Trixter (2 page)

Before he knew it, the boulder was upon them, or they were upon it, and with a sort of belch and squelch, the earth spat Trix and Needa on top of it. Not that being on the rock was much better than surfing the mud itself…

Trix immediately flipped onto his stomach, found rough crevasses in which to shove his strong hand and feet, and held on for dear life. Fire and fright took turns washing through his body; Trix concentrated on staying conscious.

They spun and tipped, but thankfully did not roll over. Trix tried to use his meager body weight to keep his strange ship from capsizing. He imagined it worked, but then, he could imagine a lot of things. For instance, he could imagine that the cries of terror issuing from his forelock were actually shrieks of joy as the rock bucked and twisted. The wind, too, seemed to finally have direction...but which direction, he knew not. The unhappy goddess had confused that as well. What was once up was now down, and contrariwise.

When he felt that he had enough control, he called out to Needa, “Are you ready to fly?”

“No time like the present,” he heard her say. He reached up with his good arm and cupped his hand as gently as he could over his hair until he felt her many feet tickle his palm. Trix held the tiny spider in his trembling hand—trembling not from fear, but as the rock beneath them trembled. He waited while Needa secured her egg sacks to her back once again.

“I did not get to know you,” said the spider, “and we will not meet again, but I would thank you, Boy Who Talks to Animals. I will tell the King of Spiders of your selflessness.”

“Live for me,” Trix told her. “Let your children live. That will be thanks enough.”

“Fare well, my friend,” said the spider.

“I shall try,” Trix replied.

“Oh, you will,” said the spider. But whether she meant that he would fare well or that he would try, Trix had no time to clarify. With agile legs the spider cast her net wide. The gossamer silk immediately caught the gusting wind. Dark spouts of wind and earth and water stretched up from the ground to the clouds as she passed, like giant hands of hungry demons trying to catch her.

Trix lay there on the tilting rock looking after the spot in the sky where Needa and her eggs had vanished, sending prayers for her safe travels into the sky. He was still praying when the sea swallowed him whole.

T
he rock
he had been using as a platform quickly became an anchor. Trix let go and gave himself to the maelstrom. Over and over he tumbled through the waves, above and below. Darkness and light flashed before him. Darkness meant water. Light meant air. Trix concentrated, attempting to breathe only into the light. Even still, every time he opened his mouth, what entered was half water. At first, it tasted of murky rain puddles. Then it became briny, like tears.

The sea.

Somehow, the sea was coming inland.

A tiny part of Trix—the part that wasn't desperate to survive—was overjoyed. He'd never seen the ocean before. Apparently his visit to the seaside was so long overdue that the impatient ocean had packed its bags and come to see Trix instead. How polite the ocean was! Very big and scary, of course, but very kind. Assuming it didn’t kill him in the process…which suddenly seemed a distinct possibility.

Another part of Trix—the part that was concerned about the seawater now flooding into his mouth—was sad at the thought that he might never speak again. Not to the animals who were his friends; not to the family who would still love him despite his terrible behavior. Trix had to leave them for this quest, but he'd always planned to return. Shameful that his last act had not been one of love, but tricks and tales. The thought of never seeing Mama and Papa and Peter and all his sisters again added to the shame in his heart, the pain in his broken limbs, and the ache in his chest for want of a lungful of good air.

As he spun wildly in the churning tumult, randomly alternating betwixt air-not-water and water-not-air, he was reminded of something an old river trout had told him. When there was rain, or a terrible storm, or even rowdy children cavorting about on a summer’s day, the water was only disturbed on the surface. To maintain his desired level of peace and quiet, the trout simply swam to deeper depths. Unfortunately, amidst the mayhem, Trix could not discern up from down long enough to choose a safe direction in which to dive.

A large body crashed into him—a bear? A whale?—pushing Trix downward, further into the sea, and those parts of Trix that weren’t in terrible pain mentally thanked the stranger for obliging. He opened his eyes—the salty water stung a bit—and tried to quell the fear inside him long enough to get his bearings. The small breath he’d managed to capture in his lungs wouldn’t last for long.

He’d not been the only one caught up in this storm. Denizens of earth and sea tumbled above him in terror and confusion. A donkey sped by. A school of purple fish. A wagon full of crabs. A cow, turning leisurely end over end, the bell around her neck silenced.

Trix was a mischief-maker of the first order, but this madness was spectacular.

A turtle sped by and Trix stretched out his good arm, reaching for its foot, but he missed as it pulled back into its protective shell. Something else, a small body, rough and pliant slapped into his palm instead. Trix could not see what it was—it might have been a bundle of wet cloth for all he knew—but it did not matter. He pulled the thing in to him, tucking it inside his shirt. Happily, it was not a bundle of cloth after all; he felt the body stretch out against his chest and hold on to his skin with some sort of knobby tube feet. Trix was no match for this violent sea, but perhaps, with a little luck, he could save this one life.

He wished he could save them all.

Mouth closed and muscles locked, Trix concentrated on the pressure building inside him. The broken ribs felt like shattered glass in his lungs. That one small breath he’d stolen needed to leave him now, and he had to let it go. Trix wondered in that moment about Lord Death and his Angels of Feathers and Fire. Every young child speculated which of the Angels might come for him should he not clean his room or eat his peas, but what Angel delivered those lost at sea into Death’s loving embrace? Water was anathema to both feathers
and
fire. It was conceivable that Lord Death also employed Angels of Fins, only no one who saw them ever survived to tell the tale. Maybe it would be Jack Junior or Tuesday, those beloved siblings who had died before him that would appear to usher Trix to the Great Beyond. That would be a small comfort.

Or Death might send Trix’s mother to fetch his departed soul. Memory brought her words from his vision back unbidden.

Come to me, my sweetheart
.
My sweetheart, come to me
.
There is so much you should know, and still yet so far to go.

Violently and uncontrollably, that small, precious breath he’d been holding escaped him. A murmuration of tiny bubbles fled upward, taunting him with the life he would never get back.

This was it, then. He was going to die. Trix tried to remain calm about it, hoping that his fear would pass from discomfort into acceptance. His body had other plans. It wanted to fight this losing battle. Trix’s arms and legs spasmed. He opened his mouth and awaited the unwelcome rush of water that would put an end to his very interesting boyhood.

That end did not come.

Trix took a deep breath of not-air-not-water-but-still-life. Somehow he continued to live, suspended in this watery otherworld.

He felt a humming vibration from the tubed feet on his chest. Reaching into his shirt, he traced the body of the animal there. It felt a bit like the tail of a large lizard…but a lizard with five tails and no body. The vibration emanated from the center of the animal, resonating through Trix from the top of his head to the tips of his toes. It was a comfortable, tingly feeling—pleasant even in the broken places. The vibration washed his pain away, as well as the chill of the increasingly frigid waters.

And then the hum turned to words—not in Trix’s ears, but in that place in his mind where he heard things.
I'm scared
, said the hum.

So am I
, Trix hum-thought in return.

The tube feet squirmed on Trix's skin. It might have been a reaction of surprise or happiness—whatever it was, accompanied by the tingling vibration it tickled mightily. Trix’s body twitched involuntarily in response. The muscles of the animal contracted and gripped Trix’s chest like the fingers of a strong man, a man keen on ripping Trix’s heart clean out of his chest.

Hello, Boy Who Talks to Animals.

Trix grinned into the not-air. He and his sisters often spoke to each other without words, but never like this. He knew such a thing was possible but he’d always assumed it was a talent reserved only for animal-kind, or the true fey.

Trix answered as calmly as he could manage, with the animalest part of his soul.
Hello!
he said, and almost at the same time,
What are you?

I am a sea star,
said the sea star.

I have never been to the sea
, said Trix.

You cannot say that anymore
, said the sea star.

Trix smiled at that, the seawater slipping across his teeth as he did so. The salt didn’t sting his eyeballs so much anymore. He took advantage of the opportunity to discover what wonders the ocean had dredged up from its depths and brought for him.

Before him played a tumultuous masterpiece.

A melee of brilliant colors swirled above and below him. As the waters rose the larger aquatic life made their way to the bottom, away from the crashing, churning waves far above. Trix grabbed the tail of a large flat beast whose body was also its wings and caught a ride farther down. He realized as they swam that he was holding on with his left hand, the hand connected to the arm that had—until a short while ago—been broken. Perhaps the magic that had summoned this water somehow healed him as well. If that were so, he was a lucky boy indeed.

Schools of shimmering fish slipped by boulders and trees that slammed their way past. Some of the larger beasts were not so lucky. Trix hovered above a kraken who took a chunk of stray chimney in the side, and the watery world in which he floated turned briefly black with ink. Curious, Trix darted the tip of his tongue into the spreading dark cloud. The ink was thinner than blood, bitter and fishy and mysterious. It was all so beautiful to him, this new and strange forest. And it was peaceful here; Trix's mind rarely found such peace. If Death’s Angels were coming for him today, he rather hoped they took their sweet time. He was enjoying himself.

Some creatures of the forest were not faring so well. A family of opossums sank slowly as they clung to each other for safety. A herd of confused deer galloped nowhere together, their eyes wild as their legs tread the water below them. From Trix’s vantage point it looked as if they were flying above the rooftops below—for there were houses below them now, and barns, and fences, and empty roads traveled by no living soul.

But there were living souls in the sea, Trix realized suddenly. They were—all of them: dogs, cats, fawns and fish alike—still living. He placed his hand over the sea star that still sought asylum on his chest. Beneath the star, Trix’s heart was definitely still beating.

How is this possible?
Trix asked in his mind.

It is the custom of falling stars to grant a wish
, the sea star hummed in return.
Thusly have I granted yours
.

Had he made a wish? Trix remembered only salt and storm and funnel clouds and the songs of impending Angels.
Am I dead?
he asked, though he didn't really want the answer. It was entirely possible that he had subconsciously wished to save his own life, but at what price? There was always a price.

You are not dead
, said the star.
Nor is any soul touched by these magical waters. You have saved them, Boy Who Talks to Animals. You have saved us all
.

Trix vaguely recalled such a thought crossing his mind as he had reached for the turtle…and caught the star. He was one very lucky boy indeed. With one exceptionally powerful ally.

I thank you for granting that wish, friend,
said Trix.
You did not have to save my life.

Nor were you obligated to save mine
, said the star.
Perhaps we are more alike than one might think
.

I believe you might be right
, Trix agreed.
Still, that must have taken a monstrous amount of magic.

It did,
admitted the star
. But it will last. However, I cannot tell you how many of these earth creatures will remember their adventure, once they reach solid ground again.

Probably for the best,
said Trix
.

Nor do I know how long you will stay alert,
said the star
, so it’s best if you tell me now which shore you ultimately wish to alight upon.

So that was the price to be paid for this magic—he would not get to experience the fullness of his undersea adventure. Shame. He had rather hoped to see a narwhal. Or a capricorn. Or that waking goddess Needa had mentioned; perhaps she only needed someone to talk with to make her less angry. Trix had enough experience with his seven sisters to know.

Despite all that, Trix thought a sleep-spell a fair price indeed. Hadn’t he just forced his family to the same fate?
North and east,
he said to the star
. More north than east.

Noted. We should advance in the direction of…
The vibration spread through Trix’s limbs again and the sea star’s hum changed in tone.
Oh, dear.

Trix cupped his hands and waved his arms to the left, awkwardly turning in the thick, watery depths. By now, it was clear that the sea star needed no eyes to intuit its surroundings, but Trix had no such talents that he knew of. The shadow of another great beast swam in slow circles above them; the sky was so far away now that Trix had to squint into the darkness. An errant ray of light struck a school of silver fish that darted like a cloud of lightning before him, and then parted to reveal three white shapes before him.

People!
Trix thought.
How wonderful!
Magic and adventures were always better when shared.

Not people
, hummed the sea star.

Trix was inclined to disagree with his new friend, but he kept his mouth—mind?—shut for the time being. The current created by the beast’s passing brought them closer to the almost glowing creatures, close enough for Trix to make out arms and faces. Women! Three women, in fact, barely moving, their skin so sallow that they appeared… Trix made out deep, empty gashes along their rib cages.

This must have been what the sea star meant by “not people”—the women were corpses. Trix had been assured that his wish had saved every living thing in this sea, so these poor, unfortunate souls must have passed away before the magical tide had come rushing in. No doubt the victims of some ghastly murder, buried in a shallow grave, revealed and swept away with the sinks and pots and butter churns. For a moment he saw his sisters in their faces—Friday, Saturday, Sunday—lifeless and just out of reach. The current drew him in closer. He did not pull away.

Their long hair tangled about their limbs, all of it streaked so bright red with blood that Trix could not make out which tresses belonged to whom. Mercifully, some dark cloak still sheathed their lower limbs, and their eyes remained closed. Would some kind person bury this sad trio on a foreign shore, he wondered, or would they ultimately be swept back out to the larger sea?

We should move on
, urged the sea star.

Trix felt terrible about abandoning the dead women, but even Mama would have told him there was nothing more to be done here. He began offering up a silent prayer to the Earth Goddess before deciding she probably had her hands full at the moment. Instead, Trix beseeched kindness from Lord Death on behalf of these nameless women and wished them a safe journey in the arms of…whatever Angel came to fetch them. Trix quickly looked about on the off chance he managed to catch a glimpse of his imagined Angel of Fins.

When he looked back, one of the women was staring at him.

One by one, eyelids began to open. Layers of eyelids. The first revealed the milky eyes of the dead. The second revealed the hollow black eyes of monsters. Trix had been wrong. There were no souls in these not-women at all.