by J M Sanford
Meg threw back the bedcovers from over her head and stared wildly at Amelia from amidst a thicket of frizzy hair. “What in the blue blazes is going on?” she demanded, half jumping and half tumbling out of her bunk, grabbing her glasses and wrenching up the trapdoor.
Amelia, afraid to stay in the tower that now seemed so precarious, but equally afraid to follow Meg and face whatever was down there, rushed back to the balcony. She could see Percival, now very clearly awake, yanking on the reins, shouting and cursing at the two giant snails who had disappeared entirely inside their shells. A line of purple-red fire blocked the road ahead, flames leaping eight feet high.
On the road behind them, Amelia could see a boy on a bicycle pedalling hard towards them. When he reached the stricken snailcastletank, he slowed to a halt and leaned panting on his handlebars. Meanwhile, the fire spread, circling round to enclose them.
The boy looked up and caught sight of Amelia at the balcony. “Amelia!” he called up, still out of breath, “I’ve come to rescue you!”
Meanwhile, Meg strode fearlessly towards the raging magenta fire, her straw-coloured curls flaring out around her face, her arms raised and jangling with charms and amulets as she held aloft a large saucepan. She shouted out in an unfamiliar language, and before her booming voice the flames shrank back.
“Stupid!” Amelia blurted out, although nobody heard her over the crackle of the flames, but she saw the familiar fireball draw itself together, shrinking away from Meg’s outstretched arms. The sprite, clearly frightened, gathered itself to flee, but seemed unable to do so. “Oh, I’m so sorry, that’s my… Here, I’ll just…” Amelia hurried to the trapdoor. She emerged from the snailcastletank just in time to see the frightened sprite make a break for freedom over Meg’s shoulder, and Meg’s arm shoot out with the saucepan so that she caught Stupid neatly with a surprising clang. Meg banged the lid down on the fireball. In the grass, the unnatural purple fire burned itself out quickly.
Meg turned to the others, the trapped fireball banging around inside the saucepan at phenomenal speed, rattling the lid furiously and letting off loud whistling phweeeeee noises. She looked less than impressed. “And does this creature belong to you, young man?” she demanded loudly, over the racket of the trapped fireball.
“Actually,” Amelia said, “he’s mine. I’m sorry, he’s such a nuisance – he must have followed me here. You haven’t hurt him, have you?”
Meg stared at Amelia, then at Harold. “Are we talking about the fire sprite or the boy, now?”
“The fire sprite – he’s Stupid. I don’t know about the boy.”
“He certainly looks it,” said Meg, scowling at Harold as she passed the saucepan to Amelia. “What are you doing here, boy?” She stepped towards him, with a smart snappish gesture of one hand – Amelia guessed it must be some charm or other. “Tell the truth now.”
Something certainly held the boy’s feet rooted where he stood, staring fearfully at the witch, his mouth hanging open. “I… I wanted to court the beautiful maid from the tower.” His expression turned to one of ridiculous surprise, betrayed by his own tongue. “When I found out she was gone, I took my brother’s bicycle and come to rescue her. When I saw the snails on the road ahead, I set the fireball to stop you.”
“Was that a truth spell?” Amelia guessed.
“Yes, dear, I’ll teach it to you later, when we have time.”
Amelia turned to Harold, smiling shyly. “You wanted to rescue me?” That was… nice. Unexpected, but very pleasant.
Harold nodded, his round face red and getting redder.
“What did you call me? A ‘beautiful maid’?”
“All right, all right,” Meg interrupted. “That’s enough time wasted on this nonsense. Keep your fire sprite if you must, Amelia, for he’s only a little one. But the boy is entirely too big to bring along. Fire sprites are more easily housebroken than boys, too.”
“But… but I might want to be rescued!” Amelia blurted out.
Meg snorted. “By a silly boy on a bicycle? I don’t think so, dear. What would you do: perch on his handlebars all the way back to Springhaven? You’re a bit big for that, my girl.”
Harold stood, holding onto his bicycle, clearly no longer trusting either his feet or his mouth to do what he expected of them, and looking in no state to rescue anybody.
“Go home!” Meg shouted at him, stomping around the snailcastletank to where Mimi and Tallulah cowered in their shells. She bent to look into the opening of one of the shells, clucking and murmuring to coax the poor frightened beast out. Tentatively, one eye stalk telescoped out and waved around, followed by a second. “Poor darlings…” She turned back to Harold, shooing him off as if he were a stray puppy. “Go and return that bicycle to its rightful owner, why don’t you? Amelia has important business to attend to.”
“Meg,” said Percival softly, calm again now, “might I remind you that we do still need one more player? I think the young man shows some considerable potential as a Paladin, which would leave me free to act as Commander for the White Side.”
Meg stood with her fists on her broad hips, and scowled. “Well there’s no room for him on board. There’s no spare bed, is there? And there’s little enough in the larder for three, let alone four, when one at least of them clearly has a hearty appetite…” But the bluster was cover, and Amelia knew it, even if Harold hadn’t quite caught on.
“Follow me!” she whispered to him, with an encouraging smile. “Perhaps you can rescue me later on!”
~
As dusk closed in, Meg, Amelia and Percival settled together on the driver’s seat, watching the glorious skies over the mountains change from blue to pink to purple. Meg had produced a box of chocolates from some hiding place or other, and was generously doling them out between Amelia and Percival, one on either side of her. Stupid had settled down sufficiently to roost in the lamp holder over the driver’s seat, where he was doing a fair impression of an ordinary yellow fire, although not without a greenish hue.
“Now, whose turn is it to tell a story? Amelia?”
Amelia blushed. She still hadn’t adjusted to the presence of a live and attentive audience. “Oh, I don’t…”
Meg elbowed her hard in the ribs. “Go on, girl!”
“I’d like to hear Amelia tell a story,” piped up a voice in the twilight behind them. The squeak of a badly-oiled bicycle had followed them for miles already, but Meg was still petulantly ignoring the boy.
Amelia cleared her throat. “Very well. Once upon a time, in a deep, dark forest, there lived a beautiful young maiden.”
“Is this the one about the bedridden old granny and the wolf?” Meg interrupted.
Amelia shook her head. Everyone knew that one, and if she must tell a story, she wanted to show off something a little less well-known.
“The maiden was a friend to all the animals and birds –”
“Aren’t they always?”
“– and so beautiful that all who saw her fell in love with her on sight. That’s why she lived alone in her cottage in the forest, for she was as shy as she was beautiful. There, she tended a herd of unicorns.” She ignored the rude noise Meg made at that. Leaning back and closing her eyes, she soon lost herself in the enchanted forest of the fairy tale.
One day, as the maiden led her unicorns to a pool to drink, a dreadful commotion shook her from her pleasant daydreams. The maiden screamed when a terrible dragon came crashing down through the branches of the trees above the path. It was as big as a house, with eyes like fire, and claws like sabres. But, no living thing is without its weakness. Dragons being known for their fondness for beautiful girls, this one found himself immediately under the spell of the unicorn girl. It prowled around her, snapping branches from the trees with the swing of its spiked and armoured tail, and it purred. The maiden backed away, her unicorns crowding around her. At the pool, behind the waterfall, there lay a tunnel: big enough for her and her unicorns to hide in, small enough that they would
be safe from the dragon. But still she dared not run, knowing she would be no match for the monster’s speed. Then, above the whinnying of her frightened unicorns she heard the sound of iron-shod hooves thundering towards them. A knight in gleaming armour and a beautifully plumed helmet came charging into the clearing on a pure white stallion. The dragon snarled as the knight drew his sword, and the maiden covered her eyes, for she was a gentle soul, afraid to see blood shed, whether of man or beast. She whimpered at the terrible sounds of battle, only daring to peep through her fingers when the forest fell silent. The dragon was gone, and the valiant knight lay wounded on the ground.
The maiden rushed to his aid, helping him to his feet in his cumbersome armour. “Here, let me tend to your wounds,” she said, but he pushed her hands away.
“I am uninjured,” he said, gruffly, although he limped. “Merely unseated and my horse run away. My lady, please tell me the way to the nearest place I may purchase another?”
The maiden shook her head, looking shyly away from him. “I know nothing of such worldly things. There is a village at the place where the stream leaves the woods – perhaps they can tell you the way. But Sir, I can see that your leg is hurt, and the long walk will only make it worse. If you won’t let me tend to your wounds, at least allow one of my unicorns to take you as far as the village.”
He accepted her kind offer, and she smiled brightly as she waved goodbye to the knight and her unicorn, but her heart was heavy. Her unicorn would find its way back to her through the woods easily, but it seemed her valiant protector had left her, never to return. That night, alone in her cottage in the woods, the lonely unicorn girl cried herself to sleep.
In the morning, she was disturbed from dreams of her gallant knight by the chirping and whistling of the dawn chorus. There was work to be done, the unicorns to be fed and watered, but the unicorn girl lay in bed, and sighed. Still, when she heard a whinny, and dainty hoof beats on her garden path, she threw open the shutters and looked out to greet the returning unicorn. And there, hung about the unicorn’s slender white neck, was the most beautiful bouquet of red roses! And amongst the crimson blossoms, a note from her brave knight… In it he thanked her for her kindness and praised her beauty. She read on: perhaps this love note would go on to explain why he had left her so hastily… But before she could reach the end, she heard a terrible roar from the skies, and looked up to see the dragon far above. It dropped, the shadow of its huge leathery wings engulfing the pretty little clearing, and the unicorn girl ran indoors with a cry of fear. She slammed the shutters on the windows and locked the door, just as the dragon thumped down in front of her cottage. Clinging tight to the unicorn who had brought her the knight’s flowers and love note, she peered fearfully through the keyhole, watching the dragon pace up and down in front of her door, purring in a loud and rumbling way as it trampled her flower garden. Eventually, seeing no sign of the unicorn girl, the dragon wandered away, glancing over its shoulder from time to time with a look of disappointment on its beastly face.
A month went by, and every morning the unicorn girl awoke to another bouquet of flowers from the knight, another note professing his love for her. But still he refused to return to the cottage in the woods. Meanwhile, the dragon persisted in his own crude, dragonish attempts to win the fair lady. One morning as the unicorn girl led her herd to the pool to drink, awaiting the return of the unicorn who would bring her another bouquet and another letter, the dragon found her out in the open. Terrified and unable to escape or hide, the unicorn girl screamed helplessly. The dragon glanced at the little island in the middle of the pool, where a few silver birches stood. It purred, and the unicorn girl saw the glow of fire building in the dragon’s throat as it stalked around the edge of the pool. The dragon opened its huge mouth full of terrible fangs, and spat a jet of flame at the trees, which instantly went up in a crackling blaze. The unicorn girl was terrified, but over the roar of the flames, she heard hoof beats once more – her gallant knight riding to the rescue on her unicorn! The dragon roared in anger, but the unicorn carried the knight fearlessly into battle, the knight’s sword gleaming in the light of the flames. The dragon thrashed in the clearing, striking blindly all about with teeth and claws and armoured tail, but the unicorn was swift and nimble. Still the gentle unicorn girl felt faint with fear for her brave unicorn and gallant knight, and hid her eyes behind her hands, until with one last dreadful crash, the forest fell silent.
Fearful of what she would find, the unicorn girl opened her eyes. The dragon lay dead, and when the knight had pulled his sword from its heart, he turned to look at the unicorn girl. Although she couldn’t see his face, she still sensed his sadness.
“Please, won’t you take off your helmet, sir?” she said. “I wish to see the face of my brave and noble rescuer, who has written me such beautiful letters.”
The knight shook his head. “No. You would be repulsed by my appearance.”
But the unicorn girl didn’t believe him. “My gallant knight, you are kind and brave, and I’m sure very handsome, too.”
“No,” said the knight again. “I am hideous; an aberration. A wicked witch disguised as a beautiful woman once tried to seduce me, but I saw through her glamour and refused. Furious at being scorned so, she cursed me so that no other woman would ever want me.”
“But you have saved my life from this terrible beast,” said the unicorn girl, and here she blushed to the roots of her hair, “and I wish to thank you with a kiss.”
“Even though I am hideous? Must you see for yourself?”
The unicorn girl, though she trembled a little at the thought of what terrible curse the witch might have cast on the knight, still nodded her head. “I promise you a kiss in gratitude for saving my life, no matter what you look like.”
“Very well, then.” With a sad sigh, the knight removed his helmet, and the unicorn girl gasped in shock. Underneath the helmet the knight had the head of a fox, with bright nervous eyes, fur as red as autumn, and twitching anxious ears. But the shock did nothing to dull her gratitude to him for saving her life and her herd, and as she looked upon her brave knight’s fox face, she remembered the beautiful and eloquent love letters he had sent her. She leaned up on tiptoes, and kissed him very gently. He pulled away in shock, but even as he did so, the unicorn girl felt something change in the air – the brittle snap of evil spiteful magic shattering before the light of kindness, gentleness and love. The illusion fell away, and her gallant knight was transformed, restored to his rightful human form.
The unicorn girl couldn’t help but smile to see that though his face was fresh and handsome, his eyes remained very bright and nervous, his hair still as red as autumn. “There,” she said, “I was sure that you would be just as handsome as you were brave.”
Meg rolled her eyes. “Must you always cast the witch in such an unflattering light?”
Amelia thought about it for a moment, and made a note to herself: no witches in the next story.
Once again, brave Sir Percival came to Amelia’s rescue. “The lady knows the stories she knows, Meg, and I for one enjoyed it. Perhaps you should take your turn to tell a story.”
Meg sniffed. “Yes. Yes, I think I will…” and without further ado, she began:
Once upon a time there lived a seal maiden, wild as the wind, playful as the surf on the beach. Every once in a while, when the sun shone bright on the waves, she and her sisters came ashore of a tiny island far north of anywhere, to shed their seal skins and dance on the sand in human guise. Little did they know that a fisherman watched them from his window, entranced by the fair and magical seal maidens. He longed to take one of them as his wife, but whenever he approached, they took up their pelts and fled back into the waves. Oh, any young maid should beware a lonely man! One day, while the seal maiden and her sisters danced on the wet sand, the fisherman crept down to where she had left her pelt warming on a sunny rock, and stole it, and hid it, for without her pelt, she couldn’t return to her home in the sea
. Soon enough, all the seal maidens swam away, but for one left stranded on the beach without her pelt. Now, all seal maidens are deathly afraid of mortal men, but when the fisherman approached this one she stood her ground, even though her heart raced with fear. The fisherman was in awe to see such a pretty maid, with her soft round face, big dark eyes and sleek dark hair, and perhaps he too was a little afraid. Or perhaps I give him too much credit. Most men are arrogant pigs when it comes to young girls –
“Meg, I do believe you’re straying off the point rather,” said Percival.
“Hmm. Well then, let’s say he meant no harm by what he did,” said Meg, and continued:
‘Here, Selkie,’ he said – Selkie being a name they have for seal maidens around those parts – ‘Here, Selkie, you’re cold; come warm yourself by my hearth and I’ll give you a blanket.’
Now, the poor seal maiden suspected at once that this man had taken her pelt, but if he had destroyed it then she would be a helpless prisoner trapped on dry land, with little choice but to accept his offer. Meekly she went along with him, up to the cottage on the hillside. There the fisherman gave her a blanket, a seat by the fire, and fish for her supper. He was a quiet man, and he didn’t treat her nowhere near so rough as she had feared he would. She resigned herself to her fate, learned to cook and clean and sew, and having no name that a mortal could speak, answered to the name of ‘Selkie’. Although she didn’t know it, the fisherman was more gentle and patient with her than many men are with their mortal brides, and over the years to come, she came to be fond enough of him, in a way. She even bore him two children, a son and a daughter, with sweet round faces and big dark eyes. Still, she could often be found standing motionless on the beach, or at the kitchen window, gazing sadly out to sea, where her sisters still played in the waves.
