The Yarnsworld Collection: A fantasy boxset

by Benedict Patrick

  The woman looked up at the Magpie King and met his dark eyes with hers, so filled with desperation and hope. “Then protect us, please. Let us join with you, become your people. Rule over us and keep us safe. Let us live again.”

  The handsome man, some steps behind, scowled at her words, but like all others gathered there he held his tongue, awaiting the king’s response.

  The Magpie King did not speak for some time. He stood, hand on the woman’s shoulder, thinking. “I could accept you,” he finally announced, “but my charge was made very clear to me by the Great Magpie. I have these gifts to protect my people, the Corvae, from life in the forest. It is not my acceptance you seek, but that of the Great Magpie.”

  The handsome man laughed at the announcement, but the woman remained serious.

  “How may I do that?” she queried forcefully. “Show me this Magpie so I may entreat him as well.”

  The Magpie King gestured behind him, to the silent temple with its half-open door.

  The woman stood and made to walk towards the building, but found herself stopped by her companion.

  “It is a trap,” the clever man warned her. “A giant magpie? There is no such thing. We do not have to dance to this tune. We must outnumber them greatly.”

  “Even if that were true, what cost would come with those actions?” she retorted. “I am tired, we all are, and peace could finally be in our grasp.”

  Ignoring her companion’s unceasing scowls, she pulled from his grasp and entered the dark portal of the temple.

  Both parties restlessly awaited her return. The outsiders stood in agitation, sharpening their blades and moving their weak and young away from any overhead rustling. The Magpie King and his guard stood in silence. After an hour of night had passed, a white figure glided to the king’s side, causing a new commotion to rise from the ranks of the strangers.

  “I do not trust them,” spoke the Magpie King’s wife. “There is anger and deceit here. We do not want this in our forest.”

  The King stood with his bride and surveyed the outsiders. “Yes, they bring much ill with them, but strength and selflessness as well. Look at the large families huddled together. Most of those children do not share the same parents, but yet they are cared for. How could I be the one to send them back out into the world?”

  His wife did not reply, but her eyes saw not only the goodness of the people. She also spied the pickpockets, the liars, the adulterers. She felt fear.

  Finally, the tall woman exited the temple, exhausted and gasping for breath.

  “What took you so long?” the handsome outsider barked at her. “What happened in there?”

  She did not answer him, but instead turned to speak with the king. “It spoke to me,” she began, in a voice saturated with awe. “It will have us, despite our flaws, if we pass three tests. One of strength, one of trust, and one of love.”

  The Magpie King nodded. “Will you attempt these tests for your people?”

  The woman met his eyes with a look of pure fear, but then hardened herself and nodded her acceptance.

  The following day was the day of strength. As the sun peered over the horizon, it illuminated a tall cliff that stood behind the temple. From their make-shift tents the most eagle-eyed outsiders could just make out a castle at the top of the cliff.

  “The test of strength,” the Magpie King directed the outsider woman. “You must climb this cliff, and arrive at my home before nightfall. Otherwise, you all must depart this forest.”

  “It is a trick,” the sly stranger warned her. “Look at the size of that rock - this is an impossible task. Come away now. There are other ways to win this forest.”

  But the tall woman ignored her companion and steeled herself for the climb ahead. When the sunlight finally made its way to the forest floor, she threw herself at the rock face and began to climb. At first, it seemed as if the man had spoken truthfully - this climb did indeed appear to be impossible. However, fingers and feet found previously untouched crevices, and by mid day, she had climbed higher than the majority of the outsiders could see.

  A small party of the Corvae and outsiders made their way to the top of a winding path that was the main route to the Magpie King’s castle. There they waited, but the woman did not arrive. Afternoon came and went, and evening began to fall, the yellow orb of the sun sheltering beneath the treetops. The outsiders began to despair, and the Magpie King took it upon himself to scale down the cliff to locate the stranger.

  He found her, eventually, sheltered beneath an overhang that blocked her path. She was rigid with fear, and exhausted from her exertion. “I have failed,” she moaned, softly. “I have failed them.”

  “You have not failed, sister,” the Magpie King assured her, brushing a lock of hair out of her eyes and guiding the mouth of his water skin to her lips. “Your companions are not far above us now, but evening threatens to fall. Retreat a few paces, and then begin your ascent in a new direction. You will be in their arms again soon.”

  She gave a nod of thanks, and followed his instructions. As the last light of the day fell, her hand came over the edge of the cliff to grasp that of the Magpie King. The trial of strength had been passed.

  The next day was the day of trust. The Magpie King brought the woman to a wild part of the forest, where thick bushes with needles the size of knives grew in great thickets.

  “The razor-trees are as sharp as any sword,” the Magpie King explained, “and any brush up against them will mark you for life.” To demonstrate, he gently rubbed a green apple along one of the nearby protrusions. The fruit fell apart in his hands.

  “However,” he warned, “this is not the greatest threat. The thorns also carry a deadly poison that will give you a swift, if not agonising, death.” All outsiders recoiled from the plants at this information.

  “Your challenge,” the Magpie King continued, “is to travel from one end of this thicket to the other. Blindfolded.”

  The woman took a few moments to digest this information before looking to the Magpie King in confusion. “But then, how?”

  “There is a safe path through this part of the woods, known to all Corvae.” At this, the Magpie King nodded and his people spread out before him, amongst the deadly thorns, awaiting the beginning of the trial. “They shall be your eyes for this task. They shall instruct you on how to move through the forest unharmed.”

  The cunning man laughed again at the presentation of this challenge. “Another ploy,” he counselled his companion. “They could not lose you on the cliff, so they seek to kill you here and blame it on your own fumbling. What will the rest of us do once you, the greatest of us, have fallen? They will force us to leave these lands.”

  But the strong woman remembered the kind words of the Magpie King on the cliff on the previous day, and she accepted the blindfold gladly. The soft cloth blocked her vision and she took tentative steps forward.

  “Hold, sister,” came a voice to her right. “The way forward is not safe,” came her instructions by the unseen Corvae. “Instead, walk towards my voice, and continue on that path until you reach my son.”

  Taking a deep breath, she turned to the speaker and walked towards him, and continued to do so until a new voice instructed her to do otherwise.

  This continued for many hours. The strong woman was passed from father to brother, from wife to grandmother, a long chain of forest people guiding her to safety. All went well, and her confidence began to grow. As it did so, her pace quickened, eager as she was to regain her sight.

  “Sister, no,” came a shout to her left. She felt a small shove to her side that caused her to side-step slightly, and she then stood rigid with fear. Beside her, she could feel the earth tremble as a body collapsed, frantic convulsions and pain-wracked gurgles signalling the end of a life.

  Panicking, the woman lifted a hand to her blindfold.

  “No, sister.”

  She recognised the deep tone straight away.

  “Your task is almost compl
ete, but all would be forfeit if you stole back your vision now. A Corvae has fallen here, but in doing so she has saved your life and the fate of your people. Honour her - turn towards me and walk, slowly.”

  The strong woman turned to the Magpie King and began to walk. She rejoined the chain of voices, which eventually led her to the edge of the thicket. She was greeted by the cheers of her people, but this time her sense of victory was muted by the sadness surrounding the Corvae at the loss of one of their own.

  The day of the final trial arrived. This was held back at the temple, in front of the assembled outsiders and a host of Corvae larger than any the outsiders had yet seen. The Magpie King stood at the head of the gathering with his wife at his side, a look of stoic sadness on both of their faces.

  “The trial of love,” the Magpie King began. “This is the most difficult of all tasks, yet can be completed by any assembled here.” His voice rose at this, allowing all to hear. “Think hard about everything this woman has done for you,” he counselled them. “She is not the only one who can provide for her people.”

  He allowed a pause for this to register with all assembled, and then continued. “For the trial of love, the Great Magpie demands a sacrifice. For countless generations, the Corvae have lived here without malice towards each other. Yes, we have had arguments, but we never forget that we are one people. If you are to become Corvae, the Great Magpie demands a sign that your people are capable of this too.” He scanned the audience now, his gaze resting on nobody specific, although all felt that his speech was intended for them and them alone.

  “The Magpie demands that one of you sacrifice your bonds with the Corvae. The rest of the people assembled here will join us with our arms stretched open in welcome. They shall become Corvae, they shall live and find peace in the forest.”

  “But one shall be cast out, exiled from the forest. Your knowledge that this sacrifice will save every other outsider here is the only balm you shall be offered.”

  “Preposterous,” the handsome outsider shouted in response. “Do you really think that any of us would be foolish enough to give up so much and never benefit ourselves? My people, listen to me. Do not be taken in by these false promises. We have the ability to force our way into this forest without any sacrifices needing to be made.”

  A great murmuring broke out among the gathered outsiders. Although many of them were in agreement with the cunning man, many more were raising their voices to address the Magpie King. They were looking to save their friends, their family.

  The strong woman turned to the Magpie King, and for the third day in a row a look of fear was etched on her face. “Do not let them volunteer first. Let me take this final burden.”

  She then stood up and shouted above the rising noises from the crowd. “It is me. I am to be exiled.” She turned in desperation to look at the Magpie King.

  After a pause for consideration he nodded his approval.

  Within the hour the Magpie King stood atop his castle, his sharp eyes picking out the forlorn figure making her way to the forest border. Below him, two peoples mingled, becoming one. The sites for new villages to house the outsiders - no, the new Corvae - were already being planned.

  And as he watched a handsome, tall man slink around the borders of the campsites below, a bitter scowl on his features, the Magpie King wondered what exactly he had invited into his domain.

  His gentle sobbing told Mother Ogma that Lonan was awake. She waddled over to his bed and rested her hand on his head.

  “Now, dearie, nothing too much to worry about. A couple of fingers is a small price to pay for how unbelievably stupid you were last night.”

  Lonan shrugged her off him, sat up and eyed his ruined hand. Sniffing he replied, “He’s dead, Mother Ogma.”

  “Yes, I have to say I’m rather proud of myself. Who would have thought I had it in me, at my age?”

  “No, not that monster. Adahy. He was killed.”

  Mother Ogma’s brow creased. “Now, dearie. Surely last night’s events have helped you to see that all this dream nonsense has been leading you astray? That wasn’t even a Wolf out there last night.”

  “No!” He half-screamed his answer, causing Harlow to jump up in response.

  To Lonan’s surprise, the old man continued to move, flailing around on his bedsit. Mother Ogma moved over to him again to calm him down.

  “No, Mother Ogma,” Lonan continued in a lower tone when Harlow had settled again. “He was there last night. The Magpie King, exactly as I told you.”

  She clearly did not believe him. “Then why did he not stop that thing from hurting you?”

  “That’s just it. He told it to kill me. It was working with him. You must have got a good glimpse of that thing that ate my fingers - it even looked like how I described the Magpie King. Almost.”

  “I don’t understand then. If this Adahy is who you say he is, why would he want that to happen to you?”

  “He wouldn’t. That isn’t the kind of man he is. Was. He was a good king, Mother Ogma. He was going to make us safe…”

  “Perhaps it was the other one then? Maedoc?”

  “Seems more like him, but that couldn’t be right. They were at the palace in my dream last night, the party was still happening…” Lonan slipped into silence.

  “What is it, dearie?”

  “My dream last night. The party was still going on. The party that began the night before.”

  “That seems unusual, dearie.”

  Lonan cupped his head in his hands and gave out a groan. “I’ve been a fool. They don’t mean anything, the dreams, do they?”

  “Perhaps. But I’ve heard the dreams of madmen before, and very rarely do they remain so consistent. The Magpie King last night - are you sure it was him? He was the same as in your dreams?

  “Every last feather, yes.”

  “Well then, there must be truth there. None of our stories describe him in such detail.”

  “Yeah. Yes, that’s right. That part still makes sense. But everything else is so different. No Wolves outside, but instead those… birds?” Lonan shuddered, clutching his bandages again. “And the timing of last night’s dream, that was all wrong. It should have been a day on from when I last saw Adahy, not just an hour or so.”

  He raised his eyes to look at Mother Ogma. “I thought my dreams were showing me events as they happened. I was wrong.”

  Mother Ogma sat on her bed, letting everything fit into place. “That was Maedoc last night, then. As the Magpie King.”

  “Adahy did save us from the Wolves, but now there’s something else out there, attacking the villages. Something to do with the Magpie King. Something that dresses like him, answers to him.”

  “Is there any way this Maedoc could have been hiding something like this from the prince, hiding that bird monster, and maybe more like it?”

  “No. Not a chance. There would’ve been nowhere to hide a secret this big. There was nothing like them at the Eyrie, Mother Ogma, not when I’ve seen it at night. This is something new.”

  At that moment, they heard a commotion out on the green.

  “They’ve probably found the body by now,” Mother Ogma muttered. “Stay down here, dearie. I’ll go and see what’s happening.” The old healer opened the cellar door to the daylight and went upstairs. Seconds later, she ran back down again.

  “He’s back, Lonan. The tax collector is back.”

  Lonan quickly wrapped himself and his wounded hand in a blanket and ran upstairs and outside to the village green to join in the throng surrounding the purple-robed man.

  “I have been sent back to support you in this distressing time,” Inteus was addressing the people, “and to help to make funeral arrangements for the family.”

  There were shouts of confusion with families asking the tax man to explain himself.

  He raised his hand for silence, then continued. “The Magpie King has told me that one of your number was attacked and killed last night. I have been sent to h
elp you deal with this.”

  “Who?” This bellow came from Old Man Tumulty. “Was anyone breached?”

  “It was the young man known as Lonan Anvil,” Inteus announced in a consoling voice. “Alas, he chose to not confine himself to the cellars last night, and our lord reports he has paid the price.”

  At this, there were shouts throughout the village, and Lonan could pick out Branwen’s high pitched wail at the news. However, a few heads close by were beginning to turn in his direction.

  “Can you lead me to the body?” Inteus asked the crowd. A murmur spread through the gathered villagers, and they began to part, exposing a stern faced Lonan to the tax collector’s searching gaze.

  “Well,” Lonan addressed him, eyes full of anger, “it looks like someone’s lord hasn’t quite got their facts straight, doesn’t it?”

  “I-I don’t understand,” the outsider stammered, stooping down to gather his belongings. “I must consult-”

  “Oh, I think you must, but your consultations will be taking place a bit closer to home.” Lonan ran the last few feet towards the man and grabbed his robes at the chest. Inteus buckled in fear and confusion.

  “Now wait just a moment-” Old Man Tumulty began to challenge, but Lonan interrupted by holding up his bandaged hand, the blood from last night’s wound staining the white linen red.

  “I’m still alive, but something had a pretty good go at me last night. This man knows more than he’s telling us. I reckon my fingers have bought me the right to ask a few questions, so who is going to help this mess to the healer’s cottage?” At that final sentence, Lonan’s eyes fell on Branwen’s, and he knew this time he had earned the anger she shot at him. He turned away, not wanting to let his emotions cloud his judgement.

  The Tumulty boys, always game for helping roughhouse a deserving soul, took Inteus from Lonan and helped to bind him to a chair in Mother Ogma’s house.

  Lonan stood and watched as they did so, losing his thoughts in the gentle rocking of Harlow’s chair. He glanced at the old man and the hairs on the back of his neck stood on end. Harlow was looking straight at him. The invalid had never before registered Lonan’s existence in the years they had spent under the same roof, but now his accusing eye tracked Lonan as he moved from one side of the room to the other. This uncanny gaze added to the volatile mix of emotions currently assaulting Lonan, his insides pumping a heady mix of adrenaline as his survival instincts kicked in. If the Magpie King, whoever wears the helm, wants me dead, he’s not going to rest until the job is done. How am I, a Knackless villager, going to be able to stop him? This man must have some information I can use.