A Spell for Mischief and Mishaps #2
“No. But bring whatever you want. I just don’t like carrying things.”
Kerboros snarls a little. “Do not ask me for supplies later. And don’t attempt to seek shelter with me either.”
I laugh, though there’s precious little humor in the sound. “I would never. Did they give you a deadline?”
“We have ten days.”
The severity of the situation starts to sink in, and I fight a wave of panic. I don’t find things. I wander in the wildlands, seeking beauty and wonder. “That’s not long. We should get moving, I guess.”
“I will meet you at the gate.” Kerboros doesn’t turn away immediately, however. He watches me go for some reason.
With a wave of acknowledgment, I rush to the stable to share the news with Da. My words spill in a confused rush. “I’m building a team or leading one or both. Ten days. I might be banished.”
“I’ll go with you,” Da says, as soon as I finish speaking.
Quickly I shake my head. “I need to know you’re safe. If you’re at Miremorel House, it’ll motivate me, knowing you’re waiting for me at home.”
He takes one of my hands in two of his. “I know you’re trying to spare me hardship, no traipsing around the wilds like we did when you were little. But I’m the one who’s meant to be protecting you, don’t you see?”
But he did, protected me for so many years, and now I want to keep him safe.
Plus, I’m concerned about how perilous this might prove.
And he’s my dad, the one person I can’t risk, even if his skills could help.
If something goes wrong and then he’s gone, there’ll be nobody in the world who loves me.
I don’t say that.
“You caught me.” I flash a cheerful smile.
Hesitating still, he squeezes my hand gently, and I feel the ridges and scars of hard work.
He carved toys for me and built furniture with these hands.
He carried me when I was tired and set me on his back when I bloodied my knees.
Da doesn’t like letting me endanger myself, but there’s one thing I can say to get his approval.
“I want to do this on my own,” I say softly. “I need to. It’s part of growing up.”
His face droops. “Ah. So it is, indeed.”
“But even so. I’ll want some of your yummy porridge when the adventure’s done.” Best to comfort your loved ones by saying true things.
He laughs with apparent delight. “And so you shall have it, my jewel. You have your special bracelet?”
“Always.” I show him the pouch on a string around my neck that holds that keepsake and various bits and bobs for spellcasting.
“Thanks for indulging me. I’ll slip out of the palace confines before the lord and lady get wondering where I’ve gone. Find me at Miremorel when it’s done.”
“A wise precaution.” I give an approving nod. “But before you go, do you have any suggestions about who might locate a group so sly that even Kerboros can’t track them?”
“I’d call the pookas first,” Mudge says, after a moment’s thought. “They owe you. And once you have a ride, you might chat with Macha.”
I think for a moment before, “And if Macha doesn’t feel helpful, maybe Nerys will? She knows everything that goes on.”
“The perfect start,” he agrees.
We hug, and I hold on a little too long, my eyes misty when we part. I feel it in my bones. The next time I see this kind soul, everything will be different, but I can’t put a finger on the flavor of the change.
The world?
Or me?
Either way, I give Da time to get free, and then I make my way to the gate, where Kerboros is pacing. A pity I’m already well-fed, because he looks angry again.
“I have been waiting for—”
“Why? I never said when I’d be here.” I cut off the complaint in a cheerful tone. “Let’s get out of here while we can. Before something else goes wrong.”
“For once, I agree with you.”
It’s too bad that I hate the way Kerboros portals so much; the abruptness of his shifts nauseates me.
Otherwise, I’d ask him to take us to the pookas.
But though time is limited, I’d rather travel the slow way.
Besides, I suspect I know exactly where they are.
Once we pass the gates, I set a brisk pace along a footpath worn by the wild fae who have been banned from the mushroom circles and portal stones.
Usually for causing chaos.
Moss dots the trail, the flat stones placed ages ago now half covered by greenery.
The air is humid, scented with loam, and the trees cast a verdant shadow, their branches woven into archways with leaves that whisper as we pass.
Giant mushrooms like the one Da turned into Miremorel House rise here and there, caps polished with wind and rain.
Their undersides glow with phosphorescence that lights the deadwood and damp leaves below.
Roots break the surface, making progress treacherous beyond the track, and ferns cluster around the trunk of an ancient solitary tree.
I recognize this one, feeling a hot blush creep across my cheeks.
I hope the dryad doesn’t see us passing by.
But she wasn’t cruel, and neither is her forest; they both reward curiosity with rare gifts.
“Where are we going?” Kerboros asks, after we’ve been walking for a while.
“Do I need to confide my plans? You’re here to spy on me after all.”
Hs jaw clenches. “Not by choice,” he snaps. “Had I an alternative—”
“But you don’t.” I can be annoying too.
Before he can respond, a gruagach stomps into view, armed with an uprooted tree.