Laurell Hamilton: Never After

“I am not certain I am brave, but I am here for your test.” She peered into the shadows, trying to see the woman, or ogre, for there was no room for a giant.

There was a shape in the dimness, but it was not a woman’s shape. Elinore’s eyes could not make sense of it, at first; then the voice’s owner stepped into the firelight, and Elinore did scream. She clapped her hand over her mouth to hold in the sound, but never had she dreamt of anything like what stood before her. It was worth a scream, or two.

It was a great predatory cat, the color of ripe wheat, glowing and golden in the light. It padded toward her on huge cat feet. But it wasn’t a lion, or even a cat, for the upper part of the animal had breasts and arms, and a woman’s face with long, wavy brown hair. Her eyes were the yellow slits of a cat’s, but if you hadn’t seen the lower part, you’d say she was beautiful.

Elinore stood, her hand to her mouth, and watched the woman-cat pad toward her, in a graceful walk that reminded her of the kitchen cats.

“Do you know what I am?” she asked.

Elinore shook her head, and finally forced herself to move her hand from her mouth. She tried to stand like a lady, and not a frightened child.

“I am a sphinx, and my kind loves to ask riddles and questions. I will ask you three questions, and if you fail to answer correctly, I will kill you.”

Elinore’s voice came out, breathy and afraid, but she could not help it. “Your nephew, the ogre, said you would eat me alive. Is that true?”

The sphinx smiled, and though a lady’s mouth did the smiling, it was the smile a cat would have, if it could. Elinore knew the answer, and it was not good.

“I am part cat, and we like our meat fresh.”

Elinore nodded again. “Ask your question, and when I fail, I would ask only that you kill me before you start eating me. Surely, I will be freshly dead, and that is fresh enough. I ask this one thing, dear sphinx.”

“I am not your dear anything, girl, but I will think upon your request.” She sat back on her curved haunches, so that her human upper body was very visible. “Here is my first question to you. Get it wrong, and I will kill you. Answer correctly, and you will have two more chances to die.”

“Or to live,” Elinore said, in a voice that sounded squeaky as a mouse, even to her.

The sphinx laughed, head back, face sparkling with joy. “Only two in fifty years have gotten past me, and I do not think it will be three before the calendar doth turn again.”

Elinore nodded. “You are quite right. I am not bright enough to answer questions from such as you. But ask, sphinx; ask and let me die.”

The sphinx turned her head to one side, the way a cat will when it’s trying to judge a thing. “I thought you were here to rescue Prince True and become queen of all.”

“That is supposed to be the goal, yes, but in all honesty, I came to die, rather than marry the Earl of Chillswoth. If I commit suicide, then my family is disgraced, but if I die trying to rescue the prince, then I am dead, and my family can go on.”

“Is the earl such an odious man?”

“Yes, I believe he is, or I would not be here.”

The sphinx looked at her. “What is your name?”

“I am called Elinore the Younger.”

“Who is the elder?”

“My grandmother.”

“Does she yet live?”

“No.”

“Ah, then they will soon need another Elinore.” The sphinx began to pace around her. She tried to hold still, but finally began to turn to keep the monster in sight. She could not fight it off, but at least she could see it coming. It was the best she could think to do.

“What was used to make the dye of your cloak, Elinore the Soon to be Dead?”

Elinore frowned at her. This couldn’t be the first question, because it was too easy. Was it a trap? “Is this the first question?”

“Yes, unless you want a different one.”

“No, this is a lovely question. Yarrow. Yarrow made the dye.”

“Hmm,” said the sphinx, gliding around and around her. “The ingredients for gingerbread, what are they?”

Gingerbread was a rare treat, very expensive, but Elinore’s family had money enough for such luxuries. “Butter and sugar, spices and flour, eggs and molasses and milk.”

“Did you supervise the baking at your home?”

“No, I would never dream of supervising our head cook; she would not tolerate it, not from me.”

“Then how did you learn to make such a delicacy?”

“She allowed me to make it last Winter’s Moon.” Elinore almost reached out and touched the sphinx, then dropped her hand. “You must not tell Mother, for Cook would get in trouble for risking such expensive ingredients with me, but Cook says I have a good hand and eye for the kitchen.”

“Indeed,” said the sphinx. She looked Elinore up and down, and then said, “Let me see your shoes.”

Elinore did as she was asked, because she was certain that now there would be some question of history or mathematics that would be too hard to answer, though she could not fathom what her slippers had to do with mathematics.

She raised her party dress and showed her dancing slippers with their jeweled embroidery. “Did you think dancing slippers were the thing to wear to fight monsters?” the sphinx asked.

Elinore hesitated, and then said, “No, ma’am, I did not.”

“Then why did you wear them?”

Elinore almost pointed out that wasn’t that a fourth question, but it seemed impolite to say that to someone who could gut you and eat you alive.

“I had to leave as soon as I announced I would rescue Prince True. If I had waited, even to change my slippers, my father would have found a way to detain me. Also, in truth, I wanted to be pretty when I died, so they would sing of it.”

“Is it better to be pretty or brave, Elinore the Younger?”

A fifth question. Should she point it out, that she’d answered four already? “It is better to be brave, but since I am not, I thought I would be pretty for the bards and musicians, and jeweled slippers are prettier than muck boots.”

“You own a pair of muck boots?” the sphinx asked.

“Well, yes; you can’t wear dancing slippers to gather herbs and things for dyes. Also, how do you know the kitchen boy is giving you the best vegetables unless you go out into the fields for yourself?”

“Do you garden, then?”

Finally, Elinore braved the question, “That is the sixth question you’ve asked me, ma’am. Have I passed your test?”

The sphinx waved a careless hand. “Yes, yes, you pass. Go through the door by the fireplace and you have but one more task to complete.”

“Only one more?” Elinore asked.

The sphinx nodded.

“Then I will live?”

“We shall see.”

“I never really expected to succeed.”

“Perhaps that is why you are doing so well.” The sphinx walked back into the shadows and vanished.

Elinore was left with another door, and another challenge, and no hint what lay ahead, but she had survived, and only one more task lay before her. She might actually rescue Prince True. All the stories made him out to be a womanizing bounder, and a scoundrel. Had Elinore run from one bad marriage into another? They never tell you in fairy tales that sometimes the prize may not be worth the effort. But she went for the last door, because what else could she do?>

It was a throne room, bigger than the king’s room. The throne at the end of that long walk gleamed silver, and was studded with pearls and soft, gleaming jewels. A beautiful woman sat in the chair. Her long yellow hair lay in heavy, straight folds, like a second cloak to decorate the black dress she wore. The underdress was silver thread, and as Elinore got closer, she saw embroidery at the sleeves and collar. The bright colors contrasted with the silver and black starkness of the rest of the dress.