Fablehaven1-Fablehaven

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