by Anthea Sharp
“Fine,” the witch snapped.
The nearby fire had become too hot on Ailios’ skin. She could barely breathe. She glanced again at the door.
“First question,” the witch stated.
Nevan moved to stand at Ailos’ side. “Don’t worry,” he whispered, “just answer honestly.”
She took a deep breath, then forced herself to meet the witch’s gaze. “Go ahead.”
The witch grinned, flashing sharp teeth. “What desire led you into the dark woods above? I’ll give you a hint, it is your greatest desire in life.”
Ailios slowly blinked. The question was more simple than she’d expected, or perhaps not. She wracked her mind for the proper answer. The fish had led her into the woods, but it wasn’t mere curiosity that compelled her to follow, and she knew for a fact being curious wasn’t her greatest desire, but what was? All she wanted was to not be trapped by marriage. To not be trapped by title, walls, or anything else.
She glanced at Nevan, who was finally beginning to seem a bit nervous judging by his fidgeting, then back to the witch. “Freedom,” she answered simply. “I came into the woods seeking freedom, my greatest desire in life.”
The witch stared at her for several heartbeats.
Sweat beaded on her back beneath her damp dress. Had she answered incorrectly?
“Very good,” the witch decided.
Ailios’ shoulders slumped in relief
“Next question,” the witch began, instantly replacing her relief with apprehension.
“What is the greatest desire of your Faie friend?” the witch asked. “Why has he brought you here today?”
Her first thought was the golden ring. She almost blurted it out, but Nevan took her hand and squeezed it before she could answer.
“Now, now,” the witch chided. “You cannot give her any hints.”
Ailios glanced at Nevan, her hand still wrapped in his. If his desire wasn’t the ring, then what was it? She’d only just met him hours ago, how could she be expected to guess? She peered past him toward the roaring fire. Would the witch throw him in if she answered incorrectly? Despite the heat, she suppressed a shiver.
She turned back to the witch, wracking her brain for anything Nevan might have mentioned. All she truly knew about him was that he was the youngest of six brothers, and he sought his family’s golden ring. When she’d met him, he’d been caught in a trap, and now it seemed he was caught in another.
“Freedom,” she blurted a second time, then gasped at her own words. That couldn’t possibly be the answer.
“Very good,” the witch said again.
Ailios whipped her gaze to Nevan, unable to believe that she’d come up with the correct response, but he was looking at the witch.
“I’ll take the ring before she answers the third question,” he announced. “I don’t want you going back on your word when she gives you the correct answer.”
The witch snorted, then flicked something small and shimmering into the air. Nevan’s free hand darted out and caught it.
Ailios peered into his palm as his fingers unfurled, revealing a thick golden ring.
“Third question,” the witch said, drawing their attention. “Answer wrong, and I’ll reclaim the ring, and eat you both for supper.”
“That wasn’t the deal,” Nevan argued.
The witch cackled. “Do you not have faith in the girl? She has answered honestly thus far. Do you fear she will lie to me?”
Nevan bit his lip, but didn’t argue.
“Third question,” the witch said again.
Ailios’ heart was thundering in her ears. If the witch asked something about Nevan again, there was no way her luck would hold.
The witch’s mischievous gaze was unwavering as she asked, “What is the one thing keeping you both from your greatest desire? What is the one thing holding you back?”
Ailios glanced again at Nevan. He was Faie. His life was far different from hers. How could he be held back by the same thing? She had her father and her title keeping her in line. Nevan already seemed free.
“I—” she cut herself off before she could blurt out the wrong answer. This had to be a trick. The witch was going to eat them no matter what she said.
The witch began to laugh, as if proving Ailios’ thoughts correct.
She began to edge toward the door.
Suddenly, the witch shot up from her seat, the lines had melted from her face, and the gray from her hair, making her appear young and feral. “If you do not have the answer, I win!”
Nevan gripped Ailios’ shoulder, pulling her back as the witch advanced. “Just say something!” he hissed.
“I don’t know!” she shouted. She couldn’t think. She might have blamed her father for holding her back, but knew deep down that it was not the case.
The witch grabbed for her just as Nevan shoved her toward the door.
“But it’s locked!” she gasped.
“Not for long,” Nevan muttered. He pushed his free hand against the iron door.
Ailios noted the golden ring glinting on his finger, then the witch’s gnarled hands wrapped around her damp hair and tugged her backward. Nevan grabbed her hand before she could fall, but the witch would not let go. She tugged on Ailios’ hair with unnatural strength. Yet, just as strong was Nevan’s grip on her hand, making her feel like her shoulder might pop out of its socket.
A cool breeze swarmed in as the door opened with a loud creak. Nevan must have used his magic ring. Ailios sucked the chilly air in with a panicked breath, then screamed as a clump of her hair ripped out. The witch went tumbling back into her home as Nevan and Ailios tumbled out into the cool night within the giant bubble.
Ailios’ free hand shot to her scalp, clutching the stinging area where she’d lost a small clump of hair to the witch, but there was no time to check it more thoroughly. They climbed to their bare feet and began to run, their footfalls loud on the hard ground.
They ran through the bone fence, and past the swaying birch trees while the witch screeched behind them. They ran until they reached the edge of the bubble where they’d first come through.
“Hold your breath!” Nevan shouted, then tugged her through the barrier.
She gasped for a breath to hold just seconds before cold water clamped around her body. Nevan wrapped his arms around her, then launched them upward from the floor of the pond.
Ailios clenched her eyes shut and held tight. It only took seconds to break the water’s surface, then Nevan paddled them both to shore.
He hauled her out of the water. They both collapsed on the muddy ground.
Ailios rolled onto her back, panting. “Do you think she’ll follow us?”
“No,” he replied with a laugh. “She’s only dangerous to those within her hut.”
Ailios blinked up at the stars overhead, realizing her party had started long ago. She lifted a weak hand to her sore scalp. How could she ever show up to her party now, looking like this? How could she go back to her normal life at all, after experiencing such a thrilling adventure?
“I figured out the answer,” she breathed, her eyes trained on the twinkling stars.
“What?” Nevan questioned, rolling onto his side to look at her.
She sat up, turning her gaze toward him. “The answer to the witch’s final question. At least, I know the answer for me. There’s no saying if it’s the same for you. I know what’s holding me back from freedom.”
He watched her intently.
She grinned. “The only thing holding me back from freedom is myself.”
His jaw dropped as he stared at her. “Now why couldn’t you have said that down there?”
She laughed. She knew she probably looked half mad, but she couldn’t seem to stop laughing. She didn’t need Nevan’s help to change her fate. She had the power to change it herself all along.
Nevan stared at her like she’d grown a second head, but she couldn’t think of any way to explain to him why the situation was so wildly humorous to her. In
stead she said, “You better get me to my party. We’re going to be late.”
“We?” he questioned. “Are you sure that’s a wise idea?”
She only grinned in reply. None of the choices she’d made that day had been wise by anyone’s standards, but she was quite sure they’d been something better.
* * *
Ailios guessed it was nearly midnight by the time they made it back to the wall surrounding her father’s estate. Though they were both wet and covered in muck, she was elated. Nevan’s hand had remained in hers the entire walk back. His touch didn’t feel like the prison she’d have felt with any other man. It felt like a promise of excitement. And perhaps of freedom. She thought about what they’d discussed on their long walk, about the plans they’d made. She never would have believed she’d make such plans by midnight when she woke up that morning.
They were still holding hands as they walked through the open gates, then through the front doors of the estate. Inside, the lords and ladies danced, accompanied by music from three aged musicians. At first no one noticed them, then the first set of eyes laid upon Nevan.
Soon others followed, gasping and backing away.
With a smile on her face, Ailios searched the room for her father, but he spotted her first.
He came charging forward like a stallion. His black curls, streaked with gray, gave him a wild appearance. “What is the meaning of this?” he demanded, his gaze flicking back and forth between Nevan and Ailios.
Reluctantly dropping Nevan’s hand, Ailios stepped forward. “I’ve come to announce that I’ll be leaving on a journey. Nevan and I are going to travel to the ocean.”
Her father’s eyes bulged. “B-but he’s,” he stammered, turning his gaze to Nevan. “He’s Faie. He has you under a spell!”
She shrugged. “Perhaps.” She turned back to Nevan and reclaimed his hand. “I will return within a year regardless,” she said, turning back to her father.
He stepped forward. “Ailios, I demand you stop this insanity right this moment. You must choose someone to marry, and never cohort with the Faie again.”
She held up her hand, a gold ring now upon her finger. “I’m sorry father, I have other prospects. I love you, but I must live my own life.”
Then just like that, Ailios and Nevan blinked out of existence, though many heard Ailios giggling as they fled into the night.
After a year of exploring the land and sea, she kept her promise and returned, but it was only for a short while. When her father finally saw his little girl, he could not argue with the joyous smile on her face. She looked too much like her mother, a woman who would have told Ailios to go out and live her adventures from the start.
* * *
~END~
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AUTHOR’S NOTE
* * *
I hope you enjoyed “The Merrow’s Golden Ring.” I chose to incorporate aspects of “The Little Mermaid” and the legends surrounding Baba Yaga. This story is set in the world of my Tree of Ages series, so if you enjoy Epic Fantasy, Celtic Myth, and the Faie, please consider giving my series a look.
* * *
The first book, “Tree of Ages,” is only 99 cents or free with a Kindle Unlimited subscription. Read more about it here:
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https://www.saracroethle.com/tree-of-ages
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ABOUT THE AUTHOR
* * *
Sara C. Roethle is a Fantasy author and part-time unicorn. She enjoys writing character driven stories in various fantasy realms with elements of Celtic and Norse myth, humor, and metaphysical ponderings.
Take my Monsters
C. Gockel
Beasts
The monster creeps toward her in the dark. Margusa feels it in the coolness of the stones, and the dying of the fires behind her. She hears the beast’s soft sputtering sighs, and the scuff of its leathery feet. She wants to move, knows that at any moment it will sweep over her like the fog in Londinium, but her fear pushes her down into the stones. The fire poker lies loose in her grip, and she can’t lift it from the ground. In the distance she hears a baby cry.
Part of Margusa wants the monster to destroy her. She wants to die. In Hades the mark on her forehead will disappear and she’ll be a free woman. She will not be beaten. She will not be hungry. The master won’t turn his leering eyes to her. She will find Maelusa and Philusa. The three of them will be happy together.
The monster is so close, Margusa can smell the stench of its breath.
Margusa’s hands tighten on the fire poker. But maybe Caerusa will be in Hades, too. Wicked, treacherous Caerusa. Her mother had warned her she could not trust Romans; Caerusa proved that Margusa could not trust slaves, either. Maybe in Hades Margusa will still be a slave, and Caerusa will be waiting for her there, to beat her when the master doesn’t …
Margusa’s eyes bolt open to darkness and she cries out, startled because her fear had felt so real and her thoughts had seemed so clear that she hadn’t realized she was asleep. At her cry, the darkness withdraws a fraction. Fear seizes her heart.
She hears, “Shush, shush, shh-now-now.” The words are sweet, slurred from a man’s tongue, and a mouth with breath reeking of bad wine.
Scrambling to her feet, Margusa raises the cold poker and beats back the shadow where she imagines the head of the nightmare to be. Her skin heats, and she is like a coil of wire released. She thrashes at it, again, and again, and again. It whines, and falls to the ground with a thud. Margusa still doesn’t stop her assault until she’s panting, her arms are shaking, and the poker falls from her trembling hands and clatters on the stones.
Gasping for breath, she stands with her back to the ovens. The Caledonia night is cold, like Rome in February or March, despite it being nearly July. With each breath of air, the dark recedes from her mind, and she is more awake.
But the nightmare is more real.
Eyes adjusting to the light, she sees the master of the house spread out on the floor, his face a bloody pulp, his thin white hair dark with blood.
She’d known he’d come, for weeks. Just like he’d done to Maelusa and Caerusa. She’d hoped to dissuade him with the poker, knowing he’d be drunk, and would likely forget. But then she’d had her dream and it had gotten all tangled up with the darkness, and she hadn’t been able to stop herself once she’d started fighting. Now she’ll be crucified, for certain. A real Roman would impale herself on the poker for killing her master. Margusa’s lip twists, but she is not a real Roman.
She looks out the small window in the kitchen to the fortress town. Stone walls surround it. Over the walls, in the distance, she can see the wild, rolling hills of Caledonia filled with wolves, bears, boars, and barbarians. Her lips part. She is also not in Rome. The barbarians won’t know the meaning of the tattooed words scrawled on her forehead. Maybe they will rape her, but—she looks at fat Julius on the floor—it wouldn’t be any different here.
Spinning, she turns to the ovens. Yesterday’s leftover bread is tucked beneath a cloth, and the dough for today’s bread is laid out ready to be baked for breakfast. A strange sort of calm comes over her. She will not give them the satisfaction of looking at her naked tortured corpse. She will not be caught.
* * *
In the tunnel, roots grasp for Margusa’s sandals and hair, and the torch she bears smokes, filling the small chamber, making her want to choke.
She nearly bumps into the tunnel’s door before she sees it. Setting the torch down, she lifts the bar, pushes the door open, and stumbles out. The hidden escape tunnel opens up beneath a rocky outcropping, and is surrounded by brush. Margusa tramples through it and runs for the safety of nearby trees. Morning light is just pouring through the hills. She has, perhaps, a half-hour before the household realizes the bread is burning in the clay ovens, a little after that before they realize the master is dead and she’s gone, and a bit longer before they realize she’s stolen off through the escape tunnel built for her master Julius, the fortress tow
n’s illustrious legatus juridicus, advisor to the local governor.
She must run. She must not think of dogs, horses, or soldiers—but then she hears the braying of hounds in the distance, shouts, and the clang of metal on metal, and can’t help but think of them. Ducking her chin, grasping the small satchel thrown over her back, she sprints through the trees, fear biting her heels as sharply as any dog.
* * *
Margusa’s legs are shaking beneath her, her breath is rasping in her ears, and her feet are thudding on the sod as heavy as her heart. The dogs are very close, she occasionally hears the snort of horses, and can make out an occasional word from her pursuers. Her cloak is too hot over her tunic, and the makeshift satchel she carries her meager supplies in bounces against her back. She is too afraid to slow and throw either off. Ahead is a meadow covered in grasses, white flowers, and rocky stones. She has no choice but to dash through it.
Before she’s halfway across she hears the braying of the dogs at the meadow’s edge, but doesn’t look back. And then one of the dogs gives a high-pitched wail of pain, and a moment later the other does, too. A soldier gurgles, “I’m hit,” there are shouts of confusion and anger, and then from in front of her comes the sound of hoofbeats. Her eyes widen as what can only be a barbarian horseman charges out of the forest ahead on the biggest horse she’s ever seen. The barbarian wears a bow and quiver on his back, has a sword in one hand and a shield in the other, and wears strange armor that covers him from head to toe and almost disappears into the landscape. His mount is dove white, with fringes on its hooves like feathers. It almost appears to be a ghost. Stumbling in shock, she ducks her head as the horse leaps over her. A moment later, metal clangs against metal as the strange rider engages her pursuers.