He was free! At last! The guards at the drawbridge didn’t even recognize him. Brendan felt like a hero until he spotted a group of pretty gypsy girls in the market square. Before, pretty fortune-tellers in colorful dresses would have mobbed him and started promising all sorts of prophecies. Well, he used to be a duke. They naturally didn’t pay any attention to the beggar minstrel.
But the three graceful winged ladies swooped down on him. Brendan was taken aback. They were fairies! Real fairies with colorful wings behind them! He had only heard of fairies, but had never seen them up close, except for one of his uncle’s favorites, who was occasionally received at court, but she always delicately hid her wings, folding them behind her back in the form of a cloak. But these three beauties proudly unfurled their wings and waved them as if they were huge fans. Two of the fairies were brunettes and one was a blonde with violets growing in her curls. What wonders! And such creatures walk through the marketplace! And how many wonders were in the woods outside the city? He shouldn’t have stayed at home so long. He should have gone on his journey much earlier. Too bad he hadn’t been wearing well-worn boots when he’d barely set foot outside the castle. He would have been surprised if someone hadn’t noticed he was wearing new boots. He was playing the beggar, after all. Brendan glanced warily at the drawbridge.
«Oh, you’re cute,» the fairies were already combing through his hair. «You are as pretty as a summer’s day. We are lonesome.»
«Play for us!» The blond suggested she see the lute dangling from a leather strap over his shoulder.
«Shall we coin first?» Brendan was reminded that he had a part to play, not to gawk at any curiosity that came his way. «I don’t play for free. I only play for money, or for the broth.»
That’s it! He spoke with an expression like an actor on the stage of a traveling theater. Travelling actors were often invited to perform at royal feasts, so he had someone to learn from.
«Wouldn’t you like it in exchange for the fulfillment of a wish?» The blond fairy smiled slyly.
Brendan hesitated. She looked very sly, Brendan thought.
«Play, or we’ll curse you!» One of the brunettes snapped. She was beautiful, and obviously not used to being rejected by boys.
The fairies whirled over Brendan’s head in a hurricane of color, even ripping off his beret and throwing it into a puddle. Not fairies, but hooligans. And why had he left the castle? Or were they henchmen of his guardian who wouldn’t let him out into the open world? They must be in cahoots with the old king.
«Leave me alone!» Brendan was already wishing he’d played them right away. It was better not to bargain with witches. Luckily, a group of gypsies was passing by.
«That’s who I came with,» Brendan lied to get away from the fairies. «They can curse you just as badly as you can curse me if you don’t let up.»
Strangely enough the fairies believed him and left him alone. Scary ones! And behaved like bullies! But communication with the gypsies was much easier and more pleasant. They didn’t even look at his lute.
«Would you like a prediction, my dear?»
One of the fortune-tellers at once asked for a coin. At least they were fairer than fairies. He had a coin in his pocket. It was all he had left of his royal allowance. From now on, he would have to make his own living.
The young gypsy with the piercing black eyes studied his palm for a long time, and then suddenly spat on the ground with disgust.
«Is something wrong? Did I not pay enough? Or am I going to die early? Or am I cursed?»
«The latter was more likely.»
«What do you mean?» Brendan was taken aback.
«You’re marrying a monster!» The fortuneteller paused theatrically.
And it was worth paying for!
«How’s it? Are you sure?»
«I’m sure!»
And for such a prophecy he was left without lunch.
To live his whole life with a monster! It wasn’t worth running away from his guardian for that. Though, perhaps, if he were caught and brought back, the king would just marry him off to some old hag with a big dowry, and thus the prophecy would come true. The ugly woman and the monster are essentially the same thing. The fortune teller might have used a metaphor. If only she knew what it was. And if she did not know it, she was guided only by a secret vision. Are Gypsy women as good at fortune-telling as they are said to be? Should they be trusted unconditionally?
Brendan had such a sad look on his face that passersby looked at him with pity.
:So they predicted happiness for me, too!» The wretched cripple at the bridge muttered. «But it didn’t come true.»
«Well, maybe it won’t come true for me, either!» Brendan rejoiced.
He was relieved. He would have thrown a coin into the cripple’s pewter mug, but he had none left. He’d given his last for a prediction.
Marry the beast! What fortune-tellers are they! They think because he’s young, he’s stupid. He’ll believe anything you tell them.
The gypsies were beckoning with their tambourines, but Brendan was already in a hurry to avoid them.
A cavalcade of knights dashed down the dusty road. Brendan hastily ducked into the bushes so they would not see him. Their crests indicated that they were no vassals of his uncle. Somehow the stately knights resembled elves in silvery armor. There was even one lady among them, a blond beauty on a snow-white horse. He would have married such a woman and would not have run away from the wedding, but alas, no one offered him one.
Brendan would have composed an ode in her honor, but there was not enough time. The cavalcade rushed past quickly. Only clouds of dust remained on the road.
He had chosen the road at random, by the way. He probably should have swiped a map from his uncle’s office. He didn’t even know where he was going, or if there was any settlement ahead. Or is there nothing but woods for miles ahead?
Come on, Brendan consoled himself. The world is full of different kingdoms and principalities. If you persist, you’ll eventually reach a kingdom or two.
By nightfall, the wilderness was replaced by a wilderness that seemed to have no end. Or was it fields, not wasteland? Brendan remembered stepping on dry, cracked ground, and now the rye was flattened beneath his soles. It had barely sprouted yet, and in the distance tall ears were already growing. How can it be? Weren’t all the stubble fields sown at the same time?
This was suspicious, but he didn’t want to turn back. Brendan wandered on. The birds flying around the fields were strange, with angry red eyes. Brendan hummed a merry song to cheer him up. The lyrics were humorous, but for some reason it sounded gloomy in the fields, like a funeral hymn. Was it something wrong with his voice, or was it the witchy echo of which Lady Ephigenia had spoken so much? It usually taunts people who have wandered into forbidden and enchanted territory.
Nonsense! Fields cannot be enchanted.
«Hey, are you minstrel?»
Brendan looked around for the person who had called out to him. There was no one around except a straw scarecrow, which for some reason was wearing a fancy jester’s coat and a motley hat with bells on instead of the usual old shirt.
Even the scarecrows look luxurious in this field. And the rye seems cast from solid gold. Brendan bent down and plucked one straw. Both the grains and the chaff in it were cold and golden. He was so astonished that he almost dropped the expensive item. Surely it was Fortune himself who had led him to these fields. If you pick such rye, you can buy your own estate.
«You rejoice too soon!»
Another haunting voice from nowhere! There is only a scarecrow nearby. And scarecrows, as everyone knows, are not alive and do not speak. Unless the leprechauns live underground and tease him. They are usually the ones who keep treasures. The field of golden rye might be their joke. Surely they are waiting for him to pick it greedily. Then you can laugh at the fool who will throw all the stuff out of the bundle to put rye in there, which will turn from gold to ordinary stalks in the morning.
«Get out of here!»
This time it was clear that the muffled hoarse voice was definitely coming from the scarecrow. Brandon stopped in front of it, looking up at its face. There was no mouth to be seen beneath the bells of the hat. But the scarecrow itself, on a pole, somehow resembled a man crucified in a field.
«Where must I go?» Brendan wondered. «There are fields all around. Everywhere you go, there are fields ahead.»
«There is a castle up ahead.»
«I don’t see any castle.»
«Just because you don’t see one doesn’t mean there isn’t one.»
Brendan was so amazed that the stuffed jester spoke to him that he didn’t think much about the meaning of his words.
«I was like you, coming here to make fun of an ugly princess who had her beauty taken away from her by some wizard for her stubborn character. I could joke, but look what my jokes have done to me!»
«But I’m not going to make jokes about anyone.»
«Then why do you have a lute, if not to accompany frivolous songs?»
«I sing only good songs,» said Brendan indignantly. «And I write my own songs. Would you like to hear them?»
Stop! Scarecrow wouldn’t pay him to play. Why did he take out his lute so readily? Has the creature on the pole bewitched him? What if it was alive? Brendan touched the leg of the scarecrow. There was straw under his caftan. So it’s not alive after all, but it’s certainly magical.
«Don’t play!» It warned.
«Didn’t the rulers there forbid music?» Brendan snapped. He wasn’t going to play for free either, but if he was forbidden to play, that was a professional insult.
«Loud noises would wake them up.»
«What do you mean?»
«They are under the field. They come in all kinds: small and large, like giants, ugly and statuesque beauties, but step into their circle and you’re lost. It’s the same if you steal something here. They can’t stand thieves.»
Brendan quickly threw away the golden spike, though it’s a waste, but if someone is watching him from under the ground, it’s best not to steal. The scarecrow might have lied. But it’s a good idea to double-check. He has no royal retinue with him now. If he gets into trouble, he will have to defend himself.
«Who are they? Do they have a name? Do you say they live underground, like the leprechauns?»
But the scarecrow was already silent. But his posture had suddenly changed. One hand pointed in the direction from which Brendan had come.
So it’s trying to get him to turn back. All this must be Lady Ephigenia’s magic tricks. Surely hys uncle had already noticed his nephew’s absence and told his witch to track him down. Where the guards were powerless, Ephigenia acted. But he was no match for this one. He’s already gone far enough away from Aluar that the king’s witch’s charms won’t catch up with him.
We need to keep moving. The farther he went, the more her magic would weaken. Brendan went forward, against the scarecrow’s advice. And if there really was a castle up ahead, he would have lodging and supper. In feudal castles, itinerant actors and minstrels were free to roam. Bored hosts usually expect entertainment and are willing to provide both dinner and shelter for them.
«Don’t go! Don’t go!» Some buzzing insects tried to fly into his ears. Brendan pushed them away with difficulty.
The ground vibrated slightly beneath his feet. The fields suddenly seemed alive and breathing, as if a giant were slumbering beneath the rye, but Brendan would be swept away like a gnat as soon as he got up. Maybe we really shouldn’t have come in here.
Yeah, what was wrong with him? Didn’t he think he was the bravest when he made jokes about uncle’s ministers?
«Silly fellow, you don’t even know who sleeps under the field!»
There was no scarecrow around this time. So the voice came either from the void or from a large black bird that was circling over the fields.
It’s all Ephigenia’s jokes, Brendan consoled himself again. Though she remains in the king’s castle, her evil power extends far beyond it. We must hurry. The more miles he walked, the weaker her sorcery would become. My uncle had the misfortune to tangle with a witch! If Brendan could find a wizard along the way, he would ask him, just for the fun of it, to bewitch his uncle the King with Ephigenia. In this way he would settle his debts and grievances. The uncle would find himself forcibly married to a witch, and he would think nothing of meddling in other people’s private lives in the future.
Although, they say, magic is not so simple. You can’t always make a magical plan work the way you thought it would. Sometimes things go wrong. And magical failures can even lead to the destruction of the world, according to the words of the wise men.
Brendan noticed that the spikes in the fields were regular to the touch instead of golden. He must have done well not to pluck anything. Sometimes it pays to listen to warnings.
He didn’t listen to the last warning, since he’s wandering around looking for a castle. Well, the castle is not the fields. You can’t conjure up strange vegetation underfoot like that. The field was changing. First there was wheat and rye, now barley and beanstalks, on which live creepy biting bugs. These bugs also shine brighter than fireflies. And up ahead are vineyards and cornfields. Had someone conjured this place up by mixing all the plant crops?
Brendan picked one cob of corn because his empty stomach was already rumbling with hunger. Instead of corn kernels, real gold coins spilled from the cob. They tinkled and fell right under his feet. More and more of them, as if the earth had bred them.
No, he wouldn’t fall for that. Pick them up, and the coins would be yellow grains again. Maybe he should pick some up after all. He has no money on him, and he has a long way to go.
Brendan leaned over and picked up a handful of coins. These are the real ones! Only the coinage was unfamiliar. The tails have a feline profile, and there’s a claw print instead of a coat of arms. Good thing gold is valuable anyway, no matter whose mint the coats of arms were minted from. Brendan slipped the coins into his pocket and felt the fields beneath his feet as if they sighed and twitched. Something moved beneath the ground, as if an army of monsters were rising from there.
Where to run to now? Brendan felt something like a tourniquet wrap around his wrist and begin to squeeze. It was a living vine! It clung so tightly that it nearly tore his arm off. As soon as he was free of it, many other vines crawled toward him like hissing snakes.
Brendan jumped from his seat and ran. The swift vines darted after him, trying to grab his legs. Coins fell from the corn again, but there was no time to pick them up. The vines were determined to trap the fugitive. Brendan barely dodged their grip, and they hissed grudgingly. Here he passed corn fields, and fields of peas. Ahead of him was an empty, unseeded field. As he ran into it, the vines suddenly retreated, hiding in the shade.
Were they afraid of the uncultivated land? Brendan looked back at the fields. The ground there was trembling, as if whole armies of monsters were already climbing out of it, but there were no monsters in sight.
Brendan waited a moment. No dangerous plants were climbing the uncultivated ground to chase him. Here, then, was the place to take a break. In the sky, the moon was just shining, framed by a scattering of stars. Brendan only now realized how tired he was. He had no pillow or blanket, but he did have a bundle of belongings. Brendan put it under his head instead of a pillow.
«We’ll get you, you impudent thief!» hissed the vines from a distant field, or were they women’s voices? Through the haze of sleep Brendan saw beautiful embittered girls in wreaths of leaves and grapes. And there were a variety of monsters, small and large, galloping haphazardly across the fields. It was like a coven and a preparation for a war of infernal creatures against all mankind.
There were vague threats, like, «We’ll get you, boy!» to the sleeping Brendan.
«You’d better be quiet. I like silence at night,» he wanted to reply, but his tongue couldn’t roll with the fatigue. He was exhausted from running through the magical fields.
He had a strange dream: both frightening and pleasant. In the dream, the evil creatures were talking about something in the fields, pointing at him with their claws. Against the background of the monsters a marvelous image flashed across his mind: a girl with braids the color of ripe wheat and azure eyes. Just like the one he had seen in the cavalcade with the knights. This time she was alone, not counting the living vines behind her. She leaned over him, rustling her luxurious brocade gown, and tugged at his shoulder as if to awaken him. But if he woke up, he would never see her again. She exists only in dreams. Yes, she is too beautiful to be true.
«Rachelina! My name is Rachelina,» she repeated several times.
When Brendan awoke, there were scratches on his shoulder. A wild cat must have scratched it.
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