by Hondo Jinx
Braddock secured the rope to a stout tree on solid ground, tied the other end to his waist, and descended the bank for a closer look. Reaching the edge of the trees, he saw that a good portion of this canyon wall had been washed away, leaving fifty feet of sheer cliff.
Looked like they would need to find a new approach to the river.
The hillside was sturdy even at the edge of the cliff, but he left his safety rope attached.
Cautious men live longer lives.
Peering down at the birds, Braddock couldn’t tell what they were after. He picked up a stick and hurled it at them, and the birds burst into the air, revealing the half-devoured corpse of a wolf-like creature.
Something in him relaxed. But only a little.
He untied his safety rope, spun it into a coil, and hooked it over his shoulder, then started downstream staying uphill from the cliff’s edge until he reached a section where the hillside had not crumbled away.
As expected, the steep bank was devoid of animals, save for birds and squirrels. He followed the river for another mile, the ridge behind him dipping steadily until it delivered Braddock to the river’s edge, and the canyon opened into a forested valley rimmed by wooded hillsides.
There was no sign of Cascadia. He called her name several times, but the only answers were the empty echo of his own voice and the mocking caws of the carrion birds.
He continued hiking along the river.
Farther downstream, a sizable campfire burned across the river on a ridge partway up one hill. Braddock couldn’t see the actual fire, but he could tell much by its smoke.
As could anyone else who came near or crossed one of the many ridges flanking the valley.
Which suggested the fire had been built by either a party of fools or a force strong enough not to care who saw their smoke.
Braddock turned back and scanned the river on his return walk, listening for cries of help and looking for anything he might have missed on the southward trek.
There was nothing.
Reaching the new cliff, he angled toward home, but paused halfway up the bank for one last look at the river.
Nothing.
I’m sorry, Cascadia. I tried. I hope you’re okay. I hope you just washed downstream and are on the mend now.
He turned and was just starting back uphill when a weak voice called, “Meadow Master?”
26
“Cascadia?”
Turning in a full circle, Braddock saw no sign of the beautiful water nymph.
“Master,” the weak voice groaned faintly, and turning in that direction, he spotted a tiny woman draped across the notch of a tree slightly above his eye level.
Long black tresses framed a pale face masked with severe bruising. Her hair was soaked with rain, streaked with mud, and tangled with twigs and burrs. The tiny woman tried to speak again but went limp.
Braddock leaned close. “Hello?”
She was completely unresponsive, but her tiny sides still rose and fell.
Braddock set his spear on the ground and gently extracted the little woman from the tree, cradling her in his palms.
She was a little under three inches long and looked like a sprite but had no wings.
Currently, anyway.
Her back and shoulders were so bloody that Braddock couldn’t tell if she had once had wings or not. Her dress hung in tatters, failing to conceal her horribly lacerated body.
Braddock hurried uphill as fast as he could without jostling the unconscious woman too severely.
She murmured occasionally but didn’t regain consciousness.
When they reached the meadow, sunlight transformed her hair, burning within the long, black tresses, bringing to life scintillating streaks of bright mahogany.
A second later, Philia appeared, having detected their presence.
“Oh no, Spinner!” Philia cried, leaning down to examine the tiny woman. “What have they done to you, my sweet sister?”
When Philia looked up, Braddock saw something on her face he hadn’t seen since the visit of Hortensia’s handmaidens.
Rage.
“They will pay for this,” his wife growled, eyes flaring bright green. “But first, we must save sweet Spinner.”
Tilly arrived, eyes huge. “What is it, Meadow Mother?” Then, seeing the bloodied sprite, she cried out, “Spinner!”
Philia took Tilly’s face in her hands. “You must be strong now, beloved handmaiden. Go and fetch a healing elixir as quickly as you can.”
Tilly nodded. “Yes, Meadow Mother.”
Glancing at Spinner, Philia said, “On second thought, fetch two elixirs, Tilly.”
“Yes, Meadow Mother.”
Tilly shot off across the meadow and returned with impossible speed, toting a pair of small healing potions.
Speaking an incantation, Philia opened one elixir and tilted it to Spinner’s lips.
The first sip roused Spinner to consciousness. With a second sip, the battered sprite was able to sit up and tell her tragic tale.
Like Tilly, Spinner had also pined for Philia. After Tilly’s departure, the longing became too much to bear.
Spinner had confided this to a younger sprite, Leeka, who tattled to a handmaiden, who dragged Spinner to Hortensia.
“Hortensia was so angry, Meadow Mother,” Spinner sobbed as Philia stroked her dark hair. “She t-t-tore off my wings and devoured them.”
Now all three sprites were crying, but Braddock noticed that even as they leaked tears, Philia’s eyes burned with rage again.
Would that be a problem? Rage has a way of giving people outsized notions of their own capabilities—and getting those same people killed.
“The handmaidens ran me out of the meadow,” Spinner wept, “and the Meadow Maidens helped. That hurt even worse than having my wings torn off. They were my Meadow Sisters!”
“They are no longer,” Philia said. “Now, they are your enemies. But you are among friends.”
“Thank you, Meadow Mother,” Spinner said, smiling weakly. “It was a nightmare, trying to escape their torment. I was so weak from my injuries, and they flew after me as I ran, cursing my name. They pelted me with seeds and pebbles and lashed me with briars that sliced my gown to ribbons and tore my flesh.”
Philia and Tilly comforted the sobbing sprite, who continued, “Finally, they left me for dead on the banks of the river. When they were gone, I climbed onto a stick and pushed into the water and paddled downstream, angling for shore. Far from Hortensia’s meadow, I finally came ashore.
“I was overjoyed to land so close to your meadow, but I exhausted myself trying to climb the hill. Finally, realizing I was fading away, I used the last of my energy to climb into a tree, hoping that if I died, at least one of you might see me and know that I tried to reach you.”
“It was indeed fortuitous that the Meadow Master found you before you expired,” Philia said, softly stroking Spinner’s dark hair with her index finger. “The rain and loam smiled on you, little Spinner.”
“Yes, Meadow Mother,” Spinner said, hugging Philia’s finger and looking up hopefully. “I thank the rain and loam. I thank the glorious Meadow Master for rescuing me. I thank you, Meadow Mother, for saving me. And sweet Tilly, I thank you for giving me the strength to abandon the meadow for a better life here… if the Meadow Master and Mother will have me.”
Sad as Spinner’s tale was, Braddock and Philia still put her through the paces. Once again, he pretended to be aloof as Philia pretended to weigh her options, suggesting she might cast the wingless waif out into the cold night to fend for herself.
Spinner, of course, begged. And once again, there was much boot kissing, which Braddock endured as part of a stupid game he knew better than to try and change.
What would be the point if the ritual fulfilled them?
Tilly played a part he hadn’t anticipated. She hemmed and hawed, offering arguments for showing mercy, which allowed Philia to scorn the notion more caustically.
But i
n the end, things shook out as Braddock had known they would; as, he realized, everyone had known they would.
They invited Spinner to join the meadow.
And once she kissed their hands and they all said the words, the Meadow came to life again just as it had when Tilly joined.
Philia glowed. Bright green flecks pulsed above the meadow like countless fireflies, brightening the gloomy day, then condensed around the Meadow Mother, who gasped as her aura exploded with a blinding flash, sending a gust of warmth and power and goodwill over Braddock, who once again sensed the love of the land flowing into and out of him in equal measure.
An invigorating wave rushed through him, leaving his body crackling with new strength.
Spinner not only surged to handmaiden size but also healed completely and sprouted a new pair of wings, which all three women admired, weeping for joy.
Braddock barely noticed the wings, distracted by the wobbling flesh peeking from within the tattered remains of her savaged dress.
Spinner was a plump little thing, shorter than Tilly and buxom with a round, very pretty face and great dimples that deepened cutely whenever she smiled, which was frequently.
A silk maiden and talented seamstress, Spinner had made Philia and Tilly’s dresses in their old meadow.
“You must build a loom at once,” Philia said, “and set to gathering fibers you might use over the long winter months.”
“Yes, Meadow Mother,” Spinner said with a bow that gave Braddock a perfect view of her big round bottom, which looked as juicy as a fresh strawberry beneath the tattered curtain of her flayed skirt. “It will be my pleasure to serve you and the Meadow Master in any way you will allow.”
With this, Spinner glanced over her shoulder and actually winked at Braddock.
She was a cheeky girl, this newcomer.
He parted ways with them then, meaning to go downhill and fetch his spear, but lingered just a moment to watch the three sprites zip across the meadow toward his home.
It occurred to Braddock that Spinner’s arrival posed a new consideration in light of last night’s fun and games.
When Tilly had joined them, she had spent her nights perched dutifully on a beam, watching them make love but biding her time, waiting for an invitation.
Would things be different with Spinner?
Yes, because they had already fed Tilly. And because, based on that wink, Spinner would be more aggressive than her golden-haired handmaiden sister.
So be it. Braddock would wrangle them.
He believed that Spinner’s arrival had regenerated Philia’s hope.
Lately, he knew, Philia had been worrying in private. The days were growing short and cold, and sprites hunker down during the winter months, sticking mostly to their meadows.
So after the first snow fell, their chances of gaining more handmaidens would decline faster than the temperature.
That would leave Philia only with spring to gather her remaining handmaidens before she and Braddock were forced to descend into the canyon and face the wrath of Hortensia.
Braddock spent the rest of the morning hunting the woods north of their meadow and bagged a young pig feasting on a heavy drop of acorns in an unfamiliar patch of forest. The other pigs scattered, but Braddock unsheathed Cleaver and kept him handy in case any boars came charging back.
The pig he killed was short, stubby, and clearly well fed. Braddock’s mouth watered, imagining the taste of fresh pork, and as he gathered acorns from the churned-up ground, all those hoof prints got him wondering if they might fence in three sides of a pasture and have themselves a pig drive next.
Sheep would be easier and less dangerous to domesticate, but let’s face it, nothing beats bacon.
These were his thoughts as he ambled from the forest with his pockets full of acorns and a pig over his shoulder.
Something bellowed far to his right, and a pulse of alarm struck him in the chest.
Instinctively, Braddock lurched back into the trees, his body reacting automatically to a threat as it had so many times before.
And not a second too soon.
He stumbled and fell behind a large tree, which shuddered with impact and shook down beads of rainwater onto his startled face.
An earsplitting screech froze his thoughts.
But Braddock’s body was long conditioned to survival in stretches of wilderness that pitted him against grizzlies, mountain lions, and deadly warriors, and despite his frozen mind, his arms and legs carried him backward, away from the snapping of branches and fluttering of great wings.
Massive orange talons struck the ground where he had lain only a fraction of second earlier, and with another deafening cry, the humongous roc tore huge holes in the forest floor.
This second screech had the opposite effect of the first, bringing Braddock sharply awake, and as the roc took another swipe, he jabbed with the spear.
It was an awkward counterattack since he was lying on his back, but Braddock’s aim was true, and the point of the spear slid into the scaly gap between the giant eagle’s great toes.
Considering the bird’s sixty-foot wingspan, Braddock was to the roc like a mouse to an eagle, but a needle between the toes hurts no matter how tiny the attacker.
With a terrible shriek, the roc leapt into the air, yanking the spear from Braddock’s hands, and flapped away across the valley toward the distant mountain peaks.
Sitting up, Braddock laughed aloud.
That had been close.
He had never even heard the giant predator coming. Never sensed anything until the meadow warned him.
That had been something. A palpably urgent alarm that had no doubt saved his life.
He had never sensed anything like it before.
Had bringing Spinner on board strengthened the meadow? Had it strengthened Braddock’s connection with the meadow?
Whatever the case, Braddock knelt just beyond the woods and patted the mud and grass at the edge of the meadow.
“Thank you, Meadow.”
But he had received another warning, too. The bellow.
Looking to his right, he saw the herd standing at the edge of the forest, watching him and chewing their cuds.
Braddock raised a hand in their direction. “Thank you,” he called, and scanned the sky one more time before heading across the meadow with a pig slung over one shoulder.
27
As Braddock was helping Elizabeth quarter the skinned buck, Spinner appeared, hovering in the air beside him, her voluptuous body wobbling behind the shredded curtain of her tattered dress.
“May I please cure the hide for you, Meadow Master?” Spinner asked.
“Sure, darlin. Thanks. But I reckon it has to dry first, and I haven’t gotten to the brains yet.”
Spinner giggled. “I should be able to manage, Master. Did you have a specific plan for this hide?”
He shook his head. “They always come in handy.”
“The Meadow Mother suggested I might use this hide to create a new dress for myself. Would that be all right by you, Master?”
“Sure. Go ahead.”
“Thank you, Master!” Spinner dipped in, kissed his cheek, and flew off with the still bloody hide.
Elizabeth rolled her eyes. “Another concubine, huh?”
He raised one eyebrow.
“Don’t play innocent with me,” she said as he hung up the final quarter. “I saw what you were doing with those sprites last night.”
“First of all, darlin, you didn’t see what we were doing. You only think you did. And second of all, my love life is none of your business.”
“You’re right,” Elizabeth said, lifting her chin and giving him a haughty look. “Your love life is none of my business. Nor should I wish it to be. The mere thought of your beastly rutting turns my stomach.”
“Great. Glad we got that straight. Now help me to gather this fat. Are you making soap or boot grease with it?”
Elizabeth scowled down at him with her hands on
her hips, looking inexplicably furious. She always rendered the fat after skinning. Usually, however, he didn’t help her pick up the chunks of fat. What in the world did she have to be angry about?
“You’re nothing but a brute, Mr. Braddock, a senseless brute. Make your own soap!”
He could only stare in confusion as she stormed off to her cabin. She stopped in front of the door and stared up at the damaged roof with balled-up fists at her sides. Then she stomped her foot with an exasperated cry, went inside, and slammed her door.
“I’ll render the fat for you, Master,” Spinner said, appearing at Braddock’s side. “Would you prefer soap or grease?”
“Whoa.”
Spinner stood there in a brand new buckskin dress similar to garments he had seen among Plains Indian women, fringe and all, except Spinner’s fit like a finely tailored glove, hugging her sensuous curves from the hem at mid-thigh all the way to a plunging neckline full of pale green cleavage.
There was even a little belt. Spinner’s hourglass figure would have been evident even in an old burlap sack, so this form-fitted dress with its tightly cinched belt only exaggerated the dip and swell of her epic curves.
Hands clasped below her beltline, Spinner swiveled cutely back and forth, blushing and batting her lashes and showing him her dimples. “You approve of my handiwork, Master?”
“Approve? It’s amazing. You look great, darlin. But how did you make it so quickly?”
“I’m a silk maiden, Master,” Spinner chimed. “Well, I was a silk maiden. Now I’m a handmaiden!”
“So you specialize in making clothing?”
Spinner nodded enthusiastically. “Making, designing, mending, adapting, treating.”
“Treating?”
“Yes, Master. I can make your clothes waterproof, warmer, cooler, whatever you like.”
He smiled. This was great news. “What about other stuff?”
Blushing, Spinner grinned again, shimmying back and forth. “Anything you want, Master. Anything.”
These oversexed sprites would be the death of progress if Braddock gave into their desires.
“Thank you. I’m wondering about blankets, sheets, things like that.”