did, Got. Was that completely fictional? Was that another Felicia moment? Because it . . . was nice.”

  I swallowed, trying to keep the words from sounding strained. “Hope. Mrs. Fergus asked if I had told you something. I might know what she meant.”

  “Hang on. Answer my question first. Was it real? Or not?” Hope stood up, dropping her platter and napkin on the ground for emphasis.

  “It’s not that easy.”

  “Sure it is, Got. Yes or no? Did you kiss me for real?”

  I had nothing. I’d faced down a deamhanlord and come up quipping, but when a woman demanded an answer about a kiss, I drew a blank.

  There were words. Somewhere. I just needed a few seconds to collect some and put them together. But I took too long. Hope came at me. Blond hurricane. “Jerkface!” she yelled, shoving my shoulders. I fell off the log and landed on my back. Anger bloomed in my chest. She grabbed the sticks with the painkilling herbs and threw them at my face.