Fate's Fables Boxed Set (Fables 1 - 8): One Girl's Journey Through 8 Unfortunate Fairy Tales

by T. Rae Mitchell

  Finn’s head filled with a noisy buzz, yet her words pierced the din and stuck like the thorn of a thistle in a shadowy corner of his mind. As she straightened, he followed her movement, his tongue too thick to speak, his body paralyzed. Through his blurring vision he watched her turn back in the direction of the hut, the blade of her sword leading the way. His mind screamed to move, to get up. Instead, he tipped over, his chin grinding into the rough sand of a shallow puddle.

  As a large shadow passed over, he thought death had come for him. Then he heard the beating of wings. Was this the angel of death? Using every ounce of will he had, Finn rolled his eyes upward. The woman had dropped to her knees only a few feet away. Her hair spiraled skyward, stretching toward a white fuzzy figure flapping in place just above her. That’s when he realized it was Sithias.

  “Aradif,” Finn heard her say, “I am greatly humbled by your presence.” She continued kneeling like she was showing respect…to Sithias!

  With his tail coiled round her sword, the snake glided to the ground. “Rissse,” he commanded, gesturing with a grand sweep of the sword’s long blade.

  Certain he was delirious, Finn squinted at the unbelievable scene.

  The woman remained on her knees, her hair reaching for the snake in an almost longing way. “May I speak, Aradif?”

  “You may,” Sithias said.

  “It is not by chance that my ancestors and our Guiding Star should return all in one glorious day. Must I go to your ancient Temple, or may we build the altar here to begin the Rebirthing Ritual of your Tribe?”

  “Hmmm,” Sithias replied. “And how many day’s ride isss it to the Temple?”

  “Our homeland is far Aradif. It would take at least three moons to reach the sea and another two to span the great water that lies between this land and ours.”

  There was a long pause on Sithias’s part. Finn tried to make sense of what he was witnessing, but a fog had filled his mind. Some force emanating from the ground had poisoned him.

  A seething darkness flooded through his body, drowning his thoughts, his memories, even the raw anguish Fate had opened up in him. There was a time when he would’ve fought to the bitter end against an invasion this menacing. But what did he have to fight for? Nothing.

  So he closed his eyes and allowed it to take him.

  For a brief moment, Sithias swelled with the power he held over the woman kneeling before him. He had no clue as to why she revered him, but whatever the reason, he’d use it to his advantage. “Unfortunately, that isss exactly what mussst be done,” he said with an air of authority. “The ritual mussst be performed on our sssacred landsss, not on thisss foreign sssoil.” He spat on the ground with distaste for good measure.

  She hung her head with a sigh, though her hair stretched toward him like the tentacles of an octopus. Shuddering, Sithias slithered backwards with a grimace.

  She looked up at him. “It must be as you say it, Aradif. Please forgive my hesitation. Weariness presses on my soul and I would point out that once your Tribe is reborn, we could easily conquer these weaklings and begin anew, here in this land.”

  Sithias shook his head. “No, my people dessserve to return to their homeland.” He waved his tail dismissively. “Now go. You have a long journey ahead of you.”

  Bowing her head, she rose to her feet and moved to climb into the caravan.

  “Before you go,” Sithias said, “you will leave the healing goblet with me.”

  She shot him the cautious look of someone who suspected she was being tricked. “What might you need the goblet for? You are immortal.”

  “For him,” Sithias said, pointing his tail at Finn.

  “Him?” She choked on the word. “Why would you give it to this…this Earth lover and deprive those who worship you and the sea of stars you come from?”

  Sithias held his head high. “My mercy isss broad and mysteriousss, and not for you to judge. Be comforted in knowing that I will return the goblet to my Tribe during the Rebirthing Ritual.”

  Her face sharpened and her hair thrashed with fury. For a split second, Sithias thought she would refuse. A moment later, she gave him the goblet, then turned and climbed inside the caravan. The horses reared and whinnied as if they’d been lashed by an invisible whip and galloped away.

  Once she was well out of sight, he began to breathe again. Glenna and Alma came tiptoeing out of the hut when they saw that the fierce woman was gone, though they stared every bit as warily at Sithias as they made their way over to Finn.

  Glenna propped his head onto her small lap. “He’s in a bad way.” She looked up at Sithias with round, worried eyes. “And where’s Fate? I hope she’s come to no harm.”

  “She’s recovering from a bad fright.” Sithias slithered close and put the goblet in her hand.

  “What’s this?” she asked.

  “I’ll explain later,” Sithias said. “Finn needs to drink from––”

  All of a sudden the ground quaked violently. Alma lost her footing. Sithias swayed to stay upright. With a loud crack, the earth split open, yawning wide. A foul odor filled the air as slime oozed up from the deep. Swamp water spilled over the edges, mottled heads crested the surface––heads that peered at them with bulging eyes of pale green. When they saw the goblet in Glenna’s hand, three of the goblins lurched from the murk with such speed she had no time to react. They snatched the goblet and dove back into the swamp.

  Too stunned to move, Sithias watched in dismay as the goblet sank out of sight.

  A few goblins lingered behind, all staring at Glenna with a strange gleam in their eyes. “We’ll have our payment now,” one of the goblins gurgled.

  Sithias slithered to the edge, snaking his head close to it. “Payment for what?”

  The little creature drew back in revulsion. “For drinking from the cup,” it said. Without taking its eyes off the winged snake, it aimed a spindly finger at Alma. “This one glows with the healing water. Payment is due.”

  “What kind of payment?” Sithias pressed.

  “A queen is payment enough. We’ll take her.” The goblin pointed at Glenna.

  Sithias hissed menacingly. “You can’t have her.”

  The goblin didn’t budge. “Then the one who drank will die.”

  Glenna’s eyes filled with tears. “No, if it means saving me mum, I’ll go without a fight.”

  “Oh no ye won’t!” cried Alma. “The only way ye’ll go is over me dead hands ringin’ their slimy necks.”

  Glenna cast her mother a sorrowful glance as she moved to the edge of the swamp. “Mum, don’t make it any harder than ’tis.”

  Alma lunged forward, wrapping her arms around her daughter’s waist, staring fiercely at the goblins. “You’ll be taking me too.”

  As soon as the goblins nodded their acceptance, a blue-green light wisped around both mother and daughter. Blank-faced and bedazzled by the spellbinding glow, the two floated out to the middle and sank into the swamp. With their pale eyes still riveted on Sithias, the goblins slipped into the slime, the earth rumbling as the ground sealed shut.

  “Oh my,” Sithias fretted as he waved goodbye with his tail. He could only hope it was for the best. His main concern was Finn. Coiling around his limp body, he lifted off and flew him back to Fate.

  She was wearing a path back and forth in front of the Book of Fables when he landed and laid Finn gently at her feet. When she saw him, her hands flew to her heart. Dropping down beside him, she put her head to his chest, listening for his heartbeat. Her drawn expression relaxed only slightly when she lifted her head.

  Sithias gulped as she looked up at him with watery eyes swimming with questions. “She did sssomething to him,” he said, not knowing what else to say.

  “The veiled woman?”

  “I’m not certain. She had no veilsss,” he said while turning to the Book of Fables and flipping through its pages to the end of The Goblin Queen. He read quietly. “Ah yesss, it wasss the veiled woman. It saysss here, her name iss
s Sssabirah. She drove a branch from the cursssed oak into the Ogham markingsss he carved into Glenna’sss hut. There’sss no explanation, but I think it poisssoned him jussst asss it poisssoned the land.”

  Fear drained the color from Fate’s face. “It has to be because his Druidic name was carved into the hut.”

  “Oh dear. Well, doess it help to know that the fable now saysss Glenna and her mother prefer their royal ssstationsss to that of poverty, even if it isss in a ssswamp?”

  “No, I don’t care,” she cried, her tears falling on Finn’s pallid face.

  “Quite right misss. I suggest we move into the next fable. Maybe the effect will wane if we take Finn far from thisss poisssoned land.”

  “Yes, that could work.” She looked up at him, desperate hope filling her eyes. “He’ll be fine. Right, Sithias?”

  The snake smiled, nodding vigorously to keep her from seeing the doubt troubling him deep down inside.

  The Heart of a Troll

  THE CHRONICLERS OF OLD TELL OF an Elder race, the ancestors of all living things, whose blood flowed with magic and whose bones held within them the wisdom of Earth’s most ancient knowledge. These mighty beings were the first giants. They lived peacefully for many ages, but when mankind began to spread over the world, the Elder race receded into nature. They became masters of illusion, able to change shape and blend with the land, until they came to be a lasting part of the earth. Yet it is not of these magnificent beings this story speaks. This is a tale of the lowly demise of those giants who over the ages dwindled in size and magnitude until they were nothing more than what humans called trolls or ogres. Even though they retained much of their forebears’ powerful magic, they were generally loathed and feared.

  One such creature was a tree troll named Grysla. She was as tall as a redwood cedar and rarely ever recognized by humans, because of her resemblance to a dead uprooted tree. Sadly, Grysla was the last of her kind. She had lost her mate and child to the torches of an angry mob of villagers who blamed the trolls for a blight on their crops. On that horrible day her family had been burned, while Grysla had been chopped to pieces. Unbeknownst to the villagers, a tree troll could grow back whole and complete.

  Grief pushed Grysla to wander far from home to the cold lands of the Twisted Bone Forest. It was in those high mountains that she fell into a deep winter’s sleep. She slept for more than a year until one day the shrill cry of a child’s voice woke her.

  Grysla broke from the ice and fixed her eyes upon the valley below to a river’s edge, where a young boy clung to a log. Torn by fierce memories, she leaped from the cliffs. With huge loping strides, she thundered across the valley, not knowing what she’d do when she arrived. But strong currents took the boy just as the giant plunged her great hands into the water.

  Near the river’s reedy shore, a little girl named Tove watched helplessly as the river tore her brother, Leif, away. She sobbed, for now the orphan was truly alone. When Grysla discovered the tiny human tucked within the tall grass, her eyes widened in surprise. The child blinked up at the gnarled face whose weathered features curved upward in a sad, gentle fashion. After studying each other for a speck of time, Grysla held out her hand and Tove climbed into the giant’s craggy palm.

  Further downstream, Leif managed to pull himself free of the raging river and raced back only to discover that Tove was gone. The tall grass where she had sat was crushed into the shape of a massive footprint. Frightened for his sister, Leif struck out after her.

  After sixteen years of fruitless searching, he grew into a man weathered in the ways of hunting and all the hardships life could muster against him. Along the way, he sought out troll hunters who helped him hone a mean talent for slaying the hideous giants. His weapon of choice became the arbalest, which he armed with wooden-tipped arrows carved from a cursed oak tree. The piece of oak had commanded a hefty price, but was well worth it, for when its sharpened tip pierced a troll’s hide, its poison took root and spread swiftly.

  One day in the dead of winter, Leif entered a tavern in a remote village. The place was full of music and merriment, and many tongues wagged with outlandish stories. One such tale caught Leif’s ear. The story was that of a fae creature who some thought to be part human. It was said that she was as quick as a squirrel and could vanish from sight in the wink of an eye. And it was also whispered with the thrill of fear in the storyteller’s eye that the sprite was not alone, that a rare few had seen something gigantic shadowing her, something that shook the ground and tilted the trees.

  This was the first Leif had ever heard of a troll shadowing a girl, whether she be fae or not. With hope in his heart, he left at first light, picked up the troll’s trail and followed it for days. When at last he found fresh tracks, he crouched behind a snowdrift and waited. After much time, He was about to leave when something darted out of nowhere. A sprite of some sort whose runed skin gleamed with a luminous olive hue. She stood still, turning in his direction and sniffing the air. When he saw her face, he saw his long-passed mother in her features.

  Leif came out of hiding, calling Tove’s name in joyous recognition. As he waved to her, a tall, long dead tree tilted unnaturally and loomed large behind his sister. It took him a few seconds to realize it was the troll he’d been tracking. Filled with hatred and fear for his sister, he drew his prized arrow from his quiver, the one with sixteen cuts of the knife to mark each of Tove’s missed birthdays. Taking careful aim with his crossbow, he squeezed the trigger. The poison arrow shot true and pierced the troll’s heart.

  Bellowing like a wounded elk, the creature crashed to the ground. Tove crouched like a wild animal ready to pounce and locked her gaze on Leif. The green eyes he remembered had gone black with fury. He feared she would attack at any moment, but the troll lurched upward, staggering and growling with a murderous rage. The poison had taken effect.

  Grysla’s crazed eyes fixed on them both. She knew not where she was or who they were, only that she feared them. She called out to her family. Tove answered, but Grysla did not hear. Her mind was trapped in the past, shrieking with grief over the murder of her family. All she saw were evil humans around her. The troll swept her massive arm at Tove and sent her flying into nearby trees. Drawing his sword, Leif dodged the giant’s pounding fists, leaped forward and hacked off one hand, then the next. Grysla raged with pain and stamped at Leif with her mammoth feet. He jumped aside and hewed a leg off at the knee. She toppled over, breaking through low-lying trees, and fell in a shower of snow. The forest fell silent, save for the troll’s labored breathing.

  Leif started to climb onto her massive chest, ready to sever her head, but Tove barred his way. He reassured his sister, saying he would tend to her now. Tove didn’t know him. She riled against the harsh, garbled noise of this murdering stranger. Then she looked into Grysla’s tortured eyes, seeing only the kind, loving mother who had raised her.

  Tove murmured the soft, clipped notes of troll speak. The tree troll turned her head away with a dreadful moan. Tove persisted, until at last, Grysla heard her voice. But the troll could not look at her daughter. The arrow’s poison was making her see Tove only as a monstrous human. Also, her severed limbs were growing back too swiftly. As soon as she was whole, she knew she would lose control and kill Tove.

  Only one thing could stop the inevitable. She explained to Tove what must be done. The girl wept and argued hard against it, but Grysla made her promise. At last Tove nodded. Her face went blank as she drew out a dagger and stabbed into Grysla’s breast. The tree troll’s cry of pain echoed out over the still forest as Tove carved out her mother’s beating heart with the arrow pierced clean through.

  Leif staggered back as Tove jumped off the roaring troll, whose limbs had grown back swift and sure. The troll rolled to her feet and attacked. Leif began fighting a losing battle against the crazed giant. But just when it seemed he would be crushed into the ground by a hammering fist, the troll froze. Its coarse hide petrified into granite.

  Tove
strode over to him, holding the smoking, skewered heart by the arrow. Leif smiled with relief. His sister had saved him by burning the troll’s heart. She stared at him with her dark, disturbing eyes and let the heart slide off the arrow. The charred lump melted into the deep snow. As he sheathed his sword,

  she touched the marks he’d notched in the arrow’s shaft and smiled back. Then she plunged the arrow into his chest.

  Taking the dead troll hunter’s sword, she raised it skyward and swore vengeance upon his kind. Before leaving the Twisted Bone Forest to begin her lifelong vendetta, Tove cast one last look at Grysla’s grotesque statue, careful to remember instead, the gentle tree troll who had forgiven mankind enough to care for one small human in need.

  Chapter 14

  REMNANTS OF THE VIOLENT BATTLE and blood-soaked snow shattered into a chaotic whirlwind of glimmering letters, now blurring into white nothingness. The story had ignited a burning need for revenge in Fate. She wanted to strike out at that evil woman who’d poisoned Finn with the same rage Tove had felt toward Leif. But that opportunity was long gone, left behind in the last fable.

  As an unbearable coldness seeped in, Fate couldn’t tell where she was or what she was looking at. All she could see were blue shadows and texture within an endless white. Then it hit her. She was lying in snow. Lifting her head up, she glanced around. The Book of Fables had dropped them into the middle of snow-covered mountains full of the strangest-looking crooked, twisted trees she’d ever seen. She glanced over at Sithias, who was at that moment wilting in the glacial chill. When she saw that Finn was lying next to her looking deathly pale, she reached for her notepad and wrote up a swift reprieve from the biting cold.

  •

  The warmth of a crackling fire roused Sithias from a sleep that had been much too close to permanent. Ruffling his feathers, he glanced around at the inside of a cozy log cabin. The Book of Fables leaned against a wall, its open pages gleaming in the flickering light. When he saw snowflakes flurrying outside the window, he shivered, remembering the deadly chill that had overtaken him.