The food gods were called Juan and Kimberly Rodriguez. They were benevolent gods. At least Osa thought so. Osa was a mutt. A mid-sized dog, with a face like a lab and the brown and black coloring of a German shepherd. Her large feet suggested that she still had some growing to do. She had only been in the house of the gods a day and was still learning the way of things.
There were other animals in the house of the gods. Two guinea pigs called Ginger and Nutmeg, a scarlet macaw named Tango, and a tabby cat named Duchess.
Tango explained that he was the prophet of the gods-the only animal who could speak to them in their own tongue. He relayed their messages to the other animals.
Tango told Osa all kinds of things that first day. He explained that the guinea pigs were in charge of the sacred food chants. Whenever they sang, the gods would rain vegetables upon them.
Osa liked looking at the guinea pigs; they were cute and fluffy, fat and juicy. She wasn’t sure if she wanted to lick them affectionately or eat them. Tango explained that eating the guinea pigs would be a sin. He went on to warn her about several other sins, including overturning the sacred kitchen bin and eating from the gods’ table. Osa thought all of it sounded difficult, but agreed to try her best.
The parrot then warned her very sternly never to listen to the cat. The cat was an atheist. She did not believe that Juan and Kimberly were gods. Sometimes she acted as if they existed to serve her. She committed all kinds of sins and somehow got away with it. She would even sin in the presence of the gods, looking them right in the eyes as she knocked their water glasses off the table.
Osa found all of this difficult to process. If the gods didn’t want her to turn over the sacred kitchen bin, then why did they fill it with wonderful things? Why was the cat immune to their wrath?
That very day, she committed dozens of sins. She ate a slipper, snatched a cookie from the counter top, and even overturned the forbidden bin. The god Juan caught her in the act and made her do penance in the kennel. Luckily, Juan and Kimberly were merciful and soon she was set free and allowed to sit between them as they stared into the sacred light box that evening.
Their mercy only made her love them more.
The next day was paradise. They threw sticks for her in the yard, gave her treats, and scratched the sweet spot at the base of her tail. She became their shadow, following them all through the house. She didn’t want to let them out of her site for a minute.
Then the following day, something horrible happened. She was eating her kibbles when she heard the door slam. Her head shot up. She looked all around the kitchen. Then galloped to the front door. She listened to Juan and Kimberly’s footsteps moving away down the walk. Her heart pounded. The gods were gone.
She let out a long and mournful howl, ate the nearest shoe, then galloped around the house in circles crying: “The gods are gone! The gods are gone! They’ve abandoned us!”
She was so anxious that she knocked over the sacred bin and ate everything inside. When she was finished, she sat in the carnage, howling: “the gods are gone!”
“Who cares?” Came the voice of the cat. She was lying on her side next to her empty food dish. “They don’t care about us, why should we care about them?”
“They do care! They do!” Osa protested. “They are good gods!”
“No,” Dutchess replied. “If they were good, they would have fed me this morning. They did not.”
“Yes they did,” Osa countered. “I remember because I tried to share with you and you scratched me.”
“Lies,” the cat answered. “I am too frail for such violence. Do you see how my ribs protrude from my withering body? They do not feed me. They never have. If they don’t come back, I won’t care. I can do just fine without their warm laps and soft caresses.” She let out a long despondent sigh. “I’m better off alone.”
The dog was horrified. She needed advice. She galloped out of the kitchen and found the guinea pigs in their cage in the den.
“Fluffs! Fluffs!” The dog pleaded. “The gods have left and the cat says they’re never coming back! He says we are going to starve.”
A pink nose protruded from a wooden house in the corner. Then Ginger appeared followed by Nutmeg.
“Let us see if our sacred food chant brings them back,” Nutmeg suggested.
The guinea pigs both placed their fore-paws on their food dish and lifted their heads in song. But no matter how they wheeked, the gods did not appear and food was not added to their bowl.
“Well,” Ginger said after a moment. “The cat’s right. We are all going to starve.”
Osa went into a fit. She tore a corner of the rug to pieces and then ate a throw pillow. What did it matter if she sinned against the gods? All was lost!
Then, she remembered the parrot. He alone could understand their speech, maybe he knew something the others didn’t.
Tango stood on his perch in the dining room, looking suspiciously into the magic portal. The magic portal was an oval shaped window that dangled on the wall right next to his branch. It was framed by a cheap yellow piece of plastic. Strings, beads, and jingle bells dangled from the frame. Another bird looked out of the magic portal at Tango. The other bird was identical. He mimicked Tango’s every move. Tango turned his head sideways and regarded the duplicate with one suspicious eye.
Osa barreled into the room accidentally overshooting the perch. She stopped running all at once and skidded several paces across the wood floor.
“Tango!” The dog exclaimed.
“Have I warned you about this infidel yet?” The parrot interrupted, his eye still set upon the bird in the magic portal.
“Tango, the gods–”
“He may look like me,” Tango interrupted. “He may speak like me, but he is a false prophet. He is full of lies and deception.”
Osa did not hesitate. She leapt up, grabbing the magic portal in her teeth and ripped it from the wall. It fell to the ground, shiny side down, and the false prophet was gone.
Tango stumbled backward in alarm, his wings extended.
“You have killed the false prophet!” Tango exclaimed. “I knew the gods brought you here for a reason!”
“But Tango, the gods are gone! The cat said they are never coming back!”
“I told you not to listen to the cat,” the bird replied. “Yes, the gods are gone, but they will return.”
“How do you know!” Osa whined.
“Because the god Juan gave me this message before departing.” The parrot fluffed his head up as he translated Juan’s words from English to Doggish. “Bye bye, Tango. Gotta go to work.”
“What does it mean?” Osa asked.
“Work is the realm of the gods,” Tango explained. “They ascend to Work five days each week leaving after breakfast and returning before dinner. Then for two days, they stay home. Five and two and five and two, the pattern repeats.”
“Why?” Osa asked.
“The gods’ ways are mysterious,” Tango answered.
Osa didn’t feel like that was an answer at all. Then she realized to her horror that the gods would come back and see all the sins she had committed. What would happen then? Would they want her to stay? Would they smite her? Would they send her back to Shelter? She did not want to go back to Shelter. Shelter was loud, and cold, and lonely.
Maybe, if she begged their forgiveness they would be merciful to her again. After all, despite what the cat said, they seemed like good gods.
When they returned, she was standing among the wreckage in the kitchen looking up at them with sorrowful brown eyes. She tried to wag her tail, but she could see they were upset and her tail could only make one half-hearted thump. She spent some time doing penance in the kennel while they put things back in order. Then, to her delight, they released her.
They rubbed her ears, and said nice things. She didn’t understand them, but their voices made her feel warm and happy. They let her sit between them while they stared into the sacred light box that evening.
She heard them talking to each other and wondered what they were saying. As if reading her mind, Tango flew down onto the back of the couch and said: “You have found favor with the gods. They are rewarding you for killing the false prophet by sending you to a place called Obedience School.”
Osa wagged her tail happily. She didn’t care what the cat said. She liked these gods and wanted them to stay.
“So… are you like the queen now or… what?” Zoe asked.
Philothea was sitting in her father’s hall eating a breakfast large enough to feed a small village. It consisted of eggs and toast and bacon and lots and lots of grapes. Some of these grapes were, to Zoe’s amazement, yellow. Incidentally, Pouli looked at least three sizes fatter than the day before.
The battle had stretched her body, mind, and powers to the limit; she didn’t think any amount of food would ever fill her up again.
Raven was sitting next to Zoe, stroking Fae’s feathers.
Philothea shook her head aggressively. “No, my mother is the queen.”
“That’s right,” Raven agreed. “Philothea is the Empress Supreme.”
“Well, I’m still older,” Zoe remarked.
Philothea glared at them and, despite her annoyance, giggled.
“I should probably write to my dad,” Zoe commented. “And tell him I’m alive and stuff.”
“My parents already sent a message to Keeper Ruth,” Philothea said. “I’m sure she’ll tell your dad we’re alright.” She felt a lump in her throat thinking of the last time she saw the Keepers who raised her. “I hope they’realright,” she added.
“They’re fine,” Zoe remarked. “Keeper Ruth is indestructible. She’s been alive at least seven hundred years; do you really think Zeno could have taken her out?”
That comment sent Philothea into a fit of hysteria. Yet, it also made her heart sink just a little. Her whole life she had wanted nothing more than to find her family. Now that she had… was she losing the family who raised her?
She chomped down on her lip. No. She was not. They would always be her family whether in the same home or on the other side of the world. Zoe especially would always be her older sister no matter what happened.
“Zoe?” Philothea said. “You know, if you want, maybe we can send for your dad, and you can both live here.”
Zoe drummed her fingers on the table thoughtfully.
“The thing is…” Zoe began. “Now that you’re all settled down and whatnot… I was thinking of becoming a Keeper.”
“You?” Raven scoffed, raising an eyebrow.
“What?” Zoe questioned.
“You don’t strike me as particularly devout,” Raven remarked.
Philothea had the same thought. Yes, Zoe lived with the Keepers all her life, but she’d always been a sort of stoic rebel.
Zoe answered Raven with a shrug. “It’s fine. They can always kick me out if I don’t meet their piety requirements or whatever.”
“And then what?” Raven pressed.
“I’ll move in with you,” Zoe answered.
Raven leaned back, lit her pipe, and replied: “I will stab you in the face.”
Philothea detected a hint of amusement in Zoe’s eyes.
“You know, Raven,” Philothea said. “I still have a lot to learn, and I was hoping… that maybe you would stay here and teach me.”
“There are fae more powerful than me,” Raven answered. “And you have your mother back now.”
“I know,” Philothea answered. “And she’ll teach me too, but I really need an unbiased teacher.”
“I am extremely biased,” Raven remarked. “Biased against everyone.”
“Perfect!” Philothea giggled. “You’ll offset my mother’s favoritism.”
Raven smirked and stuck her tongue in her cheek as she considered the offer.
“I’d be so far away from my family…” she mumbled. “…Yes. I’m definitely in.”
Philothea rolled her eyes. She was doing it again—pretending to be a self-interested recluse who hated everyone.
Philothea wasn’t even going to try and correct her this time. Her hope was that maybe the Holy Creator was working in Raven’s heart in some way Philothea couldn’t understand. Zoe’s sudden career choice was evidence He’d already been at work unseen.
She giggled a little as the unpleasant thought of her elder brother came to mind. She hoped and prayed that the Holy Creator would set to work on him too. After all, if He could make a giggly-girl into a war hero, surely he could soften the heart of a tyrant.
Whatever You’re doing, Philothea sighed in her heart. Please keep doing it.
Afterword
Pouli and Fae did indeed get married, and soon thereafter Fae laid three eggs. The first chick grew up into a slightly smaller version of its mother. This, of course, was the world’s very first crow.
Their second child was closer to Pouli’s size but had a yellow ring around each beady black eye. When it wasn’t mimicking human speech, it made a sound like a rubber duck. This, of course, was the world’s very first jackdaw.
The last chick favored his father but had a longer tail and no stars. This was the world’s very first grackle.
So, thanks to the union of Pouli and Fae, the world was filled with all kinds of black feathery vermin. They multiplied and spread to every corner of the globe. Farmers loathed them, and no picnicker was ever free from their watchful eyes.
Pouli was a very good father and wrote many songs to teach his children essential life skills. One of his favorites went like this:
Dodging watchful human eyes,
Is the way to claim your prize!
People food is yummy sweet,
And if you’re fast, you too can eat!
As time went on, his descendants developed variants. Today, the most common version goes something like this:
Dodging watchful human eyes,
Is the way to steal their fries!
Grab them off the asphalt, yum!
Devour every tasty crumb!
Thanks for reading The Laughing Empress! If you enjoyed this book, please like, subscribe, and/or shoot me an email at Katysfables@gmail.com
Philothea was so weak and exhausted that she wanted nothing more than to curl up right there on the scorched earth and sleep forever. But the moment she had finished with Zeno, Avis took her by the arm.
“Quickly, with me,” he ordered. “There’s one more thing you need to do.”
The next thing that she knew, she was standing with him in the middle of an open hillside. A starry sky sparkled above her, illuminating the open sloping hills. All around her, fae warriors appeared, having transported themselves from Cyrus’s battlefield to this place, wherever it was.
“Where-what?” Philothea muttered. She was trying to ask both where they were and what they were doing, but the questions got tangled up in her weary mouth.
Avis looked at her with sympathy and touched her forehead, willing her strength to return. She felt only slightly improved by his action, but appreciated the effort.
“We are going to go get your mother,” Avis explained. “Then you can both go home together.”
Philothea nodded vigorously. Avis pointed up the hill toward the lights of a castle in the distance. It must have been Zeno’s palace. In the dark, she couldn’t see it well. Even so, she could tell it was a colossal structure, dwarfing her father’s palace twice over.
As they started for it, Philothea looked at her grandfather, the king who loathed half-fae. The king who only very recently had tried to have her killed.
“Why did you help us?” she asked.
An affectionate smile touched the king’s lips. “Because if I must live in fear of a god, I’d rather it be you, Philothea.”
They continued in silence for a while. When they were just outside the gates, Philothea asked, “What do you need me to do?”
“Just walk with us,” her grandfather answered. “And protect us if we need it.”
The drawbridge began to open as they approached.
The fae king put a hand on his sword hilt, bracing for an attack, but the only thing that came forth from the darkness was a cheery melody:
Zeno isn’t home today,
He has gone and run away,
Gone to hide in mountains grim,
For fear of what we’ll do to him!
A little black something shot through the gate and landed on Philothea’s head.
“Go to sleep!” he ordered.
“Pouli!” Philothea cried.
“I am a good boy. I found Katina. I found your mommy. I will get a grape!”
“Where is she, Pouli?” The fae king demanded.
Pouli shot back through the drawbridge. “This way!”
Philothea, the king, and his men entered the bailey. Then, the fae king had the army divide up; some came with him and followed Pouli while the others went to secure the rest of the palace. Subduing the few guards they encountered wasn’t any trouble under Philothea’s protection.
Pouli led them up a spiral staircase. The passage was narrow so that the company was forced to go up two at a time with Philothea and her grandfather in the lead.
When they came to the top, they found Pouli perched on the handle of a thick wooden door.
“Philly-thea must open!” Pouli chirped. “Fae magic won’t do, won’t do! Thea must blow it to splinters!”
The fae king placed a hand on the wood and stood silently for a moment, trying to sense the magic that held it closed.
“Yes, this is it,” Avis confirmed. “And you must open it, Philothea. Zeno couldn’t contain your mother in a prison fae magic alone could open.”
Philothea stepped around him and grasped the handle. She could feel the gentle hum of magic flow up through her arm. The fae warriors behind them on the stairs must have remembered what happened the last time they encountered her because they started backing away to a safe distance.
However, their fear was ill-founded. To Philothea, it felt like a hundred years ago that she was running around her grandfather’s castle blowing holes in buildings. The locking magic gently gave way beneath the gentle force of her will. She pulled the door open and stood aside to let her grandfather pass.
She proceeded cautiously behind him, drinking in her surroundings. The place seemed like a labyrinth of book stacks. For a moment, Philothea wondered if there was any furniture in the room under the towers of discarded reading material.
Zeno was a good son. Well, not really; locking up your mother is not exactly good behavior, but at least he wasn’t keeping her in a dungeon.
From the bed, a woman gasped and sat up, startled awake by the intruders. She looked at the fae king with wide blue eyes.
Avis knelt by the bed and threw his arms around her.
“You’re free,” he breathed. “Everything is alright now. The prophecy has been fulfilled.”
She pulled backward out of his arms and regarded him with panic in her eyes.
“Zeno?” she pleaded. “Where is he?”
“Imprisoned,” her father answered. “Powerless.”
She looked at him questioningly, thinking. A hint of resentment shone in the look she gave him.
“He’s alive?” she asked, incredulously.
“He is,” her father answered. “I promise.”
Relief swept the fear and resentment from her expression. She buried her face in her hands as tears rolled down her cheeks. Then she laughed through her sobs.
Philothea stiffened a little because she had heard that laugh before. When it came from her, it expressed an avalanche of emotions–sometimes joy, sometimes sadness, sometimes anger, sometimes she didn’t know what.
“Your daughter,” the king continued, glancing over his shoulder at Philothea. “Fulfilled the prophecy without harming him in the slightest. I don’t think she could harm a soul if she tried.”
Whatever it was her mother was feeling, Philothea realized she was feeling exactly the same way because she laughed too.
Her mother looked up from her hands, tensing. Clearly she was sharing the same surreal experience of hearing the sound of her own laugh come from someone else’s mouth.
She leapt out of bed and ran to Philothea. Without so much as an introduction, she threw her arms around her.
“You’re safe,” she sobbed, soaking Philothea’s shoulder with her tears. “You’re safe.”
Tears and laughter shook them both as they embraced. There, in her mother’s arms, Philothea finally felt like she belonged.
She had helped Philothea into a mail shirt and was now pinching the excess material together around the neck to tighten the collar.
Cyrus’s army was assembled just outside the city gates, waiting for his order to go out and meet Zeno’s forces. At the very last minute, Raven decided that Philothea needed a little extra protection in case someone should try to sneak up behind her and stab her in the back while she was distracted protecting her father’s army.
“I need a pin,” Raven mumbled.
Zoe raised an eyebrow. “…for chainmail?”
“I’ll be right back,” Raven informed, before rushing out the door.
Zoe stared after her for a long moment. “I think she’s going to be jealous when we get your mother back.”
Philothea didn’t make any kind of reply. Not a whimper, not a giggle, nothing.
“You okay?” Zoe asked.
Philothea hardly heard her; she just stared off into space, her hands trembling, her heart hammering in her chest.
Zoe gripped her hand. “It’s going to be alright, you know. The prophecy is on your side.”
Philothea’s eyes widened. She opened her mouth and choked. How could she explain to Zoe that that made things so much worse?
The prophecy did indeed make it seem like she was going to survive this, but it didn’t say anything about the people who were fighting with her.
“What if I can’t protect everyone?” Philothea mumbled. “If anyone dies tonight, it will be all my fault.”
“Zeno’s,” Zoe corrected with a shake of her head. “He’s the one actually trying to kill people.”
“Zoe…” Philothea squeaked. “The most powerful person on our side is me. Doesn’t that terrify you?”
“The Creator is the most powerful person on our side,” Zoe stated.
“You’re right,” Philothea blushed, now feeling silly. “So I don’t have to be afraid, but–”
“Well, you kind of do.” Zoe shrugged. “I mean, considering most of the Creator’s prophets ended up murdered.”
“Zoe!” Philothea squeaked.
“But, even when they died, they still won, you know?” Zoe continued, “Because they were taken into the Creator’s garden.”
“I don’t want anyone taken there!” Philothea squeaked, then, seeing Zoe’s slightly raised eyebrow, she added. “I mean, I want everyone there eventually, just not today.”
Philothea slumped down and buried her face in her hands. She understood what Zoe meant. Whether they all died today or sixty years from now didn’t make much difference in the grand scheme of things. The Holy Creator would win ultimately, and today His will would be done. Still, that knowledge did nothing to make her feel better about the impending fight.
Tears welled up in her eyes and poured down her cheeks. “Why can’t I hear Him anymore?”
“Who?” Zoe asked, sitting down beside her.
“Holy Creator,” Philothea continued. “Before I found my mother’s ring, I used to feel His presence everywhere I went; I could… almost hear Him sometimes when I prayed. But ever since I discovered my powers, I’ve felt Him less and less. I need Him now more than ever… Where is He?”
That’s when Zoe did something extraordinarily unZoe-like. She crushed Philothea to her chest in a hug.
While Philothea was still recovering from her shock, Zoe said, “Can you see me?”
“No!” Philothea complained. “You’re crushing me!”
“Well, I am closer to you now than I’ve ever been,” Zoe remarked. “And I think the Holy Creator is too.”
Her demonstration complete, Zoe released her friend. In response, Philothea lunged forward and attacked Zoe with a hug of her own.
“You don’t have to come,” Philothea insisted. Per her promise, she was not going to transport Zoe away from danger against her will. Yet, Zoe was hardly a warrior. Philothea had no idea how she planned on contributing to the battle.
As if reading her mind, Zoe said, “I’ll come. I’ll stand with you, and I’ll pray.”
Behind Philothea, in the distance, the lights of her father’s castle glimmered in the darkness. She stood on a ridge overlooking the battlefield where her father’s army was assembled. Beyond this, flowing slowly toward them was a sea of enemy soldiers. They marched forward like a slow tidal wave, ready to swallow up everyone Philothea loved.
She breathed deeply, using the memory of the plan to calm herself. Her goal was to freeze the enemy, directing all her power toward holding them at bay. Then, per her orders, her father’s men would rush forward and disarm them.
Zeno would most likely respond by attacking her directly. To counter this, her father had a row of archers lined up on the ridge behind her. Even the mighty Emperor Zeno couldn’t both kill Philothea and fend off Cyrus’s attacks at the same time. By the time he finished taking out the archers, his soldiers would be disarmed and helpless. Then, Philothea could direct her protecting power to her father’s men, allowing them to capture Zeno unharmed.
It sounded simple, straightforward, easy. Yet, looking out at the approaching forces made Philothea aware of several complications–first, her brother’s army was at least twice the size of her father’s. Second, Zeno had a number of fae warriors at his command, and Cyrus had only Raven.
Given that she was the only other magic wielder on their side, Raven was tasked with protecting Philothea.
Several days prior, Raven had sent a message to King Avis, hoping she could convince him to fight for his granddaughter. After all, it was perfectly clear that he disliked Philothea least of his two half-fae grandchildren. Yet, the battle was now upon them, and they had received no response.
Philothea had come a long way since she was almost killed by her grandfather’s guards. She was stronger now than ever, yet as she looked out at Zeno’s fae warriors, she wondered if she would be able to withstand so much magic.
What they needed was a miracle. Apparently, Zoe had decided that requesting miracles was her department. She stood on Philothea’s right, armed with nothing except the little multipurpose knife she always wore on her belt.
She had been offered arms, of course, but refused every time.
As they stood watching Zeno’s army move closer, Raven decided to give Zoe one last chance to protect herself. She looked around Philothea at their stoic friend and said,
“Are you sure you don’t want a dagger?”
“I wouldn’t know how to use it,” Zoe replied. “I’m here for prayer. Prayer and…” She squeezed Philothea’s hand. “Emotional support.”
“Prayer can’t stab people in the face,” Raven grumbled.
“What is it with you and stabbing people?” Zoe remarked.
“It’s kind of the point of a battle.” Raven shrugged.
“Um, the point of a battle is victory,” Zoe stated. “Prayer is great for that.”
Raven rolled her eyes and mumbled. “I wouldn’t know.”
Philothea hoped to the depths of her soul that her two friends would still be around to bicker with each other in the morning. The desire to protect her people burned in her soul stronger than anything she’d ever felt. But was that desire enough? Was her will strong enough to withstand Zeno’s?
In all of Philothea’s life, she had never felt so small.
Zoe must have read her thoughts because she squeezed Philothea’s hand even harder.
“You aren’t doing this alone,” she promised.
Those simple, monotone words gave Philothea a peculiar feeling. For while they came from Zoe’s lips, something told her it was the Holy Creator who spoke them.
It brought to her heart warmth and peace. No, she wasn’t alone. None of them were.
She prayed for strength and courage as Zeno’s army suddenly charged, pouring down into the valley like water rushing over rock.
Philothea watched, letting them approach her father’s side. Closer, closer, they rushed while Cyrus’s men stood their ground waiting. Just before the collision Philothea raised both hands and willed the advancing army to stop. The rush of men froze mid-stride.
Cyrus’s army recognized their queue, charged through the enemy line, and set to work ripping the weapons from each frozen soldier.
So far, so good. Philothea felt slightly relieved as she watched the men below working away as planned. But this relief was short-lived. A deep red glow bloomed across the horizon beyond the frozen enemy, and as it spread across the sky, a black figure rose up from somewhere in the distance and remained hovering in the air–a silhouette against a blood-red sky.
In that very same moment, Philothea felt an all too familiar tightening on her chest and neck. Zeno must have known that his only hope of victory was taking out Philothea while her power was directed toward holding his army at bay.
She tried to direct some of her magic inward, to defend herself against the pressure on her chest, but the moment she did, her grip on Zeno’s soldiers slipped. A few broke free from her magical grasp and began fighting with her father’s soldiers.
From her left, she heard King Cyrus ordering his archers to fire on Zeno.
At once, a cloud of arrows shot through the air toward the silhouetted figure. The tension lifted from Philothea’s chest as her brother directed his magic toward the hail.
The archers were keeping Zeno busy, all according to plan. It was working. It couldn’t really be this easy, could it?
That question was answered in short order when Zeno swirled in the air, directing the wind around himself. The arrows whipped around their target, and then Zeno, with a thrust of his hand, rained them down toward the armies below.
All this happened in an instant. Instinctively, Philothea released her grip on Zeno’s forces so she could create a shield of protection over the field. The arrows bounced harmlessly off this.
“Is he trying to kill his own men?” Cyrus cried.
“Don’t think he’s that picky,” Raven replied. “As long as he takes out yours at the same time.”
With the arrows deflected, Philothea froze Zeno’s army once again. The tightening on her chest resumed, stronger this time. Zeno was putting the full force of his magic into breaking her.
Raven drew a ball of fire from the air and hurtled it toward Zeno.
“Keep fighting, little one,” Raven encouraged as she hurtled a second fireball. “I’ve got you.”
And as Philothea held Zeno’s army at bay, Raven continued throwing fireballs. Zeno attempted to redirect these, but his action dissipated the flames into the air. Frustrated, he thrust both of his palms down toward the battlefield.
Philothea sensed an attack coming and released his army once again to create a shield of protection. Not a moment too soon, a blaze of fire shot from his palms, colliding with her invisible shield.
Sweat dripped from Philothea’s forehead, and she struggled to hold the barrier intact against the roaring flames. As Zeno continued shooting fire, he began barking orders to his men that Philothea couldn’t make out.
The crushing pressure on Philothea’s chest resumed, but this time it wasn’t Zeno causing it. He was still focused on simultaneously dodging Raven’s projectiles and maintaining his own cascade of flame.
Where was it coming from?
It occurred to her that many of the warriors now loose within her shield were Zeno’s fae.
He must have been ordering them to direct their magic toward her, even while he sent a hail of fire downward on the intermingled armies.
If she refroze the fae warriors, her shield would break, and everyone on the battlefield would be incinerated by Zeno. Yet if she didn’t refreeze them, they would use their powers to kill her, and the battle would be lost.
“Come!” Cyrus called to his archers. “We need to take out the fae.”
A portion of the archers broke off and followed their king into the valley.
“Just hold that shield, little one,” Raven ordered as she sent another ball of flame sailing into the air. “We’ll take care of everything else.”
Philothea focused and prayed. The crushing increased on her chest. Her arms burned, and her chest ached as she fought against the fae magic to hold her shield in place. Philothea’s body trembled; she thought she was going to snap in two.
Shouting, noise, and chaos erupted from the valley below as her father and his archers met with Zeno’s warriors. The crushing continued, growing stronger, tighter. Philothea gasped and then, for a moment, everything went black.
The next thing Philothea knew, she was lying on the ground staring up at the stars. Raven and Zoe were kneeling on either side of her. Raven had her hands pressed against Philothea’s chest as she tried to counter the force of the enemy fae with her own magic.
“Come on, Philothea,” Zoe encouraged. “Get up. We need you.”
Philothea struggled to her feet; her body felt so heavy as the enemy magic pressed in on her. Yet she resisted, and with Raven’s help she was able to fight her way back toward the ridge.
Part of the battlefield below her was scorched, and the rest was a shouting, clashing cluster of fighting men. She couldn’t have been down for more than a second or two, because Zeno was in the same position where she had left him, though he had ceased his hail of fire.
Philothea’s arms were like lead as she forced them upward.
She knew she couldn’t fight for long. If Raven was helping her resist the fae magic, she wasn’t hurtling fire at Zeno. They were all finished, yet… Philothea had to try. Even if it was all in vain, she was going to fight to protect her people until the very end.
Some of Zeno’s men froze under Philothea’s magic, but in her weakening state she couldn’t hold them all. Now, Zeno was flying toward her, carelessly dodging the arrows Philothea’s guards sent in his direction.
He was ready to kill all of her guards and then cut her down with his own hands.
As he drew closer, Philothea observed his calm, relaxed expression. Yet, behind that facade, a fury burned in his eyes. He was winning, yet he hated the challenge. Had anything ever challenged him before?
Suddenly, Zeno froze, his eyes widened in alarm. He brought his hand up to his throat and seemed to gasp for breath.
The tension on Philothea’s chest broke, and she gulped in sweet air as the weight lifted from her shoulders.
“Ho, ho, ho,” laughed a familiar voice from somewhere in the sky above Philothea.
A great, black bird circled downward from the heavens and landed on Raven’s arm. “Ho, ho, ho,” Fae laughed. “I brought the fae king. I am a good girl. Ho, ho, ho.”
“Ah! You got my message!” Raven grinned at someone behind Philothea.
Philothea dared not turn around lest her grip on Zeno’s army slip.
She jumped as a thin, bony hand rested on her shoulder.
“Fight, Philothea,” came King Avis’s voice from over her shoulder. “We’re here now. He’s finished.”
Looking down into the valley, Philothea noticed fae warriors materializing among the armies. As each one appeared, he extended a hand toward the emperor.
Zeno began to sink down toward the ground as he struggled against their combined magic.
Philothea sent a pleading glance toward her grandfather. “Don’t kill him.”
Avis shot her a sympathetic glance. “We don’t have a choice.”
“He’s my brother,” Philothea pleaded. “I-I can contain him.”
Avis made no reply. He turned his attention back toward the fae army.
Philothea glanced back down. Cyrus’s army, combined with Avis’s forces, had Zeno’s men outnumbered and disarmed. Philothea released her grip on the enemy. With their weapons gone and their leader now on the ground struggling for breath, they fled, causing Philothea’s side to erupt into victorious cheers.
Philothea gripped her grandfather’s arm. “We have him now, let him breathe; I’ll contain him.”
“I’m sorry,” Avis replied. “I can’t let him hurt anyone else.”
“He won’t,” Philothea argued. “My mother suppressed my magic when I was a baby. We can do the same thing to him.”
“You were helpless,” Avis replied. “You couldn’t fight back.”
“He won’t be able to fight back against all of us,” Philothea pointed out. “We’ll put him to sleep and suppress his powers. When he wakes up, he’ll be human… basically.”
Avis stared out over the battlefield thoughtfully.
“Philothea is the most powerful person alive,” Zoe pointed out. “And you’re questioning her orders?” She thrust her hands on her hips. “I bet you never questioned Zeno.”
Avis rubbed his forehead.
“If anything goes wrong,” Avis sighed. “He must be stopped. Understand?”
Philothea nodded. “I’ll contain him. He will live to make amends to the people he’s wounded.”
Zeno lay unconscious in a circle of scorched earth. His skin was stained with the ash created by his own searing flame. All around him, scattered across the blackened soil, was debris from the recent conflict. When Zeno’s fae temporarily disabled Philothea, her barrier of magic snapped, and everyone immediately below Zeno was devoured by his fire. Metal, bone, and bits of broken weapons were visible in the charred ground.
Though weak, exhausted, and grieving those she couldn’t protect, Philothea tried to keep her focus on the task at hand. She was about to make absolutely sure that no one, no oneelse, was going to die today.
The fae army circled around the crumpled emperor, prepared to intervene if he should wake before Philothea had completed her task.
She knelt down beside her brother and looked to see if he was still wearing his seal. Once she’d suppressed his powers, this seal would act as the key to unlocking them, as her mother’s seal had done for her.
She gently rested her hand on his forehead and focused. His power was like a furious torrent that crashed through every part of his being. It was wild, untamed, and locking it away would be like trying to plug a geyser with a cork.
Still, Philothea slowly and steadily asserted her own will, driving Zeno’s magic down, down into the deepest recesses of his soul. To the human onlooker, she didn’t seem to be doing anything more than kneeling silently in the ash, staring at the fallen emperor. From her perspective, however, she was locked in a raging battle, will-to-will with a madman.
Zeno’s experience gave him the advantage even in his weakened and unconscious state, and Philothea would have fallen away defeated if Raven and Avis hadn’t sensed her distress and come to her aid.
The seal on Zeno’s finger shimmered as his power gave way beneath that of his enemies. Finally, sensing her task completed, Philothea plucked the ring from her brother’s finger and held it up triumphantly.
King Cyrus sent criers out to every corner of the village and had them read aloud the prophecy. He had it recited in his halls and fields, and everywhere a listening ear waited. And with the news of the prophecy, he proudly proclaimed his daughter’s return.
What Philothea wanted, more than anything, was to sit down with her father for a long time and talk. Unfortunately, with Zeno’s looming arrival, they were forced to give each other only brief summaries of their fifteen years apart.
They did not get a chance for a long heart-to-heart until the evening of their first full day together. At Raven’s insistence, Philothea spent every moment from dawn until dusk training with her father’s army. They staged battle after battle. Philothea stood up on the castle wall, trying to keep the two sides from clashing below. As she suspected, protecting real people was a lot harder than protecting illusions. Especially Dave, whose enthusiasm always gave him the strength to break free from the grip of Philothea’s magic and charge into enemy lines.
When sunset put an end to her trials, Philothea flopped down with her back to one of the battlements. Her father, who had been watching her practice, came and flopped down beside her directly on the walkway. The sight of the old king, sitting cross-legged with his back to a wall like a little boy, made her giggle.
“You laugh just like your mother,” he smiled.
Philothea’s smile faded as she remembered Zeno telling her exactly the same thing.
“She’ll be so proud of you,” Cyrus continued. “You’re everything we hoped you would be.”
Philothea looked at him questioningly. “Will you tell me… well, tell me everything?”
“You know some of it already,” Cyrus mentioned.
“Pretend that I don’t,” she pressed. “I want you to tell me.”
The king sighed. The sadness that always seemed to linger in his eyes deepened. He opened his mouth to speak, but a long moment passed before he could find the words he needed.
“Everything that happened to you is my fault,” he confessed. “Actually, everything that happened to Zeno and his victims is my fault.”
Philothea looked up at him, studying his kindly face, his weary, sorrowful eyes… She couldn’t imagine any of this was his fault.
“When Zeno was a boy, your mother and I were so amazed by his powers… There were rumors, legends really, about the powers of half-fae children. But we didn’t believe any of it until we had a child of our own. And then we were so proud and amazed… We hired the best teachers to develop his skills. We praised him and boasted about him constantly. We made him the very center of our world.” The king winced. “It was no wonder he decided he belonged in the center of everyone else’s.”
A sadness swelled up inside Philothea when she heard the pain in her father’s voice.
“By the time I realized what he was becoming, it was too late,” the king continued. “He left us to build his empire–your mother and I couldn’t stop him.”
He glanced sideways at her affectionately.
“When you were born, we realized you must be the girl from the prophecy. We needed to hide you so you could fulfill it, but we also wanted to be sure you wouldn’t grow up to be a tyrant yourself. While you were still a vulnerable newborn, your mother was able to use her own magic to suppress yours. Then she enchanted Pouli and sent him away to hide you among the keepers.”
Cyrus bit his lip. “The seal that Pouli gave you, your mother’s seal, was a key designed to unlock your abilities when you had grown. By then, we hoped, the Keepers would have taught you what we failed to teach Zeno: that you are not God.”
Philothea felt a lump in her throat. The missing pieces of her story were falling into place, which brought her a strange combination of relief and sadness.
“Of course, Zeno was furious when he found you missing,” Cyrus sighed. “He took your mother away, hoping she would give up your location.” The king’s gaze dropped. “Me, he left to live as a helpless puppet king.”
Philothea could feel the king’s sadness infecting her own heart. Not only had he spent the last fifteen years grieving a missing wife and daughter, but he was grieving the loss of his son. Philothea’s return had brought him some comfort, and they would rescue her mother soon enough, but what of his son? What of Zeno?
Philothea’s heart ached. Only God could rescue him.
She leaned her head on her father’s shoulder, and for a long time, they sat together looking out at the starlit sky in silence.
The second day was spent as the first. Although Philothea was exhausted and sore, she was encouraged to see her skill improving. Trapping opponents in her magic was becoming easier every minute. Dave only managed to escape once during the entire day. It made Philothea grumble to herself. When this whole affair was over, she decided she was going to give him a stern talking-to.
After dusk, Philothea’s party assembled for dinner in the great hall. Her father’s hall seated not only his courtiers but an entire flock of starlings. They sat on branches that had been attached to the walls.
She grinned as she watched the lively birds fluttering around, chattering with each other. Unfortunately, Pouli wasn’t among them because Raven had sent the little bird away with a message shortly after their arrival.
“I always thought they were horrible pests,” Cyrus explained to Philothea. “When I brought your mother here, she couldn’t believe we were trying to get rid of them. She insisted we add these branches for them and within a few weeks, she had the whole flock tamed.”
Thinking of her mother helped bring Philothea hope, even as war loomed. Her father’s stories made her feel like she knew exactly who her mother was. A strong, fun-loving, and adventurous woman. Philothea remembered the little fae Princess Keti. Her mother was probably like an older version of Keti.
“We have starlings at the Temple of Creation,” Philothea giggled. “The Keepers hate them! I didn’t know you could teach them to talk. I mean, I didn’t before I met Pouli.”
“Yeah, you can’t teach them to stop talking, though,” Zoe commented.
This made Cyrus break into a broad grin. It warmed Philothea’s heart to see his sadness driven away by a moment of levity.
Philothea opened her mouth to rebuke Zoe but stopped. She was suddenly aware of a peculiar feeling–an icy tingling on the back of her neck. She looked toward Raven, who replied with a grave little nod. She felt it too.
A chill swirled through the hall, and the doors at the far end burst open.
“Hi, Dad,” came a familiar voice.
Cyrus leapt to his feet and stood staring toward the door, his face ashen.
Philothea recognized Zeno’s silhouette in the open portal. All the occupants of the hall fell silent as he strolled in, drinking in their terrified expressions.
“Stand down, Zeno,” Cyrus ordered. Philothea noticed his hands trembling.
“Is that any way to speak to your emperor?” Zeno demanded.
“You’re not my emperor,” Cyrus replied. “You’re a tyrant, Zeno.”
His son ignored this remark and instead let his gaze fall on Philothea.
“You know why I’ve come, Dad, don’t you?”
“You will not touch her,” Cyrus answered.
Zeno’s cold eyes flickered over to his father. “Give her to me, or I will take her.”
Now it was Raven’s turn to leap to her feet.
“Try it!” she dared.
When Zeno moved his gaze to Raven, a fury flickered in his eyes.
“You stabbed me in the back,” he stated with cool detachment.
“Did I?” Raven shrugged. “Oops.”
At once, Philothea encircled Raven with an invisible shield of protection. And not a moment too soon, she felt Zeno’s magic collide with her own. It was the same spell he’d used on Raven before, the one that seemed to leave her lifeless on the grass.
She felt Zeno’s magic dissipate against her own. Raven stood within her shield of protection, grinning defiantly.
Philothea felt herself shaking and prayed for the grace to keep calm. She needed to show the people in her father’s court that she was equal to Zeno in power. That they didn’t have to be afraid of him anymore.
A flicker of frustration and confusion entered the emperor’s expression.
The room was deadly still. Relief washed over Philothea as she realized she wasn’t laughing. After all, now was probably the most inappropriate moment in the wor–
With that realization, she felt a tickling in her stomach and chomped down on her lower lip.
Help me not to laugh. Help me not to laugh. She prayed, but the harder she prayed, the more the tickling sensation grew.
Zeno, meanwhile, began spinning up a great fire. The flames leapt up and swirled around him. Philothea could feel their heat as they grew. In a moment, he launched the flames outward in all directions across the hall. They might have incinerated everyone, but Philothea countered by dissipating the flames the moment Zeno released them.
Zeno’s confused expression was too much for Philothea. She burst out laughing. Before she could mentally rebuke herself for the inappropriate outburst, the other occupants of the room, the guards and servants, started laughing with her. Raven laughed hardest of everyone–wild and triumphant.
Zeno’s calm facade began to crumble as he looked at the mocking faces of the people he tried to destroy.
“Funny boy!” one of the starlings chirped. Then all the others joined in, crying “You funny boy!” and mimicking the various laughs of the diners.
Zeno, wicked, emperor cruel,
Is nothing but a helpless fool!
One of the birds sang.
Another immediately added:
Princess sweet, she will defend,
And bring about poor Zeno’s end.
Then the starlings all started laughing and chattering and adding to the song. Everyone else in the room, the servants, courtiers, and guards, continued laughing and mocking Zeno. Daring him to try another attack.
Zeno straightened up, attempting to collect his dignity. Though the calm had returned to his demeanor, a wild fury burned in his eyes.
“I spared you, Cyrus,” he said. “Even when you betrayed me, I spared you because you are my father.”
Cyrus, the only stoic person in the room, said: “You’ve heard the prophecy, Zeno. You know you can’t win this.”
“No more mercy,” Zeno answered, ignoring his father’s statement. “By dawn this kingdom will be ash.”
As he turned toward the door, he glanced at Philothea and hissed, “Silly girl,” under his breath, then stormed out.
“That’s right!” Raven called after him. “Go and cower behind your army!”
The room roared with laughter once again as an invisible force slammed the door shut behind him.
Dave, who was on guard next to the doors, raised his oversized spear aloft and cried out, “Down with Zeno! Long live Princess Zo-Philothea!”
Zoe, who had somehow maintained a straight face through the entire thing, tapped her thumbs together and said, “So… I am slightly worried about that ‘this kingdom will be ash’ thing.”
“We’ve got to hide you,” King Cyrus began, looking wildly around.
“Is Zeno here or something?” Zoe asked.
“He will be,” Cyrus cautioned. “If anyone sees you, they’ll report it to him immediately.”
“I’m pretty sure Zeno already knows we’re here,” Raven commented. “I mean, it’s the obvious place for Philothea to go.”
The king turned his fretful gaze on Raven.
“It’s nothing to worry about,” Raven added. Then, placing a proud hand on Philothea’s shoulder, said. “After all, Philothea is the one person Zeno fears. If your people have any brains at all, they’ll side with her.”
Cyrus looked down at the smiling, round-faced, sweet-eyed little girl in front of him. He seemed unconvinced.
“The prophecy is on her side,” Raven reminded. “I say we remind the people.”
“Take me back home,” Philothea demanded. “And tell our people they don’t have to be afraid anymore.”
The king stood for a long moment, lost in thought. He closed his eyes, thinking deeply, running over his options in his mind. Finally, King Cyrus opened his eyes and nodded. He took his horse by the reins and began leading the party back toward the castle.
Philothea was feeling a combination of delighted and apprehensive as she followed. Part of her wondered if her own father was just playing along with her so he could turn her over to Zeno. His tearful delight at their reunion filled her with optimism, yet she remained alert and watchful.
There was so much she wanted to ask him, so much she wanted to tell him, but neither seemed to know where to begin. While Philothea was still forming the conversation in her mind, she noticed a small company of armed men approaching from the village gate.
“My personal guard,” the king explained. “I raced out ahead of them.”
He waved at the approaching party, and the man riding at the front waved back.
When they were within earshot, the king proclaimed, “My daughter, Princess Zoe, has returned!”
Zoe scowled, thrust her hands on her hips, and mumbled, “I am not okay with this.”
The approaching guards paused, looking at Philothea, trying to take in the king’s words.
“She is here to fulfill the prophecy,” King Cyrus continued.
Most of the men went slightly pale. She could see the fear flashing in their eyes.
“She is here,” Cyrus tried. “To overthrow Zeno!”
Someone in the back of the company held his spear up in the air and roared, “YEEESSS!!! DEATH TO ZENO!!!”
The other guards parted slightly as they all craned their necks to see who it was. The perpetrator was a shrimp of a man; his oversized helmet partly concealed his vision. The arm that held up the spear triumphantly was much thinner than the spear itself. He couldn’t have been older than seventeen.
“Um… Dave…” one of his fellows mumbled, elbowing him.
The shrimp stopped waving his spear around and pushed his helmet up so he could see.
“Wait, where is the warrior princess?” he asked, looking over the heads of Cyrus’s party.
His fellow nodded toward Philothea. The enthusiasm melted from Dave’s face. “Darn, we’re all going to die.”
Philothea laughed. She laughed long and hard and without shame, as her father’s company looked increasingly more confused. Raven and Pouli laughed with her while Zoe contributed by regarding the terrified warriors with a slightly amused twinkle in her eyes.
“Wait… why are you laughing?” the head guard asked.
“Because you were expecting a warrior,” Philothea grinned. “Do I look like a warrior?”
“No, not really,” Dave called from the back of the group.
“I am a defender,” Philothea explained. “I’m not going to fight Zeno. None of us will.”
“So… we’re all going to die or just continue living as slaves or what?” Dave asked.
“None of that,” Philothea pressed. “Because I am going to protect you.”
A moment of silence elapsed before Dave threw up his spear arm and cried out, “YES!! DOWN WITH ZENO! LONG LIVE PRINCESS ZOE!” Dave’s enthusiasm, like Philothea’s laughter, was somewhat contagious. All the guards joined in, chanting: “Long live Princess Zoe!”
“EXCUSE ME!” Philothea cried.
The rabble died down, and the men looked at her.
“I’m not Zoe.” Philothea pointed to her friend. “She’s Zoe.”
“So she’s the princess?” Dave asked.
“No, no,” Philothea replied. “I’m the princess, but my name isn’t Zoe anymore. It’s Philothea.”
“I’m confused,” Dave stated.
King Cyrus helped by throwing his arm around Philothea’s shoulder. “This is my daughter Princess Philothea! She has returned to fulfill the prophecy!”
“And anyone who knows the prophecy knows that this battle ends in Philothea’s favor,” Raven added. “So if you know what’s good for you, you’ll stand with her.”
Philothea was beginning to think her travels would never end. She spent a lot of time talking to Zoe about what they would do when the whole conflict was over. At this point, their dreams consisted of sleeping in an actual bed, eating “real food”, and taking warm baths.
When Philothea saw the white towers of a castle rising up on the horizon, she couldn’t believe it was real. Pouli, however, confirmed the structure’s existence by shooting off of Zoe’s shoulder, crying out: “My grape! My grape! I saved the princess! Where is my grape?”
He vanished from their sight, but Raven put Philothea’s worries to rest with a wave of her hand.
“It will be good if he arrives before we do,” she shrugged. “Assuming your dad is at home, it will be easier to convince him you are, in fact, his missing daughter if Pouli tells him.”
“Do you think Philothea’s dad is going to try and kill us?” Zoe remarked.
Philothea burst out laughing– a natural reaction for someone who was disturbed and horrified.
“Really?” Raven remarked, looking at Zoe with one eyebrow raised. “Even I have more sensitivity than that.”
“Look, given how the rest of Philothea’s relatives have treated her, I want to be prepared for anything.”
“I wouldn’t worry about it,” Raven remarked. “Philothea’s managed to protect us from all her homicidal family members thus far.”
They continued walking for some time before Zoe said:
“Promise if anything goes wrong, you won’t get rid of me.”
Philothea answered with a shrug.
“I mean it,” Zoe pressed. “Don’t turn me into a bird. Don’t zap me away to the falls.”
“I need to keep you safe,” Philothea mumbled.
“No,” Zoe insisted, the corners of her mouth turned very slightly downward. “I’m older! I need to keep you safe.”
“You don’t have magic,” Philothea argued.
To her surprise, Zoe’s frown deepened, and her eyebrows scrunched together. For maybe the first time in her life, she was making a legitimate facial expression, and that expression was one of frustration.
“I don’t care. I’ve looked after you my entire life, and I am not going to change that now.”
“Can we continue this conversation later?” Raven asked. “It appears we have company.”
Philothea and Zoe turned their attention to the road ahead.
A lone rider galloped toward them. They could tell he was a nobleman by his richly embroidered velvet tunic and handsome white war horse. He was cloakless, hatless, and had clearly left wherever he came from in a hurry.
From a distance, the only physical features Philothea could make out was his white hair and beard. But as he drew closer, Philothea got a better look. He was an older man, certainly too old to be riding so recklessly. As she was squinting at him, she felt something land on her head.
“Here is the baby!” she heard Pouli chirp from above. “Where is my grape?”
The newcomer brought his horse to a halt before Philothea, dismounted and stood for a moment regarding her with disbelieving eyes.
Philothea stared back. He was very fair; his hair had probably been blonde when he was younger. Yet, Philothea recognised the soft, gentle features–they were hers. They were Zeno’s too.
She opened her mouth to speak, but it was a long moment before she found the courage.
“Daddy?” she finally asked.
Tears flooded his cheeks. He nodded and pulled her into a tight embrace. “Yes, yes,” was all the king managed to choke out.
A long moment passed before Zoe glanced at Raven and said, “This is nice. Do you want a hug?”
“I will stab you in the face,” Raven replied.
Zoe nodded approvingly at this response.
The king finally released his daughter. Wiping the tears from his eyes with the base of his wrist, he said, “I don’t even know your name.”
“Philothea,” she answered.
“Friend of God,” King Cyrus answered. “Beautiful.”
“Do I have another name?” Philothea asked. “One that you and mom gave me.”
The king smiled.
“Yes,” he said. “Your name was Zoe.”
Philothea burst out laughing. Raven shot Zoe a grin.
Zoe raised her eyebrows and said, “Yeah, you’re going to have to keep Philothea, because that name is already taken.”
The next few weeks were long and hard, but Philothea endured them with a happy heart. Until very recently, her entire life was a mystery. Now, not only did she know who she was, but she knew very clearly what she was meant to do.
Every day as they traveled, she practiced her magic. Protecting Zoe and Pouli as Raven attacked them with various things. Zoe made it clear she was not pleased with the arrangement, though she understood it was for the greater good.
Philothea grew stronger and more comfortable using her magic. It felt like such a natural part of who she was now. The idea that until recently, she was completely unaware of her own powers was so odd.
Despite their grueling pace, endless practice, and the immense responsibility that came with her powers, Philothea never felt more free. Soon, she could deflect Raven’s attacks without even thinking.
Raven responded to her progress by spinning up illusions of larger and larger groups of people in peril. Once, she projected a great landslide crashing down upon a village. Philothea ran about in the illusion, pushing and pulling people out of the path of the flowing earth.
Once, a swarm of dragons descended from the sky, raining fire down on field laborers. Philothea projected an invisible shield above them that absorbed the dragon’s fire and kept the beasts from descending.
The exercises were exhausting, more so since Philothea spent most of her days walking. Every evening, Philothea fell asleep the moment she lay down.
One day, when the traveling party stopped to rest on the edge of a cliff, Raven created two opposing armies in the valley below. Philothea recognised one of them as Zeno’s by their deep blue banners and dragon coat of arms.
The other army she didn’t recognise. They were dressed in red but had no other symbols or decorative embellishments.
“Protect the red army,” Raven ordered, flopping down on the edge of the cliff.
But Philothea did more than that as both sides charged forward; she caught them in her magic. Willing that they couldn’t touch each other at all.
“You don’t have to protect the blue guys,” Zoe offered helpfully.
“I’m protecting everyone,” Philothea glared.
“But I really want to see Zeno’s guys wiped out,” Zoe protested.
Philothea turned an astonished face on Zoe. That was not the sort of attitude the Keepers would condone.
“Not in real life,” Zoe shrugged. “Just in this… illusion thing.”
“Oh,” Philothea giggled. That made her feel only slightly better. Still, she continued protecting both sides.
“I wish we had a real army to train you,” Raven sighed. “This is too easy.”
Suddenly, Philothea felt Raven’s illusion fighting her. The armies strained against her magic, trying to break free from the invisible barriers that held them at bay. She found herself expending every ounce of willpower to stop the collision.
They aren’t real. She thought as she began to ache from the strain of keeping them separated. Still, she couldn’t bear to let go. The next time she met Zeno, she would indeed be protecting real people.
Raven’s magic fought against hers even harder. How was Raven doing this? She had also been walking all day. Did she ever get tired? Finally, after what seemed like ages, Philothea let go.
She crumpled over onto the cliff, and the fake armies collided for a few brief seconds before Raven pulled them out of existence, leaving the valley empty.
“You, little one, are a force to be reckoned with,” Raven smiled proudly.
The next time they came to a village, Raven purchased some parchment and a pen and scratched a note.
“I don’t think the Fae king is going to believe that,” Zoe commented, as she read over Raven’s shoulder.
“It’s worth a shot,” Raven remarked.
“I will miss my Pouli,” Fae commented as Raven tied the note onto her leg.
“I’ll have you know,” Raven replied. “That I do not approve of this relationship. You’re like… three feet taller than him.”
“Ho, ho, ho, he is a little thing,” Fae remarked. “But he is my pretty boy. My handsome bird.”
“Fae is a pretty girl,” Pouli replied, before bursting into song.
Fae, my lovely, I suggest,
We go away and make a nest!
A nest with speckled eggs of blue,
And little chicks that look like you.
“Aw! Pouli, that’s so sweet.” Philothea squeaked.
“Yeah…” Zoe started. “No, that’s not going to work. They aren’t even the same species.”
“Good luck convincing them,” Raven grumbled with an eyeroll. “And we are not having any kind of wedding until after we’ve saved the world. Understand?”
Pouli and Fae were too busy complimenting each other to hear her.
“Fae,” Raven interrupted. “Time to go.”
It took some convincing, but eventually Raven got Fae to take off.
After she’d disappeared from sight, Raven began scratching another note.
“This one’s for you, Pouli,” she remarked. “But you aren’t going to deliver it just yet.”
“I will take the note, because I am a good boy.”
“Yes, you are,” Raven said. “But we need you to stay with us just a little longer.”
The next two days were grueling. Raven kept the little party moving, always afraid that Zeno would catch up to them. Philothea asked over and over again what her plan was, how she was going to defeat Zeno, but Raven would almost always reply with a slight smirk and “trust me.”
Then, on the third day, while they were having a brief rest on the top of a high cliff Philothea repeated her question.
“What are you thinking?” Philothea pressed. “How am I going to defeat Zeno?”
Her words brought a mischievous twinkle to Raven’s eyes. Then, to Philothea’s alarm, she hurled herself off the edge of the cliff with the words, “Save me, Thea!”
At once, Philothea reached out with her magic, slowing Raven’s fall. Raven landed gently at the base of the cliff and released a wild laugh before transporting herself back to the top.
“Why’d you do that?” Philothea exclaimed.
“Seriously, what’s wrong with you?” Zoe added. (Even stoic Zoe had her eyebrows raised.)
Pouli added,
“Tricky Raven thinks today,
She will learn to fly away!
But foolish fae, she cannot fly,
She is doomed to crash and die!
“No indeed,” Raven grinned. “Not while Thea is here.”
No amount of questioning on anyone’s part could get Raven to explain her rash action. To each inquiry, she replied, “Trust me.”
What Raven did the next day was even worse. While they were all peacefully eating lunch, she very suddenly pulled a knife from her belt and flung it at Zoe. Philothea’s magic stopped it long before it struck her. When the knife landed harmlessly on the ground both girls were looking at Raven white-faced.
“What. Was. That.” Zoe demanded.
“You were never in any danger,” Raven shrugged. “Nothing at all can harm you while Thea is here.”
“But…” Philothea breathed. “But what if I had been distracted? What if I hadn’t seen? What if…”
“Do you trust me?” Raven asked her.
“No!” Zoe interjected. “You just tried to kill me!”
“I wasn’t asking you,” Raven remarked.
Philothea stared at her mentor. The woman who had risked her life to save her twice. The woman who had shown her cunning and resourcefulness on multiple occasions.
She remembered how only recently Keeper Nathan betrayed her. Raven was right when she said she trusted too easily. And yet, after everything she’d been through with Raven, she couldn’t help but trust her. Was it wise? She had no idea. It was just a fact.
In response to Raven’s question, she nodded.
The next day, Raven continued her terrible trials. First, she threw herself headfirst into a roaring river. Philothea’s magic pulled her safely to shore. Then, she tried bringing a tree down on Zoe’s head, but Philothea’s magic redirected it just in time. Then she tried feeding Pouli to a cat. Zoe chased the cat away without any assistance of magic at all.
“I’m good for something I guess,” Zoe remarked, after the valiant rescue.
Each time one of their party was delivered from imminent death, Raven would laugh triumphantly.
“STOP IT!” Philothea demanded after Raven tried to knock Zoe into a pit.
“No,” Raven smirked. “I don’t think I will.”
“Seriously,” Zoe remarked. “This is not okay.”
Raven stuck her tongue in her cheek and stared at her nails.
“I’ve had enough, Raven,” Philothea declared. “I trust you, alright? But you have no right to treat me this way.”
“Zoe doesn’t look frightened,” Raven stated.
“She is,” Philothea declared.
“I am,” Zoe affirmed dryly.
Raven sighed. “This is all part of the plan.”
“You need to tell me your plan,” Philothea demanded.
“Why should I?” Raven dared, her cat-like eyes sparkling.
“Because if you don’t, I won’t go a step farther with you.”
Raven’s smile changed. The smug slyness melted away.
“You’re not laughing, little one,” Raven pointed out.
The realization made Philothea tense. She wasn’t laughing was she? Not crying either. She was trembling slightly, but aside from that she was in control of herself. She was thinking only of protecting Zoe and Pouli from Raven’s cruel pranks.
A delight swept over her causing her to giggle and that of course spoiled the entire effect. She sighed.
“You’re very strong, you know,” Raven smiled. It was a proud smile, not a smug one.
“I am?” Philothea asked.
“When I first met you, the thought of you defeating Zeno seemed absurd. But now? Well now I see it clearly.”
“Tell me how,” Philothea demanded. “Stop playing these games.”
As she said this, she was thinking of Zeno. How calm and controlled he was. How easily he manipulated his power. She, on the other hand, was not only an emotional wreck most of the time, but paralyzed by a fear of hurting others.
“You are not going to defeat Zeno by being like him,” Raven explained. “You will defeat him by being different.”
Philothea drew her eyebrows together as she waited for Raven to elaborate.
“In many ways, Zeno is your opposite. He’s cold, detached, and only thinks about getting what he wants,” Raven continued. “People follow him out of fear.”
She smirked, regarding Philothea. “But give the people another option. Give them a leader equal to Zeno in power but with a heart that cares too much for others and they will turn on him in the blink of an eye.”
“You’re saying…” Philothea started.
“You’re saying that Philothea doesn’t have to kill her brother,” Zoe interrupted. “She’s just got to stop him from killing everyone else.”
“Exactly!” Raven continued. “Zeno rules through fear, if he can’t hurt the people they won’t follow him. And that,” she grinned. “Is the reason I’ve been torturing you these past few days.”
“It would have been nice if you’d explained that earlier,” Zoe commented.
“But, but,” Philothea interrupted as another thought popped into her mind. “I’ve only been protecting you and Zoe. To stop Zeno, I’d need to protect everyone!”
“An army at least,” Zoe added.
“Of course,” Raven shrugged. “That’s why we’re training. You start by protecting a few friends and work your way up.”
She must have noticed the apprehension in Philothea’s expression because she added, “Don’t doubt yourself, little one. If Zeno can destroy an army single-handed, you can protect one. You’re every bit as powerful as he is. With a little training, it will be easy!”
Raven and Philothea continued their flight through the woods until only a tiny remnant of daylight remained. It was around that time that Fae descended through the canopy and alighted on Raven’s shoulder.
“There is my Raven,” she said. “I found my Raven. But where is my Pouli? Where is my sweet Pouli? He is a good boy.”
“You think too much about Pouli,” Raven remarked, looking at her bird with narrowed eyes.
“He’s so funny,” Fae answered. “Ho, ho, ho, he’s a funny thing.”
“Well, you’ll be happy to know we are going to go and get him,” Raven said, stroking Fae’s feathers.
“Wait, we are?” Philothea asked. She’d been hoping they could leave Zoe and Pouli back at Bilberry Falls, out of harm’s way.
“Of course! It will be a lot easier to find your dad with Pouli’s help,” Raven explained. “Plus, I don’t want to be the only one risking my life for you.”
“But you just said you weren’t risking your life for me,” Philothea replied.
“I’m not,” Raven confirmed. “And neither are they, because you’ll protect us, little one.”
“Raven!” Philothea exclaimed, throwing her hands up in frustration.
Raven ignored her complaint and looking to Fae asked:
“Is Zeno following us?”
“Zeno is with his shiny men,” Fae explained. “He is such an angry boy.” Her chest puffed up and she bobbed her head as she released a hearty “Ho, ho, ho.”
Raven nodded somewhat impatiently. “That makes sense considering I just stabbed him in the back, but where is he?”
“He is at the temple with his shiny men.”
Philothea’s heart sank when Fae mentioned the temple. It only served to remind her of Keeper Nathan’s betrayal.
“They wrapped him up and gave him some tasty wine,” Fae continued. “He will have a nap, poor thing, and then kill you because he is so, so angry. Poor thing.” She repeated the words, “poor thing” several more times in different tones as if testing the way the words felt on her tongue.
“Well, Thea,” Raven said. “We have as much time now as we ever will. I’ll have a seat here and you go get Pouli.”
She took a seat on a fallen log and stared at Philothea expectantly.
“You’re not coming?” Philothea asked.
“Can’t transport myself that far, remember?” Raven pressed. “Oh, and you should probably get Zoe too or she might kill you before Zeno has the chance. I’ll be waiting.”
Philothea closed her eyes, pictured the falls, and willed herself there. After a moment, she opened her eyes to see that nothing had happened.
Raven was regarding her with one eyebrow raised. “You leaving or enjoying a moment of silent meditation?”
Philothea tried to scowl at her, but ended up choking out a laugh. She closed her eyes and tried again. This time, the rush of falling water and the cool midst on her skin made her aware of her success. She opened her eyes to see Zoe standing a few paces away staring at her with an expressionless face.
“I am going to kill you,” Zoe stated.
“I know,” Philothea beamed, before rushing over and throwing her arms around her.
Pouli, who had been sitting on Zoe’s shoulder, fluttered into the air to avoid getting crushed by Philothea’s arms.
The fact that Zoe didn’t immediately remove Philothea led the latter to believe she had actually been worried and was glad to see her alive.
“I’ve got to get you both back to Raven,” Philothea stated. “Then I will explain everything.”
Willing Zoe and Pouli back to Raven’s position was an effortless task, but it took several agonizing minutes and multiple attempts before she was able to move herself.
“Took you long enough,” Raven commented when Philothea finally appeared. She was waiting on the log where Philothea left her, though this time Zoe was sitting beside her and Pouli was sitting on Zoe’s head, calling to Fae that she was a “pretty thing” and a “good girl”.
“I know,” Philothea shrugged. “For some reason, I can’t, or… It’s hard to use magic on myself.”
Raven raised an eyebrow.
“What?”
“I know,” Philothea sighed. “When Zoe and I were first escaping Zeno, I tried to change us both into birds. I did it to her, but it didn’t work on me. Then, when I was escaping from my grandfather, you transported everyone away, but I couldn’t transport myself.”
“I’ve never known a fae who couldn’t use magic on herself,” Raven commented.
“I can,” Philothea pressed. “It’s just been difficult.” She rubbed her forehead as she struggled for the words to explain her meaning.
“Remember how you said using magic was like moving your arm?” she tried. “Well, ever since I got my mother’s seal, I’ve been able to feel my ‘arms’ as it were, more and more. Now I can even feel them without the ring. But… when it comes to using magic on myself… I don’t know… that muscle is weaker than the others. Does that make sense?”
“No,” Zoe replied.
“Yes,” Raven said at the exact same time. After shooting Zoe a scowl, Raven continued. “Do you know what I think?” She scrunched her lips thoughtfully. “I think you are too giving.”
“Holy Creator wants us to be giving,” Philothea said.
“I wouldn’t know anything about that,” Raven shrugged. “I do know that you can’t help anyone if you don’t take care of yourself.”
Philothea scrunched her eyebrows as she tried to fathom Raven’s meaning.
“You have a gentle heart, little one,” Raven clarified. “And it may be that guilt is blocking you from turning your magic inward. We need to work on that.”
While Philothea was still pondering this, Zoe chimed in.
“You might have a point,” she said to Raven. Then to Philothea she added in one monotone breath: “While giving is a critical part of our beliefs, the ability to receive humbly is also important because, you know, without it you can’t receive any gifts from the Holy Creator or whatever.”
Raven stared at her. “Is that a quote from something?”
“Technically it’s a paraphrase,” Zoe explained. “From Zoronophillious’s Book of Generosity.”
Philothea chomped down on her lip in order to contain a laugh. It escaped through her nose making her snort. She knew very little about the works of Zoronophillious because everytime Keeper Ruth said his name, she would explode into a fit of hysteria that was rowdy even for her. The very fact that she was only snorting at the moment and not rolling on the ground clutching her stomach proved that she was slightly more in control of herself than usual.
“Well,” said Raven dryly. “Any man with a name longer than three syllables must know what he’s talking about.”
“Yes,” Zoe agreed. Then she shot Philothea a scowl. “So don’t go zapping me away anywhere next time you’re in trouble!”
“And don’t hold back from using your powers to protect yourself,” Raven added.
“Zoronophillious,” Pouli tried. “Zor-o-no-phil-lious.” He went on to repeat the word several times over in several different voices, then mixed in the sound of Philothea’s laughter.
“Oh-kay,” Philothea breathed. Her face was scarlet, her self-control pushed to the maximum.
They continued walking late into the night. All the while, Pouli and Fae chattered excitedly to each other. How either of them could follow the conversation was a mystery; then again, the conversation didn’t have a lot of intellectual content worth following. They were mostly just complimenting themselves and each other.
“So… you going to tell me what happened?” Zoe asked Philothea. “After you zapped me away?”
Philothea explained as best she could, though the events of that day seemed a blur in her mind.
“So, Zeno is actually your secret brother?” Zoe commented. “Is, like, everyone related to you?”
“I’m not,” Raven helped. “And Pouli, where exactly are we going from here?”
“East!” Pouli answered. He twirled his wings and sang.
Philothea and Raven ran in silence for a long time, thinking of nothing except putting as much distance as they could between themselves and Zeno. Philothea had no idea where they were, or if they were headed in the right direction, and she didn’t have enough breath to ask.
When they finally slowed to a walk, Raven was the first to speak.
“Should I be worried about Zoe?”
Philothea shook her head. “I sent her away,” she explained. “All the way back to the falls… Pouli too.”
“Not Bilberry Falls?” Raven marveled.
Philothea was confused. “Yes? You said I just had to be able to picture–”
“There’s a range,” Raven reminded. “Bilberry Falls is three days behind us. Most normal fae can only transport short distances, a day or less.” She broke into a broad grin. “Of course, I forget, you aren’t exactly normal.”
Philothea giggled, though she hardly knew what she was feeling at the moment. It certainly wasn’t amused. She was tired, nauseous, and emotionally disoriented.
Not only had she expended an extraordinary amount of power fighting off Zeno, but she had just learned that he, her enemy, the man she was destined to defeat, was her own brother. She couldn’t imagine harming him even before she knew they were related.
And yet, he was holding her mother hostage, threatening everyone she loved. The fae lived in fear because of Zeno. Then there were the people of Cedar Valley, weakened and overworked in Zeno’s service. Zeno was a tyrant, a murderer, a force of evil and yet, he was also a child of the Holy Creator.
The Keepers had taught Philothea to see everyone this way, drilled it into her from the moment she came into their care. That combined with her gentle nature, made it impossible for her to kill anyone, not even to save the whole world.
She breathed deeply as she walked, brushing the tears from her cheeks.
What do you want me to do? she prayed.
Unfortunately, she received no immediate answer. Of course, Philothea had enough experience with prayer to know that immediate answers weren’t really the Holy Creator’s thing.
After a time, she looked up at Raven and said, “Thank you. You risked your life for me again.”
“But I’m not destined to save you,” Philothea pointed out.
“He can’t kill me,” Raven repeated. “As long as you won’t let him.”
“You don’t know that,” Philothea objected.
Raven’s grin broadened. “Don’t underestimate yourself. You’re getting stronger every minute. Why, after our last close escape, you couldn’t even walk! Now here you are fleeing for your life through the wilderness like it’s a daily occurrence!”
This made Philothea laugh through her tears, “I mean, it sort of is at this point.”
Using her powers was getting easier. Still, Philothea thought Raven’s confidence was ill-founded. Assuming it was confidence at all and not just Raven refusing to admit she wasn’t completely self-centered.
It was perfectly clear to Philothea why someone would pretend to be kind for the purpose of satisfying their selfish desires. What she couldn’t figure out was why a kind and giving person would work so hard to appear selfish. Perhaps she would never figure out the mystery that was Raven.
They walked in silence for a few more moments before Philothea asked, “Did you know he was my brother?”
Raven thought. “I don’t know? Maybe I did. I haven’t thought about it much to be honest.” She shrugged. “Of course it makes complete sense.”
Philothea stared vacantly down at the road before her and mumbled, “Why are all of my relatives trying to kill me?”
“That’s family for you,” Raven commented.
Philothea glanced up at Raven and waited for her to elaborate with whatever tragic story turned her into her current cynical recluse self.
“If it’s any consolation,” Raven continued. “I think your grandfather wants to love you; he’s just afraid of you. Thinks you’ll follow in your brother’s footsteps.” As Raven said this, her eyes brightened, and she broke into a broad grin.
“What is it?” Philothea pressed.
“I’ve just realized how you’re going to win this,” Raven announced.
“How?” Philothea begged.
Raven’s grin only broadened. “Do you trust me?”
“Yes,” Philothea answered.
“You trust too easily, little one,” Raven rebuked.
Philothea threw her hands up. “Gah! Yes, maybe I do. But–”
“But if you insist on trusting me,” Raven grinned. “Then just be patient. You’ll see what I have in mind soon.”
The Fables of Para Sympan 