New Tales From Old Yarn

by Barbara Becc

  Diane didn't sleep on planes. She never had. Instead she leaned back in the seat, her elbows resting on the armrests, the heels of her feet touching the bar beneath her seat.

  As soon as the haste of takeoff settled into a relaxed climb into the sky, Diane found her computer in her bag and pulled up the e-mails her mother had forwarded. One linked to an audio file. Diane slid earbuds in and let the audio play.

  “You know the importance of family,” Naomi Bardaki said. Her voice was rich, deep, and thrummed out of the earbuds. Diane turned the volume down. “I know the importance of family. Family is everything. And you trust your business to a woman who, frankly, is uninvested in her family. Look at her children. Two, and not even in the business anymore. But look at me. Twelve children, all of whom are as invested in this business, in our business, as I am. Twelve highly intelligent children who can be anywhere in the world you need them to be to make sure your business with us runs as smoothly as it possibly can. The Cavallos are much too small in this big world to make the difference you need. If you go into business with me, my family is your family. And my family is six times Tonya Cavallo's.”

  Diane shut her computer. Her phone buzzed with a text from Sarina coming in over the WiFi. Safe flight! Can't wait to see you.

  “Who is it?” asked Paul

  Diane clicked the screen on her phone off.

  “You can talk to me, you know.”

  Diane pulled a folder from her bag and slapped it open on the tray table.

  “You want to tell me?”

  “Her name's Sarina.” She flipped the pages of the file.

  “Sarina?”

  Diane stopped flipping the pages and tapped a photograph. “Sarina Bardaki.”

  Paul leaned over the armrest. Diane pulled her elbow to her side. “Diane,” he started to say something and couldn’t finish.

  She leaned away from him, looking down into the aisle. Her arms crossed over her chest. Sarina's picture stared up at her.

  ~~~

  Paul fielded a call from their mother the next morning. The phone rang as Diane stuck her toothbrush in her mouth.

  “Paul, darling,” Tonya said. “I'm so glad it's you. Has Diane told you I am so happy with the both of you?”

  “What do you want, Mom?” He pulled on his shoes. The phone sat on the desk, broadcasting Tonya's voice into the hotel room.

  Diane leaned against the bathroom door jamb, toothbrush hanging from the corner of her mouth. and frowned.

  “Honey,” Tonya said. “I just called to say how well you're both doing.”

  Paul thought of the folder, the picture of Diane's Sarina staring at him. He looked at his sister's phone and saw the list of unread messages on the lock screen. Sarina. Sarina. Sarina.

  “Paul? Are you there, Paul?”

  Diane turned to spit in the sink.

  “I'm here.”

  “Now, Paul, I love you very much and I am so glad you're taking care of this for us, for our family. I don't know what I would do without the two of you.” Tonya sighed into the receiver, transmitted across the country as static. “There's just one more, Paul. One more. I know I don't have to remind you how important this is, honey.”

  Paul watched Diane's screen fade to black, taking the ended call and the unread texts with it. He walked over to the desk chair and pulled his jacket off it. The leather was cool to the touch.

  Paul straightened his jacket, looking at himself in the mirror above the desk. He could see most of the hotel room in the mirror, the rumpled sheets of the beds, the several towels he had used for his showers the previous night and this morning, Diane's sparse toiletries clustered on the counter by the bathroom sink.

  “Now you're just being vain,” Diane said. She glanced at herself in the mirror, tucked a single hair back into her bun, then looked at him. She picked up their briefcases, held his out with her left hand.

  He took it, let it swing in a controlled arc down to his side, felt the cold metal grip against the flesh of his palm. He raised his eyes to her and didn’t recognize the smile on her lips. Diane swiped the car keys from the desk where they had spent the night under her sweater. She didn't touch her phone.

  Paul hesitated at the door when he realized her smile reminded him of their mother.

  Tonya's words rang in his ears as he took the keys from Diane. “I know I don't have to remind you how important this is, honey.”

  ~~~

  “Does it make you nervous that Sarina is the last one?” Paul asked. His hands, in soft leather gloves, gripped the wheel.

  “Does Jacob ever ask where your money comes from?” Diane asked.

  The car grew silent. Paul fiddled with the radio dial. The radio was off.

  “She seems like a good person,” Paul offered.

  Diane rubbed her fingers together.

  “You know, we don’t have to do this,” he said.

  Diane ran her hands over the smooth metal case in her lap, flipped the catches with her thumbs.

  Paul looked down at the gear shift.

  His sister clicked the pistol together. Holding it first in one hand then the other, she examined the mechanisms, ran her fingers across the metal.

  A gray sedan led them through the curves of the road. Paul followed at a discreet distance. Ahead of them the sedan pulled onto a small side street nearly hidden by dense foliage.

  He parked behind it and turned to his sister. “You don't have to do this.”

  The metal case rested on her lap. She had her ankles tucked up against the seat. “I asked her to meet me.”

  “Diane.” Paul blew out a breath.

  She thumbed the bullet at the top of the magazine. In her eyes was something Paul had never seen before, and he realized how small she had become in the past weeks. He saw their mother in her smile.

  She opened the car door and stepped out. Paul watched as Diane crunched along the gravel to the sedan, held the gun through the window, and fired.

  Three Golden Arrows

  Kat Lerner

  This is not your grandfather’s yarn of brave Robin Hood. When the Sheriff of Nottingham sets his sights on Maid Marian, will Robin be able to rescue her before it’s too late? Who’s rescuing who these days, anyway? Discover the long-hidden truth of the legendary “Robin Hood and his Merry Men.” Enter Sherwood Forest at thine own risk.

  ~~~

  Each generation has told its own tales of valiant Robin Hood. To some, he was a champion of justice, using almost god-like skills with bow and arrow to fight for the poor and oppressed. To others, he was a Communist punk, pure propaganda for those who espoused unabashed class warfare against the feudal job creators. Others still no doubt saw him as little more than a kleptomaniac with tight pants. None of these stories are true of course, as I’m sure will not surprise you. For when speaking of protectors of the common folk forced to live in the woods during the late Middle Ages, it is clear that Robin Hood and his Merry Men were in fact women, and even more obviously, witches.

  Maid Marian, on the other hand, was every bit as beautiful as the stories told, though significantly less noble. Rather than presiding over ladies-in-waiting or courtiers, most days Maid Marian presided over sheep. She lived with her father, tending his flock, and asked nothing more. That day however, she also presided over the May Games as Queen, or at least that was what she was told as she was given a thorny flower crown and forced to sit in an uncomfortable chair for everyone to look at while they danced and drank. The office also apparently came with the inexhaustible and inescapable attention of the Sheriff of Nottingham, with full view of his insufferable goatee and bald head that resembled an overstuffed sausage.

  “Another silver for my silver star,” the Sheriff purred, dropping another coin into the obscenely stuffed sack by Marian’s chair.

  Marian closed her eyes briefly and longed for her sheep. Looking up, she watched a scrawny young man shuffle off the field, head down and clutching his roughly hewn bow.

  The Sheriff cli
cked his tongue. “Worry not for those so stupid as to think they could beat me at archery, and more importantly,” he said, jiggling the sack of coins, “so easy to part from their money. Should I buy you a present with our spoils, my pet?”

  Marian fought the urge to grab a different sack and give it a good kick. “Good Sir, my neighbors are poor, and you offer them a chance to feed their families, pay their debts...”

  “Their debts to me,” the Sheriff grinned. “Think not on losing our spoils to some flea-ridden miscreant, my queen, for I am known as the greatest archer in the country, and no man can best me.”

  Unable to stand the way his beard stretched with his smirk, Marian turned away. Her gaze fell on a nearby tree, nailed to which was a wanted poster fluttering in the breeze. The drawing looked like a child’s creation, but the name stirred something nonetheless.

  “What of Robin Hood?”

  When no reply came, Marian looked back to find the Sheriff grinding his teeth. She stared until he noticed her eyes on him, jolting in surprise. “Pah!” he cried, waving a hand. “Reports are exaggerated. And besides, she dares not show her face in my presence.” Marian opened her mouth to argue, but the Sheriff grabbed her hand. “Now, enough of this. There is no need to worry when you are with me, m’lady. Oh, but you are right in not wanting me to spend my money on a present, for what ornament could improve—”

  Before he could finish his thought or direct his ale breath any closer, a hand was laid between them.

  “Marian! It’s been ages since we’ve seen each other. I had hoped to meet you today.”

  Taken aback, Marian looked up to see a woman dressed in a rather ill-fitting gown, wimple, and a face she had never seen before in her life. Marian almost said this when she realized the woman’s eyes were speaking to her, and with a thrill, she understood.

  “I had hoped the same thing, my old friend. You must tell me everything about how your parents are, and all your siblings too.”

  Out of the corner of her eye, Marian saw the Sheriff look back and forth between them.

  “Of course, dear friend,” the woman said, leaning in, “but first I must tell you about the boy I hope will court me.”

  “Well, I shall allow you two lovely creatures your privacy,” the Sheriff declared, picking up his bow. “I’m sure there are a few more fools who’ve drunk enough to try their arm against mine.”

  Marian looked up at the woman gratefully, until she spoke.

  “Not so fast,” the woman called after the Sheriff. “The game is archery, is it not? One silver coin to enter, and if the challenger bests you, they win the whole bag?”

  The Sheriff turned. “What of it?”

  Still holding Marian’s gaze, the woman’s eyes twinkled. “I challenge.”

  “What?” Marian and the Sheriff said at once as she dropped a coin onto the pile and picked up the challenger’s bow and arrows.

  “My dear,” the Sheriff cooed, “such a sport requires strength ... precision ... acuity.”

  The woman stepped up to the challenger line and turned doe eyes on him. “Then perhaps you would like to shoot first and instruct me.”

  Visibly relaxing, the Sheriff accepted the offered bow and quiver. “Of course, m’lady.” He faced his target and drew back the string. “The key is a firm stance. Relax your bow arm slightly. Aim for the center of the target. Then, simply release.” His arrow flew and stuck the line between the middle and outer rings.

  “Fascinating,” the woman said, aiming at her own target. With a fwip, her arrow flew and struck the center. Marian’s eyes widened, and the Sheriff’s smirk faded.

  “Move the targets back,” he barked at two of nearby henchmen who were working their way through a bushel of apricots. Once satisfied, the Sheriff drew his second arrow and shot, hitting the inner part of the middle ring. He turned to the woman and seemed to bore a hole through her with his gaze. Not appearing fazed, she aimed her second arrow and let it go, again hitting the center circle. She turned back to the Sheriff and smiled sweetly. The Sheriff’s neck began to swell.

  “It is unbecoming for a lady to play such games,” he said between clenched teeth. “I shall end this quickly.”

  “By all means.” The woman gestured to the target.

  Yanking his string back, the Sheriff aimed, taking a few more seconds than necessary, and finally released. It struck just inside the center circle. The Sheriff whipped back around, his mouth stretched in a smug grin. “You are more than welcome to forego your last shot and save your fine gown, m’lady.”

  The woman hummed thoughtfully. “You’re absolutely right, kind sir. I shouldn’t spoil the dress.” And without further ado, she pulled it and her wimple over her head, revealing short hair that fell around her eyes, a green tunic over breeches and boots, and a sword that glimmered in the sun.

  Marian felt every hair on her body stand on end. The Sheriff staggered back a pace before catching himself, setting his jaw.

  “Robin Hood,” he declared unnecessarily. After the King and the Sheriff, Robin Hood was one of the most famous—or infamous—people in the country. This became evident as the band stopped in a fizzle of discordant notes, the crowd circling the archery field and murmuring amongst themselves. Many seemed torn between trying to hide and shoving for a better view.

  Robin Hood turned to look at the wanted poster tacked to the tree and clicked her tongue. “Now that reward is a bit cheap. Am I worth so little to you?” She smiled cheerfully. “It’s a lovely picture though. Give my regards to the babe who drew it.”

  A muscle in the Sheriff’s jaw twitched.

  “Oh, and before I forget—” Without breaking her gaze with the Sheriff, Robin pulled back the string of her bow and let loose her third arrow. Everyone’s head snapped to the target, where her arrow was still vibrating at dead center.

  “It’s been a pleasure,” Robin said as she grabbed the sack of coins. “Well, it’s been an experience.”

  Marian watched her take ten leisurely paces across the field before the Sheriff broke out of his stunned silence.

  “Seize her!” he shouted to his henchmen, who after shaking themselves of their own daze, barreled after her with swords raised.

  Marian’s heart leapt into her throat, and she was halfway out of her chair before knowing why. Robin, however, seemed to know exactly what she was doing, as she threw a black stone ahead of her and ran towards it. The henchmen hesitated as it exploded in a plume of smoke, and stopped altogether when from it a hazy, phantom-like horse rose to its feet. Robin, however, didn’t break stride. She ran straight towards the horse’s hindquarters and sprang up to mount her, the horse breaking into a run that very second.

  “It’s witchcraft,” one of the henchman whispered to another, his triceps quivering.

  The Sheriff ran towards them, face reddening with both exertion and rage. “Of course it’s witchcraft, you idiots! She is the most famous witch in the country! After her!”

  And perhaps they would have, if it hadn’t been for the dozen other women dressed down to their witch wear, perched atop their own enchanted horses, flicking and curling their fingers at the henchmen’s lower halves.

  “The Merry Maidens,” Marian breathed, awestruck.

  One by one, the henchmen collapsed on their bottoms, their pants yanked off at the ankles by an invisible hand. The Sheriff was the last to fall, his skintight black breeches flying to Robin’s own outstretched arm.

  Marian snorted the most indelicate snort of her life. However, it died in her throat as Robin met her eye and winked before turning her horse and leading the Merry Maidens charging towards the woods, disappearing like smoke.

  Marian fell back onto her chair, trembling and feeling like she’d drunk too much wine.

  “Alright, clear out, the lot of you! The Games are over!” the Sheriff barked at the crowd, sending them pushing and shoving their way off the field. Marian didn’t blame them. If the Sheriff was insufferable while in a good mood, she shuddered to thin
k what he would be like after being publicly humiliated. Eyes widening at the thought, she slipped from her chair and bounded through the copse of trees back to her father’s fields.

  Unfortunately, she was not quick enough to avoid hearing one of the henchmen marvel that the Sheriff was not wearing underclothes.

  That night, Marian finished her usual routine of shepherding the sheep home, cooking her father’s dinner, cleaning the house, and climbing into bed. Once there, however, she found she could not sleep. The memories of Robin Hood played so loudly in her mind. After flopping over for the twelfth time, she surrendered. She checked that her father was sound asleep, grabbed her cloak, and slipped quietly out the door.

  Marian had walked in Sherwood Forest before, but never at night, and never this deep. She reminded herself that Robin Hood and the Merry Maidens were in here somewhere, but wasn’t sure if that should make her feel better or worse. Nearby, a trig snapping jolted her out of her reverie. Marian ducked behind a tree and watched as a young girl dressed in work clothes picked her way through the brush past her. Curious, Marian followed. The voice of her father in her head told her she should warn the girl and tell her to turn back. Though truthfully, she didn’t want to turn back herself. So they kept walking until the faint sounds of merrymaking hit her ears, and a few moments later through a final line of oaks, a raucous camp came into view.

  Marian stared in open amazement until a reveler’s loud cackle made her jump and hide herself behind a tree. Her heart thudded in her chest. She wondered if she was under some sort of spell. Why else would she have walked into the middle of a forbidden forest in the dark of night, straight into a camp full of witches and outlaws? Still, unable to help herself, she peeked around the trunk to get a better look.

  Marian didn’t know what she expected. If her father’s warnings were to be believed, most likely human sacrifice. Instead, she counted three fires around which women clustered, some dancing merrily, some drinking, one sitting quietly next to a heap of mending. Marian recognized the Merry Maidens from the Games. To her surprise, several townswomen sat among them. Bursts of laughter broke the thrum of chatter often, bawdy and indelicate, but not cruel. As if pulled by magic, Marian leaned her ear to listen in.