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Authors: Danbert Nobacon

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BOOK: 3 Dead Princes: An Anarchist Fairy Tale
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“Haven’t met my daughter have you? Glamour, say hello to The Fool.”
 
The much younger woman stepped forward.
 
The Fool approached to shake the hand she offered, but he suddenly hesitated, looking at The Witch.
 
“She isn’t …?”
 
“No you old birch-barker. She ain’t that old, are you, Glam?”
 
The girl, a few summers older than Stormy, smiled and shook The Fool’s outstretched hand for him.
 
“’Iziemas, it really has been a long time, Fool. And you are?” said the crone to Stormy.
 
“I , I am The Fool’s apprentice,” said Stormy, not sure that they should trust anyone.
 
“Well tell us a jekkler then, Fool’s apprentice.”
 
Stormy looked at The Fool. The Fool nodded.
 
“I I. Oh! I know one. Which followed who? The chicken or the egg?”
 
“I dunno,” offered The Witch: “To get to the other side?”
 
“No. The Witch came first, and who cares about the chicken or the egg after that.”
 
Glamour burst out laughing. The Fool allowed himself a wry smile, while The Witch in the Ditch looked perplexed. Then she let off another screek as if she had gotten the joke and accepted the compliment.
 
“Whatever, Fool’s apprentice. I expect you and old Sagack here will be wanting some tea? Unhitch yer donks and follow me.”
 
The Witch fell in with The Fool, and led them over the slight rise. Stormy winced from the pain in her stomach. Glamour offered her a hand.
 
“You all right?”
 
“Just a gutache.”
 
“You have done well, sick and all,” said the raven-haired lateen in an admiring voice.
 
Stormy looked puzzled.
 
“I mean getting so far away from Morainia without being caught.”
 
“How did you kno ” Stormy stopped, not wanting to give herself away any more.
 
“It’s okay. We’re friends.” Glamour smiled. “I met you when you was a baby, down in Morainia. You won’t remember that. But me ma knew who you was soon as we set eyes on you.”
 
“Yes, but I meant more the bit about us not being caught?”
 
“Oh, my mother. She sees things.”
 
“Witch powers?” asked Stormy, excited.
 
“Naw. She has a bad habit of intercepting message birds and reading all about other people’s business. She saw the note your mother sent to King Walterbald.”
 
“What?”
 
“Not to worry. She petted it, fed it, and sent it on its way again. More likely to get to where it’s going really. But me ma has always been a nosey boggler. It serves her well. It helps her do her witch stuff.”
 
They came to a clearing, and there was an old cabin set back towards the trees. All along the front was a most impractically placed ditch. A rickety wooden gangplank led the way across to the front door.
 
Inside the cabin it was dark. Glamour busied herself lighting the kero-lamps, and the yellow glow welcomed the travelers in.
 
Stormy hovered.
 
“Sit down, sit down,” beckoned the young woman, but Stormy felt her gaze drawn to the back wall, where a series of oil paintings hung.
 
The four paintings, mostly dark, especially in the half-light, depicted various creatures. Familiar yet not familiar, like in her own dreams, but not quite the same as her own dreams: The Black Cat, at the mouth of a cave, older and wiser looking, with a glint in its eye. A huge black bird with penetrating red eyes. And then a gaggle of ape-like creatures stood around a fire engaged in some ritual.
 
The last painting was different. It showed a huge silver-streaked creature. It could have been a bird or a giant sea-ray, or something else altogether. The creature was wedged between a cleft in the mountains, suggesting it was huge beyond measure. It looked flopped down stuck, but with satisfied eyes, as if it were panting for breath at the end of a long journey. Via its lolling red tongue descended adults and children, seemingly being delivered to the earth.
 
Stormy looked at Glamour asking the question with her eyes …
 
“The Mothshark,” affirmed the older girl.
 
Stormy pointed at them excitedly, “Have you seen these monsters?”
 
“My forebears knew them. Something of my ancestors is in me, so I see them in my mindeye. Then I paint them.”
 
“I see them too!”
 
“Maybe the night tales from when you were young work their magic in your mind.”
 
“Then they’re real!”
 
“Of course they’re real. Only silly people think the old stories aren’t true.”
 
Stormy studied the pictures. “The Fool says we are looking for the Black Bird,” she said slowly.
 
“If the Black Bird wants to see you, then I am sure you will see him. My mother exchanges stories with him. She tells me the stories, and I see him in my dreams.”
 
“He talks to her?”
 
“Either that or my mother drank too much mushroom tea.”
 
The two girls giggled together, and then a look of pain crossed Stormy’s face.
 
“Ohhh,” Glamour said with a knowing intake of breath. “I see what’s wrong. Come on. We’ll fix you up.”
 
Confused, Stormy followed her to the kitchen, the pain still gripping her gut.
 
Glamour looked back at her reassuringly. “It’s the best time, you know, the time between one thing and another the best time to get your fortune told.”
 
“What time? What other?”
 
But Glamour didn’t answer, just led her to a flop seat by the woodstove, where The Witch and The Fool teased each other over a boiling kettle.
 
“What will it be?” The Witch asked.
 
“Oooh, I could murder a good cup of tea,” said The Fool.
 
The Witch laughed uproariously.
 
“Same old Fool,” she said fondly. “Tea it is all round. And then I will read the fortune of Madame Princess Prentice here.”
 
Stormy looked ill at ease.
 
The Witch in the Ditch busied herself making tea, and Glamour handed Stormy a cup.
 
Stormy blew on the tea and skimmed off a few drops with an intake of breath. The tea tasted bitter.
 
Glamour smiled and whispered. “It’ll help with your cramps.”
 
Stormy took another gulp and felt her insides warm.
 
She felt safe. And The Witch looked different now. She looked friendly. Kind.
 
“Now, Princess. You come sit beside me. Shift your bony ass, Fool. Make way for the Princess.”
 
Stormy hesitated. Glamour smiled at her reassuringly.
 
“Leave some leaves in the bottom of yer cup, Princess.”
 
The Witch took hold of Stormy’s free hand and turned her palm earthwards, uncurling her fingers flat. Her touch was bony and scaly and felt very old, but was surprisingly warm.
 
“Long Life,” mused The Witch. Letting go of Stormy’s hand and taking the cup from her other hand, The Witch commanded silence without any outward sign of communication.
 
She took the cup in both of her hands and looked into it, like it was a deep well, adjusting her eyes to the darkness to be able to see the bottom.
 
“Ooooohh, oooooohh.” The Witch smiled, but this time it was not what you would call a comforting smile.
 
“Oooh. Ha ha ha.”
 
What? What is it? Stormy was saying inside her own head, but not daring to interrupt.
 
The Witch looked for what seemed like long moments, but was probably a series of short moments. She grimaced and grunted, and Stormy felt herself tense even more, beads of sweat breaking her scalp.
 
Stormy looked at The Fool who cracked a half smile. She looked to Glamour again for reassurance.
 
After a seeming eternity, The Witch looked up and let out another raucous laugh.
 
Stormy couldn’t help it. She said, “What? What is it?”
 
“Three dead princes!” spat The Witch. “I see three dead princes.”
 
At which the Princess looked at her, appalled.
 
The room spun. Had there been something in the tea? Stormy closed her eyes, swaying to keep her balance, and opened them again to see Glamour and The Fool looking at her with concern. The Witch eyed her narrowly.
 
“Ah,” The Witch said. “I see what it is. The moonblood time. Better get her to bed, Glamour.”
 
“What?” Stormy said, startled and dizzy. “Blood? What blood?” She fell heavily into the chair and felt something wet between her legs. When she looked down, there was a stain of dark red spreading on the edge of her poncho. And then she didn’t know any more, because she fainted dead away.
 
Chapter 12
 
GIRLTALK
 
W
hen Stormy awoke she was in a warm bed. She felt a coarse towel under her butt, but the rest of the sheets were soft. Opening her eyes she saw Glamour come into focus, smiling, and felt the warmth of the lateen’s hand on her own forehead.
 
“What happened to me?”
 
“You are having your first moonblood.”
 
“I’m blood-cursed,” sobbed Stormy, not listening. “The Witch said I would kill two more princes! I don’t want to kill anyone!”
 
“Ssshh,” Glamour said, dabbing at her head with a damp cloth that smelled of lavender. “First things first. You are only cursed in so far as all women are cursed. Your bleeding. It means that your body is changing from a girl into woman. Didn’t your mother tell you?”
 
At this Stormy was silent for a moment. Then, finally, she said, “Am I dying?”
 
Glamour laughed, but not unkindly. “No. Unless … well, I guess you are, in a way. At least, the child in you is dying. And the adult is being born. The blood’s a sign of it.”
 
Stormy looked mortified.
 
“It’s a good sign. All women have it. It means you’re healthy. Some moons it’s not so bad. Most girls I know are in tune with the full moon. It’s your body cleansing itself, so you’ll have a fresh egg inside you, when it is time. And if you fall in love with a handsome prin .” The words died on Glamour’s lips.
 
Stormy howled and smothered herself into the pillow, but the soft down could not prevent her being tortured anew by the mental picture of the dead, decaying, and most decidedly not handsome Mercurio.
 
Glamour stood. “I’ll bring you something. I’ll. I—. Don’t worry…I won’t be long.” And Glamour left the room knowing she needed The Witch’s help.
 
Back in the sitting room, The Fool was speaking in serious tones.
 
“Do you think you can summon him by tomorrow?”
 
“Maybe,” said The Witch. “He don’t usually pay me any heed, but we are looking dark times in the teeth. He knows which side his turkabird is basted. And he’s been looking for you hisself. He wants to meet the girl.”
 
The Fool was about to respond, when Glamour ducked under the drape leading from the back of the cabin.
 
“What is it, missy?” said The Witch to her daughter.
 
“You shouldn’t have told her fortune.”
 
“You know me. Whatever is pressing in my brain has to have wings.”
 
“Yes, but you’ve upset her something fierce.”
 
“It’ll work out for the best. Now, you be needing a stronger potion by the look on your mug.”
 
The Witch shuffled over to the wall and drew back a curtain, revealing an old apothecary, crafted from yellow wood and fashioned into row upon row of tiny fist-sized drawer fronts.
BOOK: 3 Dead Princes: An Anarchist Fairy Tale
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