by Brandon Mull
Muriel extended a hand over Seth. She mumbled an
unintelligible incantation. His blubber rippled as if he were
boiling inside. It looked like thousands of worms were
under his skin, squirming to find a way out. Putrid vapor
fumed up from his flesh. His fat appeared to be evaporating.
His misshapen body convulsed.
Kendra extended her arms and swayed as the ground
teetered even more. There was a burst of darkness, an anti-flash,
and Kendra stumbled, barely catching herself.
The odd sensation ended. The air cleared and balance
returned. Seth sat up. He looked exactly like his old self.
No tusks. No flippers. No blowholes. Just an eleven-year-old
kid with a towel wrapped around his waist. He scrambled
away from the shack and got to his feet.
Satisfied? Muriel asked.
How do you feel, Seth? Grandpa inquired.
Seth patted his bare chest. I feel better.
Muriel grinned. Thank you, little adventurer. You did
me a great service today. I am indebted.
You shouldn’t have done it, Grandpa, Seth said.
Had to be done, he said. We best be going.
Stay a while, Muriel offered.
No thanks, Grandpa said.
Very well. Spurn my hospitality. Kendra, nice to meet
you, may you find less happiness than you deserve. Dale,
you are as mute as your brother, and nearly as pale. Seth,
please have another mishap soon. Stan, you lack the wit of
an orangutan, bless your soul. Do not be strangers.
Kendra gave Seth socks, shoes, shorts, and a shirt.
Once he put them on, they returned to the path.
Can I ride in the wheelbarrow on the way back? Seth
asked.
You ought to push me, Dale grumbled.
How did it feel being a walrus? Kendra asked.
Is that what I was?
A mutant humpbacked walrus with a deformed tail,
she clarified.
I wish we had a camera! It was weird breathing
through my back. And it was hard to move. Nothing felt
right.
Might be safer not to converse so loudly, Grandpa
said.
I couldn’t talk, Seth said more quietly. I felt like I
still knew how, but the words came out all tangled. My
mouth and tongue were different.
What about Muriel? Kendra asked. If she unties that
last knot, will she be free?
She was originally bound by thirteen knots, Grandpa
said. She can loosen none on her own, though it doesn’t
seem to stop her from trying. But other mortals can undo
the knots by asking a favor and blowing on them. Powerful
magic holds the knot in place. When released, Muriel can
channel that magic into granting the favor.
So if you ever need her help again…
I will look elsewhere, Grandpa said. I never wanted
her to get down to a single knot. Freeing her is not an
option.
I’m sorry I ended up helping her, Seth said.
Did you learn anything from the ordeal? Grandpa
asked.
Seth lowered his head. I feel really bad about the fairy.
She didn’t deserve what happened to her. Grandpa made
no response, and Seth kept studying his shoes. I shouldn’t
have messed around with magical creatures, he finally
admitted.
Grandpa placed a hand on his shoulder. I know you
meant no harm. Around here, what you don’t know can
hurt you. And others. If you have learned to be more careful
and compassionate in the future, and to show greater
respect for the inhabitants of this preserve, then at least
some good came of all this.
I learned something too, Kendra said. Humans and
walruses should never mix.
Hugo
The triangular wooden board rested on Kendra’s lap.
She studied the pegs, planning her next jump. Beside
her, Lena gently tilted back and forth on a rocker, watching
the moon rise. From the porch, only a few fairies could
be seen gliding around the garden. Fireflies twinkled among
them in the silver moonlight.
Not many fairies out tonight, Kendra said.
It may be some time before the fairies return in force
to our gardens, Lena said.
Can’t you explain everything to them?
Lena chuckled. They would listen to your grandfather
before they would ever heed me.
Weren’t you sort of one of them?
That is the problem. Watch. Lena closed her eyes
and began to sing softly. Her high, trilling voice gave life
to a wistful melody. Several fairies darted over from the garden,
hovering around her in a loose semicircle, interrupting
the warbling tune with fervent chirping.
Lena quit singing and said something in an unintelligible
language. The fairies chirped back. Lena made a
final remark, and the fairies flew away.
What were they saying? Kendra asked.
They told me I should be ashamed to sing a naiadic
tune, Lena replied. They detest reminders that I was once
a nymph, especially if those reminders imply that I am at
peace with my decision.
They acted pretty upset.
Much of their time is spent mocking mortals. Any
time one of us crosses over to mortality, it makes the others
wonder what they might be missing. Especially if we appear
content. They ridicule me mercilessly.
You don’t let it get to you?
Not really. They do know how to needle me. They
tease me about growing old-my hair, my wrinkles. They
ask how I will enjoy being buried in a box. Lena frowned,
gazing thoughtfully into the night. I felt my age today
when you called for help.
What do you mean? Kendra jumped a peg on the triangular
wooden board.
I tried to rush to your aid, but ended up sprawled on
the kitchen floor. Your grandfather reached your side before
I did, and he is no athlete.
It wasn’t your fault.
In my youth I would have been there in a flash. I used
to be handy in an emergency. Now I come hobbling to the
rescue.
You still get around great. Kendra was running out of
moves. She had already stranded a peg.
Lena shook her head. I would not last a minute on the
trapeze or the tightrope. Once I played on them with facile
agility. The curse of mortality. You spend the first portion
of your life learning, growing stronger, more capable. And
then, through no fault of your own, your body begins to
fail. You regress. Strong limbs become feeble, keen senses
grow dull, hardy constitutions deteriorate. Beauty withers.
Organs quit. You remember yourself in your prime, and
wonder where that person went. As your wisdom and experience
are peaking, your traitorous body becomes a prison.
Kendra had no moves left on her perforated board.
Three pegs remained. I never thought of it that way.
Lena took the board from Kendra and began setting up
the pegs. In their youth, mortals behave more like
nymphs. Adulthood seems impossibly distant, let alone the
enfeeblement of old age. B
ut ponderously, inevitably, it
overtakes you. I find it a frustrating, humbling, infuriating
experience.
When we talked before, you said you would not
change your decision, Kendra reminded her.
True, given the opportunity, I would choose Patton
every time. And now that I have experienced mortality, I
do not imagine I could be content with my former life. But
the pleasures of mortality, the thrills of living, come with a
price. Pain, illness, the decline of age, the loss of loved
ones-those things I could do without.
The pegs were set up. Lena began jumping them. I am
impressed by how glibly most mortals confront the debilitation
of the body. Patton. Your grandparents. Many others.
They just accept it. I have always feared aging. The
inevitability of it haunts me. Ever since I abandoned the
pond, the prospect of death has been a menacing shadow
in the back of my mind.
She jumped the final peg, leaving only one. Kendra
had seen her do it before, but had not yet succeeded in
copying her moves.
Lena sighed softly. Because of my nature, I may have
to endure old age for decades longer than regular human
beings. The humiliating finale to the mortal condition.
At least you’re a peg-jumping genius, Kendra said.
Lena smiled. The solace of my winter years.
You can still paint, and cook, and do all sorts of
things.
I do not mean to complain. These are not problems to
share with young minds.
It’s okay. You aren’t scaring me. You’re right, I can’t
really picture being grown up. Part of me wonders if high
school will ever really happen. Sometimes I think maybe
I’ll die young.
The door to the house opened, and Grandpa’s head
poked out. Kendra, I need to have some words with you
and Seth.
Okay, Grandpa.
Come to the study.
Lena stood, motioning for Kendra to hurry along.
Kendra entered the house and followed Grandpa into the
study. Seth was already seated in one of the oversized
chairs, drumming his fingers on the armrest. Kendra
claimed the other one while Grandpa settled in behind his
desk.
The day after tomorrow is June twenty-first, Grandpa
said. Do either of you know the significance of that date?
Kendra and Seth shared a glance. Your birthday? Seth
attempted.
The summer solstice, Grandpa said. The longest day
of the year. The night before is a holiday of riotous abandon
for the whimsical creatures of Fablehaven. Four nights
a year, the boundaries that define where different entities
can venture dissolve. These nights of revelry are essential
to maintaining the segregation that normally prevails here.
On Midsummer Eve, the only limits to where any creature
can roam and work mischief are the walls of this house.
Unless invited, they cannot enter.
Midsummer Eve is tomorrow night? Seth said.
I did not want to leave you time to fret over it. As
long as you obey my instructions, the night will pass without
incident. It will be loud, but you will be safe.
What other days do they run wild? Kendra asked.
The winter solstice and the two equinoxes. Midsummer
Eve tends to be the rowdiest of them all.
Can we watch out the windows? Seth asked eagerly.
No, Grandpa said. Nor would you enjoy what you
saw. On the festival nights, nightmares take shape and
prowl the yard. Ancient entities of supreme evil patrol the
darkness in search of prey. You will be in bed at sundown.
You will wear earplugs. And you will not arise until sunrise
dispels the horrors of the night.
Should we sleep in your room? Kendra asked.
The attic playroom is the safest place in the house.
Extra protections have been placed on it as a sanctuary for
children. Even if, by some misfortune, unsavory creatures
entered the house, your room would remain secure.
Has anything ever gotten into the house? Kendra
asked.
Nothing unwanted has breached these homestead
walls, Grandpa said. Still, we can never be too careful.
Tomorrow you will help prepare some defenses to afford us
an extra layer of protection. Because of the recent uproar
with the fairies, I fear this could be a particularly chaotic
Midsummer Eve,
Has anyone ever died here? Seth asked. On this
property, I mean?
We should save that topic for another time, Grandpa
said, standing up.
That one guy changed into dandelion seeds, Kendra
said.
Anybody else? Seth insisted.
Grandpa regarded them soberly for a moment. As you
are learning, these preserves are hazardous places.
Accidents have occurred in the past. Those accidents generally
happen to people who venture where they do not
belong or tamper with matters beyond their understanding.
If you adhere to my rules, you should have nothing to
worry about.
The sun had not yet risen far above the horizon as Seth
and Dale walked along the rutted lane that ran away from
the barn. Seth had never particularly noticed the weedy
cart track. The lane began on the far side of the barn and
led into the woods. After meandering for some time
beneath the trees, the track continued across an expansive
meadow.
Overhead, only a few wispy clouds interrupted the
bright blue sky. Dale walked briskly, forcing Seth to hustle
in order to keep up. Seth was already getting sweaty. The
warm day promised to be hot by noon.
Seth kept watch for interesting creatures. He spotted
birds, squirrels, and rabbits in the meadow, but saw nothing
supernatural.
Where are all the magical animals? Seth asked.
This is the calm before the storm, Dale said. I expect
most of them are resting up for tonight.
What sort of monsters will be out tonight?
Stan warned that you might try to pry information out
of me. Best not to be so curious about those kinds of
things.
Not telling me is what makes me curious!
It’s for your own good, Dale said. Part of the idea is
that telling you might make you scared. The other part
is that telling you might make you even more curious.
If you tell me, I promise I’ll stop being curious.
Dale shook his head. What makes you think you can
keep that promise?
I can’t possibly get more curious than I already am.
Not knowing anything is the hardest.
Well, fact of the matter is, I can’t give a very satisfying
answer to your question. Have I seen strange things,
frightening things, in my time here? You bet. Not just on
festival nights. Have I stolen a peek out the window on a
festival night? A time or two, sure. But I learned to quit
looking. People aren’t meant to have things like that in
their minds. Makes it hard to sleep. I don’t look anymore.
Neither does L
ena, neither does your grandfather, neither
does your grandmother. And we’re adults.
What did you see?
How about we change the subject?
You’re killing me. I have to know!
Dale stopped and faced him. Seth, you only think you
want to know. It seems harmless to know, walking under a
clear blue sky on a fine morning with a friend. But what
about tonight, alone in your room, in the dark, when the
night outside is full of unnatural sounds? You might regret
me putting a face to what is wailing outside the window.
Seth swallowed. He looked up at Dale, eyes wide.
What kind of face?
Let’s leave it at this. To this day, when I’m out and
about after dark, I am sorry I looked. When you’re a few
years older, a day will come when your grandfather will give
you an opportunity to look out the window on a festival
night. If you start feeling inquisitive, postpone your curiosity
until that moment. If it were me, if I could go back, I’d
skip looking altogether.
Easy to say after you looked.
Not easy to say. I paid a heavy price to say it. Many
sleepless nights.
What can be so bad? I can imagine some scary things.
I thought the same thing. I failed to appreciate that
imagining and seeing are two very different things.
If you already looked, why not look again?
I don’t want to see anything else. I’d rather just guess
at the rest. Dale started walking again.
I still want to know, Seth said.
Smart people learn from their mistakes. But the real
sharp ones learn from the mistakes of others. Don’t pout;
you’re about to see something impressive. And it won’t
even give you nightmares.
What?
See where the road goes over that rise?
Yeah.
The surprise is on the far side.
You’re sure?
Positive.
It better not be another fairy, Seth said.
What’s the matter with fairies?
I’ve already seen about a billion of them and also they
turned me into a walrus.
It’s not a fairy.
It’s not like a waterfall or something? Seth asked
suspiciously.
No, you’ll like it.
Good, because you’re getting my hopes up. Is it dangerous?
It could be, but we should be safe.
Let’s hurry. Seth dashed up the rise. He glanced back
at Dale, who continued walking. Not a great sign. If the
surprise were dangerous, Dale would not want him running
ahead.
At the top of the rise Seth halted, staring down the