The woman’s eyes filled with tears. “Lie there, my treasure,” she whispered, “and do not wake until the waters have borne you to safety.”
Steel clashed against steel, much closer than before. She looked up with a gasp, then closed the lid of the little chest and pushed it out into the stream. “O Spirits of Brook and River,” she called, “I beg you, protect my child! Carry her to safety far from these monstrous barbarians! Grant her some guise that will shield her from the cruelty of men!”
The little chest went bobbing away on the current as the woman watched, tears spilling down her cheeks, to dampen her robe.
Then a burst of shouting made her tum, gasping in terror. Three of the barbarians came galloping toward her on their small, hardy ponies, shouting in their uncouth language, sabers flashing in the moonlight.
“No!” she cried, and ran toward the gazebo-but one of the horsemen veered away from the others to come between herself and the slight safety of the screens. She stopped, uncertain, then turned to run to her left, but a horseman galloped wide to catch her by the arm. She screamed, but another horseman caught her other arm. She turned to bite his fingers, but the first struck the back of her head with his sword hilt, and she went limp.
Hauling her over the pommel of his saddle, he grinned at his fellow warriors. “One more for the sacrifice,” he said. “Angra Mainyu will be pleased!”
“I know not why that foreign sorcerer must give such an outlandish name to the Lord of Demons,” his companion replied, returning the grin, “but no matter what we call him, he will drink deeply this night.”
Beneath the waters of the river, though, two spirits answered the mother’s call, swimming up through the river weeds more from curiosity than from kindness. They seemed to be made of seaweed and water lilies themselves, but their upper bodies had arms with hands, and their faces were very much like those of young women.
“I thought these mortal mothers never parted with their children,” said one as she caught the floating trunk with green, chilly fingers.
“There must be terror abroad to make her do so, Sister Shannai,” the second said. She looked back toward shore, saw the barbarians riding away with the mother, saw the graceful form of the palace silhouetted against a sky filled with fire, and wrinkled her nose. “Those barbarians who daily pollute our streams! Well might she go in terror!”
“Then let us deprive the horsemen of this pleasure, at least.” Shannai opened the chest to look in at the baby, and smiled fondly, resting her pale green hand on the child’s head. “Look, Arlassair! How sweetly she sleeps!”
“Sweet indeed.” Arlassair laid her own hand over the child’s heart. “Ah! How brave she will be! I feel it in her! Still, let us see that she does not waken till we have guided her to shore in some place so distant from these barbarians as to be safe.”
“Indeed, let us be sure,” Shannai agreed, and chanted a spell that would ensure the baby sweet dreams until the water spirits wished otherwise. Then she joined her sister in pushing the little chest along the stream.
Laughing like the brook itself, they batted the vessel back and forth between them until they came to a river. Then, still playing, they guided the chest a mile down, inviting a family of otters to join them in their game. Finally, tiring of the sport, they diverted the little trunk into a stream that branched off from the river to feed a still forest pool. There they left it, but as Shannai turned to follow her sister back underwater she called out, “Women of the trees, aid now a sprout! Within this trunk is a seed of a human newly sprung! Its mother has sent it to us to keep it safe from the horsemen who plague the plains! Aid this little fugitive, I pray you, for she is not of our element, and must live upon land!”
Her whim completed, she dove deep, following her sister, and forgetting about the baby on the instant.
All about the little chest, tree trunks bulged. The bulges moved, separated from their trees, and human, feminine forms stepped forth, skins brown and rough as bark, green leaves mantling their heads and shoulders in place of hair, more leaves covering them from breast to thigh—not clothing, but growth.
“What marvel is this?” one asked, stretching out a hand to the little trunk. “ It is not made of wood, that’s sure!”
“It is bound together in slabs made from the huge long teeth of elephants,” another told her, “and its bindings are gold! Does not the moonlight show it prettily, my sisters?”
“It does indeed,” said one adorned with oak leaves. She knelt to pry the lid open. “How pretty is the gem within?”
She folded the lid back to reveal the sleeping baby. The dryads gathered around with cries of delight.
“How lovely!”
“How sweetly she sleeps!”
“How darling a babe!”
“Rarely have I seen a mortal of pleasing shape,” said Oak, “but this one is a treasure.”
“How shall we keep her safe from the barbarians?” asked an elm-spirit.
“Hide her,” suggested Maple.
“All well and good,” Birch answered, “but who shall feed her and tend her?”
“Well asked.” Oak frowned. “And where would we hide her?”
“Among the peasant folk?” Elm suggested.
“No, for the barbarians are likely to plunder them also,” said Birch.
“With a caravan trader?” offered Thorn.
“Will they travel at all, with the barbarians abroad?” asked Oak.
“If they do,” said Thorn, “it will be because they have made some arrangement to guarantee their safety, and that of their goods.”
“Well thought,” said Oak, “for even barbarians want the tea and silk of China. But no caravan will take a baby.”
“Then let her not be a baby,” Elm declared.
The others looked up at her in astonishment.
“You cannot make her grown in an instant,” Birch said, “for her mind will still be an infant’s, no matter her body!”
“Not if she is an animal,” said Elm, “say an otter—or a cat!”
The others stared at her in amazement, then began to smile.
“A cat!” Thorn said. “What caravan would take an otter?”
“But any merchant would wish to protect his goods from mice and crickets,” Oak agreed.
“Is it decided, then?” Elm lifted the baby and cradled her in the crook of an elbow.
“Yes!” “Yes!” “Yes!” “Yes!”
“But let us give her the power to change herself back into a human, when she is old enough to wish it,” Thorn demurred.
“Aye, and to change back to a cat, if humans are once again in danger,” Birch added.
“How clever we are!” Elm exulted. “Together, then, sisters! Lay your hands upon her and recite the spell with me!”
Woody hands covered the little bundle of flesh; voices like the rustling of leaves intoned a spell like the wind in the trees. As they chanted, the baby shrank, its form flowing here, bulging there, until a half-grown cat lay in the crook of Elm’s arm, its fur the color of the cloth-of-gold that had swaddled the baby. The wind-rush of voices died away, then began again in separate words.
“Will she be strong and agile?”
“Yes, for a six-month kitten is quick and sure.”
“Will she have sense enough to live?”
“Yes, for at six months a cat’s mind is far more grown than a woman’s.”
“Will she know how to walk, how to hunt, how to hide?”
“No, and that we must teach her ere we let her go.”
“Well, we cannot teach her sleeping,” Thorn said, and touched the kitten’s forehead. “Small one, awake!”
The kitten yawned hugely, then opened its eyes and looked about in curiosity.
“Do not be afraid, little one,” Elm said, “for we are spirits who have already given you our love.”