by Brandon Mull
were blind to the enchanted creatures populating the forest,
there are many places you could have ventured into
from which you would not have returned. Of course, now
that you can see them, the creatures here can interact with
you much more readily, so the danger is much greater.
No offense, Grandpa, but is this really the truth?
Kendra asked. You’ve told us so many versions of why the
woods are forbidden.
You saw the fairies, he said.
Kendra leaned forward. Maybe the milk made us hallucinate.
Maybe they were holograms. Maybe you just keep
telling us whatever you think we’ll believe.
I understand your concern, Grandpa said. I wanted
to protect you from the truth about Fablehaven unless you
sought it out for yourselves. It is not the kind of information
I wanted to thrust upon you. That is the truth. What
I’m telling you now is the truth. You’ll have ample opportunity
to confirm my words.
So the animals we saw at the pond were actually other
creatures, like how the butterflies were fairies, Kendra
clarified.
Most assuredly. The pond can be a hazardous place.
Return there now, and you would find friendly naiads beckoning
you near the water in order to pull you under and
drown you.
That’s so cruel! Kendra said.
Depends on your perspective, Grandpa said, spreading
his hands. To them, your life is so ridiculously short
that to kill you is seen as absurd and funny. No more tragic
than squashing a moth. Besides, they have a right to punish
trespassers. The island at the center of the pond is a shrine
to the Fairy Queen. No mortal is permitted to tread there.
I know of a groundskeeper who broke that rule. The
moment he set foot on the sacred island, he transformed
into a cloud of dandelion fluff, clothes and all. He scattered
on the breeze and was never seen again.
Why would he go there? Kendra asked.
The Fairy Queen is widely considered the most powerful
figure in all fairydom. The groundskeeper had a desperate
need and went to plead for her assistance.
Apparently she was not impressed.
In other words, he had no respect for what was off-limits,
Kendra said, giving Seth a meaningful look.
Precisely, Grandpa agreed.
The queen of the fairies lives on that little island?
Seth asked.
No. It is merely a shrine meant to honor her. Similar
shrines abound on my property, and all can be dangerous.
If the pond is dangerous, why does it have a boathouse?
Kendra asked.
A previous caretaker of this preserve had a fascination
with naiads.
The dandelion guy? Seth asked.
A different guy, Grandpa said. It’s a long story. Ask
Lena about it sometime; I believe she knows the tale.
Kendra shifted in the oversized chair. Why do you live
in such a scary place?
Grandpa folded his arms on the desk. It’s only
frightening if you go where you don’t belong. This entire
sanctuary is consecrated ground, governed by laws that
cannot be broken by the creatures who dwell here. Only on
this hallowed soil could mortals interact with these beings
with any measure of safety. As long as mortals remain
within their boundaries, they are protected by the founding
covenants of this preserve.
Covenants? Seth asked.
Agreements. Specifically, a treaty ratified by all the
orders of whimsical life forms who dwell here that affords a
measure of security for mortal caretakers. In a world where
mortal man has become the dominant force, most creatures
of enchantment have fled to refuges like this one.
What are the covenants? Kendra asked.
The specific details are complex, with many limitations
and exceptions. Speaking broadly, they are based on
the law of the harvest, the law of retribution. If you do not
bother the creatures, they will not bother you. That is what
affords you so much protection when you are unable to see
them. You can’t interact with them, so they generally
behave likewise.
But now we can see them, Seth said.
Which is why you must use caution. The fundamental
premises of the law are mischief for mischief, magic for
magic, violence for violence. They will not initiate trouble
unless you break the rules. You have to open the door. If
you harass them, you open the door for them to harass you.
Hurt them, they can hurt you. Use magic on them, they
will use magic on you.
Use magic? Seth said eagerly.
Mortals were never meant to use magic, Grandpa
said. We are nonmagical beings. But I have learned a few
practical principles that help me manage things. Nothing
you would find very remarkable.
Can you turn Kendra into a toad?
No. But there are beings out there who could. And I
would not be able to change her back. Which is why I need
to finish this thought: Breaking the rules can include trespassing
where you are not allowed. There are geographic
boundaries set where certain creatures are allowed and certain
creatures, including mortals, are not permitted. The
boundaries function as a way to contain the darker creatures
without causing an uproar. If you go where you do not
belong, you could open the door to vicious retribution from
powerful enemies.
So only good creatures can enter the yard, Kendra
said.
Grandpa became very serious. None of these creatures
are good. Not the way we think of good. None are safe.
Much of morality is peculiar to mortality. The best creatures
here are merely not evil.
The fairies aren’t safe? Seth asked.
They aren’t out to harm anyone, or I wouldn’t allow
them in the yard. I suppose they are capable of good deeds,
but they would not normally do them for what we would
consider the right reasons. Take brownies, for instance.
Brownies don’t fix things to help people. They fix things
because they enjoy fixing things.
Do the fairies talk? Kendra asked.
Not much to humans. They have a language all their
own, although they rarely speak to each other, except to
trade insults. Most never condescend to use human speech.
They consider everything beneath them. Fairies are vain,
selfish creatures. You may have noticed I drained all the
fountains and the birdbaths outside. When they are full,
the fairies assemble to stare at their reflections all day.
Is Kendra a fairy? Seth asked.
Grandpa bit his lip and stared at the floor, obviously
trying to choke back a laugh. We had a mirror outside
once and they flocked around it, Kendra said, studiously
ignoring both the comment and the reaction. I wondered
what the heck was going on.
Grandpa regained his composure. Exactly the sort of
display I was trying to avoid by draining the birdbaths.
Fairies are remarkably conce
ited. Outside of a sanctuary
like this one, they won’t even let a mortal glimpse them.
Since they consider looking at themselves the ultimate
delight, they deny the pleasure to others. Most of the
nymphs have the same mentality.
Why don’t they care here? Kendra asked.
They still care. But they can’t hide when you drink
their milk, so they have reluctantly grown accustomed to
mortals seeing them. I have to laugh sometimes. The fairies
pretend not to care what mortals think about them, but try
giving one a compliment. She’ll blush, and the others will
crowd in for their turn. You would think they’d be embarrassed.
I think they’re pretty, Seth said.
They’re gorgeous! Grandpa agreed. And they can be
useful. They handle most of my gardening. But good? Safe?
Not so much.
Kendra swallowed the last of her hot chocolate. So if
we don’t go into the woods or the barn, and don’t bother
the fairies, we’ll be fine?
Yes. This house and the yard around it is the most protected
location in Fablehaven. Only the gentlest creatures
are allowed here. Of course, there are a few nights a year
when all the creatures run amuck, and one of those is coming
up. But I’ll tell you more about it when the time
comes.
Seth scooted forward in his chair. I want to hear about
the evil creatures. What’s out there?
For the sake of your ability to sleep at night, I’m going
to keep that to myself.
I met that weird old lady. Was she really something
else?
Grandpa gripped the edge of the desk. That encounter
is a frightening example of why the woods are forbidden. It
could have been disastrous. You ventured toward a very
hazardous area.
Is she a witch? Seth asked.
She is. Her name is Muriel Taggert.
How come I could see her?
Witches are mortal.
Then why don’t you get rid of her? Seth suggested.
The shack is not her home. It is her prison. She personifies
the reasons why exploring the woods is unwise. Her
husband was a caretaker here more than a hundred and
sixty years ago. She was an intelligent, lovely woman. But
she became a frequent visitor to some of the darker portions
of the forest, where she consorted with unsavory
beings. They tutored her. Before long, she became enamored
with the power of witchcraft, and they acquired considerable
influence over her. She became unstable. Her
husband tried to help her, but she was already too
demented.
When she tried to aid some of the foul denizens of the
woods in a treacherous act of rebellion, her husband called
in assistance and had her imprisoned. She has been trapped
in that shack ever since, held captive by the knots in the
rope you saw. Let her story serve as another warning-you
have no business in those woods.
I get it, Seth said. He looked solemn.
Enough jabbering about rules and monsters, Grandpa
said, standing up. I have chores. And you have a new
world to explore. The day is fading, go make the most of it.
But stay in the yard.
What do you do all day? Kendra inquired, walking
out of the study beside Grandpa.
Oh, I have many chores to keep this place in order.
Fablehaven is home to many extraordinary wonders and
delights, but it requires a great deal of maintenance. You
might be able to accompany me some of the time, now that
you know the true nature of the place. Mundane work,
mostly. I expect you’d have more fun playing in the garden.
Kendra laid a hand on Grandpa’s arm. I want to see as
much as I can.
Maddox
Kendra snapped awake with her sheets tented over her
head. She was supposed to be excited about something.
It felt like Christmas morning. Or a day she was
going to take off school so her family could visit an amusement
park. No, she was at Grandpa Sorenson’s. The fairies!
She pushed off the sheets. Seth lay in a contorted position,
hair wildly disheveled, mouth open, legs tangled in
his covers. Still out cold. They had stayed up late discussing
the events of the day, almost like friends rather than
siblings.
Kendra rolled out of bed and padded over to the window.
The sun was peeking over the eastern horizon, streaming
gilded highlights across the treetops. She grabbed some
clothes, went down to the bathroom, took off her nightshirt,
and got dressed for the day.
Downstairs, the kitchen was empty. Kendra found Lena
out on the porch balancing atop a stool. Lena was hanging
wind chimes. She had already hung several along the
length of the porch. A butterfly flitted around one of the
chimes, playing a sweet, simple melody.
Good morning, Lena said. You’re up early.
I’m still so excited from yesterday. Kendra looked out
at the garden. The butterflies, bumblebees, and hummingbirds
were already going about their business. Grandpa was
right-many clustered around the newly refilled birdbaths
and fountains, admiring their reflections.
Just a bunch of bugs again, Lena said.
Can I have some hot chocolate?
Let me hang these last chimes, she said, moving the
stool and climbing fearlessly on top of it. She was so old! If
she fell she would probably die!
Be careful, Kendra said.
Lena waved a dismissive hand. The day I’m too old to
climb on a stool will be the day I throw myself off the roof.
She hung the final chime. We had to take these down for
you kids. Might have made you suspicious to see hummingbirds
playing music.
Kendra followed Lena back into the house. Years ago,
there used to be a church within earshot that would play
melodies on the bells, Lena said. It was so funny to watch
the fairies imitate the music. They still play those old songs
sometimes.
Lena opened the refrigerator, removing an old-fashioned
milk bottle. Kendra sat at the table. Lena poured
some milk into a pot on the stove and began adding ingredients.
Kendra noticed that she was not just scooping in
chocolate powder-she was stirring in contents from multiple
containers.
Grandpa said to ask you about the story of the guy
who built the boathouse, Kendra said.
Lena paused in her stirring. Did he? I suppose I am
more familiar with that story than most. She resumed stirring.
What did he tell you?
He said the guy had an obsession with naiads. What’s
a naiad, anyhow?
A water nymph. What else did he say?
Just that you know the story.
The man was named Patton Burgess, said Lena. He
became caretaker of this property in 1878, inheriting the
position from his maternal grandfather. He was a young
man at the time, quite good-looking, wore a moustache —- there
are pictures upstairs. The pond was his favorite place
&
nbsp; on the property.
Mine too.
He would go and gaze at the naiads for hours. They
would try to tease him down to the water’s edge, as was
their custom, in order to drown him. He would draw near,
sometimes even pretending he meant to jump in, but
always stayed tantalizingly out of reach.
Lena sampled the hot chocolate and stirred some more.
Unlike most of the visitors, who seemed to regard the
naiads as interchangeable, he paid special attention to a
particular nymph, asking for her by name. He began to pay
little heed to the other naiads. On the days when his
favorite would not show herself, he left early.
Lena poured the milk from the pot into a pair of mugs.
He became fixated on her. When he built the boathouse,
the nymphs wondered what he could be doing. He constructed
a broad, sturdy rowboat so he could go out on the
water and be closer to the object of his fascination. Lena
brought the mugs to the table and sat down. The naiads
tried to upset his craft every time he set forth, but it was too
cleverly constructed. They succeeded only in pushing it
around the pond.
Kendra took a sip. The hot chocolate was perfection.
Barely cool enough to sip comfortably.
Patton began trying to coax his favorite naiad to leave
the water, to come walk with him on the land. She
responded by urging him to join her in the pond, for to
leave the water would mean to enter mortality. The tug-of-war
went on for more than three years. He would serenade
her on his violin, and read her poetry, and make her promises
about the joys their life together would hold. He
showed such sincerity, and such perseverance, that on
occasion she would gaze into his kind eyes and falter.
Lena sipped the hot chocolate. One day in March,
Patton got careless. He leaned too close to the gunwale,
and a naiad caught hold of his sleeve as he conversed with
his favorite. A strong man, he resisted her, but the struggle
pulled him to one side of the boat, upsetting his typical
equilibrium. A pair of naiads heaved upward on the other
side and it capsized.
He died? Kendra was horrified.
He would have died, yes. The naiads had their prize.
In their domain he was no match for them. Giddy with the
long-awaited victory, they rushed him toward the bottom
of the pond to add him to their collection of mortal victims.
But it was more than his favorite could bear. She had