Yet Another Dreadful Fairy Book

by Jon Etter

  “Weakness!” Perchta turned in a circle and appealed to all the Sluagh nobles. “That’s what this rade shows to our subjects! Weakness!”

  “We rather think it demonstrates our strength,” Queen Modthryth said, her voice steely but calm. “Members of our court will march unharmed and unchallenged through lands where the Seelie have always been their strongest, and at the end of this rade, our Prince Beow shall march in all strength and glory into the very heart of Dinas Ffaraon, something that no Sluagh has done since our people were cast out by the Seelie in days long gone.”

  “Where he will take his place as lapdog of that fool Julius’s niece. The truth is that the prince is a weakling, a pathetic weakling who would rather pick up a book than a sword.”

  “Books can be a lot more dangerous than swords, you know,” Beow called down, grinning. “You should try reading a few. It might make being around you a little less unpleasant. Not pleasant, of course, just a little less unpleasant.”

  Perchta looked up. Shade could see hate blaze in Perchta’s eyes upon seeing her. Perchta pointed up at Shade. “There! You see? How does our prince respond to attacks on his courage? Does he come down and face me? No! He jests while hiding in balconies and consorting with the daughter of the Great Owl, murderer of many a Sluagh noble, who has just waltzed right in under our noses—”

  “Our security is sound, Perchta,” Modthryth cut in. “She comes here by royal invitation.”

  “Even worse! My lords and ladies, our queen invites our enemy into our very home. But what can we expect from a queen so lacking in strength and courage that, at the end of our last noble war, with all Elfame stretched out before her like a great feast ready to be devoured, she settled for the table scraps of joint rule? A queen who knows that traitorous subjects have been plotting revolution for months yet has not ordered a single execution to quell it. A queen who has never once—never once—had the nerve to summon up an elfshot to kill a foe, unlike every king and queen before her!”

  Modthryth locked eyes with Perchta and slowly rose from her throne. Everyone in the room sat and watched, tense and expectant, as the queen walked over to the Duchess of Sighs. The queen stopped, her face less than an inch away from Perchta’s, and smiled coldly. “Some of us are strong enough to defeat our foes without the use of magic, Duchess. As for the last war, we remind you and everyone else in this room that thanks to the efforts of your late king and current queen, the Sluagh Horde now has more power over Elfame than it has since the Seelie’s ancient betrayal. Perhaps your own experience in the last war makes you forget—we all know how it caused you to lose some face, both figuratively and literally.”

  “You dare—!”

  “Oh, we do,” Modthryth said. “And do you dare, right here and now in front of all assembled, to invoke Treial Trwy Ynladd? Do you want to rule so badly that you will have us cut you down like wheat at harvest-time this very moment?”

  Perchta bared her teeth and gripped the sword strapped to her waist. The queen, her face impassive bordering on bored, placed her hand on her own sword. All in the room held their breath, waiting to see who would strike first.

  But neither did. Perchta took her hand off her sword. “I do not. Not today. But mark my words: Your foolishness emboldens our enemy. War is inevitable. If we do not strike, they will. And if we allow them the advantage of first blood, we may lose everything we have won and more. Perhaps our precious prince. Perhaps even the life of our ‘beloved’ queen.”

  Perchta stormed out of the chamber. The queen watched her go, then announced, “This meeting is adjourned. All depart and prepare for our celebration of the prince and his journey. We will join you soon.”

  One by one, the Sluagh nobles stood, bowed, and departed. Once the floor was empty and chamber door shut, Shade watched as Modthryth took a deep breath and let it out, her body visibly relaxing as she did so, her shoulders slumping forward slightly. She turned up toward the balcony. “Was the joke at Perchta’s expense really necessary, son?”

  “Yes. Yes, it was.” Beow grinned. “And was the crack about her ‘losing face’ really necessary?”

  “No,” the queen sighed, “but it was pretty satisfying. Go finish getting ready for the rade. The princess and her bodyguard should be arriving soon. I’d like to talk to Shade alone.”

  Shade gulped and shot a desperate look toward Beow. “Are you sure, Mom? I think—”

  “Go on. Don’t make me get all queeny to get you out of here.” She shooed him away with a hand. “And try not to make anyone want to kill you for at least the rest of the day.”

  “I make no promises, Your Majesty,” Beow said, giving her an exaggerated bow. He patted Shade on the back. “Don’t worry. I promise Mom won’t have your head chopped off if you do anything to upset her.”

  “Well, that’s a relief.”

  “Yeah. It’s too quick. She likes her deaths much more drawn out and painful.” Beow gave her a wink as a left.

  “He’s kidding,” Shade assured herself as she walked down to meet face-to-face with the Queen of the Sluagh Horde. “He’s got to be kidding. Yep. Definitely kidding … I hope.”

  In which Shade loses her cool but keeps her head …

  I’d like you to think of a time when you were nervous about meeting someone. Perhaps when you were four and had to meet with the doctor to extract the marble you had hidden in your nose so that your little sister wouldn’t steal it. Or maybe when you waited outside the principal’s office after the infamous “Chili Mac Incident” in the cafeteria last year. Now multiply that feeling by about a thousand and maybe that would be how nervous Shade was to meet with Queen Modthryth. After all, she had been told for most of her life that the Sluagh Horde were the most evil fairies in the world, and their leaders the most evil of all.

  Shade walked slowly down to the floor of the council chamber, taking her time so that she could remember everything Chauncey had taught her about Sluagh royal etiquette. Do not curtsy—bow at the waist while maintaining eye contact with the queen. Do not speak until directly addressed by the queen. Never contradict the queen except … except … Donkleberries! What was the exception to the rule?

  Shade walked to the center of the rose mosaic, wiped her sweaty hands on her hips, which unfortunately squeaked against the bronze plates there, and then carefully bowed as low as she could while keeping her eyes glued on Queen Modthryth. Unfortunately keeping her head tilted up to maintain eye contact combined with the added and unaccustomed weight of bronze armor made Shade lose her balance. She stumbled then tripped then fell with a great clatter. “Dingle-dangle thistlerpr—” Shade started to exclaim. Then she looked up to see the eyes of the queen gazing down at her. “—ick.”

  The queen stood there, silent for a moment. Shade was certain the queen was considering which ferocious beast to feed Shade to when the queen burst out laughing. “My son said you swore like an especially rude sailor. I’m glad to say that you don’t disappoint. Here, let me help you up. And, please, do us both a favor and skip all the usual formalities.”

  Shade took the queen’s hand. “Are you telling me I spent days on etiquette lessons for no good reason?”

  “Well, I don’t suppose learning some manners is ever that bad of a thing. Plus, it might prevent one of the nobles running around here from stabbing you or locking you in a secret dungeon somewhere—we do have an awful lot of them. Anyway, you’re probably wondering why I sent for you.”

  “Kind of, although after my visit to Dinas Ffaraon yesterday—where, again, two days of intense etiquette lessons seemed completely unnecessary—I was kind of assuming you wanted to talk about this rade business and maybe give me a medal or something for saving the prince’s life.”

  The queen shook her head. “We don’t really give out medals around here—metal is too precious of a commodity to be wasted on such frivolities. But I am in your debt. You saved my son’s life. If there’s ever any way I can repay that debt, you have only to say the word. In the meanti
me, I have both an offer and a request.”

  “What’s the offer?” Shade asked.

  “This Grand Rade business. I believe it’s an excellent idea, even if it did come from the Seelie Court. Prince Beow and Princess Viola are extremely popular, and giving everyone a chance to see them together may be the best chance we have at maintaining a lasting peace. And I think you should feel very flattered, being asked to join them on the rade.”

  “Yeah, flattered,” Shade grumbled. “And I wasn’t really asked so much as ordered to go.”

  “And that is my offer. From everything my son has told me about you, I get the sense that you would much prefer to remain in your library and not be trotted out for public display. And therefore you may, if you wish, choose not to take part.”

  “But King Julius—”

  “Is a vain and foolish elf. A little flattery from my ambassadors and a little gift from me, and he’ll probably forget he even gave the order.”

  “That’s fantastic!” Shade smiled. After days of anxiety, the tension melted from Shade, and she felt, finally, like things would be normal again. Forgetting all about Viola and Beow’s plans and B.A.R.F. and anything other than her own personal comfort, Shade said, “I accept. Thank you so much!”

  “Don’t thank me yet. You haven’t heard my request.” The queen paused just long enough for Shade to feel dread creep in. “I would like you to go on the rade with Beow and Viola.”

  “What? But you just said I didn’t have to go.”

  “And you don’t. It’s a choice. Your choice. If you choose not to go, there will be no punishment, no ill will, and I will remain in your debt just as I do now. If you choose to go, you will have my gratitude, but I will not sway you by offering any additional reward or payment.”

  “That’s … really odd. For a queen or king.” Shade’s brow furrowed. “Can I ask why?”

  “Why I make it a choice or why I ask you to accompany my son on this journey?”

  “Both.”

  “I make it a choice because I believe everyone should be free to make their own choices.” Modthryth paused. Shade saw her eyes drift to the portrait of her and her late husband on the wall. “In this world, so often, our choices are made for us—and, too often, unwisely. But I would like to change that where and when I can. For you in this instance, I can.”

  “And why do you want me to go?”

  “To keep him safe.”

  “Isn’t that what you have guards for?”

  “Yes, but they merely provide brawn. You, however, have brains. It was your intelligence, not strength, that saved my son’s life. If there’s trouble, perhaps it may again. Besides, your … colorful language aside, you’re a good influence on my son. He needs more of those. After being driven out following the great schism with the Seelie—yes, I have read and do believe Ælfrëd’s Chronicle—we Sluagh did what we had to do to survive. We took a cave and built it into a fortress with our bare hands, and we allowed non-elves to join the ranks of our nobility. These are things to be proud of. But we also made alliances with monsters—and, what’s more, we became a harsh, often cruel people. And some of us became proud of that cruelty. You heard Lady Perchta talk of elfshot, did you not?”

  “Yes,” Shade said with a shudder, for she had read about it in many a tale: a blazing ray of pure malice and hatred that elves could conjure up from deep within and scream out at their foes. It was the most feared of all magic, instantly deadly and without remedy. And I’m sorry, dear Reader, to waste your time with this explanation, knowing how well-versed in such things as you are, but I felt the need to go through the basics of elfshot for any adults who may be reading, since they tend to junk up their minds with boring nonsense like mortgage rates and tax escrows and whatnot instead of the important things in life, like death magic and fairy tales.

  “Did you know that when an elf conjures up an elfshot, a year of their life is lost in the process?”

  Shade shook her head. “I had no idea.”

  “But there’s an even higher price to be paid than that. An elfshot also destroys a piece of the soul. It’s an abominable thing, and yet you have those who celebrate it.” Modthryth looked again at the portrait over her throne. “My husband killed twenty-three with elfshot, including his older brother to assume the throne. For this and the war he waged against the Seelie, many view him as a hero. But I know the cruel, savage man he really was.

  “I want my son to be a better fairy than my husband was and or than I am. I want my son to grow up knowing that true strength comes from wisdom and kindness, and that violence is the path of the cruel, the stupid, the desperate, and the weak. Your library and its books and people like you help make that happen. So, naturally, I’d like Beow to be around you as much as possible. But, as I said, the choice is yours.”

  Queen Modthryth walked across the chamber and opened a set of double doors, where a pair of guards stood in wait. “Take a little time to think it over. We depart in two hours should you choose to join us. In the meantime, guards, please escort our guest to my study so that she can peruse my personal book collection.”

  As she followed the guards through the winding black passages of Ande-Dubnos, Shade considered the queen’s words. She was tempted to take Modthryth’s offer and just go home, but she never really considered accepting it. After all she had heard from Modthryth and Viola and Beow, how could she do anything other than accompany the prince and princess? And so, with a sigh, Shade planned to go as the queen had asked.

  Well, good Reader, as you have sadly learned from countless forced trips to the grocery store, bank, and haberdashery interrupting work on your elaborate origami recreations of historical battles like Thermopylae and Crécy, often our best plans get wrecked by forces (or parents) beyond our control. The great Scottish poet Robert Burns once said as much in a poem about a mouse, although he said it in a much more old-timey and Scottishy way. Just so were Shade’s plans wrecked when, instead of being led into a nicely appointed study filled with lovely, lovely books, she stepped into a room filled with decidedly unlovely swords, spears, axes, halberds, maces, morning stars, and many other dangerous weapons. Standing there waiting for her was Lady Perchta.

  “Somehow you’ve ruined my plans in the past, Little Owlet,” Perchta sneered. “I’ll not give you the chance to do so again, especially not now that the stakes are so high. Hold her.”

  Hands clamped down on both of her arms and jerked them out to the sides. “Ow! Let go of me, you miserable clodheads!”

  Perchta took a leather pouch from her belt and poured a yellow powder into the palm of her hand. “I’d just kill you now and be done with it, but I think having you publicly executed would be a nice way to celebrate my coronation.”

  Perchta laughed then blew the powder into Shade’s face. She coughed. Her head swam. Her vision blurred. “You … dingle … dangle … maggot-skinned … thistlepri … ” Shade slurred before the world fell away and everything went black.

  In which the author pokes fun at Tolkien for the third consecutive book …

  When Shade finally awoke, it was so utterly dark that at first she wasn’t sure she was awake. Now, I know that you think you know what utter darkness is. True, your room does get quite dark on snowy winter nights if you don’t have your Louisa May Alcott night light plugged in, and that midnight stroll on that moonless night through the meadows surrounding your Nana Svetlana’s country cottage was, indeed, very dark, but neither was utterly dark. Utter darkness is extremely rare, for light, like hope, always finds a way to creep in, be it the soft glow of a streetlight in the gloom or the stars twinkling in the firmament. Where Shade was, however, there was no light at all, and she only knew she was awake because of her throbbing head and the feel of cold stone against her cheek.

  “Thistleprick … thistleprick … thistleprickly thistleprick,” Shade groaned as she slowly got to her feet. She felt sick and wobbly but well enough to walk.

  But walk where? And from where? Given th
e aforementioned utter darkness, Shade couldn’t tell anything about her environment. Was she in a cave? A dungeon cell? Your Aunt Lavinia’s crafting and taxidermy room? Shade wasn’t sure. And so she listened. There was not much to hear other than water drip, drip, dripping somewhere.

  Okay, Shade reasoned, if Perchta’s goons were able to put me in here, wherever and whatever “here” is, then there must be a way out. She took slow, careful steps forward until her big toe bumped against something. She tentatively reached out a hand. It was a rough stone wall. Shade felt her way along the wall, hoping to find a door or, if she was really lucky, an open passageway out.

  What she soon found, however, was neither of those things. Her foot bumped against something that yielded slightly to the pressure of her boot. She froze and listened. She heard breathing. Someone or something was nearby. Breathing.

  Shade’s blood ran cold. Her mind immediately and involuntarily leaped to all the books she had read in which vile villains and hideous creatures lurked in the darkness and all the cruel and bloody deeds they committed therein. It was almost enough to make her regret being such a voracious reader. Almost.

  After saying a long string of horribly rude words in her head (mercifully sparing me the need to refuse to narrate them), Shade took a few deep breaths to calm herself. It’s probably another prisoner, she reassured herself. If it were some sort of killer beast, I’d already be dead. Right?

  “Hey,” Shade whispered, nudging whoever or whatever it was in the dark again. “Who are you? Are you okay? Do you know where we are?”