by Shannon Hale
Raven jumped in the air. “You did it! You blessed beast of terror you!”
Nevermore dipped low in the air, careening to one side, the shrunken skull in her talons. Her wings beat furiously and she stopped before crashing into the ground.
“Do you think you can fly it back to my room?”
The dragon bobbed her head and was off. Raven watched her soar away and felt her shoulders relax.
“Um, excuse me?” she heard a small voice behind her say. She turned to find a little boy in short purple pants and a puffy hat. “Why did that dragon steal our jungle gym?”
Children were edging toward the big, empty hole where the skull had been.
“Oh,” Raven said. She hadn’t thought through the whole stealing-from-little-kids part. Her mother would be so proud.
“I’ll have her bring it back,” said Raven. “I just need to borrow it for a bit.”
“Will the dragon come back, too?” the boy asked, eyes big as a kitten’s.
“Woofie!” Azure struggled out of Cedar’s arms and came running back. When no dragon appeared, her nose sniffled like a bunny’s and then the tears came.
“Do you think Azure could play with Nevermore?” Cedar asked. “It would make her day.”
Raven brightened. “Oh! Yes, that would be totally wicked! It might be kind of amazing for her, too, you know, getting to play with kids who actually want her around. It’s not easy when everyone thinks you’re evil all the time when you really mean no harm and don’t want to hurt—”
Raven stopped, embarrassed Cedar might think she was talking about herself.
Cedar smiled. “I think the screaming was mostly parents. The kids thought she was fairy cool. Except for the part where she took their jungle gym, of course.”
“Woofie!” Azure shouted, insistent.
“Right, I’ll hurry,” said Raven. “Um, better stand back.”
Raven had wasted too much time already solving her first riddle. The sun had passed its zenith and was sliding down into afternoon. It would take forever to walk back to her dorm.
Besides, if she did something spectacular, maybe the kids would think she was cooler than she was scary, like Nevermore. Time to risk a little spell.
She whispered the words, pointed at her own feet, and let the magical energy zip down her arms and out her fingers.
She was airborne before she realized it had worked. Sort of. She’d been hoping for a temporary flight spell. But, nope, she’d catapulted herself.
Raven would have screamed if she’d been able to suck a breath from the fierce wind rushing at her face. She shot out of Book End, zooming over the Troll Bridge. Ahead, the Ever After High castle was looming larger and larger. There was the open door on her dorm room balcony. And around it, a whole lot of hard, unforgiving wall.
Raven cursed herself for trying to show off. Fitting that she would end like a bug smashed on a hybrid carriage windshield.
BIG TO THE SMALL
IT GROWS ON ALL
SMALL TO THE BIG
ONE THREAD OF A WIG
UNWANTED AND PLUCKED
IT DROPS IN THE MUCK
THE BEANSTALK WAS A COLOR OF GREEN that made Apple wish for sunglasses: so green it almost sparkled. And so alive it never stopped growing. She could actually see the stem (thick as a hundred tree trunks) slowly twisting, the enormous, broad leaves almost imperceptibly lengthening from the stem, uncurling themselves, and turning toward the sun. A kind of whispery noise emanated from it, the sounds of growth, but it seemed to Apple that the Beanstalk was quietly singing to itself.
“One thread of a wig…” Apple repeated to herself. It had to be a hair. A big hair. The hair of a giant. And the surest place to find a giant was at the top of the Beanstalk.
Apple gulped. She’d climbed Jack’s Beanstalk before with Briar. But, still, even wearing the climbing harness she’d borrowed from Briar’s dorm room, that was one intimidating vegetable.
Only when she was near enough to touch the lower leaves did Apple notice the makeshift barricade surrounding the Beanstalk’s base. Two ogres sat in folding chairs in the shade of a tent-sized leaf, quietly munching from bags that read:
Apple started to pull back one of the barricades.
“Nope,” said one of the ogres.
“Yep,” said the other ogre. “Nope.”
“I’m sorry?” Apple asked, confused.
Both ogres began to stumble over themselves in an attempt to explain.
“They gotta thing up there…”
“There’s this stuff…”
“Jumpin’ and sum other…”
“But it’s a list you got…”
“Enough!” said a third voice.
Apple looked for the source of the voice. A bright green sprite stood on a Beanstalk leaf perfectly camouflaged. Her hair, wings, and stylish motorcycle boots were all the same color of green.
“Well, hello!” Apple began.
“I’ll stop you right there.” The sprite hovered directly in front of Apple’s face. Her eyes were glowing green. “Don’t try any flattertalk. Just go away.”
“Ah, c’mon, Amy,” one of the ogres grumbled. “Why you gotta be so mean?”
“You!” the sprite shouted, darting straight to the ogre. “Shut it!”
The ogre bowed his head.
Apple took a breath. “Hello, Amy, is it? My name is Apple White. Would you be so kind as to tell me why the Beanstalk is closed?”
“Sporting event up there.” Amy hefted the tiny MirrorPad in her hand. “And you’re not on the list. There are rules, you know.”
Apple groaned. She respected rules. Rules existed to keep everything going in the right order, on track, safely and securely, with as little uncertainty as possible. But here rules were stopping her from trying to get everything back on track.
Apple’s mind raced. She’d read a book two years ago during King’s Break, The Dust Trade During the Age of Djinn, detailing the historical economics of trade between magical creatures. Briar had made fun. “A book about dust? That has got to be the driest tale ever!”
There had been a chapter on how the court of the sprite regent only traded in ideas, thoughts, or feelings, which made doing business with them awkward and confusing. Instead of a load of potatoes, they would trade something like “the satisfaction of a full wagon,” or instead of a diamond they would trade “a bride’s beauty.”
Well, it was worth a shot.
“It is a pleasure to exchange thoughts with you today, Amy,” Apple said in what she hoped was the formal sprite manner.
The sprite’s little eyebrows raised in surprise. Her lips cracked a tiny smile, revealing green teeth. “And with you, Apple,” she said.
Apple clasped her hands together. She was on the right track.
“I am thinking today…” Apple said, gazing up at the clouds that swallowed the top of the Beanstalk. She needed to express her need to get up the Beanstalk and into the giants’ castle, but in the sprite manner. “… about transit, and passage, and entry.”
Amy smiled and flitted back to the leaf she had been sitting on when Apple arrived.
“Ah,” said Amy. “My thoughts bend toward duty, gates, and…” Her eyes flicked to her ogre companions “… frustration.”
“Perhaps we could trade?” said Apple.
“What do you offer?” she said.
“I would take your frustration in exchange for passage,” Apple said.
The sprite sighed and turned away. Whoops. Apple messed up there somewhere. What she wanted was to somehow make this sprite’s life easier in exchange for the chance to go up the Beanstalk.
“But I fear it would be a poor exchange,” Apple said, trying to recover.
The sprite nodded.
“I am feeling free, Amy,” Apple said. “Right now, I am feeling like I could take a break. Alone, away from large distractions, maybe to have a cupcake. I want to trade my freedom to you, Amy. You mentioned duty before. Your duty. I’ll tak
e that in trade. You can relax, and I think duty suits me.”
The sprite brightened. She flitted up to Apple’s cheek and patted it. “Deal. Let us also trade gratitude.”
Apple laughed in relief and happiness. “Agreed,” she said, and watched Amy fly off toward town. Probably to the cupcake shop. Hopefully she and the pastry vendors could work something out, because Apple was pretty sure they wouldn’t take something like “duty” or “frustration” as payment.
With the sprite gone, a quick, friendly conversation with the ogres delegated the door-guarding portion of her newly gained duty to them, and she proceeded to the Beanstalk base. Ogres, Apple found, were often reasonable when treated kindly. A climbing rope was wrapped around it, and Apple clicked a hook onto the first link and began the long, arm-aching, stomach-trembling, dizzying climb.
“I. Don’t. Like. Big. Weeds,” Apple breathed, wiping her hands, sticky with bean sap, on her skirt.
At last she breached the cloud cover and climbed up into noise. Masses of people and creatures sat in towering bleachers, blocking her passage to Giant Castle. And no giants in sight.
A huge banner hung over the cloud field:
Apple looked around, desperate to find some way around the crowd and to the castle.
A witch in black spandex and a pointy black hat was floating on a mop about ten feet above the crowd. She was standing straight up, holding the mop vertically, with one boot on the floppy business end of the mop, one hand holding the pole part. A massive mirror broadcast her image to the crowd.
The witch shouted into a megaphone. “Next event: Fairy Ballll… Ballll… Ballll!”
The crowd cheered, and four teams of two people ran onto the cloud field, each in matching bright outfits.
Apple heard a voice she recognized.
“What do you mean, he doesn’t meet the height requirement?” Briar yelled. She was wearing a bright pink minijumpsuit and sporty wedge sneakers, her dark brown hair swept up in a ponytail. As always, crownglasses were perched on her head—a sleek, aerodynamic pair today.
“Rules,” said a plump, bearded man with a bird on his shoulder.
Apple moved closer and nearly tripped on Nate Nutcracker.
“Whoa,” she said, stumbling. “Sorry, Nate! I didn’t see you there.”
“Story of my life,” Nate said, smiling to show he didn’t mind, though his forehead was worried. He was also wearing a bright pink minijumpsuit.
“Wait… you were going to compete with Briar, and they won’t let you because—”
“Stature,” said Nate, his tiny hands shaking.
“That’s not fair,” Apple said, her fists going to her hips. “And if there’s anything I don’t like, it’s unfairness.”
“No, it’s totally okay,” Nate said. His nutcracker jaw was chattering. “I’m actually re… re… relieved.”
Still, Apple marched up to Briar, ready to give the referee a piece of her mind.
Briar stopped her yelled protests midsentence. “There!” she said, pointing at Apple. “There’s my new partner!”
“Wait… what?” said Apple.
Briar grabbed Apple’s hand, tugging her onto the field. “I had no idea you wanted to start doing hextreme sports, Apple!”
Apple skipped erratically behind Briar, trying to keep up without tripping. “I, um, I don’t. Actually, I just came up hunting for a giant’s hair.”
“Really? Gross.”
“Yeah,” Apple agreed.
“Stand here,” Briar said, pointing to a small circle combed into the cloud field. “Fairy Ball is a cool event. You’ll be okay. Hey, I’m throwing a going-away party for Maddie tonight in my dorm. You must be there, of course. I know we all want to cry our eyeballs out about it, but crying makes for lousy partying, so tonight we dance and sing and just spellebrate the wildest, maddest girl in all of Ever After.”
“Release the balls!” shouted the announcer-witch.
Apple looked around. She had been hoping that Fairy Ball was some kind of ballroom dance-off, but there was no music, and everyone seemed to be looking… up.
Apple looked up just in time to see a giant, silver, spherical blob plop heavily onto her and Briar. She felt slimy for a second, and then, pop!, she was inside the sphere, looking out onto the world through a shimmering haze.
“Wait…” said Apple. “I’m here for—”
“A giant’s hair, I know,” said Briar. “Don’t worry, I can help.”
“But—”
“Go!” the announcer yelled.
“Run!” Briar screamed.
“Aah!” said Apple.
But she ran.
As Briar and Apple ran, the ball began to roll. It surrounded them like a rubbery cocoon, powered by the motion of their tread. Apple watched through the transparent curves as the other balls passed them.
“Is… it… a race?” Apple asked, panting.
“Yeah!” shouted Briar.
The ball was surprisingly bouncy beneath her feet, like running on a trampoline. She laughed. “Why is it… called a Fairy Ball?”
Briar pointed to either side of them. “Because of the wings!”
Tiny gossamer wings were attached to the outside of the ball. Only they weren’t spinning with the ball, just flapping once every time their ball seemed to make a complete rotation. Apple imagined that if the ball were spinning fast enough, it might actually fly.
“Faster!” Briar shouted.
Apple tried to pick up the pace, but she kept slipping on the unfamiliar surface. Three Fairy Balls cruised along in front of them. She hoped that Briar wouldn’t feel bad about losing.
Suddenly the Fairy Ball in first place disappeared. It just dropped out of view.
“Briar?” she asked.
“Faster!” Briar shouted, laughing.
The second ball dropped out of sight.
“Briar? Why are there wings on the ball?”
The third one disappeared, and then Apple saw it. They were running right off the edge of the clouds.
“So we can fly!” Briar yelled, and their Fairy Ball rolled off the edge and fell.
They both began to scream, though Briar’s scream was “Hextreeeeeeeeme!” and Apple’s was more of an “Aaaaaaaaaahhhhhhh!”
Apple could see the other competitors now, their Fairy Balls spinning, tiny wings flapping, bobbing in the air as if they were floating in water. She would have found it pretty had she not been nearly incapacitated by terror.
“But I needed to go,” said Apple. “To. The. Giant! Castle!”
“I know,” said Briar. “I can help!”
They sailed past the ball that had been in third place, the second, and then the first.
Apple stopped screaming. “Hey! We’re winning!” Briar and Apple gave each other a high five, and then looked down. The ground was coming up remarkably fast. They weren’t “winning” so much as falling faster than anyone else. Apple looked at Briar with wide eyes.
“Faster!” they both screamed.
Apple scanned the ground below. They were dropping too fast, and they were going to go splat. It was all wide stone ground and cobblestone streets. They needed to land in water or hay or something softer than a hammer.
“What’s that?” Apple asked, pointing to a large gray mass.
“The. Giants’. Midden. Heap,” Briar said, panting with the effort of running.
The midden heap. The giants’ garbage pile. Gross. But way softer than stone. And just maybe…
“Do the giants throw their garbage and stuff there?”
“Yep!” said Briar. “Maybe even the hairs after a haircut. But… it’ll be nasty.”
Apple shrugged, as much as anyone can when running for her life.
Briar looked at the oncoming rush of ground. “Let’s do it!” she yelled, sprinting.
The Fairy Ball containing Apple White and Briar Beauty crashed into the giants’ garbage heap with a sound like ten thousand butter pies exploding. The ball burst on impact, its
remains lying like a gelatin picnic blanket under the girls. For two seconds they sat in silence, stunned that they were not road paste.
Briar broke the silence. “That. Was. Awesome! Let’s do it again!”
Apple took a breath, thought better of it, and then began absently patting herself to make sure she wasn’t missing any arms or legs.
“Um,” she noised, standing unsteadily. “I can’t. Have an errand. To run.”
The word run reminded her how she’d just run for her life, and she shuddered.
Briar hopped up. “What do you need the hair for anyway? Hextra credit project? Never mind, I don’t want to know any gross details.” Briar tore a couple of pieces off the ball’s remains. “Here, we can use this to board down the heap so we don’t have to ruin our shoes in this nastiness.”
“Thanks, Briar. I’ll see you back at school.”
Her friend gave her a thumbs-up and leaped onto her impromptu garbage surfboard. “Wahooo!” she yelled, sliding away.
Apple looked around the garbage heap. Huge orange peels, banana peels, crumpled tissues, and (shudder) sharp toenail clippings. Snow White had to face an Evil Queen, creepy forest, poison apple, and glass coffin, but at least in her story she’d been safe from giant midden heaps.
At last she spotted a thin, stiff stick as long as her arm poking out from under a monstrous, wilted cabbage leaf. A giant hair. She didn’t have enough time to climb back up the Beanstalk and try to find the giants all over again. Besides, the riddle did say “drops in the muck.” Maybe the most garbagey hair was exactly what the spell needed.
“Be brave,” Apple told herself.
She teetered across a path of garbage, moved aside the leaf, and pulled out the giant’s hair. It was black and rough to the touch, like the bark of an oak tree. Holding the hair firmly, she sat on the scrap of the gelatinous ball and slid down the heap. After falling from the sky, sledding over garbage was a walk in the park.