Myths and Magic: An Epic Fantasy and Speculative Fiction Boxed Set

by K.N. Lee

  More vines seized my waist, dragging me across the ground. I twisted onto my back as I slid toward the monster. I dug my heels into the ground with such force that my feet sank into the hard-packed earth. The monster continued to reel me in by the waist, pulling me upright. My legs buckled into a crouch. I was so close I could have reached out and touched a stone tooth. Using the forward momentum, I thrust my sword upward into the fleshy roof of its mouth. My sword sliced straight through the mouth and out its eye. It screamed with the sound of a thousand weeping widows.

  And all at once, it was gone. Where the monster’s body had been was nothing but an innocent pile of stones and a single twisted, gnarled tree in which my sword was wedged. The vines disintegrated as if they had never existed.

  I yanked the sword out of the tree, my skin crawling and heart pounding.

  We had to get out of here. Every moment we spent in this forest, our lives were in danger. We were surrounded by tricks and traps. Somewhere in this forest was a crazy warlock with a magic egg. We had to find him before he could use that wish to find us.

  I had a distinct feeling that we were running out of time.

  How much longer could we survive in here?

  11

  “I’m naked!” Kadria shouted.

  My hands trembled as I brushed dirt from Kadria’s shivering body. She had a bruise developing on her side, and her arm had a thin cut on it, not quite deep enough to draw blood. With the rock monster defeated, we had claimed the clearing for ourselves. Tor was scavenging for supplies to set up a camp. Goodboy was hunting. I was wrangling the toddler.

  “No!” Kadria squirmed, unwilling to give up her nudist ways without a fight.

  “Please let me put clothes on you!” I begged.

  “No!”

  Why had I wanted to travel in the first place? This was terrible. If this was what the whole world outside of Silverleaf was like, I never should have left. It occurred to me, in slowly dawning horror, that none of my siblings had any idea where I was. They had no clue that I had left the city disguised as a guard. They might not even know yet that the procession had been attacked.

  What if they hadn’t even noticed I was gone?

  No, that was silly. Surely, they would have figured out that I was missing by now. If nothing else, my tutor would have noticed. He was compensated per student, which was why he basically had a stroke if any of us skipped a lesson.

  My family would know that I was missing. But they wouldn’t know that I was outside of Silverleaf. They had no way of knowing that I was lost, wandering in the wretched Forsaken Woods.

  I had to face the horrible truth: no one was coming to rescue us.

  If we were going to survive, we would have to save ourselves.

  “Can I please put clothes on you now?”

  “No!” Kadria danced just out of my grasp, wiggling her hips.

  I thought about Hannah. I was having a hard time protecting one child, yet Hannah had somehow survived with six little sisters and a little brother, four of us younger than ten years old at the time of our parents’ passing. Were there days when she felt like I did, tired and hungry and overwhelmed? Like nothing she did was right? Maybe Hannah was stronger than I ever realized.

  “Gotcha!” Kadria shrieked with surprise when I scooped her up. “You need clothes. Stop. Just let me— Kadri! Put your clothes on!” I finally wrestled her shirt on over her head. Subdued, she allowed me to slip her britches on as well. “You shouldn’t have taken these off,” I chided. “You wouldn’t have as many cuts and bruises if you had kept your clothes on.”

  I was reminded of a time when I was very young, not long after discovering that our parents were dead. I was playing hide-and-find-me with Hallie and Delta when I slipped into Hannah’s closet to hide.

  Hannah was in her room, trying to comfort a crying baby Lucy.

  “Please take the bottle,” she begged.

  Lucy only cried louder.

  “Lucy, please. You’re going to starve if you don’t drink this. I know it’s not Mama’s milk. She’s gone now. All we have is goat milk. The doctors say you need to drink it. You have to, Lucy.”

  I had peeked out of the closet door. Hannah was sitting in our mother’s rocking chair, which she had dragged into her room. She held Lucy in her lap, the chair creaking gently as it rocked them both. Through Lucy’s angry cries, I heard the gentle cadence of Hannah’s voice. It had reminded me of the brook behind the manor, bubbling around the stones.

  “I know you miss her. I miss her, too. But you must eat. You’re missing her so much, you’re dying. Please don’t kill yourself out of stubbornness for something you can’t have. Mama isn’t coming back.” Hannah leaned her head back. Staring up at the ceiling, she whispered, “She’s never coming back.”

  Hannah remained like this for a while, staring at the ceiling, as if in a trance, while Lucy screamed in her lap.

  That was the first time I had ever seen Hannah fail at something. It wouldn’t be the last. I saw her struggles and resented her for them. Our mother never struggled like that. As a child, I thought my mother was perfect. Hannah wasn’t good enough to replace her.

  Maybe I still felt like that.

  Somehow, over the years, Hannah had come to represent everything stifling about my life. Every disappointment, every fight. I hadn’t always fought with Hannah, so why did I fight with her now?

  Hannah was my age when she became the matriarch of the family. Surely, she had had plans before our parents died: friends, a social life, maybe even a suitor or two. But that all changed overnight. Suddenly, she had to be in charge. Lucy was an infant, still young enough to breastfeed. My mother had left her behind only because she was too sick for the trip. If she hadn’t been ill, she would have died with them.

  Hannah never had a chance to grieve. Not really. She and Alistair were thrust into positions of authority. They had to fill the chasms my parents had left behind. They had a city to run, a family to maintain. For the first time, I wondered what it must be like to be Hannah, trying so hard to keep an ornery, brash younger sister from running out into the world and getting herself killed.

  I remembered the terror I had felt when Kadria wandered off into the Woods. Was that how Hannah felt about my leaving the city? Was she worried for me right now?

  I finally understood Hannah a little better. Maybe instead of blaming her for everything, I should sit down and really talk to her. Really listen. But it might be too late to make amends.

  The last thing I had said to my sister was how much I wanted to get away from her and never return.

  It was a threat I no longer wanted to make good on. But if I didn’t get out of this forest soon, I wouldn’t have a choice.

  12

  Tor crouched by the fire, cooking something that Goodboy caught. Goodboy was settled nearby, happily eating her portion raw.

  “Just don’t ask what it is,” Tor warned me as he handed me a stick with some unidentifiable meat skewered on it.

  I nodded my understanding and took little nibbling bites of the food. Honestly, I didn’t care what it tasted like. I hadn’t eaten anything since the night before I left Silverleaf. Food was a luxury.

  “Kadri!” I snatched Kadria just before she took a nosedive into the open flame. I had no idea protecting children from themselves could be so exhausting. Kadria managed to get herself into trouble as often as the monsters did. She was so young and so helpless. She couldn’t do anything for herself. Dressing, eating, cleaning. What could Inejor possibly want with her? What would he do to her if he did manage to get his nasty hands on her? Could he just wish for her to be his prisoner when that egg hatched?

  We had to get that egg away from Inejor before he got a chance to make a wish.

  Kadria didn’t deserve any of this. She was just an innocent child! She should be safe in her mother’s arms. And she would be, if I had any say in the matter.

  I carried Kadria over to where Goodboy lay, half concealed by an outcroppi
ng of rocks. She snuggled right into Goodboy’s fluffy, feathery body. Goodboy laid a protective front leg over Kadria, comforting her and pinning her down. Just like a mother.

  Kadria insisted on her usual bedtime routine: two bedtime stories and three songs. I sang her two of her favorites. Then, perhaps because I was feeling a little morbid, I sang the song about the Forsaken Woods — about getting lost and losing your mind.

  Like Tor.

  Like maybe all of us.

  Kadria was beginning to settle down. But she still needed two stories. The first story I told her was my favorite — the one about the fairy my father had rescued, who promised him seven daughters. I liked to think that that fairy was watching over us, protecting us always — even here in the Woods, surrounded by monsters.

  “More,” Kadria insisted sleepily.

  The last story I told her was the story of the Hidden Princess. It was the story Ariana always told her. I didn’t know all the details, but I did my best.

  “There was once a beautiful princess who was very sick. Because she was so sick, her father hid her away from the world. No one in the kingdom knew that she even existed. But the Horrid Witch knew. The Horrid Witch wanted the princess to die, but despite her sickness, she remained strong. So the Horrid Witch sent an assassin to kill the princess. But the princess was clever and defeated the assassin. Then she fled the country to be with the man that she loved, never to fear the Horrid Witch again.”

  By the time I ended my version of Ariana’s bedtime story, Kadria was asleep. Goodboy rested her head on her free talon, gazing at Kadria’s sleeping form.

  “You really care about her, don’t you?”

  Images flooded my mind. <>

  “Oh, Goodboy. I’m so sorry.” She had lost more than just one egg. Her other five children were gone, killed before they ever had a chance. This golden egg was all that she had left. For Goodboy, it wasn’t about the wish. It was about her baby.

  No wonder she refused to leave without it.

 

  “We aren’t going to let that happen. I promise.” Who was I, making promises I couldn’t guarantee? But what else could I say?

  Goodboy nuzzled Kadria.

 

  I reached out a hand. Goodboy’s ear twitched, but she let me touch the soft white feathers on her head. I stroked her, singing a lullaby my mother had taught me — something about finding love beside the sea. As I sang, I closed my eyes and remembered my mother’s voice. But it wasn’t really my mother’s voice. It was Hannah’s.

  Oh, Hannah.

  When I opened my eyes, both Goodboy and Kadria were sound asleep. I stood, smiled at the sleeping duo, and joined Tor at the fire.

  “So ... are you going berate me?” I asked.

  Tor gazed at me over the fire and raised a bushy eyebrow. “Have you done anything I should be mad about?”

  I squirmed. “Well, I did impersonate one of your guards and sneaked out of Silverleaf without permission.”

  He considered me with an unreadable expression. “Do you need me to be mad at you?” he asked.

  I shook my head. “Well, no. I guess I’m mad enough at myself.” I sighed. “All I wanted was to see the world — like my parents did. They had such great adventures. They helped people.” I recalled the story of the fairy my father saved. “When they died ... I guess I felt like I lost part of myself. I thought maybe seeing more of the world would help me find what I was looking for: what they had taken with them. But all I’ve learned is how fragile life is.” I tapped my stick on the ground, tracing a design in the dirt. “I don’t feel brave. I feel small.”

  Tor leaned back on his hands. “You are small,” he said. “You always have been, and you always will be small. So were your parents. The world is a big place, and humans are only a small part of it.”

  I blinked back tears. Tor only confirmed my fears. I pulled my knees up to my chest, wrapping my arms around my legs. We were so small and weak. Maybe it was best to stay cloistered in our cities. Maybe the world was just too horrible.

  “But I don’t think that stopped your parents.”

  I looked up as Tor continued.

  “And I don’t think that’s going to stop you. You don’t have to be big to be brave.” Tor leaned forward. “Courage isn’t about running recklessly into danger. It’s about knowing the danger, understanding the risk, and realizing that there are bigger things worth fighting for. It’s knowing how small you are and going at it anyway.” The reflection of the flame danced in his eyes. “Bravery is having a fight bigger than your fear.”

  That made sense to me. I remembered the spider-woman who had trapped us, the rock-monster with its many vine-like arms and sharp, crooked teeth. My concern for Kadria was more powerful than my fear of the monsters I had faced so far. I was scared, but I wouldn’t stop fighting. Not until we were safely out of these Woods.

  Tor scooted next to me and put a big arm around me like a giant, muscly blanket of strength. I couldn’t imagine him being afraid of anything. I rested my head against his chest, feeling his heartbeat. Though the locket burned a heated warning of the dangers that lurked behind the trees, for a moment, I felt safe.

  “Being afraid isn’t being weak,” Tor said. His voice was so deep it made his chest rumble. “I think it’s the opposite. Only fools are fearless. To be brave is to have the heart of a coward and the fight of a lion. You don’t go looking for trouble. But when trouble finds you, you face it.”

  I sat up. “Are you afraid?” I asked.

  He thought for a moment. “All of the time,” he said at last.

  I nodded my understanding. That made both of us.

  13

  Heat flashed against my chest.

  I woke with a start, a chill creeping up my spine. It was so dark that it didn’t make any difference if my eyes were open or closed. It must have been sometime in the early morning. All around me, the forest was dark and deceptively still.

  I crawled away from Goodboy and Kadria and stood, my hand clutching the hilt of my sword. I surveyed the camp as my eyes adjusted to the night. The fire had been put out. Tor was supposed to be on guard duty, but he was nowhere to be found.

  Something rustled in the trees, making the hairs on my arms stand on end. I scurried toward the nearest tree, crouching low. Something big and dark shuffled into the clearing, sniffing the ground as it went. It paused to study the remains of our fire. Another hulking figure appeared on the other side of the clearing, closer to where I knelt.

  Someone grabbed me.

  A scream threatened to rip from my throat, stifled only by Tor’s hand over my mouth.

  “Don’t move,” he whispered in my ear.

  “Kadria,” I whimpered. I tried to untangle myself from his hold, but he wrapped his other arm around me in an awkward hug from behind, effectively trapping me.

  “Goodboy has her.”

  He was right. A glance in the gryphon’s direction showed that she was wide awake. She hadn’t moved, but her eyes were alert, and her body rippled with tension, ready to move at a moment’s notice.

  A cloud that had been blocking the moon drifted away. Moonlight streamed into the clearing, revealing details of the creatures that made me gasp. Tor almost shoved his whole fist in my mouth in his attempt to keep me quiet.

  The creatures were giant black bears with silver antlers. I had seen creatures just like this before. They had chased us into the Forsaken Woods.

  “Those are summons,” Tor murmured, his voice so quiet I had to strain to hear. “Warlocks create them to do their bidding. Each is unique to the warlock. Like a signature style.”

  I shook my head to indicate that I wanted to speak. Tor removed his hand. “They’re Inejor’s,” I whispered.

  “Yes. And they’re very close to discovering where Goodboy and Kadria are hiding. We need a distraction.”


  Together, Tor and I circled behind the summons, trying to move without a sound.

  “Summons aren’t very smart,” Tor whispered as we ducked behind a rock. “They’re relentlessly focused on a single task — to their own detriment. They can be destroyed if you know where to hit them. If Inejor loses them, he would have to use a lot of energy to create more.”

  “So how do we defeat these ones?” I asked.

  He shrugged. “I have no idea.”

  “Grand.”

  “But I bet if we make a lot of noise, they’ll come running at us instead of looking for Kadria.”

  “That’s your plan? Get them to kill us instead?”

  “Do you have a better idea?”

  I didn’t. I was trying not to panic. The last time one of those things chased me, I had only barely escaped. Now Tor wanted me to get their attention on purpose? But who was more likely to survive a fight with these things, Tor and me or Goodboy with Kadria under her feet?

  We had no other choice. They were getting closer to where Kadria and Goodboy lay. Goodboy could probably take one of them, but there were three of these things close at hand. And who knew how many more were nearby?

  And then, at exactly the worst possible moment, Kadria startled awake and began to cry. The three summons lifted their heads, their silver antlers gleaming in the moonlight, their purple eyes narrowing in Kadria’s direction. Goodboy stood, raising her wings to make her look bigger.

  Courage is having a fight bigger than your fear.

  Without a word spoken between us, Tor and I both drew our swords and stumbled out of our hiding place.

  “Hey!” I hollered.

  The summons swung their heads in our direction, giving Goodboy just enough time to scoop the bawling Kadria into her talons and make a clumsy take-off. The trees were too close together for her to spread her wings all the way.