Fairytale
By Maggie Shayne
Copyright © 1996 by Margaret Benson
Smashwords Edition Copyright © 2011by Maggie Shayne
http://www.MaggieShayne.com
Cover Art © istockphoto.com/Abu
Formatted by Jessica Lewis
http://AuthorsLifeSaver.com
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Part One: Once Upon A Time...
Adam
June 30, 1968
Seven-year-old Adam Reid raced through the forest, zigging and zagging like a mad bumblebee, arms spread out at his sides. The summer breeze turned into a wind that whooshed past his ears and tangled his hair. He pretended he was flying. He liked pretending. Even though his father was always telling him how bad it was, how foolish. He got the strap for it sometimes, when his tall tales got a little too tall.
But only if his father had been drinking.
He buzzed around the base of a giant maple tree three times, then came to a halt when his keen eyes picked out a barely visible path beneath its broad, leafy limbs. No longer interested in playing bumblebee, Adam lowered his arms. He hunkered down and squinted at the almost invisible trail in the mossy ground. No matter how many times he came out here, he never failed to find a new adventure to pursue.
Adam loved these woods. He wasn’t supposed to be here. The forest was not on his father’s property, but on the state land that bordered it. And he’d been warned repeatedly to stay away. But that hadn’t stopped Adam,
Now he began following that trail, wondering what it might be. Deer trail, he decided, his seven years of wisdom assuring him it was so. Maybe he’d see a big whitetail if he went really slow and quiet.
The path meandered for a ways, wriggling this way and that in S-patterns and loops and figure eights. Then it vanished into a patch of mean-looking blackberry briars, with deceptively pretty white blossoms that smelled so good he wished he could taste them. But when Adam squatted on his haunches, he saw that the thorny, flowering briars sort of arched over the trail. If he bent really low, he could still follow it. So he did.
Bending almost double, even crawling on all fours here and there, he continued to follow the path. It was like a covered bridge now. Or a tunnel. The ground beneath him slanted upward, taking him over a small hill and partway down the other side before the brambles finally thinned out. He emerged on a grassy slope that seemed to be one side of a big old hump in the ground. And about halfway down that grassy hump, he saw a dark hole, sinking back into the mound. It looked like...Adam ran closer and stopped, bracing his hands on his knees and breathing fast from excitement. It was! A cave! He’d discovered a cave. Maybe pirates had holed up here. Or a dinosaur! Or cave men, a zillion years ago, Neat!
Without hesitation, Adam crawled inside. The opening wasn’t big enough to go in standing up. It was kind of dark, and a lot cooler than it was outside. But Adam wasn’t afraid. Not much, anyway. He had his penlight, which he was never without. Just like his jackknife. He flicked the light on now, and ventured deeper. The farther he went, the wider the walls opened out, and the ceiling got higher, too. He came, at last, to what looked like the very back of the cave. A room about the size of his tree house, and big enough so he could stand up. This was the best discovery he’d ever made.
He played in there for hours. He explored, and carved his name in the stone walls, and yelled really loud to hear his voice echo, until he got tired. And then he decided to take a short nap before heading home. It was a long walk, after all.
So he sat on the ground and leaned back against the cool wall, and he closed his eyes.
When he opened them again, Adam wasn’t sure if he’d been asleep or not, or if he had, how much time had passed. Not wanting to be late for dinner and risk another walloping, he hurried to the cave’s entrance. He had to crouch low again, of course, but he made good time, scuttling closer to the bright yellow sunlight he could see up ahead. He stepped out, stood up straighter, and brushed the dirt from the knees of his jeans. Then he brought his head up, blinking first at the brightness of the sunlight, and then in shock.
This was not the same place he’d been to before. This was...this was different.
Everywhere he looked there were flowers like he’d never seen before, blossoming in every color he could imagine and a few he never had! And they filled the air with their smells. Wonderful smells! There were pebbles and stones on the grassy ground. But they were no regular stones. Every rock he saw glittered. Like...jewels or something! Adam turned to look back at the cave entrance, wondering if there had been another tunnel in there, one he hadn’t noticed. He sure as heck hadn’t come out the same way he’d gone in.
Okay, then. He’d take a look around, really quick, and then he’d go back inside and find the right way out. If he dawdled out here much longer he’d be in hot water with his father for sure. But gosh, this place was too much to resist. Like something out of The Wizard of Oz!
He ventured farther, and took a closer look at the trees. Squinting, moving closer, he looked again. Heck, there were pictures in the bark! A moon. Some stars. A sun. A fairy.
What the heck?
Adam moved through the trees, curious, amazed. This was no normal forest. This was...this was...
“This is Rush, young man. And you are most certainly not supposed to be here.”
Her voice was like music. Like bells. Adam whirled to see a woman...a beautiful red-haired woman whose belly was swelled like she’d swallowed a basketball. He guessed she must be expecting a baby. She wore the kind of glittery, gauzy dress you’d expect to see in a fairytale, and her eyes were just about the bluest he’d ever seen in his life.
Something moved behind her and Adam narrowed his eyes. Then he thought he was going to drop dead in his tracks. He blinked, rubbed his eyes and looked again. She had wings! Fragile-looking, like a dragonfly’s wings. You could see right through them, but they were there.
“Who are you?” he managed to ask her.
“Maire,” she said, smiling. It sounded like “May-ruh” to Adam. But he didn’t have time to ponder it long. She was leaning closer, squinting at him. “Few mortals can see the doorway to this place,” she told him. “It’s enchanted, you know.”
Adam looked around, nodding. “Yeah, I was starting to figure that.”
“Maybe you are supposed to be here.” She tapped her chin with one dainty finger. “After all, there’s no such thing as coincidence. So, there must be a reason for your coming here, mustn’t there?”
“Uh—I don’t think so, ma’am. I—I ought to be getting home.” He took a step backward.
She sighed. “Yes, that’s probably for the best.”
Adam agreed. He didn’t want any part of any enchanted forest or any fairy godmothers or whatever the heck she was. Sheesh, he’d read about fairies. They could be dangerous. He turned, feeling lucky he was going to get out of here unscathed, but then he got a chill right up his spine. Because he didn’t see the cave. He’d wandered too far.
“Oh, don’t worry. I’ll show you the way.” The lady took his hand in hers, and then she went still, and stared down at him, her eyes sparkling, her eyebrows lifting in surprise. “Now I know why you’re here!” She smiled, looking at him like she was seeing something awfully sweet. One of her hands rested lovingly on her swollen belly, and she ran her other hand through his hair. If she pinched his chee
ks, he was outta here, he decided. Then her smile faded, and she even looked a little sad. “You must be a very strong little boy. And a brave one, too.”
“Well, sure I am,” he confirmed, wondering how she could tell.
“Tell me, young Adam. Would you like to see your fate before you go?”
“My...fate?”
“Your future. I can show you, if you want.”
Adam swallowed hard. His heart was racing, his hands were sweaty, and he really wanted out of here. Now. But he’d be awfully dumb to pass up a chance to see his future, wouldn’t he? He’d particularly like to know if he’d missed dinner, and whether he was going to get beat when he got home tonight because of it. Trying for a nonchalant shrug, he said, “Okay.”
The lady smiled again. She drew him off through the trees a little ways. Then she stopped and pushed aside a dense tangle of branches. “Look through here,” she told him.
Adam looked.
There was a pond there, with water as blue as the winged lady’s eyes. This side of it was dense with dark green reeds. But there was no mistaking the splashing and the laughter he heard coming from beyond them. And when he squinted harder and looked, he saw a woman.
Bunches of long black curls trailed over her back and shoulders. She was playing in the water like a little girl, only she was no little girl. He couldn’t see all of her, which was a good thing because he didn’t think she was dressed. Looked like she was skinny dipping to him.
All of a sudden she went still, and turned her head in his direction. Her eyes were black as coal as they met his through the gaps in the reeds. And Adam felt a shudder work its way right to his toes.
Then Maire let the branches snap back into place, cutting off his view.
“Who is she,” he asked.
“You mean, who will she be,” the woman corrected him. He frowned hard at her. “She will be your future, Adam. Your fate. She’ll come into your life when you least expect it, because she needs you to show her the way.”
“What way?” He was more confused now than he’d been when he’d spotted her fairy wings.
“The way to her sister, and then the way back home.”
“Oh,” he said, as if he fully understood, though he didn’t.
“Whatever you do, Adam, you mustn’t let yourself fall in love with her. She’ll break your heart if you do. She has to leave you in the end. Don’t forget.”
“Don’t worry. I don’t even like girls.” Adam turned and yanked the branches aside again, but when he looked now there was only more forest. No pond. No woman.
“What the heck?” He turned back to Maire again, but she was gone as well, just like the vision. And right beyond the place where she’d been standing was the cave he knew would lead him home again. Though Adam was certain it hadn’t been there before.
***
Brigit
March 21, 1978
St. Mary’s Orphanage Maybourne Row, Brooklyn 9:00 p.m.
“Read it again, Sister Mary Agnes.”
Sister’s gentle smile added creases to her lined face. One withered hand ruffled Brigit’s curls. “All right, little one. But this is the last time.”
Brigit snuggled more deeply into the small wooden bed. Her pillow was lumpy, and her blanket none too thick. She ran her hands lovingly over the intricate embroidery on the book’s cloth cover, her fingers tracing the elegant scroll of the title, Fairytale. Her parents must have loved her very much, to have made such a wonderful book for her. Brigit knew that because Sister told her so often. She opened the book to the first vellum page, with its brilliantly colored, hand-painted illustration. The one showing the mystical forest, with the crystal water in the center, and way off in the distance, the castle spires. Brigit looked at the picture for a long time, before pushing the book into Sister’s powdery soft hands.
“Once upon a time,” Sister began, “not so very long ago, two princesses were born. No ordinary princesses, though. These babies were special. These babies were fay.”
“And that means fairy, right Sister Mary Agnes?” Brigit didn’t need to ask. She knew the Fairytale by heart. But her comments and questions had become a part of the ritual.
“Yes, Brigit. That means fairy.” Sister Mary Agnes turned the page, and let Brigit take a good long look at the next picture. This one was of the beautiful fairy princess holding her twin daughters in her arms. One had raven’s wing curls just like Brigit’s, and the other had hair as yellow as spun gold.
“Their mother was Princess Maire, the only daughter of the Fay King Padraig. And their father was Jonathon, the mortal man who’d come through the invisible curtain to find her. ‘Twas the hand of Fate that led him there, for the enchanted realm is invisible to most mortal eyes.”
Despite the thinness of her blanket, Brigit felt warm when she thought about Maire and John, and the love they’d had between them. So strong it had crossed worlds to find fulfillment. Sister Mary Agnes often said Brigit was too young to think about love the way she did. But Brigit didn’t think so. She thought nine was plenty old enough to understand matters of the heart. Sister would think so too, if she knew about Brigit’s dream. One dream which came to her over and over again. A lovely dream in which the fairy princess Maire appeared to her and whispered, “Would you like to see your fate, little one?” And Brigit always answered yes, and waited as Maire parted some mists with a wave of her dainty hand, and pointed. When Brigit peered through she saw a man. A golden-haired man who looked very sad and confused, and she felt an instinctive urge to try to comfort him. He needed her, that man with the hurt in his deep blue eyes.
But she couldn’t tell Sister about that dream. She’d never understand.
Sister had turned the page, and was reading again. “Their home was the forest of Rush, which lies beyond the mortal world. And the princess’s daughters were born at a time of peace. But alas, by the twins’ first birthday there came a period of great turmoil in Rush. For even in the enchanted realm, evil exists.”
A little shiver raced up Brigit’s spine. The vellum made a whispery sound, and Sister’s voice came again, as raspy and soft as the paper.
“The Prince of the Dark Side was never content to live in the part of the enchanted realm to which his family had been consigned. That part beyond Rush, where daylight never ventured. Always, those dark ones had coveted the fay forest and kingdom. They’d raised up an army of trolls and goblins and all manner of dark beings, and together, they laid siege to the castle of the king.”
Brigit didn’t look at that picture. It was too scary. A mishmash of nightmarish creatures storming those pretty castles, wielding swords and maces and looking as fierce as death itself.
“Princess Maire was killed in the battle, and poor John was beside himself with grief. Only wise King Padraig knew what must be done. He ordered John to take the wee princesses away from Rush. To part the invisible curtain once more, and to return with his daughters to the mortal world, where they would be safe from the Dark Prince’s blade.”
Brigit nodded. “And before Jonathon left...” she prompted.
Mary Agnes smiled and turned another page. “Before Jonathon left, King Paddy gave him two books, fashioned by Princess Maire with her own hands. She’d been blessed with the second sight, Maire had. She’d been able to see into the future. And she’d crafted the books for the time when her daughters would have to get by without her.”
“And is this one of them, Sister?”
Sister made her eyes very big, as she always did when Brigit asked the question. “It might very well be, Brigit.”
Brigit nodded. It was fun to think her mother might have been a fairy princess.
“The king told John to see to the children’s safety. For one day, when they were grown, they would be called to return, the eldest to take her place on the throne of Rush. And the younger to assist her in regaining it. As firstborn— though only by a minute—the eldest had inherited the largest share of her mother’s magic. And when the time
came, she would regain some memories of the kingdom. The youngest, though, would likely remember none of it. The accepting of her fate might well be more difficult for her.”
Mary Agnes flipped to the last page, the page depicting Princess Maire, with her cascades of red-orange curls and her glittering gown. Her love-filled, sea-blue eyes seemed to stare at Brigit from the page.
“Trials and turmoil await you, little princesses. But when things seem hopeless, turn to the Fairytale to remind you of who you are. And remember, if you be true to your heart, happiness will greet you at the end of your journey.”
As always, Sister Mary Agnes left the book open to that page and laid it in Brigit’s lap.
Brigit traced Maire’s beautiful face with her fingertips, blinking tiredly. “Do you think she really was my mother?”
Mary Agnes sighed. “I only know what I know, child. Father Anthony found you and another tiny girl sleeping at the altar one morning. And each of you had a book just like this one. Yours with the name Brigit inside, and the other with the name of Bridin. And tucked into a little pocket sewn within each cover, was a pendant for each of you.”
Brigit fingered the necklace she never took off. A dainty pewter fairy, embracing a long, narrow crystal, with points at both ends.
“The note Father Anthony found beside you said simply, ‘My time on this earth is ending. Please, take care of my girls. Jonathon.’”
“And what happened to Bridin?” Brigit knew, but asked again anyway. Sister’s tales seemed more real when Brigit made her tell them right to the end.
“Bridin was adopted right away, darling. But you’d taken ill, and were in no condition to go with her. One day, though, you’ll find a fairytale all your own. One day you’ll have your happily-ever-after.”
“Will I really, Sister Mary Agnes?”
For years Brigit had trusted utterly in the Fairytale. She’d had to, because she’d had nothing else. And she adored the woman who told it, knew Sister Mary Agnes would never deliberately lie. But Brigit wasn’t a baby anymore. And the longer she remained here at St. Mary’s, the harder it became to believe in fairies or enchanted kingdoms or...or especially happily-ever-afters. She closed her eyes as Sister’s crinkled palm slipped repeatedly over her hair.
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