Of Giants and Ice (Ever Afters, The)

by Bach, Shelby

  “Better apologize,” Miriam whispered.

  “Sorry,” said Philip quickly.

  “Yes, well, me too.” Sarah Thumb sounded sheepish. “I get a little carried away sometimes.”

  She held out her hand and shook each of our index fingers briskly. Then she started leafing through pieces of paper on the desk. They were so big that she could’ve used them as picnic blankets. “The Director normally handles these orientations. She’s gone out to meet with the MerKing, but she wrote down a list of things we should talk about. Here we go.”

  She wrestled a pink memo free and stood on top of it. The elegant cursive was as tall as her hand was long. “Fairy Tales do not equal make-believe,” Sarah Thumb read aloud. “Well, duh. If you still think that magic isn’t real after a dragon almost eats you, you have serious problems.”

  “I didn’t see any dragons. And everybody at home says she’s crazy.” Philip jerked a thumb toward his sister. “It was even on the news.”

  “Really?” Suddenly, I was even more glad that I hadn’t mentioned dragons to anyone the night before.

  “Yep. They even called it something when they interviewed her about the dragon and the kids who killed it. What was it again?” he asked his sister.

  Miriam glared daggers at him. “Shut up.”

  A grin stretched across my face and wouldn’t go away, no matter how hard I tried. I covered my mouth so that Miriam wouldn’t think I was laughing at her.

  “Oh, yeah.” Philip folded his arms smugly. “Post-Traumatic Stress. I shouldn’t believe anything she says.”

  Sarah Thumb put a hand on her hip. “Yeah? So, it’s pretty normal for you to meet women only four inches tall?”

  Philip didn’t reply, and it got harder not to giggle.

  It wasn’t them. It was just . . . Something I did made the news. Well, technically, George had done it, but I helped. After all those tabloid articles, this was the first time the press covered something I had done that made a difference. I had saved Miriam’s life.

  And honestly, it was nice to be the one in the family making headlines for a change.

  “I have a question.” Miriam raised her hand.

  Sarah Thumb obviously enjoyed this sign of respect. She nodded once, very pleased.

  “Why do they think I’m crazy?” Miriam said. “I mean, the dragon’s body was right there. They called it a buffalo. I guess it was on fire, but you could still see the scales.”

  Sarah Thumb nodded again sagely. “A century and a half ago, most people would believe you, but nowadays, logic has a pretty strong hold. Logic says there are no dragons, and logic says that the person who believes in dragons must be bonkers.”

  That kind of made sense.

  “But even my friends didn’t believe me,” Miriam said. “The same friends who were there when the dragon showed up.”

  “The human mind is very strange,” Sarah Thumb said. “When it comes into contact with something it doesn’t understand, self-defense mechanisms are often unleashed. I’m sure you’ve noticed. Didn’t you wonder if maybe you were crazy? Or if you were dreaming?”

  Yesterday still felt like a dream.

  I nodded. So did Miriam. Philip looked bored.

  “Now we can practically conduct whole battles under most people’s noses, and they’ll just take themselves off to see a shrink,” Sarah Thumb said. “Right. ‘Item number 2: Children here are Characters-in-training.’ Okay, being Characters means that you’re part of both worlds—this one and the one you woke up in this morning.” She started to sound pretty dreamy. “Magic loves people like you. It clusters around you, and someday it’ll snag you and pull you into its current.”

  Philip looked a little alarmed. “Is it dangerous? Is it like an infection?”

  “No, it’s like a Tale,” Sarah Thumb said, irritated. “Like a fairy tale. Miriam, you’ve already been in one, but since it was George’s, not yours, there’s a pretty good chance that you’re going to have your own. In fact, you might even have it soon. You and Rory. Tales tend to be catching—don’t look at me like that, Philip. Honestly, it’s not a disease—when a Tale starts, it’s like a fire, throwing out sparks. Whoever’s close to the Character having the Tale has the best chance of catching flame. Rory, Miriam, Lena, and Chase were with George while all the good stuff was happening. The probability that their Tale will start soon is pretty high. I’m sure the Director wanted me to mention that.”

  A Character, I thought to myself. It actually sounded impressive.

  “So, uh—now that his Tale is over, what happens to George?” Miriam asked. “Does he graduate or something?”

  I wondered what kind of Tale I would get. Hopefully something cool, where I got to fight something. Didn’t Red Riding Hood beat the Big Bad Wolf?

  “No. That was just his first Tale. It’s not uncommon for a Character to have two of them,” Sarah replied. “Or even three. In fact, he should get another one. That was the shortest version of ‘George and the Dragon’ we’ve ever had. It didn’t even start until his sister ran to get him, and then it was over ten minutes later. George will probably stick around until he’s eighteen. Ninety-seven percent of Characters will get their Tale or Tales between the ages of ten and eighteen.”

  With my luck, I would have to wait all seven years.

  “And then what? What happens after we’re eighteen?” Miriam sounded a little distressed, but I guess she was a few years closer to the cutoff age than Philip and me.

  “Well, a few stay on to help train the next generation—like myself,” Sarah Thumb said proudly. “But most Characters go back to the magic-less world. They’re just more successful than most. Back in the day, a lot of happily ever afters included getting a kingdom, but those are in short supply now. So, we get a lot of mayors, CEOs, and PTA chairwomen at our EAS reunions.” That didn’t sound too appealing, and it must have shown on our faces. Then Sarah added, “A few presidents, too. Both the Roosevelts were ours.”

  That made Philip look slightly more cheerful. I wondered what you had to do to get an EAS job.

  Sarah Thumb stepped back, reading the list under her feet. “‘Item Number 4: Like begets like.’ I never figured out why she insisted on telling kids that. It’s not like anybody new to EAS knows what that means.”

  I could tell Miriam understood just about as much as I did, which was not much. “So, should we start watching out for dragons in our backyards?” I asked.

  “Of course not,” said Sarah Thumb, startled. “Fairy tales don’t repeat themselves that often. That particular Tale won’t occur again for months, or years. Maybe even decades. More common Tales with lots of variants—like ‘Cinderella’—come up at least once a year.”

  “Then what will happen to us?” Miriam asked.

  “We don’t know. We can’t. Don’t you see?” Sarah Thumb had that far-off look again, her eyes glittering in her tiny face. “Magic is so unpredictable. You won’t know what your Tale is until it starts, and maybe not even then. That’s the beauty of it.”

  She sounded a little loopy, but I knew what she meant. Yeah, the dragon yesterday was scary. But after the shock and the adrenaline wore off, I felt—I don’t know. Like I could do great things.

  Getting a Tale of my own, where I was the main Character. . . . I gripped the sheath of my sword eagerly and glanced at Miriam, who started to grin.

  Philip looked like he might puke. “What if I don’t want to be a Character?”

  “Then you’re totally lame,” Miriam snapped.

  Sarah Thumb looked just as annoyed. “You might not have a choice. It tends to run in families. But there is one way to tell for sure.”

  The little woman walked over the desk to a small wooden chest. She took the metal latch in both hands and flipped it up, saying, “Ms. White, our scout, visits classrooms all across the country, handing out our registration forms. They’re totally unnecessary, of course, but—” She grunted a little, struggling to lift the lid.

  Miriam reac
hed over the desk and flipped it open. Sarah Thumb glared at her.

  “I could’ve gotten it,” she said, a little out of breath. “I’m small, not helpless.”

  The corners of Miriam’s mouth twitched suspiciously, but she didn’t say a word. Neither did I. I liked Sarah Thumb and her fierce independence.

  “Anyway, this is the real test.” Sarah Thumb climbed up to sit on the edge of the box. “It’s a shard from the mirror in ‘Snow White’—you know, the mirror on the wall.” This shard was shaped like a pear, different from the one Ms. White brought to my class yesterday. “Characters always see something. Rory had a go yesterday. That’s how we knew to recruit her.”

  Sarah Thumb didn’t pause to ask me what I saw. She just looked at us eagerly. “Well? Philip, you first. The suspense is killing me.”

  hilip peered nervously into the shard. “Nothing.” Then he added glumly, “No, there’s a guy. Wearing red.”

  “Bummer,” said Sarah Thumb.

  “He’s playing an instrument,” Philip went on. “Something like a flute, but made out of wood.”

  “Interesting.” The little woman’s eyes glittered again. “Characters see different things. A lot of people see the Tree of Hope outside, or the door that will bring them here, but some see a glimmer of their future Tale.”

  I remembered the chilly expression on the girl wearing the icicle crown with a stab of worry.

  “Miriam?” said Sarah Thumb cheerfully.

  Miriam looked and quickly glanced away, her cheeks red. “George. I see George.”

  Sarah Thumb grinned wickedly. “Romance also tends to be part of most happily-ever-afters. Riches, too.”

  “Miriam and George sitting in a tree,” sang Philip, “K-I-S-S-I—Ow!”

  Blushing even harder, Miriam had elbowed her brother in the ribs and hissed that he better shut up if he didn’t want their mother to find out who broke her favorite vase. (Times like this make me wish I had a sibling too.)

  “Looks like you’re stuck with us, Philip. Okay, time for the tour.” Sarah put two fingers in her mouth and whistled.

  A bird chirped from a fountain in the corner. He flitted over, landed on the desk next to Sarah Thumb, and ruffled his feathers, looking guilty and defiant. I wondered if he would start talking too, but apparently not.

  “Stop that, Mr. Swallow. No one’s going to tell the Director that you’re using her fountains as a birdbath again. Right, children?” Sarah added, eyeing Miriam, Philip, and me.

  We all quickly shook our heads.

  Mr. Swallow was a pretty bird with blue wings and a long tail that cleft into two sharp points. He didn’t need to talk to show us how vain he was. He puffed up his scarlet chest and preened his wings for us as Sarah Thumb struggled to fold her list.

  Then the tiny woman settled into the saddle on Mr. Swallow’s back, and we followed the bird out the door.

  As we hurried to keep up (I never noticed swallows were so fast), Sarah Thumb kept telling us how lucky we were to have a place like EAS. “I wish I had known about this place when I was a kid. I could’ve used the preparation. I didn’t even know anything about ‘Thumbelina’ when I started.”

  “How could you not know?” Miriam said. “There are so many books, and movies—”

  “Well, my childhood was a little sheltered,” she said.

  We returned to the courtyard so that Sarah Thumb could point out the doors to each place. She said that for training, we would need to find them on our own later.

  The reference room was through double doors painted the color of grass. Oak bookshelves lined the walls, and students sat at long tables. Some kids were just doing homework, but a lot of them read from beautiful, leather-bound books with gilded pages. These definitely weren’t for school.

  “Aren’t they a little old for that?” Philip pointed to two teenage boys bent over The Complete Works of the Brothers Grimm.

  The swallow landed on the closest table, and Sarah Thumb gave Philip a stern look. “Not when you’re a Character. Knowing what Tale you’re in and how it’s supposed to go can make the difference between a happy ending and getting killed.”

  “Killed?” Philip repeated, in a higher voice than usual. Apparently, he hadn’t thought the Yellowstone dragon was that dangerous.

  “Relax.” Miriam squeezed her brother’s shoulder. “I’m sure that when the red dude finds you with his deadly recorder, you’ll be ready for him.”

  “Flute,” Philip corrected automatically, but he did look less freaked out.

  “But on the other hand, it’s very dangerous to meddle with the Tales,” Sarah Thumb added. “You usually kick it off yourself, but it has to be an accident. Don’t try to jumpstart a Tale on your own. A few years ago, a Cinderella-wannabe bought some glass shoes and tried to dance in them at her prom. Her feet took months to heal.”

  Before we could get properly grossed out at that little story, Sarah Thumb also pointed out the volumes for researching the magical realm and the creatures that lived in it—and then the books that helped Characters interpret their dreams. “Sometimes they show our future. You know, hints like what you saw in the mirror shards,” she told us.

  Last night’s dream popped back in my head. I had no idea what fairy tale had a door in it.

  Miriam grimaced. “Don’t tell me that. I had one of those go-to-school-naked dreams last night.”

  “Well, it probably won’t come true unless you dream it three times, but—” Sarah Thumb shook the Director’s list out and read, “‘Item Number 5: It’s best to be prepared.’”

  Next, we visited the EAS workshop—or at least we tried. Bitter-smelling smoke billowed out as soon as Miriam opened the steel door. The hot air blew the swallow off course, and he and his passenger tumbled head over tail feathers. The rest of us coughed, choking on the smoke’s chemicals.

  “The Director’s going to have to show you that one herself when she gets back.” Sarah Thumb stroked Mr. Swallow’s head soothingly as he chattered angrily at the workshop door. “Same thing goes for the dungeon—I mean, the menagerie. Last time I was there, one of the trolls tried to eat Mr. Swallow for breakfast.”

  Then she pointed out the yellow and blue door that led to the dormitory for the Characters who needed to stay overnight and then the orange-gold door that led to the instructors’ quarters. “Which you will stay away from, if you want to keep all of your fingers and toes. Jack’s pet wyrm doesn’t like strangers,” she added.

  On the way to our last stop, Sarah Thumb showed us a heavy wooden door studded with iron. “The training courts. Hansel’s the instructor.”

  “I get to learn how to use a sword?” Philip said. It was obviously a close second to the wand he wanted earlier.

  “Or a spear. Or a bow.” Sarah Thumb looked down at her list. “‘Item Number 11: We require all our Characters to study weaponry for at least one year, and we encourage further study.’”

  Winging her way around the courtyard, Sarah Thumb added that for most Tales, being kind to strangers and being tricky with bad guys was all that you needed for a happy ending, that violence should be the last resort, etc.

  Finally Sarah and Mr. Swallow stopped at a violet door gilded with words I couldn’t read. “Here we are! The library!”

  Bookcases towered over us, almost as tall as the Tree of Hope outside. The bronze shelves were spaced at least three feet apart. Bronze ladders ran from the floor to the ceiling, welded to the bookcases. The rungs were placed very close together, like the ladders you see on playgrounds for really little kids.

  Unlike the reference room, the library didn’t have any desks, or even any chairs. Everything smelled like dust and paper.

  But something about it gave me déjà vu. Each shelf was full of heavy-looking volumes in every color. Blue, red, gray, brown, violet, pink, and green leather spines glittered with gold embossing. Each book was at least two and a half feet tall, and I realized with a start why they seemed so familiar—they looked exactly like the one
I had seen in the mirror.

  Mr. Swallow perched on a bronze shelf just above our heads.

  “‘Item Number 14: Characters-in-training are not permitted into the library, but it is of the utmost importance that new Ever After School students see it once and understand its significance,’” Sarah Thumb read. “So, kiddies, this is where we store the collections. Every fairy tale since the founding—failed or finished—is stored here, all eleven centuries.”

  “Eleven centuries?” Miriam stared up at the bookcases, awed.

  Honestly, my grasp of history has never been the best. I couldn’t remember anything that happened in the ninth century. King Arthur found Excalibur, maybe?

  “Well, we really only have the books since the North American Chapter was founded. The fairies have the earlier ones,” said Sarah Thumb sadly. “Our librarian keeps bugging the Fey monarchs to let him complete the library. Speaking of our librarian, he’s supposed to be here. I hope he didn’t fall asleep in the stacks again. Hold on.” She let out another sharp whistle.

  “Coming!” said a voice high above us. Near the ceiling, a man in a purple tweed suit hurried nimbly down one of the bronze ladders, carrying over his shoulder a book as big as he was. At first I thought the book was bigger than the others, but when he reached the floor, I realized that the man was smaller. He barely came up to my shoulder.

  “This is my dear friend and our librarian, Rumpelstiltskin,” said Sarah Thumb.

  I looked carefully at his wrinkled face—the huge, hooked nose and the round spectacles resting on top of them. “I know you!”

  The man was so surprised that he nearly dropped the dark green book he was carrying. “Indeed?”

  “I saw you in the shard yesterday!” I said. “Are you part of my Tale, then? What happens in ‘Rumpelstiltskin’?”

  “A miller tells a king that his daughter can spin straw into gold,” Sarah Thumb explained, amused. “The king orders her to do it. A dwarf shows up and spins the straw into gold for the miller’s daughter, but only because she promises him her firstborn child. She saves the baby by guessing the dwarf’s name—Rumpelstiltskin.”