The Peddler's Reward

by Carrie Anne Noble

  He made a mental note to show more gratitude to his old guardian in the future.

  Moonlight sliced through a maze of twigs and pinecones, a jarring ray from the waxing gibbous moon. In the morning, he’d strap Lloyd to his chest with a bit of cloth and start the journey to the mountain top. His heart was against the idea, but his head insisted on following Scarff’s directives. Lloyd needed to be reunited with his mother. It was nature’s way — or magic’s — or some such thing Scarff had said he shouldn’t meddle with. The bite on O’Neill’s ankle itched, and the deep scratches on his upper arms burned, as if to remind him that Lloyd wasn’t a human orphan who needed saving, but a faerie creature that needed to return to his own kind.

  Lloyd sighed sweetly, and with otter-like fingers, gripped the edge of the blanket they shared. It was going to be a long, long night.

  Climbing a jagged mountainside with a stinky weasel strapped to one’s chest was not a pleasant experience, especially when one had little sleep the night before and an unsatisfying breakfast of dried out raisins and reheated beans.

  Against O’Neill’s chest, Lloyd wriggled in his sling, releasing a puff of musky odor. O’Neill tried not to gag as his fingers probed the rock face for a suitable bit to grab onto. Muscles burning, he pulled his body up another few feet. The sound of his trouser leg tearing on a sharp stone made him groan — because it had already happened five or six times. He’d be wearing tatters if he ever reached the top. Or if he plummeted to his death.

  With a grunt, he rolled onto a six-foot-wide ledge. He lay prone, trying to catch his breath without inhaling too much weaselly stench. The light, raspy sound of Lloyd’s snoring almost blended in with the hums, trills, and scritch-scratches of the forest insects and birds. Something cool slithered over his leg, brushing against his exposed skin. Holding his breath, he lifted his head.

  Rattlesnake. On his shin.

  A big, fat fellow with glassy eyes and a devilish slit of a mouth.

  Trembling (no matter how he wished he wasn’t), O’Neill rested his head back against the rock. If he could just keep still, maybe the snake would leave. The feeling of its muscular body sliding over his legs brought bile into his mouth and caused his calves to quiver — blast it all.

  Lloyd made a strange, throaty sound and twisted his body free of the fabric sling.

  “No,” O’Neill whispered, but the weasel-griggin paid him no mind. He slunk over O’Neill’s chest, fur fluffed, growling. O’Neill had to watch — as much as he dreaded what might come next.

  The snake rose up, rattling. Like a bolt of lightning, the griggin shot forward and clamped his jaws around the snake’s throat. Smoke billowed up and surrounded the pair. The scent of brimstone filled the air. After a tense minute, O’Neill watched the gray cloud disperse. Near his knees, Lloyd stood on hind legs amidst a serpent-shaped pile of ash.

  “Thank you,” O’Neill said. His heartbeat continued to race as he sat up and dusted off his shredded pant legs.

  The weasel-griggin nodded and then pointed his nose toward a round hole in the rocks barely wide enough for a man to wriggle through.

  “You think we should go in there? Where twenty more snakes and who-knows-what-else will be decidedly unhappy to have me as a guest?”

  Lloyd squeaked affirmatively before circling him like a herding dog.

  O’Neill glanced up. A shelf of rock jutted out above him. There was no way he’d be able to get atop it unless he grew a pair of wings. Uneasily, but without another option, he shifted onto his hands and knees and followed the eager griggin into the tunnel.

  Although it was about noon outside, it was darker than midnight inside the cave. The passage widened as he inched along the muddy, rocky path, still on hands and knees, following Lloyd’s occasional squeaks. Drops of cold water fell from above, dampening his hair and back as he moved deeper and deeper into the cool darkness. He tried not to think of spiders, tried not to imagine them crouching beside him or dangling over his head by sticky threads. By the Almighty, he hated spiders. Especially huge, hairy ones.

  Groping ahead, he plunged his hand into a mass of fur and squealed like a four-year-old girl.

  Mid-shriek, he realized it was only Lloyd he’d met in the blackness. He’d know that stink anywhere.

  Or was it?

  The weasel stench hung in the damp air, unmistakable. But there was another scent, too. Something flowery, feminine. This fur felt less like fur and more like … hair. Human hair. He yanked his hand back.

  “Fret not, human child,” a melodious voice whispered. “Take my hand and let me lead you out of the darkness.”

  “What have you done with Lloyd? Or are you Lloyd?” Panic shot through his veins like icy water. After coming this far, had he lost his ward in the darkness?

  “I am the griggin you bore up the mountainside. As I have trusted you, you may trust in me.”

  Cool fingertips brushed the back of his hand. He shivered as he slowly turned his wrist and let the griggin’s fingers intertwine with his. His — or her — skin was softer than dandelion fluff. The way this incarnation of Lloyd’s hand fit in his, so perfectly, made him heartsick with longing for his true love.

  Lloyd gripped more tightly and said, “She’s waiting for you, the fair-faced maiden of whom you dream. Watching out windows, listening at dawn and dusk for the cacophony of your caravan, speaking your name to the moon like a secret.”

  As much as he wanted to, he didn’t believe the griggin. The girl he loved had no idea that he loved her beyond the boundaries of friendship. Or did she? Well, it wouldn’t matter one jot if he never made it out of the cave. “Can we go now?” he asked, anxious to see daylight again and more than a little uncomfortable holding the female-ish hand.

  “Soon enough. Questions first.”

  “You could ask me whatever you like outside. In the sunlight. Away from the spiders and bats.”

  “In the darkness, one sees more clearly.”

  In no mood for philosophizing, O’Neill said curtly, “Go on, then. Ask.”

  He heard Lloyd breathe in and out, in and out, as if preparing to dive into deep water. Finally, the griggin spoke. “Who are you, human child?”

  “I was an orphan, much like you were when I found you.” The picture of a baby in a basket left under the boughs of an apple tree flashed in his mind, followed by the image of baby Lloyd flailing and weeping by the boulder.

  Again, the griggin asked, “Who are you, human child?”

  “Well, Scarff’s son, you could say. He raised me faithfully, with love.” As O’Neill knew he would have raised Lloyd, had the griggin been truly parentless.

  “But who are you, human child?”

  Exasperated with the question, he grumbled as he tried to think of an answer that might please Lloyd. He could say many things. He could call himself a peddler, a dreamer, a man in love, a horse trainer, a performer, a person at his wits’ end. None of these descriptions covered everything he was or everything he hoped to become. And so he said with a shrug, “I am myself.”

  “You have uttered the truth, human child. Because you have spoken without guile, my mother shall release you from the enchantment which bound you to me.”

  “Thank you.” His throat constricted a little at the thought of leaving Lloyd forever. It hadn’t been all bad, their time together. Perhaps eighty percent bad, but maybe that’s what parenthood was like when you had a hot-tempered shape shifter for a child. The good times made up for the hardships in the end, surely.

  “This way,” Lloyd said with a gentle tug. “We must crawl a short distance, pass under a waterfall, and then our journey shall be near its end.”

  “Thank the heavens,” O’Neill said as he crept forward, still hand in hand with Lloyd. His cheeks flushed hot at his declaration. He didn’t intend to sound rude or petty. “I mean, I’ll be glad to get back on the road with Scarff. The nice, safe road, if fortune favors us for once.”

  Lloyd pulled him to his feet. “Human child, you
are more favored than you know.”

  The sound of water and birdsong brought a grin to O’Neill’s face. Ahead, the darkness looked grayer, less solidly black.

  Lloyd released his hand. “Wait here for a moment.

  O’Neill listened to the griggin’s light footsteps, counted twenty paces in his head before they ceased. There was a gurgle, a crackling, a quivering sigh, and then a few seconds of rustling.

  The baby’s cries echoed through the cave.

  “Again?” O’Neill said, rolling his eyes toward the ceiling. In spite of his exasperation (Really, was changing into an infant again necessary at this point? Couldn’t Lloyd have chosen something less wriggly and needy? Something that could walk on its own two or four legs, perhaps?), the peddler hurried toward the wailing and scooped up the hefty armful of baby-shaped griggin.

  The creature rubbed one scratchy cheek against his chest and cooed, and O’Neill’s feelings toward it warmed once more. Perhaps Lloyd couldn’t help changing. Perhaps he was gripped by magic beyond his control, or malevolent forces coerced him to become babies or logs or ferret-like animals.

  “Hush now. You’ll be with your mother before you know it,” he heard himself say in a fatherly tone. He trudged forward with renewed purpose, still mindful of potential invisible perils.

  He kept one hand on the rock wall and followed its curve around a tight corner. The sparkle of a blue veil of water assaulted his eyes like sudden sunlight — even though it was surely dimmer than dawn’s first flush.

  Spray from the waterfall misted his face and neck. O’Neill pulled the griggin closer. Best to spare the baby from inhaling too much water. He hadn’t noticed if this version of Lloyd possessed teeth and claws, but he didn’t want to find out during a fit of sudden choking and panicked flailing.

  Holding his breath, O’Neill plunged through the curtain of water and emerged on the other side soaked to the skin. He squinted in the dappled, tree-filtered sunlight. The ground rose steeply before him, a fern-clad, conical hill topped with a single pine. Surely this was the tree Scarff had mentioned, the place where Lloyd’s mother would meet him at moonrise.

  His heart pattered between his hollow-feeling lungs. An array of emotions wrestled in that tender spot, warring for domination: fear, love, worry, relief, and a strange, sharp-edged sadness that soon he’d bid the griggin goodbye — in spite of all the trouble the creature had caused him.

  From the angle of the light, he reckoned he’d have to wait a few hours for the moon to make an appearance. Time enough for a nap on the soft grass at the base of the hill. He settled onto the ground carefully, mindful not to wake the already snoring griggin babe he held.

  It took under a minute for O’Neill to fall asleep — and less than two seconds for him to regain consciousness as the squealing baby was ripped from his arms by two sets of knifelike talons.

  He grabbed onto Lloyd’s dangling foot with both hands as a huge hawk lifted the griggin toward the treetops. His weight hindered the bird. As the bird flapped in a futile attempt to take off with its prey, it screeched and turned its orange beak toward O’Neill, snapping and pecking like some sort of avian demon while somehow keeping itself suspended a few inches above the forest floor. The razor sharp beak cut into O’Neill’s forearm, causing him to lose one hand’s grip on Lloyd. O’Neill swore in three languages as the bird lifted him higher off the ground and swung his body so it smashed into a tree trunk. The pain in his arm and side dizzied him. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Lloyd’s griggin-baby face wrinkle and pucker with rage, his eyes glowing red-orange.

  “Change, blast it all!” O’Neill shouted at Lloyd. “Turn into a giant or dragon for once!”

  But all Lloyd did was wail and squirm as the hawk continued to inch upwards, its mighty wings beating hard to counter the weight of its burdens.

  With his free arm, O’Neill lashed out and caught hold of a branch. Instead of stopping his ascent, the branch snapped off the tree. After a second of disappointment, he recognized the opportunity in his grasp: a length of wood ending in several jagged points. A weapon.

  He glanced downward. The eight-foot fall wouldn’t be pleasant, but neither would it be fatal. He uttered a guttural cry and thrust the stick into the bird’s belly.

  The hawk shrieked and opened its talons, freeing Lloyd and, consequently, the caretaker gripping his ankle. Gravity took over. A second later, O’Neill landed squarely on his behind, with Lloyd strewn across his lap and giggling.

  “You’re trouble, that’s what you are,” O’Neill said once he caught his breath. Immediately, he regretted his words. A good father wouldn’t scold a child for being childish, would he? He patted Lloyd’s matted hair. The griggin chirped and snuggled closer. For a time, they remained there, seated on the ferns and twigs, listening to the birds, letting the day slip past — like a real father and son. Finally, exhausted, they both succumbed to sleep.

  When O’Neill opened his eyes, he found himself flat on his back and alone. A glowing disc of moon stared down at him through the canopy of pine limbs. Had Lloyd left him for his mother already? He sat up so quickly his vision wavered.

  At the sound of Lloyd’s sneeze (which perfectly mimicked a kitten’s), O’Neill turned his head. The griggin sat nearby, at the base of the mound which held the tree, his chin tipped upward as he gazed steadily into the branches above. Lloyd had grown a little, shifted into something more goblin-shaped than human. His pale skin had a greenish tint, and his big, bat-like ears arched into points. On his forehead curved the sapphire-colored crescent Scarff had pointed out the day they’d met. He wore a garment that appeared to be a single sheet of moss draped over his shoulders. There was something expectant in his posture, something hopeful in the tilt of his head, something wild and beautiful in the way the moonlight glanced off his angular body.

  O’Neill held his breath, trying to stave off tears. Dash it all, what was there to cry about, anyway? He’d been bitten, scratched, kept awake all hours of the night, forced to scavenge for food, and by all rights held captive by this weird creature he never should have picked up. He ought to have been jumping for joy now that he was about to be released from his obligation to the vexing thing.

  Calling Lloyd a “thing,” although only in his mind, made O’Neill wince. It was wrong. Lloyd wasn’t human, but he wasn’t a mud puddle or a thorn bush, either. He was clever, and at times, tenderly affectionate, and he’d saved O’Neill’s life more than once. They’d eaten together, camped together, even laughed together.

  Lloyd turned toward him and grinned as sweetly as a griggin could. Two fat tears tumbled out of O’Neill’s eyes. “Blast and darnation,” he said as he swiped them off his cheeks.

  A chorus of owls began to hoo-hoo together as a chilly wind hissed through the pine needles. A hundred bats circled overhead, their wings beating in unison. This announcement of midnight wasn’t lost on O’Neill. He stood and approached Lloyd, hand outstretched to clasp the griggin’s.

  Something scampered down from the top branches of the tree with a light, scratchy sound, shaking the boughs enough to provoke a shower of dozens of tiny pine cones. She seemed a shadow at first, a charcoal-colored smudge descending with impossible speed. But when her feet hit the ground, O’Neill could see her clearly enough. She was as real as Lloyd, as solid, and as strange to behold. Not nightmarish, but not the sort you’d be comfortable accidentally meeting in a dark alleyway. Twice Lloyd’s size, she had the same pointed ears and pale green skin as her child, but her eyes were bigger and darker, like two black ponds of unfathomable depth. Dozens of silvery braids hung to her knees. The blue crescent on her forehead glimmered like starlight.

  Lloyd dove into her arms and she embraced him with a whimper. She murmured to him in a guttural tongue as he clung fast to her dress of leaves and vines.

  “I’ll go now, if I may,” O’Neill said, taking a step backward. He felt awkward watching their reunion, like an uninvited party guest who’d shown up wearing only undercl
othes.

  “Wait,” the griggin mama said with a voice like the creaking of old trees.

  “I did what I was supposed to, didn’t I?” O’Neill said, stuffing his hands into his trouser pockets. If he didn’t get out of there quickly, he’d start crying like a baby. “I was told I’d be able to go home once I returned Lloyd to you. I mean, your child.”

  “And you shall.” The griggin mama gently pushed Lloyd out of their embrace and took a step toward O’Neill. “Rewards first.”

  “Look, I only want to go home. To get off this mountain and see my friends. No offense, madam, but I don’t need rewarding.” He had not forgotten — would never forget — the time his “reward” was an unwanted betrothal.

  She eyed him regally and said, “Your first reward is this advice: when we are given a task that tests our limits and we complete it, it serves us well to reflect.”

  The ghostly light shifted as clouds skidded over the moon’s face. Goose bumps rose on O’Neill’s arms. Cold sweat trickled down between his shoulder blades. The griggin mama’s face became beautiful as she smiled, and he feared her magic. What had Scarff said about marrying her and staying there forever? Lloyd had held him in thrall; no doubt she could do the same. Or worse.

  “Thank you,” he said sheepishly. “I’m certain you’re right about that. I’ll be sure to think the whole experience over once I’m back on the road.” His legs itched to run, but his head warned him not to risk offending the faerie creature.

  “Sup with us,” she said. “I have fine food and choice wine such as men rarely sample. It is late, and there are wild things ranging the wood.”

  “I’ll take my chances.”

  “Stubborn boy.” She unwound a string from her wrist and thrust it into his hand. On its end hung a charm of bone, carved into the shape of a bird. “Take this, if you will not stay. Wear it until the morning after the next full moon, and it will safeguard you from all the dangers of the woods and the roads.”