Seven Wild Sisters

by Charles de Lint

  It was eerie to watch. One minute there was just the ’sang, growing taller and with more prongs than I’d ever seen back in our own world, and the next we had a whole mess of these little people in among the ’sang, and not much taller than the plants, looking up at us. It was like they’d sprouted right up out of the ground and, for all I knew, that’s exactly what they did.

  But what concerned me just then was how there wasn’t one of them wearing what I’d call a friendly expression. I looked to the Apple Tree Man and didn’t take much comfort from the fact that he didn’t seem near so worried as I was feeling my ownself. I started to say something, but then I remembered his warning. So I just stood there and kept my mouth shut, waiting along with the others as those ’sangfolk came up the slope toward us.

  Oh, it was a strange sight. A goodly number of them were taller than the little man I’d found—two or three times his one-foot height, some of them. But the lot of them looked pretty much the same, more tree than man. They were like walking bushes with bark for skin and rooty hair, and twigs and leaves and everysuch growing up out of them every which place you might look.

  The one in front was near four feet high, but something made him seem bigger still. I can’t tell you exactly what it was. Maybe it was the fact that he was the boss, which was something I found out as soon as he and the Apple Tree Man began to talk.

  “So, Applejack,” this big ’sangman said. “Have you come to trade my boy’s life for the two girls?”

  The Apple Tree Man shook his head. When he spoke, his voice was mild, with just the smallest hint of a rebuke in it.

  “We were merely bringing him back to you,” he said. “Doing what any good neighbor would do when he sees someone in trouble.”

  I felt Li’l Pater stiffen at my side and knew what he was thinking. The Apple Tree Man had just up and given away our bargaining chip. But I guess I’d have done the same if I were him. There’s no time when it’s right to trade in people’s lives, no ifs or buts about it. Though, if you want to look for a silver lining, I suppose it’s always better to have somebody be beholden to you than not.

  But I still held my breath, waiting for that ’sangman king to answer. After all, these were my sisters we were talking about.

  “Looks like I owe you an apology,” the king finally said. “I was told you were ready to trade him to the bee court, but I should have known better.”

  The Apple Tree Man didn’t reply. He just handed over that basket as easy as you please. A ’sangwoman came up from behind the king and plucked the boy out of the basket. The way she held him so close to her chest, I figured she had to be his mother. ’Bout then I also noticed this pretty little thing, as different from the ’sangmen as I am from a crow. She was pale-skinned and golden-haired, her features fine and sharp, and fluttering at her back were a pair of honest-to-goodness little wings.

  She came sidling up and the ’sangwoman included her in her embrace.

  “Someone bring up those red-haired girls,” the king said over his shoulder.

  One of the other bigger ’sangmen popped out of sight and before you could say Jimmy-had-a-penny, he was back with Laurel and Bess in tow. The two of them stood blinking in the sun, Bess brushing dirt from her jeans.

  Soon as I saw them, I didn’t mind me either the Apple Tree Man’s advice or the worry of maybe upsetting the ’sangman. I just ran forward and hugged them both, as relieved to see them, I reckon, as the ’sang queen was to get her own boy back.

  We were still in the middle of all that when the king started in with the tall tales, trying to cover up for how he hadn’t trusted that the Apple Tree Man, at least, would do right by him and his people. I guess royalty in fairyland isn’t all that much different from the politicians in ours. Folks in charge just can’t seem to actually admit to making a mistake and you can’t really call them on their lies because, as soon as the words leave their mouths, it’s gospel, so far as they’re concerned.

  “We aren’t like the bee queen,” he said. “We took the girls, sure, but only to protect them. When we heard that the bees had captured two of your young miss’s sisters, I sent my forester to watch out for any others and protect them, should they happen to come into Tanglewood Forest.

  “These two did and he brought them here safe. But when he got back to watching for more, it was too late. Word was, yet another pair had been captured by the bees.”

  “What’s that?” Laurel demanded, turning toward me, as did Bess.

  “Is he… talking about our Ruthie and Grace?” asked Bess, wringing her hands.

  “Looks like,” I said. “We’ve got to find a way to rescue the girls. They’ve all been taken by bee fairies.”

  “Bee fairies?” both twins said at once.

  “Yes. Let’s see what we can do about it.” I led the twins over to where Aunt Lillian was standing with the Apple Tree Man. They gave Li’l Pater a curious look, but by then they must have been getting as used to the notion of fairy-tale people as I was, and they were more interested in what the king was saying. Laurel hadn’t heard the Apple Tree Man’s warning about letting him do the talking, and I guess, being Laurel, she probably wouldn’t have listened anyway.

  Laurel stomped her foot on the ground. “That fiddling fairyman wasn’t just watching out for us,” she spat. “He pulled us right into the forest with his fiddle playing and that tricksy contest of his.”

  “What else was I supposed to do?” the forester said.

  I recognized him as the ’sangman who’d brought the twins up from wherever it was they’d been held. I was surprised to find myself starting to tell the difference between the ’sangmen because when they first came popping up all over the ’sang field, I’d have said they all looked the same.

  “You try sitting in a meadow for hour after hour,” he went on, “waiting on the chance that somebody might or might not take it into their head to come rambling up in the woods. You’d want to play your fiddle, too, to pass the time.”

  “But you put some kind of spell on us with your music.”

  He shook his head. “As I said, I was just passing the time.”

  “And your ‘contest’?”

  “I thought it a good way to bring you back without having to go into all the whys and wherefores, which you probably wouldn’t have believed anyway.”

  “Right. So then you turned our instruments into rocks and—”

  “Now that’s just a plain lie!”

  “Now, everybody, hold on,” the king said. “Maybe we didn’t choose the best way to bring you here—”

  “Not to mention that the accommodations were awful,” Laurel muttered.

  “—but we meant well.”

  I didn’t much care what he said. He could tell any kind of story at all so far as I was concerned, so long as Laurel and Bess were safe. But my sisters weren’t ready to let it go just yet.

  “Then who stole our instruments?” Bess asked.

  “Maybe we can worry on that later,” the Apple Tree Man said. “Right now we should be making plans to rescue your other sisters.”

  “We can’t field the same numbers as the bee court,” the king said, “but we’ll fight alongside you until we win or there’s none of us left standing.”

  “I was hoping to find a more peaceful way to settle this,” the Apple Tree Man said.

  I nodded in agreement, but the king shook his head.

  “The bees only know one kind of argument—who’s stronger,” he told us.

  “Maybe so,” the Apple Tree Man said, “and I don’t mind having you to fall back on if things don’t go right. But I’ve got something else I’d like to try first.”

  Turned out we were pretty much all in disagreement with the Apple Tree Man’s strange plan when he was done telling it, except for Li’l Pater, who I still wasn’t sure was really on our side. The Apple Tree Man was helping us on account of Aunt Lillian, and the ’sangmen were because they felt beholden to us, but Li’l Pater remained a mystery.
/>   “You’ve trusted me so far,” the Apple Tree Man said. “Trust me just a little longer.”

  “And if your plan doesn’t work?” I asked, not wanting to think of what might happen to my sisters, but finding it impossible to ignore my fears.

  “No one will be hurt,” he said.

  “Can you promise me that?”

  He hesitated for a long moment, then slowly shook his head. “Can’t anybody promise you that.”

  “It’ll work,” Li’l Pater assured us. “The one thing fairies can’t resist is a mystery.”

  “Never did much trust all the darn cats in these woods,” muttered Laurel.

  In the end, we agreed to try the Apple Tree Man’s plan. By all accounts, the bee court far outnumbered the ’sangmen, and adding in us three girls, the Apple Tree Man, an old woman, and a little cat man didn’t seem to change the odds much in our favor. But since no one could come up with a better idea, we were stuck with this one, for better or worse.

  “You’re not doing this alone, Janey,” Bess said.

  Laurel nodded in agreement.

  “But—”

  “They’re our sisters, too.”

  I looked to Aunt Lillian and the Apple Tree Man for support, but didn’t find any.

  “If there are three of you, it’ll work more in your favor,” he said. “Especially since you’re all red-haired.”

  “What’s that got to do with anything?” Bess asked.

  “Redheads are sacred to the Father of Cats,” Li’l Pater explained. “Most fairies won’t harm them.”

  “So we don’t really have anything to worry about,” I said, happy now to have endured all those years of being called “carrottop,” “freckleface,” and the like in the schoolyard.

  The Apple Tree Man got an uncomfortable look.

  “I said ‘most,’ ” Li’l Pater told us.

  “And there are many ways to hurt a person,” the king of the ’sangmen added, “without actually killing them.”

  “Great,” Laurel said.

  Bess nodded glumly. “Yes, that’s really comforting to hear.”

  The thought of anything bad happening to my sisters was too much for me to be able to hold in my head for long without going crazy.

  “Let’s just get on with it,” I said.

  CHAPTER NINETEEN

  Ruth and Grace

  he worst thing, Grace thought, about having bees all over your face and arms was how they tickled. But you didn’t dare do a thing about it. All you could do was feel the way your skin squirmed under all those fuzzy little bee feet and try not to sneeze or swat at them and their tiny riders. It was horrible.

  Even when the cloud of bees finally lifted from her and Ruth, she could still sense thousands of little feet carpeting her skin. It was like how you still feel cobwebs clinging to you after you’ve brushed them away. You know they’re gone, but a ghostly veil of them still clings to your skin.

  “Grace…?” Ruth said at her side.

  Instead of rubbing at her face and arms the way Grace was, Ruth was staring past Grace, farther up the slope, her face pale. Grace slowly turned to see what had caught her sister’s attention.

  She almost wished she hadn’t.

  Bee fairies, it seemed, could come in any size. From the tiny ones that had covered them on the journey to get here and the fat bumblebee man who’d captured them, to these terrifying lords and the lady with their grim faces, sitting tall and straight-backed on horses that didn’t seem quite right. But then the riders weren’t quite right, either. They were almost people, but their features were all too sharp and they had a cold light in their eyes like no normal person Grace had ever seen. There were footmen, too. A lot of them, all armed with bows and arrows, rapiers, and slender spears with barbed tips.

  Her own heart sank.

  “So,” she said in a small voice, her hand reaching for and finding Ruth’s. “Tell me again why we left the house today, when we could have been safely doing housework, which, I have to tell you now, I would just love to be doing because it’d sure beat being here.”

  “Anything would beat being here,” Ruth said.

  “You wouldn’t happen to have any firecrackers in your pocket, would you? Or a pistol, say?”

  “No, but… but would a can of Raid do?”

  Grace squeezed her hand and found a weak smile. Never let them see you’re scared, she remembered Adie telling them once, when she and Ruth were being picked on by some kids at school. Fear only eggs them on like a pack of dogs. Just stand up and take the licking, and try to give back as good as you get. You might get hurt, but they’re going to know you’re not easy targets and next time they’ll think twice before they come after you.

  And it had worked, too—a couple of black eyes and a few dozen scrapes and bruises later. They’d only ever had to fight twice, standing back-to-back as the bullies ganged up on them. After that, even the older kids left them alone.

  “A can of Raid would be perfect,” she told Ruth now.

  “If only.”

  “And it would have to be humongous. How big a pocket do you have, anyway?”

  “Be still!” the only woman in the group told them.

  She looked to be their leader—the queen bee, Grace supposed. They all had a hardness—a mean, savage air about them, but from the look of her, she could have invented the very idea of meanness. Which was awful for a whole bunch of reasons, but one was that she could have been so pretty if she hadn’t let that cruelty twist her features.

  Grace swallowed hard. No fear, she reminded herself. Or at least don’t show it.

  “Oh, shut up, yourself,” she said. “Who do you think you are—our mother?”

  Ruth tugged at her sleeve with her free hand. “You know, maybe we shouldn’t be quite so—”

  “I am hardly your mother,” the woman interrupted, her voice like ice. “I am no one’s mother. Not any longer.”

  “Big surprise there,” Grace said. “No boyfriend, either, I’m guessing. Not with that personality.”

  “May-maybe you should think about a makeover,” Ruth said.

  That was the spirit, Grace thought.

  “Oh sure,” she added. “Mama says they can make you feel like a whole new woman, which, with you, would be a big improvement.”

  The woman’s lips twisted into a gruesome smile, which made her even scarier than when she was just looking mean.

  If she could have, Grace would have taken off right then. Just run off with Ruth, as fast and far away from here as they could. But they couldn’t outrun horses. Or those strange dogs she now spied, six or seven of them crouched in a half circle. She blinked, realizing that the dogs had Root penned up against the trunk of some old apple tree, though Root didn’t appear to be taking much notice of them.

  Turning back to the woman, she caught a glimpse of red hair farther up the slope. Staring harder, she realized it was Elsie, sitting on the ground under a big beech tree, her hands tied in front of her.

  Did that mean they had Adie, too? And Janey?

  “I don’t know if you’re brave or simply half-witted,” the woman said, “and frankly, I don’t care. But you are an annoyance.”

  “Shall we bind them and put them with the others?” one of the footmen standing by her horse asked.

  “Well, now,” the queen said. “We certainly don’t need all four of these wretched girls to bargain with. All we need is one more than the dirt-eaters have.”

  “Should I take the other back to their world?” the fat little man who’d captured them asked.

  “Why bother? Just kill one of them”—she gestured with her chin—“this rude one who talks too much—and put the other with her sisters.”

  “But, madam,” the little man began, obviously as shocked as Grace was by the queen’s offhand order for her execution. “They are red-haired.…”

  The queen gave him a long, cold look. “Are you arguing with me?”

  “No, but… the Father of Cats says such mortal
s are sacred.”

  The queen made a sharp motion with her hand and one of the footmen stepped forward, notched an arrow and let it fly.

  All of Grace’s bravery fled. She winced, but the arrow wasn’t meant for her. The little man went down, knees buckling under him. He gasped, tearing at the arrow with his fingers. Blood streamed over his hands and down his chest before he toppled over onto the ground.

  Grace thought she was going to throw up. Ruth’s sudden tight grip on her hand would have hurt if she weren’t already gripping Ruth’s hand just as fiercely.

  “Well done,” the queen told the archer. She turned to regard her court. “Does anyone else wish to question my orders?”

  It had been quiet in the meadow before this. Now the silence was profound. Not even the horses moved.

  The queen returned her gaze to the twins, that terrible smile twitching the corners of her mouth.

  “That’s better,” she said. “Now if someone would deal with these little wretches…?”

  The bowman notched another arrow.

  CHAPTER TWENTY

  Adie

  reeping through the underbrush, Adie heard none of the twins’ exchange with the queen. She was too busy sneaking up on one of the queen’s footmen—a scout or a guard, she wasn’t sure which. It didn’t matter. All she knew was that she didn’t want him behind her when she went for the queen with Elsie’s jackknife.

  She didn’t really think she’d succeed. Or if she did, she doubted that she’d survive. But the jackknife was made of steel, so it had iron in it, and all the fairy tales said iron was deadly to fairies, so there was at least a chance that she’d be able to do some damage. And while she might not survive, perhaps her sisters might escape in the confusion.