Princess cat. Natalie Yacobson

latter was more likely.»

      «What do you mean?» Brendan was taken aback.

      «You’re marrying a monster!» The fortuneteller paused theatrically.

      And it was worth paying for!

      «How’s it? Are you sure?»

      «I’m sure!»

      And for such a prophecy he was left without lunch.

      To live his whole life with a monster! It wasn’t worth running away from his guardian for that. Though, perhaps, if he were caught and brought back, the king would just marry him off to some old hag with a big dowry, and thus the prophecy would come true. The ugly woman and the monster are essentially the same thing. The fortune teller might have used a metaphor. If only she knew what it was. And if she did not know it, she was guided only by a secret vision. Are Gypsy women as good at fortune-telling as they are said to be? Should they be trusted unconditionally?

      Brendan had such a sad look on his face that passersby looked at him with pity.

      :So they predicted happiness for me, too!» The wretched cripple at the bridge muttered. «But it didn’t come true.»

      «Well, maybe it won’t come true for me, either!» Brendan rejoiced.

      He was relieved. He would have thrown a coin into the cripple’s pewter mug, but he had none left. He’d given his last for a prediction.

      Marry the beast! What fortune-tellers are they! They think because he’s young, he’s stupid. He’ll believe anything you tell them.

      The gypsies were beckoning with their tambourines, but Brendan was already in a hurry to avoid them.

      Sleeping Fields

      A cavalcade of knights dashed down the dusty road. Brendan hastily ducked into the bushes so they would not see him. Their crests indicated that they were no vassals of his uncle. Somehow the stately knights resembled elves in silvery armor. There was even one lady among them, a blond beauty on a snow-white horse. He would have married such a woman and would not have run away from the wedding, but alas, no one offered him one.

      Brendan would have composed an ode in her honor, but there was not enough time. The cavalcade rushed past quickly. Only clouds of dust remained on the road.

      He had chosen the road at random, by the way. He probably should have swiped a map from his uncle’s office. He didn’t even know where he was going, or if there was any settlement ahead. Or is there nothing but woods for miles ahead?

      Come on, Brendan consoled himself. The world is full of different kingdoms and principalities. If you persist, you’ll eventually reach a kingdom or two.

      By nightfall, the wilderness was replaced by a wilderness that seemed to have no end. Or was it fields, not wasteland? Brendan remembered stepping on dry, cracked ground, and now the rye was flattened beneath his soles. It had barely sprouted yet, and in the distance tall ears were already growing. How can it be? Weren’t all the stubble fields sown at the same time?

      This was suspicious, but he didn’t want to turn back. Brendan wandered on. The birds flying around the fields were strange, with angry red eyes. Brendan hummed a merry song to cheer him up. The lyrics were humorous, but for some reason it sounded gloomy in the fields, like a funeral hymn. Was it something wrong with his voice, or was it the witchy echo of which Lady Ephigenia had spoken so much? It usually taunts people who have wandered into forbidden and enchanted territory.

      Nonsense! Fields cannot be enchanted.

      «Hey, are you minstrel?»

      Brendan looked around for the person who had called out to him. There was no one around except a straw scarecrow, which for some reason was wearing a fancy jester’s coat and a motley hat with bells on instead of the usual old shirt.

      Even the scarecrows look luxurious in this field. And the rye seems cast from solid gold. Brendan bent down and plucked one straw. Both the grains and the chaff in it were cold and golden. He was so astonished that he almost dropped the expensive item. Surely it was Fortune himself who had led him to these fields. If you pick such rye, you can buy your own estate.

      «You rejoice too soon!»

      Another haunting voice from nowhere! There is only a scarecrow nearby. And scarecrows, as everyone knows, are not alive and do not speak. Unless the leprechauns live underground and tease him. They are usually the ones who keep treasures. The field of golden rye might be their joke. Surely they are waiting for him to pick it greedily. Then you can laugh at the fool who will throw all the stuff out of the bundle to put rye in there, which will turn from gold to ordinary stalks in the morning.

      «Get out of here!»

      This time it was clear that the muffled hoarse voice was definitely coming from the scarecrow. Brandon stopped in front of it, looking up at its face. There was no mouth to be seen beneath the bells of the hat. But the scarecrow itself, on a pole, somehow resembled a man crucified in a field.

      «Where must I go?» Brendan wondered. «There are fields all around. Everywhere you go, there are fields ahead.»

      «There is a castle up ahead.»

      «I don’t see any castle.»

      «Just because you don’t see one doesn’t mean there isn’t one.»

      Brendan was so amazed that the stuffed jester spoke to him that he didn’t think much about the meaning of his words.

      «I was like you, coming here to make fun of an ugly princess who had her beauty taken away from her by some wizard for her stubborn character. I could joke, but look what my jokes have done to me!»

      «But I’m not going to make jokes about anyone.»

      «Then why do you have a lute, if not to accompany frivolous songs?»

      «I sing only good songs,» said Brendan indignantly. «And I write my own songs. Would you like to hear them?»

      Stop! Scarecrow wouldn’t pay him to play. Why did he take out his lute so readily? Has the creature on the pole bewitched him? What if it was alive? Brendan touched the leg of the scarecrow. There was straw under his caftan. So it’s not alive after all, but it’s certainly magical.

      «Don’t play!» It warned.

      «Didn’t the rulers there forbid music?» Brendan snapped. He wasn’t going to play for free either, but if he was forbidden to play, that was a professional insult.

      «Loud noises would wake them up.»

      «What do you mean?»

      «They are under the field. They come in all kinds: small and large, like giants, ugly and statuesque beauties, but step into their circle and you’re lost. It’s the same if you steal something here. They can’t stand thieves.»

      Brendan quickly threw away the golden spike, though it’s a waste, but if someone is watching him from under the ground, it’s best not to steal. The scarecrow might have lied. But it’s a good idea to double-check. He has no royal retinue with him now. If he gets into trouble, he will have to defend himself.

      «Who are they? Do they have a name? Do you say they live underground, like the leprechauns?»

      But the scarecrow was already silent. But his posture had suddenly changed. One hand pointed in the direction from which Brendan had come.

      So it’s trying to get him to turn back. All this must be Lady Ephigenia’s magic tricks. Surely hys uncle had already noticed his nephew’s absence and told his witch to track him down. Where the guards were powerless, Ephigenia acted. But he was no match for this one. He’s already gone far enough away from Aluar that the king’s witch’s charms won’t catch up with him.

      We need to keep moving. The farther he went, the more her magic would weaken. Brendan went forward, against the scarecrow’s advice. And if there really was a castle up ahead, he would