Fairest

by Gail Carson Levine

  your hand—light as snow,

  velvet fingers—bestows

  love behind the ears,

  beneath the chin.

  You’ll be king.

  I may not see it.

  You’ll rule with a hand

  light as snow,

  velvet fingers,

  love beyond the throne,

  love to the borders.

  I wish you well.

  zhamM promised to give Ijori the note if anything happened to me.

  I received more requests for songs. I sang at celebrations of all sorts: opening a new home cavern, a betrothal, a gold strike, the repayment of a debt. In a month I half filled a purse with gems, small ones, to be exact.

  I turned sixteen. I didn’t tell zhamM. He would have given me gifts, and he’d given me too much already.

  The armorers hadn’t yet returned from Ontio Castle, but zhamM said he expected them daily. One morning he asked me if I’d like to see him at work.

  I was eager to watch. In Ayortha trials were decided by panels of judges. The gnomes, however, allowed a single judge to rule on cases and dole out punishments.

  Court was held in their queen’s Throne Room. She wasn’t present, and I’d never seen her. zhamM said she was elderly and rarely left her bed.

  Two rows of benches had been set up, with an aisle down the middle. zhamM sat in a high-backed silver chair facing the benches. He donned a jeweled cap with two bills, turning the cap so the bills were above his ears. I sat at the end of the first bench. A dozen gnomes—men, women, and three children—came in and sat near me. A minute later a solitary male gnome entered and chose a bench on the other side of the aisle.

  zhamM said, “Who has the complaint?”

  The man seated next to me said, “I do, widyeH zhamM. I am logH. rigK stole my shovel.”

  rigK denied stealing anything. The other gnomes described the circumstances surrounding the theft. I believed them.

  At the end, zhamM turned his cap around so the bills pointed front and back. He closed his eyes. People began to chat. rigK took a lanyard out of the pocket of his tunic and began to work on it.

  After a full ten minutes, zhamM opened his eyes. “This is my judgment: rigK, I am convinced you stole the shovel. You may keep it.”

  I blushed for zhamM. I’d expected wisdom from him. The other gnomes left the room without a protest.

  He chuckled. “I see your face, Maid azacH. Our methods are unlike human methods. For us, a trial is a crossroad. When I turned my cap, I looked into the future. I imagined several possible rulings and what would result from them.”

  If only Sir Uellu had been able to look into the future before he’d accused me. He’d have seen I wouldn’t harm anyone.

  If only he’d looked carefully into the past.

  “In this case,” zhamM said, “I was reluctant to let the thief have the shovel, but in every future I imagined, the shovel’s owner was better off without it, and the thief was a more honest gnome with it.”

  “But widyeH zhamM,” I said, “stealing is wrong. Shouldn’t the thief be punished regardless of what’s to come?”

  “Never regardless.” He removed his judge’s hat and stood. “In this instance, every possible punishment made this thief more likely to steal again.”

  I didn’t approve of gnomish justice. If zhamM were to judge Ivi for her crimes, he might foresee that my future and Ayortha’s future, and Ivi’s future conduct as well, would be better if she weren’t punished. Then he wouldn’t punish her.

  It made me angry even to think of. We’d suffered at her hands. I was still suffering. I wrote a ditty about the trial:

  Who judges the judge who judges wrong?

  The sentence too weak,

  The sentence too strong.

  The penance too quick,

  The penance too long.

  Who judges the judge who judges wrong?

  CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO

  THE AFTERNOON FOLLOWING the trial, zhamM told me he would be leaving in two days. There were several trials he had to preside over beyond Gnome Caverns.

  “Near the Featherbed?”

  “No. In the south.”

  “Oh.” I didn’t want him to leave, although I didn’t need him. Everyone was kind, and a few gnomes spoke Ayorthaian. I had been here for six weeks. I knew how to find whatever I wanted. But zhamM made me feel safe. If a crossroad came, he would recognize it and know what to do.

  “I’ll bring back a bushel of human food—food for humans, to be exact.”

  “Anything but apples.”

  Before he left, the armorers returned from Ontio Castle. Their most important news, wonderful news, was that the king’s health had improved. He’d opened his eyes, and he followed people’s movements with them. He couldn’t walk or talk, but he could raise the pinky finger of his left hand. Sir Enole thought a full recovery possible.

  I hugged zhamM, who looked almost as pleased as I felt.

  The news that followed was mixed. The king’s council was meeting openly again, and food had been dispatched to the drought-stricken south. Ivi still ruled, but nowadays she could be persuaded out of her worst notions. There continued to be occasional mutterings about rebellion.

  “Have the birds returned? Are people allowed to sing?”

  Yes, and yes.

  “What of Maid azacH?” zhamM said. “Is she spoken of?”

  The armorer named dyfF said, “You are believed dead, Maid azacH. Master Uju let it be known that you died saving him from ogres.”

  How kind! “Was he believed?”

  “He said no one questioned his tale. I expect he whispered a different story in your queen’s ear.”

  “You called him Master Uju,” I said. “Not Sir? The queen didn’t knight him?”

  “No,” dyfF said. “I don’t think he was knighted.”

  “Was Maid azacH exonerated?” zhamM asked.

  “There was much debate,” dyfF said, “but in the end you weren’t exonerated.” The tip of his nose turned violet. “You had still sung for the queen. They believe you schemed to win your position.”

  “Humans!” zhamM snorted.

  It wasn’t safe yet for me to leave Gnome Caverns.

  “Did Prince Ijori return?” I said.

  “No,” dyfF said. “He was away the whole while.”

  zhamM left the next morning. We said good-bye in the Banquet Hall after breakfast. He seemed almost as unhappy as I felt.

  “I feel foreboding,” he said. “Be on the watch for crossroads. If you need advice, go to dyfF. He can’t see ahead, but he has a good mind for what’s nearby.”

  zhamM said he’d be back in three weeks at the latest. “If you need me, dyfF will send a messenger. I can be back in two days.”

  I nodded again and sang a bit of a parting song.

  “May the path open before you.

  May all your hills roll

  placidly up and

  gently down.”

  He began to sway, and his worried expression faded.

  “May the sun smile sweetly.

  May the rain fall softly.

  May a breeze ruffle your hair.

  May your host receive you with charm.

  May your rest be calm.

  May you be glad wherever you are.”

  He raised his hands. “Farewell, Maid azacH. I wish you could illuse all the way to me wherever I go.”

  I wasn’t likely to be bored while he was gone. I had eight songs to write in the next week, and I’d likely receive more commissions. In addition, I was studying Gnomic from a book zhamM had given me. I hoped to amaze him with my progress when he returned.

  I hoped to amaze him with something else as well—a gift. I started for the market. I hadn’t spent even a flake of my song fees. zhamM paid for my meals, and my bed cavern belonged to him. My wardrobe closet was full of gnomish gowns and sashes that he’d provided. He said my songs and delicious ostumo left him in my debt.

  So now I wanted
to buy something for him, a tunic. He loved them so. He had striped tunics and flowered tunics and paisley tunics and plaid tunics, all with emerald buttons. I knew from Father, who collected brass stirrups, that if you love a thing, one more is always welcome.

  Emerald buttons were beyond my purse, but I hoped to find a tunic embroidered with htun thread that I could afford. I went to the stall of zhamM’s tailor and discovered to my dismay that a dozen purses would be needed for a htun-embroidered tunic.

  I had no idea what to buy instead. I wandered from stall to stall. There were jeweled shovels, jeweled hammers, and jeweled chamber pots, of all things. There was even a jeweled strongbox—which seemed to defeat the purpose of a strongbox.

  A peddler proffered a tray of root candy. Icing had been applied so that each piece looked like a jewel. To me it was a case of one inedible thing being disguised as a different inedible thing.

  In a stationer’s stall, I saw just the thing for zhamM: a clothbound notebook. The cloth appeared a dull black. Gold thread ran through it, but there were no gems.

  “?htun” I asked, pointing at it.

  The vendor nodded. “.htun”

  The pages were lined. I could write songs in it. If there was time, perhaps I could find someone to help me translate them into Gnomic. zhamM would love it.

  “?otz ymmaD” One of the few phrases I knew. It meant, How much? I opened my purse.

  The vendor took out a dozen gems. We made the exchange.

  I turned away from the stall clutching my booty. I found myself facing another peddler, a gnome maiden who smiled eagerly. Along with combs and laces, her tray contained things I’d yearned for—a bun studded with pecans, a wedge of cheese, a bunch of grapes. And an apple.

  “Just for you,” she said in heavily accented Ayorthaian.

  Was it really human food, or root candy disguised as human food? I touched the bun. It gave way, and root candy was hard. The bun had to be real.

  I had reached a crossroad, but I didn’t recognize it.

  The peddler pulled off a grape and gave it to me. A few gnomes stopped to watch. I popped the grape into my mouth. My observers grimaced, but the grape was heaven, juicy and sweet, the best grape I’d ever eaten. The peddler pointed at my purse. I took out a diamond pebble and held it out to her. She held up two fingers.

  Two diamonds for a few morsels! She was robbing me! But I had to have the food. I was salivating. I was probably drooling. I shook out another diamond. She took the jewels. I took the provisions.

  It would have been decorous to take everything with me and eat in the privacy of zhamM’s parlor. But I couldn’t wait that long. While the gnomes watched with expressions of fascinated revulsion, I bit into the cheese.

  It was hard and salty and full of flavor. I chewed it, sucked on it, almost swooned from pleasure. Then I gobbled up the grapes and the bun.

  I hesitated over the apple, but it was human food, and I couldn’t resist. I bit into it.

  It wasn’t bad, sweet and not mealy. I began to swallow, then tasted something under the sweetness, something bitter and searingly sharp. I tried to cough the morsel out, but it wedged in my windpipe. I clutched my throat to squeeze it out. It didn’t budge. I tried again to cough. I tried to breathe. I staggered and fell.

  The peddler bent over me, her expression a mix of remorse and gloating—just as zhamM had predicted.

  Oh, Ijori! She’d poisoned me!

  My essence was wrenched away from my body. I floated toward the cavern ceiling. I wanted to get back to my body, but my essence had no strength. I could feel my body. It seemed unmoving, but it was breathing, oh so shallowly, a wisp of air finding its way past the chunk of poisoned apple.

  My essence reached the ceiling and passed into the rock itself. Rock felt no different from air. I emerged into open space and flew, gaining speed, above the ridge Uju and I had followed. I could still feel my body in Gnome Caverns, could still feel that thin dribble of breath go in and out.

  High above the caverns, the trek that had taken days was accomplished in seconds. Mount Ormallo rose ahead, and there was Ontio Castle.

  I was in the castle, hurtling over the Great Hall, through a corridor, through a door—Ivi’s door—into Ivi’s apartments, to the dressing table, into the hand mirror. Into the mirror!

  CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE

  I SCREAMED AND SCREAMED. I hid my head in my hands. I stopped screaming and moaned. I crouched and rocked.

  A voice said, “Welcome—”

  I drowned out the voice.

  Oh, Ijori. Oh, zhamM.

  Gradually, thoughts filtered in. Was I dead? How had I been transported here? Why?

  I was still aware of my body in Gnome Caverns. It was as if a string, thin as an eyelash, connected me to that body. I sensed my body was cold, but it still breathed. I tried to get back to it. I couldn’t.

  I heard Skulni’s voice over my moans.

  “Look at me, Aza. There are things you must know before I may leave.”

  Ugh! That oily spider’s voice.

  “Everyone dies. You needn’t go on about it so.”

  Did everyone go into a mirror after dying? Was this the afterlife?

  But I wasn’t dead if I could still feel my body breathe.

  I continued to rock and moan. I don’t know how long it was before I heard Skulni’s voice again.

  “You’re fortunate to be here.”

  I raised my head. I was in a small beige chamber, just big enough for Skulni and me and the room’s few furnishings: a dressing table, dressing table mirror, and a chair, where Skulni sat. The mirror was split, really only half mirror. The other half was a window, the two side by side.

  Light and sound came in the window half. Through it I saw Ivi’s ceiling with its fresco of a shepherd and his flock of sheep. I heard birds chirping in the distance and someone singing.

  Oh, to be there! In the heaven of the world.

  Skulni said, “I shan’t be with you long.”

  I wouldn’t be with him long. Thank heaven, there was a door. I went to it and grasped the knob, but I couldn’t turn it, although I tried repeatedly.

  I whimpered. Skulni laughed.

  I grasped my overskirt. I was dressed in the gown I’d worn that last night in Ontio Castle. It was good as new, unsullied by prison or my brush with ogres. I pinched the cloth between my fingers and lifted it an inch. Easy as ever.

  I tried again to turn the doorknob and failed again.

  Why could I move one and not the other?

  Because my gown wasn’t real. My body—this one inside the mirror—wasn’t real. I was an apparition. I looked down. The carpet pile stood straight up at the edge of my feet. I had no weight.

  “Where am I?” My voice was hoarse.

  “You know where you are. This is your last home.”

  A spider’s web!

  He had something of a spider’s body: not much neck, a round belly in a tight-fitting blue doublet, round buttocks in blue hose, and spindly arms and legs, also garbed in blue.

  I blurted out, “Are you human?”

  He laughed again. “I should say not. I am the master of the mirror. There is none other like me.”

  Perhaps I had to destroy him in order to leave. I remembered the library keeper’s words. The mirror may be destroyed under certain unspecified circumstances.

  “But I appear human. Outside the mirror, I’m as large as anyone else, and I keep this face. I don’t drink potions to make myself beautiful.

  “Now you must learn about the mirror so I may leave. We have time before your queen returns from killing you.”

  I stared at him. “What had Queen Ivi to do with it?”

  “She was the gnome who sold you the poisoned apple.”

  “But Ivi is human.”

  “The Disguises potion is very powerful. Under its influence, in many ways Ivi was a gnome.”

  I swayed and reached out to the wall to steady myself.

  “Come, Aza. You know Her H
igh High Highness’s character.” He said the words High High Highness with utter contempt.

  Even Ivi couldn’t be so bad!

  “Comfort yourself with this: My powers will be yours when you sit in my chair. Come closer.”

  I hung back.

  He drummed his fingers on the dressing table. They made no sound. He had no weight either.

  “Don’t you want to see?” He touched the mirror-window. “This is Ivi’s hand mirror. You were curious enough about it when you were alive.”

  I was still alive. I approached the mirror and saw my former ugly face over his shoulder. “Did I change back?” I heard the alarm in my voice. I still cared.

  He laughed. “Humans and beauty.” My beautiful face returned. “That is your reflection.” My original face replaced it. “That is my doing.”

  “Stop!”

  He left my ugly face there. “When you sit in my seat, you dictate what appears. You can view moments in your life, your whole life if you like.”

  The scene changed. There was the Featherbed kitchen. It seemed small and cramped compared to the kitchen at Ontio Castle, but it looked cozy. Oh to be there! Ettime stood at the stove. Father came in from the tavern, carrying a tray of dirty glasses. His face was clean-shaven. It was his year without a mustache!

  I saw myself, sitting on a stool, chopping celery, singing as I worked. I had never seen myself sing. I was concentrating on my song, and I looked happy. At that moment, at least, I wasn’t thinking about being ugly.

  “Enough!” Skulni said. “You can indulge yourself later. Observe how Her High High Highness came to own me.”

  Now I saw a richly furnished room, not so lavish as the queen’s apartments, but lavish enough. A nightingale perched on the fireplace mantel. I heard a peep. The room had to be in Ontio Castle.

  There was Ivi in her bridal finery, admiring herself in an oval mirror—Ivi, but a diminished version of the woman I knew, shorter and not so thin. Tiny frown lines were etched between her eyebrows, and her chin was weak. Her cheeks were marked by the scars of pimples, but her face was still appealing. Even then she was pretty.

  A woman appeared behind her—appeared out of nothing.