Soman Chainani - Quests for Glory

“Are the crisps stale? None of you have touched them,” the Vizier said.

Hester followed his eyes to the green-colored chips stacked on a plate. Like everything else in Kyrgios, they smelled of peas, since peas were the lifeblood of the kingdom. The Kyrgians even slept inside the pea pods that hung off trees like the one they were in now. Luckily, the witches weren’t staying the night since they had another interview scheduled in Pasha Dunes the next morning.

“Not hungry. Had a big breakfast,” Hester snipped, though Dot’s stomach was rumbling like a kettledrum now. “Now if you don’t mind answering Dot’s question …”

“I’m confused. When is Dean Dovey joining us?” the Vizier asked, frowning. “I need to get back to work. We’ve had strange attacks of late: a rogue carriage deliberately running over people, along with reports of pirates lurking near the Four Point, which is sacred land. I made the time to come here, assuming your Dean would be present.”

“And we thank you for making that time. But as we informed you in our letter, Dean Dovey entrusted us with the task of researching, locating, and interviewing possible School Master candidates as our fourth-year quest,” Hester spouted, as if she’d had to say this many times before. “Though we check in with Dean Dovey regularly, she will only be meeting with our final nominees.”

The Vizier smiled blandly. “So Dovey remains in her glass towers fussing over lunch menus and school dances while she leaves the crucial work of choosing a School Master, protecting the Storian, and defending the balance of our world to … children .”

“Children who have spent the last six months meeting with some of the most illustrious heroes and villains in the Woods,” said Anadil.

“Children who have sought out candidates in floating mountains, cloud forests, piranha lakes, active volcanoes, ice castles, mermaid lagoons, elephant graveyards, and the belly of a very large whale,” said Dot.

“Children who will do whatever it takes to find the right person for the job, because this is our fairy-tale quest,” said Hester, demon tattoo twitching on her neck.

“Wouldn’t you rather be fighting a giant or elf-prince so you can get your name in a storybook?” the Vizier said, becoming serious. “This all feels like a leader sending their henchmen to get the job done. And that never turns out well.”

“Unless the leader knows we are the only people who can get the job done,” said Hester. “Because this is a quest that will shape Good and Evil for a long time to come and our coven cares more about that than having our names in a storybook, which is precisely why Professor Dovey picked us in the first place. And if she—the Dean of our enemy school—is willing to put the fate of the Woods in our hands rather than her own or anyone else’s, then I suggest you stop worrying about our ages and start worrying about how to best respect the students you so wisely expect to lead.”

The Vizier gaped at her.

“That’s all,” chimed Dot, turning a pea-crisp to chocolate and flouncing with her friends out of his hut.

A moment later Dot shuffled back in. “Can you help us get down from this tree?”

Dovey checked in with them each day at one o’clock, so the witches found a place to settle for lunch in Eternal Springs, a small jungle kingdom fifteen miles from Kyrgios. Eternal Springs was populated entirely by animals since it rained nearly every day of the year, and despite the abundance of greenery and food, no human or sentient creature wanted to live in a place that wet. As the witches waded through lush thickets and colorful flowers in their dumpy black dresses and boots, Hester could see deer, storks, and squirrels watching them as if they were an eclipse of the sun.

They’d been on foot most of these past six months, since the Flowerground had restored only limited service after being ravaged during the previous School Master’s reign. Along the way, they’d seen wonderful, curious things: the kingdom of Kasatkina, ruled entirely by cats; the Night Pools in Netherwood, which brought your worst fears to life; the Living Library in Pifflepaff Hills, which had ancestry scrolls on every soul in the Woods, kept by a very large bat; and the Caves of Contempo in Borna Coric, where time ran backwards. They’d even taken a ride aboard the legendary Blue-Boned Stymph, from which they’d had a rare view of the Four Point: a small, square plot of land at the intersection of four kingdoms. It was the site of King Arthur’s last battle, where he’d been mortally wounded, and was now considered a truce mark between Good and Evil, explained Hester, who’d read about it in A Student’s History of the Woods . Camelot’s flag flew high over the land, whose boundaries were guarded by four walls made of rushing waterfalls, enchanted by the Lady of the Lake. If anyone got close enough that even a drop of water touched their skin, the Lady would reach out and drown them. The girls had made sure to stay at a safe distance as they flew on to their next interview in Hamelin.

But that was back when they’d first started, when the search for a School Master was marvelous fun, no matter how tiring or dangerous. Endless travel in the summer heat had taken its toll: Dot had blisters and an aching lower back, Hester’s demon had a perpetual frown, and even Anadil’s albino-white skin had the hint of a tan. At least they were safe here in Eternal Springs, if a little damp, and after six months of crossing in and out of new kingdoms, all in pursuit of the best possible candidates they could take back to their Dean … well, safety was about as much as they could ask for.

Finding a spot under a well-canopied palm, Hester whipped up a lunch of avocados and custard-apples that she’d snapped off trees, while Anadil cracked open a few coconuts filled with sweet water and Dot spread out sheets of crumpled old newspaper she’d dug out of her bag so they wouldn’t have to sit in wet dirt. For ten minutes, they ate silently as rain spritzed around them, the three witches lost in their own heads, before they came out of their fugue all at once, like best friends often do.

“I thought this last one was the most promising so far,” Anadil said, watching her rats wrestle over a dead caterpillar.

“Pea-man?” Dot snarfled, mouth full.

“Calm, reasonable … I can see him in the School Master’s tower,” Anadil continued, slurping coconut water. “Even more than the Ice Giant from Frostplains, the fairy-rights activist from Gillikin, or that monkey king from Runyon Mills.”

“None of them have been right,” muttered Hester. “We can do better.”

“At some point, we have to pick someone, Hester. It’s been six months ,” said Anadil. “Without a School Master, the Storian is vulnerable. So are the Woods.”

“I liked the Augur of Ladelflop,” said Dot. “He told me I was pretty.”

“He was blind,” snapped Anadil.

“Oh. Pea-man was better, then,” said Dot.

“We have to pick someone by the wedding,” Anadil resolved, giving Hester a wary look. “We’re not missing the wedding, right?”

Hester paused, picking at her food before looking up. “No. We’re not missing the wedding.”

Anadil sighed softly.

“No letters from Agatha in months, though,” Dot said, sliding off her boots. “Not since the one where she pretended like everything at Camelot was peaches and roses. Hope the wedding’s still on.”

“Dovey would have told us if it wasn’t,” said Anadil.

“I knew we should have been at the coronation. Maybe we could have stopped everything from going belly-up,” said Dot.

“Finding a new School Master was more important than watching Tedros make an ass of himself … again ,” said Hester, pulling back her red-and-black hair. “I’m sure he’ll give a repeat performance in two months.”