Hero (30 page)

“Hello, my Sunday.” Papa picked her up in his strong arms and spun her around. She hugged him tightly, breathing in his familiar scent of sweat and sap and fresh Wood air. “Any new stories today?”

“I wrote a little,” she told him. “I mean to do more tonight.”

“Words have power. You be careful.”

“Yes, Mama.” She couldn’t ever mention her writing without this admonishment from her mother. Sunday tried not to be disrespectful and roll her eyes. Instead, she concentrated on Papa as he slowly lowered his large body into the chair at the head of the table. “What of your day, Papa? Did you find any new stories to tell?”

He sighed and rubbed his shoulder, which worried Sunday. Storyless days happened, when the weather was foul or the work had been troublesome. Most days, however, he brought her a little something: a tale or a trinket. His eyes would get bright, and there would be mischief and laughter in his voice. For that brief moment, Papa was happy, and he was all hers. Not that anything could dim the happiness that still shone inside her from making a new friend, but a story from Papa would have been the perfect ending to a perfect day.

Papa sat back and rested his hands on the table. He looked at Sunday thoughtfully, for a long time. And then he smiled. Sunday caught it and grinned right back at him, for in that smile was a story.

“We went deep into the Wood today.” He leaned forward to whisper the words to her, as if they were a secret between the two of them. “Deep into the Wood, where the trees are so tall and the leaves are so thick that no sunlight touches the dark ground.”

“Were you scared?” Sunday whispered back.

“A little,” he admitted. “I told Peter and Saturday to stay at the edge of the Wood.”

“You told Saturday to do something and she obeyed?” The only orders Sunday had ever seen her sister obey were Mama’s. Everyone always did what Mama said. Every time.

“Well, no,” admitted Papa. “I gave her a very large task and told her she could join me when she’d finished.”

“Did she finish?”

“Not yet. It was a very, very large task.”

“You are a clever Papa.”

“I am a Papa with much experience keeping his mischievous children out of harm’s way,” he said. “The edge is the safest, but deep in the Wood is where one finds the best trees. The old trees. I never take more than one at a time, and I always wait several moons before I take another one. The lumber from that tree will always fetch the highest price. It will be the most beautiful, and it will last forever. No mortal fire can burn Elder Wood.”

“Did you take an Elder Wood tree today?”

“I did. I asked the gods’ permission and begged the tree’s forgiveness before I forced it to give its life. And since no one was around, I did not yell ‘timber’ before its fall.”

Sunday gasped. Anyone who had ever lived near the Wood knew the importance of yelling to announce a treefall. Silence had dangerous consequences.

“The tree came down with a spectacular crash! And when the Wood became silent again, I heard a yelping.”

“Did you hurt someone?” She was afraid to know the answer. It was clear that Mama wasn’t worried; she continued to busy herself in the kitchen as if she hadn’t heard a word of Papa’s tale.

“Very nearly. It took me a long time to get to the other side of the tree. When I did, I found a leprechaun hopping around.”

“A leprechaun? Wasn’t that lucky,” Sunday remarked skeptically.

“Luckier for him! He was still alive to be hopping around,” Papa said. “Trapped by his beard, he was, and mighty put out about it, too.” Sunday laughed.

“I hope you asked for his gold,” Mama’s voice echoed from inside the oven as she retrieved the bread.

“Of course I did, woman! What kind of man do you take me for?”

“A fool, most days,” Mama murmured. She wiped her hands on her apron and picked up a knife to cut the loaf. “Go on, finish your story.”

“Thank you, wife.” Papa leaned forward again and took up his storytelling tone once more. “The leprechaun pleaded with me to set him free.”

“And did you?”

“I asked for his gold first.” Papa glanced at Mama, but she did not show that she had heard his comment. “He promised it all to me. Told me if I used my ax to chop him free he would lead me to it.” Mama clucked her tongue. She was listening. “Of course I didn’t believe him,” Papa said loudly. “I said I wanted proof. He told me he had three gold coins in his pocket. He would give them to me as a down payment, so if he ran away, I wouldn’t be left with nothing for my trouble.”

“And you took the gold?”

“I did indeed. Three solid pieces of bright gold, they were. I put them in my pocket.” He patted his hip. “Then I cut the leprechaun free. And do you know what he did?”

“What?”

“He complained! Cheeky little bugger. Said I had made a wreck of his charming beard and that it would never grow back the same! I pointed out that I was a woodsman, not a barber. The vain imp! Should have been grateful just to be alive!” Sunday giggled helplessly at the thought of burly Papa as a hairdresser. “He would have none of it. Told me that since I had ruined his good looks I didn’t deserve any of his gold. He wiggled his nose and vanished right there in front of my eyes.”

“But you still had the three gold pieces?”

“I did indeed, so I don’t feel cheated in the slightest. I brought them home for you.” Sunday’s heart leapt for joy as he reached into his pocket. Whatever treasure Papa had brought would certainly go to the family, but it meant the world that he made a show of giving it to her. Mama acted as if she weren’t paying any attention, but she had stopped cutting the bread mid-slice.

“I’m afraid they’re a little worse for the wear.” Papa opened his hand and dropped the contents onto the table.

“Bah!” Mama scoffed when she saw. “Fool’s gold and fairy stones. Such has been this family’s lot in life. I should have known.”

Sunday’s treasure was three small stones. One was smooth and deep ocean blue run with lines of stark white, one was splotchy green like moss trapped in pale amber, and one was sharp-edged and milky pink. Fool’s gold or not, these stones were hers to keep, a thousand times more valuable to her than any gold ever could be. Inside these stones Papa’s story would live forever; Sunday would remember the tale every time she saw them. It was just as she’d hoped: the perfect end to a perfect day.

“They’re beautiful,” Sunday said over the shiny stones.

“They’re yours if you want them.”

Sunday threw herself into Papa’s arms and hugged him again.

Mama set the platter of bread firmly on the table beside them. “Enough nonsense now. Sunday, mind the stew. Jack, bank the fire and call your children. It’s time for supper.”

Visit
www.hmhbooks.com
or your favorite retailer to purchase the book in its entirety.

A
LETHEA
K
ONTIS
is the author of many shiny books and stories for children of all ages, including
Enchanted,
the acclaimed previous book about the Woodcutter family. A student of science fiction greats Andre Norton and Orson Scott Card, Alethea lives and writes in Virginia. Visit her at
www.aletheakontis.com
.