Authors: Elizabeth Ann Scarborough
She picked great handfuls, and ate them that way, having nothing to make a more fanciful concoction, and not possessing the strength or inclination for cooking, magical or otherwise, just then, anyway. They were very good as they were, if a bit tart. She continued gathering after she’d eaten her fill, and tied them into her kerchief, leaving her hair to string down, hot and sticky, against her neck.
Her exhilaration over Colin’s escape and her own began to fade, and she sat down on a log to think. She was tired, having been up the whole night, and now that she knew he was safe she was annoyed that Colin was not there to keep her company and help her continue their journey. Presumably Ching was with him now, and she missed the cat too.
She would have liked to discuss with Colin what Davey had told her, and plan how to get her sister away from Hugo, who she now felt sure was taking her sister to the sorcerer, if he hadn’t already killed her. Although she badly wished to see Colin again, she just as fervently hoped he would continue on his way when he found she was not in the section of the wood for which he had been headed.
Still, Ching might have cheered her with his sarcasm, and not incidentally with the game he could catch and share with her. It would be nice to stroke his fur while she thought, too, instead of watching her hands turn blue from the berries. A tear of self-pity slid down one of her brown cheeks.
She was about to brush it aside when she heard the rustling in the bushes and a peculiar snuffling, whuffing sound. The leaves of the willows shook. A brown, furry nose poked out of the shrubbery.
She froze. A bear, perhaps the one from the gypsy camp. Now she really did miss Ching, and even the minstrel, who might have at least tried to do as her father had suggested and sing the bear a lullaby. She could always TRY to turn the creature into a rug. It was better than being eaten.
The bear emerged fully from the bushes and stood on his hind legs, blinking his small eyes and looking around. Maggie sat back so abruptly when he stood up that she almost fell into the stream. Before it occurred to her that getting wet would have been a safer course of action than to attract the bear’s attention, she flailed around trying to avoid a soaking.
The bear growled.
Maggie righted herself abruptly, sitting up so quickly that the kerchief-tied bundle of berries rolled out of her lap and onto the ground beside her foot. She nudged the berries toward the bear with her toes.
To her surprise, he picked them up and carefully unknotted the kerchief before devouring the berries in two pawfuls.
“Thanks, m’dear. These are excellent.”
She shook her head sharply and pounded above her ear with the heel of her hand. “Excuse me. Did you say something?”
“Yes—the berries—very good indeed. I say, you wouldn’t have a little honey about, would you? Since I’ve been in this form I’ve had such a great craving for it, but of course, Xenobia would never let anyone give me any.”
“No, I’m sorry. Perhaps I can go find some—” Seeing a chance to escape, she tensed herself for flight, then hesitated. He seemed completely uninterested in eating her, at least so long as berries were available. “Excuse me, bear. How is it you—or rather, I—I mean, how can we understand each other?”
“You young folks broke part of the spell. Didn’t you know?”
“Spell?”
“Yes, indeed. Xenobia’s spell specifically stated that if I were released by—say—a magic cat—and my son’s own true love, that I should once more be able to talk and act as a man. Of course, I can’t
look
like myself again unless I’m able to recover young David’s ticker.” His little bear eyes looked at her shrewdly. “I trust I’m not incorrect in assuming you’re part of that group—with the charming animal and the clumsy young chap who screams so beautifully? I know Xenobia’s folk, of course, and you have a different look than the townspeople.”
“Oh, yes, those are my friends, Colin the minstrel and Chingachgook, my grandmother’s familiar. But if you’re not really a bear, then who are you?”
“I am Prince H. David Worthyman, formerly known at home and abroad as Prince Worthyman the Worthy, heir to the throne of Ablemarle. I suppose now my brother, known in my day as Prince Worthyman the Worthless, has been kind enough to fill the vacancy left in the crown princedom since my bearship.”
Maggie nodded. “We don’t get much political news up where I live, but Dad did say that since the death of your late father, King Worthyman the Worthy, things have really deteriorated over there.” She was silent for a moment while His Highness, having finished the berries in her kerchief, shoveled them off the bushes into his muzzle with both front paws.
“Excuse me, though, Prince Worthyman. How did you come to be enchanted, if that’s not too personal a question? My aunt says Xenobia’s a charlatan, not a proper witch at all…”
“Your aunt is absolutely correct, m’dear. She’s not a witch, of course. She custom-ordered the spell from her patron sorcerer.”
Maggie snorted. “That fellow has caused a great deal of trouble!”
“Aye, he has indeed.” He turned a berry-stained snout to her, then dropped down onto all four paws and settled himself beside the stream for a drink. “I’ll tell you, gurrrl,” he said, shaking the water from his snout when he had finished, “If you’ll be kind enough to scratch behind my ears and along the top of my nose—ahhhh, yes, that’s good—I’ll tell you all about it.”
THE ACCOUNT OF HIS ROYAL HIGHNESS
PRINCE H. DAVID WORTHYMAN,
ALSO CALLED THE ENCHANTED BEAR
“I suppose you can’t really be too hard on Xenobia for a lot of the things she’s done. I didn’t realize at the time what a sensitive girl she was or I shouldn’t have—er—loved her and left her, as they say.
“But I was just a young sprout then, and if the girls didn’t like me quite as well as they like young Davey, they liked me l enough so that I soon grew bored with them and their fickle fan-fluttering flatteries and I preferred to go huntin’ instead.
“We were sheltered up to the castle, you know, and I’d never seen a gypsy wench before. But I saw a great deal of Xenobia that first time, for she was bathin’ in the river. She was so pretty then, with that golden skin and those snappin’ black eyes—oh, yes, I was considerably smitten. To give m’self credit, she didn’t take much persuading. I visited her several times while her caravan was in the area and then, being gypsies, they left.
“I nearly forgot about her as time went by. Being crown prince is fairly heavy work, y’know. One thing father insisted on was that I choose and marry one of the local princesses. Princesses in general seemed a sorry, simpering lot compared to Xenobia, I thought then, but finally I chose Jane of Brazoria as the least objectionable of them, and we were married, and I resumed learning my duties as king-to-be while Janie and I tried to produce an heir.
“Probably because we weren’t so lucky on that account, I was ready, when I got Xenobia’s message, to believe her when she said little Davey was my son. By the time I heard, you see, the lad was well along to being eight years old. I didn’t question that he was mine for a moment, either, once I saw him. He looks like me, don’t you think? No? Oh, yes, not so shaggy—heh, heh—keep forgetting. Not used to being both man
and
bear. S’awkward.
“Anyway, little Davey was my son, and a charming, laughing child he was too. I wish Xenobia hadn’t hidden herself so well when your friends released me. I’d have shown her a bear! ’Twas a terrible thing she did to our boy.”
“Hmph,” said Maggie. “He seemed to be doing alright for himself, if you ask me.”
“Well, of course you’ve no idea, not having been around long. But I can tell you, gurrl, that my son is not the warm, gay child he was. He is not even a nice person now. Many fear him, and many envy him, but no one except his mother and that girl who opened my cage truly love him—and even Xenobia and the girl only love what he used to be.”
“I see.”
“Back to my story—I say, I hope I’m not boring you?”
“Oh, no.”
“Well, then. Davey was a beautiful child, and we loved each other at once. For a week I bided with the gypsies and taught him the things I knew—a bit about hunting, a bit about affairs of state, a few songs I’d learned off the circuit minstrels. But when time came for me to go, Xenobia cornered me, wantin’ to know couldn’t I stay with her and the lad. I explained about learning to run kingdoms, and Jane, and I s’pect she must have figured I’d gone snooty on her. Since I already had a wife,
I couldn’t take Xenobia and the boy back to court even if they could have adjusted to the life. It wouldn’t have done at all.
“I thought she understood that in spite of the fearsome frown on her face as I left them. Five years later I received another message, this one askin’ me to come to young Davey’s manhood ceremony. I see now that her frown, when I first told her there was no room in my life for her and our son, marked the moment when she decided to change, and all three of us became monsters.
“She met me on the road before I reached their camp, and was all smiles and chuckles. Even eight years ago, Xenobia was still quite a good-looking woman, and I flattered myself that my charm certainly wore well. I’d no idea it was a different charm altogether that she had in mind then, for we never went through the main camp at all, but straight to her wagon. She gave me meat and drink.
“I asked to see my son, but she told me he was ‘being prepared.’ After I drained my wine glass, I felt a little drowsy, y’know, so I thought I’d just have a bit of a nap.
“When I woke up I was in the bear’s cage, couldn’t move a muscle or say a thing. My body was changin’ into a bear’s then, you see, and it seems to affect you like that. It was dark, and Xenobia came up carrying a torch, hard yella light on her hard, wicked face. I wondered then what I saw in her. Behind her was this fella all muffled in cloakery, like some sort of pilgrim.
“This here’s the sorcerer, Prince Davey, she says to me. ‘Come all the way from Dragon Bay to be at our boy’s ceremony.’ Then she went on, mocking me. ‘As your highness may have noticed, I don’t write to you overmuch, not bein’ an educated woman like your wife and the noble kind. But our tribe has lately suffered the loss of our beloved bear—got a bit rough in the bear-baiting, and the poor thing got killed.’ Well, I thought she was daft, you know, goin’ on about some bear and me not bein’ able to talk.
“Then she says, all sweet and reasonable, ‘So I thought we could help each other out. You want to be near the boy, and I need a new bear. The sorcerer here is obligin’ us by arranging for you to
be
the bear. If it should by any chance happen, I have to tell you, that you ever get help getting loose from the cage by another magic animal—and where will you find one of them among us?—or—and this is what the sorcerer is about to make really impossible, and you’ll see for yourself what I mean, my love, soon enough—if this magical animal that helps you is aided by our boy’s true love, you’ll get to think and talk like a man again. Of course, anybody else tries to help you, you’ll probably eat them, because in a lot of ways, mighty prince of mine, you’re getting to be all bear.’ She laughed then and it was hair raisin’ to hear.
“‘After this ceremony, our sweet little boy will never have to worry about findin’ a true love to desert the way his Papa did. His heart will belong to his mother and only to her!’
“I didn’t know, of course, what she meant by that, but I was soon to find out, for she left the cage facing the gypsy’s campfire.
“This ceremony they were having was lit by torches carried by the friends of all the boys getting passed to manhood, and I could see well enough. Young Davey, he was
eager and excited, and they smeared paint on him and on the others and waved symbols in the air supposed to be magical, had some dances, give him a speech about how he’s a prince now. Ha! If only he knew, he could be a real prince with none of that hokum about it.
“But on with what I was saying. Anyway, pretty soon it’s all over for the other boys and they go back to their parents. But Xenobia tells the boy that since he’s a prince and so on, he has one more bit of special rigamarole to go through.
“She takes this crystal thing from the sorcerer—what d’ya call them, gurrl? A prism. And she holds it in front of the child and tells him to watch it, to watch the fire inside it, to watch the colors of it, and pretty soon he gets real stupid looking. A trance, I s’pose it was.
“The sorcerer comes forward then and takes this prism from Xenobia, places it against the boy’s breast. He chants and sing-songs and makes more magical patterns in the air. Wasn’t much of that went on before the prism gets brighter and brighter, and then very bright, indeed. Xenobia held out her hand for it then, but the sorcerer didn’t give it to her. She put up no fuss, either, afraid of undoing the magic, I suppose.
Davey woke up then, and a great feastin’ party was held. I felt hungry myself, you see, for I was this way by then, and the meal I’d had as a man was hardly enough for a bear. I was also beginning to feel stupid and dull and ornery, and I tried to lift my arms to rattle the side of the cage. I saw my paws and forelegs then, and I knew she was telling the truth, that I was turning into a bear. I tried hard to understand what they were saying as they came to the cage, hoping they’d give me a clue as to how to free myself.
“Xenobia had figured by then that the sorcerer had tricked her and was hollering at him. ‘You promised me I’d have the heart,’ I heard her say.