by Andi Adams
Sib's arm hair prickled and he became a bit dizzy, the light swirling about him in silvery wisps. This woman was a variable they had not considered. She created an obstacle, a potential threat to their plan. However, by the sound of the king's conversation, she was old, so possibly not as much of a risk.
But who is she and why does the king allow her presence but not tend to her care? Though the question resonated in his head, an answer did not seem to resound as easily. His worry became palpable, and sweat tickled his palms.
Good Lord! How are we to proceed? If we change the plan now, how are we to get word to Snow? No, we can't change the plan, it's too late. We'll just have to follow course and hope that luck is on our side.
Sib refocused on his job in the kitchen. He counted the number of men strewn about the cottage and suddenly worried he wouldn't have enough glassware for them all; it was essential they all were served and ate their meal at the same time.
He ransacked the cabinets for anything he could use to serve soup. He already had five bowls and four mugs, and as he bustled around the kitchen he was able to muster two small flowerpots and a candleholder. It wasn't perfect, but it would suffice. Sib set all of the "dishes" out on the counter and ladled a serving of the concoction into each dish, making sure there was enough for everyone. When the soup was poured and set, he called for his brothers to help him pass around the stock.
"What is this muck?" one of the guards said. "Looks like swamp water."
"Smells like it too," called another.
A third guard added, "I'm not eating this. Looks like the slop we feed the swine."
An eruption of laughter echoed through the small space. Sib grew nervous at the criticism. Though their stomachs were probably eager to eat anything put in front of them, if they convinced themselves of its repulsiveness, they might refrain.
"It's an herbal root stew," Sib said. "It should warm you, fill you up, and is good for digestion. You know, there's no telling when Sn…the girl may return, and it could be days before your next warm meal. So, you better eat up now, Messieurs, before it gets cold."
And as if possessed by some supernatural force, or perhaps by reason itself, all of the guards sipped the soup as if it would cure them of the chill that manifested in their bones.
Sib's heart hammered at the sound of the guards slurping the frothy concoction. He wasn't exactly sure how the situation would unravel. Was Tyne's botany concoction sound enough to substantiate hope? Was he putting too much faith in imprecise calculations?
He nodded to Eron, a large overdramatic movement, and Eron nodded back with understanding. He took his cue and stepped outside, leaving Sib to hope to God their plan would go as expected.
The rain beat down upon her face, but Genevieve barely felt it under the weight of her exhaustion. She slept on the sodden moss in the clearing, not even minding the dirt and bugs that shared the space with her. Her face sunk into the soft ground as the rain soaked the area and made mud of the Earth beneath her. It was like a warm cushion molding to her body, and she nuzzled into it like a hug.
"Waaaahhhooooooo! Aie! Aie! Aie!"
A wild call rang through the forest, loud enough to shake the leaves, and Genevieve recognized its source immediately. Her eyes jolted open, and she popped up to a seated position, almost subconsciously. She disregarded her sore muscles and her lack of energy; later, she'd have time to nurse herself back to good health. She grabbed the sword that still rested next to her, the metallic blade gleaming with a prism of color under the raindrops. She took off in a sprint and moved with impressive speed. All she could hear was the whooshing sound of the brush rustle as she whipped through it in the direction of the cottage.
When she reached her destination, she waited a moment before charging inside. She strained her ears to listen for any sign of activity. Suddenly, she heard a high-pitched, effeminate scream and chaotic scuffling and knew she couldn't wait any longer. With a forceful shove, she pushed against the wooden door and practically tumbled inside. She steadied her feet, righted the sword in the air, and poised herself to fight.
But the sight stopped her cold. Instead of leaping to action, she merely watched, frozen in place. Her arm, prepared with the sword in hand, fell to her side, and she fought to understand what exactly she was watching. The king's guardsmen backed themselves into a corner and cowered before her brothers. Sib, Tyne, Eron, and Flic fought to maintain their most ferocious stances as they wielded pots, ladles, rolling pins, and fire-pokers high above their heads.
In the few hours prior to the guards' invitation inside, the brothers had fashioned makeshift soldiers upon standing coat-racks — all part of the plan. Coats draped upon dwarf-sized stands, their authentic looks completed with low-hanging hats. The brothers positioned the stands meticulously to create the illusion of a larger army.
The guards, along with the king, crouched low, all sitting on top of one another to move as far from the midget army as possible. Upon Genevieve's less-than-graceful entrance into the house, she saw Eron wearing a crazy headpiece made out of goose feathers and a bucket.
The soldiers cried out in fear.
"Back, giants, back! Don't come any closer!" cried one soldier.
"Where did they come from?" yelled another.
"Look at the color of their skin! As violet as the palace tulips!"
"They just appeared, poof, like magic!" responded another.
"Magic!? Must be warlocks? Oh God!"
"Wha…what are you going to do to us?" another stammered.
Eron, with his booming voice, yelled, "Quiet!"
In the silence, Genevieve could only hear the creaking of the floorboards under the weight of the men and an audible chatter of teeth.
"We will rip you limb from limb if you don't heed our warning," Eron said. "Listen closely or it will surely mean your death. You leave the maiden who lives here be. She is no longer your concern. You will leave her or else our army will come for you. And there are more of us, so many more. We will call on all the magical beings in these woods — fellow warlocks, giants, trolls, dragons — and we will tell them you are stealing what is ours. We have a code amongst magical beings – you steal from one, you steal from all. Heed my advice. Leave and never return."
Genevieve was shocked to see the king's army captivated by the little man's words. They were mesmerized. Terrified and quivering.
She stood as still as possible, not wanting to break their concentration. But in an attempt to not move, she loosened her grip on the sword, which dropped to the ground with a loud clatter. She rushed to pick it up and resume her ready-stance when one of the men yelled, "Oh God, three more of 'em!"
Purple skin? Giants? Three more of us?
Genevieve fought to suppress a laugh. Tyne had been right about the hallucinogenic properties of the mushrooms and roots. Under the influence of the soup, the guards were seeing an army of purple-faced warlock giants almost three times the number of what was really there. A chuckle rumbled up from her belly, and she clapped her hand over her mouth. To see these burly, strong, menacing men shrinking under the illusion of four dwarves and a few coat-racks was almost too much to bear.
"These newcomers are even more gigantic!" another guard squealed. "They must be the leaders!"
"We should run for it!" shouted another.
"We can't — they're blocking the door!"
"Out the window, men. Save yourselves. These savages fight with Gut-Scoopers and wooden bludgeons. These barbarians know no bounds. They'll tear us to shreds!"
A deafening crash broke the tension. The sound of shattered glass rang out and then a solid thump could be heard outside upon the softened ground. One of the guards had picked up a sitting stool and hurled it out the window, creating an exit route that did not have to pass the clan's warrior leaders. One by one the guards tossed themselves out into the rain.
Even Alaricus scrambled to his feet, which seemed wobbly under his weight, and took to the door, his eyes wide and his hands
shaking. Genevieve watched him flee, unaware of her presence, let alone her importance to him. It was as if he forgot all about his mission to find his "prize" and herd her back.
She breathed a grateful and long-awaited sigh of relief. She leaned out the door, the rain still patting her on the head, to watch the guards hurry to collect their things. They didn't bother packing their tents and left a trail of dropped items leading into the woods, as if a tornado had ripped through the camp. Genevieve was overjoyed their plan had worked. They scared the soldiers off, and she prayed that would be the last she'd see of them.
A familiar figure amidst the chaos caught her eye. She gasped and slammed the door shut. The brothers were busy celebrating their victory in raucous jubilation.
"What is she doing here?" Genevieve said. "Who is she and what does she want from me?"
The brothers stopped their celebratory jumping up and down.
"Who?" Tyne asked.
"That woman. The old woman. The one who poisoned me. Didn't you see her? Has she been here with them the whole time?" Genevieve scrunched her face, almost ignoring everyone in the room to focus on her own thoughts. "Do you think she could be a servant of Alaricus' army? Is that why she tried to poison me? No. That doesn't make sense. Or does it?"
From the looks on the dwarves' faces, she was speaking nonsense and none of them could decipher her mumbling.
"Slow down, Snow," Sib said. He took her by the hand and had her sit. "Explain what's going on and maybe we can help."
But as soon as she was seated, she hopped back up and pointed furiously toward the shattered window in the direction of camp. "That woman! Right over… wait, where'd she go?"
Sib craned his neck to look left and right and only saw the scattered remains of the king's camp. He remembered Alaricus and his servant had mentioned an old woman. Could it be the same woman who had come for Genevieve before?
He looked at what remained of the camp. Deflated tents. Articles of clothing. Comforted by the sunken footprints leading away from the mess, Sib reasoned she wouldn't think to attack when she was so grossly outnumbered, especially not without Alaricus and his men.
"You've been under a lot of stress," Eron said. "I'm sure you couldn't have gotten much sleep out in the woods. Maybe you should go lie down. We'll clean this up and make sure the coast remains clear."
"But I... I swear I…" Genevieve shook her head in disbelief. "She was right there, out there in the middle of that campsite."
Tyne, Eron, and Flic looked at each other with looks of skepticism and worry drawn upon their faces. But Sib's face remained stone-like.
"All right," Sib said, "we'll watch over the house and you while you get some rest. And after a little sleep, we'll sort this all out." He patted Genevieve on the back and ushered her toward the row of beds in the back room. Flic was already working to pick up the pieces of glass from the floor, and Tyne had grabbed a rag to scrub the mud off the couch.
"But I saw her… she was there," Genevieve insisted, her head straining over her shoulder to look back toward the window.
"There, there. No need to worry. You're safe now." Eron said. "We'll protect you, Snow. Don't you worry."
Despite the efforts to assuage her, she couldn't ignore the ominous feeling welling in the pit of her stomach. It constricted like a serpent coiling and waiting to strike. She wondered if the brothers really believed they were out of harm's way, or if they were just trying to make her feel better, feel safer, when they told her there was nothing to worry about.
The storm rattled outside, and she nearly jumped out of her skin. As Sib left the bedroom, he closed the door behind him, giving her some privacy. She shed her muddy and tattered palace gown and changed into fresh clothes. She found a tunic of Tyne's and a pair of Eron's braies, both of which were too short on her, but she didn't care. The warmth and dryness of the wool felt wonderful on her bare skin, and she crawled into the bed like a caterpillar nestling into its cocoon.
Lightning flashed outside her window, and the rain was a soft lullaby on the thatched roof. She rolled onto her side, and, sinking into the thick blanket, she curled her legs up and wrapped her arms around her chest.
Alaricus. His army. The strange woman. Grog. Oliver. All of her past. The uncertainty of her future. She felt like she'd lived a whole lifetime in just the few months since she'd left Arcana with Oliver. She closed her eyes and willed the outside world to melt away. Her eyelids fluttered closed, the blinking blackness like the flapping of the raven's wings she'd seen so many times before in her dreams. For as much as she wanted to fall asleep and allow her worries to drift away with her consciousness, a seed of trepidation permeated her every thought. Her brothers felt certain it was all over — all of the worry, all of the pain, all of the heartache.
But she couldn't shake the feeling that the worst was yet to come.
30
In an effort to not be left vulnerable in the destroyed camp, Agrippine followed the soldiers into the woods. She moved quickly, though her heart cried out for her to stay and destroy Genevieve once and for all. But without the help of the king and his guards, she wouldn't stand a chance. She was at a loss. She racked her brain for some kind of magic she could call upon, a spell that would solve her problem, but nothing came to mind, and the only thing she could think to do was consult the mirror. She reached into her bag and felt around for the cool metal handle.
"Mother, tell me what to do. I've lost everything. Even when I had a glimmer of hope to defeat that damned girl, the tables turned, and I am now left fighting a battle that seems to only end in my destruction. I don't want to ask anymore. I don't want to have to rely on prophecies that don't make sense. Every time I have asked for your guidance, or have relied on magic, it has failed me. You said magic was the only thing I could trust. It's a lie. I have nothing and no one." She lowered her hand into her lap, the mirror still upturned toward her face. Agrippine's shoulders quaked as she wept. Her hands shook, and she could barely see her mother's face appear through her veil of tears.
"My girl, the magic has not lied. You have been too unfocused, too proud, too swift in action. You need to concentrate and get your head on straight. Nothing about you conveys an air of deserving your power back. Now stop your driveling. Pull yourself together. Act like the powerful queen you are so intent on becoming."
"But I don't understand! How? How am I to proceed? I am nothing." She thought to ask for another prophecy, but the words were enigmatic and riddled with confusion. Growing more and more frustrated with her lack of options, Agrippine slumped to the ground, her joints aching as she sank. She couldn't remember the last time she had cried, but the emotion of it all seemed to hit her at once, and she began to sob.
The heart she needed, the very answer to her problem, was comfortable and snug in a cottage mere paces away. A few steps from where she sat. And yet, Agrippine was still at a loss. There was no way she could simply march inside and take the girl. She felt arthritic and cramped, and knew very well she didn't stand a chance if it came to a physical fight.
My useless hare-brained brother. What could have happened inside that cottage to make him run away like such a poltroon? Pathetic fool.
Agrippine buried her head in her knotted hands and after a few minutes, wiped her eyes with her boney knuckles. The heaviness of the rain and the surrounding trees suffocated her. Her world was closing in, and a pulsing anxiety within her chest goaded her to take action.
Agrippine struggled to stand, but her hands slipped in the mud, and she sank lower and lower into the ground with every attempt.
A tree branch cracked. She looked around to find the source.
"Who's there?" Agrippine said. "Show yourself."
Maybe it's someone who could at least lift me out of this mud pit.
Silence. Another snap of a branch.
"I said, show yourself."
"It… it is Prince Alaricus…no, King Alaricus. King of Heiglet. Who…who calls for me?"
Agrippine co
uld hear his voice, but still couldn't see him.
"Where are you, Your… Your Highness?" She practically choked on the words. It felt shameful to have to address him so formally, especially in her current state — a queen, old and withered, stuck in mud.
"Up here,” the voice called.
She looked again up toward the sky, and there, sitting on a tree branch and clinging to the trunk, was the Almighty King.
Agrippine rolled her eyes and called, "Your Highness, what exactly are you doing in a tree?" Jackass.
"I fear they might be coming for me, but I am certain I must stay around here. For what reason I am not quite sure, but I feel strongly there is great business I must attend to. I… I was hoping I would just wait here until I figured out … uhh, what that business might be. Do you think the warlock-giants will be able to get me up here?"
Warlock-giants? Has he lost his mind?
"Sire, I cannot be sure I understand what it is you speak of," Agrippine said, her voice sing-songy as if placating a child. "But if you would be so kind as to come down here and help me up, perhaps we can figure out your great business together."
To speak in such a way irritated her. She hated children, and even more so, she hated adults who acted like children. She rolled her eyes and huffed. But as much as it pained her to admit it, she needed him, perhaps even more than he needed her, so she relented and played his game.
"Please, Your Grace, you are so well-built and brave, I need your great strength to help me out of this mud." She fought the words past her lips. It almost made her gag to compliment him in such a ridiculous state.
"As much as I would like to, I… I cannot help you, for I cannot get down. My, it's high up here."
He was up no more than a few meters. He probably stood taller than the branch on which he sat.
"What do you mean, sire? Just…jump down."
"Jump down? Woman, are you mad? To jump would be suicide!”
