King of the Woodlands

Chapter 4

Lilibeth awoke in a stuffy room, her quilt-draped bed squished next to a round window. Watery sunlight trickled through the window, illuminating the little bears and hearts stitched onto the quilt.

Aithne walked in, wearing a dark grape-colored cotton dress. "Slept well, my darling?"

Lilibeth nodded. It was a lie. She'd cried herself to sleep, trying to pull herself together but failing.

"What would you like for breakfast?"

Lilibeth opened her mouth to say biscuits and tea, but there were so many things she wanted. There was a sweet they served in the desert empire of Mourrad, little cakes heated in palm oil and stuffed with sunflower seeds. Not to mention that there were so much more foods she wanted to try but couldn't.

She shrugged. "I don't care."

Aithne pressed her lips together. "You don't have to do this, poppet. It's a dangerous journey that not even storybook heroes can undertake."

"I'm not leaving Father there to face that dragon alone."

The witch hissed. "The Woodland King. He is no 'dragon'. Call him by his title."

"I don't care."

"Are you usually this foolish?"

"Are you usually this chatty?"

"Only when I have guests," the witch said, winking. "Now come, girl. I'll make you something tasty to eat."

Lilibeth trudged out of bed. When she arrived in the main room, most of the clutter was gone from the oak table except for a few sprigs of dried lavender and the pale yellow tin of lemon peel and white chocolate biscuits. (My, how they tasted good!)

Aithne arranged a handful of minted strawberries and garden daisies on a plate, setting the plate before Lilibeth. "Eat them," she said, "and change into your clothes from yesterday. I washed them for you." She held up Lilibeth's shell-pink gossamer gown and cloak.

Lilibeth ate like she hadn't eaten in months, quickly changing into her soft, clean clothes. Aithne rummaged through the piles of junk on the table—a white doily pumpkin, a midnight-colored plate painted with gardenias, and finally pulled out a rolled up parchment map.

"Here we go, poppet," the witch said, stretching the map out on a table. It was a map of Llewellenar, top to bottom. Lilibeth had never cared for maps (in her opinion, cartography was boring), but this one was oddly fascinating. She could see Hyrangrath, the City of Dreams, nestled right in the center, where the King and Queen lived. The Woodland King's lair was a crumbling, dark cave, nestled near the outskirts of Llewellenar.

"We are here," Aithne said, pointing with one speckled, wrinkled finger to a small smudge near the coastline. It wasn't too awfully far from the Woodland King's lair, but such a journey would take days or even weeks.

She traced a path with her fingers, and ink sprung up where her fingers passed, like she was writing with a quill. It had to be some sort of powerful witch magic, not a cheap magician's trick like a disappearing coin or doves from a teapot.

Aithne filled Lilibeth's satchel with strange things—snowdrops, a sprig of lavender, blackberries, pinecones, and magenta geraniums. "They'll serve as offerings to the faeries of Tuath Dur. They adore little treasures. As long as you don't call them 'payments', they'll accept your gifts."

"Thank you," Lilibeth said, accepting the satchel when it was handed to her. She'd miss Aithne quite terribly. She'd even miss her funny soap-and-salt smell. Lilibeth felt guilty for sniping at her so horribly the other day—the witch had only offered her kindness.

She opened the door and stepped out. The emerald grasses shone with morning dew, and clouds bounced across the sky like dancing sheep. The world smelled like a whole bouquet of fresh-cut honeysuckles.

"Goodbye, Aithne," Lilibeth said. She hated goodbyes. If she could, she'd walk right out and not say anything, but it felt wrong to ignore someone who'd treated her tenderly.

"I reckon you're regretting your recklessness right now," the witch said.

"I'm not sorry," Lilibeth said meaning it with her whole heart.

Aithne patted the young girl's hand. "Without rain there can never be flowers," she said. "The journey won't be easy. But be a hero. Go—and make a name for yourself."

"I will," Lilibeth said. She turned and gazed at the infinite expanse of everlasting blue sky. "I'll see you again. I promise."

And then she headed to the stables for Aheiran.

✥

The first day, I'm afraid, was rather boring, so I fell asleep while our young Lilibeth ventured through Llewellenar, through nameless hills and valleys. She cried the first night, of course, but she would not give in, not yet.

Our story picks up again on the second day of Lilibeth's journey. She was sure that her legs would fall off and take root into the ground and grow into great, tall sunflowers.

"Don't be dramatic," a deep, amused voice said.

"Who said that?" Lilibeth gripped the reins tighter, drinking in her surroundings. They were going up a hill on a lonely road of pale cobblestones, and there was nobody around them.

Could it have been a faerie? A goblin who delighted in tricking humans? Lilibeth began to panic, which is always the worst thing to do when a scary situation arises, in my opinion.

Well, there was one person accompanying them on the cobblestone road—a man in a floppy straw hat and a solemn black tunic, pushing a trough piled high with coal down the hill.

"You!" Lilibeth exclaimed rather dramatically. "Was that you?"

He looked at her like she'd sprouted an extra head and pushed faster.

"Silly girl," the same voice said again. "It was me."

Still, there was no one around them. Not even a whisper of wind stirred Lilibeth's hair or lifted Aheiran's mane. The man with the coal trough was long gone, a speck of black. But that meant it could've been no one other than—

"Aheiran? You talk?"

"This is Llewellenar. Of course I talk."

"Why hadn't you said something before?" Lilibeth fumed.

"It was funny watching you struggle to talk to me."

"Why must you take joy out of others' suffering?"

"It's funny. Don't you have a single grain of humor inside you?" Aheiran said, tossing back his grey mane. His hooves sparked against the cobblestones like a hammer striking a forge.

Lilibeth huffed. "Stubborn creature."

"Look who's talking."

"I'm going to have a very difficult time staying alive, it seems."