Twisted Fayrie Tales

by Sally Odgers

  Soon I found time for other things. I read the King's books and played the jester's harp. As I began to get bored of that life, I considered waking the princess and leaving, but by then I had gone too far. Instead, I picked up a bow and took target practice, shooting at hay bales in the yard by the gate.

  Then I heard the whisper in my ear, that sweet, soft voice I would come to treasure and loathe. “You must practice, for they will come. When they do, hesitate not. Now turn your bow."

  I aimed for the chest of a guard leaning against the stone wall of the gatehouse. I hit his shin, the arrow bouncing off his greaves. Furious with such a poor shot, I followed the first arrow with more until I planted one in his unprotected throat.

  Practicing every day improved both my accuracy and my speed. Only sometimes did I practice on the guards, other times on hay bales or passing birds. Fresh roasted quail and goose added a savory spice to my diet. Although I did not hear the voice for weeks after, it felt as though she approved, that I did well.

  In the night when I read or simply lay awake in the Queen's bed, anticipation replaced boredom. I wondered who this voice might be and what she wanted of me. Surely it was not the beauty sleeping in the tower room. If not her, then who?

  Her warning still echoed in my ear. Someone would come to disturb my sojourn. I took to carrying my bow and quiver wherever I wandered.

  One morning I woke to a noise other than the pigeons in the eaves and songbirds in the garden—even they had grown wary of my bow. That morning I heard other sounds—a human voice, and the solid whack of an axe on thorny bushes. I knew the sound because I had made the same myself some weeks before.

  I leapt from the bed, grabbed my bow and ran for the battlements. They had come, just like she said.

  When I followed the sound to its source I found a lone young man, not unlike myself. A prince to be sure, and one wise enough to learn from other's errors. I nocked an arrow and waited.

  It seemed then as if I watched another's hands on the bow, another draw back the string. Surely I would not give the command to loose the arrow. I would not shoot another such as myself. I would not shoot an arrow at my own heart.

  He emerged from the brambles, then turned and looked back as if he hardly believed he had come such a distance through such trials. It seemed a shame. He let go a yell of victory, and my fingers loosed my arrow. Its entry cut short his yell. He stared at the shaft with no comprehension. He probably wonders still, though he is dead.

  Then did I hear the voice, “Well done. You are ready. Be watchful. They sent this one and will come soon. Ware their hands."

  "Who?” I shouted. No one answered save the wind and the birds. “Who will come?” I screamed.

  Returning to my routine of reading, practice and the pleasures of the flesh, I kept a careful watch. Always I kept my ears open to sounds that should not enter a sleeping castle. Even so, I almost missed it. What then would have been my fate?

  As twilight approached, I walked back to my room, bow over my shoulder and book in hand. I hummed a song that came to mind. As I rounded a corner and placed my foot on the stair I stopped. The tune was neither random nor one I knew. How could I hum a melody I did not know? Magic? It seemed as though it came to my mind carried on the breeze.

  I rushed to a window over the courtyard, making sure to run quiet and stay in shadow. As I approached, I heard voices, female voices. They had come.

  Three women stood below me, looking around at the walls and windows of the castle. “This can't be,” one said. “Horrid beyond words,” said the second. The third would have spoken, but my arrow pierced her left breast and she emitted a small sigh.

  Her sister turned to catch her as she fell. “No!” she screamed. That moment's distraction proved her downfall. I let loose a second arrow. Its tip penetrated her throat, in the front and out the back. She fell on her sister.

  The third turned toward me, anger and defiance in her eyes. She raised her hand to strike. Light gathered at her finger tips. She prepared to throw, and I shot again. This arrow I sent toward her hand. It impaled her wrist. She screamed in pain and fury. Before she could recover I put an arrow in her stomach. She bent over and collapsed to her knees.

  I toyed with the idea of going down and speaking with her before she died, but I knew not what magic she might still have. When she looked up at me again, I put an arrow in her eye.

  "Marvelous,” the voice said.

  I whirled, pulling another arrow from my quiver. A woman tall and comely, with fierce black hair and fiercer eyes stood before me. The like of her I had never seen, nor have I since. Ah, Itanna, how I long to touch you once again, to run my hand through that hair and feel your flesh next to mine. How I wish I had never seen your face, never heeded your voice.

  The arrow and bow slipped from my fingers, for hers was the voice in my ear, the pebble in the stream.

  "A revenge so sweet I could never have dreamed. For this you shall be rewarded. Come."

  She led me then to my own chamber, the Queen's chamber. Nigh unto the bed she stopped and turned to me, as if daring me to approach. By then I could not have stayed away had I wanted to. I went to her, embraced her. With my mouth on hers I caressed her back through the silk of her gown. I wished to be touching her skin rather than fabric, and then I was.

  Such a night as that no mortal man has ever known, at least not with a mortal woman. When dawn broached the East we had slept not at all, but neither was I weary. We broke our fast and returned to my chamber. I think it amused her to use the Queen's bed. Some time in the night she told me her name. Some time in the week that followed she told me of the spell she had cast and how those three had subverted it to sleep rather than death, but all this you know.

  A full seven days she tarried, and we paused only to eat and perform other needful tasks. Each hour in that bed grew with terrible passion and ecstacy, until on the seventh day came a release so powerful that all the small releases prior seemed but pale shadows. As I lay drifting off to sleep, I opened my eyes to find her standing over me, in her gown once more.

  "If you wish to stay, I shall return."

  "I wish it."

  She smiled and strolled to the door. “And what of the princess in her tower room?"

  "I shall not disturb her, for this pleases me."

  "It pleases you too much, perhaps.” The door clicked shut behind her, and I slept for days.

  Upon waking, I broke my long fast and climbed to the east tower to look out on the world. There, beyond the thorny hedges farmers tilled the fields, merchants braved the roads and princes sought the hands of princesses. My small weak conscience accused me, the voice of my parents and teachers accused me. For at the behest of she who had enchanted this castle I had slain the three who had saved the sleeping princess.

  Beyond question, I was her creature. I thought back to the feel of the arrows leaving my fingers and the sounds of the impact. It had brought Itanna to me, and all I wished at that moment was for her return. Was this magic? There is no one now to say.

  So much did I desire Itanna that I went not to the King's chambers or to any other woman in the castle for a full cycle of the moon. I waited.

  When at last the new moon came again, my frustration grew to the point of anger. When would Itanna come? How long must I wait? My brooding led me through the cold, dark passages of the castle until I came again to the great hall, stalking like a ghost among the sleeping. So intent was I on my self pity that my foot fell on one of the jester's leather balls. I cried out as I fell. I came again to my senses with an arrow sighted at the queen's breast. I blinked and lowered my bow. Six lay dead there, including the jester and the king.

  Surely if Itanna had been so intent on destroying the princess, she hated the king and queen as well. She watched enough to know of my practice, to advise me. Would she see this as well? Would she then come?

  One thing more occurred to me. I had yet to avail myself of the queen. Surely such a fate for her might be more
desired by Itanna than even her death.

  I carried the queen to the cot of her chambermaid and there relieved the tension and passion that had overcome me. Or had it been magic that overcame me? Had it been Itanna's spells that led me just where she wished me to be? How else could I account for all I had done? It must have been magic.

  Thus did my routine return to what it had been before the three, before Itanna. Reading, practice—primarily on birds now—and the pleasures of the flesh. I did partake somewhat more of the king's well-stocked wine cellar.

  The queen kept me satisfied for several days. Then one of her chamber maids caught my attention. After that I worked outward until I came again to the king's chamber and his mistress. Thus did I discover the thing that would change all, the thing unlooked for by me, or Itanna. Before Itanna this mistress had been among my favorites. When I approached and reached out to touch her, my hand stopped inches from her belly. Her swollen belly. Could this be?

  I caressed her then, running my hand along the gentle upward curve. She had not been thus before. Such a thing I would have noticed. Besides, simple waiting would confirm the tale.

  I turned and walked out the door. Thus for the first time since arriving at the castle I refrained from something I wished to do. Could such a pebble divert the course of fate?

  I chose a small stair I had yet to explore. It only led to a back hall on the main floor, but at the time it seemed a new thing altogether.

  Still, I refrained from checking on her condition for another moon and more. On occasion I asked myself why I waited, but I found no answer.

  One day as I sat in the King's study reading an ancient philosophy text for no other reason than it was there, Itanna said, “You have killed the king."

  I looked up and smiled, for she stood in the door. “I did."

  She smiled in return. “I begin to like you, mortal."

  She started across the room toward me. I hesitate to call such a movement walking. It seemed more akin to dance, though without meter. As she came her gown faded, first revealing intriguing shadows, then pale flesh, darker in some places. When she reached me, the dress had vanished once more, leaving me to fumble gracelessly with my own clothes.

  Her visit ended long before I wished it to, but I could have lived in those eyes and that body for years and not tired. When I showed her the queen, she laughed. “Oh, well done. The whore's daughter was always so cold and proper. She would die if she knew her fate.” At the end she again asked about the princess asleep in her tower. Again I said I had no plans for her. “One day she must die,” Itanna said and departed.

  Some days later I confirmed my suspicions. The king's mistress was with child. From the rate of her advancement, the time I had been in the castle and the years they had all slept, I concluded the child was mine.

  I spent many a day in thought, wondering what I would do with a baby. Without a conscious choice, I then spent many more days trying to figure out those things nursemaids and mothers knew. Finally I spent more days still preparing. When I found the sleeping babe in a servant's room I had thought empty, I searched the castle pinching nipples until I found one that gave milk. That mother I moved to the King's chambers. And still I pined for Itanna, wishing she would return, wishing I could spend all my days in her arms. A babe seemed unimportant against such pleasure, just a task to fill the days between her visits. A task to fill the days.

  Then came the week that I fretted about the child being born. By my count it was past due. The mistress seemed large enough for certain. How were these things done? I looked for books in the library and found none. I looked elsewhere, among the servants, for a midwife. I found a woman's room with some drawings. They were crude but sufficient.

  The next day I cut my son from his mother's belly. He came out screaming as his mother died. He screamed while I cleaned him, screamed while I clothed him, outraged at being taken from such a warm and cozy place. He only calmed when I put him at his nursemaid's breast.

  The years that followed were like an acrobat walking a rope, going from one near disaster to another. Simple things came hard, like burping him after he suckled. It is humbling to change diapers, wipe up spit and wake every few hours to feed or comfort a child. He filled the days and nights so full I scarcely missed Itanna.

  He nearly died when I hid him on her next visit. I thought I had prepared. I had penned him in, put his nursemaid within reach, and I checked when I could. I had not counted on the volume of feces and urine. His sodden diaper had come loose. As he squirmed, he spread the mess until it reached his hands, his nursemaids breasts and more. A voice inside me screamed at my shameful abandonment. Outside I remained calm. I cleaned and bathed and scrubbed, feeling like he would never be clean.

  He had a fever for days. Afterwards, as he slept in my arms, I relived the mountainous climax and wondered. What would I have done had he died? Who would wake the princess then?

  I ceased rocking him and gaped at my own thought. This babe? Wake the princess? Where had such a thought come from? At first it seemed absurd, then not so much. He might. He might even do so with Itanna's blessing given only a small deception.

  On her fourth visit Itanna and I rolled on the Queen's bed, while the Queen lay beside her chambermaid. My son I'd locked in the King's chambers. As I rode Itanna toward the first and lowest of our many plateaus, she stopped and cocked her head. “What is that noise?"

  I listened a moment, not hearing, for I had learned to tune it out. Then I did. My son cried, or wailed more like. “It's nothing,” I said, “Ignore it."

  I bent down to take her nipple in my mouth, increasing my rhythm to distract her. Cedric screamed louder still, and Itanna slipped out from under me. “What is that?"

  I slammed my fist into the pillow as she headed toward the door. “It is my son.” I rose and pulled on my pants as Itanna stopped to stare. Thus did I stride past her and out the door, intent on beating the boy to quiet him.

  I burst into the King's chamber and said, “I told you to be quiet.” Then his mouth closed and his eyes grew wide, but he looked not at me. I glanced back and found Itanna in the door. The boy buried his face in my pant leg and would not look up. “Itanna, meet Cedric. Cedric, this is Itanna. Say hello to the lady.” He shook his head against my leg.

  She came and walked around us. Cedric remained stuck to my side, frozen in place and pretending she did not exist. “Look at me, boy,” she said. He did not. “Not the brightest child, is he? I think perhaps he should sleep for a bit."

  I turned to put myself between she and Cedric. “Not like these others."

  Itanna raised an eyebrow. “Very well. Not like these others. Just for a time. We may even wake him in one of our pauses, but I don't wish to be interrupted at my sport."

  I hadn't thought of that. I picked Cedric up and carried him to the bed. He hid his face in my shoulder. When I laid him down, he tried not to let me go. Then he could no longer keep his eyes open. Part of me did not wish to leave him then, but I did. On the way Itanna's fickle gown dissolved once more, dissolving with it any thoughts of Cedric.

  Years passed. What can I say? Itanna came and went as she pleased, pleasing me far more than I can say. In those times I only noticed Cedric after Itanna departed. Then I would sit and hold him or watch him until I felt part of that life again. Other things happened such as parents far and wide have known. I spent more time finding clothes, cleaning, mending and preparing food than reading or practicing. We did also play.

  All this, however, was as nothing compared to Cedric himself. At age three, when I attempted to cut his meat for him, he said, “I do it.” He tried again and yet again, but refused all help until he screamed in frustration.

  This began to be a normal occurrence. I taught him to dress and not soil his pants. I taught him to read and cipher and think. He taught me of independence, choice and willfulness—things I thought I knew. Perhaps not such a small pebble after all.

  As he gained mobility and started roa
ming the castle, I had to set certain areas as off limits, for I did not wish him to see the sleepers. In the end I moved a few of the women, including the queen, to the East tower. Then I locked the door. Afterward I began practicing my archery while he napped.

  By then I had killed the King and many of the guards. What would happen if the others ever woke? What would happen if Cedric remembered them? As if driven by an irresistible compulsion, I killed all but my favorite women. Those bodies and all the older ones—which had not decayed—I burned in the great hearths of the kitchen.

  At age six he told me he didn't want to sleep anymore when Itanna came. “Then you will have to be quiet and find food yourself when she is here."

  "I'm a big boy. I can do that."

  "You can. Let us do one more thing. Let us play a game. When you see her, pretend to be a baby. Talk as a baby, hide from her, even suck your thumb."

  "A game? A baby game?” He laughed.

  During this time I found a book on chivalry in the library. I read it, and thought of Cedric. Then I read it again. I thought of what my parents and tutors had taught me. I needed to teach Cedric to be just, upright and honest. It seemed an impossible task. As for me, I still visited the East tower and waited for Itanna's visits. I could not help myself.

  At age seven he asked what it was Itanna and I did all those days alone in the Queen's room, which by then I called my own. For some days I put him off as I thought how to answer. In the end I told him the truth. Thus started long years of stories, magic, right, wrong and, above all, truth.

  By age thirteen I had told him all—all I had done, and all Itanna had done. I told him I had become her man. In nearly all things I did as she desired. At the last I showed him the tower room and the sleeping princess. He stood transfixed, for he had seen only Itanna and paintings of other women.

  "One day you may wake her, if you prove strong and wise enough. You must earn the right to waken her. It will not be given you."

  A few months later I considered how my boy would fare in the world having known no one but me. It seemed I should teach him what I could, so I talked of courtship and such things. In the end I led him to the door of the east tower. I wanted him to experience the pleasures of the flesh. He was old enough to know. As I slid the key into the lock he grabbed my wrist and asked, “Who is in there?"