Autumn was the perfect time of the year for a battle. Winter left ice inside my wooden joints or the summer heat made me expand in strange ways.
The men parted for me to enter the fray. Countless rows of archers filled the rear.
“Give ‘em hell!” one archer yelled.
“The Wooden Demon!” the boisterous ones cheered.
For the longest time, I’d had no name. I was no one until I’d arrived in Unaro a few years ago. Recalling the past gave me this strange emptiness I couldn’t explain. This feeling wasn’t hunger, but something far deeper. Not so long ago, between walnut and cedar trees on a windy prairie field as wide as this one, the King of Unaro had been hunting with his sons and discovered me lying there. I liked to imagine I was a project a carpenter had cast aside during a lonely winter. With loving hands he’d given me a detailed face, arms, legs, and features that Grillo had said were womanly.
I’d seen my reflection in the river. I begged to differ on that one.
Pretty much my maker had abandoned me like forgotten firewood.
“I almost burned you on that brisk spring day,” the wizened king said to me a few years ago. “You were partially covered in dirt. Yet, I didn’t care much for the deer hunt and wanted to be alone. Perhaps that’s why I’d been drawn to you.” He shrugged at the time in a manner to show he didn’t care whether I lived or died. Only that I served. “You were lucky my signet medallion was loose that day...Even luckier that it fell close to you.”
Through a dash of magic I didn’t understand, the signet had ended up between my collarbones and I’d gotten up. Voiceless. Not breathing. But something had sparked inside of me. I trailed after the king and his party all the way back to the Unaro stronghold. To this very day I still followed him on his grand mission: to establish peace among the four warring kingdoms in the land of Veil.
My thoughts settled back to the task at hand, the battle this morning. The cavalry was easier to ride between. Their formation wasn’t as tight—yet they were far quieter and solemn than the archers. Most of them kept their eyes ahead. As if they were waiting for the fight to truly begin.
One gangly soldier glared at me. Hunger for spilled blood glistened in his eyes. Yes, it was my fault that the sheathed sword on his hip hadn’t seen blood in a long time. Two other kingdoms had fallen beneath my feet. Their champions had ridden onto a field like this one and fought a good fight, but they’d surrendered. Even a few jokesters had wanted a piece of me. Once a lumberjack, carrying a rusty axe, had strode out onto the field and gestured rudely with his paltry man-parts.
I kicked his hairy arse up and down the field, too.
Every single victory yielded an irresistible reward. When a kingdom was taken, the ruling family surrendered their throne and their family signet. My king brought peace to their lands and I got my reward: another jewel. The first army, the Andeans in the southern lands, gave me an amethyst. From that day forward I could speak. Forty days later, the Crasoon people of the north fell to their knees and ended the squabbles among their aristocrats. Their champion surrendered quickly and the opal signet their queen gave me had been special. Pangs of hunger finally hit my silent gut.
I was one step closer to being human.
A year later, we were at the Daquer border for my final fight. The end was near. By dusk my heart may beat and I might breathe. Would feeling air through my chest mean I was truly alive? I was willing to do anything at this point to be more than Pynn the Wooden Demon. I still didn’t fear pain, but I longed to know the feeling. At this point, battle axes left me tired. Arrows didn’t bother me either. Fire used to leave me quivering in fear. Not anymore.
How can you fear death when you truly don’t understand what it means to be alive?
Today I felt something I hadn’t felt before. Anticipation in my stomach. Was that what that soldier hungered for? This strange feeling?
Soon enough, I reached the edge of the Unaro front. Our commanding officer gave me a progress report. He wasn’t the only one who wanted to see me.
A few squeaky chirps filled the air and then a familiar friend appeared. A tiny, black-and-white bird, about the size of my hand, swooped down from the overcast sky. Its long beak aimed for my head. In the past I’d had to run from the little bastard.
“Let me take care of it.” An archer stepped forward to take aim.
My hand rose. “Leave it be. He’s an old friend.”
Friend was a loose term. I had a few chip marks from where that woodpecker had tried to get a piece of me. A few infantrymen smothered a laugh or two. This wasn’t the first time a laugh had been made at my expense. Either way, the bird deserved to live as much as I did. I hated to kill people and I still wouldn’t unless absolutely necessary.
A cavalryman followed me to my final position, using his sword to drive the poor animal away. If I could laugh, I would. Somehow, for some unknown reason, that animal always seemed to find me wherever I went. As if I had been made from the very wood which should have been his home.
Across the field I searched for the Daquer army champion. There were thousands of men. An army that rivaled Unaro’s. They had far more archers and men-at-arms. Their catapults didn’t look as old and well worn as ours.
They might have an advantage, but the Old Law was still valid in the four kingdoms. Trial by champion was granted to those who asked for it seven days before battle.
A horn sounded from the Daquer line. Not far from me, our reply came. Both positions were ready. A few miles away, I spotted him. He dressed in a manner unlike the other champions. Others had worn full armor, but this one rode to the middle of the field on a beautiful white stallion wearing nothing more than leather armor.
I clicked and nudged my gelding forward.
We met in the middle. The closer and closer he got, I expected him to be like the others. The first champion had worn full armor and I’d never seen his face. But this one was bold. He had a sharp glint to his black eyes and shoulder-length hair. He stared at me, his dark gaze unyielding—until he was a few horse-lengths away. Then his hardened expression changed to something I couldn’t place. The scar marring his face from the middle of his forehead to his cheekbones softened. His frown became less menacing. Maybe he was assessing me for weaknesses.
I waited. This could go two ways. Either he rode hard to full on attack me, or he’d let me begin this little dance. I preferred when my opponent wanted to get up close and personal.
He spoke first, surprising me. “You’re not what I expected. At all. Do you re—”
I chuckled. A clack-clack noise from my voice box. “Did you expect a lady in a dress, perhaps?”
“It’s been said the Wooden Demon had obsidian horns and a spear for its right hand.” His gaze swept over me. “I’d say…you’re taller than most men.”
“The same could be said for you,” I replied. “Maybe…”
Behind me, the Unaro army stomped their feet. The deafening clank of the cavalry hitting their shields vibrated along my arms.
In a fight between champions there were no rules. Either submission or death. I preferred the former.
“If you submit now,” he offered softly, “this will end quickly and you won’t be harmed.”
My entire body shook with laughter. I nudged my gelding toward him for good measure. Time to fight. We slowly began to circle each other. This should be an interesting fight. We were evenly matched. Height for height, arm length for arm length. As to how well he wielded his weapon, I’d soon see.
Remember your swordmaster’s training, I reminded myself.
“If you can see their eyes, watch them,” my swordmaster would say in an offhand manner. “The weak ones reveal everything.”
I unsheathed my long sword, and we closed the distance. His dark eyes focused on mine. Waiting for a reaction. Waiting for me to make the first move. So be it. I was never one to deny a man his defeat.
I charged and swung hard at him, ready to block with my shield when my side be
came vulnerable. The Daquer champion parried the blow with ease. And so our battle began. He was fierce with his swings, but I managed to maneuver my horse and dodge. The joints along my limbs bent at all sorts of angles. Backwards, forwards. My maker had likely crafted me to sit all day in a seat, but with such exquisite care to my construction, he’d unknowingly made me a war machine.
But I wasn’t perfect. Through speed and an uncanny nimbleness, he clipped me twice in the arms. Not a full blow though, but rough nicks here and there.
Grillo, my swordmaster and squire, had taught me well over the years, but no technique could make me jump higher or run faster. I had to use my range of motion to my advantage and wait for my enemy to tire. Like right now—he approached me hard on his stallion, but his swing was wide.
Seizing the moment, I jumped off my horse and slammed into him, shoulder to chin, as hard as I could, and it was all I could do not to give a triumphant clack-clack as he tumbled back and we fell into the muddy dirt. He recovered quickly and stumbled back up to his feet despite rubbing the back of his head.
His breath came out in gasps. Had I finally tired him out?
Then he came at me again, grabbing my outstretched right arm. Like an agile dancer, he twisted faster than I expected and forced my arm back until it couldn’t bend any further.
Shock shuddered through me. How did he know my arm couldn’t bend back that far?
Before I could turn to strike him, he had me face down in the dirt with his heavy foot on the middle of my back. The Daquer army roared with pleasure.
Those bastards shouted all sorts of lively names. “Burn the Wooden Bitch!”
“Give us its arm!” another cried.
I finally managed to turn my head toward the Daquer line. Waited for the champion’s final strike. What did come though was my release. The weight over my body was lifted. Only to be held again from weighted nets.
I sank into the mud. Again. Trapped like an animal.
Fiery, bright lights raced across the sky. More arrows from the Daquer line flew toward the Unaro army. The roar of catapults shook the ground. My mouth dropped as endless rows of men-at-arms charged.
“No…” the voice box in my throat murmured.
From my position on the ground, I had no choice but to watch my enemies sweep over the Unaro force like black ants overwhelming their latest kill.
I had been deceived from the very start. They had never planned to honor the Old Law.
Chapter 2
Pynnelope
* * *
Not once in my life had I slept. I envied that in the living. Grillo had once told me fondly of waking up at dawn and feeling refreshed. Feeling the warmth of the dawn on your face and the joy at what was to come. My squire never took another wife after his first one died in childbirth and I wondered why he never did.
“Another woman? Bah! I have memories to keep me warm at night,” he used to say. “Dreams are what I look forward to when I’m awake.”
I cannot dream, and therefore my past torments me.
Being awake during the battle meant I had to watch my brethren be slaughtered as they fled. Even up to the point where I was dragged away across muddy fields and streams until I reached the enemy’s castle. None of these memories could be dulled with sleep. What I wouldn’t give for yesterday’s events to be the ash dying in the stone fireplace near my feet.
All the while, the final signet I needed tugged away at me. It was close. Not in the same room, but close enough to tease me with the promise of life. I could practically taste the breath that would some day flutter through my body.
Now I lay wrapped in iron chains in someone’s private quarters. There wasn’t much to the place—a narrow bed, table, and a storage chest. The only light in the room came from the fireplace and a tall window along the wall. As to who the room’s owner was, I didn’t know yet. A soldier came by every couple of hours to tend to the fire, perhaps keep the flames high as a threat.
“Use a leg if you run out of wood,” I’d murmured once.
After a while, I guessed they got tired of my ramblings so they tried to cover my mouth. A rather interesting feat since I couldn’t breathe. Yet.
The morning sun rose high enough in the sky to cast a ray from the high window onto my prone body. Silence became my new companion. I almost wished that bird had found me by now. The monotony ended with the next guard, a new one I hadn’t seen yet, who roughly yanked me up by the neck to examine me.
“Only foul spirits could be behind all this,” he declared as his free hand raked down my cheek. He followed the line of my chin until he came to my mouth. With his fingertips, he tried to pry my small mouth open.
“Show me, Demon!” he spat. “I want to see what spirits are trapped in there.”
The door opened.
“What do you think you’re doing?” The Daquer champion, my betrayer, advanced across the room.
“Kristos, it was trying to escape,” the guard began.
“It’s a she,” he replied darkly. “If she could escape, she would’ve done it already.”
The guard’s confident smirk turned into a straight line. “It’s a demon. Who knows what it can do.”
“Get out.” The champion stood a foot taller than the guard. The poor man tried to stare back, but cowered under Kristos’s glare. “Come in here again. Try it. I’ll tear a hole through you so wide a caravan will be able to drive through it.”
The guard managed a nod and left in a hurry. Once the guard was gone though, the man the guard called Kristos, unsheathed his sword.
My gaze shifted to the weapon in his hand. It was a beautiful blade, its edge smooth as if recently sharpened. He leaned down and I waited for death again. For the sleep I’d always been denied. Would I quickly die from a killing blow and sleep forever?
Instead of the sword’s sharp edge, his hand checked my chains. His touch was soft, yet firm.
“Were you harmed?” he asked.
I shook my head, aghast at this kind treatment.
“Your arms…” He examined me closer than I’d prefer. “That angle doesn’t look good. Does it hurt?”
“No.” Hearing his deep, smooth voice made me not want to speak. My voice was hollow and awkward. Like a breeze fluttering down bamboo shoots.
“Good,” he whispered. “You’ll be chained until you tell me what I want to know.”
* * *
Kristos
* * *
The creature lay quietly before me. It took everything in me to not ask a single question: “Do you remember me?”
My little Drykola…
I released the breath locked in my chest. Distant memories of her flooded me. Two years, four days, and a half-day of carving, constructing, and polishing. The very thing I’d crafted with my two hands was moving and talking. Some force had changed it, giving it the life I’d longed for after my fiancée Elisia died.
Briefly, I glanced away. Looking at its—her—face had been hard the moment we met on the battlefield. Tales of the legendary Wooden Demon had been unbelievable. There were no such things as monsters with horns or creatures with spears for hands. I never believed it. And yet, my creation, who had galloped onto the field with a gallant air, had held her mythical, wooden head high. Every feature I’d carved into her body was still there and my heart clenched. For the longest time, I thought I’d carried emptiness since I’d left her behind, but now I carried anger. Enough anger to conquer anyone in King Jeffren’s path.
Even if I closed my eyes, I still saw the likeness of Elisia’s cherub-shaped face, her rounded cheeks and full lips on the creature before me. From Elisia’s brown eyes to the dimples dotting her cheeks. I’d spent weeks chiseling curves that were undeniably female.
Three royal signets adorned her form. According to the guards, they wouldn’t come off.
Her limbs were filthy and covered in dried mud and grass. I almost fetched a cloth, but I pulled her up instead. Now wasn’t the time for kindness. It took some e
ffort to lift her with the chains. Damn it, she was just as heavy as I remembered. She shifted to properly hold herself up. When she couldn’t she slumped forward until she hit the table.
The need to help her made me pause, but I forced myself to sit down on the opposite side. I had a job to do. The Daquer signet in my pocket tugged forward again. Almost as if the king’s medallion sought out her presence. A part of me wanted to outright give it to her, but that would leave me no leverage for what I had to do.
We sat there for a few hours. The wooden warrior didn’t speak, nor did I. She never asked for water or food.
When the next guard came to tend to the fire, I got up to leave.
“Whatever you seek, I cannot give you.” So she finally decided to speak.
I didn’t want to look at her again, but I couldn’t resist. She wasn’t human, but there was something soft and feminine about the way her head tilted to the side. The pine varnish on her cheek reflected the light from outside.
For the next two days, she sat in the seat and didn’t speak. Questions went unanswered, yet I refused to torture her.
On the third day, I finally got a real response. My attempts at politeness ended.
“We can sit here all day again, if you like,” I began. “Or we can talk about what will happen if you don’t cooperate.”
No reply.
I continued. “I’ve heard you’ve served the Unaro army for nearly two years. That’s long enough to learn a thing or two. Especially as a tool for your good-for-nothing king.”
Her bound fists tightened. Good. My little Drykola was loyal.
“Did you know what he planned to do with the land he acquired after his so-called peace campaign?” I asked.
“You’re a champion,” she grated out. “You’ve probably done nothing more than lift a sword. As if you’d know what a farmer does with his land?”
What a beautiful voice she had. I never imagined such a thing.
I leaned forward and showed her my hands. Her gaze flicked to the evidence of my past labors. “He’s a liar. And you nearly helped him succeed.”
Once Upon A Kiss: Seventeen Romantic Faerie Tales Page 44