Tales of the Fairy Anthology

by Catherine Stovall

  The Winter Solstice ceremony had been short this year, not for lack of material, he could have read late into the night about the old ways if his fellow other-worlders had allowed him. Everything had been set up properly; he had taken the first tree down with the help of a mud giant and waited until almost Midnight to begin. Only a handful of the most devoted employees of the agency had come—a few pixies and a banshee. No one not associated with work had come. Even the Keeper hadn’t stopped hunting for the escaped kallikantzarois to partake.

  The Keeper was usually good for a story or two, Zebulon thought, even if the sprite spent most the year underground watching the wretched imps.

  Zeb was noticing a pattern in the old country’s ceremonies of late, no one cared anymore. After so many centuries, the fey were turning to the human traditions or making their own. No one cared anymore about the old ways. They were becoming faded memories.

  The party had burned the tree and said the words, then a few cups of mulled cider were passed. Soon, even those few devotees, left for their traditions amongst their own kind. Unfortunately, Zebulon was the only one of his kind, and that meant returning to his small room and listening to the merry making of the humans. Zeb wasn’t surprised his boss and the other humans hadn’t joined the ceremony. It wasn’t their way, after all. Even the human pagans of old hadn’t done a Winter Solstice the way a half-gnome with the First Book could.

  He couldn’t suppress a smile from his chapped lips when the girl’s laughter filtered in under the door. She probably would have thought herself a sacrifice. He let out a sigh. Those had been the good old days when a good blood sacrifice could get a ceremony started. If he’d mentioned that to a few others, he might have drawn a crowd this year. More than a few imps would have stopped their mischief to come see, and even the changelings would have danced in their blood fury. He shook his head to erase the thought. That was another time, long ago, and he could never get away with it in the modern world. Even if she fit the criteria, the girl had done him a great service finding the key of ceremony, and for that alone, he could never harm her.

  He took the key from his pocket and watched it twirl on the end of its newly reinforced chain. In the artificial light of the human world, it looked like a gilded skeleton key, but in his private room where he insisted on the old ways, the light of the oil lantern reflected off the tarnished brass. Centuries had come and gone since he had taken to wearing it—not that he had had a choice.

  “Zebulon Brookenstook,” he mumbled as he gave the key another twirl. “It even sounds like a fool’s name.”

  ****

  A fool was what he had been all those years ago in the old country. Before the humans had made their way north into the Schwarzwald where his kind, now referred to as Other Worlders by the humans, had ruled. Well, not necessarily his breed, a sect of his kind now referred to as the Fees, or Fairies in the English tongue. He had not been blessed with being born into a noble sect. Gnomes were not destined to be anything but gärtners and tenders of the earth. Zeb, or Meinrad as his mother had called him, had wanted more.

  Due to his parentage, he hadn’t been accepted by the small folk. His father was a dwarf ambassador to the frost giants, in the mountains that would one day become the Alps; at that time the heights hadn’t even been seen by the humans. His mother had been a homely gnome that seduced his father with good cooking and an open heart. It was a doomed affair of course, and his father rarely returned after his birth, but Zeb- no, Meinrad- did not understand at that time that a half-breed was worse than an imp in the eyes of most of the Fae. He took after his mother, in that he was quick and slender, lacking the broad chest and strength of the dwarves. His dwarven heritage made him stand as a giant among gnomes, nearly three and a half feet tall.

  The family was tolerated by the gnome settlement that his mother had been born in. The stares were better hidden there than when they traveled to his father’s homeland when he was still in diapers. To shield her son, his mother had tried to follow his father to the mountains, but she needed good ground beneath her feet to live and so she settled at the base of the mountain with her son, patiently waiting for the rare times her husband came down.

  Meinrad was just under a century in age when the king visited. His father was due home that night and his mother was busy in the garden. The young gnome busied himself with his studies and sat reading by the spring that flowed near their home. His mother had insisted he learn and he found himself engrossed in the stories of the Altvorderen. The king’s convoy was a sight to behold, but one he missed ashe did not look up from his book, until the hooves of a stag came very close to his ankle.

  He quickly retracted his leg and glared up at the tall figure looking down at him. The shadows played off the trees and he could discern little other than the silver circlet on the rider’s head.

  “It reads, Milord,” the rider said over its shoulder.

  Still, Meinrad could not fully discern if the rider was male or female. He had heard that the fee blended together and only without their clothes could one be sure whom they were addressing.

  “Of course I read!” Meinrad stated as he scrambled to his feet. “Why shouldn’t I read?” he asked boldly.

  “It also has a tongue,” chortled another rider.

  Meinrad felt anger rise inside him and flung the book he held to the ground.

  “And a temper,” retorted the first speaker.

  Before Meinrad could respond his mother came from around the house. She gave a sharp cry of surprise before rushing forward and bowing to the last rider in the column. “Deine Gnade, what an honor. Forgive me for the humbleness of my home.”

  “No need for such apologies,” replied the last figure in the line. Unlike the others, he distinguished himself by being robed in the rich orange of royalty. Upon his head was not a crafted crown of metal like those of the dwarves, but a woven band of ivy. He swung a leg from his horse and knelt before Meinrad’s mother. “It is I who must apologize for my arrival. I had hoped to meet your husband along the path so as not to burden you, but he sent word he was coming on the morrow. I had hoped to rest the night here, but I see you have such a small home and my own company is several sizes too large.”

  Meinrad couldn’t help himself from snorting.

  The rider who had been trading glib insults looked at him. “For all the things it has, it lacks respect,” chided the first speaker.

  The king shook his head and took his mother’s hands in his. “Forgive my guards. They have insulted your kin.”

  “Mein son is a dreamer who spends too much time in his books. Please come in,” his mother brushed aside the apology and didn’t even acknowledge him as she led the king and several of his attendants inside their small home. “You’ll be surprised at what a little gnome on her own can accomplish.

  For all the magic his mother used to expand the house for the riders and king, there was little room for him after they all filed in. Meinrad was left out with the stags. He picked up his book and brushed away the dirt from the pages, frowning at a tear in one corner.

  “That is not the way to treat books,” a female voice said behind him.

  Meinrad twirled on his heel. He had not seen any other fee in the clearing, but before him could only be the Zauberin he had heard his father speak of. Each time he blinked, her face altered from old to young. Her long, sand-colored hair streamed past her waist, the ends twisting in a wind that touched only her in the still air of the clearing. A turquoise gown stood brightly against her milky white skin in the dappled light filtered through the leaves. The color of the gown matched the large, bright eyes that watched him, but her slim body was dwarfed by the sweeping wings that spread out behind her. The wind that stirred her hair came from the quickly beating wings, like a hummingbird’s, with the same pearly iridescence. A satchel hung from her side and he could see the scrollt von rechts, but what really caught his eye was the tooled leather bound volume beside them. Brass had been hammered to the corners an
d, even though he could not see a lock, he was sure the brass key around her neck would unlock the power he felt thrumming from the book.

  “You sense it,” she stated and reached down to him.

  Even if he tried to reach for her hand, he would never reach it. She would have towered over him standing on the ground, but aloft, he would have to stand three times taller just to touch her. Still, his hand moved toward her. A deep yearning grew warm in his belly. Meinrad wasn’t sure if it was desire to touch her, or caress the book that drove him to try.

  “You are younger than I expected,” she said cryptically. “Youth is not a folly though.” She bent at her waist and passed a hand over his forehead.

  His vision exploded in a rainbow of colors and thoughts; thoughts entered that Meinrad knew were not his own. Secret words were spoken in his ear and he jumped away from her.

  “Do you know who you are?” she asked with a coy smile playing the corner of her lips.

  He furrowed his brow.

  She laughed the sound more musical than the call of any bird in the forest. “Of course not. Not yet at least, but you are starting to see and feel the powers that are meant for you. I have searched long for one such as you. Now you must claim it… at a very high cost.”

  He shook his head. “I do not understand.”

  “You needn’t. Speak only my name and I will bestow on you the greatest gift of our kind.”

  His breath caught in his throat as he whispered, “Zauberin.”

  She shook her head. “Not my title, kleine träumer, my name. I know you saw it when I touched you. Now say the name unspoken for countless years,” she insisted.

  “Ver-” he began.

  The Zauberin’s face became ashen and her eyes widened when he began to say her name. She started to reach out to stop him, but clasped her hands tightly in front of her. Inclining her head in sullen acceptance she waited for him to finish.

  The force of the king storming out cracked the thick oaken door as it hit the wall with a loud report. “Halt!” he screamed from the doorway.

  “-ena” Meinrad finished. “Verena Alarice.”

  The beat of her wings stopped and she crumpled to the ground before him. The king was quick to her side. “How dare you!” the king screamed as Meinrad was pushed aside by another of the king’s company. The ivy crown around his head began to wither before Meinrad’s eyes and the glamour began to peel away as the king’s true image was revealed. “Never speak a harpy’s true name to her!” The elf gathered her into his arms and stood, the lovely wings cracking with the movement. One broke off and fell, shattering as it hit the ground, a thousand forget-me-nots blossoming where the pieces fell. “Mutter!” cried the king as the second wing fell.

  Verena brought a weak hand to the key at her throat. The glamour had left with her wings and she was nothing more than an old woman as her crooked fingers struggled to remove the cord. “Es ist seine jetzt.”

  “Nein! I will not follow a fool’s words.”

  Meinrad felt his mother pull him away from the king and he never heard Verena’s reply. His mother tried to sneak him away, but an elf guard blocked them. Now that his vision was cleared, Meinrad could see the differences between the fee. All in the king’s company were very quiet in their grief as the king let out a cry of anguish that sent the birds from the trees.

  “She is gone,” his mother said softly. “Now go to your fate,” she said with resignation pushed him forward.

  The king now knelt where the harpy had perished, surrounded by countless blue flowers. In his hand he clutched a key on a leather tie and the satchel. “Do you know what these are?” he asked between sobs.

  “No,” Meinrad answered truthfully. He had only guessed at the scrolls of law, and while the images from her touch remained in his head, he was too distracted by seeing the world as it was without glamour. Only his mother appeared unchanged in the afternoon light. Still, his eyes narrowed on the book and he clasped his hands together to keep from reaching for it. He knew that the book and the key were meant to be his now.

  The king let out a shrieking laugh and all sound silenced in the clearing. Not even a cricket dared to chirp during the king’s mourning. “Legend is that the speaker of the name takes the harpy’s place. How am I supposed to trust someone’s counsel who doesn’t know what the scrollt von rechts say?”

  “Then don’t,” Meinrad’s mother whispered.

  “What?”

  “The Zauberin was protector of the First Book before she was your councilor or even your mother,” the gnome stated with growing confidence. “Allow Meinrad to learn the great book and then seek his wisdom. Choose another for keeper of the scrolls.”

  One of the convoy stepped forward, her clothing showed her as the one who had insulted him when the convoy arrived. She glared down at Meinrad with beady eyes and pulled her ill-fitting cloak tighter as if sensing that he now saw the hook of her nose and the stringy curls that adorned her instead of the lovely visage she preferred. Straightening her hunched back to appear regal, she spoke, “She speaks wisely, Milord. Lady Verena had underlings who knew the secrets of the scrolls, but she would never share the contents of the First Book.”

  The king sat slack-jawed staring from his advisor to Meinrad’s mother. “And I’m to trust this half-breed with all the knowledge of our kind? He is likely to misspeak again and burn the forest! He has killed the king’s mother and you wish to reward him?”

  “It is our way that he is to take her place, you said so yourself. It is no reward to be the holder of secrets. Exile him. Send him where he will do no harm with the contents of the book,” replied the advisor. Taking the key from the king she looped it around Meinrad’s neck. “He’ll become stronger because he’ll feel the weight of his duty everyday with this key. His first mistake will be his last.” The advisor took the book from the satchel and thrust it into Meinrad’s hands. “He will live a solitary life once word of the Zauberin’s death has spread. In that time he will master the contents of that book.”

  “And if he dies?” asked the king.

  The advisor shrugged. “Then the book will find another keeper.”

  Zebulon shook his head to dismiss the memory. It had been that easy. One misspoken name had made him the Keeper of the First Book and cast him away from everything he had ever known. Had it been misspoken? To the king perhaps, but Verena had wanted it. She had chosen him. It had been a long time since Zebulon remembered that.

  After he left the forest with the book in hand and a small satchel of his own, he wandered until he came to the ocean. On that beach he learned his first successful spell and created a floating island that had taken him to the unmarred land of the future Americas. He claimed a small parcel of land for himself, dug in, and for nearly a millennium he had studied the secrets of the book unmolested.

  When humans found the new world as well, he assumed many identities. The local shamans had thought him a vengeful spirit, but the tribes moved on. Finally when the Europeans found their way over, he became Zebulon Brookenstook, the crotchety old foreigner that wanted to be left alone. Solitude wasn’t the only reason he became someone new. Meinrad the half-breed had become infamous in his time away from the old country. If it were dangerous for humans to know his identity, those of his own kind were deadly. Even the local breeds of other-worlders had begun to look at him with suspicion when the tales came in with the immigrants. He managed to trick all of them and keep them from settling on his land, until a very skilled human recognized Meinrad’s spells for what they were and came to him. His spells had been soaked into the earth and the area was rich for magic, making the land a fertile haven for other-worlders and even gifted humans.

  The human had dreamed of creating the Institute for the Understanding of the Metaphysical a safe-haven for other-worlders and humans with special talents. The land Meinrad had cultivated was perfect. The man had been persistent and Zeb found that he had become lonely. The only thing Meinrad asked for was that he could re
main on his land and that certain things from the book needed to be done at certain times. He was never asked to explain how he came to be there nor much about the book. He had thought that imposition would turn the man away. Instead, Zeb, in time, found himself the roommate of the man’s nephew who had taken over as boss of the Clark Agency. He wondered what the king would say now. Was his counsel good or was he, still, a fool for throwing his hat in with the humans?

  The sound of glass shattering in the living room drew him from his pondering. The humans were still laughing and he heard the door of the closet that bordered his room open and footsteps nearing his door.

  “Dumkopfs,” he muttered and sat up. More than likely they would ask him to fix the broken ornament. Then the faint tinkle of bells came from a box not far from his door and he found himself hurriedly kicking off his blanket and searching for his slippers. If he hurried, he would be there when they put the iridescent winged angel, with sand-colored hair and a turquoise gown, on the top of the tree.

  Darkness Rules

  Chapter 1

  His head throbbed even as his emerald eyes narrowed into slits. The paper before him was too large to crumple and throw to the ground, but it didn’t mean he couldn’t destroy it. Elerin’s pulse flared to life as he threw himself to the ground and began to tear and rip up the larger than life note his betrothed had left him. His wings beat in time with his heart’s thudding as he processed her outright betrayal. They were to use the gift granted to all fairy’s together after their wedding day, but she had done it for some stupid human and had forsaken him. His efforts to destroy the blasted letter shined through every inch of hard muscle on his body and were visible in the quick rise and fall of his chest as he moved faster to deal with an item far too large for a fairy.

  When Elerin finished, his body heaved from the exertion of his actions. Michael was leaning against his own doorframe, his eyes not much different than Elerin’s. A fire flashed behind his eyes, and he knew that anyone that passed him could see it. They would give him a wide berth as well because between his sister’s stunt, his eyes, and the poisons arrows in his quiver, he was not one to be messed with—even on a good day.