Ella and the Panther's Quest

by Lisa Anne Nisula

  The panther was staring so intently at the hedge he didn’t notice me until I called out to them, “Hello!”

  The panther heard my voice and spun around, hackles raised. His paw went up, like he was going to swat at something. He tried to hide the movement by scratching his ear, but I was an old hand at such covers and knew better. I ignored his look of confusion as best I could, but part of me was glad to see he could be startled as badly as I had been.

  I came out from behind the rock, tucking a bit of sock that had escaped my bag into place. “I think you’ve gone all the way around.”

  The panther growled a little, but nodded.

  “No opening?”

  “No.”

  I fought the urge to say, “I told you so.” Instead I asked, “Do you have any other ideas?”

  The panther was quiet for a few minutes. “Hack through?”

  “I don’t know. It seems pretty dense and twisted.”

  The panther glared at me again, but said nothing. Instead he examined the hedge himself. He must have agreed with my analysis since he stepped back and stared at the path.

  I studied my nails. I didn’t want to stare at the panther as he thought; after all, the only idea I had was to walk in the opposite direction. I tried to think like a hero. What could be done besides hacking? Burning? Shooting?

  I heard the leaves rustle and looked up as the panther stood. “We’ll try it again, another circuit.”

  I didn’t see how that would help us. It must have shown on my face.

  “You have a better idea?”

  “No, although, well, maybe we could try going in the other direction, you know, for a change. See it from a different angle.”

  The panther stared at me, his ear twitching. I felt confusion and scorn radiating off of him and felt stupid, which must be why I said, “You don’t have any other ideas, do you?” I tried not to snap as I said it, but I could hear the edge in my voice.

  The panther kept staring. I closed my eyes and dropped my gaze, but he didn’t growl, not really. Not until he said, “Come along then.”

  I looked up. The panther had already started to walk, clockwise this time, around the hedge. I followed quietly, feeling I was being tolerated.

  At least Footstool still liked me. I couldn’t think of him as an “it” any more; he seemed too real, too much like a person. At that moment, he was brushing against my skirt and dancing in front of me, and he kept at it until I smiled. My smile made Footstool look very pleased with himself. He twisted, looking toward the panther, then straightened himself up and marched over to him. “Good luck,” I murmured. I could see Footstool cavorting, trying to get something from the panther that wasn’t a growl. I could tell he had a difficult task ahead of him.

  Since Footstool was occupied, I turned my attention back to the hedge, and I saw it. I wasn’t sure what it was, but it had been something. I heard short, gruff growls and looked in the panther’s direction. The panther was moving slowly, the corners of his mouth turned up slightly, with Footstool dancing in front of him. Footstool must have succeeded in making him laugh. I fell back and retraced my steps, keeping a close eye on the hedge, with an occasional glance over my shoulder to make certain I hadn’t strayed too far, but I didn’t see anything different. When I could barely see the panther’s shadow behind me, I turned around and walked briskly toward the others.

  There it was again. I turned again and took four steps. It wasn’t there.

  I turned yet again, and there it was. A small opening in the hedge. The way in. Narrow and overgrown, a wall of ivy and branches meant it couldn’t be seen by someone traveling counterclockwise.

  “Hey! I’ve found it!”

  I watched the panther bound around the hedge and stop a few feet in front of me. “Where?” He was looking right at it, then at me, with a look suspiciously like the one he’d been giving Footstool a few minutes ago.

  “You have to be on this side to see it. The ivy hides it from there.”

  The panther glared at me, but he turned to the hedge and kept an eye on it as he walked to me. As he turned to go back, he stopped and I knew he’d seen it too. I didn’t say anything, letting him decide what to do. Footstool nudged my skirt. I smiled down at him. At least someone was on my side.

  The panther stepped forward and batted at the hedge with his paw, then used his head to push through. I stepped forward and helped clear a way in, trying not to draw attention to the fact that my hands were much more effective than the panther’s snout. The hedge seemed much thicker than it had appeared from the outside. The panther stepped into the branches. Footstool was too small to climb over the roots, so I tucked him under my arm and followed the panther. It was a tight squeeze to fit through the hedge, but we were able to get to the other side after much pushing and many scratches.

  Chapter 4

  If I had expected anything of the other side of the hedge, it would have been a maze, something you’d see in the grounds of an English castle. That was not what we found. Once through the hedge, we were crunching through leaves and tripping over roots. The hedge branches became tree branches, and we were in a forest every bit as enchanted as the hedge had been. The trees were clearly taller than the surrounding hedges, but I had seen no sign of them outside. I didn’t think they were neatly contained inside the hedges either.

  As I broke through the last of the branches, one eye on the panther, one on the trees, I didn’t notice the root of the oak tree until my left foot was caught on it. I tried to twist around, to get my right foot down and my balance back, but I wasn’t used to trekking around in a skirt and got myself tangled up. I probably could have recovered if I’d acted quickly, but the shock of getting my foot stuck in my hem made me hesitate just long enough to make it too late to save myself, and I fell forward, thrusting out my hands to break my fall, completely forgetting about Footstool tucked under my arm. As my arms flew out, I dropped him and he landed in a shrub. The panther was there in an instant, just in front of me, all his attention on Footstool. He didn’t notice me until I crashed into him. Then he staggered back a few steps.

  “Watch it,” he growled, shrugging me off and going back to Footstool, leaving me to drag myself to my feet. I edged around the panther and gently lifted Footstool out of the bush. Everything seemed to be intact, no cracks or breaks in his wood, no tears in his upholstery. I turned back to the clearer area, almost bumping into the panther hovering behind me, and put Footstool down. He shook himself and started to walk. I was relieved to see he wasn’t hurt. The panther growled again and slunk away. I had no choice but to follow.

  The panther was stiff-backed and silent, his ears twitching, annoyed with me no doubt. I followed the panther quietly as he led us through the trees. He seemed to know where the roots would be and avoid the branches that slapped out at us. Footstool was small enough to slip under or between anything that blocked our path. I did my best, but the panther didn’t seem to remember that I was on two legs, taller than him, and less agile. Or he was ignoring it. I was not going to complain. The panther had not wanted me, he’d wanted a hero. A hero would not complain. A hero would not have dropped Footstool. A hero would probably be cutting a path for us. The least I could do was try to avoid being a burden to him.

  The panther startled me out of my thoughts by jumping over a particularly dense bush. Footstool slipped under it. I managed to half climb over, half push through with minimal loss of skin.

  On the other side was a path. Not much of one, with rocks and branches sticking out, but relatively level ground that seemed to be going the way the panther wanted to. It was easier going since I didn’t have to climb or creep, but the panther found it easier too and sped up. I was soon struggling to keep up again.

  The forest around the path was the same as the forest we’d been climbing through, trees on both sides with a tangle of brush and fallen branches around our feet. I wondered who had made the path we were on since, I hadn’t heard any animals nearby. It must have st
arted somewhere inside the hedge wall, but where, and what sort of place was it, and more importantly, did it end somewhere?

  The panther moved quickly, his eyes on the path. He did not speak to me and hadn’t said a word since I dropped Footstool. I looked at the panther’s rippling back and couldn’t tell if he even knew I was there. We had been silent for so long, I wanted to know at least that we were going the right way. I squared my shoulders and tried to sound unconcerned as I asked, “Will this take us to the castle?”

  “It goes in the direction I wish to.”

  The response had been curt, but not unkind. I risked asking the question I really wanted the answer to. “What will you do when we get there?”

  The panther did not break his stride. “I was told the way to finish it.”

  “Oh.” I waited, hoping he’d tell me what it was, or how he’d learned it. When he didn’t go on, I spent several steps wondering if I should ask, then several more wondering how to ask. I finally took the direct route. “Can you tell me how you’ll finish it?”

  The panther was silent. His muscles tightened as if he were holding back a strong emotion, anger no doubt. I worried I’d asked the wrong question, or the right question in the wrong way.

  The panther growled low in his throat. I fell further back, certain I’d gone too far.

  “I was told blood and tears must be spilt, then it will be finished,” and he was silent again.

  I wondered if I should feel sorry for whomever we were looking for when the panther got hold of him.

  *

  The panther remained silent as he strode through the woods, never looking back at me. At least now I knew he knew I was there, since his back remained rigid for many turns of the path. I stopped watching him for signs of relaxing, or any sort of emotion, and concentrated on keeping up without getting in his way. I decided that meant staying a couple steps back, not so far that I couldn’t see him, but far enough that he could ignore me if he wanted to, and above all, not falling too far behind no matter how fast he walked.

  By midday, I had gotten so used to putting one foot in front of the other that, when the panther stopped by a stream to drink, it took me a moment to realize I could stop too. I might have kept going if Footstool hadn’t stopped right in front of me, almost tripping me.

  Once I regained my balance, I knelt by the stream near the panther. He had leaned forward was drinking, his pink tongue scooping up the water just like a house cat, so I decided it was safe enough. I cupped my hands and dipped them into the freezing stream. As soon as he heard the splash of my hands breaking the surface of the water, the panther glanced over at me. “I will be back in a quarter of an hour,” and he melted into the forest without another word.

  Left to myself, I drank several handfuls of water while I wondered where the panther had gone and why. In the end, I decided I would have to be content with his non-explanation for his disappearance. Once that distraction was gone, I became very aware that my stomach was empty and the cold water was making me feel it more intensely. I took out one of my sandwiches and unwrapped it, spreading wax paper over my lap to catch the crumbs. Every few bites, I switched the sandwich from one hand to the other, tucking my free hand in the folds of my skirt, trying to warm my icy fingers.

  While I ate, Footstool wandered around the clearing, watching my reflection in the water. I broke off a piece of the sandwich and held it out. “Would you like some?”

  Footstool looked over at me, shook his front half, and went back to exploring the stream.

  Apparently furniture, even enchanted furniture, did not need food. I ate the rest of the sandwich, then shook out the crumbs for any birds that might want them. I folded up the wax paper and tucked it in my bag, thinking it might come in handy later. I had refilled my water bottle and was having another drink from the stream when I heard a clanging sound, like cans rattling in a bag, but heavier. I sat up to listen, but it was gone before I could tell what it was or where it was coming from.

  A few minutes later, the panther melted out of the shadows, licking his lips. He went to the stream and drank again, then looked up. “Are you ready to continue?”

  “Yes.” I would have answered the same no matter what. I would not be the cause of any delays.

  The panther nodded and found the path again. Footstool followed, glancing back to see if I was coming. I stayed frozen in place. I had heard the clanging again, when the panther had started walking, but from where I still couldn’t tell.

  Footstool made a small motion with his front half, urging me on. I swung my bag over my shoulder and hurried after the panther and Footstool, glad the panther had not looked back and seen me hesitate.

  *

  The panther kept up his quick pace, gliding between the trees, never looking back as I struggled to keep up. It wasn’t getting any easier. The forest became denser and less light filtered through, making it harder to see any obstructions while throwing more things into my path. I got used to my skirt, used to how far I could move my legs and how to kilt up the fabric as I scrambled over roots and fallen limbs, but I couldn’t get used to the branches and twigs that slapped out at me, catching on my sleeves and tangling in my hair. The handles of my bag caught on low branches and slowed me down.

  And then, as I stopped to untangle my bag from what felt like the hundredth branch, I heard the clanking noise again, clearly now over the rustle of the forest. It must have come closer to us. I realized I’d been wrong; it didn’t sound like cans at all, more like tools in a metal box. I turned to the panther, but I could tell he’d heard it this time.

  “Of course he heard it,” I chided myself. “He’s a panther. He probably heard it ages ago.” I edged closer to the very large, very safe form of the panther. Footstool snuck between us.

  We had gone a few more yards when the sound became louder. It was now accompanied by a great shaking of branches. The panther stopped short. Footstool and I stayed close to him. The panther’s back was tense. His eyes were fixed on the shaking leaves.

  Even though I would have liked nothing better than to run back to the stream, or even all the way back to the hedge, I forced myself to stand my ground, trembling hands and all. I could feel Footstool press against my legs. The panther stepped forward, his hackles raised, something that sounded nothing like the growls he’d used on me rumbling in his throat.

  The branches snapped out and something made of iron and rust burst out onto the path. The panther edged to the left, putting himself between me and the newcomer, his whole body tensed and ready to spring. I could feel that, as happy as he’d be to be rid of me, the panther would not let anything happen to me if he could prevent it. Then Footstool pressed against my legs again, and I wondered how much of his protection was for me and how much was for his friend’s welfare.

  The figure on the path turned and straightened. I recognized it as a knight in tarnished armor, about a foot taller than I was, with broad shoulders, his face hidden by a raven-shaped helm with a half moon cut from the end of his nose to the corners of his mouth, and a small slit for his eyes that kept them hidden in shadow. He stared at the panther, but did not draw his sword. I glanced down but saw that he did have one; its rusted hilt was sticking out of its cracked leather scabbard.

  The knight spoke first. “Are you one of his?”

  The panther stopped growling but did not relax his stance. “One of whose?”

  The knight did relax. “I see by your reaction you have not encountered the dark one. You are travelers then?”

  “Yes,” the panther said.

  “Then accept my service and I swear I will guide you safely through these woods. They are dark and dangerous and filled with his minions.” He drew his sword and held it with the blade pointed down, part of his oath I assumed.

  The panther stared at him. “How can I be certain you will not betray me?”

  The knight did not answer but drove his blade into the ground and knelt behind it. “I swear upon my honor as a knight th
at I will see you to safety.” He removed his left gauntlet and touched the blade. A drop of blood slithered down the sharp edge, looking black against the dark metal.

  This ritual seemed to convince the panther. He relaxed for the first time since I had met him.

  The knight bowed his head, then rose and sheathed his sword. The ritual seemed to be over. “If you will follow me, I will take you to my camp.”

  The panther nodded and followed the knight into the brush. Footstool pushed against my legs, then trotted after the knight himself. As I followed the panther, I couldn’t help thinking that, if the knight had no honor, his oath would be worthless and he would not hesitate to break it. I pushed that thought out of my head. After all, the panther had waited for a knight for a long time. He obviously knew about them and clearly knew more about this world than I did. Besides, accepting the knight’s oath had calmed him down. After his response to me being right about the maze, I didn’t want to see his anger if I suggested getting rid of the knight.

  Chapter 5

  It only took twenty minutes to reach the knight’s camp. He had set himself up in a small clearing near a stream. I knew very little about camps, so I couldn’t tell if this was a hasty set-up or a semi-permanent encampment. There was a fire crackling in the center of the clearing, surrounded by a ring of stones, with a large iron pot hanging from an iron tripod simmering over the flames. A sort of sleeping bag had been unrolled nearby, the packing ropes still scattered under it, which didn’t strike me as comfortable even if it was convenient for packing up. The rocks and fallen branches seemed to have been arranged to provide some seating, but I wasn’t sure if that was intentional or part of why he had chosen this spot to begin with. I didn’t see any kind of a tent, but there was a large knapsack tossed down by the fire. It didn’t seem large enough to hold all of the supplies he had out. I looked for a horse that might have carried some of the gear, but there wasn’t one. Odd, I thought, imagining the knight tramping through the forest with the cooking pot attached to his belt. Perhaps that explained the banging I’d heard in the woods. I stared at my feet, trying to erase that image from my head before I laughed out loud. It couldn’t have been the explanation anyway. We had heard him following us for a good long while. If he had been carrying his gear then, he wouldn’t have had time to set this up, or start the food simmering on the fire.