by Katie Zaber
I close the door behind me, not wanting Kilyn to overhear. He motions for me to sit on the single chair, but I’m too tense. Before I know, I blurt out what I’m most terrified of. “Manadhon, help me. Please. Make sure Kilyn survives. Please, I can’t… she can’t die because of me.”
His face drops and he turns pale, letting out a deep sigh. I don’t think he expected this. “You care for her more than yourself?”
“I live on borrowed time. I should have died a month ago.”
He cocks his head. “Why?”
“Just promise me you’ll slice her somewhere safe. Please. I can’t have her blood on my hands.” Tears stream down my face. I can’t fight them back even if I tried. He ushers me to the chair and opens a drawer. In his hands is an embroidered handkerchief, white with a bundle of green flowers in each corner. It must be something personal. Who made it for him? “Thank you.”
His eyes are dark gray rather than silver, he shoulders sag, and worry lines appear above his brow. He flexes his hands. “General Saiden expects us.”
Gulping, I nod and then wipe away any remaining tears. After returning his handkerchief, I slowly open my door to say goodbye to Kilyn.
***
Manadhon leads me to a large room on a lower level I have never visited. It took almost twenty minutes to reach it, but it seems he likes to walk instead of using his gift all the time. We walk into an indoor horse track the size of a football field. Rows of stables line the perimeter; bales of hay lay in piles outside the stables. Young boys carry armfuls, others buckets of water back and forth from the stalls. Horses whine, men shout orders, and in another room someone hammers metal, as the troop prepares to leave. Older boys bring out horses already saddled and line them up for the soldiers. It’s not a large unit that has gathered, perhaps thirty men, ranging between the ages of teenage to gray-haired.
General Saiden, a stout man with a Napoleon complex, yells at his men until a purple vein in his neck bulges. When he sees us, he huffs, adjusting his torc of gold and silver. “Princess Mealla and Manadhon, follow me. I will show you to your horses.”
I don’t bother correcting him or ask him to call me Megan. He brings us to two steeds that look like Clydesdale horses from the beer commercials. Tufts of thick hair start below their knees. Mine has three white tufts. His back right leg is black. He has a long white mane and solid black body, and his face is polka-dotted white. Manadhon’s horse has specks of brown on its white tufts, a dark brown body, a black mane, and a white face. Both are saddled and ready to ride. The young Fae boy hands each of us the reins. The one assisting me says my horse’s name is Mem. The young boy extends a hand to help me up, but I decline. Even though I haven’t ridden a horse in years, I can still climb up by myself.
General Saiden shakes his head at my refusal for help. “We will leave shortly. You are to ride up front with me, Princess.”
Wound up and anxious, I can’t believe he is a general. He seems like the type to panic if plans don’t go accordingly. A good leader can adapt their plan on a whim, not flounder. But he’s probably not trained to think, only relay orders. I’m sure the king has weeded out any free-thinking minds.
Ten soldiers at General Saiden’s command spread out among the unit. With a touch of their hand, half the men on horseback vanish. A moment later, the ten men form out of thin air and proceed to our group. One man steps in between my horse and Manadhon’s. He’s older looking, worn, and tired with big bags under his brown eyes. Wrinkles cover his face to his receding white hairline, and his hands tremble as he places one on Manadhon’s horse and one on mine. I give the elder a smile and Manadhon gives him a nod. Seconds later, a meadow surrounds us.
The air carries a faint scent of salt, a fishy bay breeze, mixed with wildflowers. Big yellow sunflowers tower over us on dark green stalks. Instead of a black center, it’s lime green. Orange bellflowers poke out of the tall blades of grass, and puffy white dandelions scatter across the field. Their little white seeds flutter in the wind as we wait for the rest of the troop. Pine trees that remind me of home outline the meadow. They have dark brown bark with green needles. The land is exotic yet familiar, comforting but creepy.
After the slicers eat a small, prepared meal consisting of dried meats and cheese, we all hear a few shouts from General Saiden. The men assemble their horses into a uniform procession and proceed onward to the rural town. Mem steps smoothly and gracefully. She is a steady, sure-footed horse. As we continue down the worn dirt road, the landscape becomes more barren. Fewer sunflowers grow. The lush green fields become yellow-brown mud patches, and the wildflowers become sparse until there are none. Even the dying grass succumbs to mud. Father mentioned the crop yield being low, but said nothing about fields of mud. Even the towering pine trees show signs of decay. I dismount Mem to investigate the mud, not wanting her to get stuck in the swamp.
“Where are you going? We didn’t come out here to trample in mud,” General Saiden snarls.
“When did mud take over the vegetation?”
“Months ago.”
“And Barne hasn’t been able to grow any crops? Don’t you see a connection?”
His face scrunches up. “Not my job to think about mud and crops. My job is to collect taxes and carry out the king’s word.”
“Idiot.” I don’t bother saying it to myself but loud enough for Manadhon to hear, along with a few soldiers.
General Pain-In-The-Ass’s face reddens, but he doesn’t reply.
The odor overwhelms my senses the farther I walk into the muck. It smells like rotten eggs, shit, and the foul stench of death. I’m grateful for my knee-high riding boots. Manadhon joins me as I walk to the tree line, the last vegetation left alive. The remains of flora are rotten mush, no longer distinguishable from mud. As we trudge closer to the pine trees, my boots begin making a splat and suck noise as the mud gets deeper and deeper.
I reach out to touch the bark of a tree; it crumbles away down to the first couple of rings. No bugs are present, only rot. What is killing the vegetation? This has to be the reason the town’s crops failed. I’m no arborist, but I’m certain something is destroying all the plant life in the area.
Manadhon pokes at a part of the tree that is still intact, making it disintegrate with his mere touch. Without a noise, the once tall pine topples over and plops into the mud. A puff of tree dust plumes until it settles into the mud, becoming one with the muck.
“Have you ever seen or heard anything like this?” I ask.
He shakes his head. “We need to bring healers to these woods.”
“Healers? Doctors can heal trees?”
“Some specialize in plants.”
I nod. “No wonder the town of Barne couldn’t pay taxes, if this happened to their crops…”
We walk back to the formation. General Saiden looks perturbed that we’ve kept him waiting. His face is flushed, the vein going down his neck popping out, and his nostrils are flaring. He shouts unnecessary rants at his men from on top of his tall horse. He needs someone to take his anger out on since he doesn’t want to yell at a princess.
“My father needs to know about these mud fields and the rot. I find it odd you didn’t tell him.”
General Asshole fumes. I hope he catches fire. “It wasn’t important. The town had a poor harvest. He doesn’t need the details.”
“Wrong. Details are key. Observe your surroundings, question everything, and inspect everything. Details keep you alive and alert.” In one smooth launch, I mount Mem. “The king collects knowledge and doesn’t underestimate its power. A plant epidemic killing the forests in his kingdom is a problem. What if this spreads farther, closer to the castle, closer to home? Will it raise concern then? Has this happened elsewhere?”
“Bayvillage, a nearby town, was short on taxes and complained of mud.” A random soldier with the balls to speak up comes forward. “Thought it was odd, but isn’t my job to think, so I forgot, till now.” He is a young soldier, a little older than Kilyn, m
aybe sixteen in human years.
“Did they have any solution to their problem?”
“No. The king tarred the town,” the young soldier replies, looking down at the ground.
“Thank you for that information.” I turn back to the general. “Sorry to delay you by five precious minutes. I will report the delay to the king.”
His face burns red, as if he’ll keel over from a heart attack. “Time is important. Punctuation is important. You’re not a soldier. You wouldn’t understand.” He takes a defensive approach instead of agreeing.
“Agreed. I wouldn’t want you to be late for dinner.”
“That’s not what I—”
“General, the last man to yell or mistreat me hasn’t spoken since.”
Blood rushes out of his face, leaving him as pale as a ghost. “I meant no disrespect—”
“Of course you didn’t. Shall we continue? Dinner will be soon.” I’m not sure if the general will eat tonight. He’ll be too nervous about what I’ll tell Father. He could go without a meal or two, being as round as a beach ball. I enjoy the hushed laughter from his men and would love to hear the jokes they make about General Saiden behind his back. I’m not cruel enough to tell the king to punish him. Mocking him in front of his troop satisfies me enough. At least it distracts my mind.
General Saiden commands his men back in line and we embark once again.
Instead of letting the general take the lead, Manadhon and I take front and center. General Saiden doesn’t say a word, offers no complaints. I want the people of Barne to see me, not an army approaching their town. Especially if they suffered a rough harvest and are expecting the worst from their king.
After five minutes of riding, a small town appears on the horizon. A bell rings out in alarm. A hide the children and wives, men take up arms type of bell. It rings not in time or rhythm but as if someone is pulling on the rope frantically. I can’t blame them. I didn’t want to frighten them, but a small army advancing toward any small town would cause panic.
Along the road, there’s not one blade of grass. Then we reach a point where the mud swallows the road whole. Some horses, but not Mem, struggle to keep upright in thicker areas on the way to the town center. Simple one-room, and some two-room homes, are built out of pine trees, stone, and bone. Shells hang on strings; the sound of wind chimes bringing me to my childhood home. We had a shell wind chime on our front porch. I remember collecting the shells as a family project. We strung the shells on fishing lines. Looking back, it feels like a different lifetime.
Rugged farmers arm themselves with tools of their trade. They arm themselves with hoes, shovels, and anything with a point, ready to stab. They stare at me in confusion. None of them expected to confront a woman. It’s good to keep people on their toes, it shows their true nature. A tall man with thick brown and gray hair tries to organize the mob. With a smile, I dismount Mem gracefully and sink into the mud.
The mob of men scan my body for any weapons. They stop on Manadhon, realizing he is my weapon and shield. I don’t know the polite way of introduction, if a handshake is the custom, a salute, or if any gesture with my hands would be offensive. I open with a smile. “Hi. Beautiful weather.”
The leader eyes me. His calloused hands wrap around a lowered ax. “Who are you?”
“My formal name is Princess Mealla, but you may call me Megan. I am here to oversee the situation. Why is there so much mud? What happened? Some trees along the way seem to have succumbed to a rotting disease. I’m afraid it’s spreading farther into the forest.”
I have baffled the poor man, and he takes a minute to think about what I said and how the hell to reply. “Don’t know. One day we prepared for a bountiful harvest, the next day we woke up to find everything brown. We scavenged what we could, but it wasn’t an eighth of our average yield. The next day, anything brown became black. It rained a month ago. The ground turned into mud and hasn’t hardened. We are at a loss.” He’s seven-foot plus, his brown-trussed hair is speckled with wiry white, and he has broad shoulders and a farmer’s tan. I can tell just by looking at him that he has spent many days in the fields.
“Your name?”
“Ern.”
“Well Ern, I want to discuss how to fix this problem.”
“The last time your army came, they killed my friend. Why help now?”
“I differ from the king and the general on their diplomatic strategies. Were you able to raise any taxes?”
He shakes his head. “It’s pay or starve. We made hard choices. I would never want to displease the king, but we have no option.”
“We have much to discuss.”
I follow Ern into his house after I instruct Manadhon to keep General Saiden busy. He is not to interfere, harm, or disrupt the villagers or me. Manadhon doesn’t like me speaking with Ern alone but agrees to stand outside of his home on watch. After he steps into the home so he can slice in and out if needed. General Saiden nods without a word.
Ern’s house is the biggest in what I would call a village. It’s a modest house but twice the size of all the others. After entering his home, I can understand why it’s so large; they must hold meetings here. Benches and tables fill the main common area. All of them are made of wood. The smell of pine brings more memories of home to the surface. It has a rustic farmhouse charm combined with a nautical aesthetic. Shells and bones, among other aquatic collections, decorate the main area. Instead of antlers and woodland creatures, they hang small fish or aquatic life on the walls. They even use whale ribs for archways. Well, they remind me of whalebones. I have no clue what animal those ribs came from, but it had to be the size of a blue whale since we can walk under them with plenty of headspace. A petite Fae woman with brown hair bundled into a bun comes out from around the corner. She stands close to my height.
Odd, I don’t feel taller, but I know the average Fae height is taller than a human. I never felt my body grow. I didn’t wake up to a charley horse or any muscle spasms. The only time I was in pain was when Father gave me the serum. I swear I only suffered a migraine.
She gives Ern a nervous glare as she stands poised ready to act. I try to disarm her with a warm smile. I’m still not sure how to introduce myself based on their customs. It’s funny to think people are the only mammal in the animal kingdom that shows teeth as a sign of welcome. Most display their teeth in defense or a warning before an attack.
“Hi, you may call me Megan. I am King Taliesin’s daughter. Please join us.”
She studies me for a moment. “Hi, Megan. My name is Gena. Welcome to our home. Please take a seat.” She motions to a table with four chairs. “I’ll make tea.”
“Thank you Gena.”
“What’s there to discuss?” Ern asks, sitting down. The chair creaks under his weight.
“Straight to the point. I like that. Are you involved with rebels?”
“No! Never! I would never go against the king.” His eyes plead, telling me that is the truth.
“Hmm. Never? Even after your community has suffered? Never after all the men the king killed, your friend included? Never after all the children he’s enslaved? It never crossed your mind?” I take a sip of the tea Gena serves. It has a hint of honey and citrus, reminding me of green tea. “Never after the towns he tarred with people still alive in them? Never? When will never be enough? When he tars your town?” I pause for a moment and let that sink in. “I’m not like him.” Both Ern and Gena sit in shock, their eyes wide, mouths agape. They’re both completely overwhelmed with the information, waiting for a trap. “I don’t believe in the way the king rules. His tyranny must end. I tried negotiating, but it didn’t work. He won’t change, so I will make a change. I hope you will join me. That’s if you have a strong will to live and desire the people of Paradise to live in peace and prosperity.”
“This isn’t a trick or test?” Ern asks.
“No, I’m honest. If I wanted you dead, I wouldn’t waste time talking. I like progress. It broke my heart to find my
handmaiden, a child, was taken from her family and forced to serve. Her parents were most likely tarred along with her home. I believe the king has a similar plan for your town no matter what I do. After King Taliesin takes your kids, he will tar all the adults and town. You have no future here. What are your plans?”
The couple doesn’t move or make a sound. Ern and Gena can’t comprehend what I said. They stare, mouths open, at a loss for words. Gena sucks in a deep breath, then covers her mouth. Tears form in her eyes. Ern takes her free hand and holds it tight.
“The king will tar Barne? This is the first year we have had trouble paying taxes in over a decade. We thought he would forgive—”
“The king is unforgiving and unmerciful. He has no time for empathy. He will kill everyone except the children, gaining an army of your sons and making slaves of your daughters.”
Silent tears stream down her face. Gena knows every word I speak is true.
“Just like Bayvillage. Tarred two months ago when they couldn’t pay taxes from the same problem we face,” Ern says.
“Where is Bayvillage?” I ask.
“North. About a twenty-minute walk,” Gena responds. “There’s nothing left.” Choking on words, she wipes her cheeks. She must have had family there.
“I’m sorry for your loss, but can you please take me there? I have never seen a tarred town or witnessed the king’s destruction firsthand.”
They exchange glances then reluctantly nod, still apprehensive.
“Thank you. I need to fetch my bodyguard. We’ll leave in a moment.” I leave the couple as they speak in whispers. When I open the front door, I find Manadhon facing me. Startled, I jump back a step. I didn’t expect him to pounce the second the door opened. General Saiden sees me and wobbles to the door. “I am taking a trip to Bayvillage. I want to remind Ern and Gena what happens to a town that doesn’t cooperate.”
General Saiden says, “I’ll assemble the troops.”
“Impossible, General. The horses will never make it through the mud. It will take all day. We’ll be faster on foot. Manadhon is more than capable of protecting me on the walk back and forth. You and your men rest, but prepare to depart once I return.”