The Story of the Hundred Promises by Neil Cochrane

Author:Neil Cochrane
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Forest Avenue Press

20

TIME

TIME PASSED, AS TIME will.

21

FREDERICK

FREDERICK WAS A CHILD when he crossed Merrigan’s path the first time, stumbling out of the bushes at the side of the forest trail in pursuit of a little fox kit. He tripped over his shoes, hand-me-downs from an older child in the family or the village. They were still too large for Frederick’s feet, and their sliding caused the child to fall right in front of Merrigan.

The fox kit escaped. Frederick stared after it in silence, the afternoon air turning almost muggy with his disappointment.

It had been some two hundred years, at this time, since Merrigan’s exile, and e had spent more than half of that in eir role as enchanter to the northern towns. E had observed generations of children in Frederick’s village, healing them, occasionally amusing them; e had never in that century seen a child take a fall so well. E knelt beside him and ducked eir head to get a look at his face under his curtain of dark gold curls. Eir movement roused his attention, and he lifted his gaze to meet eirs.

“Well met,” Merrigan said.

“Well met,” he replied, voice small, as though he was still dazed. He blinked several times, and then his brown eyes filled with light. E had been recognized. “You’re the Enchanter!”

“My name is Merrigan,” e said.

“I’m Frederick.”

“Why were you chasing the fox?” e asked.

“He bit my sister and wouldn’t apologize,” he replied.

E laughed. “I think he’s too little to have learned manners yet.”

Frederick frowned at em. “I am not too little, and he is the same as me.”

E tilted eir head, but made no answer while e considered the declaration. Children were fanciful, e knew this. Frederick’s earnestness was endearing; he couldn’t have been older than five years, and undoubtedly he believed infant foxes were the same as infant humans. While e considered him, Frederick rocked onto his bottom, stretching his legs out in front of him. His knees were bloodied, with pieces of grass stuck to them. Myriad scratches covered his shins, from the attempt to follow the kit’s trail. Frederick observed his injuries, frowning deeper, then looked to Merrigan.

“Will you heal them? The cuts?” he asked.

“What will you give in return?”

“I don’t have anything to give,” the child said.

“Ponder a moment. I’m sure you have something.”

Ponder he did. He gave Merrigan a stern nod, then set to thinking. He seemed still oblivious to eir scrutiny, for though e stared baldly, he never met eir gaze, not even as his head fell back, searching the sky for something to offer in return for eir magic. Birdsong filled the air; e tried to remember what season it was. Spring, or summer? Eir ministrations to the village helped to ground eir sense of time, but when alone e often found emself slipping. On such an afternoon, mild and sunny, while the forest sounds muddled into a pleasant hum—it was easy to lose oneself, and e had no greater joy. Not anymore.

Frederick sat up—he had lain flat

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