Trixter (9 page)

Trix’s face flushed with fury and he clenched his fists. He could feel the muscles of his chest and stomach tense in response. “Papa Gatto,” he said deeply. He suspected the voice he’d lost during the fight with the wasps would never be his voice again, either.

Lizinia’s eyebrows raised at his surprise. “I thought you knew.”

Trix turned away from the distracting mirror and closed his eyes. He thought back to all of the odd comments Lizinia had made about him having grown or changed…of the times in the past few days when he’d half-caught a glimpse of his strange reflection but been too busy to study it at length…

“I assumed it was his gift to you, like my gold, or Peppina’s humiliation.”

Trix slipped back into the chair, leaned over the table and put his head in hands that now seemed overly large and foreign. “What kind of gift was
this
?” But as soon as he asked it, he knew. Papa Gatto did not trust his golden goddaughter with a scrawny scamp who survived by using his wits and his animal friends. Trix knew his fey blood would always keep him looking younger than his years. Somehow, Papa Gatto had forced Trix’s body to catch up.

And that was it. Even more than looking older—being older—Trix was bothered by the fact that the image in the mirror looked…human. He’d had all of his life to come to terms with being fey. He was fine with the idea of being part animal. But he was not prepared to be human.

A golden hand slipped into his, and golden fingers curled around his own. “One person walked inside that house, and one person walked out,” said Lizinia. “I was there, so I would know. It was the same person. And that person was Trix Woodcutter.”

Trix raised his head and studied Lizinia in earnest. She was all too familiar with what it was like to survive a cat’s “blessing”, to come out on the other side completely changed on the outside, while still completely the same on the inside.

“What color was your hair?” he asked her.

“Black.”

“Do you miss it?”

Lizinia ran the fingers that weren’t holding Trix’s through her golden tresses. The strands caught the lamplight. Trix had watched Sunday spin wool into gold once, but the result wasn’t as fine as Lizinia’s hair was now. “Sometimes I miss it,” she said finally. “But I think I like who I am now.” She squeezed his hand. “And I like who
you
are. You will too. You’ll see.”

She was probably right, but even still… “It will take some getting used to.”

Lizinia smiled. “Just think of it as another adventure.”

H
ad
he still been inside a boy’s body, Trix would have skipped merrily through the gardens of Rose Abbey. They were beautiful and full of colorful blossoms, even this far north and this late in the year. It was a proud foliage that deserved to be skipped through, but this man’s body—now that he was aware of it—felt heavy and awkward. He’d bumped into two doorways following Lizinia out to the courtyard. He was thankful for the abbey’s high ceilings, or he might have banged his noggin on those as well.

Scattered throughout the gardens of greenery and late-blooming flowers were various topiaries and groups of white-robed acolytes. The topiaries fascinated Trix. Conversely, the acolytes seemed to be fascinated by him. Some even giggled in his wake as they passed. He knew why, of course—silly young girls had often giggled when Peter walked by. Some of them had even made fools of themselves by falling directly into Peter’s path, or pretending to faint so he would catch them in arms that chopped down trees all day and would one day be large enough to rival Papa’s.

Thankfully, the acolytes here limited themselves to smiles and giggles. Trix made sure to keep Lizinia’s pace, in case he needed her protection.

The gardens also housed various feeding troughs and sanctuaries for whatever beast happened to be passing through. Interspersed with the sanctuaries were acolytes communing—non-verbally—with the various groups of animals. For the first time, he realized just how exceptional it was, this gift he’d had all his life.

And then, suddenly, the shadow of the great chapel loomed above them. They were here. Trix took a deep breath. There was only so long he could put off the inevitable. Together, he and Lizinia pushed open the carved wooden doors.

The chapel itself was filled with archways, separating the smaller rooms from the larger area of worship. The late afternoon sun shone through the many-colored windows of the entranceway and splattered the floor with rainbows. The rest of the chapel was dark, however, and almost entirely made of wood. Stained benches like tree stumps rose up from the ground. A massive phalanx of grand beasts stood along the walls, watching over the room with protective eyes. Trix bowed to them each in turn: the Bear, the Cat, the Wolf, and the Serpent. Embracing the altar were more enormous and exquisitely detailed woodcarvings, the crowning glory of which was the Great Hart.

Behind the altar, stood the abbess. She waited patiently for Trix to pay his respects to the Earth Goddess before addressing him. Her wine-red robes hung gracefully about her tall, thick body, emphasizing what little auburn remained in her mostly silver hair.

“Trix Woodcutter.” She stepped down from the altar and approached him, holding him at arm’s length and studying him from head to toe. Mama often did the same, looking for scrapes and bruises after he’d come home covered in half the Wood. “It seems you’ve grown,” she said, as if she had not seen him for some time, though Trix doubted she had ever laid eyes on him at all.

Trix was unsure how much of their adventure Lizinia had already shared with the abbess. “Most of it is a recent acquisition. I’m still getting used to it.”

“Even late bloomers must bloom sometime,” said his aunt. “Take that from a woman who named herself after a flower.”

“Yes, Your Excellence.”

“Goodness.” She waved her hand at him. “None of that nonsense. Aunt, Auntie Rose, Rose Red…any of those will do nicely. I hear you’ve come to see your birthmother. Though why you’ve shown up at my door without any other family is a story whose details your lovely companion here doesn’t seem to know.”

“Tesera herself told me to come,” he admitted. “I’ve been having visions of her for some time now. She’s very persistent.”

“Is that so.” Rose Red tapped the ring of keys on her belt absentmindedly. “That does sound like my sister.”

“And if I’d so much as hinted to Mama about my intention to leave, she would have forbade it. Nor did I want to ask her and risk the chance that she might say no.”

“That sounds like a sister of mine, too.” Rose Red gave a half-smile, but it fell again quickly. “I should probably reprimand you, child, or at the very least give you a stern talking-to, but I’m afraid my heart just isn’t in it right now. You’ve come all this way; I’ll let you pay your respects.”

She took Trix by the hand and led them into a small, gray room behind the altar. Where the chapel had been wood, this sacristy was stone. Thin shafts of light split the darkness like golden daggers in an apple, the beams falling upon two low oaken tables in the center of the room. A woman lay still upon each of them.

Trix released his aunt’s hand. The family resemblance between the two supine women was unmistakable. Each wore a simple white dress and their bodies had been surrounded by flowers. Trix blinked his eyes rapidly as the smell of them rose up to meet him. It was a sad thing being in this place. It would have been a sad thing even if these women had been perfect strangers.

Which they almost were.

Slow step by slow step, Trix moved between the tables. The room was so quiet that Trix heard nothing but his breath and his heartbeat and the shuffle of his feet against the stones. The woman farthest from the door had silvery silken hair. There was kindness in her face and strength in the hands that clasped the lily at her breast. His own sister Friday possessed such kindness—this woman looked as Friday might look one day, when Lord Death’s Angels came for her. Trix surmised that this must be
Teresa
, master seamstress and the third Mouton sister. Rose Red had not mentioned her passing to him.

Trix turned back to the abbess in confusion—she and Lizinia still waited politely by the entrance to the sacristy. He opened his mouth to speak, but the sight of his birthmother transfixed him.

Tesera’s long, chestnut locks had been laid in graceful waves down her sides and sprinkled with vervain and bettany. There were laugh lines in the corners of her eyes and around her pale pink lips that, even in death, seem slightly curved upward as if at any moment she would break into a smile. Gently, he placed a hand atop the ones folded upon her gossamer dress. Her skin did not feel as cold as he imagined. Lizinia’s hands were far colder when not warmed by sun or exercise. Tesera’s large ring bit into his palm.

“I just wish I had known her,” he whispered. More than that, he wished she had given him the chance to know her.

“If you recognize her at all, then you know her better than you think, child,” said Rose Red.

So many questions bubbled up inside Trix, he felt fit to burst with them, but none seemed worth saying aloud. There were no answers for him here in this tomb. A cloud went over the sun, shrouding the room in strange shadow. From somewhere, Trix could make out the sparkling notes of chimes in the wind. The scent of fading flowers shifted to that of rich earth after a rain.

He looked up to find himself surrounded by a veil of indigo light. Beyond it he could see Rose Red and Lizinia, frozen like statues.

"It's not a bad death, really, for all that it's a rehearsal."

Trix jumped—on the inside, not the out—and turned his head slowly to see the ghost of his mother standing before him. She was the image of the body on the table with her gossamer dress and beflowered hair, only she looked old enough to be one of his own sisters. Another costume. Ever the actress.

“You’re not that young anymore,” Trix said. “Cut it out.”

Tesera hopped spryly off the table and turned a slow circle. When she faced him again she was a wizened old woman. Her clothes and skin both sagged on her frame, but her nose had grown to twice its original size. And had warts. Trix gave her his best look of disappointment.

Tesera burst out laughing. “Oh, you get that from your mother, and no mistake. I’d recognize that face anywhere.”

“You
are
my mother.” Her laugher annoyed him so much that he took her big blobby nose between his fingers and yanked it off.

Only, it didn’t come off. “Ow!” she cried and slapped his hand away. For a frail old bat, she was quite strong. “You don’t get it, do you?”

“What, that you may have given birth to me but Mama will always be my mother? Yeah. I get it.”

Tesera stiffened, clasped her hands before her, and tilted her head to the side. Even in the old woman’s guise it was a perfect imitation of Lizinia. “You are lost in the dark, Trix Woodcutter,” she said. “Let me illuminate you.”

Her eyes twinkled and the room went black.

“Hello?” Trix’s call fell like a thud into the thick darkness. Where was he now? Where was Tesera? Where was anyone?

Trix made out a sparkle in the black. The sparkle grew and became the indigo veil, floating just beyond him like a curtain. There was a figure upon the curtain, a graceful creature he had never seen before…it looked mostly like a large, white deer. The image of it waved as the curtain waved in the nothingness, and Trix moved forward to try and make it out. As he did, the creature split in half like an egg and a giant plume of black smoke rose up from the pieces.

Trix stepped back. He had seen smoke of this like before, when his family had defeated the giant. Aunt Joy had slit the monster’s throat and from it had issued what remained of the evil king, a vapor as black and rancid as his soul. That dark cloud had disappeared into the Enchanted Wood. The smoke illustrated here on the curtain continued rising upward and became a dragon, spreading its wings against a star-scattered sky. There was a white, four-legged beast in that sky as well, maybe a tenth the size of the dragon, and on its back were two riders. The dragon sped after the beast and its passengers just as the curtain before him parted.

It seemed that Trix was not to know the outcome of this event, either. Just as well…he wasn’t sure if he was supposed to be cheering for the white beast or the dragon.

The stage was set to look like a forest—if not the Enchanted Wood, then a very similar wood all the same. A young man walked carefully through the brush. It was as autumn in the scene as it would be autumn here soon, and the young man did his best to avoid crunching as many of the dried leaves as he could. (Trix could have done better.) He looked about as old as Trix in human years…about as old as Trix now appeared to the rest of the world thanks to Papa Gatto. That rotten, grinning spirit cat…

Trix’s wandering thoughts were brought to a halt by a movement in the trees. A movement
of
the trees. It had been so subtle he had almost missed it; in fact, try as he might it was difficult to keep his eyes from losing the anomaly in the foliage. Trix had no firsthand experience with dryads—the people of the trees, the Green Children—but based on tales the animals had told him, Trix gathered that’s what he or she was.

“Watch out!” Trix called to the young man as the dryad approached. The young man did not hear him, or pretended not to hear.

In a flash the dryad was upon him from behind, one arm around his neck, one hand over his eyes. The young man yelled and spun around. He grabbed the dryad around the waist, lifted her up and…tickled her? Peals of laugher rang out through the trees. The young man carried the dryad to the stream and quite unceremoniously dropped her in the water.

“Friedrich!” she squealed as the water muddied the paint on her face, arms, and legs. “That’s not fair!”

“It’s as fair as it is for you to sneak up on me, Ghost.” With a smile, Friedrich leaned over the girl in the stream and kissed her soundly. She kissed him back with equal enthusiasm, taking advantage of his precarious state and pulling him down into the water with her.

As the indigo curtains closed over the scene Trix finally recognized the girl.

It was Tesera.

The curtains opened again on a room that looked very similar to the library at the palace in Arilland. A large fireplace lit one end of the room, casting long, dancing shadows across the floor. Friedrich stood in the middle of the room. He had aged since the scene in the woods, but the golden circle on his brow and the thick doublet that he wore made him appear much older.

“I will accept no more excuses from you,” Friedrich said to the man before him, with his brown coat worn through in places and his back hunched either by nature or penitence. “Have that gold to me by sundown tomorrow, without exception.”

“Yes, sire.” The man bowed even lower to Friedrich and politely backed out of the scene. Trix never saw his face.

Friedrich waited a beat in the silence of the room before addressing the emptiness. “I want you to follow him. Make sure he does what I ask.”

From a corner of the room that had previously held nothing but shadow, stepped a woman. Her boots, jacket, and trousers were brown and green. All looked to be fashioned from the same supple leather. She wore her cinnamon hair pulled back in a queue. Tesera. Unlike Friedrich, she looked just as young as the girl she had been before…but, like him, her bearing was of someone far older than her years.

“And if he does not?” she asked.

“Then kill him.”

The reply did not seem to startle Tesera, who remained in the room with her head bowed.

“You are the only one I can entrust with this task, Ghost,” said Friedrich. “You are the only one I trust at all.”

“I will do this for you,” Tesera said to her boots. “But it will be the last thing you ever ask of me.”

Friedrich gave no thought before his reply. “As you wish,” he said, and then marched out of the scene in the same direction the sniveling man had departed.

Tesera, now alone in the room, stepped forward. She was but an arm’s length from Trix when she stopped and reached behind her back to slide a hidden weapon from its sheath. It was a stiletto, thin and sharp and bright and covered in blood. Tesera’s hands were covered in blood now, too.

She looked up—looked Trix dead in the eyes—and dropped the bloody stiletto at his feet as the curtain closed again.

The curtains opened once more onto a forest scene. This was most definitely the Enchanted Wood; Trix knew of no other place in the world where Elder Trees grew as tall and mighty as they did deep in the Wood. A ragwoman sat beside a small campfire, readying a pot of something to set in the embers.