Five Magic Spindles: A Collection of Sleeping Beauty Stories

by Rachel Kovaciny

  Eidor tore his gaze away from the many coils of Swamp Beast to survey the cavern. This was a dwarf’s element after all: dark and underground. His gaze quickly scanned every corner and crevice.

  “Uh oh,” he said.

  “What?”

  “I think I see where the wands are hidden.”

  “Where?”

  “Do you see that iron chest?”

  “No.”

  “Across the pool. On the far shore.”

  “Don’t see it.”

  “The Slavering Swamp Beast is resting his chin on it like a pillow.”

  The two heroes were silent. But they weren’t True Heroes for nothing, and Crete rallied himself almost at once.

  “Right,” he said, “here’s the plan: You turn invisible—you can do that now that we’re out of the dungeon cell, right?”

  “I think so,” said Eidor. The next instant he vanished completely, and Crete blinked at empty space. “Can you see me now?” came a voice from somewhere around waist-height.

  Crete shook his head, impressed despite himself. “You’re as invisible as a white rabbit in a snowstorm! Bet even the Slavering Swamp Beast can’t see you.”

  Eidor flickered back into sight. “He can smell me though.”

  Crete shrugged. “That’ll make your next act all the more heroic.” He bent and whispered instructions in his friend’s ear.

  Not long afterward, the Slavering Swamp Beast stopped gnawing its paw and lifted its enormous head, dripping foam on the lid of the chest. Something smelled funny. It drew a deep breath, its slitted nostrils constricting then flaring as it let out an enormous, echoing snort.

  Something smelled like . . . hero.

  With a huff that sent more foam splattering into the pool, the Beast heaved itself up onto its stumpy forelegs, which, strong though they were, could only just lift its barrel chest clear of the rock. It swung its head, tendril whiskers curling and uncurling as it snuffled and snorted some more.

  Then something struck it right between the eyes. Startled, it blinked its sideways eyelids and looked down at . . . absolutely nothing. So it looked with its nostrils instead, and the smell of a hero took shape in its olfactory senses.

  “Here, you big crocodile!” shouted a bold voice. “Come and get me!”

  Something else struck the Swamp Beast, this time right on the tip of its nose, which is the only part of a Swamp Beast that might almost be called sensitive. The Slavering Swamp Beast let out a high-pitched snort, its curled whiskers momentarily straightening.

  Then it roared.

  Although it is as bulky as a hippopotamus, with back feet like floppy paddles wriggling uselessly from the sides of its trunk-like tail, the Slavering Swamp Beast moves much faster than anyone might expect, propelling itself along with powerful forelegs, and able to spring forward with its coiled tail.

  Eidor fled invisible before it, shouting half in terror, half in heroic bravado. “Hurry up, Crete!” he called over his shoulder as he raced along the edge of the pond, the splashes of his footfalls the only sign of his passage. “Hurry up, hurry-up-hurry-up-hurry-uuuuuuuup!”

  The Swamp Beast, fixated on that one smell, failed to notice the tiny shape, little more than the size of a flea, springing across the stones with mighty, heroic bounds until coming to the chest. Crete, though too large to live in a pinhead-sized city, was plenty small enough to leap into the crack between trunk and lid. It was a tight squeeze, but he pushed himself through and dropped into the chest itself.

  Something flared. Then another something. Then a third. Silver, orange, and purple somethings lying in the bottom of the trunk.

  Crete was much too tiny to wrap his arms around the circumference of even one of the wands. But he touched one and, with a moment of effort, forced it to conform to the size of his hand. He was slightly out of practice, but once a homunculus, always a homunculus! He reached for the second wand and the third, and these reduced more easily than the first. Soon he held all three wands. With a spring, he squeezed himself back through the narrow opening.

  The Slavering Swamp Beast, passing at speed, swished its tail and sent the trunk crashing into the water. Crete, knocked right along with it, held onto the wands as tightly as he could. Water closed over his head, water deep as the ocean . . .

  The next moment he was full-sized again, standing in a pond up to his knees.

  “Hurry uuuuuuuuuup!” Eidor’s voice flashed across the cavern just ahead of slavering roars.

  Crete shook himself, waded across the pond, and climbed out on the side nearest the door. “Come on, Eidor!” he shouted, waving in the general direction of his friend’s voice. “I’ve got them!”

  “’Bout tiiiiiime!” yelled the dwarf, though his words were drowned by a particularly ferocious roar. The Slavering Swamp Beast gathered itself up on the muscular coils of its tail. Then, with those muscles uncoiling like a spring, it launched itself across the cavern, its immense jaws gaping, ready to swallow both heroes in a single gulp!

  But that’s when it hit the end of its magical chain.

  Eidor and Crete, feeling Beast foam splatter the backs of their heads, dove through the narrow door one after the other into the corridor beyond. In the cavern, the Swamp Beast keened in frustration, tearing furiously at its chain. But the chain had been woven of pure enchantment and would not break.

  “Are you there, Eidor?” Crete asked.

  To his vast relief, the empty space by his elbow answered, “Sure am.” The dwarf shimmered back into view, covered in slaver but unharmed. He shook himself off and grinned. “Now that was proper heroics!”

  The two heroes got to their feet and trotted down the corridor to rejoin Franz and the ghost. Neither of them saw a secret door open in the wall of the passage just after they left. Neither of them saw a shadowy figure approach the den of the Swamp Beast.

  Chapter 10

  LADY MARA STOOD ON the threshold of the Beast’s den, peering from behind her veil first at the iron chest half submerged in the stagnant pool—unopened, its magical locks intact—then at the poor monster straining on its chain. She saw no bones or pools of blood and decided it was too much to hope that the Slavering Swamp Beast had managed to injure at least one of the heroes.

  She strode into the cavern, right up to the beast, which turned its dripping jowls her way and rumbled forlornly.

  “What’s wrong, my pet?” she asked the monster even as she picked up the end of its heavy enchanted chain. “Do you want to hunt down those nasty heroes who dared try to steal from you?”

  With a flick of her wrist, she broke the chain and freed the Swamp Beast.

  “Go!” she cried. “Find those heroes and that skinny little banker’s clerk! Go, my Beast!”

  A toad poked his warty head up out of her pocket, dismayed to see the Slavering Swamp Beast crash through the narrow door, sending bits of wall tumbling as it rushed forth in pursuit of its luckless prey.

  Mara caught the toad in one hand and hauled it up to meet her gaze. “Failed again, Paisley,” she said with a snarl. "Obviously you have no talent for treason. Muteness may not have been a pleasure, but now that you face the prospect of ending your days in this form, perhaps you wish you hadn’t dared cross me yet again!”

  The toad blinked sad eyes at her—not so very different from his elf eyes—kicked his long back legs out straight, and said, “Graaaup.”

  Lady Mara laughed. “Hardly a sight to please the eye of a fair princess!” she declared and dropped him into the deepest pocket of her gown.

  Roselee flared a brilliant green when the two heroes appeared through the shadows of the tunnel. In Crete’s powerful fist the three wands glowed their triune hues like the most beautiful of torches. Roselee recognized them at once.

  “They did it!” she whispered, then shot out from the wall and whirled about. “You did it, you did it!”

  Unaware of her ghostly exuberance, the heroes merely nodded at Franz, and Crete held the wands high. “Success!” he d
eclared with a grin, slowing to a jog as they approached.

  Franz smiled in return, though his heart felt a strange jumble of emotions. He was relieved to see the two heroes well and whole after their encounter with the Beast, and he was overjoyed that they had managed to retrieve the wands. But . . . they’d done it without him.

  Thoughts of heroism had never plagued him before, back in his . . . for want of a better word, back in his real life. Would he ever be able to go back to those days? Would he ever be able to live without the question at the back of his mind: Are you man enough? Do you really have what it takes?

  Shoving that thought away, he fell in step with the heroes and asked Roselee, “Can you lead us to the tower now—”

  His voice was lost in the roar of the Slavering Swamp Beast.

  The two heroes, the ghost, and the clerk spun around and stared down the dark dungeon passage in a frozen moment of terror. Could it be . . . ? Were their ears mistaken . . . ?

  Was that roar coming closer?

  “It’s loose!” shouted Crete, his words barely audible above the clamor. “Hurry!”

  “This way!” shouted Roselee, beckoning to Franz.

  “This way!” Franz echoed, beckoning to the heroes.

  The three of them set off running, Crete and Eidor following Franz, Franz following the bobbing green glow of Roselee, and Roselee desperately hoping she remembered the way out! Oh, if only she’d not been such a coward! If only she’d spent more time exploring these dark passageways! But how could she possibly have guessed that at the end of the Magic Cycle she’d find herself leading not one but three heroes in a mad escape from the Slavering Swamp Beast? If she could not find the stairway up to the castle courtyard, would the Swamp Beast swallow them whole? Or would it merely maim them to avoid bringing the no-killing curse down upon Mara’s head?

  Either way, she knew she dared not make a single wrong turn. But she had no time to think, no time to stop at any of the twists and turns to consider. Instinct alone drove her, and she swished here, wafted there, with Franz desperately careening after her in his efforts not to lose sight of her in the dark.

  The floors shook and the walls trembled at the raucous pursuit of the Slavering Swamp Beast behind them.

  Roselee found a stairwell leading up. Oh, let it be the right one! “Hurry, Franz!” she shouted as she dashed up, leaving little puffs of ectoplasm in her wake. Franz scrambled behind her, almost falling, using his hands to keep himself upright. Behind him, the two heroes pushed and prodded, Crete sticking him in the small of the back with wand-points to goad him on.

  Roselee floated right through the closed door out into the courtyard. Yes! This was the right way! She whirled about . . . only to realize that the door was shut fast, and her three heroes were on the wrong side.

  “Batwings!” she cried, flinging herself at the bolt. But her hands went right through it. “Batwings, buzzards, and bilge rats!” She tried to punch the door, probably hitting Franz in the face on the far side. She heard helpless hands pounding on the door, her poor heroes, trapped!

  And the Swamp Beast squeezing itself up the stairs just behind them.

  “Move aside, Franz!” a mighty voice cried. Then, “Hold these, Eidor.”

  A tremendous blow struck the door so that it rattled. A second blow, and the door splintered. After a third, it crumbled into a pile of kindling and Crete tumbled forth, landing face-down in the wreckage.

  “Well done, mate!” cried Eidor, scrambling over the bulky hero, the wands now clutched in his fist. Franz burst out behind, and the two of them helped haul Crete back upright.

  “Hurry!” Roselee urged. The stairwell echoed with the roar of the Swamp Beast, and she knew it was only a few turns behind them now. “Hurry, Franz! We’ve got to get you to the tower!”

  Once on his feet, Crete shook splinters from his shoulders and declared himself all right. The three heroes set off across the courtyard at top speed, Crete in the lead, his powerful legs driving hard. Eidor followed close behind, for despite his shortness he was a True Hero, and a True Hero knows how to run when need arises. Franz puffed along at the back, unused to this much action and adventure after years behind a desk.

  Roselee streamed ahead, darting between elf statues, until she reached the tower door. “Up there!” she cried to Crete and Eidor as they neared. “Get the wands to the fairies! I’ll make sure Franz is right behind.”

  Neither hero could hear her, of course, but they reacted as though they could. Crete pushed open the door and paused for Eidor to pass through ahead of him, since the dwarf still held the wands. It was in that moment that a terrible pallor swept across Crete’s dark skin, leaving him ashen. One huge hand pressed to his heart—to that empty place on his shirt where a jeweled pin ought to be.

  “My kingdom!” he gasped.

  Franz, just approaching through the foremost ranks of elf statues, saw the hero’s gesture, saw the movement of his mouth and guessed at the words. He saw how Crete’s eyes swam as he gazed out desperately into the courtyard, searching, searching . . .

  Though he knew he should not pause, Franz skidded to a halt and looked back. Some instinct told him where to search, and his gaze shot directly to the pile of kindling that had once been the dungeon door.

  There, gleaming in the light of new dawn, lay a gold pin with a bright jeweled head.

  If Franz had stopped to think, he would have left the pin where it lay, rushed headlong to the tower, and done everything humanly possible to put distance between himself and the slavering roar echoing up that dark, winding stair.

  But in that moment Franz was not a thoughtful banker’s clerk. In that moment he was a hero, through and through.

  He dashed back across the courtyard. He sprang to that gaping doorway. Two red eyes glowed at him from the darkness, and slaver sprayed out, dampening his face and shirt. Franz, his mind so numb with heroic zeal that he couldn’t even feel his own overwhelming fear, reached out and snatched up the pin.

  The Slavering Swamp Beast appeared in the doorway, its jaws gaping.

  “Franz!” Roselee screamed.

  In an instant, a green bolt of lightning shot across the courtyard and zipped directly into the Slavering Swamp Beast’s eye. It passed right through and out the other side of its head, but the sensation was just disconcerting enough that the Swamp Beast swallowed its own slaver in surprise and stood blinking, its bandy forelimbs bulging the doorframe on either side of it, its tail smacking the stairs into rubble behind it.

  Allowing Franz the time he needed to pick himself up and run for all he was worth across the courtyard.

  Then the Swamp Beast, its predatory nature snapping back into play, fixed slitted eyes upon its fleeing prey. With a shake of its whiskers and a roar that could topple the stars, it lumbered out into the yard in hot pursuit.

  Franz darted between the statues. He knew he would never reach the tower doorway in time, for though the Swamp Beast was low and bulky, its massive tail propelled it along so quickly that he felt jaws snapping just one step behind him. If he staggered or tripped, he would be lost for sure!

  In desperation, he did the only thing that occurred to him in that moment—he leaped for higher ground.

  Which in this instance meant bounding into the arms of the nearest statue and clambering up to perch on a pair of stony shoulders. He was vaguely aware that his free hand grasped the pointed ends of what might be a crown, but he hadn’t time to consider this just then.

  The Slavering Swamp Beast circled the statue but could not raise its head high enough even to snap at Franz’s toes. It pushed against the statue’s legs, but not even a Beast could budge solid marble. The squat creature slavered and snorted, and its whiskers curled and straightened and curled again in wrath. But it could not reach Franz.

  “I’ve got it, Crete!” Franz cried, adjusting his position on the statue’s shoulders to call out to the two heroes standing in the tower doorway. He held up the pin, its jeweled head gleaming bright. �
��Quick! Get the wands to the fairies!”

  Eidor and Crete nodded and disappeared up the tower stair. Roselee, recovered from the weird sensation of passing through a Swamp Beast’s brain, whirled about Franz, so delighted she would have kissed him if her lips wouldn’t go through his skin. “Oh, Franz!” she cried. “You did it! You did it!”

  “Not yet,” Franz said, shakily. The Swamp Beast let out another hideous roar and flung itself at the statue’s knees. The statue rocked slightly, and Franz wrapped his arms about the stone head. “I don’t know how I’m going to get to the tower now!”

  Roselee gazed up at the balcony and saw a chicken and a lizard watching from the window. Once they had their wands, maybe . . . maybe . . .

  Crete and Eidor, moving at the speed of heroes, sprang up the stairway. They saw the open door at the top, saw the spinning wheel in the center of the chamber where a squirrel pushed frantically at the treadle.

  “Here!” Eidor cried, waving the wands. “We’ve got these!”

  A brilliant light of hope swept across the squirrel’s whiskered face. “Lolly! Viola!” she squeaked.

  With a flutter of feathers and a flick of a spotted tail, chicken and lizard darted from the window and across the chamber. “Throw them through,” Lolly squawked, feathers bursting in a cloud of excitement around her.

  Eidor looked at Crete. Crete gave a shrug. Eidor drew back his hand and flung the wands through the open door.

  The barrier only worked on people, after all.

  In a colorful arc of silver, orange, and purple, the wands flew into the room. The chicken flapped her wings, hopped a few feet into the air, and caught the orange wand in her beak. The lizard stood up on the end of her tail, her short arms waving, and just managed to catch the purple wand.

  The silver wand landed on the floor. Alicia, at the treadle, dared not move to fetch it. “Hurry!” she cried, her squirrel squeak surprisingly commanding. “Help the Chosen One!”

  Lolly and Viola scurried back to the window. Viola, using her tiny hands, worked its latch and pushed it open. They looked down into the yard where Franz perched on the shoulders of King Pintamore, with Roselee whirling around him like a small green tornado and the Swamp Beast soaking the king’s knees with slaver.