Fortune's Folly

by Deva Fagan

“Impurity! Sin!” I called out, my voice froggy but still loud enough to cut through the muttering. “Someone within these walls has brought the taint of sin into the presence of the blessed Saint Federica. We must make prayers and offerings to the Saint, to appease her wrath!” I pushed my way forward toward the front of the hall. As I passed, villagers bent their heads, chanting prayers. The priest flushed nearly as dark as his own robes and chafed his hands against each other. I could guess the thoughts behind that guilt-stricken face.

  “Fortunata, what’s going on?” Leonato whispered as I stepped up beside him to look at the sword.

  I saw the true problem immediately. The yellowish residue around the juncture of blade and stone told me what had happened. Someone had poured wax into the crevice, and it had hardened, holding the sword fast within the stone.

  “We must all send up prayers to the Saint, to cleanse this church of the taint within,” I called out. I muttered a prayer of my own, that Saint Federica would take pity on me, and show me a way to get out of this mess. My father’s life was on the line, after all. And she was patron of peace. All I wanted was peace.

  The priest threw himself down before the altar at that, nearly knocking over the jar of holy oil. He began rattling off prayers in a blur of barely recognizable words. Leonato knelt on my other side, clasping his hands, closing his eyes, and taking up his own prayers.

  I realized I was still holding my mug of tea, and inspiration struck. “We must make offerings to the blessed Saint,” I said. I snatched the jar of sacred oil from the pedestal, and cast it down over the stone. In the same motion, I dumped my steaming tea onto the crevice. I hoped it would be hot enough.

  “Now,” I said, “we have paid homage to Saint Federica, and granted unto her the sacred oils. Prince Leonato, take up the holy blade.”

  He rose, serene and sure, seeming to glow as if he truly were the holy warrior I had named him. Stepping forward, he seized the blade and drew it from the stone in one smooth motion. The hot lemon tea and perfumed oil cast up billows of sweet scent. Leonato turned to face the crowds, a triumphant smile on his lips.

  “May holy Federica be praised,” he cried. “Blessings upon you, priest, and all the people of this fair village. With this holy blade, I will go forth and undertake my next quest: to vanquish the evil Witch of the Black Wood!”

  I wondered if there might really have been some Saintly influence at work just then, or if Leonato was just lucky to have avoided any troublesome S words in that speech. The cheers of the crowd filled the church, as every soul within gave voice to their joy for this blessing of the Saints. No, not every soul, I realized. Captain Ribisi stood to the side of the altar, beside the statue of Saint Bartolommeo. Unlike that jolly Saint, Ribisi was glowering. Not at the jostling crowds that now streamed from the pews, eager to share the news of the day with those outside. Not at the priest, who was fawning over Prince Leonato. No, the captain’s scowl was fixed on me.

  I had a good idea why. Someone had tried to thwart my fortune. Princess Donata had said herself she would have someone ready to interfere. Could that person be the prince’s own loyal guard?

  CHAPTER

  8

  PRINCE LEONATO determined that he would remain at the church to make his prayers to the Saints for their blessing. Captain Ribisi stayed close by, of course. I, on the other hand, wanted to get as far away from that church as possible. I had been too busy to panic before this, but now the fears flooded back, turning my legs weak as water. I had come perilously close to failure.

  Captain Ribisi was working against me—I was sure of it. The sword had been tampered with. I remembered the noises I had heard while I stood there with my hand upon the hilt last night. Had Captain Ribisi been out there? Watching me, waiting for me to leave? Now that his first attempt to thwart my fortune had failed, what would he do?

  My belly was rumbling, and I needed a place to sit and think. I returned to the inn to cozy myself away in a corner with a platter of mushroom dumplings and a cup of watered wine. As I ate, my thoughts settled a bit. Perhaps I was jumping to conclusions about Captain Ribisi. He’d been sleeping in the sitting room last night when I returned, in the same position at the writing desk as earlier. But there had been plenty of time for him to slip back in while I was washing at the well. And there had been that letter. A report to his mistress, Princess Donata?

  I pulled my thoughts back to the fortune itself. After all, if I couldn’t produce the next bit of it, there would not be anything for my mysterious opponent to thwart. So. The next task was to find the witch. The Black Wood lay to the north. Perhaps, with luck, I could find some old herb-woman to fill the role. Though I didn’t relish the idea of seeing an innocent old granny cut down by Leonato in his enthusiasm. And there was still the shoe to worry about.

  I glanced about the inn, wondering if there was a shoemaker in Saint Federica’s Rest. The room was crowded, more so than it had been when we first arrived. I soon understood why.

  “Here in this very inn,” one of the men was saying, jabbing his pipe up at the ceiling, “on a quest, drawn the holy blade of Saint Federica herself.”

  “Golden hair and green eyes, and handsome as Saint Marco himself,” tittered a red-haired serving maid to a cluster of other women. “Looking for a bride, so I’ve heard. A princess under a spell, so’s she doesn’t even know she’s a princess. But he’s to wake her with a kiss.”

  I stuffed a dumpling into my mouth to keep from laughing at that. No one would believe such twaddle.

  “I heard it was a pair of magic slippers,” said one of the women.

  “No, the princess is imprisoned by an ogre, and the prince must slay it.”

  “He has a magic horse, I heard. It speaks to him and flies swifter than an eagle.”

  They fell into an argument, and I turned my ears to other conversations. Everyone was talking of Prince Leonato and the quest. More people crammed in through the doors every few moments, doubtless come from the spectacle at the church. The extravagant variations on my fortune being tossed about the commons were sometimes so far-fetched I had trouble even recognizing them.

  “I hope he does kill that witch.” A querulous voice rose from near the great hearth. An old man with a few wisps of white hair sat on a bench drawn close beside the flames. “She’s been a nuisance since I was a boy. I remember when Queen Rosetta herself came to deal with the hag.”

  “There truly is a witch?” I asked in a loud voice that drew several interested looks. Belatedly, I realized I was still dressed in my fortune-telling garb, though I had set aside the headdress.

  “Oh, stop your silliness, Pasquale. That witch is just a story to frighten children,” someone said.

  “She’s not just a story. I’ve seen her. She’s out there, all right. Stealing children away to cook them in her stew.”

  “You’re the prophetess, aren’t you?” asked the redheaded serving maid. “The one who foresaw all this? Tell me, have you seen the face of the princess in your visions? What does she look like?”

  “You mean, does she have carrot-red hair and a freckled nose?” asked one of the other women. “Don’t get your hopes up, Teresa. You heard that the princess is in Sirenza.”

  Teresa wrinkled her nose and tossed back her red hair. “I’ve been to Sirenza.”

  “But the princess is in dire peril, isn’t she, Prophetess?” the other woman asked.

  “Yes, terrible danger.” I was more interested in what Pasquale had said. “You’ve heard of the Witch of the Black Wood? Where . . . that is, my visions told me of a horrible hag in the dark woods. But it was a bit . . . unclear. If you know more of this witch, anything that might help the prince to defeat her and regain the, er, magic slipper, please tell me.”

  Everyone had some wisdom to offer. Unfortunately, most of the stories seemed to contradict one another, or else they were so wildly improbable that they must have been the product of fancy rather than fact. One old woman insisted she had seen the witch flying ove
rhead on her demon horse, white as bone with flaming eyes. I sifted through the tales, gaining precious little that might be truth. But it was more than I’d started with.

  A trail ran north into the Black Wood, peeling off from the main road at the stand of three oak trees. Those oldsters who could remember when Queen Rosetta had come to the region all agreed that she had taken that way into the wood. “Fair and noble she was,” one man said. “Clad all in white, with those golden slippers, looking like the moon in the night seated on her black mare. Ah, such a beauty.”

  A number of farmers who had come from a village to the east insisted that the witch came to their village every Feast of Fools to sell charms at the great market. “Horrible old hag,” insisted one. “Wartier than a toad, though not so green.”

  I tucked away all this information, halfheartedly nibbling on the nut cake that finished my meal. The best we could do, then, was to follow that same road. I knew that there was truth at the heart of any wild rumor. Somewhere up that road there was an old herb-woman who made frivolous little charms to cure baldness and remove freckles but had no more real magic than I. Whether she might truly have the queen’s slipper, I didn’t know. I had best look into finding a suitable shoe for Leonato to recover from the supposed witch. I stuck the nut cake into my pouch for later and left the inn in search of a shoemaker.

  WE SET OUT the next day. The people of Saint Federica’s Rest thronged the streets to send Leonato on his way, cheering and even casting flowers over our small procession. Leonato rode up beside me as we continued on through the cheery meadows and fields of barley. I became painfully conscious of how red my nose must be, although my sniffle seemed to be passing. He’s a prince, I told myself, gripping the reins to stay focused, a prince looking for a princess. It doesn’t matter if your nose is red. My heart, ignoring this sensible advice, proceeded to do flip-flops as Leonato leaned closer, looking me over with concern.

  “Are you feeling better?” he asked.

  “What?” Surprise made the word come out sharper than I intended.

  “I thought you looked unwell yesterday. I was worried, when I s-saw you in the church.”

  Leonato was worried about me! The thought blew over me like the sweetest warm summer breeze. I realized I should be saying something. “Thank you. I feel much better now.”

  “Are you s-sure you don’t want to s-s-stay another night in the village, to rest?”

  In that moment, all I wanted to do was to lose myself in his green gaze. But my senses had not departed entirely. I shook my head. “We need to find the other slipper.” And the princess, I reminded myself. My throat tightened at the thought, sending me into a fit of coughing. I bowed forward over Franca’s long ears, trying to recover.

  “Here,” said Leonato, holding out a small wooden box. “I thought you could use these. They’re lemon candies, s-s-sweetened with honey. The apothecary said they would s-s-soothe a cough.”

  As I took it, his fingers brushed against mine, jolting me with a strange, tingling shiver. I nearly expected Franca to start, but she plodded on. “Thank you,” I managed at last. He gave me one more glorious smile, then nudged Snowdrop ahead so he could speak with the captain.

  I watched him go. Every tiny detail sparkled, like the gilt illuminations in one of the great books of the Saints: the curve of his lips when he smiled, the hope that flashed brightly in his eyes, the delight he took in the green fields and flowering meadows.

  I popped one of the lozenges into my mouth. It soothed my throat, as promised, but it could not soothe my troubled thoughts. I told myself the prince was only being kind. As he’d been kind to every farmer, priest, or crafter we’d met on our journey. He wasn’t courting me—that was ridiculous. Wasn’t it? I was being foolish. I clamped down on the candy so forcefully it shattered, leaving me to suck on lemony splinters. Better to turn my mind to the problem at hand than to trouble over these flights of fancy.

  I still had no suitable shoe. There was no shoemaker in all of Saint Federica’s Rest. Their needs were served by a traveling crafter who was not due to visit again for another two months. I was so distracted by thoughts of how to produce a golden slipper I did not notice we had reached the three oaks until Franca halted abruptly and flicked back her ears at me. The two men had stopped ahead.

  “It’s as you foretold,” Leonato said, beaming up at the trees. “Three oaks to mark the path to the Black Wood. Do you s-s-suppose the witch knows we’re coming? Will sh-she call down her magics upon us when we enter?” His eyes were not wide and fearful, as one might expect upon entering the lair of a wicked witch. Instead, they shone bright with excitement. Leonato’s success with the sword had invigorated him.

  The energy had also, apparently, touched Snowdrop. The old horse strained forward, stamping his great feet impatiently. Captain Ribisi took the lead. “I will go first, my prince, to make certain the way is safe.”

  Was he planning a trap, something to thwart my fortune? I kept a close eye on the man as we entered the woods.

  The Black Wood was well named. Only a dim, misty light filtered down through the canopy of oak leaves, though it was nearly noon and the day was clear. There was very little undergrowth, so the thick gray boles of the trees stretched out like pillars in an endless hall. I felt small and meek. It was no comfort to be able to see into the depths of the forest, unobscured by bramble and brush; it seemed endless and grim, and before long, I lost all sense of direction. We had only the road to guide us, and that had quickly narrowed to a single mossy track. The noises of the wood seemed to echo, as if we were in some vast cavern. The patter of falling acorns, the scampering of some small creature, all were cast back to us, magnified into the sinister scuttlings of some far more terrible beast.

  “Did you know your grandmother?” I asked Leonato, raising my voice to carry forward. “Did she ever speak of the witch?”

  “Sh-she died when I was very young,” he said, twisting in the saddle to look back at me. “My father told me the s-s-story. Grandmother came to the witch to ask for her blessing upon the lands—there was a drought, I think—but the witch was evil and refused. The witch s-s-started to put a s-s-spell on Grandmother. Grandmother escaped, but not before the witch caught one of her golden s-s-slippers. Grandmother didn’t dare to return for it.”

  I was about to ask what sort of spell it had been, when Leonato abruptly reined back Snowdrop and reached for his sword. “What is it?” I asked.

  He arced the blade to the left, near the bole of a tree close beside the trail. The sword sank into the bark with a thunk, followed by an angry stream of chittering. I caught the flash of a brushy gray tail retreating up into the boughs above.

  “Just a squirrel, Your Highness,” I said, brushing bits of splintered wood and bark off my sleeves and out of Franca’s tufted mane.

  He grimaced, tugging the blade loose. “This cursed place is getting on my nerves. I’m expecting to find the witch lurking around every turn. You must think I’m a fool,” he added, glancing back. “Your S-s-sight would have warned if we were to be attacked.”

  “Not a fool, just very . . . alert,” I said, smiling. “And I don’t always foresee everything.”

  “What’s going on back there?” Captain Ribisi had drawn his brown mare around. “Are you well, my prince?”

  “Yes, Captain. I’m only s-s-seeing phantoms and mauling innocent trees.”

  Ribisi looked from the tree to Leonato’s sword. “Well, it’s good to see the legendary sword of prophecy didn’t shatter on the first blow.”

  “Of course it wouldn’t,” said Leonato. “It’s a holy s-s-sword.”

  “Hmmph,” was all Ribisi said. “Come along, then. We’d better keep going if we’re to find this supposed witch.” He turned his mount back down the trail and set off.

  “Are we going the right way?” Leonato asked me, after sheathing his sword.

  “This is the only road,” I said, falling back on truth.

  “The witch must be nearby
. This forest prickles my s-s-skin. I feel like it’s watching us. Perhaps she’s enchanted the trees to s-s-serve her.” Snowdrop continued onward without prompting, still full of unwarranted energy. I, on the other hand, had to coax Franca forward, for she was growing increasingly balky.

  Something whistled through the air before me. For a heartbeat I thought it was a bird, before I saw the quivering shaft sunk deep into the tree to my left. It was a trap. I had said myself this was the only road. Someone else knew our way and had lain in wait for us.

  “An attack!” Leonato called. “It’s the witch!”

  “Bandits,” Captain Ribisi said. “Take cover!” The captain turned his mare to the right and charged off the trail.

  Several more arrows whizzed through the air, one of them passing just over Franca’s ears. The normally placid donkey snorted and reared back. I tumbled off, landing painfully against a tangle of roots.

  “Fortunata!”

  A whoosh of horsebreath blew over me. Rubbing my head, I looked up to see Leonato leaning down from the saddle with a worried expression. “Are you hurt? We have to help Captain Ribisi!”

  I thought to myself that Captain Ribisi was probably perfectly safe. He might well have been the one who arranged this ambush. “Where is he?”

  “Chasing them down. He’ll need help. Here, you can ride with me.” Leonato reached out to help me up, but pulled back abruptly, staring at something behind me. He brandished his sword with a flourish, calling, “Back, foul creatures! Back before the holy blade of Federica. The dark arts of your mistress will not avail you!”

  There were three of them. For a long moment I was almost convinced they were creatures of the witch: trolls and goblins summoned up to do her bidding. But they were men. It was the layers of dirt, the ragged clothing, the gap-toothed snarling grins, and the murderous light in their eyes that made them appear as monsters.

  One of them carried a long, wicked dagger, another a sturdy ax. The third held a spear, its point glittering dangerously near to Leonato as he rode toward them. I looked around wildly for Captain Ribisi, but there was no sign of him. There was no sign of Franca either. She was probably out of the woods by now and making for a warm stable and a manger full of hay. “Get him, lads!” said the man with the dagger, leering at the prince. “He’s the one.”