Dinner was as grueling as she expected. Count whatshisname, 35 and pouchy, piled nonsensical flatteries on Talia while his foot met with Teresa’s under the table so much that she eventually twined her ankles around her chair legs. Not for the first time.
The main course of venison, roast potato, and bitter greens from the royal garden had long been tucked into, and the King was on his third glass of wine. A few rosy drops stained the snowy tablecloth, and his highness leaned on his meaty elbows and told excruciatingly familiar stories about kings and queens past. Grandmothers, grandfathers, and more distant ancestors paraded through his stories, prompted no doubt by the tapestry that hung opposite him, far down the long table.
The king harrumphed. “And then, finally, we reach the family legend, the origin of our line.”
Count Pouchy craned his neck and squinted at the far corner of the tapestry, following the king’s grand gesture.
“The origin?” he queried politely. “But that’s a picture of a—”
“Dragon, yes,” the King said proudly.
Oh, great, the dragon story, Teresa thought. Here was the time to call for Old Tom, if any.
“What did you say?” the queen mother asked sharply. Teresa jumped. She didn’t realize she had spoken out loud, and her mother’s response surprised her. The queen didn’t usually speak much at these gatherings, letting the King hold court.
“N-nothing,” Teresa said. “I mean—I didn’t think I said anything out loud.”
“Oh!” the queen said, visibly relieved. “I thought I heard you say—never mind—” she interrupted herself abruptly, and ducked her head over her raspberry tart.
“What did you think I said?” Teresa asked, intrigued by her mother’s odd behavior.
“ABOUT the dragon,” the king continued, giving Teresa the side-eye. “Surely you know our family legend, Count Cablinotz?”
The count coughed. “I’ve heard some tales, of course,” he hedged. “But to hear you tell it is a great honor. Do go on, your highness. I have some small hope of it being my family tale one day,” and he made something between a simper and smirk at Talia, who yawned rudely in response.
“Our great-great-something grandfather married a lady who was actually a dragon, and after she had a baby, she turned back to a dragon and flew away,” Talia said in bored tone of voice, but low, so the king could choose not to hear her.
“Talia!” the queen whispered reprovingly, as the king cleared his throat and intoned loudly, “A long time ago, when this land was far wilder than it is today…”
The count leaned on his elbows, imitating the king’s body language, and affected a rapt expression, while the three ladies of the court jammed their forks into their raspberry tarts and silently recited the story along with the king.
Finally, it was time for the men to be alone and the queen ushered her two daughters into the royal sitting room. Talia retrieved a box of bonbons from under her winged armchair and began nibbling. The queen took up her needlepoint, and Teresa paged through an illustrated storybook, idly. She gazed at one of her favorite illustrations. Deep in the forest, a female archer drew her arrow back while a boar charged at her, with raging red eyes and long sharp tusks. She loved the illustration because it was a cliffhanger. Would the archer survive? Would she kill the boar in time? She loved it, too, because it was a rare illustration in the book that showed a woman as a warrior.
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And suddenly, there he was! As many times as she’d paged through the book and mused over this illustration, somehow she’d never noticed the figure in the background, sitting on a branch. Had he always been there?
“Old Tom,” she murmured in recognition, before she could stop herself. The queen looked up, sharply, again, but this time Teresa was aware that she’d spoken out loud. Before her mother could say anything, Teresa continued.
“Mother, who is Old Tom?”
She said his name as quietly as possible. He had told her she needed to shout his name before he showed up, but she didn’t want to take any chances.
The queen glanced quickly over to her elder daughter, but Talia was asleep, her head lolled back into one of the wings of the chair, a bit of chocolate dribbled to one side of her mouth.
“Another family story,” she said, smiling tightly and putting aside her needlepoint. “I imagine you thought you knew them all.”
Teresa shrugged. “I guess I never thought about it,” she said. “Is this like the dragon thing?”
Her mother laughed softly. “Oh, no!” she said. “That’s a legend, though it may well be true. But there have been no dragons in this part of the world for so long, not since my grandmother’s time. Good Old Tom, though, he’s attached to my side of the family, and he appears at least once a generation, usually at the birth of the youngest daughter.”
“You call him good,” Teresa said. “Is he?”
“No,” her mother said. “I don’t think so.”
“Is he bad?”
Her mother shook her head, slowly. “It’s not the right question,” she said. “He’s—Old Tom. He’s old. Beyond old. He’s attached to our family. We call him Good Old Tom from tradition, to flatter him, maybe.”
“Does Father know about him?”
“No,” the queen said, softly. “He’s never shown himself to the King. But I imagine from what you say that he’s shown himself to you.”
“I met him today,” Teresa admitted. “At the edge of the forest. He said he was at my christening. He said if I shouted for him, he would help me.”
The queen sighed, and her mouth fell at the corners. “Yes,” she said. “I was afraid of that.”
“But why does it make you so sad, mother?” Teresa cried.
“Ah,” her mother said, and spoke a funny rhyme Teresa had never heard.
When Old Tom celebrates a birth
Then there will be peace on earth
But woe to the generation when
His face is seen in life again
“You see, my dear,” the queen said. “Old Tom only shows himself to us in times of great danger, great trial. Your life will be far different from mine. I wished—something else for you.”
She was interrupted by a sudden burst of snoring. Talia mouth had dropped open considerably, and her cheeks wobbled with each resounding breath. The queen mother shook her head.
“Better he shows himself to you, I suppose” she murmured, and rose. “Wake your sister, and let’s go to bed.”
But of course, Teresa couldn’t sleep. Besides the strange events of the day, the moon was a bright silver coin, and its beams lit her room in the most unearthly fashion, casting strange shadows and increasing her sense of wonder and dread. Dressed in her nightgown, she sat in a chair beside her open window and gazed up at its shining face. Had the moon ever been so bright? It seemed as if it were shining directly into her room, making a silver path across the great lawn.
What happened next was something Teresa could never explain. Without conscious thought, moving as if under external control, she dressed in her leather breeches and a loose, white blouse, collected her golden ball, and silently slipped out of the castle, following the moon’s path to the edge of the forest.
When she reached the place where she had left the bread and ale, she found only a few crumbs and an empty jug. She thought of calling for Old Tom, but something stopped her. She didn’t need help, after all, and from what her mother said it seemed foolish to summon him because she had some pressing questions. He didn’t seem like someone you wanted to irritate or pester.
She peered into the depths of the forest, where the moon could not penetrate. To venture in seemed so foolish, and yet … why else was she out here? Biting her lip in indecisiveness, she took one faltering step forward, then another, then another. For some odd reason, it wasn’t as dark as she thought it would be. Looking down, she saw that her golden ball was glowing, providing a soft light that was enough to guide her steps. Surprised, she took a few steps forward. As the forest deepened, the glow intensified, at first, and she began to walk faster.
Then suddenly, it began to dim, getting softer with each step until she was nearly in darkness. She stood in the barest glow, suddenly aware of each rustle and snap of the woods. Though she had not done more than 50 or 100 paces, she would never get back out without the light to guide her.
She shook her head as if to clear it. Hadn’t she been sitting quietly at her own bedroom window only an hour previous? What was she doing in the dark forest, with no weapon and no training, and most importantly, how would she ever get out?