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Fool's Errand: Part 3Quetzelcoatlia# Fool’s Errand ## Part 3 Six fingers interlaced with five. Leif opened his mouth to speak, not quite knowing what he would say, when he was interrupted by a booming voice from outside the grotto. “Human! Come, face me and meet your death” The voice was so loud that it made the mirrored walls shiver. An eyeglass was shaken loose from its moorings and fell to the ground, smashing into pieces. Rojin gave a squawk of indignation as they rushed over to it, and became almost immediately absorbed by the task of picking up the shards. They crouched, their cloak of feathers spread out around them, and gingerly began sorting the shards into five little piles, according to a series of criteria that were apparent only to them. Leif, still stunned at Rojin’s proposal, dithered for a long moment before he picked up his sword and peered cautiously outside the entrance. Outside stood a monstrous toad demon, as tall as a hawthorn bush. He was dressed in the traditional winter garb of his kind: a thick, ornately embroidered robe of living moss fastened up to his yellow throat with carved acorn buttons, and a cap of mouse fur. His enormous eyes, as pearlescent as two liquid opals, held sideways pupils within their depths which widened when they landed on Leif. “Aha!” the toad boomed. “So the rumours are true! How the willows touch the waters, eh? Ha! I have come to slay you, little Prince!” Leith readied his sword, and immediately dropped it. “Whoops!” he said. Then, “What rumours?” “An unprotected little tadpole, sent into our depths! How the bubbles rise!” The toad flicked his moss robe aside, revealing his weapon of choice hanging at his hip – a large and ornate flyswat. He brandished it menacingly. “You’re a right little royal gift, eh? A little offering from the Order of Perspiration!” “Protection!” said Leif, rather hotly. He picked the sword back up and waved it about thoroughly. “My family serves the Order of *Protection.”* “That’s what I said. All those human orders, they’re all the same thing really, ain’t they?” “NO,” said Leif, indignantly. He gave the sword another good wave about. “And I’m not a gift! I’ve been sent out on a mission, as it happens. An important mission! Not that it’s any business of yours!” “That’s not what *I’ve* heard. How it all ripples out, eh? *I’ve* heard they want you dead!” “What?!” “Dead!” The toad raised the huge flyswat above his head. “Say your prayers, little prince! The pond shall dry around you!” Leif, seeing that a conflict was inevitable, squared himself. He pointed the sword directly at the belly of the toad demon, and held himself quite still. The blade was heavy and dull, but the clouds had parted, and a thin beam of winterlight seemed to strike its edge just so and set it gleaming. A feeling of great dread and heaviness seemed to settle on his heart, but with it came an intense stillness – and below the stillness, the knowledge of something unseen, tumultuous, seething below the surface somewhere. But rising, rising - At this moment, Rojin stuck their head outside of the grotto. “What’s all the racket?” “Rojin!” said the toad. He lowered the flyswat. “Oh! It’s Nigel! Hello Nige! How are the kids?” The toad demon touched a great webbed finger to the brim of his fur cap. “How do! Didn’t think you was home! Look what I’ve caught!” He gestured affably to Leif. “A little snack! Want some?” “Oho! Watch yourself! That little snack is my fiancé!” Rojin said. They hopped out and came to stand next to Leif, their chest puffed out with pride. Leif lowered his sword at last, his heart pounding. The strange, still feeling had broken with the moment and disappeared. “This little snack’s not for eating!” he said, pointing to his chest. He wished that something a little more impressive had come out, but there it was. He continued, hurriedly: “And it’s got no quarrel with you! *I’ve* got no quarrel with you.” “Goodness!” said Nigel, peering down at him. “Well! How the lily drifts! Fiancé, is it? You and Rojin - undecideds?” “That’s right,” said Leif. “It’s true!” crowed Rojin. “A human fiancé! Well, I never! And a royal to boot! Well, Rojin, it’s about time! Congratulations! Ha! Ha! Ha! And here’s me about to make a little elevenses of him! Ent it lucky I didn’t swallow him up, eh?!” Both Rojin and Nigel laughed heartily at this thought – even Leif joined in, although a little uneasily. “Apologies, Prince Leif,” said Nigel. “I had no inkling you was associated with Rojin. As the rushes bow to the wind, I hope you’ll forgive me.” “Think nothing of it,” said Leif. He was rather struck that Nigel appeared to know his rank, and even his name. “Have you heard of me, then?” “Oh yes, yes,” said Nigel, with a careless wave. “Well now, you absolutely must come and meet the missus! And the little hoplings have been asking after you Rojin, won’t you both come for a spot of supper?” “The thing is,” said Leif, a little timidly, “I’m on a mission. I haven’t found a single Divine Relic yet, and I really should *try* and find just one, just to get started.” “Leif’s looking for *calamities*,” said Rojin, cheerfully. “Is that right? Ent you humans funny! Well, why not ask my ma about them? She’s lived round these parts for over a thousand years – if anyone knows about calamities, it’ll be her! Come, she’d love to meet a human! And Rojin’s undecided, to boot! You must come! Say you will!“ And so, they went. It was not a long walk. Nigel lived beside a pond nearby, not more than a couple of miles, so he led the way and was very talkative, entering into a lengthy monologue about his family history, which could be traced back over fifty thousand years. Leif and Rojin walked behind a little ways, listening. They were a little shy with one another and did not speak very much at first. “It’s good you didn’t kill Nigel,” Rojin offered, at length. “Yes!” said Leif. “Yes, that would have been awful, wouldn’t it?” They walked along a little more in silence. “I’ve never been betrothed,” Leif blurted out, unexpectedly. “My family didn’t think it was proper, what with my constitution. I have the falling sickness, you know – I’m much better with it now, but – well. I thought you should know. I was unwell for ever such a long time, as a child. They sent me away to the seaside for many years, for the good air – so I really haven’t seen much of the world. I’m a little stronger now, and better, and I haven’t had a fit for many months. But I did think you should know. In human circles, at least, I have not been judged to be suitable husband material. And I would hate to mislead you. And I would understand completely if you withdrew your proposal.” Rojin stopped dead. “What!” they said, aghast. “I know,” said Leif, miserably. “I can’t apologise enough, I would have said so at once, but we were interrupted.” “This is quite wrong,” said Rojin, seriously. They put a hand on Leif’s shoulder, and looked hard into his eyes. “You are very fine husband material. Understand? Very fine. Who has told you this thing?” “I have the falling sickness,” Leif repeated. “I have fits, sometimes, Rojin. I’m afraid I’m not well.” Rojin stared at him in disbelief. “Not well? Many of our finest shamans and witches have this gift! What’s it to do with being a husband?” Leif stood mutely for a moment, twisting his hands together. “I’m not very strong,” he offered, at last. “That’s alright!” said Rojin, brightly. “I’m very strong! Strong enough for both. Anything else?” “I might be unwell, sometimes,” said Leif, very quietly. “So might I be!” said Rojin. He patted Leif’s shoulder. “Everyone gets unwell sometimes! I’ll look after you, and bring you little mirrors if you like. Would you like that?” “Yes,” said Leif, thickly. “What! Are you sad? Oh dear! Are you crying?” In their alarm, Rojin flew into their small magpie form, up to Leif’s shoulder, to his crown, to his other shoulder, fluttering their wings in agitation. Nigel came back along the path to see what was happening. “Deary dear, what’s all this then?”, he said, when he saw Leif’s face. He patted his pockets and pulled out a large green handkerchief. “There, there, little human,” he said. “Are you sad about…” he paused, consulted his knowledge of humans, and hazarded a guess. “Weapons?” Leif could not immediately answer. “You’ll have lots of weapons soon, I expect,” said Nigel, soothingly. “Lovely big swords and things. You’ll like that, won’t you?” “I don’t know why he’s sad! He was only telling me he has seizures,” said Rojin, greatly perplexed. “Well! A real all-rounder, isn’t he?“ said Nigel. He looked at Leif with renewed respect. “You’ve done well for yourself there, Rojin. Now, what are you crying for, eh? What’s the matter?” “I’m happy. I’m just happy.” Leif rubbed his eyes with the back of his sleeve. Rojin flew into their human form in order to peer closely and anxiously into his face. “Yes! He’s just happy!” Rojin announced, with great relief. “Goodness me, you young things! All sunshine and storms, eh! Come on, it’s not far now – Ma’ll have tea on.” Leif and Rojin walked hand in hand the rest of the way. Soon they reached the toad demon’s dwelling, which was set below ground in a hollowed out burrow beneath an enormous boulder. The boulder was set at the edge of a fishpond, and stood many spans high. It was covered from the bottom almost to the top with the painted outlines of many hundreds of webbed hands in varying shades of green and yellow paint. “My ancestors,” said Nigel proudly, seeing Leif’s interest. He stooped and pointed at some of the faded handprints at the bottom of the boulder. They were much larger, and the webbed fingers had the suggestions of talons at the ends. “Periphemus the net-weaver,” he said, modestly. “Yes, THE Periphemus! We were much larger back then. There at the top – that’s my oathmark, and next to it there’s my wife’s.” His own handprint was smaller than the huge prints of his ancient ancestors, but just as distinct. Next to it, in yellow paint, was the more slender print of his wife – an unwebbed marking with rounder toes. “My girls are too young yet, but come next season their oathmarks will join the rest!” As if on cue, a little crowd of young toad demons came clamouring and hopping out from under the boulder, having heard their father’s voice. There were four in all, and although they were still children each one was as tall as Leif. Being children still, they all took the form of natural toads, lacking the inclination to adopt the more tiresome, upright demonic form of their father, and lacking the sophistication to adopt a human form, which was a very complex and unnecessary business. They preferred to clamber and jump around as little toadlets, and so they did, each little demon still retaining their tadpole tail as a mark of their young age. “Papa!” “Papa’s back! Papa come and look!” “Oh look, it’s Rojin! Rojin’s come to visit – Mama! Mama, Rojin’s here and they’ve bought a- a-!” A sudden hush fell across the pile of toadlets as they all stared at Leif. “A human!” Rojin announced. One of the toadlings gave a little shriek, turned tail and scrambled back beneath the boulder, wailing at the top of her voice. A second followed quickly, after giving Leif a long and doubtful stare. The third hopped forward excitedly – “A human! Like in the stories? Is it a real one? Does it have lots of weapons with it? Is it true it can’t transform? It’s much smaller than I thought. Humans only have FOUR fingers papa, plus a toe! Humans can ride on the backs of horses! Papa, did you know that? Horses aren’t scared of humans – that’s right, isn’t it?” She addressed Leif directly. “Yes, that’s quite right,” said Leif, mildly. “They’re not afraid of us, once we tame them. We can ride camels, too. And donkeys. Even elephants.” The toadling gaped. The fourth toadling, who had been mute up to this point, came forward and gently but quite determinedly took Leif’s elbow into her mouth with the intention of eating it. She gummed at it a few times before Leif politely extracted it. *“He’s not for eating!”* exclaimed Rojin. “Now, can you guess why I’ve bought him to visit?” The toadling considered. “Is Nana to cook him first?” “Children, children,” Nigel said sternly. “The human is Rojin’s guest – I want you on your best behaviour. His name is Prince Leif, and he’s *not for eating.* I do apologise, Prince,” he said as an aside, “we’re not used to seeing humans around these parts. You’ll forgive us, I’m sure. These are my girls – that’s Mully, the peckish one’s Buss. That was little Nullrush and her sister Shrulia what just ran inside.” “That’s quite alright,” said Leif, and put his hand out. “It’s a pleasure to make your acquaintance, mademoiselle,” he said to Mully, using the high tongue. Mully stared at the hand, then burst into a peal of laughter. Buss seemed to be debating inwardly whether it would be appropriate to attempt to eat the hand – she opened her mouth tentatively and cast a querying look at her father, who shook his head. “Now girls, that’s a proper human greeting!” said Rojin, delighted. “Come, shake his hand! That’s what the humans do to say hello! Take his hand in yours – no, not with your foot, your hand, your hand – that’s right!” Leif gravely shook the large, webbed hand of Mully, and then of Buss, to their extreme interest and gratification. A slender newt demon put her head out from under the boulder at this point - a tearful-looking Nullrush and a wary Shrulia could be seen peering out from behind her. “I’ve bought company, dear!” said Nigel, and went to kiss her. She was a very beautiful newt, with feathery gills around her face and an orange-spotted throat the colour of a satsuma. She was dressed from head to tail in dark grey mole-velvet, and wore a long, narrow cloak of woven dried rushes along her dorsal crest. Nigel must have murmured a few words of explanation to her, because she came over to Rojin at once with sparkling eyes and embraced them, and Leif heard her say a few quick, soft words. She then came and greeted Leif with wonderful composure, although she had never met a human before and must have been exceedingly curious about him. “Welcome, human!” she said. “I am Lucellia, of the Deep-Waters-of-Golden-Rushes-Below-The-Open-Stone-Hand-Where-The-Duwla-Lily-Flowers.” “The human placename is *Hemmemskän*,” Rojin supplied. “North from here. Quite far North.” “I know it well!” said Leif. In truth, it hadn’t occurred to him that any realm on the island would be called anything other than the human-given name that he was familiar with. He glanced rather guiltily at the oathmarks on the boulder, stretching back fifty thousand years through generations of demons. His own recorded family history stretched back just three hundred years. “Any friend of Rojin’s is very welcome here!,” said Lucellia of the Deep-Waters-of-Golden-Rushes-Below-The-Open-Stone-Hand-Where-The-Duwla-Lily-Flowers. “Come in out of the cold, and join us for supper.” The space beneath the boulder was not what Leif had expected. He had judged from the outside that the toad family had dug out a bare earthen burrow beneath the rock, but as they neared the entranceway he perceived that this burrow had actually been lined with an enormous drawstring bag, the gaping open mouth of which they stepped into by way of a front door. Then something ineffable and slight seemed to shift as they crossed the threshold; it was as if they passed through the surface of a bubble, and Leif saw to his amazement that the interior of the bag was impossibly huge, and contained a great, old wooden-style manor house and grounds within it. The path to the front door, and all the gardens either side of it, were submerged comfortably under a foot or so of water, and bog strawberries and pond lettuce were being cultivated in the submerged beds. Leif waded gamely onwards, his boots gradually filling with water. Looking upwards Leif perceived a sky that appeared to stretch up endlessly, and a sun that shone down but seemed somewhat veiled, as if it were being viewed through a piece of silk. The manor itself wallowed indulgently among the lilypads; a low, massive, ornate building made of carved teak. As Leif waded inside, he saw that the entirety of the manor had been carefully flooded inside also – this was precisely how the demons liked it. The family splashed inside in a jolly mood, chattering away. There was no natural light, but the manor was illuminated throughout by a strange and beautiful green light, emitted from hundreds of domesticated glow-beetles. In the sitting room there sat an ancient old grandmother toad demon with a tadpole on a sling at her back, sitting on her haunches in the water and stirring a bubbling pot that sat upon an elevated hearth in the centre of the room. She raised her eyes when the party entered, and nodded contemplatively. “Rojin has bought a human with them today!" She croaked to herself, or perhaps to the sleeping tadpole on her back. "My, my, my. How the lilies drift!" "Good afternoon, toad-grandmother!" said Rojin, and bowed very low, not straightening again until she croaked "that's all very good. Come and sit." She patted the surface of the water beside her, sending out ripples. Rojin did not come and sit, but instead touched a hand very lightly to Leif's back, indicating discreetly that he too should bow. Leif, perceiving that he was in the presence of a very ancient and very respectable demon, knelt in the water at once and kissed her webbed hand, an action which was met with much interest from the toad family, and which was received with grave dignity by the grandmother. "What's he doing that for?" Buss asked, staring. "The humans have many greetings," croaked the old toad. "As many as a day of mayflies. They have greetings for children, and for friends, and for elders. And for mates. Is not that right, Rojin? Heh, heh, heh. I speak the truth, do I not, Prince Leif Berranek?" "You do, madam," said Leif. He rose, dripping - a little startled at being so directly addressed. "May I ask - how is it that your family knows my name?" "Hm, hm!" said the old toad. "Your coming to this realm has been foretold." The fire crackled and spat. The smoke rose to the high ceiling in a thin, grey column, and hung there, stirring softly about upon itself. "Foretold in a legend?" Rojin asked, in hushed tones. "Foretold in a dream?" "In a pamphlet," said Nigel, coming to sit down with a splash. "They’re in all the pubs." "What?” said Leif, amazed. “What pamphlet?" Lucellia remembered suddenly. "We got one in the post the other day, didn't we love? Nullrush, be a minnow and see if it's still in the recycling bin, won’t you?" Leif and Rojin and the children sat themselves down around the cooking-pot while they waited – Leif lowering himself rather gingerly and wincingly, for the cold water immediately soaked through his trousers and submerged him up to his waist, while Rojin threw himself cheerfully down with a splash. Nullrush soon returned, triumphantly holding a slightly damp pamphlet aloft. Leif took it and read it. "FREE MEAL!" The pamphlet read on the front. Inside, there was an engraving of Leif, captioned *"the delicious Prince Leif Berranek"* It outlined, briefly, that a young prince would be entering the region around the first day of Icewhile, dressed in low quality armour and armed with a blunt sword. Readers were assured that this was a limited time offer and were encouraged to *"snap him up while he's good and fresh!"* Leif read this with the greatest confusion and perplexity. Rojin, looking over his shoulder, became immediately very excited and snatched it up. "What’s THIS!" they exclaimed. “There’s a picture of you, Leif! There’s a picture of him! Have you seen the picture of him, Nigel?" Nigel assured him that he had. "What a likeness! Did you see, Lucellia? Here, just take a look!" The pamphlet was passed around and the likeness was greatly admired. "I shall cut that picture out!" Rojin announced, smilingly. “I will carry it with me! Can I borrow some scissors, Nigel?” Nigel went off to get some scissors. "But the content," protested Leif. "Where did this come from?" “There’s no author marked down.” Lucellia turned it over, thoughtfully. “But it came in the post by seabird, and ours is all delivered by bats, usually.” Leif turned pale. Several different sorts of birds were used across the island to send letters between human-kind, depending on the length of the journey required, but seabirds were the exclusive couriers of the Order of Protection. “You’re quite sure?” he said, faintly. “You’re sure it was a *sea*bird?” “I’m certain.” “I… I see.” Lucellia saw that he was dismayed and shocked, and wished to comfort him. She went directly to a dresser in the corner, rummaged around and returned at length with a large blade. “I know you humans like weapons,” she said, tenderly. “Would you like to hold this for a bit?” “Um. Thank you,” said Leif, had been raised with very good manners. The knife was demon-made, and to Leif was as large as a broadsword. As Leif hefted it over towards him he became suddenly aware of a tremendous power surging through the handle, and was so surprised that he almost dropped it. “This blade –“ he stammered. “It’s only an old butter knife,” Lucellia said, apologetically. “We don’t really have any weapons around here. But it’s got a blade, and I know you humans like those!” Leif stared at the butter knife, the blade of which, although quite blunt, was glowing fey-hot. It crackled softly with the fire of a thousand suns. “It warms the butter up lovely!” said Nigel, who had returned with some scissors. To Leif’s great consternation, Rojin at this point reached over and actually picked the knife up *by the blade* to admire it for himself. Rather than spontaneously combusting, he said “oh, it IS warm! Good for crumpets!” “It’s hot!” cried Leif, excitedly. “It’s blazing hot! This sword is a divine relic, I’m sure it is!” The children giggled – the old toad grandmother laughed softly to herself, and shook her head. *“Sword!”* she chided. “You humans see everything as a weapon. It’s a butter knife, is what it is, child. Demon-made. Now, if you humans had forged it, I’m certain you *would* have made it into a sword, or a helm, or something else to carry into a battle, as sure as the pond is deep. There is a reason we call them *calamities* when they are human made.” “This *is* a calamity!” Leif took the relic up cautiously by the handle to admire it more closely– he could not touch the metal as Rojin did. “In your hands, perhaps,” said the old grandmother, severely. “In ours, I assure you, it is a butter knife.” But Lucellia was charmed by Leif’s obvious delight, and by the quickness she observed in the changing of his mood, which was believed to be a very *human* trait. “Oh, just look how happy he is,” she said coaxingly to the grandmother, and she came over to help serve the bubbling stew into bowls. “I tell you, that old butter knife never made *me* so happy!” “Hmph!” said the old grandmother, but she did glance at Leif from under her furrowed eyebrows, and indeed saw how radiantly happy he was at that moment. She saw, too, how Rojin shared in his delight. She huffed. “There is a tradition among our kind,” she said, as she passed around the bowls of hot stew. “We shall make you a gift of that little butterknife, if it pleases you so. In exchange, we ask for the gift of a story.” There was a general outbreak of delight and pleasure at this pronouncement, particularly among the children, who ribbeted and splashed and chattered all at once – “A story!” “A human story!” “Will we give him the butterknife -?” “It’s only an old one –“ “What sort of story?” “What’s he want old cutlery for?” “Quiet now, dearies, settle down!” said Nigel. He was feeling very proud that his wife had so deftly chosen such a perfect thing to comfort the human. He kissed her as she sat down. “What do you say, Prince Leif?” Leif smiled around the party with shining eyes. The mystery and unpleasantness of the pamphlet was quite forgotten: a problem for another time. For now, he held victory itself in his hands! No matter that it was demon-forged – it had *certainly* been forged from a true Divine Relic – altered, a little, but there was no mistaking its power. The relief that he felt was indescribable – he would be able to send this home to his royal house as proof that his mission was underway – he had not failed, not yet! “Thank you,” he said. “It would be an honour, a real honour! Yes, I agree with my whole heart! As for a story….” He paused to think for a moment. “A *human* story,” said the children, eagerly. “He only knows human stories,” Rojin remarked, with a touch of pride. “Let me tell you the story – the human story – of how the Divine Relics came to be.” And so, he began.
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Fool's Errand: Part 2Quetzelcoatlia# Fool’s Errand ## Part 2 Mirror Grotto was a little observed wonder in the realm of Juwnedon-Wek on the south stormshores of the Order of Protection’s principal island. Very little was known about it, partly due to the wild remoteness of the region and partly due to the density and great variety of the demon population there, who deterred most travellers and ate the rest. The earliest historical account of the place is also the most detailed – a short passage in Phasros the Elder’s Vestigo, reading: *“Of the so-called ‘Grotto of Mirrors’ near Ninnolzhew, which may be the same wonder as the Knoll of Bones, it is said to be a demon-made construction taking the shape of a low hillock upon the landscape, the inside of which is lined with splendour and the outer with gore.”* Most later texts do not mention it at all, although there is an old song of that region which praises “yon shyning hill of bones,” which likely refers to the place, there being no real hills or mountains in that region at all. It does not feature on the majority of maps, lacking the extraordinary usefulness of The Exalted Basin, or the tragic history of The Exalted Maple. How Prince Leif Berranek had managed to make it there unscathed was anyone’s guess. His armour was mismatched and poorly made, his sword was dull, and yet he carried with him an astonishingly rare map from the library of the royal family, printed on demonskin. This map, strange to say, had been gifted to him personally by the very same royal personages who had seen fit to send him out into the world wearing dogskin gloves. It depicted the island in wonderful detail, accurately charting a number of regions that were thought to be entirely uncharted, among them Juwnedon-Wek, the realm of the Mirror Grotto. The map had been marked for him to show the reported locations of a number of Divine Relics - those rare and curious pieces of equipment that were sought by all those who sought power, and which granted their bearers strange, wonderful gifts. Prince Leif stood just a few paces now from the Grotto, dressed in his strange garb and bejewelled crown. He consulted the demonskin map one last time. The wonder had been depicted as a low mound, and a small golden X had been painted on to indicate the presence there of a possible Divine Relic. In black ink above the mound was another tiny symbol – a six fingered hand, the mark used to denote the presence of a great demon. Leif put the map away and looked the grotto. Phasros the Elder’s *Vestigo* and the map had both depicted the grotto as a sort of hillock, but both sources were ancient. The Mirror Grotto had grown since those days. It jutted up into the sky now like a giant skeletal thumb, pale against the pale sky. It had looked uniformly white from a distance, but now that he was closer Leif saw the innumerable bones and skulls and ossicles that had been picked clean and pressed into the walls of the structure. The bones near the bottom of the towering structure had bleached white in the sun, but those nearer the top were newer, and were dark with blood. Above, a magpie circled. No demon came to tear him limb from limb as Leif approached: no challenge answered his tentative, questioning call. Still, it was with great trepidation that he entered the grotto, almost holding his breath as he stepped through a doorway that no living creature but the demon Rojin had passed through for centuries. It was cool inside, and quite silent. The high walls reached up to an open circle of sky far above through which the light poured in, breaking itself on the way down into a thousand points of brilliance, for the walls of the grotto were lined with glittering treasures from the floor to the ceiling. So kaleidoscopic and dazzling was this effect that it took some time for Leif’s eyes to adjust, and then with a racing heart he stepped further in and began to gaze around in search of something resembling a Divine Relic. Here, he began to have his first misgivings. On closer inspection, the items lining the walls did not appear to be treasures at all, but rather a large collection of carefully curated pieces of rubbish. There was a pair of broken spectacles, with a crack across one of the lenses. There were innumerable pieces of magenta and turquoise coloured glass – the hues commonly used in that region for ale and rootwine bottles. There were shards of mirrors, and not only shards but entire hand mirrors, wall mirrors, and (Leif shuddered to see) hundreds upon hundreds of traditional handheld demonglasses. These relics were commonly carried by villagers and poorfolk, and consisted of a piece of smoked mirror set in a little embroidered frame at the end of a stick – it was believed that they warded off demons. They clearly had not warded off the demon Rojin, who had plucked these mirrors from the bodies of the villagers, and had been setting them in the walls of the grotto for centuries. The demonglasses nearer the bottom of the walls were quite ancient: their mirrors were hexagonal instead of circular, and the surface of the mirrors were engraved with words in the old language, a practice which had died out more than two hundred years ago. Leif stood on tiptoe and craned his neck to get a better look at the items higher up. Beetle wings; tin foil; silverware; what looked like a great cracked lighthouse lens. And as he stared in growing dismay, a dark shadow fell across the entrance to the grotto. There in the entranceway stood the great demon Rojin themselves. They had taken the form of a giant magpie, so large that their head would not fit through the doorway of the grotto. They stooped and pressed their enormous eye against the entrance, peering in. Leif, trembling from head to toe, drew his sword and promptly dropped it. “Whoops,” he said. “Well, well, well. What do we have here?” said the magpie, in a great croaking voice like a cracked bell. The demon’s eye nearly filled the doorway. Leif hastily backed himself up against the furthest wall, and tried to think of something to say. “I am Prince Leif,” he said at last, for it seemed as if the magpie really was awaiting an answer. “Prince Leif Berranek, of the royal house of the Order of Protection.” “A prince!” The eye scrutinised him in silence for a bit. “I like your grotto,” said Leif, weakly. “Do you?” “Oh yes! Yes… there’s ever such a lot here, isn’t there? Gosh. And er, the decoration. Is it all… er… This sort of thing?” “What sort of thing?” “Bottles? Bits of glass and such?” The eye at the entrance narrowed. “Well!” said Leif, nervously. “It’s all marvellous, I must say. Jolly good stuff. Lovely bottles.” “I collected it all myself.” “Goodness! Well! My word!” Leif cleared his throat awkwardly. “Is - is there anything more powerful here, perhaps? My map said there might be-“ “I have spec-a-tacles,” said Rojin modestly. “Many pairs. Human made.” There was a pause. “Do they – are they – do they have any sort of, er, powers?” “Light catching,” said the magpie. “They catch the light. Look!” Leif looked, dutifully. They did indeed catch the light rather nicely, but it was becoming evident that there were no divine relics to be found in this place. Rather, Leif had entered the lair of a demon that had been killing humans for centuries for their sparkly things, and he had entered it wearing an incredibly sparkly crown. He straightened it now, nervously, and watched the enormous demon eye track his movement, and remain fixed on the crown after he had put his hands down. “Are there any more of those seeds left?” said the giant magpie, conversationally. “P-pardon?” The demon turned, and poked their enormous, sharp beak into the entrance of the grotto. The beak was long, but not quite so long that it could reach Leif, pressed as he was at the furthest end of the grotto, with a collection of cracked pince-nez digging into his back. “DO YOU HAVE ANY MORE OF THOSE SEEDS LEFT?” the beak said, very loudly. Leif stared blankly – for a moment he could not make the slightest sense of the question. Then he remembered. “Are – are you – the magpie from earlier?” “Yes,” said the magpie from earlier. “And,” Leif hesitated, thrown into sudden doubt. “You are the demon Rojin, are you?” “Yes,” said the demon Rojin. The beak was very alarming to look at, this close. It was as black and wicked as a flint’s edge. When it opened to speak (which was also alarming) it revealed a sharp looking tongue, as black as onyx. “The seeds,” the beak prompted. “Oh! Yes! I have more,” said Leif. “Many more. An infinite supply. My amulet can make them.” Rojin removed their beak and pressed their eye to the entrance again to have a good look at the amulet. Leif could see himself reflected in the great oil-dark eye. He looked very anxious. He tried to make himself look less anxious by putting one hand on his hip in a nonchalant manner, but the results were mixed. “Did you say infinite?” asked Rojin. “Yes,” said Leif. “Infinite.” And then, remembering the razer sharp beak, he added hastily – “but only I can operate it. Th-there’s a knack, you know. So, you wouldn’t want to kill me for it.” “No,” said Rojin, rather vaguely. The eye was so large that it was hard to know whether it was staring at the crown, the amulet, or Leif himself. “No,” said Leif, firmly. “Give me one”, said Rojin. They thrust their beak back through the doorway. Leif looked doubtfully at the beak. “Well... alright. I was just thinking, perhaps, if you did have an item of power around here, perhaps you might consider trading it for some seeds?” The beak opened as much as it could in the low entranceway, which was not very far. “Ahhh!” the beak said, expectantly. Leif unclasped his amulet and rather gingerly placed one of the acorn-sized seeds into the open beak. The beak clacked shut and withdrew. There was a pause. “W̵̠͉̽̈́̽H̷̢̘̳̪̯͌̎͋͘͝A̶̼͇̙̙̅͂͋̅͘͝͝T̵͚̪̮̱̠̬̝̑̌̑̒͗?̷̨̧̧͈̹̰̀͝?” roared the demon Rojin, in a voice like ragged thunder. Leif eyed the open doorway in alarm, through which he could just see a pair of enormous black scaley bird legs, and the white feathered underbelly of Rojin. If he ran now – if he ran quickly and darted out of the way, perhaps he could escape – but before he could put this thought into action, Rojin had put their eye to the doorway once more. The eye looked annoyed. “That was TINY. What a tiny little seed. Where are the big ones you gave me earlier?” “Th-these are the same ones,” said Leif, faintly. “There’s only one kind. They’re from the royal tree.” “WHAT?” cried Rojin. “Where are you hiding them? Where? Why? Give me one!” “You were much smaller earlier,” offered Leif, timidly. There was another, much longer pause. “I know that,” said Rojin, haughtily. “I was much smaller earlier. Yes. I was in my smaller magpie form, wasn’t I? Yes.” The monstrous form at the entranceway seemed to fold itself inwards somehow as if a drawstring were being pulled, and Rojin, in the form of a little magpie, hopped pertly into the grotto. Leif, who had come forward a little bit, shrank sharply back against the wall again. “Give me another,” cried Rojin. “It wasn’t as good when my beak was big. It tasted very small. I’ll have one in my small beak instead.” They opened their small beak, demonstratively. Leif wondered whether he should place a seed directly into the beak, or whether that might be presumptuous. “Wait,” said Rojin, and rose, and grew, and in a sudden was in human form, in their cloak of black and white feathers. Their eyes were very bright and very black, just as the magpie’s had been, but were far more expressive, and regarded Leif with much curiosity and interest. Leif, for his part, was quite speechless, having never seen a demon change forms before, and having not expected such a very human looking Rojin to approach him with hand outstretched. Rojin’s face - their human-seeming face - was a remarkable one. They wore stripes of black and white facepaint, white beneath the eyes; black beneath the mouth. In their face there was a suggestion of immense pride and cruelty, but at the same time something confiding and very full of simplicity. The contrast was what struck Leif at that moment, as opposite as the black and the white feathers. The overall effect was unusually lovely, a very strange beauty – Leif opened his mouth to speak and could not think of a single word to say. “I’ll try one in this form,” said Rojin. They were standing far too close. “Please.” Wordlessly, Leif unclasped the golden locket, took out another seed and dropped it into Rojin’s open palm. The demon tossed it into their mouth at once, and crunched it rapturously. “Wow,” they said. “Wow. Wow.” “Good?” “Good. Very good. Yes. The raiment, the gifting. So far, very much.” Not knowing quite what to say to this, but observing that he did not appear to be under any immediate threat from the demon, Leif said – “about that trade…” “There are more seeds?” said Rojin. “Yes, of course.” “More seeds for me?” “Well,” faltered Leif, “If… if…” “You are good,” said Rojin, nicely. “You are very nice.” “Th -thank you,” said Prince Leif. “Do you suppose,” said Rojin, “that I could have another seed?” “Could I have a divine relic in exchange?” said Leif, bravely. Rojin parsed this for a moment, then leaned in without any hesitation whatsoever and kissed him. It was a keen, thoughtless, fleeting kiss - and it was the first time that anyone had ever kissed the crown prince Leif Berranek, although he was almost twenty eight years old. “Ah,” said Leif. Rojiin looked pleased. They looked at his dogskin gloves, and his patched boots, his glowing armour, his golden locket and his sparkling crown. They looked at his wide, pale eyes and his parted lips and his wheat-coloured hair. “Would you like another?” they asked. Leif appeared to be struggling with how best to answer this question. “That’s alright,” he said at last, with some effort. He gazed at Rojin, lost for words. At first, when the demon had come up so close to him, he had become as pale as death; but now the blood had rushed back to his cheeks. “The thing is… I was actually – I was looking for items of power, you see… there may have been a misunderstanding.” “Items of power?” Rojin cocked his head to one side. “Afbrigði?” “Pardon?” “You’re talking about the calamities, aren’t you? Abrigði. Calamities. The singing swords and the burning cloaks? The little bits of talking jewellery?” “Yes!” said Leif, excitedly. “That’s them! Only, we call them Divine Relics!” “What!” Rojin rather unexpectedly burst out laughing. “You call them the same word as a kiss! How funny you humans are! Ha! Ha! Ha! A kiss, I like that!” “Oh,” said Leif, blushing again. “Well. We don’t exactly –“ “I understand,” said Rojin, serenely. “You like the calamities. You’d like some for the nest?” “The nest?” Rojin gestured around them at the grotto. Seeing Leif’s dumbfounded expression, they added hastily - “It’s not finished. It could go much higher than this. This is just for starters. Lots of room for Abrigði.” Leif gazed around, distractedly. He looked rather flustered – his blush had not disappeared yet, and he spoke quickly and self consciously. “So there are none here? Well, that’s alright. I’m on a mission, is all. It isn’t going very well so far. I’m supposed to collect them up, as many as I can -they’re dangerous, you see. I’m not surprised you call them *calamities* in your tongue! Well. I’m to send them back to the castle to be destroyed. It doesn’t matter that there aren’t any here though, after all. Hey ho! It was only a rumour. I thought that Dread Grasp might be here.” “Never heard of it,” said Rojin. “You’ve never heard of Dread Grasp? The gloves of protection?” “Never.” “What, you must have! Dread Grasp! From the song!” “Not at all! What song?” *“Grasping the heart of forgetting, Holding firm the threads of dream, Gath’ring the stems of oblivion Stitching closed the broken seam”* Leif paused, embarrassed. His voice, as clear as birdsong, rang out against the eyeglasses and the mirrors and the broken bottles. “It’s about a pair of gloves,” he said shyly, aware that Rojin was staring. “That is a human song, I think. Could I have another seed?” Leif gave them one. The demon ate it very slowly and consideringly, looking at Leif all the while with their bright dark eyes. When they had finished it, they said, “I accept.” “You do?” said Leif. Then, “accept what?” “The gift was good. Very good. I like the gifts very much. I like very much that there is an infinite supply of gifts,” said Rojin. “I liked the song very much also. Yes. The crown is precisely to my liking. I like you very much, prince.” Leif looked at the demon gravely for a moment, as if he were unsure whether he were being teased or not. But seeing that Rojin’s expression was quite as serious as his own, he suddenly broke out smiling. “Oh! I think I like you too, Rojin – you are not at all what I thought you would be. I am a great believer in destiny – I don’t know if demons believe in a thing like that, but – that is - it seems as if we were supposed to meet. I had a strange feeling when I first saw you. I almost felt as though I knew you; as if I had seen you before, in a dream perhaps.” He stopped, confused. Rojin looked at him inquisitively, but did not laugh. “And you could help me collect Divine Relics, you said? That’s the very thing I’ve set out to do!” “There are no Abrigði here,” the demon said. “But if those are what you like, I shall help you get some. Yes! In return for your song and your gifts and your raiment. And then you’ll see how powerful Rojin is! A strong bird! A builder of tall nests!” “Is that so?” murmured the Prince, a little nonsensically. “You don’t have to decide now, of course,” Rojin said hastily. “Three moons is traditional. You can wait. You can see.” “I see,” said the Prince. “And - after three moons?” Rojin placed Leif’s hand into their own and laced their fingers together, six against five. “We can marry!”
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Fool's Errand: Part 1Quetzelcoatlia# Fool’s Errand ## Part 1 The Eastern Island of the Order of Protection, in the Year of Our Lady Selnol the Ragged, day the fourth in the season of Icewhile. Dawn had not yet broken, but a pale light was rising to lap at the brink of morning, and the stars were fading one by one. A single magpie could be seen in the blanching sky. Against the grey half-light, the black and white feathers seem incongruously vibrant. The bird seemed to tear a path through the paper of the sky, leaving fleeting, wing-shaped impressions of something on the other side that was by turns pure black, pure white. This island was ceaseless and horizonless; devoid of hills or mountains. One could travel across its entire breadth and length without walking up or down any sort of incline whatsoever, which was why travellers called it the *flatlands*, or by its ancient name, *The Levelle*. The oldest stories about The Levelle spoke of a great demon who rolled the land out flat with his rolling pin and baked bread upon it, the crumbs of which became the first stars. These stories were not well remembered any more by the peoples of this land, and many had been forgotten entirely, along with the ancient songs, although the demons and wildfolk still knew them by heart. In these days, the rulers of the Order of Protection placed a great deal of emphasis on peace and stability, and so the people of the Order of Protection did too. They worshipped the God Mooth, the great orator, and considered themselves to be accordingly blessed in the gifts of speech and diplomacy. By the year of Our Lady Antzuma, the Levelle was a nation of stability, well esteemed for its skills in peacekeeping and reconciliation, with ambassadors and advisors well established in almost all corners of the world. When the fourth day of winter finally broke, the morning light spilled out from its bowl in the sky and eventually touched a wild corner of the island, far from the royal castle, where the young crown prince Leif Berranek was journeying. His hair, when the light touched it, was as pale as boneflower; his eyes reflected perfectly the grey weight of the dawn sky and seemed to hold no colour of their own at all. They were bright with that peculiar, luminous quality that is often seen in the eyes of sleepwalkers or people who are not quite well – pensive and dreaming by turns, gazing at nothing and everything. Now his face was quite calm and composed, although his eyes glimmered with the unsteady quality of starlight. Although his complexion and bearing were princely in the highest degree, his dress was somewhat peculiar. He wore the garb of a hunter, though rather badly. His plain hide armour had an enchantment on it that had either been diluted to start with or had faded with age: it glowed queasily in the gloom with its own faint, greenish light. It seemed too large for his slim frame, and as he stood to stretch and gather up his bedroll it was evident that he was clumsy beneath the weight of it, and moved awkwardly. His boots and gloves were dogskin, and at his side hung an unadorned silver sword with the symbol of the Order of Protection at the pommel. Then, alongside these unremarkable – some might even say *unprincely* - articles of equipment, he wore an ostentatious filigree crown worked delicately out of real lumin, and dripping with diamonds. The prince’s initials, LB, had been picked out in opals at the front, so there could really be no question of his identity, even though a glance at his features was sufficient to mark him out as a son of Queen Berranek. This crown sat like a beacon on the young prince’s head, glittering his family connections out into the world for all to see. Inexplicably, it held no powers or enchantments whatsoever - neither could it be of any use as an actual helmet, being as delicate and light as a sugar decoration on a wedding cake. This was certainly a strange state of affairs, given the dangers of the wild territory that the Prince found himself in, which was home to more demons than humans, and was far from the protection of the castle. It was difficult to fathom but Prince Leif himself appeared unperturbed, and stood gazing westwards towards Wuulwemul with a mild, thoughtful expression as the sun rose. He was not far now from the Mirror Grotto - the lair of the demon Rojin and the great store of treasure that it hoarded there. Among the riches, fiercely guarded, were rumoured to be a number of Divine Relics – the name given in that land to items bestowed with rare and mysterious power. The Prince himself, it should be mentioned, was in possession of one such Divine Relic, which had been bequeathed to him by the Queen Antova on the day he came of age. It was an Amulet of Protection; a golden locket in the shape of two cupped hands hanging on a golden chain around Leif’s neck. This amulet, contrary to its name, did not afford the young Prince any form of protection at all, but was blessed with the curious trick of being able to magic into existence an endless supply of seeds of the royal tree of the Order of Protection. The existence of this Divine Relic and its possession by the royal family of the Order of Protection perhaps explained the family’s ancient pledge to *shade the land and feed the people*, which the holding of this relic neatly fulfilled. Prince Leif unclasped the locket now, and although the amulet would not have rattled had it been shaken, a small reddish brown nut now sat in the hollow of the golden hands. He stooped to plant it in the soil at his feet. Royal pledge fulfilled, the Prince straightened to gather his knapsack, and saw the magpie. It was perched on a low branch of a nearby lanya tree, and although it had been assiduously wiping its beak on a cluster of leaves before, it now stopped as if embarrassed, and, turning its head aside, looked narrowly at the Prince with one bright berry-black eye. “Good morning, master magpie!” said Leif, mostly to himself. It was considered good luck on the island to greet a magpie when you saw one – this was an old folk tradition, the origins of which had been lost to time. The magpie ignored him. It was looking at his crown now. It turned its head to the other side in order to assess the sparkling edifice more properly with its right eye, and then cocked its head again to inspect it with the left. It craned its neck to get a better view. It leaned forward on its branch and *stared*, its beak slightly open and its eyes bright with diamonds, until Leif broke out laughing. This startled the bird briefly into flight – its wingbeat, stammering, tattooed the air between them with bands of black and white which resolved when the bird landed in the velvet shade of the lanya tree’s upper branches. “Sorry,” Leif said, still half laughing. “Aren’t you beautiful! What would you like?” The magpie peered down at him. “Would you like something to eat? Here, have this! And keep me from bad luck, won’t you?” Smiling, he took a second nut from the little golden amulet and tossed it to the ground beneath the tree. The sun was high enough now to travel by; he would easily reach the Grotto by evening. There was treasure to be retrieved and a powerful guardian to be reckoned with - and if the demon Rojin was as fierce as the stories suggested then Leif would need all the good luck he could get. If the thought of this coming battle troubled him at all, it did not show. The young Crown Prince, as he wandered westwards, could be heard singing a hymn under his breath – his eyes were the colour of the wide sky, his expression mild and far-off, as if he were remembering a place from his childhood as he sang. *Veil thee with many veils,* *It hideth not your fire* *But rouseth thee to bright desire* *To speak thy sacred tales.* A faint clapping of wings could be heard. Back at the lanya tree, the magpie flew to the ground in a zoetropic stutter of black and white, and somewhere between the sky and the earth it found a new shape and became something else. The pale sun continued to rise; the air was quite still and cold. In the deep shade at the foot of the tree stood now the demon Rojin, dressed in a cloak of dark and pale feathers. They stooped briefly, and when they rose they held between their thumb and forefinger a nut of the royal tree of the Order of Protection. They held it up to their black eyes and examined it closely. They looked at the retreating shape of the Prince in the distance, and smiled hungrily, showing all of their teeth.