3 Dead Princes: An Anarchist Fairy Tale

by Danbert Nobacon

  Stormy laughed even louder. “River spirit? You’ve never seen a river spirit!”

  “Have too.”

  “In your dreams,” said the Princess, now not fearing dreams at all.

  “Yes. In my dreams.”

  “What’s he like?”

  “He’s strong and handsome. And he has a cute goat beard. Not like the shaggy mess all the boys are wearing these days.”

  Stormy was silent at this, thinking thoughts that surprised even her. She was even more surprised when she heard herself say, “You ever been with a boy?”

  Glamour almost seemed to be expecting the question. “Yes,” she said calmly. “And more than once, too.”

  “What’s it like?” Stormy said, raising herself up on to an elbow so she could see Glamour’s face.

  “Well, at first I didn’t like it. But that’s because I didn’t like the boy. Though I didn’t know that at the time. I thought I loved him.”

  “Eugghh!” spat Stormy, shaking at the memory of looking longingly at Mercurio when they were banqueting at Bald Mountain.

  “Then I met this other boy and I didn’t really fancy him, but we got drunk and started fooling around. And he was the sweetest most loving boy you could hope to meet. And it felt good. Really good.” Glamour reached for the herb pipe, lost for a moment in her own sweeter memories.

  Stormy had a warm flash, thinking of when she had kissed River, the traveling player. Then she thought of Fred and winced.

  “So what happened?”

  “Well,” Glamour shrugged sadly. “I didn’t fancy him. I mean in the morning when I woke up.”

  “Oh,” said Stormy, now thoroughly confused.

  “I once slept with a girl too. Same thing. I went with the flow and it was okay, but not my…I dunno. It just wasn’t me. Ohh, but she was heartbroken. Poor thing.”

  “I don’t think I will ever fancy anyone again,” Stormy said. “After what happened to me.”

  Glamour passed her the smoke. “You will, girl. There’s no magic way to find out. I mean find out who you are. It happens or it doesn’t. You try things along the way, cos it’s part of seeing whether you really like someone or not. It can feel really weird, or great, or all mixed up at the same time. It’s not easy to know if it’s right or wrong. It’s just part of finding out who you are.”

  “It sounds painful to me,” said Stormy.

  The girls were silent for a moment.

  “You learned the first rule though,” said Glamour.

  “What’s that?”

  “Well if someone forces themselves on you it’s always wrong. No matter who it is! Mind you. I don’t know if I’d be brave enough to kill a fella, even if he were a bastard gropeller.”

  The girls looked into each other’s eyes, uncertain of where the words had led them, when a gentle cramp in Stormy’s stomach burst softly, combusting into a laugh, and the girls fell on the bed together, howling helplessly.

  Which is how those moments go, sometimes. And a good thing, too.

  A little later when the seriousness that had been scattered to the four winds was beginning to recombine, Stormy asked cautiously, “Was that a prophecy? I mean, what your mother said.”

  “It might be nothing. She didn’t say you killed the princes.”

  “That’s what she meant though. Wasn’t it?”

  “She said you had a long life-line, so maybe all it means is that some of the princes you meet in the summers and summers to come will die before you do. I mean, you know what princes are like. Even the good ones. Always tempting fate, trying to beat their fathers and impress the girls. Must be something in their blood.”

  Stormy thought of her father, who was Wangodknowswhere. He was no longer a prince, but she feared for him all the same.

  Chapter 13

  SORTOFINGTON

  Stormy never got up from the bed to go pee or anything. She drifted off to sleep after Glamour had gently undressed her, changed her bloodsheet, and tucked her into bed. She kissed Stormy on the forehead, but even a kiss from a true friend can offer only so much protection.

  It was not until the dead of night, when Stormy really did need to pee, that she woke.

  It felt strange, to be in another new house. It was even stranger to feel the weight of forces that had ripped her world apart. It was only three nights ago that her father had tucked her up in her own bed. Now her home seemed like it was a gadzillion miles away, and her old life lost on a distant planet.

  She shivered as she got back into bed, pulled the sheet close around her, and slowly sort-of-drifted off.

  The dreamland of Sortofington was not where she wanted to be. But Sortofington was where her troubled mind looked for answers. We have all been there.

  The Giggle Monkeys were there, laughing. Always laughing. Singing and laughing all at the same time.

  Princess, Princess,

  I bet you won’t remember this.

  Take a good long look

  For goodness sake.

  Princess, Princess,

  I bet you won’t remember this.

  Wish upon the sun,

  When you wake.

  Princess, Princess,

  I bet you won’t …

  “Okay, okay. I get the picture,” stormed Stormy in her dream.

  The Giggle Monkeys looked at her dumbfounded, then slowly resumed chattering among themselves. The monkey with a gray streak of hair running back from his forehead in a mohawk stepped forward.

  “I am Gimminy Giggle. You are the honorary Princess Giggle. And we are giving you the tools to do the job.”

  “Tools? What tools? What Job? I don’t see any tools!”

  “Well,” said Gimminy Giggle, “that depends on what happens next.”

  “So what does happen next?”

  “We won’t know until it happens, you see …”

  “So how can you give me the right tools?” pleaded Stormy, exasperated.

  “We can’t be sure,” said Gimminy. “But what we have given you should stand you in good stead when the time comes.”

  “But you haven’t given me anything!”

  “We have too! We gave her the tools, didn’t we lads?” Gimminy appealed to his comrades.

  Now the Giggle Monkeys muttered among themselves again.

  “Well, if she can’t remember it in a dream, then my bet is as good as won,” said Garama Giggle.

  “Don’t count your gracklechicks!” said Gimminy Giggle.

  “I think she has hidden depths,” said Goandermi Giggle.

  “Time she met the Bird,” said Garama.

  You may think all this talk and pictures of strange creatures was only legend. Or maybe it is mere pretendsuppose to scare children at night? It’s easy to forget that the night stories we tell our children are simply less scary versions of the tales adults tell each other. It’s easy to forget that our ancestors fought monsters. And some lived to tell the tale.

  Admittedly the strangest creature we have actually seen thus far in Stormy’s waking world is a donkey. But that is about to change. For there in the distance, in the alive world, just below the dawn horizon, where the ice sheet stretches out forever, there comes a black speck. Impossible to tell at this distance what it is, but the very fact we can see it at all means it is bigger than anything we have previously known.

  Back in the dream, the Giggle Monkeys still talked among themselves.

  “Time she met the Bird,” the whole said as one.

  “That’s you, Miss Princess,” chimed Goandermi. “Now don’t forget.”

  Which bird? Forget what?mouthed Stormy, as she slid from Sortofington into a deeper untroubled sleep …

  Chapter 14

  THE BLACK BIRD

  “What’s that?” said The Fool, rubbing his eyes and pulling himself up on the couch bed.

  “I said, it really is time she met the Bird,” said an exasperated Witch in the Ditch. “I just coaxed a message bird down, see? Comes from Bald Mountain, but it tells news fr
om King Jude in Rockport.”

  “What news?” said The Fool, shaking himself awake.

  “The Oosarians! They have an army of boats up the north coast sailing beyond Rockport. They will soon be sailing up the mouth of the Lumbiana, he says. Powered by slaves, he says. Wance they reach River Bald Falls they ”

  “Boats. Boats. What boats?” gasped The Fool.

  “They’re like floating cities, says Jude. Five hundred fighting men on each of ’em. Quare creatures makes up many of their number. He says there’s ten ships. No one’s ever dreamed it. Gwynmerelda says … it’s all addressed to Walterbald of course. She says he has to get his ass back there as fast as he can fart.”

  The Fool was wide awake now. Glamour came into the room, rubbing her eyes. “What’s all the ruckus? It’s barely past sun up.”

  “Mergnecy in Morainia,” howled her mother. “Go wake the girl.”

  Stormy was asleep, but not for long.

  “You mean the Oosarians are about to invade Morainia? But, but how? Why?” clamored Stormy, clutching her mug of tea. “It’s all my fault isn’t it?” she burst out. “For killing that stupid Prince! And I didn’t mean to!” she wailed.

  But then she stopped. The thought came to her: It was his fault. I might not like it but I can’t undo what I’ve done. From which it will be seen that Stormy was indeed changing.

  “Well, there be another prince or two on them warships, no doubt,” quipped The Witch.

  “Mother!” Glamour said, looking at Stormy. She sat beside the Princess, put a comforting arm around her, and gave The Witch a disparaging look.

  “No, it’s okay, thanks,” Stormy said grimly to her friend. But she squeezed her hand as she said it.

  The Fool stood up and began pacing. “This has nothing to do with you, other than the fact that you are Morainian. The why is simple. Since as long as we can remember, Oosarian rulers have eyed Morainia’s metal reserves jealously.”

  “Hah!” interrupted The Witch. “They be jealous, is why! Never met an Oosarian who could stand to see someone else having a good time. That Mercurio was bad enough. But them other two, his brothers, Toromos and Braggardio, are war wolves to be sure.” Her eyes narrowed.

  “Nukeander and Mercurio, and the courtship deal was a ploy,” spat The Fool. It was all a diversion, while the war fleet sailed north.” He laughed, but there was a proud look in his eye. “Didn’t know they’d get you, though, did they, Alexandra Stormybald Wilson?”

  Stormy frowned. “We have to find my dad!”

  “I sent out word already,” squawked The Witch. As if on cue, a bird flew into the half-open front door, clattering across the floor in a scuff of feathers.

  It was a humble message bird, smaller than a hen. The poor thing looked exhausted. The Witch scuttled over to relieve the bird of its burden, lifting it on to the counter where a bowl of water waited. After the bird had gulped bird-sized gulps, The Witch untied the note wrapped around its leg, and unrolling it, read aloud:Keep your hair on, comrades. Eat a good breakfast. That is very important. I will be with you before it has settled.

  “It’s signed M’,” cooed The Witch.

  “Holy Joke!” ennunced The Fool. “Has the Bird ever come down the Mountain to visit upon anyone?”

  Stormy looked perplexed.

  “I mean wan has to go and find the Bird. He doesn’t come to you,” explained The Fool.

  “Is he on his way, Ma?” said Glamour with strange excitement. “Really? Truly?”

  “I never knowed it before, but that’s what he says,” said The Witch.

  To Stormy’s surprise, Glamour blushed. But she avoided her friend’s eye, and bustled about making breakfast.

  The next moments were filled with breakfast and speculation. Time passed slowly. But in the time it takes to cook up some eggs, eat them, and have a second cup of tea in the time it would have taken that cup of tea to cool were it not drunk still hot, a shadow crossed the eastern window.

  All in the room heard the beating of giant wings outside.

  “You’d better come out,” said a voice in a deep bass growl. “I wouldn’t take kindly to ruffling my feathers on your hovelposts.”

  Stormy, who was nearest the door, led the four of them into the warming mountain sunlight, and there, preening his enormously long feathers, stood the Black Bird.

  “Fool. Witch, and you must be Stormy? My, you have grown. And you are?”

  “Glamour, sir!” said The Witch’s daughter, blushing again. To her surprise, and even with other things to think about, Stormy suddenly saw that her friend had a crush on the giant Bird.

  And why wouldn’t she? Standing some twelve or more feet tall, the Black Bird looked part grackle, part raven, part raptor, and part handsome devil. Unusually, however this bird had teeth, which made its giant beak very severe looking.

  On each foot, his dangerously sharp talons were made up of three forward-facing claws, and a fourth opposable thumb-claw. Each claw was the girth of a man’s thigh. And just when it seemed the bird could impose his presence no more, he flared his feather pants.Hunching his shoulders back so the wing tips crossed behind him, he looked all the more regal.

  The bird was indeed black. Black feathers, black beak, black legs … black mouth lining as he opened his beak wide, yawning. But his eyes were different. The milky white-ish nictating membrane that protected them masked a brilliant fiery red ring around black pupils. Then the strangest thing happened. The bird blinked, and his third eyelid rolled back revealing those red eyes. With a birdish shake of the head, the vivid red faded, revealing a more natural looking brown, with unusually bright eye-whites. Shocking as this sudden transformation was, it gave the bird an altogether mellower and more approachable appearance.

  It was, in truth, a most staggeringly noble-looking Bird.

  “Just shaking the flight-sight,” he said to no one in particular. As if flexing that brain inside its massive head, the Black Bird shook his crown and bowed toward Stormy.

  “Hmmm,” he said, “you have a look of your mother.”

  Stormy bowed back. “You, who you … You know me?” she stammered.

  “Ah yes. But first you should know me. I am, in no particular order, the Black Bird, Black Beak, Red Eyes, Wolf-Bird, known to my friends as Emmeur, or M for short. Scientically as well, my kind defies the usual classifications so most people call me The Gricklegrack. The grackle part is scientically a misnomer, but it stuck. I was a good friend of your mother, and through her I became friends with your father. You won’t remember, but I met you when you were two winters old.”

  Stormy didn’t remember, and even if she had, the idea that this monster, majestic as he was, had been friends with her mother was more stunning. “You knew my mother?” said Stormy dreamily. And then, like it was pushing off from the bottom of a deep pool, a more urgent thought broke the surface bursting for breath: “Do you know where my dad is?”

  “Yes and yes. Yes, your mother was the bravest young woman I have ever known, and I hope for no less from her daughter.” At this, the Black Bird looked sternly at Stormy, who immediately straightened her back.

  He gave her a look of qualified approval. “And yes, I know where your father is. I’ve come to take you to him.”

  “Oh oh,” The Fool whistled. But the Black Bird turned a quelling eye his way, and he was still.

  “First …,” the Bird went on.

  “But what about my dad?” bawled Stormy, stepping forward.

  “Stormy. Before bravery comes wisdom. And before both comes patience.”

  Stormy took a breath, stepped back, and the Bird nodded his approval again.

  “I have brought something of the greatest importance,” the Bird explained, “to leave here in safety until we can return for it in happier times. After it is safely bestowed, then we’ll go to your father.”

  At this, Stormy, The Witch, and Glamour looked perplexed. The bird plainly was not carrying anything with him.

  Stormy found h
erself moving sideways and looking around behind him, but still nothing. And as she did so, the huge bird squatted slightly, as if he were about to do his business. The feathers around his eyes and face formed the faintest of grimaces, as if showing the business in progress. It was a mark of his great strength of personality that all of this looked quite natural, and not funny at all, as it might have looked if you or I tried it.