Gallia the Gardener
In a village near Exup, lived Gallia, a young gardener with a reputed garden. It was situated in a large plot of land and covered in so many plants that no one could enter from anywhere else but the front door.
Gallia had inherited the garden from her noble mother, who had mysteriously disappeared during her search for Gallia's father, the wandering wizard Belmarduk. Despite being his 33rd daughter, Gallia had few of her fifty (and one adopted) siblings' qualities. She wasn't considered pretty, for despite her bright green eyes, her skin was tanned and coarse from sunburns, her absurdly long, auburn hair was messy and sprinkled with twigs, and her hands were crusted with dirt. Except for a meagre ability to give warmth or dew to her plants, she could not perform magic.
She was, put simply, an ordinary human girl. That being said, the garden she kept was not so ordinary; it was filled with the rarest, most potent and useful plants that magic users from all corners of Dru sought. She prided herself in such a happy and useful garden. It was a simple life... until this morning.
"It's hard being a middle child, you know?” Gallia complained to Calixte while pruning the roses, her overly long dress sleeves getting tangled (and slowly torn up) in the thorns. "I get stuck cleaning up my forty-eight sisters’ messes after they leave so often I could scream. Look at you, Cali! When ‘big sister’ Nergis visited and found you with that awful fever, she begged to take you with her... as if I'd trust a necromancer with a near-dead…"
Calixte nodded her understanding, dangling her small legs off a rose petal. Like any typical garden fairy, she was no more than two thumbs high. Her emerald dragonfly wings glittered in the sun, and she distractedly played with her delicate black antennae while listening to her human friend emptying her heart. “Luckily you cured me just as well, and without magic.”
Gallia nodded, but continued her rant; "And don't get me started on those beautiful purslane colonies that the gremlins keep squishing with all their bickerings! I went to gather some for the garden just the other day and I could barely find one intact."
Finally, she put down her pruning shears and presented her dirty hand to Calixte, who happily climbed onto it. She playfully wiggled one of the fairy’s six limbs while musing:
"When will they realize that plants are living things; that one can't just squish them, or tear them up for no good reason--or worse, use them for rubbish magic reasons?"
Gallia rolled her eyes at the thought of wasteful magic;
“Wizards and witches--ugh. They’ve used so much mugglelump and virgin’s bower that they’re almost extinct. But does anyone care--?”
"I think you're actually making a difference," Calixte answered in her high-pitched voice; "my friends heard that the Magic Board in Haallan is thinking of adding more regulations on potion and spell ingredients. After all, what good are spells and potions if the ingredients are wiped out?"
"Oww! Aye! Aii!"
Sudden and variously pitched yelps of pain came from the hedges, startling them. Gallia nearly slipped on her dress's absurdly long trail as she desperately avoided stepping upon her second favourite garden friend: Pyngg the Gnome, who was running in the opposite direction of the yelling. The little plump man winked at her, and then, holding his pointy hat, hurried back into the ground through a well-hidden tunnel mouth sheltered by the roses.
"Unwanted guest," Gallia and Calixte whispered, smirking together.
As per Gallia’s instructions, Pyngg had just magically added long and sharp thorns to the Wisteria covering her entrance pergolas. That meant only one thing: a Banker's visit. Or the Dark Lord. She and Pyngg didn't bother with the distinction.
"Hide under my corset," Gallia whispered to Calixte; one could never be too sure.
"Blasted, undignified... monster!" The newcomer cursed as he finally stepped onto her paved pathway; he attempted to shrug off the thorns stuck in his red coat, but yipped as his wings caught them in the wrong way.
Gallia internally beamed with joy. Pyngg had caught none other than Burjay, her Banker boss. Burjay may have seemed small and ordinary, looking like an overgrown bluejay who only came up to Gallia's waist, but he was one of the fiercest, keenest Bankers living. His lineage was impressive: his carefully-preserved family bloodline came from the Great City's founder--a distinction that gave him the power to greedily oversee the extremely valuable content of Gallia's garden.
Burjay turned furiously to Gallia, his silver beak clicking and his red hat lifting off his blue feathers. With Burjay's species, one could always tell how angry he was by how high his head feathers lifted up. Today his hat raised by several inches, to Gallia’s enjoyment.
"What a disgraceful, uncouth child you are! How dare you set such a trap?"
Gallia crossed her arms, "That's why you should have taken the actual entrance," she pointed to a spot fifty feet away, where Pyngg had just put up the illusion of a perfectly safe, thornless, Wisteria pergola.
Burjay huffed and clicked his beak again, looking back the way he had come confusedly. He had used that gate dozens of times--since when did it have thorns? And since when was there a second entrance over there? But he could not retort against such a logical sight. He shook himself, then regaining his usual haughty stance, reached under his coat, and revealed a parchment roll.
"Anyway. Your business has shown very poor results, Gallia… if you can’t pay your taxes..."
"Well, Sir, with the Dark Lord on the move, fewer people are willing to travel here. And true magic users know how fragile plants are during transport..."
"Enough of your excuses! I want to see numbers, not mumblings from farmgirls." Burjay began strolling around Gallia, proudly lifting his head. "Your management of this business is utterly deplorable. You ignored my suggestion to set up a shop in the Great City..."
"Plants don't grow in buildings and bricks, Sir," Gallia reminded him patiently.
"...you encourage buyers to go through dangerous routes to buy their necessities…"
"It’s not my fault the garden is where it is. I only inherited it. And why are you so concerned about my business anyway? Don’t you have enough money without more taxes from me? I see you bought yourself a twentieth ring," she pointed to a lavish ring amongst many more on his feathery hands.
Burjay locked yellow eyes with hers, and by the height his feathers had raised his hat, she knew one more interruption would mean the end of the conversation... and nothing good after that.
"...And if miss farmgirl would shut up so I can advise you as is my job as your Banker…” Gallia clamped her mouth shut as he continued his list of her faults; “... and you dare tell me that you’re now refusing to sell your bestselling plants to the few people who do make it to this confounded garden because they’re ‘endangered’. By Dru’s hat, if that’s the case, just grow more!"
Gallia opened her mouth to say that growing those particular plants is difficult, but wisely held her tongue.
“And then miss dumb farmgirl says to my face that her failing business is not her fault. Do I understand correctly?"
Gallia said nothing in reply, instead daydreaming of having Pyngg add quite a few more thorns to Burjay’s red coat and blue feathers, including some very well-placed ones in his…
"Now you decide to shut up," Burjay sneered. "I hope you realize your garden won't be yours anymore if you can’t pay for the land."
"What?!" Gallia and Calixte exclaimed in shock. Gallia quickly slammed a hand on her chest to prevent the fairy from flying into Burjay's view. She wasn't exactly sure whether garden fairies were delicacies of overgrown blue jays.
"Maybe I should have started incentives a long time ago with you," Burjay humphed.
Gallia clenched her jaw and hands. Oh, those thorns seem like such a good idea right now…
"From now on, you'll give me the results I want when I want them, no matter how or what you must do to fulfill them. If you do so, you can keep your dirty garden. If you don’t, I'll gladly transfer ownership to a real gardener. Someone who understands business. Got it?"
Gallia nodded. Burjay unrolled the parchment further, handing her a paper he had kept folded within.
"There's a royal wedding on the island of Ismar in a month's time, and their princess is gravely ill. They lack the rare Jewelweed for their healing potion, so here I am at the request of King Dru himself to ask for your assistance. Personally deliver the herb to the Orc Healers, and I'll consider it a good will venture on your part to keep the business. If you fail, or you don't come back alive..." Burjay flicked his wing in a goodbye gesture.
"Yes sir," Gallia bowed shakily, all thoughts of thorny revenge gone.
Burjay harrumphed again, whirled about, and readjusted his hat. He strutted away and walked comically straight into Pyngg's thornless wisteria pergola illusion... straight into the thorny hedges. More yelps and cries came, and Calixte shouted from Gallia's corset; "You came out the wrong way! The exit was right behind you!"
Calixte giggled and flew to a nearby porterweed petal, eager to see Gallia laugh as well. But Gallia only clutched the note from the king, clearly on the verge of crying.
***
"You're okay with this?" Gallia asked her friends worriedly, a hand on the gate's lock as they looked one last time upon their property.
Pyngg grabbed her dress sleeve with a sad but confident smile, and Calixte fluttered around, making sure that the sun hit her emerald wings to delight Gallia.
"We couldn’t let you go alone and you know it!" the fairy said in a too-bright fashion. Being two thumbs tall had pros and cons: the world was incredibly big and threatening to one so small, but luckily no one could see her shivering.
"And you two need my magic," Pyngg added, proudly puffing out his chubby chest and bowing, his tall, conical hat almost hitting Gallia as he did so.
"All right, so, I guess..." Gallia looked longingly at her home before turning the key, "...this is it."
"That's the spirit! Let's prove that horrible bluejay who's the boss!" Calixte shouted in her too-cheerful manner.
"Yes, but there's one obstacle I keep thinking about," Gallia mused as they began walking. "We're going to meet... orcs!" Pyngg and Calixte jumped out of the way as Gallia finally let loose her feelings, whirling about in circles, holding her head in sheer panic. "What will I do, what will I do?!"
"Come on, one step at a time," Calixte said as she pulled Gallia's hand. "We're still in Eledus--I know all the shortcuts and safe roads."
“Yes, but... but... but... orcs! Taller than trees, with huge tusks that rival the elefairies, so warlike that earthquakes are actually their massive clubs hitting the ground. Every ship that ventures there gets wrecked, the survivors never returning... I'll be squashed in a second! And my garden will be looked after by a new so-called gardener and that banker!"
Pyngg scratched his chin, musing.
"I'm pretty sure some of those reports are fairy tales... no offense, Cali."
"None taken!" Calixte nodded. "Yeah, Gallia, not all of it is true... you know explorers, how they embellish everything. I bet only a few of those tales are true."
Gallia stared at the fairy.
"Yeah, which ones? So tall they’ll squish us without noticing, tusks that can impale us, warlike beyond belief, or ships wrecking and survivors never returning?"
Calixte and Pyngg thought silently.
"We'll see!" the fairy finally decided. "We don't have a choice anyway."
Gallia slumped as they walked away from their home and into the unknown.
***
"We should be near," Gallia whispered wearily as she and Pyngg navigated a canoe across the misty sea. It had been a month since they’d left the garden.
They had been exhausted when they had reached the southern sea, and to make matters worse, the boats from Haallan port had refused to bring them closer to Ismar, informing them that no invitation had been given to approach the island. Because of this, they had been forced to take an old canoe--Gallia’s and Pyngg’s arms ached from the effort of moving the paddles in circular motions. Calixte had tried to help row with her four tiny arms, but she had given up after an hour, and now laid across Gallia’s lap.
"I think Burjay is behind this," Pyngg theorized. "Why else would the boats refuse to take us to Ismar if the Orcs asked us for help?"
Finally, just as they maneuvered the little boat around the corpse of a grounded ship that had found an unfortunate berth on jagged rocks, the mysterious island of Ismar came into view. As per Gallia's bedtime stories, it was framed by gigantic natural geometric formations of rocks and cliffs, as if the island itself had been carved by giants.
The trio swallowed in dread nearly simultaneously. There didn't seem to be any visible ports; only beaches of sand built up against mossy cliffs.
"Do you need me to scout?" Calixte offered bravely yet shakily.
"Only if you’re up for it," Gallia accepted.
"Anything for my friends!" Calixte puffed up her chest, and her wings fluttered. She flew away without further ado, and Gallia and Pyngg waited with fists clenched, hoping no one would see their small canoe amongst the sea.
A few minutes passed, then Gallia and Pyngg saw a glint of emerald streak across the beach; Calixte’s wings were fluttering faster than Gallia had ever seen. The fairy flew straight into the side of Gallia's corset to hide, shaking and screaming.
"Cali! Are you okay? What happened?!" Gallia asked, terrified.
Calixte panted, breathing heavily, before finally stammering:
"The... The... Orcs... They're... big... No! BIG!!" That last word was shrieked.
Gallia gasped and ducked behind the hull of the canoe;
"Let’s go back!”
Pyngg squeezed his temples, impatient with his fearful companions;
"Wait a minute! Cali, you're a fairy! Of course anyone will be bigger than you! Listen, their Princess is sick, and we've been charged to deliver the Jewelweed for her cure! Will we so easily give up?"
Gallia gulped and took a moment to breathe deeply, calming herself.
"You're right! We have a duty to fulfill. And I'll repeat it, no Banker will get their greedy hands on my garden!" She picked up her oar: "Come on, let's get this canoe on the beach. They must surely await us nearby."
***
Flomp!
An arrow of Pyngg's length landed at Gallia’s feet as she finally finished climbing the hill leading from the beach to one of the island's plateaus. The trio squealed as half a dozen Orcs surrounded them, pointing bows, or holding swords and clubs.
Then Gallia blinked.
"You're... small," she realized.
"We're taller than you, human!" one of the Orcs growled.
"Yeah, but you know... Not as tall as trees."
Though the orcs were taller and more well-muscled than most denizens of Dru, they were certainly not the myths common folk had made them out to be. The Orcs looked at her, stunned, then a few actually laughed.
"And your tusks... they're... quite cute, actually," Gallia observed lovingly.
"Get over it, Gallia!" Calixte whispered angrily, "They're still very much BIG warriors!"
"What are you doing on Ismar, intruders?" one Orc stepped forward, his sword at the ready, dominating the trio with his stature.
"Intruders?! I'm Gallia of Eledus! I'm delivering the Jewelweed for your Highness' cure, remember?"
The Orcs looked at each other. The one who had spoken before raised his voice again;
"We’ve been told the herb would come, but not by a girl, and certainly not today! Should we treat you as an imposter instead?"
"What?!" Gallia flushed. "What do you mean, "not by a girl"?! I'm the darn gardener that the King of Dru recommended to your King! I'm the girl that traveled for the last month with only a gnome and a fairy because no one wanted to guide us to your island. I had to cross the Great Forest and hide from the Dark Lord's scouts, then bargain my all of my return journey money just to get a boat to take me as far as the Shipwreck Trench, and I'm the unarmed girl standing before you with a bag of herbs... only to be told somehow, you're expecting SOMEONE ELSE?!"
The Orcs didn't bulge--some even tightened their bows as her last words were yelled.
"Return to your boat, human girl, while I still have mercy," the warrior leader said coldly.
"I need to meet your Healer! I need to put this bag in your healer's hands!"
"As if we'd take a bag from another long-haired witch!" an orc yelled. "The Princess already made that mistake once--we won’t allow her to make it again."
Gallia would have scoffed at the insinuation if she wasn't a breath away from crying. She dropped the bag to her side, put her face in her hands, and did exactly that. She had failed. They wouldn't take the herbs even if she left them behind, and Burjay’s conditions were specific: deliver the medicine to the Orc Healer. Now it was over. Burjay would drool with glee to cut her from her beautiful land just as if she was a flower herself.
What was more: the last thing her parents had left her before abandoning her was the garden… what else could she do once it was gone? Gallia put her hand to her chest to find comfort in the small warmth of Calixte... She paused, and looked down: the fairy wasn't there. Gallia looked around. Pyngg was gone too. She sprang up and began shouting in panic:
"Calixte! Pyngg! Where are you?!"
"They infiltrated us!" the Orc leader yelled. "Quick, half of you, run back and protect the princess! The rest of you, grab the human!"
Gallia yelped as the Orcs approached, towering over her dangerously. She bent over, grabbed the herb bag and held it up as if it was a shield. She closed her eyes, waiting for the end.
"Let go of her, you idiots!"
The Orcs turned in surprise as a new voice rose from behind the group. The warriors parted at the center, and the leader made way for an elegantly dressed orc with amber eyes and black, silky hair that contrasted his green skin and ivory tusks.
"Healer Ankit! What are you doing here? You should be by the Princess' side." The leader asked bruskly.
"I was, until these friends here," the Healer carefully held out Calixte in his hand, and Pyngg peeked from behind the Orc's robe, shyly waving at Gallia, "told me that you were about to throw out her only hope for a cure."
"But she is not who we were told to expect..."
"Why else would a little, terrified human gardener travel here?" Ankit retorted.
Before the warriors could argue, Ankit pushed them aside and strolled down to Gallia. Calixte flew, and Pyngg ran to her and she held them against her in relief.
"Oh, you're all right! I got so scared! Where did you go?"
"The earth here is amazingly soft and malleable," Pyngg explained.
Gallia looked around and finally spotted a small mound of earth where Pyngg had burrowed. It was a short tunnel through the hill, and the Orc warriors hadn’t noticed as the small fairy and gnome had escaped behind them while Gallia had been making her case.
"Brave little ones," Ankit lovingly wiggled a finger at Calixte, who fluttered happily. "They snuck their way straight into the princess’ chambers where I was waiting and explained everything."
"I'm so sorry, I don't know why I wasn't announced to you; my Banker told me everything was arranged, and..." Gallia stammered in confusion, wiping her tears away.
Ankit laughed kindly and held her hands.
"Don't worry about it. Our guards are only on edge, with both the wedding and the Princess' sickness. As for Bankers, well, they're Bankers, as I discovered when I travelled on the mainland. Now please, hurry, where's that Jewelweed?"
Gallia gave him the bag, overjoyed to finally see it in the healer’s possession. She never thought she would be so glad to see a plant leave her hands, but it had given her so much trouble.
"Come with me. I want to make sure I handle it right, since you know Jewelweed better than me." As they sped away, Ankit added: "And as my grateful thanks, do you three want to stay for the wedding? It's the least I can offer after your brave, perilous journey."
Gallia beamed. Now that there weren't arrows, swords or clubs pointing at her, she realized even more that the Orcs were nowhere near similar to the stories she had been told. And... well, she never had been to a wedding, much less an Ismarian one.
Now, that was a worthy adventure away from her garden.
However…
She could not help but wonder what Burjay was doing with her garden while she was gone… in the back of her mind she kept a reminder to ask Pyngg to add much sharper and longer thorns at Burjay's next visit.