Swan Sister (3 page)

“Jack!” I said.

“Sandy,” he said back.

We were best friends. I would follow him anywhere. Idly, I ran my finger through the egg mess and then stuck the finger in my mouth. Vague thoughts of salmonella and other diseases wafted through my brain.

“Salmonella,” I said. “Kissed a fella. Walking with her black umbrella.” I giggled.

Mom giggled.

Jack, now a teenager, the muscle kind who would take Merendy away from me, just grinned. He deserved her, not me. He had the magic, the charm, the power. I was a nerd. A nerdlet.

“Take her,” I said. “Take my girl.” I was about to name her. “Take Mer . . . ,” and something stopped me. Some little bit of memory.

No names.

I giggled.

“Mer . . . ,” Jack said, coming over and staring at me, nose to nose. Green eyes to . . . “Got it!” He laughed and cartwheeled out our front door, going down the mountain toward Merendy’s house.

The minute he was gone, I woke as if from a terrible nightmare. Saw the mess on the floor, saw Mom’s stricken look. Thought about Merendy and the Jack.

“No farking way!” I shouted, and ran after him, leaving Mom to clean the place alone.

He had gone through the woods as if the paved road was too human a route for him. But it wasn’t the quicker way. The road was. So we arrived at Merendy’s door at the same time.

“Jack!” I roared, my voice cracking.

He turned and smiled. Definitely a high school senior. Football team. Basketball team. Track team. Class president.

“Sandy,” he said, and raised a finger in warning.

“Not my name!” I cried, and head-butted him in the belly, which was clearly not what he was expecting.

He went down on his back and was about to get up, when Merendy’s dad appeared at the door.

He raised his hand and spread his fingers in what looked like a Spock V, only the ring finger was flexed—which is just about impossible. I know, because I tried it later. He said something that seemed to rhyme, only not in English.

Jack’s head snapped back, little black bugs streaming out of his mouth. Then he said a word that was probably a swear but in a foreign language, so who knows. And then—poof!—he was gone.

All that was left were my boxers.

“Burn them,” Dr. O’Bron said. “With a branch of rowan.”

“Rowan?”

“I will get it for him, Father.” Merendy was suddenly at the door, looking impossibly beautiful.

“I . . . I . . .” The words stuck in my mouth. “I didn’t tell him your name.”

“You do not know it,” said Merendy. Then she smiled to take the sting of her words away. “But I bless you for trying.” She made a small sign with her fingers, and a feeling of total bliss came over me.

That was when I knew none of the seniors would have a chance with her either. That we would remain friends for as long as she stayed in our world. That I would love her till the day I died. And all that other fairy tale stuff as well.

It was enough.

J
ANE
Y
OLEN
,
author of more than two hundred thirty books for children, young adults, and adults, has been called the “Hans Christian Andersen of America.” Of this story she says, “I have had a fascination for the Greenman for many years. There are all kinds of stories about this god of the woods, who is a kind of British Pan figure. He is pictured as both a trickster and a god of vegetation. When I was in the middle of writing this story, I was in Scotland and had just visited a famous chapel that has hundreds of carvings of Greenmen. What an inspiration! But as I am an American, I decided to move him across the ocean to a place near where I live, in western Massachusetts. The actual setting is the house of my good friend, Patricia MacLachlan, author of
Sarah, Plain and Tall
.”

J
ANE
Y
OLEN
divides her time between homes in western Massachusetts and Scotland. Her most recent books are
Hippolyta and the Curse of the Amazons, The Bagpiper’s Ghost, Wild Wings: Poems for Young People, The Firebird, Bedtime for Bunny,
and
Off We Go!
, a board book. Her Web site is
www.janeyolen.com
.

It happened once that a king went to war, and when he did, he
lost first his fortune, then his crown, and last his life. But before he died, he sent his queen and infant son into hiding so that they might be spared. The queen and her son, Khan, lived alone with only two trusted servants on the edge of a great desert, where the sand shimmered golden in the sun and purple by the twilight.

“So like the palace,” the queen sighed at a desert sunset, sand devils twisting into gold spires. “But see how I have faded,” she said, looking at her garments that once were dyed a royal plum and now were threadbare and bleached. The queen undid the silver pins that held her hair and let the wind and sand drift through the graying silk.

Khan did not miss palace life for he scarcely knew it, and he found his riches in the desert. As a boy he hunted for the red snakes that sheltered in the cool shade of the rocks; he climbed the slender palms and retrieved handfuls of dates. He watched the hawks hunting in the distance, their wide wings spread to catch the wind. He brought home to his mother the pin scrub roses that bloomed with a sweet, dusty scent just after a rain. And in the night he marveled at the stars scattered like diamonds across the sky.

One morning the queen did not rise from her bed, and one of the servants called him to her side. “My son, I am not well, for this life in the desert without your father has grieved me more than I can say. You are almost a man now, and so I am ready at last to join him. The servants will beg you to return home, but do not, for that would be dangerous. Your father’s enemy sits on the throne, and his men still search for you. You must cross the desert and find your future elsewhere.” He bowed his head and she kissed him farewell. Then she sighed, turned toward the horizon, and died.

The servants wept and begged the prince to return with them to the king’s land. But Khan heeded his mother’s warning and could not be swayed. He gave them food for the journey, a small bag of the queen’s jewels as payment, an old horse, and three blankets.

After they had left, Khan packed for himself—a skin of water from the well, dates and apricots, and seed cakes. Khan waited until the cool twilight, and then he saddled
his horse. He rode into the desert, following the stars as they wheeled merrily in the sky. One star in particular attracted him, for it glowed more brightly than all the rest. He followed it until he grew weary and then, rolling in a blanket, slept beneath its watchful eye. He rose early in the morning and saw the star just before it faded with the rising sun. Setting his horse in that direction, he continued his journey.

It was on the third day that Khan arrived at the gates of a huge castle. It rose out of the desert like a giant’s back tooth. The blue domes had faded to gray, and the mosaic towers had cracks. But no matter how loudly he called, there was no answer from within. Khan rode the horse around the base of the silent castle until at the back he found a patch of green grass growing near a spring. Three palms provided shade from the sun.

Khan and his horse were very thirsty after their journey, their water skin nearly empty. Man and horse alike dipped their heads into the cool water and dank. Then Khan let his horse feed on the grass while he unpacked the last of his food. He sighed at the two apricots and the half a seed cake remaining in his bag. They weren’t much to fill the emptiness of his stomach. In the early twilight he looked up and saw his star trapped like a flickering moth between the castle towers. “Well,” he said, “it looks as though I am here.”

He was startled by a scurrying noise, and from a little hole between the rocks of the castle wall a small golden-furred creature emerged. Her whiskers quivered on either
side of her pink nose. She squeezed herself through the rocks, and then, sitting on the flat stone beside him, she began to wash. Though tired, Khan delighted in the sight of the little creature. She was graceful as her tiny paws washed first her face, then scrubbed behind each shell ear; last she arched her neck to lick down her back. As she smoothed her ruffled fur, it shone in the setting sun like a spoonful of honey. She finished her cleaning, crossing her paws before her. Two black-bead eyes looked up at him.

Khan laughed, and though it was little enough for himself, he gave her his last seed cake. She took it between her paws, nibbling at the edges. And then all at once, she broke the cake in two and stuffed it into her cheeks. Khan laughed again as her small, narrow head became round and fat.

“I thank you, young lord,” she squeaked. “You have a generous nature.”

“Though it benefits you, small one, I fear it has done me little good,” he replied sadly. “I have reached the end of my journey but am worse off than when I began.”

The creature rocked back on her hind legs and wiped at the crumbs in her whiskers. “Not so,” she disagreed. “In exchange for the meal you have shared with me, I shall tell you the secret of this castle. Behind these stone walls there waits a princess. It is said that she is very beautiful and wealthy, a ring on every finger.”

“But why, then, does she live here? Away from everyone?” Khan asked.

“She is a prisoner of the Guardians, dangerous and long-toothed monsters,” the small creature answered gravely. “But perhaps you will succeed in winning her freedom. A bride and a kingdom would be yours to gain. Are you willing to try?”

“Perhaps. What if I should fail?”

The creature
tsked
between two long front teeth. “You would die, as the others before you. But a man with a noble heart and a wise head cannot fail.”

Khan leaned his back against the castle wall and considered. Above him the star twinkled brightly. “I shall try,” he agreed.

“Sleep now, then. I, Golden Fur, shall watch over you and your horse.”

Khan was amused at Golden Fur’s offer to guard them, as small as she was. Yet when he lay down on his blanket, weary with hunger and travel, he found he could not keep his eyes open. It wasn’t long before he dreamed of a woman with raven colored hair and almond-scented skin. In her black eyes, the stars gleamed.

Khan woke as the first rays of the sun slanted over the castle walls. Beside him was a tray with bread, fruit, and white cheese. Tiny etched glasses held tea spiced with mint. Golden Fur sat washing her face, her paws crisscrossing over her pink nose.

She waited until Khan had eaten his fill. Then she spoke. “Come closer.”

Khan bent to listen.

“The gates will be opened to you today. Once you are
inside, the Guardians will surround you. Be brave, for they are fierce to look at, their claws like daggers, but they will not harm you as long you do not draw your sword. They will ask you to dine. Use your wits, mark where they sit.” Then she yawned widely. “And now I shall sleep, for I am a night creature.” She crawled into the pocket of his cloak and curled into a ball.