by Peter Beagle
ONCE UPON A CURSE
Stories and fairy tales for adult readers
by
Peter S. Beagle, Nancy Kress,
Patricia C. Wrede, Cindy Lynn Speer,
Lucy A. Snyder, Siobhan Carroll,
Imogen Howson, and Anna Kashina
Dragonwell Publishing
This is a work of fiction. All of the characters, organizations, and events portrayed in this novel are either products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously.
Foreword copyright @ 2012 by Anna Kashina
“A Necklace of Rubies” copyright @ 2007 by Cindy Lynn Speer
“Come Lady Death” copyright @ 1963 by Peter S. Beagle; copyright renewed 1991 by Peter S. Beagle
“Summer Wind” copyright @ 1995 by Nancy Kress
“Stronger than Time” copyright @ 1994 by Patricia C. Wrede
“Words Like Pale Stones” copyright @ 1994 by Nancy Kress
“Every Word I Speak” copyright @ 2007 by Cindy Lynn Speer
“Remains” copyright @ 2011 by Siobhan Carroll
“Frayed Tapestry” copyright @ 2008 by Imogen Howson
“The Cold Blackness Between” copyright @ 2008 by Lucy A. Snyder
“Solstice Maiden” copyright @ 2009; 2012 by Anna Kashina
“But Can You Let Him Go” copyright @ 2010 by Cindy Lynn Speer
Cover art by Howard David Johnson
Design by Olga Karengina
Editor Anna Kashina
Published by Dragonwell Publishing
www.dragonwellpublishing.com
ISBN 978-0-9838320-6-5
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any printed or electronic form without permission in writing from the publisher.
Contents
Foreword
A Necklace of Rubies by Cindy Lynn Speer
Come Lady Death by Peter S. Beagle
Summer Wind by Nancy Kress
Stronger than Time by Patricia C. Wrede
Words Like Pale Stones by Nancy Kress
Every Word I Speak by Cindy Lynn Speer
Remains by Siobhan Carroll
Frayed Tapestry by Imogen Howson
The Cold Blackness Between by Lucy A. Snyder
Solstice Maiden by Anna Kashina
But Can Your Let Him Go by Cindy Lynn Speer
About the Authors
Foreword
Stories have everlasting power. Especially legends and fairy tales.
Part of this power lies in their dimensional quality, where every light has a shadow, every hero has an enemy, and every story has a curse to fight and overcome. In the end, light prevails, but it is the darkness, the villains, the curses, that make these stories wedge so firmly in our minds.
In this volume, we bring together a unique collection of stories based on classical fairy tales and legends from different cultures, retold for the modern reader by some of the best writers in this generation, and some upcoming new talents. You will find stories based on Sleeping Beauty (Stronger than Time by Patricia C. Wrede and Summer Wind by Nancy Kress), Bluebeard (A Necklace of Rubies by Cindy Lynn Speer), Rumpelstiltskin (Words Like Pale Stones by Nancy Kress), the classical myth of Hades and Persephone (Frayed Tapestry by Imogen Howson), a version of Cinderella told from the fairy godmother’s point of view (But Can You Let Him Go by Cindy Lynn Speer), a dark romance based on Russian myth (Solstice Maiden by Anna Kashina), and other tales that feature Death (Come Lady Death by Peter S. Beagle), vampires (Remains by Siobhan Carroll) and modern-day necromancers (The Cold Blackness Between by Lucy A. Snyder). These timeless stories span styles and centuries to blend into a truly compelling collection for adult readers.
We named this collection Once Upon a Curse, to reflect our focus on the world of shadows, the unforgettable villains that start their existence as the evil opposing the heroes, but end up as irresistible characters in their own right that make fairy tales and myths so compelling through ages and cultures.
Step into the world of myth and magic.
A Necklace of Rubies
by
Cindy Lynn Speer
He was the handsomest man I’d ever seen.
Tall and slender, he wore his pale-as-snow hair to his collar, a perfect widow’s peak accentuating his aesthetic, almost lupine features. His eyes were the color of amber and sparkled strangely in the candlelight. Sometimes it was almost as if his eyes were on fire. I tried not to look him in the eyes too often. I didn’t know what he would read in mine.
He was always fashionable. Perfect clothing, tasteful and not ostentatious, perfect manners, perfect style. He followed the rules as if he walked on a knife’s edge, knowing just how long it was proper to touch, to stare, careful to never be alone with a woman longer than was proper. Managing to make one feel as if they, too, walked on the knife’s edge with him without doing anything that could be remarked upon as unseemly. He was wealthy, and while he did not have the highest of titles, he had all the things that allowed him entrance into the finest circles. Better yet, some would say, he had all these things and he was as yet unmarried.
But the ladies, from the maidens looking for good marriages to the widows desperate for a man’s protection, all avoided him. They flirted, yes, but only as far as safety allowed. No one would consent to marry him, it was said, no matter how fine the offer, no matter how beautiful the dowry gifts.
That’s not to say he hadn’t been married once already. And that was why, thanks to rumor and to superstition, it was said he would never marry again.
“What was she like, this Dona Meriania?” I asked my hostess, Dona Welicide. She was a second cousin who had graciously agreed to take me in after my guardian lost everything we had to gambling debts. He was in debtor’s prison in the capital, and there he could remain, really, for all I cared. He had tried to sell me once to avoid imprisonment and I figured better him than me.
Welicide brightened. I knew nothing of the local gossip, stories which, to her circle, were so overtold as to be threadbare. Now she could relate them to a new audience; in fact, I think it was half the reason she invited me, to have someone else to tell her stories to. “She was beautiful. As dark as he is pale, very much the lady of the moment. Everyone wanted her. She had a taste for rubies, I remember.”
I found myself smiling. “That’s all you can remember of her?”
“Oh, Tessa, I can remember much more than that, but I fear I did not care for the girl. She was my greatest rival, ever since we were little.”
“Did you fight over Don Joaquin?”
“Shhh,” she breathed. “I was already engaged at the time, so of course not.”
Don Joaquin had dipped his fair head to take a sip from the glass he was holding. He was across the room, a room filled with music and laughing people, but still he stopped when I whispered his name, and looked up at me, slowly, first from the corner of his eye, then straight on, meeting my gaze. I smiled slightly, taken aback by his intensity. I could feel the weight of his stare like a touch, over my cheeks and nose and mouth. He returned the smile just as slightly, then turned to address a man who had come off the dance floor.
“Oh, but that man frightens me,” my cousin said. I would have been inclined to agree, but the chills running down my spine felt too good to be wrong.
I lost sight of him for a time, until I went outside to get a breath of air. I chose one of the smaller balconies that stood open on the far side of the room. I saw him almost immediately; the light of the moon shone on his hair like a beacon. I paused at the threshold of the doorway, then continued onto the balcony. I leaned against the rail opposite from where he stood, but still, there was only a foot between us.
I imagined I could feel
the heat of his presence radiating off of him.
“You are not afraid?” His voice was deep, like the forest at night. He seemed surprised, perhaps even amused.
“I am not afraid.” I realized it was true.
“You have not been in our fair country long enough, perhaps.”
“Perhaps. Perhaps I do not listen to rumors.”
“Or perhaps you simply do not listen.”
The coolness of his tone took me aback. What did he know? “I think that you rather like your notoriety, Don Joaquin. Maybe you enjoy being dark and mysterious and dangerous.”
He straightened up, cold dark eyes meeting mine. “No,” he said. “I do not.”
“I’m sorry,” I said, but I spoke to the air, for he had already pushed past the doors and back into the ballroom.
That was not the last time I saw him, though perhaps it should have been.
I was lost. Helplessly, and absolutely, regretting that I had agreed to go on the fox hunt in the first place. Welicide was busily trying to introduce me to a wide range of men, any of whom she hoped would sweep me off my feet and give me a home, hearth, and silk dresses. Some of them were nice enough, but I found them all tedious and boring. Sometimes I could feel my brain dying in bits and pieces, as I talked, or rather listened, to them.
Of course, the hunt would have been fine if I hadn’t allowed myself to be talked into a race with people much better at riding than I. My run for glory had ended, ignominiously, with my horse running off and me being dumped on my well-skirted rear. I had no idea where the bull-headed animal (who, despite being the meanest horse I’d ever clapped eyes on, nevertheless had a higher IQ than the combined members of the hunting party, myself included) was, and so I was wandering the forest in unsuitable boots and very heavy clothes.
“So, how is the view from the ground?”
“I am not amused,” I said, turning. My thoughts disappeared like fog when I saw him, sitting with perfect ease on his white dappled stallion. The black and silver leatherwork of his saddle glistened, and his black suit was cut to emphasize the perfection of the body that sat upon it.
He rode the horse forward with the slightest touch of his knees, stopping next to me. He kicked a foot out of the stirrup and held out a hand. “I doubt I would be, either. Come, it is a long way back to your cousin’s manor.”
I placed my hand in his. I was surprised at how good it felt. His hand was large, and it enveloped mine. The strength, the warmth, felt wonderful. I put my foot in the free stirrup and with less awkwardness than I feared I was helped up onto the saddle behind him. I sat very straight, trying not to touch him with more than my hands on his shoulders.
“You will fall if you do not relax,” he said.
“Again, you mean.” And let out a breath I’d been holding and transferred my grip to his waist.
“So, what brings you out here?”
“My horse ran off with me.” I don’t know if he felt my shrug. “We parted ways.”
“I think,” he said, pushing aside a low branch, “that you were curious and wanted to explore.” I ducked behind his shoulder until he let it go, taking both reins again.
“No. I am the least curious person you will ever meet.”
“Really?” He had been polite before, pleasant bordering on cold, but now his voice warmed with real interest.
“Honestly. I like to learn things,” I said, not wanting to sound like a fool, but not wanting to sound too learned, either. “But if it requires anything more than reading a good book, you can count me out. If I am supposed to know it, it will present itself. I shan’t go look for it.”
He put the reins in one hand and his other came down on my own. Warmth coursed to my toes and back up. My cheeks felt hot. “A wise choice,” he muttered, and I felt, somehow, that I had pleased him greatly.
The next day a box was delivered to my cousin’s house. My name was written on the label in a quick, graceful script. It held earrings, an ornate confection of silver and brilliant green stones. My cousin was thrilled, until she found who sent them.
“Don’t do this,” she said.
“Do what?” I was holding one up to my ear, admiring myself in the reflecting glass of the entrance hall. I wiggled the earrings so that I could see how it would flash. They were exquisite. Far more so than I was, I may add.
“He is dangerous. He said his wife fled from him, ran away with another man…”
“How terrible,” I said. I was actually thinking about how best to wear my hair to set off the earrings. I wanted to be certain to wear them the very next time he would see me.
“They found her in a ravine, not three miles from his home.”
“Perhaps her lover abandoned her. Perhaps she fell.”
“I do not know,” she said. “But they never recovered her completely.”
I looked at her over my shoulder. “Whatever do you mean?”
“She’d been chopped up. They found her head, two of her limbs…”
I shivered and placed the earring next to its mate, and snapped the box closed.
A few days passed, and I forgot my fears again. The weather was bright and hot, so much so that in the gardens of all the noble houses gazebos of bright-colored silk sprung up like flowers, their sides like petals blowing in the wind. None of the manors were very far apart, just a few trees, some knot gardens, some short expanses of perfectly trimmed and watered grass separating us and making us feel as if we lived in our own far off land. The truth was that we were all close enough to walk, easily, from one lawn to another, and that was how the ramble parties began. In the late afternoon the families would all adjourn to the tents outside. Weli favored plums and violet shades this year, and so our family’s tent was a pale, lovely lavender, the tied-back sides a combination of lavender with a gauzy plum second curtain that could be pulled shut separately. The pillows were every shade of purple imaginable, from the lightest to the darkest; the rug was patterned in grapes and ivy. My favorite pillow to sit on had pink flowers embroidered on it.
Eventually our turn came at starting the ramble, and we wandered down the road and to our neighbor’s home, where a tent the color of buttercups was set out. We drank and ate sparingly, then went on to the next place.
We were halfway through the circle of houses when I finally found myself walking next to my cousin again. She’d just had a slight social scuffle with one of the other members of our party, and they were studiously ignoring each other, so Welicide was alone. She took my arm, and I smiled dreamily at her, thinking of the tiny, rich chocolate square I’d just eaten at the previous house, the only thing I’d eaten all day. I was content, though, turning my thoughts to when we would get to Joaquin’s. I was curious to see what he would set out for us to eat, what kind of tea he drank. Just seeing what his house looked like would be interesting. I asked Weli.
“Have you ever seen him on a ramble?”
“No,” I admitted.
“He doesn’t open his house to it. Besides, he lives too far away to walk to it pleasantly.”
I knew from her tone that she wasn’t pleased with this topic, so I let the subject slip away, and ignored my disappointment, reminding myself that I wasn’t a curious person.
That night there was another party, what they called a gathering of ghouls. It was an excuse to dress in costume and be silly, for all that it was ridiculously structured in an attempt to make certain that no one knew who was behind what mask. People had to disguise their voices and talk in rhyme, yet still attempt to adhere to the strictures of rank and propriety. I had no idea how one was supposed to go about it. How did you pretend you didn’t know this person was the Marchioness de Alorna, yet still treat her like one?
I went into the attic to search out a costume, and found a black dress. It was a sheath of black, with a fine gauze overdress of black that was covered with row upon row of tiny beads, almost forming waves. It was loose fitting, so I would not need my corset, and though it covered everything, and the
pattered gauze came to a point on the back of my hands, I felt curiously naked in it. I found a plain velvet mask to go with it.
Early in the morning I snuck out and collected peacock feathers, which I used to make myself a suggestion of a tail by carefully sewing the feathers onto the back of the dress. I left my dark brown hair down, tied on the mask, and wondered if anyone would make fun of the odd, musty smell that I couldn’t seem to shake out of the dress.
That was the least of my worries. During the party I attracted many more looks that I’d wanted. I ended up embarrassing myself again by fleeing the place, going out the back and into the garden. I was thinking of hiding in the tent, but giggles from that direction stayed me. I walked toward the back of the garden instead, hoping the small stone bench was not taken…or having taking being done upon it. It was in full view of the path and, generally, a fully proper place to sit.
I could see in the bright of the second moon that it was free, and I sank down on it gratefully.
“I wondered what prey would settle here,” Joaquin said from the shadows of the knot work bushes that made the bench seem semi-private. I had not seen him at the party, and in truth he was barely dressed for it…he wore one of his usual suits, only a red-furred fox mask covering his fire-flickered eyes.
“Are you a predator, then, following me?”
He shook his head. “A guardian. You should not be out here alone.”
