by Zoe Chant
She made a circuit of the room and even her brightness was dimmed, not only her size. When she opened her beak to cry out in protest, she was still silent in this form. She fell on the man, swiping with claws, snapping with her beak at his unprotected face.
He flinched away, flinging up an arm, and cried, “Tadra! Stop, please! I’m not going to harm you! Vesta, Fabio, down!”
The creatures ignored their master and Tadra paused in her attack. How did he know her name? He was still trying to protect her ornament; did it give him some power over her? She swooped down on him again, trying to make any sound and failing.
When she pivoted and flew away at the last moment, he lowered his arm trustingly—foolishly, Tadra thought. She was a firebird knight of the fallen crown and even in this size and strange world should be able to bring him down with ease. She alighted on a rod near the ceiling that held draperies and stared across the room at him.
To her surprise, he put the ornament gently down in a box filled with some kind of captured bubbles near an unflickering lamp with no smoke.
“Tadra,” he said, turning back to her, and he put out both his hands.
It took Tadra a moment to realize that he intended her to land there. The idea of landing on someone at her usual size was absurd! She opened her beak to squawk a protest that wouldn’t sound and clacked it instead. The hounds were still milling around him, leaping on and off the tousled bed as they barked and ignored his commands.
“If you can’t mind your manners, get out,” he commanded at last, and he caught the small one in his hands and herded the other with his knees to the door, forcing them both out and then latching the smooth-hinged door behind.
“Tadra,” he said again, turning back and offering his hands. “My name is Ansel. I am a friend to your shieldmates, Trey, Henrik, and Rez, and your mentor, Robin. I am sorry they are not here to greet you themselves. I know this is really confusing, and I’m not sure what to say to convince you.”
Tadra hopped along the drapery rod but did not offer to fly to him. When she reached for magic to renew her strength, she could not sense it anywhere nearby. Were they in some kind of ward that dampened her power? Had this man cast a spell on her?
Ansel was continuing to speak, slowly and gently. “You’re in a place called Wimberlette; it’s a little town in Michigan, which will mean exactly nothing to you. Uh, okay, Henrik said that you would like chocolate, but oh, you don’t know what that is yet. Robin said you were the bravest of their knights, and the most foolish. Which seemed like it was saying a lot, given how foolish and brave your shieldmates are.”
Robin. Robin was here somewhere. And if they were here, and if they truly trusted Ansel, Tadra might too. Then, it could be a ploy of some kind. Did he mean to trick her?
The only exit was the door behind him, a door where she could still hear the half-hounds howling and scratching. She wasn’t going to let her guard down, but the witch’s—Ansel’s—goal did not appear to be her immediate destruction. She would accept his truce and watch and wait for his true nature to show.
Chapter 3
Ansel felt a thrill of triumph when Tadra flew to land in his hands, followed swiftly by alarm. She weighed almost nothing, but appeared to be on fire, her tail and wings shedding sparks like a blacksmith’s grindstone. She didn’t feel hot to the touch and his skin didn’t burn any more than his curtains had. He relaxed, gazing down at her tiny form in rapt wonder. As small as she was, she was shaped more like a swan than a songbird, and her tail was almost serpentine, feathered in flickering embers. Gleaming black eyes blinked at him, and then she was shifting in his hands.
Cupping her firebird form translated to cradling her face when she was standing before him in her human form, and Ansel was struck absolutely dumb by the feel of her skin against his palms. She had been attractive enough striking out at him, her flame-red hair wild around her pale, bare shoulders, but now, standing still and gazing up at him with quiet patience, Ansel thought he’d never seen anything in the world so beautiful and breath-taking.
She was smaller than Ansel had anticipated from the other knights’ descriptions of her fighting prowess; he had somehow expected her to be of Amazon height and build, but she was very close to his own height and slight, if clearly strong and fit.
She was also completely naked, and that was disturbing Ansel’s ability to form words or think straight.
They’d made up a room for her and there were clothes in the room, but Ansel wasn’t sure if he’d be able to make it that far. Robe. He could lend her a robe.
“Here...let me...I can...you should…”
Ansel had to let go of her first, and no part of him wanted to. It wasn’t magic, he didn’t think, it was just that she was a whole lot of gorgeous naked woman and it been a really long time since he had one of those in close proximity. And despite all those tantalizing, curvy parts below her neck, it was her face that Ansel wanted to gaze at most.
He could fall straight into those golden-brown eyes...and he wasn’t sure he’d make it back out in one piece.
She tried to speak again. Ansel could see her mouth move, feel her jaw in his hands, and she was puzzled and frustrated, lifting one hand to run her fingers over her lips. The question on her face was obvious.
“I don’t know why you can’t talk,” he said, finally able to pry his hands away from her. This, unfortunately, gave him a much clearer view of the rest of her and, for a moment, he was as speechless as she was. “Your ornament,” he managed, after a few attempts. “It broke. Maybe that’s why?”
He wrenched himself away and went to his closet. He could think more clearly with his back to her and when he brought the bathrobe back to her, he kept his eyes averted to the side.
She took the garment and Ansel saw her mouth words that must have been polite gratitude out of the corner of his vision. Not looking at her made communication even more complicated; he was glad when she drew the sleeves over her arms and tied the belt around her waist.
It was only a little big on her, the seams just off her shoulders, but it made her look smaller and more lost than ever. She was asking something, her mouth working and her hands fluttering, and Ansel had to guess what it might be.
“Are you wondering where your shieldmates are?” he hazarded. If he’d suddenly woken up in a weird world, he’d want to know where his friends were.
She nodded rapidly and added something anxious.
“They’re fine, great. Probably.” Even clothed, she made it hard for Ansel to think straight. “Robin cast a spell and found your key, but when they went to get him, they didn’t come back. So the team—your knights and their keys—went to find them. I don’t know when they’ll return.”
Tadra’s face scrunched in confusion. She mouthed words, then made a fist with her hand, her thumb on top, and twisted it. A key, Ansel thought. She shrugged and spread her hands.
“Oh, keys, of course, you wouldn’t know.” Ansel knew he was making a mess of explaining things. He hadn’t expected to accidentally release Tadra, and he hadn’t prepared for this in the slightest. “The spell that sent each of you here was supposed to help you find the person in this world who could help you unlock your power. Your magic works differently here, and you need a local to help you tap it. Daniella is the key for Trey, Heather for Rez, Gwen for Henrik.” But not Ansel for Tadra, he remembered, and his disappointment was like a splinter under a fingernail.
She looked down at her hands and nodded slowly, then made a small shape with her hands and expanded it with a broad, spread-fingered wave. Her small firebird size, compared to the size she’d expected, perhaps? She gave a soundless sigh and her shoulders slumped inside the robe.
“Are you hungry?” he asked, casting for something to offer her to cheer her up. “I have food.”
She bobbed her head without enthusiasm and Ansel opened the door for her, momentarily forgetting about the dogs waiting on the other side. They swarmed in, more of a pack than two dogs ought t
o be, particularly since one of them was smaller than a loaf of bread. “Vesta, Fabio, behave now.”
Tadra knelt fearlessly before them as Ansel introduced them. “Fabio’s the sweetheart with the buttery hair and Vesta is the little nervous one.”
They greeted her with wagging tails and whines, Fabio trying to lick her face as Vesta danced on her hind feet and quivered in excitement. Tadra smiled and Ansel guessed she was giggling by the shake to her shoulders. She was deft about keeping Fabio’s tongue from her face, and after a moment of petting each of them, she stood again.
“How about some food?” Ansel offered. He should be chivalrous; the knights were always painfully polite. He offered his arm, hoping he didn’t look too foolish.
She lifted her chin and slipped her hand into his elbow.
“This is Gwen and Henrik’s room, this one is yours,” he said, as they passed the doors, pausing to look briefly in.
She drew her fingers along the railing as they went down the stairs, touching things curiously. Ansel tried to explain as they went, “That’s a television, that’s a thermostat.” He knew it must be meaningless.
Tadra drew to a stop at a framed photograph of Daniella, Heather, Trey, Rez, and Gwen. Fabio was resting his head on Daniella’s knee and Vesta was in Heather’s arms. Robin sat on the back of the couch behind the rest with their arms crossed; a casual viewer might wonder why a lifelike doll had been posed in the picture.
Her mouth in a soundless little O, Tadra touched the glass and glanced at Ansel. She mouthed something, but Ansel had no context for what she was asking. Maybe she was wondering why Henrik wasn’t in the photo? “That was taken before we found Henrik’s ornament,” he explained. Tadra didn’t look satisfied with the answer.
“I worried about putting this out where someone might see it,” he confessed. “This world doesn’t have fables, but we do have stories about fairies. I was surprised that Robin’s wings don’t show in the photo, but I guess it makes sense, since they say we only see an aspect of the magic.”
Tadra was still looking at him expectantly, so Ansel tried to explain further. “I guess, for you, in your world, magic is something you can see and understand and control, but we don’t have magic here, at least not that we know about. Robin says that our minds interpret it in some way that makes sense for each of us. We all see a different style of wing on the fable, and each of the keys has a different way of channeling magic for their knight.”
Tadra’s brow furrowed skeptically.
“Daniella sings,” Ansel said. “She hears magic as music. Heather sees the magic as glowing fibers and can weave and knit them. Gwen sees it like a video game interface, with options that she can control.” He pointed out each of the keys in the photo.
That, of course, only confused Tadra further and Ansel flailed trying to explain video games as he led her into the kitchen.
What did you feed a mute knight from a faery world? It occurred to Ansel to wonder if her throat had been damaged and if she’d be able to eat at all. “You can sit here,” he offered, pointing at one of the stools on the far side of the kitchen island.
The fact that it could spin caught Tadra by surprise, and she was first alarmed and then delighted, testing its range of motion with interest and spinning in slow circles.
Ansel poured her a glass of water first, and she carefully turned it to look at the bar logo, mouthing the name. Of course she could read, Ansel realized. All the knights were literate, and Trey had already charmed the local librarian into letting him use Daniella’s library card whenever he visited. A story about losing his own identification while he was traveling had been unconvincing, but librarians were the kind of people who recognized a story when they were in one, and they rarely impeded reading.
Ansel realized that if she could read, she could write, and he found the notepad that he kept by the house phone, as well as a pen, then showed her how to click it open to expose the tip and show her how it wrote. “You probably have a lot of questions, and I’ll answer anything I can.”
She was thrilled by the device and clicked it several times before settling down to write while Ansel went to the other side of the island and loaded a plate with everything he thought she might like: chocolate chip cookies, a handful of potato chips, a slice of cheese, a pickle, some strawberries, a few nuts… His own stomach grumbled and he made up a second plate for himself. “How hungry are you?” he asked. “Should I turn on the oven for a pizza or dinner pockets?”
Tadra wiggled her fingers in what Ansel guessed was a “medium” or “so-so” answer. “We can start with this,” he decided, and Tadra nodded agreeably as she bent and wrote another line on her paper.
She put the pen down and set the notepad aside when he brought her the heaped plate. “Does your…throat hurt? Will you be able to eat?”
Tadra started to mime something, then reached for the pen and wrote “Did hurt. Doesn’t now.”
Ansel glanced at the lines above it.
Where are we?
Was Cerad brought to justice?
Were my shieldmates hurt? Are we all mute?
What is your title?
How do I get back home?
Her handwriting was tidy, like a scholar’s, with a slight cant to it and the very barest of flourishes.
She didn’t need words to express how pleased she was with the food, tasting a little of everything first, and savoring every bite with amazement and interest. Ansel took more pleasure in watching her eat than he did in his own plate, even though his long labor over the ornament had left him hungry.
Vesta and Fabio begged at their feet.
“Let me try to explain as much as I can,” he said when he realized he couldn’t just gaze besottedly at her. “You were caught in a battle.”
Her face went still and full of sorrow. She nodded.
“There was a spell…no, I guess there were a couple of spells. Cerad tried to make you fragile, and Robin tried to save you. And I think that Henrik was doing something, too, and maybe there was more. You would probably know how it worked better than I do, since you were actually there, and you understand how magic works. But the end of it is that the four of you and Robin were sent here, to our world, and you were imprisoned in glass, from which you could…only be released by your keys.” Except that he wasn’t her key. “Well, at least, I thought…”
She licked her fingers and wrote, then tipped the pad to him. “You can do magic?”
Ansel shook his head. “No. Aside from what the keys can do with the knights, magic is just a myth here. Though, we do have a lot of technology that looks like magic at first.”
She tapped the second question.
Ansel dreaded giving her the answer, but reluctantly did. “He won. Your world has fallen. Robin described a land washed in darkness and despair, beyond saving.”
Tadra bowed her head over her food and chased a macadamia nut around her plate, then straightened bravely and tapped the next question.
“Your shieldmates were fine just a few days ago,” Ansel could promise. “They can speak, and are in good health. They’re really happy here. Their keys are their perfect partners in every way, and they’ve adapted to our society quite well. We’ve only had a few minor house fires.”
She gave a silent sigh of relief and gave Ansel a very thoughtful look as she touched the next line.
“Just Ansel,” he said apologetically.
Tadra’s eyebrows knit in confusion. She wrote, “Justice? As in law?”
“No,” Ansel said. “Only Ansel. I don’t have a title. I’m not a knight of a realm or a prince or a wizard. Just…me. Keeper of hounds, I guess. But…”
He didn’t want to tell her the rest. He wanted to leave her thinking that this world was safe for them, that she would be happily reunited with her shieldmates and her greatest hurdle would be figuring out how to use a flush toilet and a microwave.
She tapped him with her pen and glared at him. She didn’t need to write out that she
knew he was keeping something from her.
“The veil between our worlds weakens with the year,” Ansel said reluctantly. “And Cerad has designs on adding this one to his conquests. Last year, we—well, they, not me.” He wasn’t a warrior; she’d learn that soon enough and stop looking at him with appraising respect. “Trey and Daniella and Robin and Henrik’s key Gwen fought bleaks and dours to keep them from opening portals and letting a great army through. It was everything that they could do to win the day, and Robin fears we’ll need all four of you, with all the magic we can muster to fend them off again this year.”
Tadra swallowed. She was watching his face carefully, and he could not help but look at her just as closely, using the excuse of her silence as a reason to watch her for clues. Her face looked sadder now, drawn and tired. She clicked the pen and dropped her gaze at last, crossing off her final question.
Chapter 4
The hound-keeper, Ansel, was patient with Tadra’s questions, and with the time it took her to write words out when expressing things with her hands failed.
“I can teach you some sign language,” Ansel said as he collected their plates and took them back into the gleaming food workshop.
Tadra cocked her head at him, waiting for him to explain, and he gestured for her to follow him. She gathered up the fine paper he’d given her, along with the dipless pen. He led her down a hallway, not touching her in a curious, careful way that suggested he wanted to but wasn’t sure how to, until they came to a room where smokeless lights sprang to life at his command. She didn’t understand how that could be possible without magic. She didn’t understand any of this.