Page 40
Story: Lie
“It was a guess.” His tone soured. “I’m not a Spring magician. I don’t know everything.”
I wondered if other people his age did this a lot to him: ask the fanciful simpleton to unravel the enigma.
Twisting around, I said, “Hey, sorry.”
Nicu wrinkled his pert nose. “It’s all right.”
“Except, it’s not. I don’t know everything, either.”
That earned me a wane smile.
By the afternoon, my ass had gone numb, and an overflowing ravine forced us to leave the aspens and detour to a more vibrant patch of color. We headed into a hickory dell, to Punk’s dismay. She kept twittering, a warning that it wasn’t safe territory, but what else could we do?
I needed comfort food. Drawing a wrapped morsel from my satchel, I peeled the parchment from the marshmallow the stonemason’s son had stolen upon my request. Funny, I’d been saving it for a special occasion.
Nicu accepted half. He moaned as he chewed, though he must have been used to even more luscious fare than this.
I swooned as my half of the treat melted on my tongue, absorbing into the wood. The best sweets, like honey, came from Spring. But sigh, how these spongy wonders made my head twirl.
“Oooh...hi there!” Nicu greeted, waving at something.
I licked my fingers clean. “Huh—”
The mule slammed to a standstill, Nicu’s head knocking into the back of my skull. Hovering beside us, Punk’s feathers rippled in an aggressive display. I’d never seen her like that.
Without making a sound, they had surrounded us. A gang of maidens, their hair weaved into disheveled Mista braids, shades of red or orange cascading all over the place. They wore skirts of a cross-checkered pattern, reaching only to their knees, and matching embellishments: sashes, scarves, vests.
Foxes also prowled the area, the wily creatures perched beside the girls’ booted feet. The animals’ pinched faces watched us through pellet eyes. Not the typical four-legged friendly dwellers of Autumn, nor the upright and generous attitudes of Mista folk.
How quickly territories could change, from one bend to the next. I should have consulted the map or listened to Punk, because it appeared we’d crossed into unbidden territory, into the arms of some kind of fox cult.
My hatchets rested heavily in the clasps attached to my calf and nape. Not having a clue how to fight, the measly weapons felt like a sham suddenly.
The girls scowled and sneered. I stared down my nose at them, refusing to be intimidated, concealing the tremor down my spine. I could handle a fellow bitch or two. But a fleet of badasses? Armed with long bows, loaded quivers, and girdled anelaces?
Nicu clenched my hips. His enthusiasm made a rapid decline, realizing their weapons meant trouble.
Valiant Punk flitted in front of us, her wings beating like mad.
The sight of our group intrigued the fox maidens. They stalked closer, a shrinking ring of bodies.
“Well, well, well,” one of them announced. “If it isn’t a pair of fools.”
A cardinal rule for any ringleader: sabotage with judgment and then offer a biscuit. My gaze settled on their weaponry. “How outdated. Don’t you have something better? Those toys could use some reviving.”
They ignored that at first, but as I sketched my thoughts aloud, I got their attention. They peered at me as I described split blades and corkscrew arrowheads.
Unfortunately, they weren’t stupid.
One girl raised her anelace, the long dagger shining. “Think we’re saps, do ya?”
“Okay, we get it,” I said. “We’re in the wrong place, at the wrong time. Let us pass, and we’ll do it quickly. I won’t say another word about your sorry weapons.”
Five minutes later, Punk wiggled upside down, her woodpecker tootsies trapped between a maiden’s fingers after trying to peck the girl to bits. Nicu squirmed on the ground, rope cinched around his ankles and middle.
And I hung from a hickory branch, strings binding my arms and legs. Trying to get free, I jiggled in place like a marionette, which was obviously the point.
I whined at the top of my lungs, the hissy fit entertaining them to no end. They crossed their arms and snickered, tossing my feather hat between them.
I wondered if other people his age did this a lot to him: ask the fanciful simpleton to unravel the enigma.
Twisting around, I said, “Hey, sorry.”
Nicu wrinkled his pert nose. “It’s all right.”
“Except, it’s not. I don’t know everything, either.”
That earned me a wane smile.
By the afternoon, my ass had gone numb, and an overflowing ravine forced us to leave the aspens and detour to a more vibrant patch of color. We headed into a hickory dell, to Punk’s dismay. She kept twittering, a warning that it wasn’t safe territory, but what else could we do?
I needed comfort food. Drawing a wrapped morsel from my satchel, I peeled the parchment from the marshmallow the stonemason’s son had stolen upon my request. Funny, I’d been saving it for a special occasion.
Nicu accepted half. He moaned as he chewed, though he must have been used to even more luscious fare than this.
I swooned as my half of the treat melted on my tongue, absorbing into the wood. The best sweets, like honey, came from Spring. But sigh, how these spongy wonders made my head twirl.
“Oooh...hi there!” Nicu greeted, waving at something.
I licked my fingers clean. “Huh—”
The mule slammed to a standstill, Nicu’s head knocking into the back of my skull. Hovering beside us, Punk’s feathers rippled in an aggressive display. I’d never seen her like that.
Without making a sound, they had surrounded us. A gang of maidens, their hair weaved into disheveled Mista braids, shades of red or orange cascading all over the place. They wore skirts of a cross-checkered pattern, reaching only to their knees, and matching embellishments: sashes, scarves, vests.
Foxes also prowled the area, the wily creatures perched beside the girls’ booted feet. The animals’ pinched faces watched us through pellet eyes. Not the typical four-legged friendly dwellers of Autumn, nor the upright and generous attitudes of Mista folk.
How quickly territories could change, from one bend to the next. I should have consulted the map or listened to Punk, because it appeared we’d crossed into unbidden territory, into the arms of some kind of fox cult.
My hatchets rested heavily in the clasps attached to my calf and nape. Not having a clue how to fight, the measly weapons felt like a sham suddenly.
The girls scowled and sneered. I stared down my nose at them, refusing to be intimidated, concealing the tremor down my spine. I could handle a fellow bitch or two. But a fleet of badasses? Armed with long bows, loaded quivers, and girdled anelaces?
Nicu clenched my hips. His enthusiasm made a rapid decline, realizing their weapons meant trouble.
Valiant Punk flitted in front of us, her wings beating like mad.
The sight of our group intrigued the fox maidens. They stalked closer, a shrinking ring of bodies.
“Well, well, well,” one of them announced. “If it isn’t a pair of fools.”
A cardinal rule for any ringleader: sabotage with judgment and then offer a biscuit. My gaze settled on their weaponry. “How outdated. Don’t you have something better? Those toys could use some reviving.”
They ignored that at first, but as I sketched my thoughts aloud, I got their attention. They peered at me as I described split blades and corkscrew arrowheads.
Unfortunately, they weren’t stupid.
One girl raised her anelace, the long dagger shining. “Think we’re saps, do ya?”
“Okay, we get it,” I said. “We’re in the wrong place, at the wrong time. Let us pass, and we’ll do it quickly. I won’t say another word about your sorry weapons.”
Five minutes later, Punk wiggled upside down, her woodpecker tootsies trapped between a maiden’s fingers after trying to peck the girl to bits. Nicu squirmed on the ground, rope cinched around his ankles and middle.
And I hung from a hickory branch, strings binding my arms and legs. Trying to get free, I jiggled in place like a marionette, which was obviously the point.
I whined at the top of my lungs, the hissy fit entertaining them to no end. They crossed their arms and snickered, tossing my feather hat between them.
Table of Contents
- Page 1
- Page 2
- Page 3
- Page 4
- Page 5
- Page 6
- Page 7
- Page 8
- Page 9
- Page 10
- Page 11
- Page 12
- Page 13
- Page 14
- Page 15
- Page 16
- Page 17
- Page 18
- Page 19
- Page 20
- Page 21
- Page 22
- Page 23
- Page 24
- Page 25
- Page 26
- Page 27
- Page 28
- Page 29
- Page 30
- Page 31
- Page 32
- Page 33
- Page 34
- Page 35
- Page 36
- Page 37
- Page 38
- Page 39
- Page 40
- Page 41
- Page 42
- Page 43
- Page 44
- Page 45
- Page 46
- Page 47
- Page 48
- Page 49
- Page 50
- Page 51
- Page 52
- Page 53
- Page 54
- Page 55
- Page 56
- Page 57
- Page 58
- Page 59
- Page 60
- Page 61
- Page 62
- Page 63
- Page 64
- Page 65
- Page 66
- Page 67
- Page 68
- Page 69
- Page 70
- Page 71
- Page 72
- Page 73
- Page 74
- Page 75
- Page 76
- Page 77
- Page 78
- Page 79
- Page 80
- Page 81
- Page 82
- Page 83
- Page 84
- Page 85
- Page 86
- Page 87
- Page 88
- Page 89
- Page 90
- Page 91
- Page 92
- Page 93
- Page 94
- Page 95
- Page 96
- Page 97
- Page 98
- Page 99
- Page 100
- Page 101
- Page 102
- Page 103
- Page 104
- Page 105
- Page 106
- Page 107
- Page 108
- Page 109
- Page 110
- Page 111
- Page 112
- Page 113
- Page 114
- Page 115
- Page 116
- Page 117
- Page 118
- Page 119
- Page 120
- Page 121
- Page 122
- Page 123
- Page 124
- Page 125
- Page 126
- Page 127
- Page 128
- Page 129
- Page 130
- Page 131
- Page 132
- Page 133
- Page 134
- Page 135
- Page 136
- Page 137
- Page 138
- Page 139
- Page 140
- Page 141
- Page 142
- Page 143
- Page 144
- Page 145
- Page 146
- Page 147
- Page 148
- Page 149
- Page 150
- Page 151
- Page 152
- Page 153
- Page 154
- Page 155
- Page 156
- Page 157
- Page 158
- Page 159