Chapter 13: Presents of Mind and Body
****
The fifteen-year-old Clarkent was outside the stable assisting a knight with his horse--a new stallion called Monsieur Edward which the knight had bought on a whim and which was apparently terrified of entering stables--when he saw her.
It had been more than a month since Clarkent had rested his eyes on Princess Loisette, and he had been close to despairing that he would never see her again. But there she was with Lady Catherine, the two of them taking a leisurely stroll, talking and laughing. Her hair had been curled and looked soft to the touch, and her eyes were sparkling with amusement. There was something in her smile that pulled him, and in his distraction, he was almost knocked over by the horse as it swung its head. Ducking, he shook himself out of his reverie and went back to concentrating on getting Monsieur Edward to stop gnashing his teeth and start walking into the stable.
But his heart was still pounding. The princess was so beautiful.
****
After he finally finished helping the knight--who determined that his best recourse was to take Monsieur Edward back to where he had gotten him--Clarkent returned to inside of the Riding Stable and did his chores. When he was done, he went and stood in front of Esroh Repus, holding out a handful of oats.
As the horse nibbled at the proffered food, his big and velvety lips causing a tickling sensation as they brushed gently across the stableboy’s fingers, Clarkent was navigating the churning sea of his thoughts.
Another Visiting Day had passed a few weeks ago. It had been great to see his parents again, and Gawain had even accompanied them for a little while. After Gawain had left, Clarkent had told his parents of his discovery shortly after the last Visiting Day: that the old man who had been so friendly to him was actually the great Peregrine the White. They had smiled and told him how glad they were that someone was looking out for him, but they hadn’t said much more.
The passing of another Visiting Day had meant a visual confirmation of the fact that his parents had survived another year, and he was glad for that. They looked a little less fatigued than they had the last few years--they said their work was going better than ever--and he was able to rest a little easier, though he still was counting down the days until he could return home to help them.
Esroh Repus finished off the oats and stared at him, as if wondering where the rest was.
“I miss the princess,” Clarkent whispered softly to the horse, surprising himself. It was true.
He had loved watching her ride or gently pet High Flyer. She was so spirited and full of life, and he wished he could talk to her alone--even for just a few minutes. But he couldn’t go to her. He had to wait until she came with her lady-in-waiting to ride horses . . . or until he chanced to see her passing by, as he had today. And to be so much in the hands of fate . . . was maddening. But there was nothing he could do. He was only a stableboy.
He thought back to a few years ago when they had danced together out in the field. It was something that had only happened once, but he still carried the memory of it in his heart. There had been a moment there where he’d forgotten he was a stableboy and simply gotten lost in her voice and the rhythm of the song.
Petting the horse, Clarkent continued talking in a low voice. “I don’t know why. I knew she had to--to start growing up sometime. She couldn’t dance with stableboys for long.” He chuckled to himself. “It’s not like I was even a very good dancer.”
Esroh Repus just looked at him out of one eye and then shook his head with a snort.
“You think I’m crazy, don’t you?” Clarkent asked loudly, his eyes narrowed at the horse. Then he shook his head and grinned at his own ridiculousness. He was standing in a stable talking to a horse. “Maybe I am,” he admitted.
“Oh, somehow, I doubt that,” said a voice from behind him, and Clarkent turned.
Peri stood there, one arm holding his staff and the other holding against his chest something long and shrouded in an old brown blanket. “After all, only sane people suspect they might be insane.”
Clarkent squinted at him, giving him a doubtful look. “Uh . . . right.”
“I would like to talk to you outside,” Peri said shortly, gesturing toward the stable entrance.
Clarkent glanced at the others working in the stable and then nodded. He followed the magician outside to behind the stable, where there was nobody around.
Peri smiled at him. “I have a gift for you, Clarkent.”
“A--a gift?” Clarkent stammered. Whatever he’d expected, it wasn’t this.
Peri nodded affirmatively. Setting his staff on the ground, he maneuvered the covered object so that it was resting across both his hands and held it out to Clarkent.
Hesitantly, Clarkent slipped the blanket off the item, revealing a long object that was unmistakable. A sword.
With a gasp, Clarkent reached out to touch the sword’s black scabbard. A golden dragon breathed flames up the length of the metal encasing the weapon. Clarkent ran his finger down the flames, almost afraid. He had never touched a sword before. He had been close when he and Gawain had been at the border, but they had been discovered before he could touch the sword himself.
“This was the King’s first sword,” Peri noted quietly. Somehow, Clarkent knew he wasn’t talking about King Samuel. Gawain had told him that the symbol of the Barbarian Kingdom was the dragon, and here was more evidence of that.
Clarkent’s mind and fingers finally reconnected, and he withdrew his hand and took a few steps backward. “I can’t take this,” he said heavily, speaking with a slight hint of regret. “This is too precious a gift.”
“Nonsense,” the magician said, pushing the sword toward him. “I wish for you to have it. A magician has no use for a sword.”
“But it was your friend’s--”
“And now it is yours,” Peri stated flatly. He was beginning to look a little irked, like a cat that was trying to sleep with a child pulling at its tail.
Holding his breath, Clarkent stumbled forward and put one hand on the end of the scabbard and the other on the sword’s hilt. He gently lowered the scabbard and unsheathed the sword, which glinted in the sunlight. With his right hand, he shifted it left and right, feeling the weight of it. “Thank you,” he whispered suddenly, touched by the gift. His parents had given him what small presents they could afford, and Gawain and the princess had given him cake, but he had never been given something like this before, and it touched him deeply.
“We’ll start sword-fighting lessons tomorrow after your work is done.”
“What?” Clarkent squeaked. Looking embarrassed, he cleared his throat and said in a more normal tone, “What do you mean?” He hadn’t really thought beyond the fact that he had been given something he had never in his wildest dreams been able to hold much less own.
“What’s the point of a sword if you don’t know how to use it?” Peri asked with a smile.
“I guess you’re right,” Clarkent mumbled. He looked down at the sword in his right hand, at the black and gold hilt and the sharp edges of the blade. His heart was beating with excitement. To be able to use a sword--
But then the practical side of him caught up with the boyish part, and he asked in confusion, “Why are you doing all this?” Why put a sword in the hands of a stableboy and teach him how to use it?
The older man’s expression became serious, and he exhaled slowly. “One day, Clarkent, you will have to fight.”
Clarkent pulled his eyebrows inward. “But what will I be fighting for?”
The magician gave him a smile that seemed almost sad. “You’ll find out soon enough. Let’s just take this one day at a time.”
“All right,” Clarkent agreed, his eyes drawn once more to the sword. It was the most valuable possession he had ever had.
****
The evening of the next day, Clarkent collapsed onto the ground in exhaustion. By “sword-fighting lessons,” Peri had meant doing a series of drills over and over out in the middle of the woods where no one would see them. Clarkent hadn’t even gotten the opportunity to stab a straw man or slash a stick in two.
But Peri had insisted that it was important to become comfortable with his sword--and for it to become part of himself--before he could start thinking of truly using it.
Peri had also taught Clarkent how to clean his weapon using animal fat. Apparently, there were different things to think about in regard to a sword’s upkeep--cleaning blood off it, keeping it sharp, removing rust . . . . It was a bit like a horse in that way--it needed some care to keep working properly for its master. And Clarkent was good at that sort of thing.
“I guess that’s enough for one day,” Peri commented wryly as he stared down at Clarkent.
James, who was on the magician’s shoulder, appeared to agree: “Rep rep rep rep.”
Clarkent looked up at them. “Thanks,” he said, feeling a bit sheepish for having just flung himself to the ground. He was glad he worked in the stables rather than the kitchen. At least his stable work had kept his muscles in shape--though they obviously weren’t in good enough shape if they way they were aching now was any indication of his fitness. “I appreciate the help.”
Peri smiled. “I will see you tomorrow around the same time.”
“Great!” Clarkent returned happily. It felt like he was working toward something, and that made him feel good. What he was working toward, he wasn’t exactly sure, but for now . . . it didn’t matter.
He touched the dragon on the sword’s scabbard, smiling.
****
A week later, Loisette was in her room with her lady-in-waiting when there was a knock on the door. Upon opening the door, she saw it was Peregrine the White, and she smiled. “Peri,” she said warmly. She used to call him by his full name, but ever since he had insisted in front of Clarkent that she call him “Peri,” the name had stuck with her. In addition, since Gawain had been expected to call him by that name--she had been in her boy persona and seen Peri more than once since their first frightening meeting--it was a good habit to get into.
“Your Highness,” he returned with a bow. His eyes flicked toward Catherine, and he nodded at her in greeting. “I wonder if I might have a word with you alone?”
Catherine muttered, “Sure. Just dismiss the hired help.” But she didn’t seem angry, and she left the room without any further comments.
After closing the door, Losiette invited the magician to have a seat, but he insisted on standing.
“How are you doing, Your Highness?” he asked her after glancing around the room.
Loisette couldn’t help but gaze around quickly herself to see if something was amiss, but everything looked like it was in order. “I’m doing fine,” she answered.
He turned his eyes to her and smiled. “You certainly look healthier than you did a few years ago. There was a while there where everyone was really worried about you, Your Highness.”
Loisette looked down at her feet, examining a dirty smudge on one of her shoes as if it were the most fascinating thing in the world. “Well, I’m fine now.”
“I’m glad to hear it, Your Highness.” He turned his eyes to a spot in the wall, and she wondered if he realized that it was home to her mouse friend. “Did you know that a fairy godmother gave you and your mother the power to speak to animals at your births?” he said suddenly.
Loisette blinked. Skepticism warred with surprise in her head, and confusion reared up and clobbered both of them. “I had a fairy godmother?” was all she could bring herself to ask.
He looked at her with obvious amusement. “Every girl does. Fairies like to look out for young girls, Your Highness. They know how tough it can be for them to live in a man’s world such as this.”
A wistful smile came to her face. When she was younger, she had dreamed of a beautiful fairy with sparkling wings coming to her and whisking her away to fairyland. But she had never actually thought she could have a fairy godmother looking out for her, no matter what everyone had said. A thought occurred to her, and she asked, “Peri, who is my fairy godmother?”
He gave her a look that was almost scolding. “Fairy godmothers don’t like to reveal their identities until they’re really needed--if they ever even do reveal themselves. I wouldn’t worry about the specifics, Your Highness.”
Realizing he wasn’t going to give her some clues, she ventured, “What is this about talking to animals? I’ve never been able to do that--not with us understanding each other.”
“It’s something you must be taught. To communicate, you have to learn to open up your mind. It’s not an isolated experience; it’s a sharing process. Animals, as you know, are frequently quiet. Most of them do not speak much, and when they do, it is often with body languages. They rely on their senses--on images, smells, and textures--to get a sense of the world around them. This is information they don’t have to talk about with others of their species--the others are receiving that information as well, so there is no need. Humans rely too much on imparting information through verbal communication . . . and often forget about the world around us.”
Loisette frowned. “How do you get past something like that?”
“That’s part of the magic. It can take what an animal is feeling and put it into understandable words in a human’s head. Sometimes, however, even the magic can’t verbally express something, so it simply gives an image--usually, however, that is enough to get a point across.”
“But how do you talk to them? I’ve talked to animals before and never had a response . . . . ”
Peri tapped his staff gently on the ground, looking toward Robert Bigmouth’s hole. “Is there someone there?” he asked gently, speaking in the direction of the mouse’s home.
A small gray head popped out. His nose twitching furiously, Robert Bigmouth took a few tentative steps forward.
“Sit by him,” Peri said. “Look into his eyes. Think a little bit more like a mouse.”
Beginning to doubt the magician’s sanity, Loisette nonetheless did as he said. If her mother really *did* have the ability to talk to animals, then maybe she did, too. It wasn’t *that* farfetched, was it?
She stared at Robert’s dark eyes, lowering her hand for him to crawl into and trying to think about what went on in mice’s heads. “Come here, Robert,” she said in a soft voice.
He moved forward in bursts before finally setting his front feet on her hand. With a little encouragement, he was coaxed up fully into Loisette’s hand. She brought him up toward her face and stared at him. Then, thinking, wishing, believing, hoping, pushing, *feeling*, she managed to say with a remarkable amount of effort, “**Hello, Robert.**”
“**Hiya,**” came the reply, and she nearly jumped.
The mouse hadn’t spoken out loud--certainly, his mouth hadn’t moved--but the word had formed in her head. Startled, she looked up at Peregrine the White, who was smiling down at her.
“Very good,” the magician told her.
Proud of herself, Loisette turned back to the mouse. “**My name is Princess Loisette,**” she told him, glad at last he could understand her. “**I named you ‘Robert Bigmouth.’ Is that okay?**”
“**Sure,**” he responded, bringing his hands up to smooth down his whiskers.
She grinned at him. “**You’re a cute mouse.**”
But all that came back to her was a mental image of a large chunk of cheese, and she laughed. There was no need to transform *that* image into words.
