Young Writers Society

24 HARPIES

He headed straight for the shed behind the house and flipped the light switch. Nothing happened. He muttered curses to himself and dug about in the darkness. Cleaning supplies and tools went flying across the shed.

At the back, sitting in a wagon, he finally found what he was looking for: two buckets, empty except for a few stray spiders. He shook the spiders loose and ran back to the park with the buckets.

The mermaid settled behind her pedestal to watch as he dipped them into her pool. They were much heavier than Minerva’s enchanted pitcher when full, and of course he would have to keep returning to the pool to refill them. But the roses would not die. He was determined of that.

He had only finished one rose bed, however, and filled his buckets only once more, when he looked up to see Minerva watching him from across the path, holding her pitcher on her shoulder. She smiled at the sight of him.

“What are you doing?” she asked.

Christian sloshed water all over himself in his haste to make his way across the path to her. “Watering the roses.”

His voice shook. He had been so certain something awful had happened to her, yet she stood before him as if nothing in the world was wrong. Her smile widened.

“I can see that,” she said. “Forgive my delay. Where did those buckets come from?”

“My shed,” he said. Why didn’t you wake up, he wanted to ask, but the question stuck in his throat as something whooshed through the leaves overhead.

“What was that?” he croaked instead.

Her smile vanished, her pitcher went onto the ground, and her slingshot appeared from the folds of her gown. Though her eyes narrowed as she searched the trees for whatever had made the sound, her voice was steady when she spoke.

“I don’t know,” she said.

The something swished through the leaves again, like an owl after a mouse—but bigger. What owl’s wings made such noise in flight? What owl could make the treetops dance as if a wind had sprung up?

A third whoosh, this time behind them. Minerva held her slingshot at the ready, with a stone the size of an eagle’s egg loaded into it. Christian brandished his buckets.

On the ground, the bushes trembled. The accountant swallowed hard. Minerva trained her slingshot on the spot, but after a moment, a squat little man hopped out.

Christian’s voice cracked when he spoke.

“A garden gnome,” he said, lowering his buckets.

Minerva hushed him. “It wasn’t a gnome in the trees.”

She had a point there, he thought, though he would have happily believed gnome was the one making all the noise. By the looks of it, the squat little man would have happily believed the same thing about them. Its painted-on eyes were wide with fear as it waddled over to them and hid behind Christian’s legs, clutching at his trousers.

For several moments, silence. Then the something whooshed for a fourth time, but rather than dying away the sound continued onward in the direction of the herb garden.

“It’s getting away,” Minerva said. Without another word, she spun around and gave chase, slingshot in hand.

“Minerva!” Christian shouted as he followed her. Already he had lost sight of her amidst the branches and shrubs draping the path. “Minerva!”

He slowed as he neared the herb garden, clutching the handles of his buckets. The garden gnome waddled to catch up to him.

“Minerva?” he whispered.

His heart pounded as fast as a rabbit’s. Far from feeling safe at the thing’s disappearance, he couldn’t stop looking to see where it had gone. He was so intent on his search that he walked right into Minerva when he reached the herb garden.

“Sorry,” he said automatically, but she seemed not to have noticed that he’d bumped into her. She gazed intently at the surrounding trees with her slingshot raised.

“Where did it go?”

“Minerva—” Christian’s voice caught in his throat, but he pressed on. “Minerva, I think we should go back. I think—”

An ugly screech came from the direction of the courtyard. The color drained from Minerva’s face.

“The roses!”

She turned and flew toward the rose garden with the long skirts of her tunic clutched in a hand, running so quickly that her feet barely skimmed the ground as she went. Christian sprinted after her, calling her name.

He skidded to a stop in the courtyard, arrested by the sight of the two creatures attacking the roses bushes.

At first glance, they were eagles—giant eagles, half Christian’s height, with wings that beat so hard as they hovered above the roses that the nearby plants waved and danced as if caught in a hurricane. But when they turned to look at him, they had the faces of cruel and beautiful women. Their eyes blazed yellow—they screeched again—now the accountant saw why. They were trying to tear out the rose bushes with their talons, but something kept them from touching the plants. An invisible barrier protected the roses from the creatures’ talons.

“Harpies,” Minerva hissed. She sent a stone flying at one of them and missed, bent for another, shot again, and hit the other in the temple. The beast shrieked and abandoned the roses, but before it could reach Minerva she’d hit it again, this time in the jaw. The other harpy came after Christian, who squeezed his eyes shut and swung his buckets until he heard one of them make contact.

The next moment, a soft hand slipped into his, a voice said run in his ear, and then he was stumbling through the gardens with Minerva. The harpies screeched and flapped after them, but their overlarge wings got caught up in the tangle of branches and shrubs. They fell back and vanished into the greenery.

Minerva did not let go of Christian’s hand. Instead she dragged him along until they had reached the center of the maze. The black horse looked up from its grass as they collapsed together on the stone pedestal to catch their breath.

“What—was—that?” the accountant asked when he could speak. His chest burned; his heart pumped loudly in his ears. “What—were they—doing?”

“The roses. The Good Magic.” Minerva put her head in her hands. “If Goblin’s allies destroy them, it will be that much easier for him to return and take back the park. Thank heaven the spell held.”

When she looked up, tears were rolling down her face.

“Minerva—”

“I have to go back.”

“No,” Christian said, grasping her hand as she stood up. “No, you mustn’t. Those awful creatures will—”

He wasn’t sure what those awful creatures would do, but at that moment they made their reappearance. They swooped above the treetops, screeching madly. The horse reared and screamed. Minerva wiped her tears away and glared up at them, but Christian tugged on her arm.

“Come on,” he said. “We can’t stay here—”

She wrenched her hand out of his and readied her slingshot.

“What else can I do?” she asked. “I’m supposed to protect them.”

The harpies dove at them. The horse galloped off through the maze. Christian grabbed Minerva’s arm in panic.

“We’ll go to Conrad. He’s the Guardian, he’ll know what to do—” The great wings streamlined into the harpies’ bodies as they neared the ground, the cruel, beautiful faces stretched forward—

“Minerva—”his voice went up an octave—“please, it’ll be alright, but we need to get out of here—”

Tears welled up in her eyes again, but she lowered her slingshot and allowed him to pull her along through the maze. The harpies followed above the hedges; their wings were too wide for flight between them. They vanished in the treetops again when Christian and Minerva came out of the maze on the other side of the gardens. The horse was standing there, quivering. Minerva leaned her forehead against it and cried into its neck.

“Minerva?” Christian asked shakily.

She did not answer, but after a moment she stopped crying, wiped her eyes, and said, “Let’s go.”

They left the horse quaking in the gardens.

The harpies reappeared as they reached the edge of the Fairgrounds. Christian’s throat went dry with fear, but when they tried to dive after their prey, the beasts smacked into another invisible barrier, this one arcing over the clearing.

“What’s happened?” Christian whispered. “Why can’t they get through?”

“The spell,” Minerva said. “It’s protecting the park.”

The harpies circled, their womanly faces glaring down at the Fair as they tried to find a way to penetrate the barrier. After a few minutes, they shrieked in frustration and glided away.

“Thank God,” Christian said weakly.

Minerva rubbed her temples. “I don’t understand. They shouldn’t have been able to get into the park at all. The spell must be weakening.”

Then: “Where is Conrad?”

“Rovers,” Christian said. His legs trembled with the shock of adrenaline and exertion. “He’s with the Rovers.”

“Come on,” Minerva said. She took his hand and led him across the Fair toward the Rover caravan.