The Stillness of the Sky: A Flipped Fairy Tale (Flipped Fairy Tales)

by Starla Huchton

  Contents

  Title Page

  Dedication

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Epilogue

  A Note From the Author

  Upon Broken Wings

  About the Author

  Other Books by the Author

  Starla Huchton

  Edited by Jennifer Melzer

  To Jess,

  Always believe in fairy tales.

  Chapter 1

  Never discount the impact of the smallest kindness.

  My mother disagreed with me on that. She begged me, for once, to let go of my grandfather’s advice and come away with her: away from the brutish drunkard that was my father. There were many, many times since then when I wished I’d done so, but as I was stubborn even at nine years old, she couldn’t sway me. After all, with my mother gone, who would see that my father ate or bathed, or that the livestock not be left to starve in their pens or fall ill? It was kindness that caused me to stay, and I’ve often wondered what would have been different for me had I left with her that day.

  But, when you’ve denied kindness once, it only becomes easier to do so in the future. My grandfather taught me that as well.

  And so, there I was, up to my elbows in filth as I cleaned out the shack of a barn that got one step closer to falling down every day. If nothing else, the pair of cows we had left appreciated my efforts. They mooed at me pleasantly when I came to feed them, and didn’t give me a minute of trouble in their lives.

  I could say that for the cows, but not my own father.

  Later, I watched him as he guzzled down the watery soup I scraped together for supper, thoughtlessly taking the last two pieces of stale bread before I’d even had one. With a suppressed sigh, I kept my irritation to myself. Saying anything about it would only earn me a blackened eye or fat lip for complaining about his generosity. His idea of “generosity” was allowing me to live there after my mother gave up on him.

  He wiped his mouth on his sleeve and belched loudly when he finished. “I’m going to town,” he said as he pushed away from the table.

  As though I needed him to tell me. He went to town every night.

  “Fixing Mr. Brayton’s squeaky door?” I asked as I lifted a spoonful of broth to my lips.

  “Something like that,” he snorted back the reply as he grabbed his hat off of the wall peg.

  “It must be a large annoyance to his customers,” I said, “what with all the traffic the pub gets.”

  The door slammed behind him. At his departure, the tension eased from my shoulders, but I knew he’d have more than words for me when he stumbled back sometime before dawn.

  Preparing for the inevitable, the moment I finished my meal I set about locking away what little we had that he could break in a drunken tirade. The entire process was such habit that I didn’t need to think through it. Instead, I let my mind wander down paths paved with what-ifs.

  What if I’d left as he slept the day away?

  What if he staggered off the bridge over the river on his way home and drowned?

  What if I’d put aside kindness and left when my mother begged me to?

  Securing the last of the cups and saucers, I sighed to myself, realizing I could never fully protect myself from him. Tired, but in need of a moment to clear my head, I stepped outside and took a few deep breaths of cool night air. I turned my face to the sky. A thousand glittering stars gazed down at me, sweeping out in great sparkling swaths of luminescent clouds across the darkness. Crickets chirped at me as I crossed the yard to a large rock my father never got around to removing, and I sat there, leaned back and counting the few constellations my mother told me about. The stars brought me comfort no matter how troubled I was. Their unchanging cycles marked my years, reminding me that there were dependable constants in life. I admired the peace they had, drifting quietly alongside their twinkling brethren.

  After allowing myself a few minutes to soak up the respite, I retreated to the little room we slept in, preparing myself for his return. I pinned my chestnut hair to my head in tight curls, knowing they were harder to grab than a simple braid or bun, and slipped my arms into my thick, suede overcoat before crawling into bed. While the coat certainly didn’t shield me from his fists and feet, what dexterity he could muster with a switch would be dulled by the extra layer. All of these things I did on the off chance he came home before Mrs. Jacoby’s rooster woke me for chores. Many nights there wasn’t a need for all the ceremony, but, for the others, I was always glad I’d gone to the trouble.

  Several hours later, I awoke to the sounds of my father banging on the front door, cursing at me for letting him leave his key behind. I scrambled out of bed and through the other room, opening the door as quickly as I could. He fell through the entrance, barely able to get to his feet. When he turned to me, I balked at the sight of his battered face.

  “What’s happened?” I said, reaching for him.

  His arm flew out, slapping my hands away. “Get the cows! You’re taking them to the Breen market as soon as it’s open.”

  I staggered back a step, sure I’d misheard him. “I’m what?”

  “It’s a six hour walk. Get going.”

  I stared at him. “You’re not serious. How will we eat? We’re barely getting enough money with the milk I sell to—”

  A hard strike with his open palm against my cheek sent me reeling into the wall.

  “Don’t talk back to me you stupid girl! I’ve a debt to pay, and that’s how we’re taking care of it.”

  I braced myself against a little wooden table, staring at all the deep scratches and dents he’d given it over the years. “You should’ve fixed the door instead of running up your debt more,” I muttered under my breath.

  He grabbed my shoulders and spun me to face him, the rancid smell of ale and sweat and vomit assaulting my nostrils as he leaned in close. “If your useless mother hadn’t left me with an even more useless girl to care for, I wouldn’t have cause to drink. If I were you, I’d start walking now before the only way you can get there is to crawl.”

  “We’ll starve if I sell the cows.”

  His hands fell away from the lapels of my coat, but only so he could hit me again. My ears rang as I propped myself up on the floor, and the tang of blood coated my tongue.

  “Fine,” I said into the dirt.

  A boot to my stomach sent me sprawling again, coughing splatters of red onto the ground.

  “What did you say?” he yelled down at me.

  Sucking in a deep breath, I tried to form words before another blow came. “I said I’ll do it! I’ll sell them!” Coughing overtook me, and I clutched at my stomach, bracing.

  “That’s what I thought you said.” A cloud of dust flew into my face as he kicked the filth at me. Even with that, I was grateful to hear his steps retreating to the bedroom. By the time I could lift myself off of the ground, he was snoring loudly.

  I sat there for several minutes. In the back of my mind, I knew I should be crying. Without the cows, there’d be no mil
k to trade with and no new calves to sell off in the spring. What little came from the garden I’d scratched out of the yard might get us by until fall, but there would be nothing when winter set in. I’d tried to teach myself how to hunt, but rabbits didn’t even bother with my garden and birds were too fast and small for me to hit with my rudimentary archery skills.

  He was going to starve us to death in a few months to pay off his bottomless drinking habit.

  After years of trying to help him, to keep the two us alive, what was it all for? I should’ve been sobbing at realizing it was coming to an end. It should’ve been my breaking point.

  Instead, I picked myself up and dressed for the walk. At least on the trip to Breen I’d have time to think through it all and figure out what to do. If nothing else, the cows wouldn’t have to endure any more of him. Selling them to another farmer was likely the greatest kindness I could do them.

  I was shielded from the worst of the heat for the first few hours of my trek. As the sun came up, however, my steps slowed. The humidity was already enough to make breathing more difficult. The beating my father inflicted on me wasn’t the worst he’d done by any stretch, but knowing that didn’t make the pain in my ribs any duller.

  An hour after sunrise, my body demanded I stop. My father undoubtedly wanted me home before he needed another drink, but I simply couldn’t muster the strength to continue. Halfway through the Cormiran Valley forest, I led the pair of cows off of the road and through the trees. The sound of water was loud enough to assure me the little stream that led to the Taringale River wasn’t far.

  Sunlight broke through the leaves just enough to shine on the clearing along the bank. After bribing my protesting body with the promise of a rest, I managed to water and tie up the cows before propping myself up against a small boulder to catch my breath. Beside me, a sprig of tiny flowers had grown through a crack in the rock, bushy clumps of seeds gathered where blossoms had been.

  Make a wish, Jack.

  The memory of my mother’s voice startled me. She was always looking for little things to pin her hopes on, though it took me years to figure out why. By the time I was seven, however, I fully understood her motivations. Without those sparks of hope to cling to, no matter how minuscule they were, it was easy to give up on living at all.

  But what did I wish for?

  I plucked one of the tiny stems, pausing when I thought I heard a note of music on the breeze. When nothing else presented itself, I turned my focus back to the sprig of seeds. If I could wish for anything, what would that be? Any number of things occurred to me: sobriety for my father, help tending what he hadn’t sold of our land, a roof that didn’t need constant repair, a room to myself…

  Those were only parts of a larger wish, though. They were symptoms of the thing I lacked more than anything else.

  The light pink tuft of seeds before me, I took a breath and held it.

  “I wish for peace,” I whispered to it. Opening my eyes, I blew at the tiny sprig, the entire bunch scattering away into the air. Again, I thought I heard the faintest tinkle of music, but it vanished quicker than I could confirm it.

  My deepest hope sent on the wind, I relaxed back against the boulder. The warmth of the sun and the gentle trickle of the stream soothed me. As the night before, I tilted my head back to watch the sky, envying the wispy clouds that lazed across the bright blue expanse. What must it be like to drift along, content to follow the breeze? My thoughts floated with them, and, before long, I slipped into sleep.

  Unsettling quiet woke me. Unsure of why I was so uneasy, I sat up, at first checking the time. At nearly midday brightness, the sun threw me into a panic. How had I slept so long? Maybe I was as stupid as my father said, as I could think of no other good excuse for my horrible mistake. After a quick gulp of water from the creek, I spun away to untie the cows…

  The cows.

  I realized then what woke me. The animals were gone, no longer tied to the tree, vanished as though they’d been lifted into the air. Not so much as a hoofprint led away from the clearing, leaving me no way to track the thief responsible.

  Trembling, I sank to my knees, unable to fully comprehend the horror of my current predicament. Without the cows, I had nothing to sell. With nothing to sell, I’d have no money to give my father. And if I returned with no money…

  I shuddered. I’d be a fool to think he’d be understanding. Compassion was never a trait I’d accuse him of having. How could I return empty-handed and not expect the worst?

  It was delusional, but a tiny piece of me wondered if it might be the final straw that stopped his drinking. If he couldn’t pay his existing debts, they wouldn’t give him further credit. Mr. Brayton’s public house was the only establishment of its kind for miles, so perhaps my father would simply stop without access to ale.

  I laughed at myself. The man would sell everything left to him and move to the other side of Litania if he had to. That minor setback would be a mere stumbling block for him, but meant the worst for me.

  There was little for me to do but return home. While I didn’t know what I’d unleash by doing so, if nothing else I could collect what little in the world I cared for to take with me on the road. Maybe I could leave without him knowing.

  Shaky, but decided, I stood to face my fate. Wallowing in torment over what-ifs wouldn’t make it any easier to bear.

  As I took my first step forward, my foot kicked something soft. A small leather pouch skittered under a shrub, and I bent, curious to see what was inside. Perhaps the thief left me payment after all, or at least maybe a clue who they were so I might track them down and take back what was stolen.

  Upon lifting it, I knew the pouch was far too light to contain coins, but definitely held something. Untying the knot at its opening, I peered inside. Getting nothing more than the faint scent of jasmine, I upended it onto my palm.

  Three large beans the color of milky clouds rolled across my hand. Within them, varying shades of white and gray swirled slowly inside the shell. A vague tickle played at the back of my skull, but I couldn’t place the sensation. I’d always heard stories and rumors of magic, but to stumble upon it myself seemed a ridiculous notion. Magic? I wasn’t so fortunate as all that, but perhaps the beans would have value in Breen, and I could sell them for a few coins at least. They might not fetch the same price as the cows, but anything was better than nothing. My father would still be very unhappy, however, so it would be a waste of a trip regardless.

  After dumping the beans back into the pouch, I stood. Before me stood two choices: the first leading to Breen, the second leading me back home.

  I didn’t know anyone in the city, and few folks cared enough about others’ problems to even consider helping a stranger. The war with the giants on the far side of the kingdom left everyone overtaxed and missing family members recruited for the king’s army. No one had enough of anything, be it food, money, or kindness.

  There was nothing for me in Breen.

  I turned back the way I’d come, pointing myself firmly in the direction of home. My father might be violent and abusive, but at least there I had a roof above my head and land to work for growing food. Besides, as heavily as he drank, he couldn’t possibly have too many years left to torture me. And if he turned me out, well, I’d be no worse off than I was at the moment.

  That’s to say, if he let me live after I told him about the cows. It could be the last time I ever angered him.

  “I know you’re in there, Wallace!”

  I dove behind our broken down cart when I heard the man’s voice at the front of the house. Heart racing, I kept as still as I could, not expecting anyone else to be there when I reached our dying farm.

  A few more loud bangs, and the door gave way. “Wallace! You drunk fool! I’ve come for Brayton’s money!”

  Peeking around the wall, I caught a glimpse of a huge man hauling my father out of bed. The moment was brief as they were soon out of my view through the bedroom window. The telltale sound of
wood cracking and breaking found me outside. Either he’d thrown my father through the worn out kitchen table or broken a chair over his back.

  Terrified, I crept to the side of the house and pressed my back against the wooden exterior, daring a glance through the window beside the bed. Shattered remains of the table were scattered in the bedroom, thrown there in the continuing scuffle inside.

  “I don’t have it yet!” my father wheezed between blows to his face and stomach. “My daughter! She’ll be back with the money soon!”

  The monster of a man dropped his hold on my father’s stained nightshirt, letting him fall to the floor in a heap. “Daughter, you say?” He bent low to my father’s face, and I had to strain to hear him. “How is she then, fair of face?”

  My father shook and coughed painfully. “Fair enough. Still got all her teeth, though she’s a bit stupid. Hard working, when she’s got the sense to be.”

  I bristled. If not for me, he’d have starved himself long ago.

  The man grabbed my father’s shirt again and hefted him to his toes, nearly pressing their noses together. “If you don’t have the money by sundown, bring the girl. We’ll take her in trade and let her work off your debt. If she works one of the rooms upstairs, we’ll let you drown yourself in ale so long as she keeps customers happy.”

  I clamped a hand over my mouth to keep from vomiting at his words. My father might be a cruel drunkard, but surely even he would refuse such a disgusting offer.

  “And there’d be no nevermind about what’s owed?”

  His words nearly stopped my hammering heart, and I wasn’t sure I’d heard him correctly. Did he really mean to sell me off to be a public house harlot? For ale? I couldn’t have heard that right.

  “Mr. Brayton’s out a girl on account of she’s expecting. You bring your daughter, and your debt goes away.”

  At the scuffling of feet, I ducked down, not about to be caught listening in on their conversation. A loud thud, and I heard the muffled sounds of choking.