Baker's Dozen

by Cutter, Leah

“I didn’t mean anything of it. Burying you. You’re dead, you know,” Peter pointed out.

  Nodding, Old Farmer John said, “I know. Couldn’t sleep.” He waved toward the ground. “Kept waking up. Couldn’t stay down.” He cocked his head to the side. “Could you bury me deeper?”

  “Sure,” Peter said easily. He knew he’d done a proper job digging the old man’s grave. He had a stick for measuring the depth and he’d squared off the bottom just where it had said. Still, Old Farmer John, while not a friend, had made a reasonable enough request. “Why don’t you go lay down over there and I’ll re-dig your grave for you?” Peter figured he could wrestle the empty coffin himself.

  Old Farmer John climbed nimbly out of the hole, moving more quickly than Peter thought a dead body could. The dirt streamed off the farmer, not clinging to his overly pale skin or the good suit of clothes he’d been buried in. Suspicious, Peter dug quick as he could to the coffin.

  Inside, the putrefying body of Old Farmer John still lay. The thing above the grave was some kind of ghost or spirit. “You know,” Peter said, poking his head above the ground. “Your body’s still here.”

  Old Farmer John nodded. “And I should be wrapped around it, sleeping peacefully through the ages, until the final bells toll. But I can’t.”

  Peter pulled himself out of the grave. “I need some help,” he explained. “To lift up the coffin, then dig deeper.”

  Old Farmer John just nodded again. “I keep trying to sleep,” he whined. “But my eyes won’t stay shut.”

  Peter walked to the temple and fetched the two priests, the old priest and the young one, finally admitting the problem was bigger than he was. While the older one talked with the spirit of the farmer, the younger one helped Peter winch the coffin out, then they both dug another half-stick deeper.

  “Deep enough?” Peter asked as they climbed back up into the early evening air. He was behind schedule now and would have to rush the hole for the burial arriving the next day.

  Old Farmer John walked to the edge and looked down, sad and upset. “No,” he whispered. Milky-white tears rolled down his craggy face. “Nothing seems deep enough, now.”

  “Just give it a go for the night,” the older priest suggested. “Maybe after a good night’s rest you’ll be able to sleep forever.”

  Old Farmer John shrugged but agreed. The younger priest and Peter struggled to drop the coffin gently back into the ground, the regular belts not long enough. When they finished, Old Farmer John jumped lightly into the hole, sinking beneath the wood with a sigh.

  Peter and the younger priest quickly re-filled the hole, then Peter went off to dig the next one. The older priest sent another man to help Peter out, digging into the late evening.

  The next morning, Peter went out to check the first grave. Old Farmer John lay above it again. “Can’t sleep,” he groaned. “Not with the light.”

  There wasn’t anything more Peter could do for him that day. A service was held that afternoon, and the next morning, instead of one body above the ground, there were now two.

  Peter’s peaceful graveyard was going to get very crowded very soon.

  * * *

  Kyle wanted to be a brave prince, wanted to make Mama smile and have Papa tell him how good he was.

  But Kyle was still afraid of the dark.

  He knew he wasn’t the only one. He’d asked his cousins, particularly the younger ones, younger than his big-boy five, and a few of the older ones who didn’t really remember when they’d been shadowed.

  All of them feared the dark as he did.

  It was better in the summer, when the shutters to his bedroom window could be open all night long and Kyle could see the sky, though it was full of cold stars and an indifferent moon.

  Then the fall came, with shorter days and colder nights, and after his nurse tucked him into his bed, she closed the shutters tight, then blew out the candle as usual.

  Kyle had fallen asleep in the dark but he woke up sweating, clawing his way out of dreams where he lay buried underground, working in tunnels, digging for the light but never seeing the sun. He knew if he shouted loudly enough someone would come and see to him, but he was determined to be both brave and big. With shaking fingers he picked up his candle, walked out of his bedroom and into the hall, hoping to light it from the lamps there.

  The lamp just outside Kyle’s doorway had blown out. Only the one at the far end of the hallway glowed.

  Bravely, Kyle walked down the hall. The light wasn’t steady but flickered in a draft. Kyle had to stand on his toes and hold the candle at the very end to reach the flame. He cupped the precious flame with his hand, then turned to go back to his room.

  Someone stood in the center of the hall. Her face held more wrinkles than the clothes that came from the winter trunks and her eyes were more pale than fireplace ash. She glowed with a sickly light and didn’t seem quite there, not as solid as the floor or walls. Kyle hadn’t heard her come up, and when he looked closely he saw she wasn’t breathing.

  “Are you a ghost?” Kyle asked, greatly daring to take two steps forward.

  The woman shook her gray curls. “Can’t sleep,” she complained. “It’s too light out.” She glared at him now, at the candle he carefully guarded.

  “I’m sorry?” Kyle said, not sure what to do. He needed his light, needed it to sleep.

  “The ground isn’t heavy enough,” she said. “There’s nothing to bind me there.”

  Kyle shivered, remembering his dream. “You’re supposed to be buried?” he asked.

  The woman nodded. “Wrapped around my bones.” She moaned, making Kyle shiver more. “It’s what our shadows are for.”

  “Then I don’t want one,” Kyle declared. “Don’t want to be trapped underground.”

  “Foolish boy,” the woman declared. Quicker than a thought, she suddenly stood in front of Kyle. Her hand snaked out and she pinched out his candle, and then the lamp behind Kyle went out. He stood absolutely still in the sudden blackness, unable to see, too afraid to move.

  After several long moments, Kyle finally looked behind him. The woman was gone or, at least, he couldn’t see her. He pushed one foot forward just a few inches, then the next, feeling his way in the dark. His heart pounded loudly in his ears. Frightening creaks sounded behind him but he refused to look back, only forward, toward the faint opening that was the door to his room.

  Finally in familiar territory, Kyle walked a little more quickly to the window, unlatching the shutters and throwing them open, seeking the light of the night. It wasn’t enough, it would never be enough, but it would have to do for now.

  Kyle sat up the rest of the night, wrapped firmly in blankets, unable to sleep until the clouds in the east started to brighten and he knew dawn was on its way. That night, he insisted on half a dozen candles burning brightly in his room, chasing away not only the darkness but also spirits.

  When older people told him shadows were necessary, he scoffed, and very secretly, trembled inside.

  * * *

  The king sent his scouts far and wide, searching for their missing shadows. They had many adventures, like Hendrix and the floating swamp creatures, or Miguel and the rocks that talked back, but those are other stories. Finally, though, after many years, a scout returned with news.

  Candice didn’t stroll arrogantly through the back doors and down the length of the court. She stutter-stepped instead, walking slowly and with as much dignity as she could, her right foot trembling with every step, planting itself firmly before she dragged her left foot behind her. Clomp-slide. Clomp-slide. Candice had been dreaming of this moment the entire ride back to Illumignot, of how her deeds would finally, finally be worth the sacrifice.

  “Tell us what you saw,” the king commanded. He’d already heard her story once, in private, high in the castle, holding the hand of Queen Isabella. Candice hadn’t wanted to tell him, had stumbled and wanted to apologize. But they had to know.

  “Beyond the Blue Mountains lies an
other valley, and beyond that, more mountains. I grew up in the foothills, so I know what the mountain folk are like. That’s why I went there, and kept pushing east.” Candice took as deep a breath as she could. The king had offered to tell her story for her, but she’d refused. She’d also refused a chair. She needed people to be able to see what had happened to her, not to hide it and try to look normal.

  “After the last set of mountains, the people had stories about the edge of the world: a deep ravine that had no bottom. I decided to look. Be a good place to hide shadows, eh?”

  The court murmured its approval. Candice felt her face flush. “I don’t know how long I climbed down, into the earth. The sun didn’t reach through the cracks to tell me. I did reach the bottom, though. A dark valley opened up before me. Twisted pale plants and slimy mosses grew out of the rough rock pillars. But there were no shadows there. On the far side of the valley stood the huge opening to a cave. I’d never seen such a wide mouth before. It could swallow this castle whole. So I went into the cave.”

  Candice saw some shiver. She hadn’t liked it much, either. “Imagine my surprise when I found tunnels winding up, into what I guessed was yet another mountain. Up I climbed, until finally I heard the tap-tap-tap of a hammer against rock.”

  The court grew still. Candice could hear the pinging still, echoing through the fine marble hall. “Took me a while to find the right tunnel. They’d started branching at that level, worse than a thousand-year-old tree. Could get lost for years, there. But that’s where I found them. Our shadows. They work as miners for the Blue Fairy. Digging out beautiful veins of gold and diamonds.”

  “Our shadows?” one of the councilors asked.

  Candice nodded. “They don’t have to eat, though they do sleep a lot.”

  “How does she keep them there? Why don’t they come back?”

  Candice drew a deep breath. This was the difficult part. “Two reasons. The Blue Fairy has laid some clever traps and spells across the major thresholds. I made the mistake of stepping on one.” Candice dragged herself around, making a slow circle, forcing the court to see, so they would know the dangers they were up against. Her entire left side was withered, her leg barely able to take any weight, her arm curled in on itself, her face slack and drooling.

  “However, more importantly, our shadows relish their freedom. They’re no longer trapped with us, tied to a body. They have their own will.”

  The court murmured its disapproval. Their shadows belonged to them, didn’t they?

  “Some of the shadows want to return. But many don’t. Just as some people like the freedom and lightness being shadowless offers us.” She paused, then added, “The shadows aren’t sure of their welcome if they come back.”

  “We want them. We need them,” Bryon the eldest councilor insisted.

  Only half the court murmured in agreement with him.

  “How did you get away?” the king softly prompted. “After you were injured?”

  “Sluggishly,” Candice said. “I crawled at first, out of that huge cave mouth, across the dark valley. I didn’t think I could get up that mountainous cliff, but I did. I walked better after a while, bargained for a horse, made my way here.”

  The members of the court started talking with each other, quietly at first, then louder. King Franklin let them talk. He saw, with sorrow, the path they were headed down next.

  “We have to save them,” came the strident voices of the courtiers. “Our own people—our selves! Enslaved!”

  Only a few more rational voices spoke. “How can we confront the Blue Fairy? We have no magic, no witches or fairies whom we could hire, who would do magic for us instead of against us. Going against her is suicide. Plus, even after we battle her, what if our shadows don’t want to come back?”

  The louder voices were overwhelming. “Maybe we could march around to the front of the mountain, not down the dark crevice. Maybe she would bargain with us. Maybe our shadows will see us there and fight her. Maybe they will want to come back.”

  In the end, the court voted for a fight, and the king bowed to the inevitable war. It would be a slaughter, he knew, but the people would not back down once they learned where their shadows lived.

  * * *

  Prince Kyle sat as high as he dared in the tree next to the stable. His tutor hadn’t managed to climb even halfway up. Then again, he’d been born shadowed. Kyle had never understood what people meant when they’d admonished him to be careful or he might fall. He couldn’t really explain how falling, while it hurt, didn’t hold the shock for him that it held for the adults. It was one of the many things he couldn’t explain.

  Like how he felt about horses. As a prince, he knew he was supposed to ride well. He needed to, in order to lead his men or to go hunting. Brave princes rode horses.

  However, Kyle hated horses, as well as riding. He would learn how to sit on a horse because it he hated disappointing his parents. He knew that with enough practice he might even get good at it. Some of his cousins had a more natural seat.

  But he still hated it. Which was why he was still in the tree even after his tutor had climbed up after him. “Sulking won’t help, you know,” his tutor said.

  “I’m not sulking,” Kyle told him. And he wasn’t, mostly. “Can’t we go train with the hawks today? Or go shooting? Why does it have to be riding today?”

  “If it isn’t today, it still must be someday, so why not today?”

  “Because I don’t want to?” Kyle asked. He looked out over the roof of the barn, up toward the mountains to the east. Everyone knew their shadows lived beyond them. Lots of scouts had been sent to learn the land, to prepare for the slowly building war.

  Kyle might have hated the mountains that morning as well.

  “Why don’t you like horses?” the tutor asked quietly.

  Kyle thought about it again. “They’re just not right. The way we move with them. They’re so heavy and attached to the ground.”

  “And you don’t feel that way.”

  Kyle shook his head, looking back up at the sky. “Why didn’t someone capture and train birds, so we could fly?” he asked. “Or dragons?”

  The tutor chuckled. “I don’t think our ancestors thought much about flying. But that’s another story. Today we’re land-bound, and so we need horses. And princes need to know how to ride.”

  “I am learning,” the prince said. He took one last look at the clouds and his beloved sky, then started climbing down, showing off a little because he could, dropping steadily from one branch to the next.

  “Prince!”

  Kyle laughed and did a flip from the lowest branch to the ground. Then he grinned and stared up. “What are you waiting for?” he teased. “Can’t go about climbing trees all day,” he added in a passable imitation of his tutor.

  “No, we can’t,” the tutor said, making his way down to the ground carefully.

  The way the tutor stepped on the ground, sinking automatically, as if in relief—Kyle didn’t understand that either. He walked to the stable and did as he was told, all the while thinking of birds and clouds, air and breezes, and how to get back in that tree again, how to live in the air.

  * * *

  Princess Elaina arrived at the court when Prince Kyle had just turned just fifteen. She came with all the pomp a visiting princess could, including six gilded white-and-gold carriages, each drawn by four towering snow-white horses, who each wore beautiful plumes of white feathers on their heads and halters made from white gold. The princess shone like the sun itself as she stepped from the carriage, reflections of the sea glass stitched to her gown throwing rainbows everywhere.

  All Prince Kyle saw was the shadow she cast, harsh and long, across the ground. He’d never seen anyone with a shadow. He wondered how it felt, if she was aware of it at all. She was just his age, only three months older, and she’d had a shadow all her life.

  That afternoon and well into the night they feasted at the ornate high table, set above the rest of the
court, eating delicacies such as fine-toothed prawns and long-combed sea squash, courtesy of the princess and the coastal kingdom she’d come from. Kyle had been instructed by his tutors, his father, and his mother how to talk with the princess, how to court her. They weren’t betrothed, but both their families wanted them to be.

  However, Kyle barely had a chance to say a word with the servants barging between them with another course, from the questions from the other court members about the ocean and ships, to the sudden shyness of his own tongue. He knew he had to talk with her because he would be asked his opinion about the joining of their houses.

  Their first meeting passed stilted and unremarkable, but Prince Kyle wasn’t about to give up. He sat up late that evening penning an invitation to Princess Elaina. He knew better than to ask her to meet him alone—that wouldn’t have been proper, and besides, he wasn’t sure he wanted to. Instead, he asked her to picnic with him. He hoped she’d like being in the fields instead of the castle, where she could look up and see the sky. He needed to find out what she thought about flying versus riding.

  Princess Elaina accepted, her note written in neat block letters that looked more appropriate for a merchant’s list than a royal agreement. They’d meet not the next day, but the one after that, because the princess had obligations, such as being formally presented to the court and the exchanging of more gifts.

  They took separate carriages to the picnic area. Prince Kyle already ridden out there twice that day making sure that everything was in place, as well as listing out, once again, instructions for how the servants were to interact with them, which was not at all. They could stand and observe from the edges of the field, but the prince and princess were going to be able to talk.

  As she alighted from the carriage, Kyle was struck again by just how welcoming the ground seemed to the princess, how she rested so squarely against it. They walked silently out to the white-and-tan quilted blankets spread wide over the green grass. Then Kyle realized he didn’t know what to say. “Welcome,” he finally landed on.

  Princess Elaina just looked at him.