Still short of breath from his battle and encumbered by his gear, First Fruits clambered up the worn wooden steps. “I’m ready, Da? Ready for what?”
Sacred Oak was already in the kitchen, busy at the counter. A teakettle and dishes clattered over his conspiratorial chuckles. “You popped the cork on old Smelter nice. Should have saved some of the white wigglers for Ms. Sugar Plum’s goldfish.”
First followed him inside, into the low yellow light of the firefly lamps strung above the dining table. “Yeah, should have. Deadheadin’ his Rose was easy. The last one was—” he paused to steady his voice “—the last one was hard.”
Sacred stopped laughing. He closed the lid on their wood stove and slid a teakettle around on the gritty iron top to center it. “I know it was, First,” he said, giving his son a sober look. “It was meant to be. But I want you to know that your mother and I talked about it before she passed. It was her idea. She knew her time was coming, and wanted to be of use to the cause even after she left us. She said, ‘Don’t put me in the ground just to rot, much as I’m looking forward to feeding the foxgloves. I brought our boy into the world, and I want to be the one who either takes him out of it or proves him worthy.’ Careful now, you’re gettin’ blood on Cinnamon.” He gestured with his muzzle toward the cat. “Best tend to her before she licks; wouldn’t want her gettin’ an appetite for horseflesh.”
The cat met First Fruits’ startled appraisal with mild interest. He set her down on the chair that had belonged to his mother and began to loosen the knots of his bindings. “Oh, Mama,” he sighed, “wish you could have seen how good I did.” When he’d finished removing his filthy weapons, he soaked the end of a rag in a soapy dish bucket and began to dab at the oily red stains on Cinnamon’s fur. She complained, but didn’t flee.
Sacred Oak gathered a small brown bottle and a roll of gauze from the cabinet and sat down in his customary seat at the table. “You’ve heard me tell many a time about our kin. How we’ve served as Caretakers from the old days of the High Sanctuary, when our order numbered in the hundreds and thousands, and the foe were thrice as many as that, and all manner of monsters roamed the kingdom all on their own account, lookin’ to wreak mayhem long after the Nightmare was banished away.” He pushed the medical supplies across to First Fruits, who took them with a nod. Matted but cleansed, Cinnamon jumped away and vanished into the corners.
First took her place, dropping into the chair. “Yes Da, I know it all by heart, like I should.” He unscrewed the bottle’s cap, pressed a length of gauze over the top, and upended it.
“Well just now you proved yourself—passed the final test—and mighty justified I am as a Caretaker and a father to have seen you do it. So today’s the day I bestow on you our family’s most secret secret. Today’s the day that I tell you that—” the stallion leaned forward on his ravaged forelegs “—he was there.”
First pressed the loaded gauze against the raw crater that the cadaverous teeth had gouged in his foreleg. His wince would have gone unnoticed by anyone but his father. “He? I … I don’t follow you, Da.”
“I’m sayin’ he was there when it happened. When She fell.”
First Fruits’ eyes widened as understanding took hold. “Stars and moon, Da! You mean he … that can’t be true! No pony—”
A swift hoof walloped him on his good shoulder. “It’s true as the welt you’re gonna have tomorrow right there where I whacked you! Are you listening to me?”
“Yes Da, I’m sorry. Spoke out of turn.”
“Good. Right. I was sayin’ he was there. In the Gardens of Selene, when the world changed forever. Now I know the songs your mama and I taught you make them out to be fairy tales and myths, and fancy as they are, I can tell you that none of them approach doing justice by their true grandeur. For miles they lay like an unearthly playground for the trees and the topiaries, great wonders giving way to even greater with every step, the pools and fountains strung together by rivulets all flowing like sweet wine for the arbor.”
“The Gardens of Selene … The Moonlight Paradise … it was real?”
“The Moonlight Paradise,” Sacred Oak echoed. Tears began to gather in the corners of his eyes as he remembered the songs of his youth, and gazed at what his imagination displayed for him. “That was a secret too, even back then. A place She would go to be alone to create the night, and do things proper to a Princess that only a Princess would know. Joyous Grove was Her head gardener. It was his job to make it the most beautiful place in the world. And he did.”
“Joyous Grove … the first in our line. You mean he—”
“That’s right. He was always there, night and day, doing the holy work of groundskeeping the Paradise. That’s why he was the only mortal soul to have witnessed the Great Evil.”
“Did he go blind? Or mad?”
Sacred Oak shook his head. Behind him, the teakettle was jetting a column of steam. He paused his recollections and got up, hunched under the weight of his years. Two mugs waited next to the stove. He filled them, and grabbing one with his teeth, set it in front of First. “There you go. Put a sprig of honeyfruit vine in yours to numb the sting. And no need to worry. No poison in our Roses’ thorns, though there’s tell there’s some that got it.” He took his mug and returned to his seat. “No,” he said, rubbing his temple, “the stories don’t align as to what became of Joyous. Some say he wandered off into the Gardens and was never seen again. Others—from the tradition we know and pass down—tell of his work after Her fall, trimmin’ back the foul influence of the Gardens’ corrupted magic. But all that’s long gone. What we have to discuss now is the next phase the moon has in store for you.”
A coyote warbled outside in the darkness. Others, more distant, yammered gibberish in reply. The canine noise drifted around the perimeter of the house’s walls, settling in the direction of the sanctuary. Voice by voice, it changed to the gnawing of bones.
First’s hoof twitched toward his blades. “Whatever it is, Da, by Her grace I’ll see it done.”
“Don’t be too sure there, charger,” said Sacred. “You ain’t heard what you gotta do yet.” He blew across his tea, watching the bitter vapors disperse in the empty space between them before taking an experimental sip. “That’s the ticket. Blended just right, if I do say so. Now, I’ve got another secret to tell you, and it’s of practical concern, so pay attention.”
He gave First a moment to cool his own brew before continuing. “I told you … I told you that you passed the test. Truth is, part of me was hoping that you wouldn’t; that I’d have to come down there and wrestle the buggers off you like I did when you were but a knee-high. You see, when a Caretaker proves his mettle in battle, and his resolve to safeguard the Princess’s domain, he takes on a new responsibility. First, it’s time for you to begin your life’s work. Tomorrow you need to leave here and create your own Sanctuary.” He gave his mug a few gentle rotations and looked away.
First forgot his drink. The feasting of the coyotes had finished, yielding to the intertwined choruses of the crickets as they rose and fell in the outdoor cool. “How am I supposed to do that, Da? Create my own Sanctuary? I’m only—”
“I know, First, I know. I wish it didn’t have to be that way, but those are the rules. This land—it wasn’t always a tame little Rose garden and hobby farm to fool the neighbors. I had to fight. To earn it. Just me and your ma. You know how in our devotions we affirm the highest and final virtue?”
“Sacrifice,” First murmured.
“Without sacrifice, there’s no war, no story, no nothin’. Now I gotta make mine, and you gotta make yours. It won’t be the last for either of us.”
Sacred Oak stood, gulped down the rest of his tea, and clomped heavy-hoofed upstairs.