Of Giants and Ice (Ever Afters, The) (19 page)

“Why did they stop then?” I asked.

“They’re taking a break,” Miriam said. “Standard duel procedure.”

“In honor or political duels, an unbiased third party shall deliver one undiluted spoonful of the Water of Life to each contestant prior to each match so that they may be restored to full health,” Lena said in her tinny, reciting way. Then she sighed and added in her regular voice, “But this really isn’t that serious.”

“Here, they just get five minutes,” Miriam said.

“But why are there so many
Fey
here?” I whispered. Two of them—a male and a female wearing matching red tunics with golden embroidery—watched us dispassionately, probably wondering who to torment first.

Lena shrugged. “Well, I don’t think the rivalry will ever go away
completely
. The Fey and human Characters haven’t been allies for all that long, just since the last war.”

“Really?” Miriam said, which made me feel better about being confused.

“Yeah, Maerwynne of Lorraine got tired of the Fey manipulating humans all the time and founded Ever After School to help educate people,” Lena said. “She started just walking around the countryside, telling stories about Characters besting magical creatures. Most of them were about the Fey. People started calling them ‘fairy tales,’ and the name stuck.”

Miriam and I stared at Lena blankly.

“Sarah Thumb didn’t tell you that, either?” Lena said.

“Rory, do you ever feel like maybe we should have another orientation?” Miriam muttered, and I laughed.

Before I could ask more about the rivalry, a bell sounded.

Lena and Miriam immediately stared straight up. Two figures fought on top of the structure, and above them, two larger images battled across the sky—a lot like a hologram or a light-show projection—kind of see-through, but larger than life. At first, they moved too fast for me to recognize them, but then one stepped back for a breather. The smaller one was George, and the big, bronze blur was Torlauth di Morgian.

I shuddered. He wouldn’t be a Fey
I
wanted to fight.

George pressed forward, leaping and jabbing at once, and
Torlauth fell another step back. George was making the Fey retreat! He was winning! George hooked his hilt around his opponent’s and twisted. He disarmed Torlauth. The Fey’s blade flew in the air.

Then Torlauth planted a kick on George’s chest, and George tumbled head over heels across the platform. It was a move I had seen before, between Chase and a dummy in Hansel’s training courts, so I wasn’t surprised when Torlauth caught his sword.

High above our heads, a smile curled slowly across the fairy’s face, and I knew Torlauth wanted to kill George.

I scanned the crowd desperately for a grown-up to stop the fight—Gretel, Stu, even Hansel. The Director hadn’t mentioned anything about a duel to the death. All I saw were students and Fey. My blood ran cold. Every single fairy leaned forward, licking their lips, eager for blood.

Then Torlauth launched forward, drawing his sword back for a slash at George’s throat.

Lena gasped. “George!”

third figure appeared—a smaller Fey with very pale green wings—and blocked Torlauth’s sword with a small dagger, just inches from George’s skin. Then they retreated out of sight.

I breathed again. Lena stared at the ground, blinking hard.

“It’s okay.” Miriam patted Lena’s shoulder. “The Director knows that fairies can get a little carried away. The ref is up there with them. George is safe.”

“He lost the match, though,” Lena said in a very small voice.

Miriam smiled. “Still one more.”

But that wasn’t how the Fey saw it. Most of them smirked and glanced slyly at each other, like Torlauth had already won. Many also looked a little disappointed that no one had gotten hurt. If these people were our allies, I wondered what the bad guys were like.

“Hey! He’s going to finish his story!” Conner called from around the corner of the Ivory Tower, and Kevin came running.

“Who?” I asked.

“The self-appointed halftime entertainment.” Miriam shrugged, annoyed. “Go see if you want.”

Lena led the way. My first guess was Chase, but when we rounded the corner, we found a college-aged guy in jeans and a
ripped T-shirt leaning against a tree in a grove of birches. His arms were crossed, but he kept running a hand through his dark curly hair as he talked. Half of Ever After School had gathered around him, listening. The triplets had front-row seats, eyes wide, mouths gaping a little—even Kyle, the most sensible of the three.

“Wow,” Lena whispered. “He actually made it.”

“Who?” I asked again, because I was pretty sure she didn’t mean Kyle.

“Jack.” Lena pointed to the college-aged guy. “Chase’s father.”

“He’s too young to be Chase’s dad,” I said.

“He’s older than he looks,” Lena said. “He was only twenty when he became part of the Canon.”

“Cannon? Is that some sort of secret warrior society?” I asked.

Lena gave me a weird look, clearly stunned at how much I didn’t know. “No.
Canon.
As in a body of literature. It’s the council of Characters who are kind of in charge. Every Tale has a representative. Ellie, Hansel, Gretel, Sarah Thumb—they’re all in it. You stop aging when you join.”

“Really?” I had a sudden vision of Jack in a powdered wig like George Washington. “How old
is
he?”

“Not sure. Pretty young in comparison to some of them. The Director is over two hundred years old—come on.” Lena threaded her way through the crowd. “Let’s listen.”

I could think of a lot of things I would rather do at a Fairie Market, but I didn’t argue. Lena probably needed something to keep her mind off her brother.

“He picks me up,” Jack said, “this twenty-five-foot monster, and he says, ‘Fee, fie, fo, fum, I smell the blood of an Englishman.’ I don’t even have my sword out, so I say, ‘You need to get your nose checked.
I’m
from Idaho.’”

His audience chuckled like a laugh track on TV sitcoms—automatic and way too enthusiastic for the joke.

It reminded me of the time right before my parents’ divorce when Mom starred in a really big movie that my dad directed. Every time she came to pick me up from school, my classmates, and their parents, and sometimes our teachers, would crowd around her, laughing at her jokes. That was when Mom had started to send Amy to pick me up.

“Don’t trust it. Everybody’s looking for their fifteen minutes of fame,” she had told me.

Apparently, no one had told Jack that. He smiled widely, probably thinking he was actually funny.

“It didn’t look good,” Jack continued. “I was hanging upside down from a giant’s hand. But we got to talking about Idaho. He had never been there. I told them that everybody raised in Idaho tastes a lot like potatoes.” A lot of people laughed again. “And that we’re really bland unless you cook us right.”

Chase lurked a few feet behind him. They didn’t really look alike. Jack was much stockier and his hair was too dark, but when they smiled, all their dimples were in the same places.

This was the widest grin I had ever seen on Chase’s face. Obviously, he enjoyed all the attention his dad was getting. He was also standing exactly like his father—arms crossed over his chest, leaning against the building at exactly the same angle, a hand on his chin.

“So, I give him this recipe—lots of vegetables, lots of spices,” Jack said, “and while he’s down the street at Jolly Green Giant’s Grocery Store, I work one of his knives out of the cupboard and cut myself free.”

Suddenly, I thought of something a lot more fun than listening to Chase’s dad brag about himself—payback.

I crept up behind Chase, and I leaned against a tree too, folding my arms and holding my chin, trying to imitate Jack’s cocky expression. “Aren’t you taking ‘like father, like son’ a little far?” I whispered.

Chase noticed the way I was standing. He dropped his arms and stood up straight, glaring at me.

Jack didn’t see or hear any of this, which made him even dumber than his son. “He gets back, carrying in two plastic bags. He doesn’t see me standing just inside the door. So, I stab him first in one ankle and then in the other, and he falls, in slow motion, like a tree, his groceries flying everywhere, horrible packaged goods like dead man’s toes and brain of baby rabbits. And I—”

“Jack,
there
you are!” Sarah Thumb and Mr. Swallow landed on a branch above his head. “The Director sent me to get you. The meeting was supposed to start ten minutes ago, and you’re the only one who didn’t show up.”

For a second, Jack the Giant-Killer got a panicked look in his eyes, exactly like Chase did when the dragon came after us. Then he smiled at his audience. “Looks like we need to take a mandatory intermission here, folks. Duty calls.”

The little Thumbelina Character rolled her eyes, and Mr. Swallow took off, not bothering to wait. Jack had to run to catch up.

As soon as his dad was out of sight, Chase shoved me hard in the shoulder. “That wasn’t funny, Rory.”

I smiled. So far, the score that night was one point to me, and none to Chase. “When you get a little taller, are you going to wear his clothes, too?”

“You should show him more respect.” His face got red like it does when he’s really mad. “He’s a Jack with two Tales, both Beanstalk and Giant-Killer. That only happens once every three centuries.”

I shrugged. “I thought he was a little full of himself.”

“He has a right to be.” Adelaide stepped up behind Chase. The triplets were right behind her. “Since he joined the Canon, he’s killed twenty-five giants.”

“That’s the most in the history of Jack the Giant-Killers,” Kyle said.

“Yeah, what do your parents do?” Chase added. “Sit at a desk all day?”

I just laughed. Moviemaking was pretty impressive, but I wasn’t going to tell them about it.

“Rory, you’re as bad as he is,” Lena said in her best
children-play-nice
voice, as she glanced toward the Ivory Tower to see if the match had started again.

Maybe it was a little mean of me, but I didn’t care. “I wouldn’t rely on Jack’s fame if I were you,” I told Chase. “Without your dad, you’re just a kid waiting for your Tale to start. Just like the rest of us.”

Chase opened his mouth to say something else, but nothing came out.

“Lena!” someone shouted. We all looked.

Jenny pushed her way through the crowd. Her friends followed her, looking tall and scary and distant—like most eighth graders.

The sinking feeling came back. Lena’s eyes widened. She obviously hadn’t remembered that
both
of George’s sisters would be watching the tournament. Then she raised her chin, determined to look cheerful.

“Did you get the Table yet?” Jenny clearly planned to show it off to her friends. “We thought we’d try it out. Get some snacks to eat during the match.”

“I got something even better,” Lena said, but she didn’t sound
as confident as she had when she told me. She pulled the book out of her backpack and handed it to her sister, who stared at the faded gold cover. “It’s Madame Benne’s spellbook.”

There was a beat of silence. The other sixth graders glanced first at Lena and then at the grubby old book. I would never admit it out loud, but it did sound pretty unbelievable.

“
You
found Madame Benne’s spellbook?” Adelaide obviously didn’t believe a word of it.

Lena’s gaze slid toward Kyle, and I knew she wished that she were anywhere but in a crowd that included the triplets. “Now we can make as many Tables of Plenty as we want.”

Unfortunately, Jenny seemed skeptical too. “Did the vendor
tell
you that this was Madame Benne’s spellbook?”

Lena shook her head slowly, her eyes large and solemn behind her glasses.

Jenny leafed through the pages with a frown. “I can’t even read this.”

Unasked, Chase pointed to the page on the right. “It’s a recipe. ‘Mushroom and Chive Scones,’” he read. He looked my way with a tiny smirk, and I knew he was saying it to get back at me. “It’s just a Fey cookbook,” he told Jenny.

I could’ve hit him. I almost did just to wipe that smirk off his face, but it wouldn’t help Lena.