The Silver Gate

by Kristin Bailey

  The hen took a slow step toward him. He gently scooped her up and placed her in the sack. She tried to poke her head out, but he tucked it down and drew the string tight.

  A twig snapped behind him.

  He whipped himself up to his full height, pulling his knife out of his belt as he did so.

  “Back away!” he shouted, only to take a shocked step backward. He nearly slid down the embankment.

  The jester from the village stood on the felled tree near the chopped stump wearing normal clothing instead of colorful rags. He crossed his wrists over the blunt end of the handle of an ax that was nearly as large as he was.

  “Why should I back away?” The man gave Elric an incredulous smile. “You’re the fool who stumbled on my land.”

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  Elric

  ELRIC TUCKED HIS KNIFE BACK in his belt. “It’s only you.”

  The jester touched his forehead as if it pained him and sighed. “Are you certain you want to put that away? I am holding an ax.”

  Elric chuckled as he leaned against a tree. “I’ll take my chances.”

  “Figures you wouldn’t be any different from the others.” The jester shook his head sadly. Without another word he turned and walked along the top of the fallen log. “Save your thick-headed arrogance for someone else.”

  It took a moment for the man’s words to sink in. When they did, shame filled his heart. At the same time he realized that the presence of a somewhat familiar face had made the forest seem less intimidating. Now the prospect of being alone worried him. He jogged along the side of the fallen tree to catch up with the man. “Wait, I could use your help,” Elric called, ducking under a thick limb. Maybe he had seen Wynn.

  “I have no use for you,” he said.

  “I’m looking for my sister.” Elric peered around the clearing and at every turn, the forest seemed overgrown and deep with shadows.

  “Maybe your sister has no use for you either.” He hopped off the felled tree and ran his hand over one of the thicker branches.

  “My sister can’t survive without me,” Elric said, keeping close to the trunk of the tree. Mildred let out a series of clucks that sounded suspiciously like laughter.

  “And yet, you are searching for her, but she is not searching for you.” The dwarf hitched up his sleeves and swung his ax. He swept it up and over in a masterful arc that fell with precision against the branch. Elric flinched as the ax hit the branch with a heavy thunk that betrayed the strength of the swing. The man levered the handle to release the blade and swung again. The branch snapped off in only two strokes, and the man tossed it onto a large stack of freshly cut wood. Elric shuddered as he realized he had greatly misjudged the man’s strength. Perhaps he shouldn’t have put his knife away.

  “Listen, my sister is a half-wit and she doesn’t know what’s good for her.” Elric reached down and picked up a cut length of wood that had tumbled off the pile, and placed it back on the stack.

  “And you do?” The jester shook a wood chip out of his thick mop of dusty brown hair.

  Elric was used to spending several days at a time wandering through the countryside with the flock. Wynn was helpless out here. “Of course I do.”

  It was the jester’s turn to laugh. “What’s your name, son?”

  “Elric.”

  The man crossed his stocky arms. “And who am I?”

  Well, that was obvious. There weren’t many men around of his stature. “You’re the fool from the village.”

  He swung the ax hard, and it lodged deep in the trunk. Then he picked up three of the logs from the pile and walked away. “Like I said, I have no use for you.”

  Elric’s mind spun. He wasn’t sure what the man wanted from him. “Wait!”

  “Why? You have given me no reason to.” The jester kept walking toward a stout hut in the distance. Elric ran to catch up. The hut was much smaller than he had first thought. It had been built from the thick branches of old trees, with stacked wood and mud forming the walls and windows between. A dense blanket of shaggy grass covered the roof, and the jester’s hairy gray goat happily grazed on it. She bleated in greeting and the door opened.

  “Osmund?” Wynn ducked under the low door, pushing her chin-length hair behind her ear. “The stew is ready.”

  “Wynnfrith!” Elric ran to her, but she retreated into the house and slammed the crooked door in his face. Elric came up short and stumbled backward.

  “Well now, that wasn’t a very warm welcome, was it?” the jester commented.

  “Why didn’t you tell me she was here?” Elric rounded on the man even as his head rushed with relief. Wynn was safe.

  Osmund smiled and leaned back against the rough wall of his hut. “Because she told me she didn’t want to see you, and I took her at her word.”

  Elric slid the two sacks off his shoulder. Mildred squawked and struggled out of the top one. She immediately fluffed her feathers, then pecked his toe with a sharp jab of her beak.

  “Ow, Mildred!” Elric hopped on one foot as the hen trotted toward the hut. “You ungrateful sack of feathers!” The hen paused and cocked her head at him. The angle made her comb dangle in a way that gave her a haughty expression. She shook out her tail, then strutted toward the hut. One of Wynn’s eyes appeared briefly in the window, then sank back into the dark interior.

  Mildred took a running leap, flapped her wings, and perched on the sill. Wynn’s hands slowly emerged from the window and pulled the hen inside.

  “Come out, Wynn,” Elric called through the door. “It’s time to leave.”

  “Where are you going to go?” Osmund asked, picking at his fingernails.

  “It doesn’t matter.” Elric pushed a hand through the front of his hair, and it stuck on the dried honey.

  “Then why are you in a hurry?” The goat wandered down from the roof, hopping on an embankment running along the back of the house. She bleated as she reached her master, and Osmond pet her rounded ears.

  “I don’t know,” he whispered. “We have no place left to go.” Elric felt every ache and pain in his body. He closed his burning eyes and let his head hang for a moment. He was tired. He hurt. He was hungry. He needed help. But he didn’t want to admit any of that.

  Osmond walked past him and opened the door, the goat trotted in. “Come inside, son.”

  Elric had to bend to tuck himself through the small door. The inside of the hut was dark, but comfortable and surprisingly warm. A large fire blazed in a stone hearth, while a small bed, short log stools, and a low table filled the single room.

  Wynn sat cross-legged in the corner with Mildred nestled in her lap. She took one look at him and turned to face the wall.

  “Don’t be cross,” Elric said as he sat on one of the squat logs. His knees rose too high in front of him and he felt comically awkward, like some giant that couldn’t squeeze himself into a normal-size house. He’d never been in a place that wasn’t built for him, and it made him deeply uncomfortable.

  “Your sister has every right to be angry. If you don’t see that, then you are the one who is having trouble here.” Osmund tapped his temple with one finger. He sat in a chair that had been hewn out of an old stump, kicking his feet up on an overturned bucket. An amulet fell out of the neck of his shirt. He tucked it out of view quickly, but not before Elric caught a glimpse of a strange pattern that looked like a flower with three petals.

  “All I did was . . .”

  “I know what you did. I’m more interested in what you didn’t do,” Osmund said. He placed his hands behind his head. The goat kneeled beside him, then flopped on its side like a dog laying at its master’s feet.

  “What do you mean, what I didn’t do?” Elric’s stomach growled. The savory roasted-onion scent of the stew filled the small hut and made his mouth water. They hadn’t had real food in days. Wynn hiccupped in the corner, but didn’t turn around. “You don’t even know what happened.”

  “I know you told a man on the road that you n
eeded to buy a pig.” Osmund rubbed his knee as if it were hurting him. “I know that Wynn tried to help. I know that people can be cruel. I know that I humiliated myself to distract those boys and save you both from trouble. I know trouble found you anyway. I know your sister, in spite of the dark, in spite of the danger, went back for you and carried you to safety. I know she spent all night cleaning your things and healing your wounds.”

  “She poured honey on them,” Elric complained. “She made a mess of things.”

  “Honey keeps wounds from festering.” His voice took on a sharp edge. “Pouring honey on those cuts saved your life, and what did you do?”

  Elric hung his head. He didn’t feel like eating anymore.

  “You wounded her,” Osmund finished.

  “I was careful not to hurt her, even though she wouldn’t hold still,” Elric said. Wynn’s hiccups grew louder, or was she crying again?

  “Not all wounds bleed.” Osmund stood and hobbled over to the fire. He scooped the bubbling stew from the pot onto a wooden trencher and handed it to Wynn. “Careful, it’s hot,” he said to her. Then he turned back to Elric, “But like I said, I’m more interested in what you didn’t do.”

  “What was I supposed to do? None of this is my fault.” Elric pushed his heel out and banged his shin on the low table. “Her only dress is ruined, and she’d draw even more attention to herself walking around in a boy’s clothing. I had to disguise her.”

  Osmund laughed as he filled another trencher with food. “And you called me the fool. I give up. Here, eat.”

  Elric was hungry enough to shove the stew as quickly as he could into his mouth. It looked tender and filled his senses with the fresh scent of wild herbs and hot broth. But his stomach was turning over and over.

  He didn’t understand what Osmund was asking of him. His head hurt just thinking about it. Was he supposed to feel bad? He did what he had to do. Osmund didn’t say anything for a while, and it made Elric uncomfortable, like he had to fill the silence.

  “Why do you do it?” Elric asked, catching Osmund in the midst of lifting the turnip he had stabbed with a short knife to his lips.

  “Eat?” he asked.

  “No, play the fool in the village,” Elric said. Osmund’s mind was like a snare. Elric didn’t want to get caught in the trap of it again. Why would an intelligent man want to throw himself in the mud and ride on a goat? It didn’t make any sense.

  “It’s a job. What else does this world allow me to be?” Osmund responded. “Do I get to be a knight, valiant and brave? I’m sure one day I’ll be called to ride off on a noble steed to save a fair princess from a dragon.”

  Elric choked on a turnip, and the goat bleated, then closed her eyes again.

  “I think you’re a knight,” Wynn said from her spot next to the wall. “You are very kind. You help.”

  Osmund smiled at her. “Will you be my princess fair, Wynnfrith?”

  She scrunched her nose. “No.”

  “No?” He raised an eyebrow at her.

  “I want to be the dragon,” Wynn said as she let Mildred peck at her empty trencher.

  Osmund let out a hearty laugh, and Elric smiled. That was like Wynn. Half the time they played, she wanted to run from the Grendel, the other half, she wanted to pretend to be the Grendel’s mother and eat people.

  “I don’t get to choose how people see me,” Osmund said, his voice bitter as he watched Wynn stroke the hen’s back. “No one cares if I am a good wood-carver, or goatherd, or farmer. No one seems to notice that I can build things, fix things, hunt things. They look at me, and they see only one part of me. One purpose. They will laugh whether I want them to or not. So I make them laugh.”

  Elric shifted in his seat, unsure what to say. He had laughed too, when he met Osmund in the woods and underestimated his strength.

  “No matter how much you try to hide her, or change her, people will still see what they want to see,” Osmund added in a softer voice. “They will see her, and do what they will. That is not her fault.”

  “So there is no place that is safe for us,” Elric muttered. He watched his sister smile as she scooped up her hen in her arms and buried her face into the feathers of the bird’s back.

  Osmund looked him in the eye. “Not in this world.”

  Elric shook his head. “We can’t change the world, and there is no other one.”

  “There’s the court of the Fairy Queen,” Wynn said. “She’s through the Silver Gate.”

  Surprised that she had spoken, Elric turned to her. “That’s just a song.”

  She frowned as if she were terribly disappointed in him.

  “Osmund?” Elric crossed his arms. “Could you please tell her that some things are nothing more than fanciful tales for children?”

  Osmund picked up the trenchers with a strange look in his eyes. He had gone slightly pale, as if he’d seen a ghost. His hand came to the center of his chest, touching the amulet hidden there. He shook his head as if clearing his thoughts, then said to Wynn, “From one changeling to another, don’t believe everything you are told.”

  “That’s sound advice.” Elric tried to stretch out his legs, but they would have blocked half the room.

  “I don’t believe you, Elric,” Wynn stated quite clearly. “The Fairy Queen is real.”

  Osmund dropped the wooden trenchers into a bucket of water. His hands were shaking. He clenched them quickly when he noticed Elric watching them.

  Elric had an uneasy feeling, but turned his attention back to his sister. “Have you ever seen the Fairy Queen?” Elric asked. Osmund sat down, his attention completely focused on Wynn’s answer.

  “She hears me when I sing.” Wynn stroked Mildred’s neck, and the bird seemed to nod in agreement.

  “How can you know that?” Elric protested.

  “I know it,” Wynn said. Mildred clucked beside her, and the goat let out an encouraging bleat.

  Elric rolled his eyes and decided to humor her. “Fine, even if she were real, finding her court would be impossible. We’d have to travel north until we found the White Mountain, across wood and moor. Then the only way to see the Silver Gate is if she somehow magically decides to gift us with her silver staff. That’s not likely to happen.”

  “It can,” Wynn insisted.

  “How do you know about the staff?” Osmund asked, his tone urgent.

  Elric turned to the man. “How do you know about the staff?” he asked. The Silver Gate was a silly song and story their mother had made up to keep them busy when they were young. There was no truth to it.

  “Just tell me.” Osmund nearly overturned a clay cup by his hand. His hands were shaking worse now.

  “It’s a song. Mother would sing it for us,” Elric confessed, gripping the spoon in his belt. He looked down at it. At one time, it was a sword that could slay the foulest beast. It was an ax that could hew the largest tree. It was the silver staff and an archer’s bow. It was everything he was when he was young and life was full of fairy tales. It was all he needed to reach the Silver Gate. Now as he looked at it, all he could see was a spoon.

  Wynn began to sing.

  To Elric’s surprise, Osmund’s voice joined Wynn’s. His voice carried over hers, guiding hers back on key as he sang the tune by heart. When they reached the end of the song, Wynn clapped wildly and the goat bleat in approval. “You are a very good singer,” Wynn said.

  Osmund gave her a quick bow. “Thank you, as are you. I have known that melody from the time I was a small babe. I didn’t think I would ever hear it again. How did your mother come to know it?”

  “It’s just a song,” Elric protested, though he was equally curious how Osmund had learned it. It was probably the work of some traveling bard who sang the tune on market day. There couldn’t be anything more to it. He tapped the spoon against his knee.

  “That is not just a song,” Osmund said as he stood and walked to the fire. He watched the flames dancing over the burning logs and crossed his arms. “Many hu
ndreds of years ago, Queen Mab could travel to and from our world with ease through the Silver Gate. Her magic was endless, and she could make fairy circles appear wherever she wished. In those years, the weather was fairer, game was abundant, and good fortune came to all those who asked for her favor.”

  Wynn scooted closer to Osmund to hear his tale. Elric rubbed his forehead, knowing he would never get silly notions out of her head now.

  “What happened next?” Wynn asked.

  “The queen gave birth to a child, a child she marked to lead her armies against the greatest darkness to threaten her fairy realm, the Grendel.”

  Wynn clutched Mildred tighter. The hen gave a loud squawk of protest.

  Elric knew the Grendel would come into the story somewhere. “Let me guess, he snuck into the fairy villages and ate the villagers,” Elric mumbled.

  Osmund gave him a look as grave as an executioner. “Worse. I cannot even speak of the terror of it. He comes with the force of a terrible storm, or hides lurking in silent shadows. The darkness that surrounds him is tangible. It feels like a thick oil on your skin. He feeds on all that is good in a person and leaves nothing but anger and hatred in the hole he leaves in your spirit. He can corrupt the purest heart and turn a good creature into a monster. But the Grendel could not enter the borders of the Fairy Queen’s realm. With the birth of her child, the queen became even more powerful, capable of drawing on the love of her child and turning it into a force she could wield like a weapon. The power of the queen’s magic nearly defeated the Grendel. But he was crafty. One night he corrupted some creatures from the Darkling Wood on the borders of the queen’s realm. They snuck into the heart of the palace and crept into the nursery. Cloaked by the shadows of the Grendel’s power, they stole the baby.”

  “No,” Wynn whispered, looking stricken. Osmund gave her a nod.

  “With the loss of her child, the queen succumbed to terrible grief. Her heart broke, and when it did, her power waned. It hasn’t fully returned since. For the past hundred years, she’s had only the power to shield her people. Now the Grendel lurks, waiting for his chance to strike and cover all the land Between in darkness.”