Saxifrage & Starshine

by Megan Kempston

  I grinned. “And them?” I asked, pointing towards the corner of the room where Argie slept, nestled in an old quilt, her head—and Hip Hop—tucked under one wing.

  Ms. Munro gave me a look. “Mr. Hayes let them sleep in here last night. I decided not to ask for details.”

  I made a face. “Good call.”

  We went back to our stacks of books. I tried to ignore the constant, incoherent stream of whispers from Mr. Hayes as I cross-referenced mythology and biology, looking for something that would help us find out where Argie came from.

  An hour or so later, I realized something important.

  Like, why didn’t we think of that before?! important.

  “Wait,” I said, loudly.

  Ms. Munro arched an eyebrow, and Hip Hop and Argie turned twin sleepy glares on me at the noise. Mr. Hayes just turned around and stared at me blankly, his lips still moving like he’d forgotten how to stop.

  I gave him a minute to come out of deep thought, and said, “We’re spending too much time on the jewel itself. What about the recording? Can you play back it back?”

  He blinked at me.

  “Because,” I said, slowing down just a little in case his brain was too tired, “if we can play it back, we might see something important, like—”

  And then I jumped and clapped my hands over my ears.

  We all did, including Argie. (Well, other than the ear-covering part.)

  In the corner, Hip Hop had let out an ear-piercing chatter of negation.

  “Whoa, dude,” I said. “You could at least let me finish my—”

  He trilled again, loud and rapid-fire, his voice crackling with intensity.

  We just stared at him for a solid minute, until he finally wound down and sat there, blinking angrily.

  “Er,” said Mr. Hayes. “Dare I even inquire?”

  “He doesn’t want us to play back the recording,” Ms. Munro said.

  “So I gathered,” said Mr. Hayes. “Did he supply any reasons for his opposition?”

  “He thinks it would violate Argie’s privacy,” she said.

  “Well, yes, in a sense it would,” Mr. Hayes said, “but it seems justified under these circumstances—”

  “Wait a minute,” I said, the lightbulb finally going on. “Did Argie have the ribbon on last night?”

  “Of course,” said Mr. Hayes. “Naturally, I interdicted all outbound transmissions as soon as we discovered it was a recording spell, but we’ve left the item in situ the entire time, in case removal might prove deleterious to Argie.”

  A slow, wide grin spread across my face. “Hip Hop doesn’t want us to see what was recorded last night. When the two of them were alone together.”

  Hip Hop started protesting loudly.

  Mr. Hayes said, “Oh, my.”

  Ms. Munro just pressed a hand to her lips to hide a smile.

  ***

  The teachers and the birds reached an agreement.

  I would like the record to state that I did not agree with them or with their proposed solution. I was just as much a part of the group as anyone. I deserved to see what was on that recording too.

  No one listened to my protests.

  I was banished to the library while the recording was played back.

  I was summoned back to Mr. Hayes’ classroom twenty minutes later.

  “So,” I grumped. “Did my brilliant idea—the one I wasn’t allowed to help with—work?”

  “In part,” said Mr. Hayes, his face serious. “We were unable to visually identify the person who put the gemstone on Argie. We were, however, able to ascertain the time that Argie was meant to be retrieved.”

  I raised an eyebrow. “Retrieved?”

  “Yes,” Mr. Hayes said. “The spells layered into the gemstone, in addition to recording, transmitting, and cloaking, also contained a feature that would gently guide Argie back to a specific location at noon today.”

  I frowned. “How do you know that?”

  Ms. Munro sighed. “Because, at the very beginning of the video, a voice—a familiar voice—said ‘See you tomorrow at noon, little pea-thing. Don’t be late!’ And then a small, feminine hand came into view and patted Argie on the head.”

  I blinked. “Who was it?”

  “We’d rather not implicate anyone before we have sufficient evidence,” Mr. Hayes said.

  “So we’re going to catch her in the act,” Ms. Munro said. “Wanna come?”

  ***

  As it turns out, getting invited by my teachers on a magical sting operation was less exciting than I expected.

  We hiked out through the rain to a spot in the forest. We identified the giant redwood tree that was the meeting location. Ms. Munro crouched behind some rocks on one side. Mr. Hayes ducked around a stand of bay trees on another side. Hip Hop flitted huffily over to some nearby bushes. I had the best spot, perched up in the branches of the redwood itself, looking down at Argie, who huddled against the tree trunk and waited.

  I tried not to be offended that the only reason I’d been allowed to join in was that they needed someone to record video evidence, just in case. Ms. Munro didn’t want to deal with both a phone and a perpetrator, Hip Hop tried a few times but just couldn’t get the screen to respond to his tapping, and Mr. Hayes sounded vaguely surprised that smartphones were capable of recording video. A recording spell wasn’t an option because there wasn’t enough time to put one together. So I was sworn to secrecy—yet again, sigh—and allowed to come along as the silent, motionless video-taker.

  It was worth it, though.

  Two minutes after my phone said noon, I heard a rustling coming from down the path and a vague humming noise that might have been a particularly bad rendition of “You Drive Me Crazy” by Britney Spears. I rolled my eyes and checked the focus of the video I was taking.

  Around the corner flounced none other than Allison Sparks, who seemed decisively not to have the stomach flu after all.

  I blinked. I’d sort of been expecting a different faerie.

  “Hi there, pea-thing,” Allison said. She bent down to touch the ruby Argie was wearing. “Now let’s find out what those two have been up to.”

  Right on cue, Mr. Hayes fired off a stasis spell, freezing my bewildered classmate in place.

  The teachers appeared out of the woods.

  “Hello, Allison,” said Mr. Hayes in a voice I hoped he would never use on me. “Would you like to tell us what you’re doing using magic to spy on your classmates and coercing a helpless animal to do your bidding?”

  I couldn’t help noticing that Ms. Munro’s eyes sparkled with delight when he listed forced animal labor as a crime.

  Allison looked back and forth between them, paused for a moment as if thinking, and then burst into tears.

  “I’m sorry! It’s just— I just knew something was going on between Devon and Brittney, and I had to find out the truth!”

  Hip Hop started chattering at her angrily. Ms. Munro started lecturing her on mature relationships. Mr. Hayes just looked awkward.

  And I caught it all on video, grinning the whole time.

  Popcorn was definitely required for this level of drama.

  ***

  It was late afternoon before Mr. Hayes and Ms. Munro got back to Mr. Hayes’ classroom. Hip Hop and I had been lurking there while they talked to Ms. Malakov about Allison’s behavior. Hip Hop and I generally try to have as little to do with the creepy faerie math teacher as possible.

  “So?” I said when they got back into the room. “Does she have detention for life?”

  Ms. Munro made a face.

  Mr. Hayes said, “Ms. Malakov refused to discuss any punishment or other consequences for Allison while we were in the room. As, of course, is her right as Allison’s homeroom teacher.”

  “Which means she’ll probably be giving her tips on spying on her boyfriend, rather than punishing her for it,” I grumbled. “Or using the spell in the ruby to spy on us—if she wasn’t behind this whole thing in the first
place.”

  Neither of the teachers responded to that in words, but the knowing look they exchanged made it clear they totally agreed with me.

  Ms. Munro set Argie down on a nearby desk, and Mr. Hayes reached over to remove the ribbon.

  “Where did Allison say she got the nanny cam and its avian transport?” I asked.

  “eBay,” said Mr. Hayes with a tone of distaste. “From an anonymous seller who seems to have disappeared.”

  I arched an eyebrow. “Disappeared, huh? Convenient.”

  “Rest assured,” Mr. Hayes continued, ignoring my interjection, “we will be reporting this incident to the local Commission of Magic. Perhaps they can track the perpetrator down.”

  “And throw him or her in magical jail,” said Ms. Munro, her words clipped with irritation. “Anyone running a peacock mill and selling the unconsenting spy services of those peacocks to a teenager online deserves a nice long stay in some drafty castle dungeon.”

  Mr. Hayes arched an eyebrow at her. “Do you have something against drafty castles? Or only their dungeons?”

  She shook her head at him. “Not even going to answer that.”

  “In any event,” Mr. Hayes said, “I’ll certainly be strengthening our campus security measures in light of these proceedings. After all, we don’t want outsiders to be able to penetrate our barriers and insert malicious spells—or spell-bearing creatures—onto campus.”

  I smiled. “Sounds like more work for Shep. He’ll like that.” I looked around. “Where is he, anyway?”

  Mr. Hayes suddenly looked sheepish and his eyes darted to the floor under his desk.

  I spotted the tip of a wagging green tail.

  “Who’s Shep?” asked Ms. Munro.

  Mr. Hayes cleared his throat. “A manifestation of the campus sentinel spell based on my childhood dog.”

  Ms. Munro put a hand over her mouth, but her eyes twinkled merrily.

  “I’ll explain it all and make proper introductions at a later time,” Mr. Hayes added hastily, “but for now, I think we should focus on our research on the construction of the stone.”

  Ms. Munro nodded, clearly willing to let research come first. I sincerely doubted she’d let him drop the subject of his (not-so-) little pup indefinitely, though. Which was good. Someone needs to tease him about these things when I’m not around.

  I glanced at Hip Hop, and then back at my teachers. They looked like they were eager to get back to their ridiculous, never-ending campaign of flirtation, but I had one more important question.

  “What happens to Argie now?”

  On my shoulder, Hip Hop suddenly went very, very still.

  “Well,” said Ms. Munro. “I was thinking she might want to live in my science lab for a while. She could make some friends. Get used to the idea of living away from her family. It’s up to her, of course.”

  Hip Hop, his eyes wide, nearly quivering with excitement, looked at Argie.

  Argie arched her long neck, paused—and let out a raspy squawk of agreement.

  We all beamed at each other.

  “Then that’s settled,” said Ms. Munro.

  Hip Hop trilled joyously.

  ***

  “Hey, look!” I said a few minutes later as we exited the main building into the brilliant sunlight.

  Hip Hop chattered happily, and we just stood there for a few minutes, soaking up the warm October sunshine. Everything—the ground, the grass, the trees—sparkled cleanly in the sunlight. The sky was big and bright blue.

  “How about that walk now?” I asked. “I think I’ve had enough rest-ice-compression-elevation for one weekend.”

  Hip Hop chirped agreement, and we set out, headed for the forest.

  “So,” I said, “about that debate we were having.”

  He eyed me narrowly, and then peeped quietly.

  “Yes, yes I was,” I said with a grin. “And why don’t we just assume, for the future, that I am always right. It might save us some time.”

  Hip Hop was quiet for a moment and then let out a series of cheeps.

  I turned my head to frown at him. “What do you mean, except where romance is concerned? I was the one who was right about this whole thing!”

  He gave me a look and then fluttered to the ground. Hopping on one leg, he put one wing up towards his head and chirped pathetically.

  I gaped at him. “I did not swoon into Martin’s arms!”

  He kept hopping, his chirps getting more ridiculous.

  I could feel my cheeks heating. “How did you even see that? You were way up ahead with Mr. Hayes and Argie.”

  He chirped again.

  “Oh, really? Fine! I wasn’t going to play this card, but if you’re playing dirty, so am I! Did you forget that I have a telepathic connection to Mr. Hayes?”

  A look of horror came over Hip Hop.

  “And yeah,” I continued, “the sound quality was pretty fuzzy from inside the library. But I was able to pick out one familiar song, sung in a familiar chickadee voice.”

  Hip Hop started trilling his protests.

  I ignored him, squatted down, folded my arms back into wings, threw back my head, and started singing in my chirpiest voice. “I’ll make love to you, if you want me to! And I’ll hold you tight, baby, all through the night!”

  He flew at me, his wings ready to buffet my face, but I was ready for him. He met my outstretched hand instead.

  “Truce?” I said, still grinning.

  He perched on my hand, gave me a long, hard look, and chirped an affirmative. Then he fluttered back to my shoulder.

  “Let us never speak of this again,” I said.

  Hip Hop gave me a decisive nod.

  “Besides,” I added, “both of us were totally cool and non-obvious in any flirting we may or may not have been doing, compared to two other people I can think of who have romance on the brain.”

  He trilled the opening bars of a different song, and I joined in.

  “Mr. Hayes and Ms. Munro, sittin’ in a tree…”

  And then, still singing and laughing, we strode down the forest path into the beautiful fall day.

  When Kings Go Out to War

  It happened, late one afternoon, when David rose from his couch and was walking about on the roof of the king’s house, that he saw from the roof a woman bathing; the woman was very beautiful.

  The woman conceived; and she sent and told David, “I am pregnant.”

  So David sent word to Joab, “Send me Uriah the Hittite.” And Joab sent Uriah to David.

  (2 Samuel 11:2, 5-6)

  The birthplace of poetry is surely Jerusalem in the springtime.

  Flowers explode in riotous groups, gentle rains patter on the fields, the sunlight strengthens into warm liquid gold, and the earth awakens, unfurling her limbs and putting forth shoots.

  And above it all, the city sits, majestic and white, impenetrable and beautiful.

  Inside its gates, smoke drifts upward and harps sound out in the palace. Scholars discuss truth and beauty. Tables are laden with bread and oil, wine and water. Dark-eyed women wend their way through the rooms, their smiles and the golden pitchers they carry and the jewels in their hair all flashing with the same radiance.

  And above it all, our king sits, majestic and powerful, a laugh in his eyes and light shining on his auburn hair, the handsomeness of his youth merely enhanced by his years of wisdom.

  I looked up at the city, inhaled the sweet scent of almond blossoms—and sighed.

  Instead of writing verses about the kalanit unfolding in the fields, their soft petals in purple or pink or red or white opening toward the sun, instead of meditating on the beauty of the incense spiraling heavenward and the scent of fat roasting over flames, my king required that I carry a message for him.

  To Jericho, of all places. Dusty, defeated Jericho. In Jericho, the trees have spikes instead of blossoms and the palace has no king, only administrators who scurry like desert mice when an owl flaps softly overhead.

 
When I had asked what I should do if I were beset by leopards or lions or bandits on the way, the king had laughed merrily.

  “What, Elienai, shall you not enchant them with your poetry? But should even your mighty powers fail you, my young scribe, do not fear. I am sending Uriah, one of my Mighty Men, in that direction. He shall accompany you to Jericho before he returns to the battle at Rabbah.”

  I had bowed to my king in gratitude, not only for the protection but also for the honor of traveling with one of the Mighty Men. My thoughts already swam like the small silvery bream in the reservoirs, darting here and there.

  Perhaps Uriah would defeat an enormous lion, its sharp white fangs and loud roar no match for his strength. Perhaps we would run into bandits and he would dispatch them single-handed, their blood arcing hot and red onto the sand. Perhaps he would rip down an entire tree to use as a spear when he fought at Rabbah, and polish it as he walked, and sing songs of glorious battles past.

  And perhaps I would bear witness to his great deeds, and tell the entrancing story to the world, and so gain glory for my own name.

  But by the next morning, my ardor had faded. I waited outside the eastern gate for this Uriah, and softly bemoaned my fate. Missing even a moment of springtime in Jerusalem is a difficult weight for a young man’s soul to bear.

  A man approached. My heart sank further.

  This Uriah, my travel companion, was large and dirty, thickly bearded and corded with heavy muscle. Where were his radiant gold shield and his sword bigger than a man’s thigh? Where were his fine limbs, to flash like King David’s in the battle or in the dance? Where were his merry smile and his joyous song as he won victory for the king and for God?

  His sword was notched and dull, his shield was plain wood. His limbs were crisscrossed with scars, some thin and some raggedly thick. His expression was solemn and quiet.

  “Uriah the Hittite?” I asked.

  “Here I am,” he replied.

  I looked him over for another long moment. Then I bit my lip and said, “I am Elienai the Scribe. I have an important message from the king, and it must not fall into enemy hands. I was told you would accompany me to Jericho.”