The Heart

       The day was as nice as any other day in Mythologia. Nice for living, for grazing, for napping in a bottle tree grove. One of the greatest mages, Hengist Hannibal Junketberry, H.H. for friends, was doing just that before a gentle cough disturbed his reverie. “What do you want, young triangle-headed Toad?” H.H. wasn’t tall by far, but still he had to lean really low from his chaise longue to have a good look at the visitor. It was also due to his failing sight, frankly speaking. As you’d expect, his glasses slipped off his nose at once, but at least he guessed the species of the visitor. “Not so young, Mr. H.H., not so young as me’d wish,” the Toad croaked and picked the glasses up to return to the owner. “It’s me, Ethelred. And my tricorn ‘at, no the triangle ‘ead.” While H.H. was mounting his glasses to where they belonged, the Toad tried to climb a tea table near the mage’s resting place, but it was too high for his thin, crooked legs. H.H. saw his misery and helped him up with some effort and put him in the centre of the table, knocking a bottle of mooncalf milk down in the process; Ethelred had grown quite a tummy and was even more cumbersome in the dark green uniform of the Commander-in-Chief. “That belligerent battle look, I recognise it.” H.H. got worried. “Is Mythologia in danger again? Cockatrices? Werewolves?” “No, nothing of the kind,” Ethelred assured him and went silent once more, but rather nervous: he blinked a lot and even licked his eyes. “What can I do to you, my dear Ethelred?” He patted the tricorn to encourage the Toad. “Oh, well, yes. Maybe. I was going to ask if you can—can you turn things into stones? Into nice jewels? Nuffink big, ‘f course.” “Yes, sure, there are plenty of petrifying spells depending on the source and target material. But do not expect me to remember any of them by heart. When I return to the Crystal Caves, I will definitely consult the Great Book of Spells, but you shall remind me thereof. Then we would probably need components… Look, Ethelbert, if you need a small precious stone, there are lots of spare ones in the caves. Feel free to take a couple, it would be faster.” The Toad didn’t seem glad, though. He gaped for a moment, curled and uncurled his tiny webbed fingers and toes. “Thanks, Mr. H.H., but—the source material, you said, that’s the matter. It’s very peculiar, it’s no available yet.” And he heaved a giant sigh, shaking his entire volume. “You are talking riddles like a professional magician, dear Ethelgrim.” H.H. wanted to sound cheerful, but the Toad’s nervousness crept into his mind and made his voice falter. Or, it could be age. “I am afraid I cannot help you if you keep beating around the bush.” The Toad paled almost to the white colour of his uniform trousers, and for a moment, H.H. was afraid that his friend and agent had a stroke. At last Ethelred spoke quietly like a falling leaf. “Can you make a pretty stone out of me ‘eart and… and give it to Miss Penny next time she comes?” “Oh.” H.H. fumbled for words or thoughts. With the same effect, he could grip a water rapid with a bare hand. “But you need your heart to live” was the best thing he came up with. “Won’t be forever, right?” H.H. swallowed hard. It hit all too close to his own contemplations in front of a mirror, or during a search for glasses, or on sleepless nights, or over the map of his beloved fantastic sanctuary country. “You will, my friend. In our hearts and memory, you will live eternally.” The Toad made a gurgling giggle. “Maybe. But a small, solid keepsake won’t ‘urt, right? Especially for the ones far away. Something not as ugly as me.” “You know that Penelope has never considered you ugly!” H.H. protested vehemently. “But… I do see your point, even though I am most certain that you two will see each other many times yet. But yes, I can fulfil your wish—that is, if I do not forget, you know, my dear Parrot complains a lot about me forgetting things recently. But if I write it down and don’t forget where I have it written—” “Oh, thanks a lot!” The Toad interrupted his ramblings. “I’ll write it down, too, then. In my will. There are some very bright young Toads among my grandnephews and grandnieces; they’ll see to it. Also, I tell Parrot to remind you. It’s… very important to me. Only that way we can finally be together, me and Miss Penny. I mean, she’s a ‘uman, and me a toad. And the fairytale thing, with kisses, I mean, it just didn’t work.” H.H. nodded without a word. “And, please… Is it possible to make the stone the same colour as ‘er eyes?” the Toad pleaded in the end. “Well…” H.H. was glad to think of anything else. “I must consult the Great Book of Spells, but… yes, it is not theoretically impossible. I will do my best, I promise, though I will definitely not enjoy it. Informing Parrot is also a great idea, by the way. Please do it… Let’s hope it won’t happen for a long, long time yet.” “Thank you, now I rest assured.” The Toad bowed and made a heavy hop down from the tea table. With a heart heavy as a stone, Hengist Hannibal Junketberry watched him limp away. I promise, my friend. If I do not come to the finish line first.