Faerietale

by Stephanie Rabig

  Chapter Seven

  Once Upon a Time...

  It appeared to be nothing more than one of the dozens of small, beautiful brooks that flowed through the area. The truth was much darker, and so when Marian ran toward the edge, Robin grasped her hand and yanked her back.

  "Have you lost your senses?" he hissed.

  "The King's soldiers will be here any moment."

  "Yes," he said. "And it is far more honorable to die in battle than to drown in that."

  "We will not drown."

  He stared at her, disbelief and fury on his narrow face, and she held his gaze, willing him to trust her.

  She would understand if he did not. Many people had disappeared into this shallow-seeming, innocent stretch of water over the years. As a child, she herself had witnessed one of her sister's friends try to leap across the stones to the other side, only to lose her footing and fall in. She'd expected her to land immediately, sit hip-deep in the water and complain about ruining her dress. Instead she'd disappeared, and never resurfaced. She herself had run screaming for help, knowing even as she did so that it was far too late.

  That, she supposed, was when she first developed an interest in immortality. In the knowledge that whatever she came across and whatever mistakes she made, she would not pay for them with the dearest, most permanent thing of all.

  And even after she learned all of the secrets she could here, this brook still fascinated her. No, she was not immortal yet. But the woman she'd discovered months ago led her to believe she could be.

  She wished that she had more time to explain that to Robin. The poor dear, he'd never been quite as interested in the powers of the occult as she, and so she'd stalled in explaining many things to him. Now, with hoofbeats audible in the distance, she spoke quickly.

  "This brook does not necessarily mean death. I have met someone who dwells there. Her name is Scheherazade. If we go to her, she will protect us."

  "You have lost your senses."

  He let go of her hand and started to move away, and she knew he would draw his weapons, would fight bravely against the King's men. Would fall.

  I love you, she thought. Forgive me.

  Then she grabbed his arm and pulled backward as hard as she could, sending both of them stumbling back onto the smooth, wet stones that lined the brook. Their feet slipped, legs tangling, and they plummeted into the cold water.

  At first there was nothing but that water, crushing at her lungs, ordering her to take a fatal breath.

  Then, light.

  It surrounded a woman with dark skin and darker hair. She was clad in a gown as green as the grass that grew along the sides of her brook. Scheherazade.

  She smiled at both of them, and then framed Robin's face in her hands and gave him a brief kiss. His eyes flew open, and when she pulled away from him, he took in a breath to say something. Then, seeming to realize he was still underwater, he brought a hand to his throat and took another breath, this one slow, experimental.

  Scheherazade moved to her next, pressing her mouth to hers. It was only after the woman/witch finally drifted back and Marian caught sight of Robin's irritated expression that Marian realized she probably shouldn't have put her arms around her.

  Taking a deep breath, she decided she would handle any possible repercussions later, and for right now simply smiled at her fascinating Lady. That was how she'd first known her, on the day they'd met, before she'd trusted her with her name. . .

  "Well. I don't suppose I can rightly call you a Lady of the Lake. . ."

  She smiled, and Marian felt the seeds that Robin had planted and nurtured finally bloom.

  "Lady of the Brook, then," she said. "And you?"

  "A Maid. Once of the palace, now of the forest."

  "And perhaps someday, of the brook."

  Now they were here. Scheherazade raised her hand, motioning upwards, and Marian tilted her head back. She could see blurry outlines of the soldiers, standing next to the brook, some peering in and some looking out across the field for any signs of them. She laughed in delight.

  "Yes, that's all well and good," Robin said. "But we can't exactly float here forever, can we?"

  "No, you cannot," Scheherazade said. "Which is why you need to choose."

  As Marian watched, the scene above her changed, melted, turned golden as it split into a hundred different fragments. The fragments broke away, became iridescent globes, drifting down to them, surrounding them. She started to reach out, draw one closer, and paused when Scheherazade shook her head.

  "To touch is to travel. Simply look until you have made your decision."

  Marian lowered her hands, and watched as images of different worlds floated by.

  She saw a pathway at night, a building that was lit brightly by something harsher and much different than candlelight. A man stood outside of it. He was speaking with a young woman, and she saw the smile on her face and felt a warm swell of familiarity. It reminded her of the way Robin had smiled at her when they'd first begun to court. The feeling faded abruptly when the shining globe floated closer, close enough for her to see the fangs revealed in the man's smile.

  In another globe, a woman wandered through a forest that seemed similar to their own, fright distorting her features when an unnaturally strong wind began to blow.

  In another, a young man soared through the air on a winged horse.

  Another, two women and a man rode in the strangest vehicle she'd ever seen; something metal like armor but that actually rolled along a smooth dark path.

  "Your choice need not be permanent," Scheherazade murmured. "You have it in you to be so much more than you are now. You were born to be one of the Constants. Someday, you will be able to travel between these worlds and more."

  Marian looked up and, on impulse, took her hand. "You choose," she said. "You have so much more knowledge of these worlds; you know which would be the best fit for us right now. I trust you with this."

  "And you are right to do so," Scheherazade said, smiling. She held out her hand, and a globe drifted close, hovering in the water between Marian and Robin. "In this world you are free to become heroes or villains. You will learn much."

  "Will we see you again?" Marian asked.

  Scheherazade nodded. Marian looked over at Robin, who still looked utterly flabbergasted. She gave him a reassuring smile and reached out toward the globe, waiting until his hand echoed her motion before she pressed her palm to it.

  She awoke in a forest, Robin beside her. Several feet away, a brook rushed by. Marian shakily got to her feet and peered down into it. But when she dipped her hand into the cool waters, she touched the sandy bottom easily.

  "You're not going to be any help to her if you don't keep yourself rested."

  "M'awake!" Fiametta insisted, picking up the glowing vial she'd been working on.

  "Of course you are," Estelle said. "So what's the last ingredient you put in that potion?"

  "Easy. Phoenix feather extract," she said, snatching up the bottle and holding it out proudly.

  Estelle turned the bottle around, showing Fiametta the label-- 'phoenix blood'.

  "Oh, curse it all," Fiametta grumbled.

  "Get some sleep. You've been up for three straight days, and--"

  "I'm fine. The Queen's coming in the morning to check on . . . on a potion I'm supposed to get done and there's a different one I've been commissioned to do as well and of course the sooner we get Cybele back to herself the better. I would have gotten more sleep last night but the Prince called me in and--"

  "Bed. Now."

  "Yes, that was about the gist of it," Fiametta said, letting out an uncharacteristic giggle.

  "If you don't get out of here, I'm putting a sleeping potion in your tea."

  The overbright smile disappeared, and Fiametta gave her a pleading look. "Half an hour longer? You more than all of us know how important this is."

  "Yes. I do. I also know that you're important, as does Cybele. Come on now."

&nb
sp; Fiametta yawned, stumbling to her feet. "All right, all right." She took a few steps unassisted, and then leaned against Estelle. "I will do it, you know. I'll help get her back to how she should be. Just so long as no one reports that she's okay. That happens and the Queen might just make her become a Shadow all over again. Then we give her more healing potion, and around and around and around." She spun as she said the last words, tumbling into bed.

  Estelle silently tucked her in, and then she went to her own quarters and cried herself to sleep.

  ***

  The Prince did not leave the harem of his own will – at least, not of any conscious will that he could name. Certainly, since Snow had ceased to visit him, he had begun to wonder what was going on past the safety of his harem walls. But it was merely idle curiosity, the sort of speculations a casual observer might remark upon before turning away.

  No matter that those wonderings had begun to take shape in his dreams; had become a thought-thread at which he could not stop pulling, even when he was occupied with a harem girl, or food, or drink.

  To one girl, while drunk and mid-fondle, he'd paused in his ministrations to ask her, “D'you think about m'sister – d'you think mummy's angry – angry because – all those questions?”

  The harem girl – he couldn't remember her name even now, but her eyes he recalled, that precious bright blue – had stared at him in confusion. But something else lingered at the edge of her expression – not fear, precisely, but pity. Pity, and not a little disgust. “I'm sure she's just fine,” the girl had soothed, stroking his hair and leaning in to kiss him.

  “Noo,” he insisted, pushing her off of him angrily. “Tell me whatchoo – watchoo think about it. She's gone.”

  “I'm sure she's fine,” she repeated, a note of alarm creeping into her voice.

  “Sh'snot,” the Prince had insisted. “Sh'snot ever been gone this long.” He had squinted at her; her face swam in his narrowed gaze. But there was something about her expression, even twisted and blurred as it was. “You know,” he said, his voice clear for the first time that night.

  “Prince, I don't know what you mean,” she'd said. She'd laid a hand upon his cheek, gentle, kind. “Your burdens are too much. Let me ease them for you.”

  “You know,” he'd insisted, pushing at her. “Don't lie to me; you know!”

  She'd scrambled away, giving him no answers. And he had no answers now, when he awoke in the dead of night to realize he was standing in the woods, alone in his nightclothes.

  The first feeling, overwhelming in its intensity, was panic. He had no idea where he was, or how he'd gotten there, or why. He'd never been outside the castle walls before – not once in his entire life. Of course he'd been out into the gardens, but the gardens were walled, and heavily guarded.

  How had he gotten out here?

  His eyes adjusted to the dark slowly. He was, he realized, only at the very edge of the woods; the trees behind him were smaller, and through them, the moon shone down on a plain filled with houses. So at least he was near the Villages, then. He could turn around easily, ask for shelter from the most outspoken Loyalists – the would be easy to spot, with the red flags hanging from their doors and the red patches on their clothes – and wait until the Guards came to find him. He had surely been kidnapped by the rebels, or some similar madness.

  He turned and started towards the Village, but froze when he heard the soft snap of a branch.

  Terrified, he leaped behind a tree, quivering and clutching at his nightclothes. The rebels had come back for him! They would surely slay him on sight now. He would never make it to the Village. He prayed, for the first time in his life, to Scheherazade that he would survive to see his harem again. Once he was back there, he swore, he would lock the doors and throw out the key, and never regret it. At least there he was safe from the rebels, from the madness of the forest –

  Another crack. This time, the Prince could not help but look.

  There was a figure in the shadows of the trees, ahead of him by perhaps a few yards. He couldn't distinguish the figure fully in the darkness, but he recognized a flash of red – a sure sign of loyalty to his mother. Relieved, he nearly stepped out from behind the tree, until the figure turned.

  The moon, scant though it was, reflected off of Red's perfect face, her eyes wide, her eyebrows drawn with concern. Her fingers closed about her knife, and she searched the forest with a quick gaze.

  The Prince knew Red well enough to know what that gaze meant. She would throw the knife first and ask questions later. She did not take kindly to surprises.

  Ducking behind the tree, the Prince kept low, praying the shadows would hide him. His breath came in short, sharp puffs, painful in his chest. And the thing about it all was that he couldn't quite explain why he was so afraid. Was it survival instinct that was forcing him to hide? He knew Little Red, had known her for years. Hours ago she'd been in his harem. He'd fallen asleep in her lap. He remembered that much from the night's drunken revelry. He'd said something stupid, he thought, but he couldn't quite recall what it was – something too affectionate for Red. He knew she'd mocked him, and he might - might – have cried a little. But they were angry tears. Not pathetic ones, like she'd insisted.

  What was she doing out here? Had she brought him with her? Surely that was it.

  But why?

  Still panting, still frozen in place, the Prince tried to calm his breathing. She would hear him, he knew, if he didn't silence himself. She had good ears, and he was convinced she could smell panic. And what reason had he to panic? If she'd brought him here –

  But that didn't make any sense. She'd told him so many times that he needn't ever leave the harem. She wouldn't drag him out of her own accord.

  No one had brought him out here, he realized dully. He had followed her. Half-asleep, possibly half-mad, and against all odds, he had followed her into the woods.

  Apparently he'd lost his mind sometime between falling asleep and waking up.

  He gritted his teeth and balled his nightshirt in his fists. No, that wasn't it. There had to be a reason. Why would he follow her? Why would that make any sort of sense to his half-asleep mind?

  She knows something about Snow.

  His grip loosened on his nightshirt, and he sagged a little against the tree. She did know something. She had to. She wouldn't be sneaking out at night like this if she didn't.

  Swallowing hard, he shifted as silently as he could to see what she was doing.

  Red stood still in the middle of the forest. Her knife was out know, her eyes flicking back and forth beneath her hood. But she hadn't spotted him yet. He sank deeper in the shadows of the trees, focused on quieting his breathing.

  He waited.

  A few moments passed. Red took a step to the left, closer to him; then, muddled, took another two steps to the right, keeping to the shadows. For a moment – just a moment – she glanced at his tree, and kept her gaze locked there.

  She almost seemed disappointed when she turned away.

  The Prince did not even dare emit a sigh of relief. He waited until she was far enough ahead that she would not hear, but still visible, before even moving. He crept quietly from behind the tree and began to follow, carefully out of her line of vision.

  This was true insanity, he told himself over and over as he followed her deeper into the woods. He knew this place was dangerous – particularly for him. He would be killed, if not by Red for following her, then by some rebel eager to win a victory against the Red Queen. Better for him to turn around now, to get to the Village where it was safe –

  But when he glanced over his shoulder, he realized at once that there was no way he would get back on his own. He would surely be lost without Red.

  So deeper into the woods he went.

  After awhile, he began to feel brave and adventurous, overwhelmed by giddiness. It took all his self restraint not to laugh. He was on an adventure, a magic Knight's quest, perhaps. Snow had always asked him to play games l
ike this, but she had always made him play the Evil King. He hadn't really minded; the role usually only involved him lazing about until Snow decided to hit him with a stick, at which point he would cry and get Snow in trouble with mummy (again).

  But he began to regret that he hadn't demanded to play the hero a little more often. This was fun. It was exciting. It was new. There were all sorts of smells and sights and strange creatures running around. He realized he'd never seen a live rabbit until he nearly tripped over one. Red almost caught him then; but he managed to hide before she caught sight of him.

  He had convinced himself that he would pop out any moment, cry, “BOO!”, and give Red the shock of her life or that he would at least laugh at her and tell her about it in the morning, deep in the harem where she couldn't kill him, when the wolves began to howl.

  In an instant the fear was back. Snow had always painted wolves as incredibly dangerous, vicious creatures with sharp fangs and a thirst for human blood – particularly pampered Prince's blood.

  He began to breathe hard again, looking left and right. Where were the wolves? Were they coming? Could Red save him, or was she even more dangerous than the wolves? She'd broken his fingers recently, just to spite him. He wasn't certain he wanted to chance it with her.

  The wolves howled again-- and Red laughed.

  He could never explain it later, but there was something about that laugh that was infinitely more terrifying than the howl of the wolves.

  When he turned to look, Red had stopped. She removed from her back a crossbow, and began to arm it, all the while smiling softly to herself. Her eyes seemed to sparkle in the moonlight, her cheeks flushed red with excitement.

  The moment she threw back her head and howled like a wolf was the moment he climbed the tree.

  Later he was not entirely certain how he'd gotten up the tree in the first place; but he was grateful that he had. Not moments after he'd scrambled to a low-hanging tree branch, a wolf appeared, sniffing the air cautiously. Then another. Then another. Emerging from the shadows as if they had only just been birthed from the darkness, they came as a pack, all moving towards Red's call. There was something hesitant in their gait, as if they could not quite bring themselves to trust. But they came anyway.