Tales of the Fairy Anthology

by Catherine Stovall

  Ronin stepped forward, and with his strength, the twig straightened and leaves grew along its stem. “Until Kale's call.”

  ***

  It took Kale four days of following the quivering branch as he made his perilous way to the Winter Court's domain.

  As he entered the frozen lands of Winter, the birthing call surrounded him, bringing him to his knees. It had nowhere to go in all of this death. The Earth could not let Spring come to life in the place where Winter reigned. For the song to come from Pip's body without an answer would kill her. He opened his lips and he returned the song's answer, though to no avail. No green could survive here.

  At his answer, the song became more vibrant, ringing in his ears lifting him back to his feet. The branch jumped with life. It was now or never to enter the hidden veil, Beltane was before him.

  Would Mab hear his answering call? He could no longer deny that he was the answer to Pip's music. He, if accepted by the forest and the Queen, would be her Consort. He did not know what the answer would be, or why it was he who had been chosen. It wasn't love that called to him, but the aloneness and loneliness. Only Pip could make that decision, but he was duty bound to remain at her side. When she perished, so would he. He hoped his brother could forgive him.

  Reaching out, his hand vanished inside the veil. When his hand entered, the rest of his body was sucked across, and he landed on his backside, heaving labored breaths. High above him, in the rocky ceiling, swung cages. Some bearing skeletal remains; others contained creatures both large and small. A long table stretched out into the distance. Along its sides, Fae of different races scattered its length. He was in the Winter Court. He scooted backward along the floor until his back hit the rocky wall and shadows surrounded him. He crept forward on all fours, his vision trying to pierce the blackness, searching for Pip, his true Queen.

  It could have been hours or days, he lost track of time as he crawl toward the gaudy throne where a raven beauty reclined in decadent contempt. Her black eyes moved over the entertainment provided by members of the Court. There, swinging behind Mab's throne was Pip, her cage the newest and most gilded of them all.

  Kale unslung the pack from his shoulder, knowing when he opened it that he would find what he needed. It appeared empty until he required something, food or water at his fingertips. Now, as he reached inside, he hoped to find something that would allow him to scale the rocky wall and make his way to Pip's cage.

  He pulled out a length of rope, throwing it over his head. Magically, it lengthened, reaching to the ceiling's height and looping itself around a rocky outcropping. He tugged the golden rope back to him, but it stuck and pulled back. He grinned, maybe this wouldn't be so hard after all.

  He slung the pack back over his shoulders, wrapping his arms and legs around the rope's thickness, and pulled himself up, hand over hand. He was half way to his destination when quiet fell around him.

  A voice echoed from the walls of the Winter Court's home. “Well, what do we have here?” Mab called. She now stood close enough to the rope that he could see the bloody veins lacing her eyes.

  She lifted him from the rope and twisted to the cage holding Pip. “Look, my little one. You have a rescuer,” she laughed, and the rest of the Court laughed with her. Stretching up to the cage, she opened the door, and tossed Kale inside. “Now, I have a matched set.” She laughed again, almost making Kale cringe from its demented sounds. “My pet has a friend.”

  Chapter Four

  Kale landed in a heap at Pip's feet. He moved to his knees and bowed his head, whispering, “My Queen.” He lifted his head to stare into the sky blue eyes that searched his green ones. “I am Kale, Protector of the Forest. I answered your song.” A grim smile stretched his lips. “This isn't exactly what I had in mind, but when all else fails...” his voice trailed away.

  For the first time in days, a tired smile graced Pip's weary face. “Not exactly how I'd hoped to meet my Consort.” One side of her mouth lifted higher with her smile as she reached out her hand, bringing him to his feet. She pushed her long brown curls out of her face, tossing them over her shoulder. “What do you propose?”

  “We, my Queen, need to be gone from here.”

  ***

  Mab watched her prized possessions from her throne. How odd that the little one had been able to cross into Winter, and without her knowledge. She lifted her eyebrow as she thought. Summer had to be behind this latest incursion. Jumping to her feet, she stormed away from the Court to her chambers. She flung herself in front of the mirror and parted the veil. The Summer Court came into focus, and in a massive bed laid her nemesis, King of the Summer Court, Oberon in all his golden opulence.

  “How did you do it?” she demanded. “How did the little one breach my defenses?” she screamed back across the veil.

  “My Queen?” he enquired, with a lazy rise of his eyebrow. “I have no idea about that which you're raving.” He grinned happily. “There is always room in the King's bed. Come, cross the veil, I'll help you with your little problem.” He laughed with throaty exuberance.

  It was Mab who was brewing for a fight, for the war which she wanted. She sulked; the lazy King of the Seelie couldn't even rouse himself for a good fight.

  She roared, slamming the veil close and the mirror revealed her pale, vexed complexion. “Damn arrogant man!” She picked up the closest object and flung it against the wall. The vase smashed into thousands of crystal shards that winked back at her and the King's laughter echoed in her bed chamber. She called to her guards. “Bring me my wine!”

  ***

  Kale rubbed his shoulders and placed the pack between Pip and himself. “So far, whatever I've needed, Memda's pack has provided me. What I really need now is something to jimmy the cage's lock. Mab doesn't plan on letting either of us leave alive.” He opened the silken enclosure of the pack and his hand searched its dark interior. When he pulled it back out, a heavy, golden key on a satiny cord rested in his palm. “Well, not exactly what I thought I'd find, but this will work.” A smile stretched his lips.

  Kale scaled the bars, the heavy key swinging back and forth from his neck. When he'd climbed to the lock, he took the key and stretched through the bars, sliding the heavy key into place. He clung to the bars and he worked the lock, trying to twist the key and release them from the golden trap in which they found themselves. He struggled, fighting the weight of the key when lock clicked and the barred door swung open.

  He gazed down at Pip. “Can you climb up?”

  She grinned up at him. “I'm on my way.”

  ***

  Together, the two made their way to the rope still hanging outside of the cage. He grabbed it with outstretched fingers, lifting it for Pip to clasp hold of. He watched as she slid down the rope's length, and then followed before tugging her to the shadows, his pack still over his shoulder.

  “I hope this works as well to show the way home.” Pip looked over at the withered twig, lying right where he had left it, and laughed. “No need, I can always find my way back home, and I can't wait to find my trees again.”

  She wrapped her arms around his neck. “Thank you, my rescuer.” She kissed his cheek.

  “My Queen.... I would be remiss if I didn't tell you, the devastation is beyond imagination.”

  “I know. Mab, she cursed whatever had taken root, killed wherever her gaze fell. Sprite and plant alike. She was determined nothing should survive.” A solitary tear trailed her cheek.

  “Come.” He tugged her hand. “We must leave before our escape is discovered.”

  Together they crept through the shadows back toward the veil where Kale had breached Beltane. As they crossed the veil a scream greeted their ears.

  “Mab,” he whispered. Then he shouted, taking her hand tighter in his own, pulling Pip faster, “Run!”

  ***

  Mab returned to her throne and lifted the golden cage from its perch. “My pets,” she pouted as she leaned in to get a better look at her prizes. The cage doo
r stood open; the cage empty. She flung it away from her and stormed through the Court. “How could this happen?” she thundered in the great hall. “Who is responsible for this outrage?” she roared once more. “Guards!”

  Two of her most loyal fell at her feet. Like insects under a mighty rock, she flattened them, stealing their life force with little regard, and two more took their place. “Clean up this mess!” she screamed and gnomes came forth with trowels and sheets. Weeping came from around the long table, family members of the two destroyed. The Queen's stare fell upon them. “You will have your revenge as I will have mine.”

  Her eyes narrowed and she strode away from the destruction her own hand had caused. She hurried toward the stables, calling for her stallion. She bent to whisper in the animal's ear, “To the sprites, my lovely.”

  He reared back and in a single leap, landed at Beltane.

  ***

  Kale called out, “Memda, Ronin, help us! Mab has discovered our trickery. Hurry to us!”

  Through the far distance, they heard Memda singing the honing song. Ronin and Tam appeared before them. “Take our hands!”

  As soon as their fingers touched, all four were slammed back through Faery, all the way back to the hidden burrow where Memda had remained. They landed in a heap, four bodies tangled together.

  “Memda!” Pip's voice rang out in the barren land. “Memda, come to me.”

  Tam rested her hand on her sister's shoulder. “She cannot answer you, my Queen.” Sorrow filled her voice, “This was her last gift to you.” Her body shook. “She gave herself to save you and Kale, to bring life back to the forest she loved. She is no more, a new seer was chosen with the last full moon, two days ago. She explained this all before your call.”

  Ronin grasped his brother's arm and nodded his head. “All the preparations for your return have been made. Come, my Queen, you're far from safe. Mab plans to steal you away even now as we speak. We must perform the joining ceremony before she locates your life force. Memda placed wards and guards against her intrusion, but they won't last long.”

  Kale shook off his brother's hand. “Joining ceremony? We will not be joined.”

  Pip turned to him, tears still in her eyes from the loss of Memda. “I am sorry you are unwilling, and I am a poor substitute for your one true love, but the joining of Consort to Queen is our last hope.”

  Kale pulled Pip away from the others. “Do you want this, this joining?”

  She bit her lower lip. “Death awaits us without it, and not for only us, but for the sprites, the forest, all of Spring and Summer. The Earth's renewal will not begin and Winter wins.”

  He looked down at his calloused hands. He'd always been a Protector, he worked and lived by the law of the forest. Could he deny what destiny had chosen for him? “Could you love me?”

  Pip's eyes grew soft, her lips rounded. “Can't you see that it's already begun? When you answered my song, I knew my Consort had been found. When you released me from the cage, my heart left my body to find yours.”

  He leaned his forehead against hers. “Let the ceremony begin.”

  ***

  In the next hundred years, Mab would try again and again to squash the life from the forest, and for each time, failure was her reward. To this day, the gilded cage hangs above her throne, empty.

  The End

  FM

  After Sam McGee blew up the front cylinder of the old Sportster flat-tracker, he had thought it best to be thorough with the rebuild and handed it over to Beau Kelton. Unfortunately, Beau hadn’t ever been elbow deep in an Ironhead and now understood why the old timers bitched about them. The metal was porous and the mismatched parts from years of rebuilds were irritating. Now that the replacement parts were finally in, there was a chance of getting it together, but Beau wasn’t sure he could do it. He’d gone authentic, ordering cork gaskets, and now cursed the choice as they soaked up every drop of oil that came near them. The material was too saturated now and wouldn’t create a proper seal.

  Beau put down his ratchet and shook his head. He was in trouble. All he had managed to do in a week’s time was disassemble everything, and the next race was three days away. The engine remained in pieces on the workbench because he had broken apart the crankcase twice to try and correct the free play on the flywheel. This was hardly Beau’s first motor rebuild, but this was not his usual motor. He stared at the hulk of metal with utter contempt.

  Glancing up at the clock, he groaned; even if he left now, he wouldn’t have time to get home and shower. He had promised Stacey some “couple time” even if that was the last thing he wanted right now. Beau pulled out his billfold and counted fifty bucks; it would have to do. He could mow down a sandwich before going and cut down the cost. His relationship with Stacey had been slipping since he wasn’t bringing in the big, custom jobs anymore. What could he do about it? The economy had tanked, and he was a mechanic for a luxury item. He should have done the same as his brother and gone automotive. People needed cars. They wanted bikes.

  Beau went to the sink and tried to scrub the grease from his fingernails. He was only marginally successful. The new CherryBomb sanitizer had enough grit to clean off the oil, but only peeled away the first layer on anything imbedded. He took a paper towel and wet it in the water. Looking at the mirror, he saw where anti-seize had managed to find a way to streak his forehead. He needed to remember to not wipe the sweat when he was working. He scrubbed at the silver streak until the skin beneath it was pink and raw.

  Beau looked in the small fridge. There was an old egg salad sandwich that he had bought at the convenience store—still wrapped in its plastic clamshell. He fought the packaging for a few minutes before he took his knife to it. Once he managed to break the seal and got a whiff of the long expired contents, he gave up and threw it away. He would have to hit up the ATM on the way.

  He checked the overhead door was secure before going to the side door with a look over his shoulder at his adversary. The sight of the bare frame leering at him did not help his mood. Maybe in the morning he would remember where he’d put the brace that would help reset the free play. He shook his head, flipped off the lights and left. Unaware of the four sets of eyes watching him, Beau double-checked that he locked the door behind him.

  When the tumblers clicked into place and Beau’s figure was no longer visible, the drain grate in the center of the room was forced from its place, scraping across the cement floor of the shop. Gnarled fingers scrambled to find purchase as a lumpy little body rolled out and reached down to help another three out of the hole.

  “A’right, boys, we got work to do,” stated the first figure as he got to his feet, brushing off the dust from his knees. “This be a brownie’s dream job! Been ‘while since we seen this.”

  “Salin, we knows what to do,” grumbled one of the others as he wandered to the workbench. “Esten, bring over that tool cart. You and me’ll be working on the motor while Sal gets the drive in order. Thenli will work on the tins.”

  Esten paused as he pushed the cart. “Who’s the boss, Grem? You or Salin?”

  Salin barked with laughter. “Don’t matter. Work needs to be done. Now, get to work,” he said and clapped the younger brownie on the back. “You ev’r fix one o’ these mot’rbikes?”

  Esten shook his head negatively. “I ain’t been topside since the time o’ steamers and cotton gins.”

  Grem gaped at the young brownie before turning to his leader. “Where’d you find this un?”

  “Mind your business and get to cleaning that cylinder. By what I heard, it blew pretty good,” Salin replied as he sorted through a crate of gears and sprockets.

  Grem let out a whistle through his gapped teeth. “I’d say.” He picked up the old cylinder, taking a flashlight out of his pocket and shining it through. “Looks like the pin blew and the rings gouged through.” He tossed it aside and picked up the new one and tsked at it. “This guy got a borin’ station?”

  “Over there,” indicated Sali
n. “Taking some metal out before you measure?”

  Grem wrinkled his nose and set the cylinder down. “Fine, I’ll do it your way. Esten, grab the book and tell me the clearances.”

  In a far corner, Thenli was beating dents out of the fuel tank and prepping it for the paint booth. He grumbled as he forced the petcock from its rusted perch. Soon he had the metal free of any imperfections and moved on to the fenders.

  “Don’t make it too pretty!” Salin shouted. “It’s goin’ to the dirt.”

  Before Salin could say anything else, Thenli took a grinder to the rear fender to cut out a stripped bolt. The sound cut off any further discussion among the group as they began their own tasks. They had a limited amount of time and each of them became engrossed in their work.

  While Grem checked the piston clearance and made sure the cylinders were true, he had Esten work on the lower end. The young one had already found the problem that had plagued Beau for so long; the key had been cocked in the crankpin and the connecting rods hadn’t been shimmed properly. He was quick about fixing the error, and had the flywheel back into the case and everything bolted together in time to help Salin, who had waited for the pieces to come together before putting in the cams and clutch pack. The cork gaskets had been cast aside as the brownies used their own special source for them.

  Around midnight, Salin called a halt to the work. The bike no longer looked like a basketcase and rolling chassis. He had buttoned up the gearcase and run the final drive chain, making sure the spacing was right so it wouldn’t rub the tire or jump the sprocket. The pistons had been fitted, and Grem was almost finished mounting the cylinders, while Esten was busy checking the valves. Thenli was nowhere to be seen. Salin peeked into the painting booth, and at first, saw only the stripped sheet metal awaiting primer and paint. Looking around further, he saw the fat artist rifling through the garbage bin with his stubby legs flaying in the air.