Princess cat

«How can you send a witch doctor against danger when there are troops?»

«And how can you send troops not against men, but against the black mist.»

«They say it will be resolved soon, and if not, we will have to fight all the same.»

«Is it weapons or magic?»

«All means are good in a fight.»

«Or maybe we should just turn a blind eye to what’s going on until we are directly approached with an ultimatum?»

It sounds like the voices of counselors! Brendan was immediately disappointed in them. The wisest men in the kingdom were so drunk they were talking nonsense. Soon they would begin to shy away from their own shadows, suspecting that something magical had settled within them. What had Uncle King done to them that made them drink themselves to death? Usually they walked around the castle puffed up like peacocks, making puffed-up speeches. That was when Brendan saw them. Now all he could hear were frightened voices. It was a good thing he himself did not drink, even after fierce quarrels with the king over his future and even in moments when his uncle, enraged by his behavior, threatened to execute him.

«If it hadn’t been for the good memory of your humble mother, your head would be on a pole by now,» his uncle liked to say.

Brendan had long ago stopped believing him, so often he had heard such empty threats. In fact, his uncle took pity on him and would not have him executed even in the case of high treason. For it is always possible both to protect the guilty and to execute the innocent. There was much injustice in the kingdom, and the black magic of Ephigenia sometimes seemed to slip through the keyholes, inspiring a melancholy that made one want to howl.

Suddenly it seemed to Brendon that his shadow had become some kind of mythical horned creature, dancing on the floor no matter what its master did.

That’s enough! It is enough illusions, optical deceptions, compulsions and reproaches of his uncle. Better to be free than noble and rich. Brendan had made his choice. The main thing was that no one would stop him from getting away. A chase would be a nuisance, too, so Brendon cleverly disguised himself, even smeared his skin with grated chocolate powder to simulate a tan. Now he looks like a hobo.

«Sleep well in captivity, Bastard. I don’t let the guardian get to me again!» Brendan slung his bag over his shoulder, grabbed his lute, and was off.

Fairies and fortune tellers

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.

Sleeping Fields

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?