Bygones

     Daisy now finds herself faced with one such customer, hunched over her stall’s wares as a very emphatic Shoyru tries to argue down the price of Daisy’s final cheese wheel.

     “This is price gouging!” The Shoyru accuses. “No one pays more than five hundred Neopoints for cheese!”

     “It’s Ummagine Cheese.” Daisy reiterates, slowly. “That means we have to make it with Ummagines. We have to import those Ummagines from Sakhmet. And you know how expensive imports have been, lately.”

     Meridell is hosting its decennial Peace Feast Luncheon, inviting a bunch of milquetoast nobility from around Neopia, and apparently, all those high-ranking officials prefer to eat imported delicacies. Daisy isn’t sure she can entirely blame them. When the local flavours tend toward unseasoned gruel and raw vegetables, well… the desire for some variety is understandable. But the sudden additional demand is driving up prices on all the raw ingredients. Daisy can barely afford Juppies for the Spicy Juppie Cheese.

     The Shoyru remains unconvinced. “Four hundred and fifty Neopoints, and that’s my final offer.”

     “Just take the deal.” Advises the merchant packing up shop next to Daisy. Thelma, a starry uni, sells healing potions out of a wagon. Thelma is Daisy’s most deeply trusted friend, but Daisy has always had a shrewder eye for business. Thelma has been eager to leave all afternoon, get back home, and catch up on the yooyuball finals.

     “Four hundred and fifty, I’d be selling at a loss.” Daisy says. “But I can sell you some bread, for that price?”

     The Shoyru nods with satisfaction like bread is somehow an equivalent substitute for cheese, which is baffling. Not even the same food group, really. Nevertheless, the Shoyru hands over a fistful of Neopoints and trails away with their wrapped loaf of yeasty bread.

     Daisy shrugs in bewilderment, loading the cheese back into her cooler. It’ll keep just fine until tomorrow.

     “I guess you’re smart to ignore my advice.” Thelma says.

     “You know, people used to be afraid to bargain with me.” Daisy comments. “They’d think I was a big scary Darigan monster, and they’d pay whatever price I had written, no questions asked.”

     Thelma snorts. “Hard to imagine that.”

     “You don’t tremble in fear when you see my fangs and spikes?” Daisy asks, sarcastically baring her teeth in a pointy grin. Daisy is a Darigan Aisha, and her severe red gaze is sometimes startling, but these days, ‘scary’ isn’t an adjective that’s often applied to her.

     “You’re about as scary as Layton Vickles.” Thelma says. “And not even half as dreamy.”

     Thelma and Daisy both live in a little village below the hovering Citadel. Once or twice a month they’ll make the vaguely perilous trip up into the citadel to sell foodstuffs and potions to the Darigan residents. But most of the time they take the winding road in through the forest to the larger and busier Meridell marketplace. Daisy still occasionally garners nervous glances from older Meridellians, but, y’know, she HAS actually lived in Meridell her entire life. So that’s their problem.

     By the time Daisy is ready to head out, the sun has fully set. She’s particular about keeping her sales records properly updated, and careful work takes time. It’s later than Daisy usually leaves. Much later, in fact. Cottages around the marketplace are starting to light candles in windows. Thelma loiters around nearby while Daisy gets everything in order.

     “Thanks for waiting.” Daisy says, loading her boxes into Thelma’s wagon.

     “Wish I could say it was out of the kindness of my heart.” Thelma says. “But there’s no way I’d wanna deal with the creepy nighttime forest backroads all by myself. You’re my safety in numbers.”

     “Right, sure. Wouldn’t want to run into a wild Vullard out there.”

     “Yeah, yeah, laugh it up. It’s not too late for me to change my mind and leave you behind.”

      ***

      Thelma uses a sturdy leather harness to pull along the wagon. The wagon is made out of some old wooden planks, and the wheels are from an old wheelbarrow Daisy found in the rubbish dump. Daisy is allowed to ride along in the back of the wagon. She sits on the back of the plank as the wheels bump along on the uneven terrain, dangling her feet over the dirt path. The wagon is sturdy but doesn’t make for an especially smooth ride. There aren’t exactly any shock absorbers.

     “Watch the potholes.” Daisy comments, as one of the wheels suddenly drops the wagon into a stomach-lurching tilt.

     “Thanks for the feedback.” Thelma says from up ahead. “Maybe YOU should get up here and pull the wagon for a while, and I’ll go sit back there complaining.”

     “I’m making sure nothing falls out.” Daisy says, gesturing toward a box of glass potion bottles. None of those bottles are falling off the cart and getting smashed, not on Daisy’s watch.

     “Maybe you should also be helping navigate.”

     Daisy looks around in the indistinct darkness. “Why? We’ve taken this path a million times.”

     “Not at night.” Thelma says. “I mean…does any of this look familiar to you?”

     “It looks like trees.” Daisy says. “Like you said, we don’t usually come this way at night. So it’s okay if it doesn’t look familiar.”

     “Sure, yeah, but like… I’m afraid I’m going to miss the important landmarks. Like that big tree, where we always turn left? I’m not sure I’m going to be able to see that in the dark.”

     “We haven’t passed the big tree yet?” Daisy asks.

     “That’s what I’m saying! I have no idea.”

     “We definitely should’ve passed the big tree by now.”

     “I don’t know!” Thelma cries. “Did YOU see the big tree?”

     “No.” Daisy says. “But I wasn’t looking. I thought you had it under control.”

     “I thought I did, too! I thought it was weird that I hadn’t seen the tree yet, but then I figured that maybe we weren’t actually walking for very long, and it just seemed like a long time because it’s nighttime, and everything is creepier in the dark. So, like, I figured there was no need to worry about it? But then you asked about it… and we HAVE been walking for a really long time, and I don’t know WHERE we are!”

     Thelma is bubbly and optimistic by nature and isn’t one to stress over minor inconveniences. Judging by the obvious distress in Thelma’s voice, it occurs to Daisy that they may be much more lost than initially suspected.

     “Hey,” Daisy says, taking a deep breath. “Woah. It’s okay. Let’s think for a moment, here. If we missed our turn by the tree, we’ve been travelling… east.”

     “East.” Thelma agrees. “Right. East. Maraqua is east of Meridell. Oh, man. Are we gonna end up in Maraqua? Daisy, I don’t know how to swim. I’m not gonna make it in Maraqua.”

     “I’m almost certain that we aren’t going to end up in Maraqua.” Daisy says. “Since Maraqua is, as you’ve alluded to, underwater. I don’t see a coastline anywhere. We’re absolutely still in Meridell. Just, y’know…lost in the forest.”

     “What do we do?” Thelma asks.

     Daisy climbs down from the wagon, and looks around. The tree crowns seem to knit together overhead, shaping the path in either direction into a dark tunnel. The underbrush is too thick to see far beyond the road. There are no posted signs, no directions or guiding cairns anywhere.

     “Maybe we should turn around.” Daisy suggests. “We’re pretty sure we passed the big tree. So we’ll just retrace our steps until we see it, and then we’ll turn.”

     “That sounds good.” Thelma says.

     “Perfect.” Daisy says. “Here, I’ll even walk with you.”

     “Wanna help pull the wagon?” Thelma asks, gesturing to the harness looped over her shoulders.

     “Let’s not get ahead of ourselves.” Thelma says.

      ***

      Turns out that it’s not just dark at night (duh), it’s also cold! Thelma drapes herself in a saddle blanket, tucking her star-speckled wings away from the bitter air. Daisy pulls up the hood on her own fur-lined cloak and wraps herself deeper inside the heavy fabric.

     It’s pitch black. Either tonight is a new moon, or the tree cover is so dense that every bit of moonlight is completely stamped out. Something crunches underfoot, and Daisy has no idea what it is. The path has been increasingly thick with debris, which doesn’t even make sense. In theory, they’ve already travelled down this road, and now they’re simply backtracking. In practice, they must have accidentally branched off in some other direction, and now they’re farther than ever from their village.

     At least they still have the Ummagine Cheese to sustain them, if they’re stuck out here until morning. Daisy doesn’t say that out loud. She isn’t sure Thelma would find the sentiment especially comforting.

     “Do you hear footsteps?” Thelma asks.

     “Yes.” Daisy says. “That’s what happens when you walk.”

     “Not from us.” Thelma hisses, suddenly stopping. “I think there’s someone out there in the woods.”

     “I sure hope so.” Daisy says. “Stumbling into a village would be the best possible thing to happen to us right now.”

     They stand side-by-side and listen. Sure enough, there IS the distinctive rustling drag of heavy footsteps, drawing closer and louder. Daisy twists her ear and stalks backwards to identify the direction of the approaching steps. When she fully turns around to peer into the woods beyond the wagon, she can make out a lantern’s glow flickering in the middle distance.

     “Should we call out?” Thelma asks, voice a whisper. “Or…Maybe you should help me disconnect from the wagon? Just…like, just in case we need to run fast.”

     Daisy doesn’t have time to start fumbling with the harness buckles, because they’re both suddenly washed in the scope of lantern light. Daisy’s hood shields her eyes from the immediate blinding contrast. She can just barely make out a Skeith’s silhouette, holding the lantern aloft with one clawed fist, brandishing a pitchfork with the other hand.

     “Ahoy there!” The Skeith calls, deep voice booming. “What brings you to this neck of the woods?”

     Thelma looks at Daisy with completely round eyes. Daisy motions to the uni to say something. If either of them are going to diplomatically talk their way out of this, it’s realistically more likely to be Thelma.

     “Howdy!” Thelma calls back, then immediately winces.

     “What is your business here?” The Skeith farmer asks, still plodding ever closer.

     “We’re, uh, lost. Really lost. We’re trying to get home to our village.”

     The Skeith steps onto the road, kicking leaf litter out of his way. He scratches his gnarled chin with a claw, causing the lantern to rock back and forth perilously. He’s clearly hardened by strenuous work, green scales scuffed and scratched, carrying the pitchfork like it’s nothing.

     He inspects Thelma warily. On the other side of Thelma, Daisy sinks deeper into her cloak.

     Finally, the Skeith coughs, nodding decisively. “Well,” He says, not any quieter for their proximity. “You and your friend best come with me, and we can see about finding your way back to your village.”

      ***

      The Skeith leads them further down the road, eventually looping into a gradual cul-de-sac in front of a thatched cottage. There’s a fenced garden beside the cottage, vines looping up and over handmade wooden trellises. On the other side of the cottage, there’s a small shed, secured shut with a glinting metal padlock. No village to be seen- just the one solitary residence.

     “My name’s Barlow.” He says.

     “Oh, cool.” Thelma says. “Like the Petpet?”

     “What?” Barlow asks.

     “Yeah, like the…the little guys, with the, uh, paws? And… curly tails?”

     Barlow considers Thelma, mildly unimpressed. “That’d be a Snorkle.”

     “No, there’s definitely, like, that’s a separate thing…” Thelma trails off as Barlow continues inside the cottage.

     Daisy hangs back to finally free Thelma from the wagon, and then they warily follow inside. Barlow’s living space is small but tidily maintained, with a crackling fireplace along the far wall. There’s a barrel of grains alongside a roughly carved table. A large spiked club conspicuously lies on top of the barrel.

     “Sorry ‘bout that.” Barlow says. “You never know who’ll be coming through, and, well, I try to mind my business, but… you never know, is all. What village are you trying to get back to?” He rummages through a cabinet, producing a wrinkled map, yellowed with age and fraying around the edges.

     Barlow presses the map flat across the table. It’s a large map, but nothing beyond Brightvale is labelled.

     “Old map, huh?” Daisy asks, belatedly hoping she doesn’t sound rude.

     “Maybe so, but it’s recent enough, I figure. Nothing moves much.”

     “Only becomes a problem if you’re looking for Faerieland.” Thelma jokes.

     Barlow does not laugh. “Why would that be a problem?”

     Thelma pauses, looking around uncomfortably. “It…no reason. That’s our village, there.”

     Barlow grunts in acknowledgement, then begins pointing out directions. If Thelma and Daisy cut directly through the forest due south, they should be home in a few hours time. So, really, they were nowhere near wherever they thought they were, wandering aimlessly. It’s good they found someone out here. Moving closer to the fireplace, Daisy lowers the hood of her cloak.

     “I can lend you a compass for your travels.” Barlow says. “But you best be careful, because I’ve seen members of the Draconian Horde running amok out by-” He cuts off abruptly when he looks up from the map, really seeing Daisy for the first time.

     “Horde?” Thelma echoes, not understanding.

     “You!” Barlow booms at Daisy, immediately full of rage. He whips around back toward Thelma. “And YOU! Why are you working with the horde?”

     “What?” Thelma asks, nervously. “You mean, like… Daisy? She’s not a part of any horde. We’re just shopkeepers, trying to get home from the Meridell Marketplace.”

     “She’s a Darigan monster!”

     “I’m not!” Daisy yelps, raising her arms in a hopefully placating gesture. “I mean, like, I’m Darigan, but I’m not a monster! Honest! You can check our cart- it’s full of healing potions and baked goods!”

     “Potions and baked goods no doubt STOLEN from brave Meridellian warriors!” Barlow accuses. “I will not be played for a fool! Meridell is at WAR with the Citadel.”

     Daisy and Thelma cower, cornered between the fireplace and the angry Skeith.

     “And you!” Barlow continues, returning his ire towards Thelma. “A spy?”

     “Noo!” Thelma says. “We aren’t at war with the Citadel anymore! The war has been over for, like, ten years!”

     “Longer than that!” Daisy adds.

     “Fifteen years!” Thelma says.

     “Maybe even twenty!” Daisy says.

     “QUIET!” Barlow bellows. “I think I’d know if the war had ended.”

     “Well, I’d think that, too.” Daisy tells him. “Except apparently not.”

     In immediate retrospect, this is the wrong thing to say.

      ***

      Daisy and Thelma are both unceremoniously tossed into the shed, landing on the dusty floor next to some bags of dried peas.

     “I’ll write to the castle.” Barlow says. “I’ll send a letter. We’ll see what Skarl’s officials have to say about the war being over.”

     Then he slams the shed door behind him. A second later, there’s the click of the padlock, securing the makeshift prison.

     “This night just gets worse and worse.” Thelma says. “You should’ve sold that cheese at the lower price. What’re the odds of a prompt written response from the castle, exonerating us?”

     “If there’s one thing I know about King Skarl, it’s that he LOVES reading and writing mail, so we’ll be out of here in a jiffy.” Daisy responds. “Maybe it’s hard to tell in the dark, but that was sarcastic. King Skarl can’t be bothered, and everyone else at the castle is going to be so busy with the feast…we’re never getting out of here.”

     “At least we have these…dried peas.” Thelma says. “Those’ll be… crunchy, I suppose.”

     “I just… I don’t understand how someone can be so stuck in the past.” Daisy says. “The war ended twenty years ago! Twenty years ago, we didn’t know about Shenkuu. Twenty years ago, we didn’t know Vandagyres existed…we didn’t even know GNORBUS existed! Twenty years ago, there used to be a VIDEO STORE in Neopia Central!”

     “Literally, how did we ever live like that?” Thelma says, humouring Daisy.

     “You’d think we’ve made so much progress since then, and then something like this happens.” Defeated, Daisy slumps against the wall of the shed.

     “Hey.” Thelma says. “We HAVE made so much progress since then, and you can’t let this sort of nonsense get you down. The maniac who locked us in a shed is the exception, not the rule.”

     Daisy sighs, looking around. Thelma is right, but they’re still trapped. Maybe they could burrow out? Or pick the lock, somehow, if they could reach it?

     Thelma is also considering their options. Something occurs to her, and she leans in to conspiratorially share her thinking. “You know what else is new within the last twenty years?”

     “What?” Daisy asks.

     “Aethia’s Ability Academy.” Thelma smiles. “Nothing like some newfangled Battledome training. And you know what skill I learned when I reached level 300?”

     “Rejuvenate?” Daisy guesses.

     “Better.” Thelma says. “Healing Fire!”

     With a deep breath, air begins to swirl around Thelma, picking up the dust and garbage within the shed, wrapping it into an angry cyclone. The vortex hisses with a rush of suddenly increasing heat, sending Daisy scurrying away as the space around Thelma bursts into a blazing column of flames. The roof of the shed is blasted clean off by the immediate raging inferno, and the walls fall away in destroyed shambles. When Daisy’s eyes adjust, the fire has already receded into nothing, leaving the two shopkeepers standing unharmed in an epicentre of rubble.

     “I didn’t know you took your Battledome training so seriously.” Daisy comments.

     “Yeah, I guess.” Thelma says. “You really wouldn’t expect something like that to be a healing ability, huh?”

      ***

      Barlow may be an outdated lunatic, but his directions are good. Daisy and Thelma arrive back at their village without any further diversions.

     Daisy has never been so happy to see the familiar buildings. There are a few streetlamp torches still lit, brightly guiding the way down the recognisable cobblestone roads and welcoming facades. The Neopians here don’t see her as a monster or a marauding villain. They know her as the sometimes-pernickety shopkeeper who bakes bread on the weekends.

     “It’s good to be back.” Daisy says.

     “I’ve still gotta see who won the Altador Cup!” Thelma says, already bounding ahead.

     Yes, Daisy thinks. Settling down to catch up on the final AC standings will be the perfect, relaxing way to end the day…

     The End.