The Forgotten Fairytales

by Angela Parkhurst

“Come on.”

  Wolf dragged me further, inside a tunnel. Rough rock walls encased us, hanging so low Wolf hunched forward. The beam of light bounced off the walls, showing us nothing but darkness. This was a mistake. This was my idea, but I was suddenly overwhelmed with an unfamiliar fear. My hands tightened over his, no doubt drawing blood with my nails. He didn’t flinch or ask questions, thank god. I was certain if he did I’d chicken out. A woody scent lingered in the air, along with the harsh, bitter smell of burning rubber. Where the hell were we?

  Wooden lanterns hung at the end of the walkway. We stopped in front of what looked like an old miner’s cart and the beginning of tracks. Where were the seven dwarfs when we needed them?

  “Please tell me we aren’t riding in that.”

  “Finding the lost stories isn’t supposed to be easy, Norah. If it was, they wouldn’t be lost.”

  Damn him! Point for Wolf.

  The cart was old and dirty and infested with God only knew how many diseases. But I thought of April and Kate and James and anyone else Danielle planned on destroying. Maybe finding her lost tale would help right the wrongs and save the people I loved.

  “If we live through this...” I latched onto the cart and hurled one leg inside. “I’m so going to kill you.”

  The box rattled as Wolf grinned and sank behind me, barely fitting in the leftover space. “You might want to hold on.”

  I opened my mouth and the cart lurched backward, then forward, and back again before flinging forward as if we were released from a sling shot. And then we fell.

  Fell.

  Fell.

  Fell.

  The scream surging through me was hard to contain as we twisted and turned on a track I could only see every few seconds when the light of an enchanted candle burnt bright enough.

  Wolf’s thick arms grabbed a hold of the cart, keeping him firm as I latched onto him, burying my head into his chest, willing myself not to scream as we went up and down like a freaking rollercoaster. I hated rollercoasters. The feeling of losing all sense of gravity was unnerving. My stomach inched into my brain.

  Moisture swarmed my eyes, if I lived, I’d find a different way out, any way but this way. My nails dug so hard into his chest I almost felt bad, if it were any other guy I would have, but he was like a stone wall unable to break no matter what.

  And then, we stopped, so hard Wolf and I slammed back against the cart. Untangling from each other, I sat up and struggled to find balance as I gazed at the sight before me.

  The stone ceiling arched so high into the air I wondered how deep we were. Scribbled on the walls were images, much like the ones throughout the castle, but these lacked color and vibrance. Words scrolled along the wall, telling stories in unfamiliar languages.

  With little effort, Wolf hopped out of the cart and reached his hand out to help, I took it willingly and froze when I saw the room. Soot and slivers of gravel masked the hard floor, snapping under my feet as I walked forward. On the wall to our left was a lantern. Wolf ripped it off with a loud craacckk. I cringed, thinking the sound would alert someone, until I remembered we were alone. Utterly alone.

  “No one guards the stories?”

  Wolf shrugged. “I don’t see anyone, do you?”

  Nope. Not a soul. I was in no place to question, after all, he got me here. Somehow I doubted he really knew where we were going, but I was wrong. Wolf never ceased to amaze me.

  We stepped over the threshold and into the vacant dark space. The once unlit lanterns illuminated and book shelves emerged like an illusion from the bitter darkness. Dust sputtered into the air and I held back a cough.

  Volumes crammed the shelves, the oldest on the top, their spines burnt and charred, age rippling through them. On top of each row, in barely visible script, spelled out different words. The first one read: Märchenhaft, the second: Folklore, the third: Mythologie and so on and so on. Yet again, I found myself wishing I remembered a lick of German.

  “This one.” Wolf meandered toward the one that read Märchenhaft. I followed close behind, soaking in every ounce of the room. On the other side was a narrow corridor, blocked almost entirely by crumbled bricks.

  “How are we supposed to find her?” I whispered.

  “Alphabetically?” he guessed.

  “C would be at the top then. Great.” The shelf had to be at least twelve feet high and thirty feet across.

  Wolf shook his head. “No, you’re thinking of the modern tale. The original stories had different names.”

  I stared at him in amazement. “How do you know so much about this?”

  He shrugged, his eyes focusing in on the books. “My grandpa. Now, come on, we only have two hours till dawn.”

  Wolf took one end, I took the other. Surprisingly, I recognized many of the titles. Rapunzel, Sleeping Beauty, The Princess and the Pea, Beauty and the Beast. Those were familiar. But it was stories like The Goat-faced Girl, Snow-White and Rose-Red, and The Ill-Fated Princess that threw me for a loop.

  Somewhere between the many meshing titles, one book with a cracked turquoise spine stuck out to me. In gold script, as faint as a breath, it read THE PRINCESS OF THE TEMPLE. My heart raced faster than it had since jumping out of the miner’s cart. Finn spoke of the story, one I hadn’t heard of. Yet now I found myself drawn to it like a siren’s song. Using the bottom shelf as a stair, I stepped on it and reached. The book fell into my palms. The gold script brightened, outlining each letter.

  The cover opened and the pages rustled, flipping by without me so much as touching them until it settled on a picture of a girl. Dressed in a long, pale Grecian gown, she stood on the edge of the mountain overlooking the bay. Her face was shielded by her hand, but her skin and hair were kissed by the sun. Her eyes were shut, but there was something familiar there. Something about her face that I recognized. My finger trailed over the picture, then to the passage beside.

  Despite her love for another, the princess was forced into marriage with the prince of Land and Sea. She reigned by his side for many years, drowning in unhappiness and sorrow. A relationship lacking love and full of misery, the princess revolted against the prince and ran away, into the arms of the peasant man she loved. The prince gave her one last option to join his side. When she refused he sentenced her to be hung, alongside the thief. Together they died, holding the hand of the other, knowing death would be better than being apart.

  The story was nothing like Finn had described. Not one bit. True life wasn’t like fairy tales. To the world, the story ended at ‘I do,’ skipping over the lost love and the heartache.

  “Norah. What are you doing?”

  My head jerked up and I realized I’d been breathing heavy. Too heavy. I swallowed hard and looked at him. Soot darkened one side of his face, but his eyes were clear as day, shining into me like a beacon of hope. Wait. His eyes weren’t shining, the book was. Glittering around me like a gold bubble. I gasped and the book fell from my hands. The halo of light disappeared like particles of dust.

  “What did you do?” he asked.

  “Nothing. I saw the book and grabbed it. Then it opened and I read.” I stared at the ground, then back at him. “What do you know about The Princess of the Temple?”

  Wolf shrugged and ran a hand through his shaggy hair. “It’s an extension of the original Little Mermaid.”

  My throat tightened. “How does that end?”

  “The mermaid dies after the prince falls in love with someone else.”

  Taking long soothing breaths, I tried to calm the shaking in my hands. Finn was destined for Pearl. At least according to the new story. But this story, was different. The prince fell in love with someone besides the mermaid and the mermaid died.

  Finn liked me. I liked Wolf.

  Did that make me the princess of the temple? Ohmigosh. Breathe, Norah. Breathe. This can’t be true. If I were the princess, the quill would have categorized me as the princess. Unless. No, no unless. You are not her. I had no story, no pre-determined fate
. I was a hybrid, the author of my life and there was no way in hell I’d marry a pompous asshole I didn’t love.

  Pushing the thought from my head I grabbed the book and put it back in the shelf and turned to Wolf. A book as thick as a bible sat in his hand.

  “You found it?” I asked.

  “Oh, yeah.” He grinned.

  The small print on the front read, The Little Glass Slipper.

  A breath caught in my throat. This was it. What I’d been searching for. He dusted the particles off the front and cracked open the spine, exposing a lovely painting of a girl dressed in rags near the fireplace. Her cheeks glistened with sweat and ash, and in the middle of the fire was a small fairy dressed in a pink gown, a pointed hat and a long silver wand.

  The following page listed every version of the story, the different languages, and the different authors. And then, on the very bottom, scribbled in ink, not typed like the rest, it said: THE TRUTH.

  Wolf and I exchanged a glance, only for a moment, before he flipped to the back. The pages weren’t in print, but hand-written.

  While the stories say she was cursed with an evil stepmother and wicked stepsisters, the truth is not so. Dearest Cindy plotted her misfortune long before the sisters were in the picture. Unhappy with her title as a peasant, she prayed and prayed over her dead mother’s grave for a miracle, promising she’d do anything to become titled. One day, a small bird dropped a pearl beside her, and from that pearl a woman appeared, one promising she could make all Cindy’s dreams come true.

  “I’ll do anything, anything,” Cindy pleaded.

  The woman predicted her father would marry, giving Cindy stepsisters and a stepmother so cruel, life would hold little meaning, but in a few short years, the prince would take a wife, and Cindy would be that wife. A princess and future queen.

  The woman explained the relationship between her and the prince would be strained and full of unhappiness and infidelity. She’d never bear children or give him an heir, but she would be queen. The future of being a queen was enough to make Cindy do whatever the woman asked. Even killing her father, the only person she had left in the world.

  So the day after her father married, she prepared a celebratory dinner for just the two of them, without the new mother and sisters. Knowing her father was deathly allergic to pumpkin, she served him pumpkin soup, and watched as he died a painful death.

  The story continued, but I stopped.

  “Holy shit.” Wolf muttered.

  My breathing jarred as I stared at the pages, wondering their truth. Did she really kill her father just to be royal, though she’d never truly be happy? I wiped my hands on my pants, trying to steady their shakiness.

  My stomach twisted violently as the revelation hit me harder than it ever had. Danielle would do anything to get what she wanted. I said it before, assuming it was true, but this story confirmed my deepest fears. Fears I’d suppressed.

  The pebbles near my feet rattled and soon the ground joined. A sound like thunder struck above and the bookshelves disappeared. A few seconds later, the lanterns blew out, leaving us in complete darkness.

  “Um, Wolf?”

  From his pocket, he retrieved the flashlight and flicked it on, spilling light before us.

  “We need to get out of here. Now.”

  Wolf slammed the book shut and grabbed a hold of my hand. The stone walls crumbled as if someone chipped away at them with a hammer. With my free hand I covered my head, protecting the falling rocks from hitting my skull. Instead of falling on us, the rocks froze in place. I held my breath and stared at the one only inches from my face.

  “Holy…” Wolf glanced between the rock and me. “Did you?”

  I shrugged, breathing heavy. I did magic without trying. So freaky! “I think so.”

  “How long will it last?”

  “Not long enough.”

  Wolf tossed the book in the cart and practically threw me in with him.

  The cart took off, twisting and turning and then we fell again. This time wasn’t as bad, except for the ceiling caving in on us. I tried to freeze it again but couldn’t. In my practicing, freezing moving objects wasn’t something I’d ever tried. Wolf pushed me to the bottom of the cart and put his body on top of mine as a shield. With every breath I took in a mouthful of dust, the weight of his heavy chest pressed me hard against the metal bottom.

  I was going to die. There was no way in hell we’d make it back, and even if we did, the wooden stairs were no doubt broken. The ground would collapse on us and we’d be as good as dead, all because I was nosey and vengeful and couldn’t let it go. I couldn’t let Danielle get away with the evil she’d done.

  And now, I was going to die alone, in a cave, with the Big Bad Wolf.

  The rumbling stopped the second the cart jerked to a halt. Wolf jumped out, grabbed my hand and helped me out. A panicked expression filled his once determined face. I turned around, following his eyes and gripped his hand so hard, if it were any other person, bones would have crushed.

  Standing at least ten feet in the air was a creature like I’d never seen. Spikes stuck out from his shoulders, its sleek body made of metal and iron. His head was more like a skull with horns dipping backward. Snakes slithered through his iron body, hissing.

  His limbs—which were bigger than Wolf and I put together—stretched and shifted, coming to life with every breath we took. Before either of us had the chance to move, his arm flung forward, shooting Wolf clear across the room. His back hit the wall with a sudden crack.

  “Wolf!” I gasped, running to him, but the creature blocked my path. It breathed through the iron snout, hot air whisking the hair from my face. Wolf staggered to his feet, the back of his flannel shirt ripped open. I had to get to him.

  Bending down fast, I scooped a handful of stones and tossed them at its eyes, ducking under the steel arm as it reached for me. I scampered to Wolf, grabbing a hold of his wounded arm. Already blood soaked his shirt, staining the blue flannel red.

  The creature’s footsteps rattled the walls. “See the door over there?” Wolf motioned toward a small entry way on the other side of the room behind the creature. “When I count to three, run.”

  I nodded, squeezing his hand before letting go. “One.” Wolf reached in his back pocket and yanked out a compact pocket knife with a scorpion engraved on the front. With a single flick of the wrist, the blade was out. “Two.” He pushed me to the side and flung the knife forward, right into the creature’s neck. “Three!”

  He caught my arm and shoved me forward, as if my speed wasn’t fast enough for him. Despite the knife in its throat, the creature didn’t stop. Footsteps rattled the ground, heavy and firm. My calves burned as we entered the room and Wolf slammed the door shut.

  The door jerked on its hinges from a blow on the other side. The door wouldn’t hold for too long. The light was so dim, it took me a few seconds to register our surrounding. On the wall were more stories, illuminated by lanterns on metal rods.

  Again, the door lurched, my back tightened at how fucked we were. “Wolf.”

  “Weapons.” He grabbed my shoulders and shook me. Sweat and grime plastered his sun-kissed skin. Blood dried near his eyebrow, I wanted to reach up and wipe it away. “We need weapons. You’re good at this. I know you are! You’re not a damsel. You kick ass, remember?”

  I nodded. Though for the first time in my life, I didn’t believe it.

  “Don’t be afraid.” His eyes were like flames blazing into mine. Chills spread over my skin.

  Another blow and the hinges gave away. The creature stood in the doorway, tall and proud of his victory. Wolf was right, I knew weapons. I wasn’t a wilderness junkie, but I was good at weapons! But where?

  Wolf ran to the other side of the room and the creature followed, knowing he had our lives the second we faced him. Renewed in my own confidence, I ran for one of the metal poles holding the lanterns.

  They were stuck deep in the dirt. I seized it from the bottom and yanked
hard, pulling and groaning until it loosened. With one final heave, the pole came up from the ground, toppling me backward till I fell. I rolled onto my stomach and hopped back to my feet.

  Wolf fended the creature off with another pole, using it like a shield to protect him from the blows. At least it worked until the creature snatched the pole and snapped it in half. Crap. I had to move fast.

  I ran to the furthest wall and hit the pole on the ground; it had little bend. Here goes nothing. I flew forward and jabbed the pole down, holding onto the mid-section, letting it thrust me into the air and onto the creature’s back. Drawing energy from the fire in the lanterns, a small ball formed in my palm of my left hand. The flames flickered, showing their weakness. With a quickness I didn’t know I possessed, I flung the fireball into the beast’s face, temporarily blinding him. I hoped for an explosion, but no such luck.

  The snakes slithering through the armor froze, but only for a moment before one sunk its fangs into me, breaking the flesh. I screamed and bit down hard on my bottom lip. Fighting through the pain, I held onto the creature’s horns. “Aim for the heart!” I shouted.

  “I’ll hit you.”

  Tears swarmed my eyes as the creature bucked, the snakes biting, their venom coursing through my veins. I couldn’t stop screaming—kicking them away didn’t help, only stirred the rage. The creature grabbed me. Its firm hands dug into my shoulder blades like knifes. At that moment, I wasn’t sure which pain was worse, the snakes or the beast. That was, until a metal rod seared my arm. And we were falling. But not backward, forward.

  Falling.

  Sinking.

  Drowning.

  Until darkness took over and I saw nothing.

  My memory came back in flashes. Wolf running through the hall, my body secure in his arms, then bursting through Kate’s door. He stripped me of my clothes and shouted while Kate prepared a cream for my skin. The rest was a blur.

  When I mustered the strength to open my eyes, the chilly room was dim. The only light was the candle on the nightstand and a faint lamp near the dresser. Wolf sat in the old recliner, his feet propped up on the bed—he still had on his dirty combat boots—and his eyes shut.