The Fairy Godmother (5 page)

But what did she want with Elena? Well, Witches ate, and presumably needed their houses cleaned. Maybe it was easier to hire a servant than to do it all by magic.

The old lady rummaged under the seat, nonchalantly taking out a basket. She flicked a finger, and a little round ball of light appeared over their heads, illuminating both of them. “I'm sure you're hungry, Elena,” she said, with a cheerful smile. “Would you help me with this?”

She began handing Elena napkins, a plate of sandwiches, another of little iced cakes, and cups of tea that somehow emerged steaming from the hamper. The cart was as steady as a house, and the seat between them became their table, spread with plates of food, a teapot, a small milk-jug, a bowl of sugar. It was absurd, impossible, ridiculous—and the very ordinariness of the cloth set for two, in the midst of all this impossibility, gave her a kind of anchor, something to grasp at. At this point, Elena's store of shock was begin
ning to run out—she accepted a sandwich and cup in a numb daze.

“Well,” said the old lady, in a nonchalant, matter-of-fact tone. “I expect you would like to know what this is all about.”

Elena took a bite of her sandwich, automatically, because—well, because that was what you did with a sandwich. It was ham and watercress. Very good ham. In fact, she hadn't had ham quite this good since she was a small child. “Yes, please,” she said in a small voice. Overhead the sky was a deep black strewn with the brightest stars she had ever seen. Beneath the cart was nothing but darkness.

Which was altogether better than looking down on houses no larger than toys.

“Well, where to begin?” The old lady sipped her tea. “I suppose I should begin with this. Elena, I am your Fairy Godmother.”

Elena blinked, and a thousand thoughts raced through her head. Uppermost was,
then where have you been all this time when my stepmother was starving and beating me?
The thought did not have the heat of anger in it—yet. But in a few moments, it would.

“Actually, to clarify, I am the Fairy Godmother to this entire Kingdom,” she continued, and Elena was suddenly glad that she had not blurted out what had been in her head. A Fairy Godmother to
her
was one thing; a Fairy Godmother to all of Otraria was quite another. Being angry now would be like being angry at a thunderstorm because it happened to rain on
you
. “You
do
know about the King of Otraria, I presume? And his Queen—who used to be the Princess Who Could Not Laugh?”

Elena nodded.

“Well, that was my doing—the goose, and all those people stuck to the goose and each other.” She smiled, and patted her hair with every sign of pride. “One of my best efforts, I think. So, in that case, you already
know
how tales come true—for
some
people.”

Something about the way she said that made Elena repeat it. “
Some
people?”

The old lady nodded. “Indeed. You see, whenever there is a person whose life begins to resemble a tale—the brave little orphan lad, the lovely girl with the wicked stepmother, the princess with the overly protective father—something begins to happen, and that something is
magic
.” She paused, and ate a dainty quarter of sandwich. “Magic begins to gather around them, you see, and in fact, there are even certain people to whom that begins to happen from the moment they are born. That magic begins to try to force their lives down the path that their circumstances most closely resemble, and the longer it takes for that to happen, the more magic begins to gather around them.”

Elena sat stock-still, her cup clutched in both hands, thinking about that
tension
she had been feeling for so very many years. Was that—the magic?

The old lady peered at her, and nodded with satisfaction. “So. You
have
felt it. Good, then you understand. That magic has been trying very hard to propel you down the path of a tale to a
happily ever after
, and you've been well overdue for
that
ever since you were sixteen.”

“But—” Elena began.

“Among the many other things they do, the Fairy God
mothers are supposed to help that sort of thing along, like midwives,” the old lady continued, right over the top of Elena's “but.” “Which is why we always turn up when something goes horribly wrong, to counter the Bad Fairy's curse or the invasion of an Evil Sorcerer. But quite often, I'm afraid, in fact more often than not, circumstances around that special person are just not going to allow the happy ending that the magic is pushing for. Take your case, for instance. You do realize what was
supposed
to happen in your life, don't you?”

Well, of course she did! How could she not? She'd daydreamed it often enough. “On the Prince's birthday, there would be a great ball,” she said, automatically. “I would get a gown, somehow—my mother's spirit would weave it of flowers, perhaps, or—”

She looked penetratingly at the old woman.

“—or your Fairy Godmother would conjure it out of the rags left from your mother's old gowns, yes, or Brownies would sew it and leave it for you in the garden. Exactly. And then?”

“Well, I would go to the ball, and no one would recognize me, the Prince would fall in love with me and I with him and he would take me away and I would live—”

They finished in chorus, “Happily ever after.”

“Exactly so. Unfortunately, my dear, in your case, though your stepmother and stepsisters are fully
wicked
enough to justify that sort of happy ending, Prince Florian is a mere boy of eleven.” She paused just long enough for Elena to begin to feel horribly
cheated
somehow, then continued. “Nor are you the only girl to whom this has happened
with this par
ticular tale
. All over the Five Hundred Kingdoms, down through time, there have been countless girls like you for whom the circumstances were not right. Their destined princes were greybeards, infants, married or terrible rakes, or not even Princes at all, but Princesses! And the magic keeps gathering around them, trying to make it all work—oh, and by the way, we call that,
The Tradition
. The way that magic tries to set things on a particular course, you see. And there are dozens and dozens of other tales that The Tradition is trying to recreate, all the time, and perhaps one in a hundred actually becomes a tale.”

Elena nodded, pushing off that feeling of being cheated with all her determination. “All right, I do see, but—”

“So all of that magic is building up around the person—you, in fact—like a snowball rolling down a hill. It just gets attracted, the same way that white cat hair is attracted to a black velvet bodice, you know.” Now the old woman was watching her, closely. For what?

“I see, but—”

“It never goes away. Sometimes, it just builds up to the point where a magician notices it, and it gets—” she waved her hand vaguely “—siphoned off. Sometimes neatly, with the person's consent, and to the benefit of the person, though the effect of that is that it leaves them quite ordinary. Nothing magical will ever happen again to her—or him—but at least their life will go on rather as everyone else's life goes on. And if the person's circumstances are truly dire, usually the magician who benefits by the magic gives them a helping hand to a set of better circumstances, which, of course, breaks The Tradition so that the magic stops build
ing up around them. And sometimes—it is siphoned not so nicely.” Her expression darkened. “If that happens, Elena, they are generally left dead, and if they aren't—well, believe me when I tell you that they are worse off than if they
were
dead.”

Elena went cold all over. Was
that
why the old woman had offered her a position? Did she only want the magic?

Perhaps it wouldn't be so bad to be ordinary—

But at that moment, even though, not so long ago, she would have welcomed the prospect, she knew that this was not the right answer anymore. Not now.

“And sometimes,” the old lady went on, “if the person has attracted someone who is not only a magician, but a magical guardian, something else happens.”

She smiled, a warm smile that felt like a comforting arm around Elena's shoulders, and Elena smiled back without knowing quite why. “I am that
something else
, at least in your case.”

“What sort of—something else?” Elena asked, cautiously. Her mouth felt very dry and automatically took a sip of tea. It was stone-cold, but before she could do more than make a face, the old lady wiggled her finger at it, and the cup was suddenly steaming again. Elena felt dizzy.

“Someone has to become the Fairy Godmothers. And the White Wizards, and the Good Witches. It has to be someone who already has enough magic gathered around her—or him—so that she can properly learn how to use that magic and how to get more before what she has accumulated is used up. As I said, I am the Fairy Godmother for all of Otraria, and I am getting old and tired. I need an Apprentice. That would be
you
.”

Elena had expected to hear any number of things. This was not one of them. “Me?” Elena squeaked.

“That is where all of those Good Magicians come from, dear,” the old lady said. “All of those people like you, whose happily-ever-afters just aren't going to come, but who still have too much that is special about them to ever be content with being ordinary. You're ready. You are more than ready. You're brave, sensible, clever, and extremely magical. You have a kind heart, and a good mind. You are certainly proper Godmother material.”

Elena thought about that for a moment, and thought about how she had felt, just before the old woman turned up. Angry, and full of fear and desperation. “Excuse me, but—what happens if one of those same people goes bad? Turns ugly and nasty over what they're having to go through?”

“Where do you think evil sorcerers and wicked Witches come from?” the old lady asked darkly, and paused. “Not Bad Fairies though, nor Good Fairies. Those are Fair Folk, and something else entirely; they're born that way. But the Wicked Witches—the Bad Wizards—the Dread Sorceresses? Oh my, yes.”

Elena took a deep breath, and closed her eyes for a moment. She didn't precisely
think
, she simply let all that she had been told sink in. Fairy Godmothers, Bad Witches—The Tradition—the magic. It all fell into a pattern in a way that life never had before. She opened her eyes.

“Oh. I think I see. And the position you offered me—”

“As my Apprentice, yes, is for life. And one day, you will choose someone like you, and make her the same offer.” The
old lady nodded. “Now, you can refuse it if you like, and if you like, I can take all that magic from you and make you like everyone else. You'll still have a position; I'll see to that. I know several kind folk who could use a plain cook or a housekeeper. And actually, that is something else that a Godmother does. There are far more people who want to be rid of the magic than want to become our Apprentices. It can be hard work—and it can be dangerous. After all,
we
stand in the way of what
they
want.” She cocked her head to the side, and waited for Elena's response. She did not have to say who
they
were.

Where do you think the evil Sorcerers and bad Witches come from?

And some of those were very, very evil indeed.

But Elena really did not have to think about her answer for very long. Given a choice between an ordinary life, and a magical one—well, it was no choice at all.

“I would love to be your Apprentice, Madame,” she said, solemnly, as if she was making a pledge. “And I do accept.”

“Grand!” the old lady crowed. “Now, you may call me Madame Bella, my dear, and I believe we shall get along capitally. Oh, look!”

She pointed, just in time for Elena to see a shooting star streak across the heavens in front of them.

“A good omen! Quickly, make a wish!”

“I—don't have to,” she said, slowly, feeling the deep truth of her words even as she spoke them. “I already have it.”

Madame Bella smiled. “Then I believe that we shall make all speed for home.
Your
home now, and for as long as you care have it so.”

Home.
What a wonderful word that was. And words were powerful for Witches. For a Fairy Godmother, it should be very powerful indeed. More than powerful enough to make it all real.

Q
uite as matter-of-factly as if they were sitting on a bench in a starlit pleasure-garden instead of on a flying cart, Madame Bella packed up the hamper with Elena's help, and stowed it once more under the seat. Madame made the little ball of light vanish when she was through, leaving them sitting side by side in the darkness.

Now, in spite of the fact that they were
flying
through the air, rather high above the ground, the only real indication of this was that there was nothing but darkness below them. Madame Bella was as calm and composed as if she did this every day, and the motion of the cart—well, there just wasn't any perceptible motion, only a bit of breeze from their passing. It was surreal, to tell the truth, giving Elena a sense of peculiar dizziness and disorientation.

She blinked, and for the first time, wondered if she really
was
flying through the night sky above the countryside. The whole situation was very dreamlike, after all.

Dreamlike;
was
it a dream?

The more she thought about it, the more certain it seemed. Why, at any moment now she would awaken and discover herself on her pallet in the deserted, barren house, with the depressing prospect of no position and very few options in front of her.

Oh, surely this was a dream. When had anything this wonderful, this fantastic, ever happened to her? Never, of course. She stared out at the darkness. This was like something out of a tale; entirely like one of those dreams she used to have, stories she used to tell herself.

After all, how could a horse and cart be flying in the air like this? When had she ever heard of a flying cart?

But a little voice inside her, stubborn—or perhaps desperate—insisted that this was no stranger than things she already knew were true.
Well, how can Witches fly about on broomsticks? Even Madame Fleur can do that; I saw her, once.
Only once, and in the company of (she presumed) another Witch, but still—

“Madame Bella, what's keeping us in the air?” she asked, hesitantly.

The Godmother gestured at the little horse, who tossed his head. “I prevailed upon my little friend Sergei,” she said, cheerfully. “He's part of his own set of tales, but when he's not needed there, he often helps out the Godmothers and Wizards. His mother is the Mare of the East Wind, you know.”

“Oh,” Elena said, at a bit of a loss, for in fact, she
didn't
know. She hadn't even known there was such a thing as the Mare of the East Wind.

“Oh, silly of me, of course you don't know.” Madame Bella chuckled. “And there you see why I need an Apprentice; I'm getting so muddle-headed, it is
more
than time that I stepped down, before I try to put a magical lamp into Cap'O'Rush's hands! Sergei and his mother are from another line of The Tradition, another set of Kingdoms and tales. Take it as read that Sergei is a sort of magical creature rather like one of the Faerie Folk and with equal powers.”

“A magic horse. Like a—” She strained her memory, but could not think of another such. At least, not one with power enough to make himself and the cart he drew fly. “Like a Wizard?” she hazarded.

“No, more like a dragon,” Bella told her. “Or a Unicorn. His mother is truly powerful, much more so than he is; but then, she is more than half a spirit creature. She was mated to a mortal stallion once, for some reason that escapes me. He has two brothers who are really remarkable to behold; quite the most handsome horses I have ever seen. But sad to say, they have not a smidgen of magic in them; he got the lot. Didn't you, Sergei?”

The little horse tossed his head and whickered. It sounded rather like a snicker.

“Yes, I know, you got all the brains in the family, too,” Bella laughed. “Which is probably why you are your mother's favorite child. It's quite true though,” Bella continued, turning back to Elena. “Sergei is rather brilliant and terribly crafty, which makes him invaluable to us. For in
stance, had your stepmother unexpectedly returned, I am fairly certain that
he
would have found a way to get you away from her long before I did.”

The horse whickered again, and Bella clapped both hands to her mouth in feigned shock. “Sergei, you
would not
have!”

From the bray that came out of the little horse's throat, whatever it was, Elena was entirely certain that, yes, Sergei
would
have.

She wished Bella would tell her, but the Godmother just shook her head. “Just as well that nothing happened, then. Your town would never have gotten over it, and The Tradition would have been kinked for years. That sort of thing can have serious consequences, dear, and a grave flaw in The Tradition gives an evil one room to move in. I'm not saying that would have happened this time,” she hurriedly added, “but just that you have to be very aware when you cross Tradition lines or break Tradition that you do it in a way that impacts the fewest people.”

“I thought that The Tradition was only important for—for the special people,” Elena said hesitantly.

“Oh, no—The Tradition rules
everything
in the Five Hundred Kingdoms.” At least Bella didn't sound at all impatient with Elena for asking so many questions. “Why, for instance, do you think that everyone in Otraria loves King Colin and Queen Sophia? That no one would ever whisper a word of treason about them, even though the only army he has never does much except march in parades and the only guards he has are old men inclined to nod off at their posts?”

Elena shook her head. “The Tradition?” she hazarded.

“Exactly. Goose-boy Colin brought a smile to the face of
the Princess Who Could Not Laugh, and
that
brought joy back to Otraria, as well as won him her hand and Kingdom. Now, precisely because of this, The Tradition makes certain that
everything
in the Kingdom runs sweetly and smoothly, from the happiness of the King and Queen down to the weather.”

“Oh, surely not!” Elena objected. “Surely the
weather
isn't affected!”

“You think not?” Bella laughed, but there was a sad sound to it. “Then early in your training I should take you to a Kingdom that is laboring under an evil ruler, a despotic one. You'd see then that The Tradition guides everything down to the least and seemingly insignificant detail. Otraria is happy, Colin is a good King who rules well and wisely, and so—the land is fertile, the people are content, the weather is perfect in every season, because The Tradition creates a Kingdom to match the King and Queen. It would be very, very hard for an evil Witch or a dark Wizard to move into Otraria now; in fact, the only way that one
could
would be either by an invasion, which would take a
very
great force of arms, or by a combination of magic and treachery. Believe me, when it comes to the latter,
that
will not happen while I am Godmother here, nor as long as any Apprentice I train is overseeing things.”

There was a steely tone to Bella's words that made Elena sit up a little straighter and give the old woman a sideways glance. Not that she could see very much in the dark but—she had the feeling that if she
could
see Bella's face, she would discover that the slightly dotty old woman that had offered her a position had transformed
for a moment into something very like the iron-spined general who commanded Otraria's tiny army. Both of them might be old—but they knew their duties, and they would drive themselves and everything and anyone under their authority to see to it that those duties were performed.

“But there—that's one of the things we do, you see,” Bella continued in a more normal tone. “We see to it that the conditions are fulfilled to make things as pleasant as possible for everyone. The main problem is that there is quite a bit of work, and not very many of us; there are Kingdoms that don't have a Godmother or resident Wizard, Kingdoms where the assigned Godmother is overworked, or falls ill, or dies without an Apprentice in training. So things can, and do, go wrong. That is when The Tradition works against us, and for the evil folk of the world—The Tradition doesn't
care
, you see, whether the outcome of a story is a joy or a tragedy; if the circumstances are there, it just makes things follow down set paths. And since we can't fix them directly, we have to help the heroes who can.”

“But why can't you fix them directly?” Elena asked, now truly puzzled and confused. “If you have all this power—”

“Ah. The answer to
that
is why you will be serving as my Apprentice for some time,” Madame Bella replied, wisely. “But the quick answer is that it would take all the magic of a hundred Godmothers working together to correct a single one of those problems if we had to go counter to The Tradition.
We
do not figure as heroes, you see. Whoever heard of a dotty old lady in shining armor?”

Elena giggled at that; why not? She was going to wake up, after all, and things would not be nearly so pleasant when she did, so she might as well enjoy this dream. And it was such a
good
dream—she would very much like to be a Godmother's Apprentice. And it was somehow comforting to have an explanation for why her life had gone from bad to worse, no matter what she had done to try to change things.

“And you have to remember that the evil ones are always on the prowl, looking for their opportunities to make The Tradition work to
their
advantage, and they have one thing on their side that we do not,” Madame Bella continued. “Once one of them finds a place to work,
they
can concentrate on that one Kingdom, while
we
are spread out over many.”

“How many?” Elena asked, sobering. This might be a dream, but it certainly sounded as if this Godmothering business was quite hard work.

Not that
she
was afraid of hard work, for heaven's sake! But she had to wonder just how many Kingdoms Bella was responsible for, if there were so few of the Godmothers.

“At the moment, I am Godmother directly to two dozen of the Five Hundred Kingdoms, and I can be called upon to help with another twelve or fourteen,” Madame Bella said, and sighed. “And I am not getting any younger, alas. I have been looking for a good Apprentice for some time now.”

Obscurely, Elena felt a surge of disappointment, even though this was a dream. So she had not been the only person that Madame Bella had considered!

But in the next moment, Bella's words made the disappointment vanish. “In fact, I have really been looking, in
one way or another, from the day that I became the Godmother for these Kingdoms. I have seen too much tragedy come into the world because a Godmother left looking for her Apprentice until it was too late. I must say, though, in all that time, I never had a bit of hope until I found you. And I was not going to even hope that you could be what I was looking for until after you passed your eighteenth birthday.”

“Why then?” Elena wanted to know.

“Because if ever you had a satisfactory end to your personal tale—if, for instance, you had found a sweetheart who had successfully taken you out of that house—it
had
to be by then.” Bella sounded melancholy. “Far too many of the young women I have watched over the years did, indeed, make that sort of end. Why it should be before the eighteenth birthday, I do not know. Perhaps it has something to do with being willing to—to
settle
for less, to stop dreaming—to give up on hope. And then, perhaps the magic around you arrows in on whatever you can get, rather than what you hope for. I don't know for certain, because I have never asked those young women about what was going on in their minds.”

Elena licked her lips thoughtfully, tasting the last, faint hint of sweetness from an iced cake upon them. Yes, she
had
recently stopped dreaming—or at least
day
dreaming—but it had not been until after that critical eighteenth birthday. Even then, could she really say that she had given up on dreams? Not when she had continued to look out her window at handsome young men and make up lesser stories, smaller dreams about them.

And in all that time, had she ever really tried to
do
anything about those dreams? Oh, she could argue all she wanted that her stepmother would never have given her the time to go meet a young man, but in her heart of hearts, she had to admit that if she had tried, she probably could have stolen the time, somehow, to go and meet one of those young men, to flirt a little, as she had seen so many other girls do.

Why had she never tried? It wasn't that she was shy. It wasn't that she had some withered sprig of pride left, that insisted that Elena Klovis was above the common young men she saw in the streets. Perhaps, if she had seen a man that her heart had really longed for, perhaps she would have defied her stepmother and grasped for love with both hands. She sat back in her seat and thought, hard, about all the men, young and old, she had watched, and she had to admit that no, it had never been the
man
she had longed for—only the escape that marriage, marriage to anyone, represented.

Well. That was certainly interesting. And perhaps a little disturbing—
why
was that true? Was it the men? Or was it her? Was she just as cold in her way as the Horrids, who cared nothing for the men who courted them, only the wealth or status that they represented?

It was a nasty thought, and one that gave her pause as she considered just what all the implications of it were.

“Perhaps,” Bella sighed, “Perhaps for the rest of those others, it was just as well. Every one of them discovered someone she truly loved, and in the end, they were happy. The Tradition works in small stories as well as large, you know.”

But if I had tried, would I have found a true love?
she thought, somberly. It was hindsight, of course.