by Jon Etter
Queen Modthryth said nothing but continued to hold her sword at the ready.
“King Julius, let slip the dogs of war!” the nobleman to his left demanded.
“I’m allergic to dogs. Maybe we could pick up a few kittens of honorable retreat on the way back to Dinas Ffaraon,” King Julius suggested.
“If our queen has no stomach for battle, maybe someone else should lead us!” Lady Perchta declared.
“Call for the charge or we’ll tie you to your pony and send you galloping on your own at the enemy,” the noble to Julius’s right threatened.
Both monarchs eyed the threats they faced within their own ranks. Queen Modthryth’s stern face belied the fear she felt. King Julius’s fear was on full display for anyone who cared to look. Neither moved, yet both had to or their hands would be forced.
Or so they thought. Before the point of do or die (or, more likely for both, do then die) could arrive, a pair of ram horns sounded—the signals of royal messangers bearing urgent news. A green-clad rider from the west galloped with all speed to King Julius; a red-clad rider from the east did the same until he reached Queen Modthryth. The news they had to share was the same.
“My liege and leaders of the Horde, all the Sluagh children of noble birth—”
“Your Excellency, your graces, the children of the Seelie Court—”
“Abducted—”
“Kidnapped—”
“Mesmerized by a flute-playing pixie—”
“Stuffed into a suitcase—”
“Snatched up by a great beast—”
“Whisked away by an unseen force—”
“And carried into the clouds!”
Both sides erupted in outrage.
“How dare you strike against our children!”
“Of all the vile, villainous, cowardly acts!”
“You’ll pay with all your lives for this!”
“Death to the Seelie Court!”
“Death to the Sluagh Horde!”
Even the two leaders, reluctant warriors both, were so enraged at what they believed to be the other’s despicable treachery that they were moved to strike. Both raised their swords high.
“Seelie Court, get ready!”
“Sluagh Horde on my command!”
“WAIT!” Shade’s voice thundered through the valley. “Here they come!”
Racing like the wind, fifty feet of snaky, leopardy scales and fur sailed past Shade and the assembled common fairyfolk and down through the valley, and finally skidded to a stop atop the south hill of the Bucket of Blood. It was Glatis, the Questing Beast. And on her back were three riders.
Queen Modthryth smiled. “Beow.”
King Julius lowered his sword. “Viola.”
“Ginch,” Shade said. “Is the Professor—?”
“He’s inside. He said he wanted to entertain the childrens until we get here,” Ginch replied as he unfastened the latches on the suitcase he held in his hand.
Ginch tossed the suitcase to the ground. It sprang open and out leaped the Professor, playing a bouncy tune upon a fife. Next a pair of elven children marched out playing a pair of military drums followed by a long train of children of every size and shape and species of fairy. When the last of them stepped from the luggage, the hilltop was teeming with children. The Professor at last stopped and gave Shade a salute.
“Vada! Vada, where are you?” a Seelie lord shouted.
“Banstan?” called a Sluagh noblewoman. “I don’t see my Banstan!”
“Hold-a you ponies! You gotta the too many childrens for just the one delivery.” Ginch shouted.
Then the sky grew darker. From the clouds above emerged death herself, the Grim Reaper. In one hand she held her wicked scythe. In the other, a small child. Now, good Reader, I’m sure you are expecting that child to be screaming and crying and generally distressed to be both soaring high above the ground and in the literal clutches of death, which would be a suitably dramatic image for what should be an exceptionally dramatic scene. As always, however, I must disappoint you, for this child merely sucked contentedly on a lollipop as she read a dog-eared copy of Plucky Orphan Anne of Emerald Peaks.
As soon as the Grim Reaper flew into view, another reaper emerged from the clouds and then another and then another. Soon the sky above the Bucket of Blood was filled with black-robed reapers (and one rather showy red-robed one), each and every one bearing a child in their arms. Ginch and the Professor reached into their coats and pulled out handfuls of black pieces of paper. “All right, you got-a the kids and we got-a the I.O. the U.’s. Come and get ’em!”
The Grim Reaper herself was the first to streak down and snatch one from his hands and deposit her bookish burden next to him. Reaper after reaper followed suit, dropping a kid and grabbing a promissory note, which Ginch and the Professor tossed right and left. “And the one for you, and the one for you, and the one for you! Everybody gets-a the slip!”
“Careful. That one’s sticky,” a reaper warned as he plopped a toddler down on the grass.
“And this one’s got a stinky,” another declared, thrusting a baby hobgoblin into Ginch’s arms.
One reaper looked down at a patch of white spit-up on her robes. “Ugh! I’m going to smell like sour milk for decades!”
Their charges delivered, the reapers all flew back up, hovering in the sky like a pack of buzzards waiting for carcasses to pick clean.
“Nobles of Eflame! These are your children!” Shade announced, pointing at the children amassed on the southern hill. “They look to you for love and comfort. They look to you for guidance and follow the example you set. They don’t want you to fight in any war. They don’t want you to kill anyone and, for the love of St. Figgymigg, they don’t want you to die! They just want you home.
“Now I can’t make you clodheads do the right thing. I can’t make you not kill each other, and I can’t make you choose your children—” Shade pointed to the scared faces of the fairy children then to the reapers in the skies above, “—instead of death. Nobody can. But when you fight, maybe you don’t think of those kids back home. But right here? Right now? There they are. They’re watching. They’ll see everything. What do you want them to see?”
A hush fell over the valley. The common fairies watched the two armies with keen interest. The children looked through tear-filled eyes to their fathers and mothers, uncles and aunts, and all the other adults that they loved. And the would-be combatants? They looked to each other, to their foes, to their children.
From the end of the Sluagh line, there was a thud and a clatter. A nobleman climbed down from his pony to join the shield and sword upon the ground where he had thrown them. “Sir Wiglaf! Get back on your mount!” Lady Perchta growled.
The elf took off his helmet and tossed it down the hill. “Get donkled,” he replied, turning his back on her and walking south. “Come on, Jack! Let’s go home.”
Then a noblewoman on the Seelie side broke ranks, flinging away her spear. “Don’t worry, Evelyn! Mom’s coming!”
The soldier holding King Julius’s pony let go and started to walk. “Sir Bastian, what are you doing?” demanded the nobleman next to the king. “You have no children.”
Sir Bastian looked over his shoulder at the noble. “I don’t need to have a kid to know right from wrong. If you want to make some kid watch their parents die, you can do your own dirty work.”
“Well, gentlemen, it’s been fun, and by fun I mean horrible and terrifying, but I’ve got a niece to go hug,” King Julius said as he flicked the reins of his pony. As he galloped away, his crown bounced off his head. “Stupid thing never did fit me. Good riddance.”
On the eastern hill, Queen Modthryth dropped her sword to the ground. Then she reached up and took the ruby-studded obsidian crown from her head and regarded it ruefully. “Never did want this ridiculous thing,” she said, then flung it with all her might into the valley and went to join her child.
The departure of their leaders opened a floodga
te amongst both the Seelie and the Sluagh. Weapons and shields rained upon the ground as the battle lines emptied and nobles and soldiers alike either rushed to join their children or slunk away into the mists beyond the valley. But on the eastern slope one figure did not budge. “Cowards! Weaklings! Traitors! Stand! Stand and fight!” a wild-eyed Lady Perchta shrieked. “For every drop of blood spilled by the miserable Seelie, let them pay tenfold! Who amongst you has the courage to stand by my side and fight? And who amongst you Seelie villains over there dares to face me! Face me, hang you all! FACE ME!”
But none stood with her. All departed. Perchta stood alone on the hill, sword clenched in her hand, as she stared in rage and hate across the valley where all her foes also paid her no mind. All but one, that is.
“I will face you, Perchta! For one final time, I will face you!”
Perchta and the last Seelie warrior standing charged down their hills toward one another. “Mom! No!” Shade screamed.
In which there are heartfelt pleas and heartbreaking consequences …
Shade, frozen in horror, watched as her mother raced to the bottom of the valley. As the distance between her and Perchta grew shorter and shorter, Nia drew up her feet from the stirrups and crouched upon her saddle. When the two mortal enemies were almost within striking distance, Shade’s mother leaped over her pony’s head at Perchta. Perchta swung her sword down, but Nia easily parried it with her own as she twisted and aimed her elbow at Perchta’s scarred cheek. It connected with a loud crack. A tooth flew from Perchta’s mouth, and both tumbled from the back of the Duchess of Sigh’s war pony.
Watching her mother fall finally snapped Shade into action. She broke into a sprint, flapped her wings, and flew to where her mother wrestled in the dirt with Perchta. Nia was atop Perchta with her fist raised to strike when Shade swooped low, grabbed her under the armpits, and tried to fly them both to safety. But Perchta’s grapple held firm. The momentum of Shade’s dive tore lose her grip and sent her crashing into the ground. Pain exploded in her shoulder and she rolled over and over and over again until finally she came to a stop, gazing up at a sky literally filled with death.
“Shade!” She heard feet padding on grass then saw her mother standing over her, sword in hand and fear etched on her face. Nia crouched down and placed her hand on her daughter’s chest. “Stay down, Little Acorn. It’ll be okay. Stay down and don’t look.”
“No. Keep your eyes open, Little Owlet!” Perchta called out. Shade rolled onto her side to see the Duchess of Sighs, battered and bloody, using her sword like a crutch to rise to her feet. Once up, she lifted her sword and pointed it at the two sprites, swaying unsteadily. “Keep your eyes open. I want you to watch. I want you to see your mother fall under my sword just like I had to watch my father fall to a pack of vicious Seelie dogs like her when I was your age.”
Shade’s mother straightened up and faced Perchta. “You took my wings. You took my freedom. You took my daughter’s childhood and my husband’s final years from me. You took everything from me. Everything. And right now, I’m going to make sure you never take anything from me or my family ever again.”
“No, Mom, no,” Shade pleaded. She pushed herself up, ignoring the pain in her shoulder, her arms, her entire body. “You hurt her, she hurt you—it’s all got to stop!”
“I know it does, Shade. And that’s why I have to fight—”
“No! No, it’s not!” Shade got in front of her, her back turned to Perchta. “That’s why you can’t fight. That’s why you have to walk away.”
“Move, Little Owlet,” Perchta growled. “Your mother and I—”
“Shut up! Mom, what I wanted most growing up was for you to be there. And now you’re here. If Perchta kills you, I’ll lose you forever. And if you kill her, I’ll still lose you, just in a different way.” Shade touched her mother’s cheek. “I just want to go home. And I want my mom to come with me.”
Nightshriek Glitterdemalion looked at her daughter. She took her hand and placed it on the one that rested on her cheek. Then she looked over at the sneering, wounded elf with sword raised for combat. Her gaze lowered to the sword she held in her own hand. Then that sword fell from her fingers. Putting that now free hand around her daughter’s waist, in a weary voice she said, “Come on, Shade. Let’s go home.”
“Come back here!” Perchta howled as the two walked away. “Come back and face me, Great Owl! Face me!”
Shade’s mother stopped and looked over her shoulder. “It’s done, Perchta. It’s all done. And for what it’s worth, I’m sorry about your face. And for what happened to your father.”
“You’re sorry?” Perchta’s voice dripped with bitterness as Shade’s mother led her away. “You’re sorry? I’ll make you sorry! You’ll be sorry every moment for the rest of your miserable life!”
Shade heard Perchta begin to make a low keening sound. It grew in pitch and volume, becoming louder and more shrill until it was an ear-piercing shriek. The hairs on Shade’s arms stood on end. She turned back to see Perchta’s eyes and mouth glowing red like a jack o’ lantern lit by some raging fire deep within the Duchess of Sigh’s soul. Then crimson flame blazed from Perchta’s mouth directly at Shade.
Before she knew what was happening, Shade felt a hand slam into her chest. She staggered back and watched helplessly as her mother was engulfed by the flames of Perchta’s elfshot. They flared out almost as soon as they stuck, and her mother fell lifeless at her feet.
In which I, your narrator, will let the chapter speak for itself …
Dear Reader, if this were a proper tale of magic and heroism, this chapter would begin with Shade’s dear mother giving a touching yet inspiring final speech. She’d talk about the love of a parent for their child, the need to protect them even at the cost of one’s own life, and, having done so, the comfort that comes from the knowledge that that child will live a long, good, happy life after they are gone. And Shade would have one last chance to tell her mother that she loved her and wish her a tearful goodbye before her mother sighed her final breath, closed her eyes, and passed away, a smile of contentment upon her face.
But so often in the world outside of books, death is a dreadful business. People pass painfully or suddenly or unexpectedly, often with no chance to say farewell. And this is a dreadful tale. There were no final words nor smiles nor sighs. When Nightshriek Gliterdemalion fell, there was only the absolute stillness of death and the sobs of a daughter who had lost her mother.
Shade cradled Nia and wept. When she felt a chill wind on her back, she knew who was there but she neither turned nor let go. “No,” she said as she tried to choke back her tears. “No. Go away. You … you can’t have her.”
“She’s already mine,” replied the Grim Reaper.
Shade looked up and glared defiantly into the eyes of death herself. “No. No. No! You can’t have her. I won’t let you.”
“’Ey, little Sprootshade! Scusi! Scusi! We’re-a comin’, little Sprootshade!” Shade looked past the Grim Reaper to see that all the other reapers had joined her in the valley and making their way through that skeletal host were Ginch and the Professor. The Grim Reaper looked to one side and then the other as the brownie and the pixie streaked past her to join their friend. They stood up straight, puffed out their chests, and stuck out their chins. “We no care what kind of reaper you are—Grim or Julie or Hungry or Not-Really-Mad-but-More-than-the-Annoyed or whatever. We’re-a no gonna let you take the little Sprootshade from us!”
“Ginch, she’s not here to—your I.O.U.s!” Shade’s eyes lit up with joy. She jumped up and hugged Ginch. “Just give her one of your I.O.U.s and Mom will be okay!”
Because of her excitement, it took Shade a moment to realize that Ginch wasn’t hugging her back. She looked up and saw his sad, sad face. He stuck his hands in his pockets and turned them inside out. They were empty. “I’m …I’m sorry, little Sprootshade. There’s-a none left. I use them all to bring the childrens here like you say.”
“Used them all? Used all the I.O.U.s that you won from—” Shade shoved Ginch from her and pointed her finger up at the Grim Reaper’s face. “I challenge you to a game! If I win, you wake Mom up and—”
“Death does not play games.” The Grim Reaper looked over her shoulder at the Jolly Reaper, who shrugged apologetically. She turned back and pointed at Ginch. “And one cannot cheat death.”
“I already kinda did,” Ginch said offhandedly. “Like, a whole lot.”
“But it’s not fair! I saved everyone. Everyone! Everyone except the one I love the most.” Shade looked down at her mother. Then she closed her eyes. She knew what was going to happen next and couldn’t bear to watch.
“No, little one, death is not fair. Neither is it unfair. Death simply is and comes for everyone eventually. Open your eyes and look around you. Once upon a time, this valley was vibrant and alive. Then a great battle soaked the ground in blood and filled the skies with cries of anguish. More died that day than ever before, and then this land belonged to death. And death’s lease upon it has been renewed again and again with more blood and suffering. Today was to have been the greatest payment yet, the bloodiest battle in the history of Elfame.
“But that didn’t happen. Because of you. If victories were reckoned by lives saved rather than lives taken, this day would make you the greatest warrior in the history of Elfame. A near perfect victory, with only a single life lost.” The Grim Reaper paused at this. Shade finally dared open her eyes. Death lowered her scythe, the blade all but touching Shade’s mother’s chest. “It seems a shame to come so close to perfection and not achieve it.”
The tip of the scythe touched Nia’s chest. Shade looked at her mother’s face and waited for her spirit to rise. Instead, Nia’s eyes opened. She smiled. “Shade.”
“Mom!” Shade fell to her knees and hugged her mother tight.
“Let it not be said that death has no sense of the poetic,” the Grim Reaper said. She turned to face the crowd of reapers. “As there are no souls to be harvested, our little conqueror has won all of death a much-deserved holiday!”