Fairy Godmother

'Ah, but now, that's the trick,' Lily said, taking up the lecture as smoothly as if she and Robin had rehearsed it. 'And that is where I come in. All of these bits of wood have been harvested over the years from trees I grew from cuttings or seeds, trees I nurtured and tended, and they gave me these lengths freely, as a gift. Not one piece was cut. There was no pain in the culling of these branches, and as a consequence, there is nothing here for the darker magics to work on. No Black Witch or Sorcerer can make a wand made from this wood turn against its Godmother.'

There it was again, that warning of danger. But she had accepted the risk, and though she shivered, she set her chin. She would no go back on her given word.

'So would I need a little wand like that one — '

With the colors and currents of magic drifting all around her, Elena found that easier to accept than she might have before the Elven Queen bestowed the gift of Magic Sight to her. In fact, as she pointed at one of the wands, she saw and felt the potential of magic building up, as if the were act of pointing at something energized the magic to flow in a particular direction.

'That will depend on your costume; you will have your everyday clothing, of course, and probably a small wand like this — ' Robin held up a slender, polished stick no bigger around than her little finger, and no longer than a foot. 'When you are in your most impressive garb, the sort of thing you will wear to attend Royal Christenings, for instance, you will bear a full-sized staff like this.' He hefted a length of wood about a foot shorter than she was.

'Have you ever seen a man concentrate the sun with a lens to make something catch fire?' Lily asked. Elena nodded; when she was younger, one of her playfellows used to purloin his granny's glasses to amuse his friends with just that trick. 'Well, there you are. The wand acts for magic as a lens does for the sun; it concentrates and focuses it. It won't matter a pin if one of your wands is broken — we'll keep several made up for you in each size. And you can certainly cast your spells without one — but it will be easier for you to use magic if you have one.'

'Now, please, Mistress, go along the ranks of these small lengths, and tell me when you have found a wand that feels right in your hand,' Robin said, stepping aside so that Elena could approach the bench. She did so, and picked up the first of the rough-finished wands. And it felt like — nothing. A stick of wood. She tried the next, and the next, with similar results. Finally, about halfway through the ranks of samples, she found it.

And that mere act surprised her, because she had begun to think that she wasn't feeling whatever it was she was supposed to sense, and would have to just make an arbitrary selection. Then the next wand she picked up came alive in her hand.

There was no other way to describe it; the rest had been as inert as an old broomstick; suddenly this one felt like a living thing in her hand.

'Ah!' Lily said, taking it from her — and she found that she was incredibly, inexplicably reluctant to let go of it. 'That would be the birch in the water-meadow. A good choice.' And as she set the wand in a vice, Robin cleared away all the other lengths of wood but seven.

'I'll have this finished for you in a trice,' Robin said matter-of-factly. 'The others will take longer, but this will give you something to work with.'

In less than an hour, Robin fashioned a wand for her of the polished and waxed birch, tapered, with a simple spiral carving to it so that it looked like the horn of a Unicorn. It was lovely, and although she had watched him make it, she could not imagine how he had finished it in so short a period of time.

'You'll find a long, narrow pocket in your skirt,' said Lily, and when she hunted for it, she found that indeed, she did. The wand fit in there as perfectly as it had in her hand.

'The other wands can wait,' Robin said, and gave her an unreadable look. 'Next, we need to fit you for proper clothing.'

So she spent an uncomfortable two hours with every inch of her being measured by the little Brownie. This would be for her 'Fairy Godmother' costumes, which Bella assured her, when the Godmother looked in on the fittings, were as vital a tool as her wand, if not more so.

'What people think of you is important,' Bella insisted. 'If you don't look the part, they won't believe in you, and if they don't believe in you, you might not be able to get your job done right.'

Quite frankly, Elena was feeling very intimidated, and it got worse as Robin held up one length of fabric after another against her face. She was afraid to touch the delicate fabrics with her work-roughened hands, and thought that she would probably look a fool in the kinds of dressmaker's confections that her stepsisters had worn.

She was even more intimidated when Hob brought in the trays of jewels, the bolts of trimmings that were to adorn these putative costumes. It was bad enough when they held up lace as fine as cobwebs, or gorgeous, heavy stuff shining as only bobbin lace made with silk thread could shine; it was far worse when they brought in the trimmings made with real gold and silver threads, and began selecting pearls and other gems to be added to the ornamentation.

'I can't wear these things!' she finally burst out. 'I'm not — '

'You are, Mistress,' Hob said sternly. 'You are every bit as important in rank as an Empress, and when the time comes, you must wear these gowns, and wear them without a second thought. Appearances are important, Mistress, and the time will come when you will speak with Royalty and they will know you for their superior, the gracious bestower of gifts that they have humbly asked of you.'

She shook her head, unable to even picture that in her own mind.

'But don't worry so much,' Lily told her, with a wave of her hand. 'Most of the time you'll be dressed like Madame does around here — because most of the time you need to look like one of the common folk.'

'Oh, not exactly like Madame,' Robin demurred. 'Madame's choice of colors is — well, in a fine lady of her age, it is delightfully eccentric. In a young woman — ' He visibly groped for words.

Lily did not. 'You'll look like a motely fool, or a color-blind Gypsy,' she said bluntly. 'Don't worry; you'll not be mistaken for a mountebank in what we give you.'

Finally the measuring and selection — none of which she got any chance to make for herself — was over, and the Brownies let her go. She sought refuge in the kitchen, where Madame was making a cold Ploughman's luncheon with her own hands, slicing meat, onions, bread, and cheese.