Fairy Tales by Kikuyu

[Kikuyu_Black_Paws]

Autumn Wings

 

 

Once upon a time in land not too far from here, there lived a young girl who loved her father very much. He was a merchant of a manor called Goldenlake, transporting exotic and valuable goods across the country to buyers who paid well for them. He became very rich from this work, but his money was invested well, for he loved his daughter as deeply as she loved him, and he wanted to provide a good life for her. Now it was that the girl had no mother, for she had died when the girl was too young to remember. So the merchant married a duchess and brought her out to their little farm to live, along with her two daughters. The duchess smiled and was polite to the merchant’s daughter, but deep inside she was jealous of her because she held a special place in her father’s heart, a place the duchess could never be let into.

 

The merchant fell very sick one night. It was no secret that he was growing old, and he called his daughter to him. His wife was already there, and when the girl came in, her eyes red with weeping, she was astounded by her courage. Her back was straight and her tears wiped away. This only made her hate her more, for she was crying herself. The merchant took his daughter’s hand and smiled at her. “My child,” he whispered. “Take good care of all of them. It will be hard, but I know you can do it. I love you.” And he closed his eyes and breathed no more.

 

The funeral was a private one, quiet and serene. They buried the merchant beneath a great oak near a corn field and the entire village came to see him off. The duchess and her two daughters were dressed all in black, but the merchant’s daughter dressed in an ivy green dress, because it had been his favorite color.

 

When the service was over, the duchess came right up to stand before her stepdaughter, her face stiff with dislike. “You must move your things directly into the cellar. I won’t have the best room crowded up by you and your dismal things, and my daughters must have their own rooms as well.” Turning to a woodsman who was part of the household, she waved at him impatiently. “And cut this tree down! I won’t have its ghastly leaves covering my husband’s grave.”

 

Biting back tears, the merchant’s daughter slowly went back to the house and went to her room. Her stepsisters were already there, and they were handling her things and gloating over them. “These are much too nice for a mere servant girl,” they jeered. “Here, you can take these.” They handed her her very lowliest clothing for when she was at work, and pushed her out of the room very rudely.

 

The merchant’s daughter, still fighting tears and standing straight, walked down to the cellar where she arrayed her few things on a blanket beside a pile of potatoes. Finally in private, she cried and cried and cried, where no one could hear her.

 

Not a season past and a summons came that the Prince was holding a series of balls to find a wife, and that every woman of every household was invited. There was great ruckus in the house over this, and the stepsisters and the duchess immediately began to prepare. The duchess was absolutely radiant. “One of my daughters will be Queen!” she exclaimed. “We must make preparations immediately!”

 

The next day the duchess took her daughters to market to find the very best in fashions for them, leaving the merchant’s daughter alone at home. She finished her chores quietly and went out into the corn field, which had grown over where the old oak tree had once been. A scare-crow had been placed over the grave and his great smile seemed out of place. The merchant’s daughter fell to her knees before him and felt tears stream down her cheeks. “Oh scare-crow,” she whispered. “I know you aren’t alive, but I wish you could help me.”

 

“A scare-crow may be unsuitable, but certainly a fairy is not, good child,” a kindly voice said.

 

The merchant’s daughter looked up in surprise and there before her was a fairy, her dress made of scarlet and gold cloth, with autumn leaves wound in among the stitches. Her hair was dark as ebony and her wings stretched out behind her with the curling, crackling shape of oak leaves in the fall. The merchant’s daughter cried out in surprise. “My, but are you really a fairy?”

 

The fairy smiled graciously, and her whole face lit up with delight. “I am truly,” she replied, “and I would like to help you. What is your name, child?”

 

“Estell,” replied the merchant’s daughter.

 

The fairy smiled. “Estell, you have a kind and brave heart. You will go to the prince’s ball.” She waved her hand and smiled again. “Come here each evening before the masques, and you will find what you need. But be sure to return every evening before midnight, for that is the time the spell fades and even I will not be able to hide you then.” A gust of wind blew past the merchant’s daughter, and when she looked up the fairy had gone among the swirling leaves.

 

The next evening the duchess and her daughters swept out in the most elegant finery and glittering masks, chattering and excited about meeting the prince. Estell watched them go patiently and then hurried out to the cornfield. She knelt before the scare-crow, holding her breath. What if nothing happened?

 

A few moments passed and a glitter caught her eye. What was that in the scare-crow’s pocket? She shook his pole gently, and gasped as what looked to be scales and leaves of gold fell from his coat and hat, covering her up until she was adorned in the most brilliant golden dress. “Thank you scare-crow!” she cried. “Though I know this is really the fairy’s doing.”

 

There beside the pumpkins she found a pair of slippers made entirely out of glass, and they tingled when she put them on her feet. Suddenly the fairy appeared before her, holding a mask of feathers and leaves of ivory and yellow. “Here, Estell. And now we must have a carriage.” She twirled on the spot, her skirts flying out about her, and a pumpkin beside them swelled and turned gold and ivory. “And some coachmen.” The fairy raised her hands and three mice scuttling into the corn immediately grew into tall men who hopped onto the carriage. “A driver,” said the fairy and she gestured at the scare-crow who leapt from his pole and jumped to the seat. “And off you go!” cried the fairy, helping Estell into the carriage. “Remember, midnight!”

 

The driver snapped the reigns, his smile glittering in the moonlight, his hat lined with gold. The horses leapt forward, their legs as thin as spindles and their fur as fine and shining as silver filigree. They danced through the night towards the castle which was lit up like a great gold and plum dessert on the hill. Stars speckled the sky and Estell stuck her head out of the carriage, her cheeks soon pink with the cool summer breeze and excitement. Her sky blue eyes glittered and reflected the stars and she clutched her hands excitedly.

 

The carriage went through a gate as high as two houses and adorned with curling iron in the shapes of horses, foxes, elk, wolves, bears, and hares; all manner of animals ran and lived among the metal, and their eyes followed Estell as she went through the gates. There is a blessed child, they whispered to each other. There is a princess.

 

The carriage brought Estell up to a grand staircase where a footman opened the door and lent her a hand to descend. For a moment Estell could not breathe, staring up at the great ivory stone walls painted scarlet and gold by the flickering firelight. Pink and royal purple draperies had been hung everywhere, emblazoned by the Prince’s mark of the griffon.

 

“This way, my lady,” a courtier said. “A young lady should not enter unescorted.”

 

Estell took the arm the young man offered her and smiled graciously at him. “I thank you, kind sir.”

 

The young man bowed. “No, my lady, it is I who thank you for letting me be the companion of so fine and elegant a princess.” Estell ducked her head and blushed, stepping up onto the stairs in her glittering glass slippers.

 

Estell was led up through the great hall and to the top of another great staircase at the top of the ballroom, which was adjoined to three other smaller ballrooms. A great chandelier of candles and gold and crystal hung above their heads, though it was not attached to the ceiling. Estell gasped with delight. “Fairy magic!” she exclaimed.

 

The young man smiled. “Yes, I do hope it stays. It took me so long to get it up there.”

 

Estell turned to the fairy in amazement. “You’re a fairy?”

 

The young man bowed again, and now in the light of the great chandelier Estell could see his face. His hair was ebony and pulled back into a horsetail tied with an emerald string. A few stands fell loose about his face, and he tucked them behind an ear impatiently. A tiny silver loop earring glittered in his right ear. He smiled at her with twinkling violet eyes. He had a long mouth that seemed used to smiling and a straight nose. His slightly tanned skin shone like honey in the candle-light and he wore a neat tunic of violet and gold. “My name is Andrion. I am the King’s magician and, yes, I am a fairy.” He held her at arms length and grinned. “And I must say, you are the most beautiful young lady here.”

 

Estell smiled as he led her to the dance floor and swept into a waltz with him. She was asked to dance by several other young men, including the prince, but somehow she could always see the fairy watching her from the sidelines, and she always ended up back in his arms, spinning around the hall so elegantly she felt as if she had been born to do it.

 

Breathless from laughter and excitement, Estell let Andrion lead her nearer to the door. He bent close to her and breathed into her ear. “My dear, shouldn’t you be careful of the time?”

 

At her curious glance he raised his eyebrows knowingly and jerked his head in the direction of the grand hall clock. To her horror it was nearly midnight!

 

“Oh! I must go!” Estell cried.

 

The fairy bowed to her. “It was a pleasure dancing with you, young lady. Will I see you on the morrow?”

 

Estell smiled, her fingers lingering in his hand and she suddenly felt very breathless. “Yes,” she whispered.

 

Andrion kissed her fingers and smiled at her. “Until then,” he murmured, and watched as she hurried up the stairs.

 

Estell found the carriage waiting for her and she scurried in. They seemed hurried on by the wind and moments later they were back at the manor. Estell hurried to the cornfield and watched as the carriage shrank to a pumpkin. The footmen scuttled into the corn, fur sprouting from their coats as they turned back into mice. The driver leapt onto a pole and froze, his face taking on a hazier, cloth-like shape as he shifted back into a scare-crow with a glitter of gold and magic.

 

Estell felt the gold dress of scales and leaves flake from her shoulders and soon she was standing only in her work gown. She brushed it with a sigh, and then, biting her lip, she went to the basement to dream about the magician Andrion and his kiss upon her fingers.

 

The dawn could not come soon enough. And after that, the evening seemed to approach as slowly as a snail. Estell hurried through her chores so breathlessly that the duchess snapped at her when she spilled the pail of water. “What is the matter with you, brainless child?” she hissed.

 

Estell, with shaking fingers, mopped up the water. “I-I’m just so excited for you all tonight. Did you see the prince yesterday?”

 

One of her stepsisters approached, gushing. “Yes! He was just so handsome and brilliant! I danced with him three times!”

 

The other stepsister arrived, shoving her sibling out of the way. Tossing her hair over her shoulder, she sighed coyly. “I danced with him five times!”

 

Blushing fiercely, Estell thought, I danced with Andrion nine times. Again she was forced to bite her lip so that she would not laugh with giddiness, and two drops of blood fell from her lip onto the floor.

 

That evening, the duchess and her daughters left looking so delicate and beautiful that one would fear they would break. Estell went out to the cornfield and watched as the glass slippers appeared, the pumpkin swelling into a carriage. Three mice appeared and turned to footmen. Estell gently shook the scare-crow’s pole, kneeling before him, and what looked like the most scarlet cardinal feathers and maple leaves fell all over her, covering her until she was dressed in a sweeping dress of brightest red. On one of the nearby pumpkins was a scarlet mask with obsidian droplets along the brow and eyes. Two glittering drops of red flew from the house, and Estell recognized the blood she had drawn from her lip in excitement and love. The two droplets landed in her hands as ruby earrings, and Estell put them on. Her blue eyes stood out shockingly against the red of her dress and she clambered into the carriage. Off they went, as fleet as the hounds of the wind, until they came up to the castle.

 

As Estell was handed out of the carriage, there was a young man by the door, leaning against the wall with his arms crossed. His face and features were cast into shadow by the flickering torches above his head, but Estell could clearly see his violet eyes watching her. Estell held her breath as she walked forward, and Andrion peeled himself from the wall. He sucked in air, as if filling his two-dimensional form and forcing his limbs to become real and whole. He offered her an arm, a smile gracing his face again. “Shall we, my lady?”

 

The night passed in a whirl. She danced only with Andrion that night, and for some reason all eyes were on her. She had only eyes for Andrion.

 

Again, nearing midnight, the fairy led her to the stairs, looking a little different than yesterday. He held her fingers more tightly as he kissed them. “My lady, I beg a name.”

 

“Estell,” the merchant’s daughter whispered. “Estell of Goldenlake.”

 

Andrion bowed his head over her hands. “Goodnight, Estell. Until tomorrow.”

 

“Yes,” she said breathlessly, and forced herself away.

 

Again she rushed to the cornfield to return all of the adornments and companions of the night. Again the leaves and feathers of her dress fell as if they had been only sewn together by magic. Her glass slippers she hid beneath the vines of a pumpkin, the mask she placed under a large squash. And again, she went to her basement to dream of the gold and plum dessert of a castle on the hill, and the violet eyes of Andrion the fairy.

 

The next morning the stepsisters were cross. One even slapped Estell when she caught a knot in her hair. “Can’t you tell I’m in a greatly distressed mood!” she shrieked. “Some hussy at the ball caught all the attention. Luckily she didn’t snatch the prince away, or I would have torn her eyes out!”

 

Estell covered her mouth in horror, for she believed her sisters probably would have. And if they found out it was her, they would not hesitated to murder her. The duchess entered the room, frowning at the ruckus. “What is all this noise?” she asked.

 

The stepsister flounced in her night-clothes, pouting prettily. “She tugged my hair,” she snapped. “And it isn’t evening yet! This is the last night to make an impression on the Prince! Can’t you make time go faster?”

 

The duchess sniffed. “I have no magic and disapprove of any such thing. Wait patiently like all the normal, stately girls out there. If you appear at a sprint at the ball the Prince will never pick you!”

 

Her daughter calmed down immediately and sat as still as she possibly could. Slowly, the sun sank to the horizon and it was time for the ball.

 

Estell watched the duchess and her daughters move away in their carriage until she could barely stand it. Then she rushed out into the cornfield and sat under the scare-crow. “One last time, scare-crow, and then I promise I will never ask for another thing!” She shook the scare-crow’s pole. Nothing happened.

 

For a second Estell sat breathlessly. She felt tears sting her eyes. Had it been some cruel trick, to let her meet the magician of the king and then force her to never see him again? She swiped at her eyes and shook her head. “No matter what,” she said fiercely. “I will act as father would have wanted. I appreciate the two nights I had.”

 

“Kind child, that is the answer I was longing to hear!”

 

Estell gasped as the fairy from the woods appeared, her kind face dazzling in the night. “And, I wanted to give you this dress myself.” She threw something at Estell, and emerald and sapphire scales, feathers, and blossoms rained down upon the young girl, coating her in a dress even more magnificent than the last two. She handed her a mask of iridescent blue and green feathers and gems, long sapphire plumes trailing from the right eye corner. The glass slippers appeared on Estell’s feet and the carriage appeared and the scare-crow hopped to his place and the mice jumped to their posts. Estell swiped tears away again. “Thank you, fairy. I do not even know your name.”

 

“My name is not important, dear heart,” the fairy said. “Go and find your love.”

 

The carriage drew up to the castle in record time, and again Andrion was there to accept her. True happiness that Estell had not felt in a long time, since her father’s death, filled her and as she danced she knew that she had met her true love.

 

The clock seemed enchanted, and every hour seemed a minute on the dance floor. Too soon it was near midnight and Andrion led her to the stairs. He hesitated for a moment, and then pulled her close and kissed her, a little nervously. “Stay with me,” he whispered. “I know that if you do it will fade, but please...stay...”

 

Estell could not stop the tears from running down her face. She was so overwhelmed by emotions, love and joy, and pain at having to leave and possibly never see him again. “I must go,” she choked. “If I don’t my stepmother and sisters will see me and they will surely kill me!”

 

Andrion’s eyes lit up with an emotion, it could have been shock and rage, but Estell pulled away and fled to her carriage, weeping. In her haste she left one of her glass slippers on the stairs, where Andrion could find it and pick it up. For a long time the fairy stood staring at it, his violet eyes cold and calculating.

 

Morning came and the stepsisters fluttered about, eagerly awaiting a prince’s summons. When the doorbell rang Estell looked up wearily from her scrubbing and the stepsisters sprinted to the door with squeals of glee. The duchess beat them too it, forcing them back and silencing them with a mother’s glare, before she opened the door.

 

Estell could not breathe. She felt as if she would faint, but as the stepsisters and the duchess were facing the visitor, they could not see her falter. However, the purple eyes of the magician at the door saw her clearly, bent on the floor among the washing water in a dirty dress. His knuckles turned white about the glass slipper he was holding and his eyes narrowed. It was a shadow that passed over his face in an instant, missed by the unseeing, uncaring duchess and her daughters. “Well?” the duchess demanded, impatient of the second wait. “Which of my daughters has the Prince chosen?”

 

The magician turned to her, a smile pulling at his face. “None. He chose a young girl from the village not too far away. Something about her being a chimney sweep’s orphaned daughter and living in a hut. Apparently he found her by using the mask she left behind. Quite handy spells you can use to track someone down when they’ve left something.” The fairy turned and held Estell’s eyes, openly and fully. Here I am, he seemed to be saying. Only for you.

 

The duchess was ignoring her wailing daughters behind her. “Then why are you here?” she snapped. “What business could you possibly have brought? Be gone before I force you out with a broom!”

 

The magician bowed. “I am here, my lady, about one of your daughters, Estell. I am asking for her hand.”

 

The duchess stared open-mouthed for a few seconds. “And who are you?”

 

“The King’s fairy, lady duchess.” He ignored Estell’s frantic shaking of her head and continued. “I met Estell at the masques these past three nights.”

 

The duchess whirled on Estell. “YOU!” she shrieked. “You have been sneaking to the palace! I’ll beat you so hard...” she slammed the door in the magician’s face and started towards Estell, grabbing the rod she used to beat her servants.

 

Suddenly there was no door. It simply disappeared from its hinges and the sun seemed to have gone down outside. Andrion stood there, one foot inside, and a great shadow had passed over his face. His hair blew in a wind that was not of nature and what looked like ethereal black horses with violet eyes danced around the duchess, biting her and whirling her in circles. “Don’t touch her,” Andrion commanded in a voice that shook the very foundations of the house.

 

The Duchess screamed and stumbled back, batting at the phantoms. Andrion rushed into the house and helped Estell to her feet. He pulled her into his embrace and kissed her. “Come away with me,” he whispered.

 

Estell felt her knees give way, but the fairy did not drop her. “Yes,” she wept. “Yes.”

 

Andrion smiled at her and led her from the house. A fairy from the woods watched them leave and she smiled.

 

And they lived happily ever after.

 

 

 

The End

Edited May 24, 2007 by Kikuyu Black Paws

[GeldrinHor]

Oh MY....Marvelous....leaving one with such a feeling of wonderment. The story, retold by a MASTER storyteller, with just the right touches of fantasy, making one so sure they KNOW this story, and yet, in the end, purely wonderful twist to an old original.

 

 

 

BRAVO!

 

 

 

The entire garden area of the Pen Keep erupts in cheering and applause from every corner, tho the audience is unseen, and the cheering rises in volume and depth with each passing moment, until, ever so slowly, the cheering dies down, and standing in one corner, almost invisible, one solitary mage with quill in hand, is clapping. And if one were to get close enough, they might notice a single tear rolling down the old man's face.

[Kikuyu_Black_Paws]

Ivy

 

I remember the night I left the calm of the cabin. It was full moon, and the silvery eye cast her glow, cold and distant, across the long summer grasses. My feet, bare in the heat of the evening, trailed dreamily through the long blades as soft as velvet. I cast a glance behind me, my long hair falling about my shoulders. The cabin stood sturdy and cool, lamp light glowing against the dark night, exuding coolness and respite from the summer blaze. It would be there when I returned.

 

The forest loomed up before me, rustling gently in a welcoming wind. The stars glittered, drilled in the dark cloth that was the sky, revealing the light that was hidden from above. I pressed my feet into cool dirt with a sigh, running my hand along a smooth birch, a rough oak, relishing in the feel of cold stones and fuzzy moss between my toes. Wind played with my hair, pulling it free of the small tie at the end, tossing it gently about my face. The trees above reached their branches, fresh green leaves spinning on their tiny twigs in the zephyr. I was pulled in farther by a word, a sound, a command.

 

Moonlight streamed through branches, dappling the ground before me. I needed no light: these trees had been my home forever; they were my second family. I knew every pathway, every new sproutling. I knew the animals of the forest, the fleet deer, the wild wolf, and the illusive bears. I bent and inhaled the scent of moon-bathed hydrangea and bluebells, of honeysuckle and bleeding-heart. Above me an owl hooted calmly, and more distant in the woods his mate sang a dusky reply. I could feel him pass overhead, no sound vibrating from his wings. A small breeze from his feathers was the only mark of his passing, a flash of golden eyes.

 

Farther into the forest, the paths I treaded so often became wilder, governed by an other power than man’s feeble hold. I paused, sitting in the crook of a favorite tree, my long skirts falling about my ankles. I stared at my dirty feet, slender and calloused: a wanderer’s, forest-stained feet. I wiggled my toes, smiling and closing my eyes, tilting my head to the sky.

 

A shift in the woods made me turn and look. It was the first time I had seen him, and I felt struck by lightning. His face was as cold and white as the moon in the sky, his hair a flowing mantle as deep and dark as the sky, highlighted in midnight and starlight. His eyes were the only truly visible feature on his face, burning with the intensity of the wolf, the wisdom of the owl. They held immeasurable kindness and love, the love that pours warmth to the frostbitten land and gives life to the dormant flowers, pressing them to shove forth their tiny buds and burst into blossom. And then there was also cruelty, the cruelty of a smile that burns and draws the moisture from the ground until it cracks and begs for mercy and moisture, humbled and broken to his will. The rest of his face was hidden in the shadow of his night, a flicker of an ear, a straight nose slipping into firelight, the curve of a strong jaw gilded by sliding silver. He appeared robed in granite, stone that moved and slid into tree, bird, plant, ground, everything at once. Large wings stretched back from his shoulders, black as obsidian. He stretched out a long-fingered hand to me, a silent question. How?

 

Stunned, uncertain myself of the answer, I gave him my only words. “I don’t know,” I whispered. My own question bit my tongue, pressing forward against my lips. “Who...who?” I echoed the owl.

 

His eyes held a snarl of humor, as unlike his face as a knot in a blanket. Tree, he answered. Wolf, owl. Rock. He reached over and touched a tree. Green light blossomed from his fingers and spread through the tree. Flowers poked early from the branches, their heady aroma filling my senses. He turned and looked at me again, piercing me with his eyes. I wanted to curtsy stately, bow wisely, throw my arms about him like a child, and grovel before him. He saw me, peeled me apart and studied me. Leaves swirled in a sudden wind, blending with him and his hair, and I was again unable to distinguish between him and his world. Distant from me now, his last words. You’ll do.

 

 

I woke in the crook of the tree. Someone was touching my shoulder and scolding. “Really, Ivy, I don’t know why you do this. You’d think we’d be used to it by now, but some warning after such a long winter...”

 

I opened my eyes and groaned as feeling came back to my limbs. I was crumpled up in my tree, my skirts falling to the ground and muddied. Leaves and bracken clung to my hair and I was slightly damp with summer dew. Before me my elder sister held a large blanket and shook her head at me, her dark brown eyes disapproving. “What could have happened to you, I wonder, had I not found you?” She brushed back a strand of dark red hair that had escaped her neat braid.

 

I swung my legs from the tree and felt something pop. I winced and brushed bracken from my own fiery red hair, several shades of fire deeper than my sister’s. My own eyes, the green of spring, were blurry with sleep and irritation. “I would have walked home and you would have thought nothing more of it,” I grumbled. “This isn’t the first time I’ve slept in the woods.”

 

My sister, Willow, shook her head. “No, but that doesn’t mean I don’t worry. Not every rogue wolf is your friend, Ivy. You need to be more careful. Promise me you’ll be more careful.”

 

I rolled my eyes and pressed a hand to my brow. All of a sudden I had a headache, I didn’t want to debate with my sister. “Fine, fine,” I conceded wearily. “Whatever it is, I agree.” I stood and nearly stumbled, my legs cramping viciously. “Do you think I could have that blanket now?”

 

Willow sighed and draped the blanket around my shoulders. “Come then,” she said. “Breakfast is waiting, and so is Barin.”

 

I grimaced, my appetite gone. “You know, why bother, I’m just coming back out here later anyway, so I’ll just stay and-”

 

Willow gripped my elbow firmly. “No, he especially came to see you, though why I can’t imagine with you running wild all through the trees. Here, I brought a comb, get some of the bramble from your hair.”

 

I cast as withering a glare her way as possible, yanking the comb through my tangled hair. My one pride, my hip length scarlet hair, released its captives of bark and moss unwillingly. Still grumbling, I followed Willow through the paths towards the cabin. Smoke pumped cheerily from inside, revealing the hearty cooking that was in order. A table had been set up on the deck, away from the unwanted heat of the stove. I cast a longing look over my shoulder at the trees, and saw his face staring back at me. All at once he seemed so huge, and visible to me alone. His eyes glittered and his words echoed in my mind again. You’ll do.

 

For what?

 

My memories of the previous night left me as I picked up my skirts to sit on the steps, as far from the table as I could be without being impolite. My father, content and clean-clothed, sat comfortably in a chair beside the large table, set neatly for breakfast. Willow cast me an unladylike glare, but I blinked back at her prettily.

 

Beside my father sat Barin, tall, handsome Barin the blacksmith, his long blond hair brushing the tops of his shoulders. He smiled easily at me. “Good morning, Ivy,” he said conversationally. “How was your night in the woods?”

 

I saw the Lord of the Forest. I saw where green things begin. I saw where owl and elk join, where stone becomes tree. I was told I would do. “Fine, thank you,” I replied, brushing a strand of hair from my face and tucking it behind my ear. “How is your work?”

 

Barin nodded. “It is well. There is never a lack of horses to shoe.”

 

I nodded back, my lips tight with unwanted conversation. Willow was watching me closely, however, and I could not slip away to eat in peace. This was sure to be a long morning, forced to sit here until Willow had squeezed every ounce of friendliness and conversation out of me. As she usually did. But then I would be free to wander the forest. I had not yet found a man who would follow me into the secret places of the wood, and I didn’t ever expect to find one.

 

The talk went to horses between my father and Barin, and then to the harvest as breakfast was brought out by our housekeeper. I stared at the trees, twirling my hair around my fingers, not touching my food. A sudden bout of laughter made me turn and I found all eyes on me. Barin grinned, rubbing his chin. “Staring into the woods like that, you’d think it were your bread and butter. What do you see out there that is so alluring?”

 

I felt color rush to my cheeks and I remembered a pair of burning eyes, raven hair falling silken over dark wings and granite robes clothing a hidden fey. “It’s quiet,” I said tartly, not at all the polite reply. I could see it in Willow’s face, but Barin looked amused.

 

He grinned at me. “So you enjoy the lack of talk?”

 

“Not at all.” I snorted. “The trees have plenty to say. They just say it in a better, more efficient way than humans.”

 

Willow sighed and placed a hand on Barin’s arm. “Don’t listen to her,” she laughed. “Head in the willow trees.”

 

Barin laughed, his eyes on Willow, but throughout breakfast they kept straying back to me, a question in their depths, a question to which I didn’t know the answer.

 

 

The Lord of the forest’s words echoed back to me over the nights. I could never fully decipher their meaning...what had he wanted? For the comfort of my sister, and to stay my own misgivings, I stayed away from the forest by night, only daring to wander the paths when the sun rose safely in the sky. But even then I could see a flicker of his eye.

 

 

Barin took his horse and his pack on the hottest day of the month through the forest to answer the call for a blacksmith. Farmers across the way with no horses had a broken plow, and they certainly were not about to ride their oxen through the woods. We sat around the house, lazing in the heat. And then...Barin did not return. At first my father cast it aside as extra work, but he could not hide the worry in his eyes, and Willow paced that night. But she just paced, while my father worried.

 

I went through the trees to find him.

 

The paths were the same to me, but they twisted around to new places. The crooked tree and the pond did not come to my sight. Instead, an ethereal palace cut through the woods, with a tower at the center stretching as high as the clouds. I was amazed that none of us could see it from our cottage, but that’s magic for you. I saw Barin’s horse tied at the trough, sleeping on his feet, but there was no sign of Barin.

 

A whisper at my back made me turn and I saw the eyes of the forest. Within is my son, the lord breathed. To free your mortal friend you must first free my son. And then he faded.

 

So that was what he had wanted. I shrugged my cloak higher around my shoulders and shivered. “Well,” I said. “Nothing for it but to see who’s home.”

 

I took Barin’s horse and put him in the stables, stroking his soft nose gently. He nickered at me, blinking through his long lashes.

 

I took the servant’s door, or so I suspected, into the castle. The stables adjoined directly to a storage room, and it to the kitchens. The fire glowered low at me from the huge hearth, and I could almost see demonic, fiery glares watching me and snapping a demand of an explanation. What appeared to be a rose and a key floated suspended in the coals. I draped my cloak on a hanger of deer antlers and sighed, looking around me. Books were strewn everywhere, as were dried herbs and fresh roses. Their heady scent filled the room, spread and teased by the heat of the fire. I pressed my face into their rich red petals. Of all flowers, roses are my favorite.

 

Removing my dirty boots, I relished the feel of cool stone against my hot dusty feet. I crossed the room and opened the great oak door.

 

There was a large hall. Cloth hangings and paintings, depicting hunts and great feats of wizardry, were hung all along the walls. I felt as if I had stepped into an old knight’s hall. Swords and weapons were suspended along the upper part of the wall, and the table was set as if for a large host.

 

No sign of anyone yet. I continued my search up the long tiered stairway that seemed suspended in the corner of the hall. It circled up and up and I knew at once that I was moving into the tower.

 

It grew darker up here, the candles guttering and spitting as I startled their shadows. The doors along the halls were all closed, and I dared not touch any of them. I heard a noise and froze. Someone inside one of the doors was pacing.

 

Hesitantly, fearing I had found the Lord of the forest’s son, I knocked. The pacing stopped, and I heard something crash into the door. “Go away!” a hoarse voice screamed.

 

“Barin?” I whispered.

 

Suddenly something else slammed into the door and I could almost feel the heat of Barin’s hands pressing against the wood. “Ivy!” he gasped. “How did you get here?”

 

“T-the...er...Well you’ll laugh but I was called here. Whoever lives in this palace, he’s got a very concerned father. He told me to free his son and then you would be free.”

 

Barin sighed deeply. “Yes, the paths twisted around until I got here. I never arrived at the farmers’ place. I stopped in to see if I could stay the night, and then...I was trapped.”

 

“Did you see who it was?”

 

“Only a great number of blue feathers and sparks,” Barin growled.

 

I shrugged inwardly. “Well, I’ll find him, don’t worry. He can’t be hiding anywhere downstairs or he would have come out and found me. All I can do is go up.”

 

Barin’s voice sounded strained. “Be careful, Ivy. He’s not human, whatever he is.”

 

I laughed, but the laugh itself seemed misplaced in this cold and lonely hall. “Oh, don’t worry, I know that.” I reluctantly pulled away from the door and headed off down the hall. I knew that the Lord of the forest would not let his son kill me, but...blue feathers and sparks was not exactly an encouraging description.

 

It didn’t take me long to find the door. The hall ended at a grand door that took up the rest of the rear wall. The forest, teaming with life, was carved into the wood, and as I looked it changed, slowly. The deer shifted across the wood, the hawk turned to look at me. It wasn’t long before every pair of eyes, physical and not, were fixed on me, and I knew that my presence had finally been detected.

 

I pressed my hands against the door, shoving it open. Within was a wide room that was filled with sparkling things of color and metal. I could not distinguish one thing from the other, magical devices and things of the forest. Aimlessly I wandered until I stepped out onto a marble floor and the things disappeared. Great gauzy cloths fluttered across the opening to the balcony and I could see a shape through them. Hesitantly I pushed my way through.

 

The son of the forest turned and looked at me, and I could not help gasping. Great blue-feathered wings were folded across his black, and his hair seemed to be comprised of the same feather, as were his clothes, which covered every inch of his skin up to his neck. Only his face was untouched by the feathers. His hands and feet were clawed and scaled, and his great wide eyes watched me warily. He turned from the balcony, his wings spreading wide in agitation and perhaps a hidden fear. Suddenly his talons looked very sharp.

 

“Oh!” I said. “Are you the Lord’s son?”

 

He lifted a lip in a half snarl and watched me from the corner of his eyes. I could see the forest watching us from across the space of the balcony. I looked hard at the young man’s face and noticed that his eyebrows and just along the corners of his eyes were comprised of tiny blue feathers. He lifted a clawed hand and pointed a talon at me. “You are the Ivy?”

 

I curtsied as prettily as I could. “Ivy, yes, though not the Ivy.”

 

He cut me off impatiently with a wave of his hand...erm...claw. “You wander all across the forest and obey no natural law. You are the Ivy my father spoke of.”

 

“Alright then,” I said if a bit testily. I could immediately see there would be no arguing with him. “Yes, your father sent me.”

 

He grunted and made his way towards me. I flinched, but he brushed past me, and as his feathers struck the gauze they chimed and sparks fluttered into the air. I touched one as if floated, as light as a bubble blown of glass, and it burned with a tiny cold light. I followed the man into the magpie’s room. “What is all of this?” I asked.

 

He turned and cast me a disparaging glare. “Things,” he answered shortly. “There is a dress for you in the closet. Change and come down to the dining hall. I have dinner for you.”

 

I cocked an eyebrow curiously. “Don’t you think dinner a little superfluous in your current state? How about you tell me how to, well, free you?”

 

He whirled, his eyes flaring with fire. “Just do it!” he roared, and I felt like a doll battered under a storm. Immediately a wind from outside whirled in on us and circled him, ruffling his wings, and I thought I heard a voice on the tongue of the zephyr. After a moment it died and he stared into space for a while. “Please,” he said in an attempt to be polite, sounding very much like he meant it.

 

“Alright,” I said. He left the room with a nod and I moved to the closet. There was a dress of scarlet, adorned with roses and black silk thread stitched into what looked like ivy patterns. I sighed and slipped it on, feeling completely ridiculous. There were so many mirrors glittering in the room that I saw every angle of my new rose and ivy clad body, but I tried my best to ignore them. “You’re not me,” I said. “Just a pretender.” Still barefoot, I walked down to dinner.

 

The son of the forest was sprawling in a large chair at the head end of the table, one of his legs dangling over an arm rest. He watched me as I descended the stairs, like an avid bird. I sat in a chair next to him. He stared a little more at me. “You look...lovely,” he said in a strained voice.

 

I shrugged. “You don’t have to complement me if it’s not true,” I said.

 

He made a strained noise, a little glimmer of fire sparking in his eyes, and suddenly he was out of his chair and kneeling on the ground, one of my bare feet in his hands. I was startle and a little mortified, but I dared not tug from his grasp lest his claws cut me. He stared intently at my toes, one of his talons trailing along the sole of my foot. It tickled and I twitched. He looked up at me in surprise. “You came here without shoes?”

 

I shook my head. “No, I was wearing boots.”

 

“Then why do you have calluses?”

 

“I usually go barefoot, yes,” I responded. “It’s just my way.”

 

“Your way,” he muttered, and dropped my foot. He slid elegantly back into his chair, staring into the distance. He clapped his hands and suddenly ethereal beings of fire appeared, filling our plates and glasses. They kept their coal eyes fixed on me, but soon they disappeared from wherever they had come from, leaving me alone in the room with the son of the forest and a slight smell of roses.

 

I looked at my plate. It was filled with things to be found in the forest, roast venison and mushrooms, fresh raspberries and blueberries, and nuts. A soft, warm roll sat on the edge and I picked it up, taking comfort from its heat. “What is your name?” I asked.

 

“Oturan,” came the brief reply. I glanced up at him and he was eating slowly, not really interested in his food. It was then that I noticed he was skeletally thin beneath all of the feathers.

 

“What happened to you?” I asked. “What is it that you need from me?”

 

Oturan looked at me slowly, dropping the meat that was in his claws. I immediately felt my jaws close up and my muscles stiffen. He was working some magic on me. “Stop,” I gasped. “Stop!”

 

The tension eased and he went back to his food. “Will you...will you marry me Ivy?”

 

I gaped at him. This had to be some awful joke, but I knew it couldn’t be because it involved the lord of the forest and his half-monster son whose feathers chimed like metal and sparked like fire. “Wha- no I can’t!”

 

His neck muscles worked hard for a moment before he flung himself towards the wall. He had a sword in his hands and was preparing to thrust it into his chest by the time I caught him. My hands wrapped around the naked blade and I pulled, trying to get it away from his bare breast. I screamed as the metal bit into my hands and he dropped the blade, staring at me in horror as my blood streamed to the ground. I collapsed onto my knees, holding my hands close to my chest, bloodying the already crimson dress. He gripped my arms. “Are you alright?” he asked, and then he was sobbing. “Why did you do that? Why?”

 

“Because you don’t deserve to die!” I sobbed, the pain making my hands blossom with fire.

 

Oturan froze, staring at me, and then he took my hands in his own, examining the lacerated flesh of my palms. He passed his claws over them, and the skin erupted with more fire. But it was brief and when I looked at my hands they were whole flesh. I stared up at him in wonder. “How did you do that?”

 

He looked sadly down at his hands. “A little of the green magic is still available to me. But...” He turned away, but I caught his chin in my hands and forced him to look at me.

 

“What happened?” I asked firmly. Only then did I notice that his eyes had flecks of gold in them.

 

Oturan stared at me almost as if he couldn’t make out what I was. Then he touched my hands again, wondering at the feel of my fingers on his skin. “I am cursed,” he said. “I do not know how to break it. It was...I'm not sure. But I feel bound in this body, locked somehow. And the odd thing is, the cage is made of a mixture of green and black magic. Whoever did this used some of my own power against me.”

 

“What is with the marrying you bit?” I asked.

 

He shrugged bitterly. “It was all I could think of.”

 

I thought hard to myself, my knees drawn up to my chest. I stared at my bare feet. What could break a curse on the son of the forest?

 

I picked up the sword again and looked at it. Roses were carved up its side and I gripped its hilt, wishing. How do you break a curse on the wood?

 

Fire. It popped into my head like a rose bursting from its bud. I looked at Oturan. “That fire in your hearth...it had a rose in it...and a key. What are they?”

 

Oturan shrugged. “The key is the key to the forest. The rose is its lifeblood. They...” he paused, his throat tight as he stared at me. “What are you thinking?”

 

I leapt to my feet and charged past him. “Ivy!” he cried and charged after me.

 

The fire still glowered at me when I faced it. Oturan’s dark shadow behind me gave me a little comfort as I looked deep into it. Yes, the rose was still there, as was the key.

 

I turned to Oturan and looked him over. There must be something...there! I saw around his neck was a small gold chain with a heart shaped lock. I touched it, the feel of his feathers giving me a little jolt. “This lock, could the key fit in it?”

 

He shrugged. “It would explain the green magic...but could it really be that simple?” I saw hope flicker in his eyes, veiled by doubt.

 

I shook my head. “Well, you never know.” I thrust my hands into the fire, and strangely it didn’t burn. The fire language snapped and filled my head with a roaring, chiming noise as I grasped the key and the rose in my hands. The thorns on the rose were real enough and I winced as they scratched my skin, but I pulled them out of the fire easily. Looking at the key closely I read on the side Wood and rose, key and lock. This unto all things does undo. Seemed like an answer to me if anything.

 

I stood on my tiptoes to get the key in the lock, and Oturan bent so that it would be easier. Our foreheads touched as the key turned and a felt a zing of magic run through me. Oturan suddenly filled with light and I was shoved back as though with a great wing, the rose still clutched in my hand. I watched as he writhed, his back arching and his wings spread wide. Fire boiled over his skin, and roses fluttered and filled the hall. An explosion rocked the castle and feathers burst before my eyes.

 

When I opened my eyes again a single rose and long blue feather sat on the stone floor. Footsteps came clattering down the stairs and Barin appeared in the doorway. “Ivy!” he cried. “Are you alright?”

 

“Yes,” I said faintly. “I think it’s all over.”

 

He followed me outside where I stood staring up at the stormy sky and the trees dancing in the wind. This time two pairs of eyes stared at me and then the Lord of the Forest appeared in all of his previous splendor. This time beside him, robed in a mantle of blue feathers, was Oturan, his eyes alive with fire and roses draped in his long dark hair. The Lord of the Forest reached out a hand and plucked the rose from my grasp and bowed his head to me. Little ivy.

 

Oturan turned his eyes to me and then bent, caressing my cheek and kissing it. Wild ivy. Fire ivy. He reached into a deep pocket in his robe of feathers and pulled out a strand of ivy. Its stem was glowing like coals and the curling leaves were dancing with fire. My eternal thanks.

 

I took the burning ivy in my hands and they disappeared. The castle behind us shook and then seemed to disappear into the sky. The trees whirled around us, there was the faint sound of a wolf howling and then we were standing in the field by our cottage.

 

“Ivy! Barin!” Willow was running towards us. I hid the fiery ivy behind me as she embraced both of us. “Where have you been?”

 

Barin glanced at me and I stared back at him. We both shrugged. “In the wood.”

 

Willow rolled her eyes and ushered us into the hut.

 

Now I wear my fire ivy everywhere, tied around my ankle. It grows constantly and I place trimmings around the place where I suppose the castle used to be. Briar roses grow there, as do my ivy trimmings. And every now and then I find a long blue feather among the vines.

Edited March 19, 2007 by Kikuyu Black Paws

[Patrick]

I'm not regretting one minute of reading these two stories. I find your descriptions for scenery to be absolutely stunning. Autumn Wings is a beautiful twist on a classic story, and the ending brought a smile.

 

Ivy, more original rang a tone similar to what I read in Return to Kilcad. The Lord of the Forest seemed to be quite similar indeed. The story was quite enjoyable thouh.

 

Looking forward to reading more of these.

[Kikuyu_Black_Paws]

The Children

 

Legend has it of a forest on the farthest, most northern coasts of the ancient world. There it rains constantly, for the clouds have a life of their own and weep over the silence of the world. There are no words there yet, and the tears of the clouds moisten and nourish the trees in preparation of the time when words will become more than just a dream; for when they become reality.

 

The rivers and rocks hold countless Watchers of the night, dangerous and plotting. If they can, they will stop the coming of the words, for it will mean an end to their world. Their kind, and their civilization along with it, will be bound by the ink-spread chains. They will do anything - from kidnapping, to murder - to stop the approach of these words.

 

Then there are the Children of the Trees. Those who see them think they have seen fallen angels, for they wear no clothing but the wings that are thrown across their backs like robes. They are constantly weeping, helping nourish the land for the words.

 

One such Child, a young girl with wings the color of the storm clouds and eyes of the river, is a Singing Child. She weaves dark feathers into her hair and sits in the tree branches, waiting. She sings for the Words to come, and they fly forward. By her voice, the land's creatures have been given names. And while she cries, the trees grow and pull the words from the ground as nourishment. But yet they are still unspoken words.

 

Another Child, the Mourning Child, rubs moss and dirt into her whitest wings. Her eyes are shadowed with grief, her body wasted with weary trials. She pulls the feathers from her skin and plants them deep in the earth. She sheds no tears for the world of Words. In silent meditation she tells them her grief, wills them to come and rescue her.

 

The Guarding Child stand watch over the Watchers. He is many and one. They are three in number, standing at the three corners of stone and river. Identical and yet different, their presence confuses the Watchers. When a Child is kidnapped or murdered, the Guarding Child take retribution and punish the Watchers. They scream for justice, for words to bind these lawless children of stone and stream.

 

The two Dancing Children stand at the center of the forest, pounding the ground with their feet. There they show the children of stone and stream that the Children are not afraid! They will fight for words to tie their world together. Their hair is cut short. Every day it grows long to the ground. Every day they cut it off lay it in a circle around them, warding off the children of stream and stone and preparing the ties which the words will need.

 

One last Child, the Laughing Child, flies among the clouds with great cries of jubilation. He shows the words what happiness can be, how muted it is now. His calls of joy twine through the clouds, filling them with tears to nourish the land further.

 

The coming of the words draws near. The Singing Child, the Mourning Child, the Guarding Child, the Dancing Children, and the Laughing Child are but a few of the Children of the Woods. Together they will beckon the coming of words, and the clouds will stop crying. The sun will shine in the sky, and the flowers will blossom. Children of stream and stone will be bound to their courses. And the Children of the Trees will be free.

[Kikuyu_Black_Paws]

The Beginning of Never

 

 

The two great suns were setting behind the purple sea, sinking between wisps of clouds. A pirate’s ship floated on the horizon, its billowing black sails so small they looked like birds’ wings. The lights from the lanterns were tiny pinpricks of brightness. The sky painted pink and gold and plum over the island. Waves lapped at the sandy shore, shhhhhhhh-ing as they swept forward and back, forward and back. In the cove the flash of a silver and sapphire tail splashed in the water, and a mermaid propped herself up on a rock, running her fingers through her hair. Beside her, another mermaid swam back flips through the waves. Smoke rose from the far side of the island. Huge trees rustled in the wind, the chimes hanging from their branches bidding Neverland to sleep.

 

Deep in the wood a shadow hopped from rock to rock, fleeing deeper into the trees. It turned back momentarily and blew a silent raspberry, waggling its fingers in its ears.

 

“Get back here you two-tongued, yellow-bellied, snot-sucking fart-brain!” the owner of the shadow roared as he chased after it, bounding from rock to tree and back again. His wild hair caught bits of bramble and leaves; his face was smudged and tan. Leaping out he caught a foot of the shadow with a triumphant cry. “Got you now!”

 

The shadow struggled wildly, pawing at the air in a futile attempt to escape. The young boy gripped the shadow more tightly, trying to stick the foot in his hand against his own. “Stay this time!” he growled, giving the shadow an extra hard yank.

 

The shadow seemed to give a withering sigh and settled down, its feet melding with the boy’s. The boy stood, propping his fists on his hips, staring down at the shadow with a look of supreme satisfaction. “That’s better!” Absently he plucked a stick from his hair and eyed it with his ivy-green eyes, one of his arching eyebrows going up in surprise, as if he really couldn’t understand what such a stick was doing in his hair. Shrugging, he tossed it aside and set off through the woods, a hand on the sheathed dagger at his side.

 

Huge scarlet and purple flowers were closing up for the night all around. Vines held roosting white birds that chirped a sleepy welcome to him. A giant tortoise lifted its head slowly as the boy bounced off of his shell, blinking as he retreated into the distance.

 

Over a hill and around a bend, the boy came to what appeared to be a huge, continuous tree-house that stretched from tree to tree to tree to tree. Rope ladders adorned with feathers, shells, acorns, and anything innocent, admiring fingers had found in the forest, stretched among the branches to the huts. Beneath the trees were the game courts. The boy sighed contentedly and propped his fists on his hips again in his familiar gesture, eyeing his home with a lord’s pride.

 

“PETER!!!!” a voice shrieked, breaking the silence.

 

The boy jumped, startled, and leapt into the air, taking flight to reach the top-most hut quickly. As he soared through the doorway and planted his feet on the ground, agile as a cat, he stared in wide-eyed wonder at the younger boy there, holding the hair of another, his twin. “Make him let go!” the captive whimpered.

 

Peter folded his arms, frowning at the two miscreants. “What’s this about?” he asked imperiously.

 

“He stole my chestnut cap, the mud-licking zit!” the jailor said haughtily. “My best chestnut cap, and he lost it!”

 

“I did not steal it!” The other defended. “I...just borrowed it...for a little...”

 

“Yeah, and you lost it!” The boy gave his captive a shake, bringing tears to his eyes.

 

Peter pushed the boy away, freeing his brother. “Leave off. We’ll get you another chestnut cap, one better than the last. Come on now, it’s almost time for food!”

 

At the mention of filling their stomachs both boys forgot the offending chestnut cap and scurried out of the hut, sliding easily down ropes to reach the bottom. Peter shook his head with a sigh and leapt out of the tree, taking a swan-dive to the ground.

 

A huge group of young boys, aging from 5 to 10, were whooping and rushing towards a compilation of wide tables, all of them heaping with food. Peter, the oldest of 13, sat down at the center of one of the tables, rubbing his dirty hands together. “Let’s eat!” he growled.

 

Lids flew off pans and pots, hands reached in to fill plates, even a few feet took part of the bounty. For a few moments of silence there was nothing but loud scraping and satisfied smacking.

 

A little whirl of light hovered through the air towards Peter and alit on his shoulder with a chuckle. “Pete, did you finally catch your shadow?”

 

Peter flicked the little light on the wing gently. “Y’see it stretched behind me, don’t you, Tink?”

 

The little light dimmed, revealing an ethereal fairy who crossed her arms and laughed, twisting to see the shadow lying humbly at the boy’s feet. “Yes, I do see it. What did you use, glue?”

 

Peter thrust out his chin in defiance. “No, I made it stay. It’s finally beginning to see who is boss.”

 

Tink fluttered up gently, floating into an old clock hold strung above the tables, dangling a leg and letting it swing. “I see.”

 

The boy grinned and went back to his food. Slowly the eaters dispersed, disappearing into huts. Lanterns were blown out and darkness settled over the huts. A lonely voice called out over the trees, the soft echo drifting over the whole island. “Goodnight Neverland!”

 

* * * *

 

Peter was up long before the others. He soared over the island, whirling among the clouds, laughing to himself. Beside him flew Tink, keeping just behind his shoulder.

 

They were crossing the east cove when a scream split the air. Peter gasped, diving down into the trees, Tink right behind.

 

Two pirates had the arms of a young girl, dressed in a buck-skin gown and slippers, her long black hair pulled into two braids. She struggled wildly, shrieking and snapping at the pirates, trying to bite them.

 

Peter leapt in front of them, drawing his golden dagger and planting his legs firmly in the grass. “Let her go!”

 

One of the pirates dropped the girl’s arm. “Hey, ain’t you...”

 

He never finished. The young girl leapt into action, slamming her foot into the pirate’s instep. The man howled in pain and hopped on one foot. The girl easily knocked him over, taking the other pirate down easily as well with a kick to the face. Both pirates took one look at the enraged young woman and Peter’s knife and fled into the trees.

 

Peter nodded in satisfaction and thrust his blade back into its sheath, turning to look at the girl. For a moment he sat stunned.

 

Her eyes were the biggest eyes he had ever seen, and so dark they could have been the night sky. A dark blue handprint was painted over her mouth and jaw, and she had feathers in her hair. She watched him curiously, and then she pressed her hands together and bowed. Peter glanced at the trees around him as if begging them to advise him as to what to do. “Hello,” he said.

 

The girl grinned. She took his hand and pulled him after her, into the woods farther than even he had ever been. “Wait,” he protested. “Where are we...?”

 

They stumbled through the foliage into a large camp. People of the same skin color and hair type were bustling everywhere, leading children, dogs, horses. Warriors watched them warily from where they sat, oiling bows, sharpening spears. A young woman, her legs folded neatly below her, knelt before a fire, smoking fish. Peter pushed his hair back from his brow with an awe-struck “Gee whiz...”

 

The girl smiled at him and yanked him through the camp to the biggest tent yet. Its buck-skin sides were covered in paintings of the moon, sun, plants, and animals. Tink settled comfortably in Peter’s hair, smiling and humming to herself.

 

Inside the tent it was slightly dim and smelled of smoke. The girl flowed into a kneeling position easily, pulling Peter down with her.

 

Two elderly people, a man and a woman, sat opposite them. They were dressed like the girl, but they had different blue markings on their faces. The wrinkled old woman had two curvy lines with three dots below them on her cheeks. The old man had a great gold necklace around his neck. Just behind them was a younger man, but still, in Peter’s eyes at least, very old. He bowed his head to the girl beside Peter. “Greetings Tiger-Lily. Who is your friend?”

 

The girl began to jabber in an alien tongue to Peter’s ears. He sat there, wide-eyed, as she talked to the old people. “Tink,” he whispered. “What’s going on?”

 

“She’s telling them how you distracted the pirates so wonderfully while she chased them off,” the fairy said, amused.

 

Peter shifted uncomfortably, wiggling his bare toes in the dirt. He didn’t like sitting unless it was to eat. His eyes roved all along the inside of the tent. He was so absorbed that he didn’t notice when the talking had stopped and all eyes turned to him until Tink yanked his hair sharply. “Ow!” he cried, slapping a hand to his hair so quickly that Tink had to take flight to escape. Peter looked at the people before him and grinned awkwardly. “Hello,” he repeated.

 

The younger man smiled at him. “Our Princess, Tiger-Lily, thanks you.”

 

Peter looked at the girl, his mouth slightly agape. She smiled prettily at him. The man across from them continued, reaching over to hand Peter something. “The Chief names you our Friend. What is your name?”

 

Peter took the long bead necklace that the man handed him. “Peter Pan,” he said. “Of the Lost Boys.”

 

The man’s eyes glittered. “I have heard of you, Peter Pan. You are quite famous, in your own way.”

 

Peter looped the necklace about his neck and stood, planting his fists on his hips. “Well, I have to be going,” he said. “There’s lots of work to do, you know...”

 

Tink landed in his hair again as Tiger-Lily stood. The man bowed from his kneeling position. “Our Princess will show you the way back to your home,” he said.

 

Peter blinked as the Indian Princess tugged him back into the sunlight. “No need,” he told her. “I can get back easily.”

 

Tiger-Lily frowned at him, cocking her head. Peter crouched and leapt into the air, taking flight easily. He heard the Princess gasp, and then laughter trailed after him. When he had reached a high enough altitude, Peter crowed jubilantly, the roster’s screech echoing over the trees. He flipped in midair and shot off towards the Lost Boys’ hideout, a hand on the necklace under his shirt.

 

* * * *

 

A large silver knife slammed into the wooden table. The pirates flinched back, fear making their throats tight and their knees shake. “Tell me again,” a sibilant, deep voice purred, “how a little girl managed to beat you to a pulp. Tell me again, my ears are longing to hear.”

 

“Well,” one began. “It wasn’t rightly our fault, Captain! She ‘ad help, she did.”

The knife was yanked from the table and the Captain brushed his long, smooth black hair from his shoulders. Dressed in a fine scarlet coat and black breeches, the Captain never looked under groomed. He narrowed his eyes furiously at the pirates before him. “And this was...?” he prompted.

 

One of the pirates dropped his eyes. The other shuffled nervously. He mumbled something incomprehensive.

 

“Beg pardon, I didn’t hear you.”

 

“It was Peter Pan,” the pirate repeated.

 

The dagger smashed into the wood just beside their heads and they jumped. The Captain turned sharply to the inner cabin. “Smee!” he roared.

 

A pudgy pirate came running. “Aye, Captain, aye, aye, what is it?”

 

The Captain pointed his left hand at the two pirates before him. “Have these two useless, spineless boat-swain thrown overboard.”

 

“Aye Captain Hook, aye, right away!”

 

The pirates left, the two condemned pleading and jabbering. Hook did not hear them. He turned and gazed at his reflection in a mirror. His hawkish face was completely smooth, his eyes golden-brown and narrowed in a frown. Long, black, straight hair was cut just above his shoulders, and his left ear was pierced in two places. He rubbed his chin thoughtfully, glaring out the window of his cabin to stare at the island. He picked up one of his hooks, a favorite weapon of his, and turned it between his hands. “Peter Pan,” he hissed. “Of course...”

 

The sound of two screams and a splash outside did not move the Captain from his position. “Very well,” he said. “If it is a war you want, Peter, it is a war you will get.”

 

* * * *

 

Peter hopped back into the tree-houses, his hand still pressed to the beaded necklace at his chest. Cries of welcome rang out everywhere from game courts. A group of boys on skates played with a ball and a hoop. Others just wrestled on the ground. Still more used bows and arrows with paint sacks attached to the ends to shoot at each other. Peter rubbed a hand through his hair, grinning. “I had an adventure,” he called out.

 

Immediately all the games ceased as the boys came crowding around him for their latest story. Peter pulled the necklace out from under his shirt. “There’s an Indian tribe on the far coast of the island,” he said. “Their Princess was beset by pirates, and I rescued her.” He felt a slight tug on his hair and he glanced up at the fairy on his head. “Well I did,” he said. “If I hadn’t shown up, she would never have been able to get free enough to fight them off!”

 

Tink shook her head and sighed but she said nothing. Peter grinned and went back to his tale. “Well, they named me a friend of the tribe and gave me this!” He stroked the necklace again.

 

“How many were there?”

 

“Were they smelly and old?”

 

“Did you fight them?”

 

Peter held up his hands with a laugh. “Well...” he glanced up at Tink and she raised her eyebrows at him. “There were about twenty of them,” he said excitedly. “And they were all smelly and old, they were pirates, what do you think?! They were so terrified at my presence that they let go of the Princess and together we fought them off.” He heard a tiny sigh from above him, but he ignored it.

 

“A girl?” one of the boys exclaimed.

 

Peter winked. “Yes, Toonts, a girl! They’re not all weak. You wouldn’t take on Tink here, would you?” He screeched his rooster crow again. “No old geezers can stand up against us!” he crowed. The boys roared in agreement, leaping around and forming a swirling dance of screeching, whooping youngsters.

 

 

As the suns sank over the horizon again, calling the end of another day, Peter and Tink went to the shore. The young boy leaned over from a rock and peered into the water. The face he was looking for appeared before him, sapphire eyes and hair reflecting the pure blue of the water. Her pointed, fin-like ears glistened in the water as the iridescent scales caught the failing sunlight. The mermaid smiled at him and touched his cheek. Peter was a great favorite among the mermish. Peter grinned. “Do you have what I asked for?” he whispered. Mermaids do not like loud noises, which was why he always came alone.

 

The mermaid smiled and nodded, handing up a pearl necklace. Peter smiled and looked it over. “Tiger-Lily will like this,” he whispered.

 

Suddenly the mermaid’s face went pale and she disappeared with a flash. Peter was just turning around when a firm hand grabbed the back of his neck and a net was thrown over him. He roared in anger and thrashed, trying to grab his knife, but hands had hold of all of his limbs, pulling him in all directions so that he couldn’t twist around and arm himself. Pirates! There were about twenty of them this time, without exaggeration, all grinning at him. One of them had his knife and the pearl necklace, licking his own blade wickedly. Peter crowed at the top of his lungs, and felt relief pool through him as he saw Tink fluttering madly towards the Lost Boys’ tree-house.

 

The pirates all parted, except for the ones that were holding him down. A tall, dark haired pirate in a long blue coat walked through them. Sharp silver hooks were looped into his belt and a long blade was thrust at his waist. “Peter Pan,” the pirate sneered. “Not so cocky now, are you, my young rooster?”

 

Tears stung Peter’s eyes in pain as a pirate grabbed the back of his hair and shook him. “We got ‘im, Captain Hook!” the pirate grinned.

 

Faster than lightning the Captain pulled out a gun and shot the pirate through the heart. He fell back, dead. Peter stared with wide eyes at the Captain as he turned to address the rest of the pirates. “Don’t harm him,” the Captain said. “Bring him back to the ship in one piece.”

 

Peter roared in rage again, struggling wildly as the pirates picked him up and heaved him into a rowboat, taking him out to sea where the pirate’s great ship was just floating around the cove.

 

* * * *

 

Tink flew wildly into the tree-houses. “They kidnapped Peter!” she cried, over and over again, slamming into faces and pulling ears. “Get up you lazy louts, they got Peter!”

 

The alarm went up like wildfire. “They got Peter! They got Pan! Pan-the-man!” The Lost Boys swarmed into the game courts, circling around Tink as she fluttered in distress. “The Pirates got Peter!” she explained. “I don’t know what they want, but we have to get him back before they kill him!” she cried. “I’ll get the Indian tribe, they’ll help us. Arm up for battle!” She disappeared in a flash of light, leaving the boys dazed and confused.

 

Slowly, comprehension filled each and every Lost Boy. Pirates had Peter. Pirates. Toonts slammed his fists together. “The dirty, fart-eating, jelly-bellied, old geezers,” he snarled. “Come on! We gotta get moving!” With a roar of agreement, every boy ran to his hut, grabbing weapons and decorative armor.

 

* * * *

 

Peter was thrown, net and all, into a lavish cabin. He could see his long gold knife lying on the desk not far away. He struggled wildly, but his hands and feet had been tied and he could not move.

 

He didn’t have to wait long. The door behind him opened and heavy boot falls, two pairs, made the floor thrum. A face appeared in his view. It was not the Captain’s. “Looky ‘ere, Captain, the little fish is alive.”

 

Another pair of boots appeared beside the pirate. These Peter knew to belong to the Captain and he strained to look up. “Peter Pan,” the Captain growled. “You know who I am, presumably?”

 

“A terd-belching, sword-slinging, good-for-nothing pirate,” Peter snarled. “Let me up and give me my weapon in a fair fight!”

 

The Captain laughed. “No, I don’t think so. I can’t have you bouncing around the cabin with your annoying, fairy-induced flight. Do you know why you are here?”

 

Peter was struck speechless. No he did not know.

 

The Captain knelt before him, lifting his chin with one of his hands. “Two words,” he hissed. “Tiger-Lily. You intercepted my men in bringing me the Princess. That did not please me. Now when I launch my attack on the Indians I will not have the blackmail I wanted. It’s because of you!”

 

Peter grinned wildly. “Too bad for you, pirate. You think I care? You’re a grownup!”

 

The pirate struck Peter across the face. “I don’t appreciate your insolence,” he snarled. “Seeing as how you are tied up at my feet, I would think you would be begging for mercy.”

 

Peter grinned past the blood on his lip. “Beg? Never!”

 

Hook stood with a sigh. “Leave him here,” he ordered. “We’ll see how proud he is when he realizes that no one is coming to get him.”

 

Peter watched them leave with a feeling of satisfaction. He closed his eyes and waited.

 

He did not have to wait long. A tiny speck of light opened the window and flew in. Peter opened one of his eyes. “Tink, what’s going on?”

 

The fairy settled on the floor in front of his face. “I’ve warned Tiger-Lily’s tribe. They’ll be here by sunrise. The Lost Boys are getting ready too. Do you know what all this is about?”

 

Peter laughed. “Apparently the Captain was trying to get the Princess as leverage against the Indians. I seem to have messed that up for him.” He snorted. “Too bad. Fat-licking, no-brained...” he trailed off into a stream of more insults, glowering at the floor.

 

Tink pulled out a tiny knife and began cutting the ropes that bound him. “Well, it’s going to get hot in the morning. So be ready!” She sliced through the last of the ropes. Peter sat up gingerly, rubbing his wrists. “Am I ever not?” he asked.

 

Tink sighed. “Sometimes I wonder at you,” she said.

 

Peter laughed softly and plucked his knife off of the table, strapping it to his side again. “You’d better go,” he whispered. “I’ll find a place to hide here.”

 

Tink gave him a tiny kiss on the cheek. “Be careful!” she warned, fluttering out the window. Peter grinned and stepped stealthily farther into the cabin. This was going to be fun!

 

* * * *

 

Dawn came bright and early to the coast. The pirate ship was near the beach, and all of the pirates had assembled on the sand. Hook flicked a grain of salt from his immaculate jacket, eyeing the trees before him. Turning to Smee, he laid a hand on his long blade and his hooks. “Is the boy still in the cabin?”

 

Smee shifted nervously. “About that, Captain...erm...he seems to ‘ave...er...escaped.”

 

Hook stared down at the pirate before him and closed his eyes. He gave his head a little shake. “What?”

 

“Escaped, Captain...his ropes were cut, very finely.”

 

Captain Hook glared at the trees again. “Never mind him,” he hissed. “We don’t need to worry about the little tripe.” Without another word he started into the trees, his eyes murderous.

 

 

Peter floated just above the pirates, Tink beside him. He gripped his knife grimly. No crowing today, no jubilant laughter. This was serious. Just farther into the forest, at the edge of the swamp, the Indian warriors were ready, waiting for the pirates to stumble upon them. The Lost Boys crept through the trees, hands on their slings, knives, and bows. Peter soared just ahead, his eyes on the swamp before them.

 

The pirates stumbled into the first of the booby traps. Screams punctured the forest leaves as pirates fell into pits, were yanked upside-down by ropes, tripped over trip-wires, or stepped into cleverly hidden pools of tar. At the center, untouched by the traps, the Captain roared furiously at his useless pirates. Suddenly the Indians came charging through, their spears and arrows doing terrible damage. The pirate force was engaged to its fullest as Lost Boys appeared out of the trees, crowing and yelling at the top of their lungs. Unseen in the melee, Hook slipped into the trees.

 

Peter grinned, following the pirate farther into the swamp. He flipped in front of the Captain, landing on a log and holding his long knife ready. “Come now, Captain,” he teased. “Are you going to run from a boy?”

 

Hook sneered, drawing his long blade and one of his hooks. “You are an irksome fly, Peter Pan. It will be my great pleasure to pin you to a tree and watch you squirm.” The pirate lunged forward, leading with his blade and following with his hook. Peter danced back, blocking and parrying with his long knife of gold. He laughed and cart wheeled, treating the fight like a game. The pirate sliced at his legs and Peter leapt lightly into the air, flipping over Hook’s head and landing behind him. But Hook was fast. Pain sliced across Peter’s belly and he stumbled back with a cry, clapping his arm against his stomach. Hot blood flowed from the wound on his left side and he limped, holding his dagger before him, his face contorted with pain.

 

Hook grinned, hefting his hook. He was about to throw it at Peter when the silence of their fight was interrupted.

 

Tick...tick...tick...tick...tick...tick...

 

The Captain turned in curious concern, looking around for the source of the noise. A huge crocodile was sitting in the water not far off, watching them, drawn by the smell of blood. Peter lunged forward, his knife flashing.

 

Hook screamed and blood dripped onto the log. Peter threw the neatly severed hand into the air at the crocodile, which devoured it in one snap. Peter grinned at the Captain, his face pale from pain and blood loss. “There Hook; now your name will suit you. I trust you can get out of this swamp alive, but if you don’t I really don’t care.” He crowed tauntingly, and then with a kick of his heels he shot up into the air.

 

Hook roared after him, scrambling away from the crocodile that was inching fearfully close. “I hate you Peter Pan!” he screeched. “No matter where you go I will hunt you and your little brats of friends! It’s war between us now!”

 

Peter could not hear him. His hand pressed to his side, he flew erratically back to the tree-houses, his eyes fluttering. The sky before him went black, and he did not know he was falling.

 

 

It was near dawn when Peter opened his eyes. His side was wrapped in clean linen and he was lying in a dusky room that smelled of smoke. A pretty face was looking down at him. “Tiger-Lily,” he whispered.

 

Tink’s light appeared next to the Princess’ face. “Do you know how badly you scared me?” she cried. “Just go off and get yourself sliced open by a pirate. Don’t worry about how much I worried!”

 

Peter grinned. “I got him back,” he whispered. “Got his hand...” he gave a feeble, whispered crow and fell back on his pillow with a wider grin.

 

Tink sniffed. “You wouldn’t be smiling if you had died, would you? Almost broke your neck when you fell. I could barely catch you. You’re very heavy you know.”

 

Tiger-Lily hid a smile behind her hand, but Peter grinned openly. “No,” he said. “To die would be an awfully big adventure.”

[GeldrinHor]

Clap clap clap clap....

 

Cock-a-doodle-ROOOOOOooooooo

 

Lucky for Pete, he's got friends like YOU!

 

 

 

Wonderful royal treatment of a wonderful story!!!

 

You continue to amaze and mesmerize us with your wonderful tale-spinning!

 

 

 

More, more!

[Kikuyu_Black_Paws]

Once upon a time there were three Billy-Goats-Gruff. They lived in a wide field of the greenest grass by the bluest river and were the happeist Billy-Goats for miles around. All day long they grazed on the sweet green grass and played Billy-Goat games.

 

Then one day the grass ran out. They had nibbled it bare, and the Billy-Goats began to get hungry. The littlest one, his stomach pinching with hunger, turned to the medium goat. "I am going across the bridge to the wider field of green, green grass and I will graze and be filled." And so the littlest Billy-Goat set out for the bridge across the bluest river.

 

Trip trip trip went the littlest Billy-Goat, his eyes fixed on the field of green green grass before him. Already he could taste the sun-ripened blades between his teeth and he sighed as he hurried across the bridge.

 

Now beneath the bridge upon which the littlest Billy-Goat was so merrily tripping lived a horrible troll. His skin was as black and scaly as a snake's, and his eyes were blood red and slant-pupiled. He had long sharp fangs and claws, so long that he could not curl his hands up and he could not close his mouth. So he breathed loudly, like a steam engine raging down the track. "Who is that on my bridge," he snarled low in his throat, and he pulled himself upon the bridge directly in front of the littlest Billy-Goat.

 

The littlest Billy-Goat was very frightened and backed up a single step, but he had been taught to be brave and he stood his ground. "Please," he said politely, because he had heard it was good manners to be polite to strangers (though not too polite) "I would like to cross the bridge to the field of sweet green grass so that I might eat. I am terribly hungry."

 

The troll grinned widely, baring his long fangs, and spread his arms wide so that the little goat could not get across the bridge. "So am I," he hissed. "And I think a nice young goat will fill my stomach nicely!"

 

"Oh dear!" said the littlest Billy-Goat, and he dodged wildly to the side as the troll lunged at him. The shoulder of the huge troll brushed against his ribs and he fell with a squeal into the cold river below. Drenched and shivering, he went back to the chewed up field. The middle Billy-Goat saw him and exclaimed, "But what has happened? Why are you not in the green field eating sweet green grass?"

 

"A troll barred my way and wanted to eat me," the littlest Billy-Goat cried. "And I am ever so hungry, but I am too afraid to try again."

 

"No one treats my family like that," the medium Billy-Goat gruffed. So he set out for the bridge. Trip trip trip the medium Billy-Goat went across the bridge and stood his ground. He did not have to wait long, for the ugly troll had already jumped before him. "Well now," the troll hissed, his tongue flickering between his teeth most horribly. "Now I have an even bigger Billy-Goat at my finger tips. I thank you, goaty, for coming this way. You will make a most excellent meal!"

 

"Oh dear!" cried the middle Billy-Goat, and he dodged wildly to the sdie as the troll lunged at him. The shoulder of the huge troll brushed against his ribs and he fell with a squeal into the cold river below. Drenched and shivering, he went back to the chewed up field. The littlest Billy-Goat saw him and exclaimed, "Oh no, not you too!"

 

"What is this?" a large gruff voice asked, deadly quiet. The littlest and middle Billy-Goat looked way, way up into the eyes of the Biggest Billy-Goat, their mouths hanging open in awe. The Biggest Billy-Goat had a long beard with beads and braids running through it, and long curling horns that arched back from his brow. His huge cloven hooves could squash trolls flat easily, and he was the Gruffest of all Billy-Goats Gruff. "Who has pushed my family into the river?" he growled, very imposing as he eyed his two younger brothers.

 

"It was a troll at the bridge," the littlest wept.

 

"He pushed us into the river when he tried to eat us!" the middle cried.

 

The Biggest Billy-Goat looked up at the bridge, his anger roiling around him like a great cloud. "A troll, eh?" he asked softly. "Well, we will see about that!"

 

Clomp clomp clomp stormed the Biggest Billy-Goat as he moved to the center of the bridge. "Ho troll!" he called. "Here's a nice fat goat for you to eat. Come and get me!"

 

Now, trolls are not very bright creatures, and with a great horrible smile the troll leapt onto the bridge. He looked way, way, way up into the Biggest Billy-Goat's face and grinned wider. "You will keep me fed for many days!" the troll shrieked happily.

 

"Oh will I?" asked the Biggest Billy-Goat, and he rammed the troll very hard. The troll stumbled back with a hiss and spat at the Biggest Billy-Goat with rage. Screaming, he threw himself forward, prepared to devour the Biggest Billy-Goat. But the Biggest Billy-Goat was no amateur at troll flipping. When he had been younger he had one the Grand Field Gold Medal in the Troll-Flipping event. The Billy-Goat ducked his head, and gritting his teeth, he hooked his horns into the troll's awful little jerkin and threw him into the air. The troll screamed and went flying into the bleust river below, and was swept away downstream, never to be heard from again.

 

"Hooray!" cried the littlest and middle Billy-Goats, running to their elder brother. Together, they trip trip-ed and clomp clomp-ed into the field of green grass on the other side, and they filled their stomachs on long sweet grass. They lived happily ever after, moving from field to field with ease, and they were never hungry again.

 

The End

[Kikuyu_Black_Paws]

Predator

The crowd pumped around me like a huge machine. I could feel the heat from a thousand hearts flaming in tune with the flashing lights. The music thrummed so loudly from the stage that I thought my head would burst with it, or I would just become part of the percussion or the guitar. A fierce solo dominated for a moment, eliciting cheers that drowned out the last few notes. I screamed with them, thrusting my hands in the air as I jumped up and down. The sparklers and flashing lights
were an epileptic nightmare. I was half blinded by them.

My two sisters were nearer the stage than I was, screaming or singing in turn. I envied them as one of the musicians bent down and blew them a kiss. My younger sister glanced back at me, mouthing an exclamation as she blushed furiously. I grinned at her, happy that she was enjoying herself.

The main guitarist, resplendent in black leather and chains, his eyes heavily lined by angled black makeup, stepped forward. His fingers flew over the strings so quickly that the notes could barely be determined from each other. Never had there been such a show of musical prowess! The crowd erupted and he smiled, his charcoaled lips curling into the charming smile that made all the girls, the gender dominating the crowd, scream and jump up and down.

Suddenly his eyes connected with mine. I felt my breath leave me as those angled eyes looked at me from across the room, freezing time and space. This was more than just the fluttering of a teenage girl. Everything around me paused and all I could see were his eyes as his lips curled again into a small smile, pursing as he blew me a kiss.

I was startled to find the song had ended; the noise of the cheering was so loud that I could barely think. I backed away, making my way to the bar and took a seat. I rested my head in my hands to try and orient myself. That had been weird—had I drunk too much? No, I hadn’t even finished my daiquiri. Definitely not enough for a buzz, or even this weird distant place my mind seemed to have vacationed to.

“Hey, are you alright?”

I looked up, prepared to give some false assurance to whatever stalker had appeared beside me. My chest felt squeezed as if some great beast were sitting on it, however, as I looked into a pair of dark, angular eyes accented by dark paint. The guitarist slid into the chair next to me, a smile on his lips.

“Y-yes,” I managed to say somewhat normally. “I’m fine. Uhm...if you don’t mind me asking, what are you doing over here?”

He raised his eyebrows, brushing a finger through his shoulder-length brown-black hair. If this was a gesture he often used to further entrench the girls he meant to seduce, I had to admit, it was very effective. His hair...so shiny...

“Do you not want me to be here?”

“No!” I exclaimed. Anything but that. “I just meant, I didn’t know you could come into the dance floor without being mobbed, or kidnapped or something.”

He gave a small chuckle and my heart thrilled. He had laughed! At something I had said! This night couldn’t get any better.

“Well, I’m pretty good at going unnoticed when I want to.”

It was my turn to raise my eyes in disbelief at him. “You’re a superstar. You’re not exactly incognito.”

He shrugged. “Can I buy you a drink?”

I wrinkled my nose. “Just a Sprite if you insist. I’m not a fan of alcohol.”

For a moment something flickered in his eyes that might have been disappointment, or disgust, or anger. But then it was gone as quickly and replaced by his smile as he turned to the bartender at the front. “Two Sprites, please,” he said coolly. I dismissed the dangerous look his eyes to be caused either by the flashing of the stage lights or his suave, deadly rocker persona. He was so handsome...

I sipped my Sprite quietly, looking about me so as not to stare at him. He seemed quite content with sitting without speaking. Suddenly he laughed. “What?” I asked, bewildered, hoping that my silence hadn’t driven him to think I was some freak.

“You’re not like other girls, are you?” he murmured.

Oh no! He did think I was a freak show. Something on my face must have revealed my sudden dismay. “Oh, no, that’s not what I meant!” he said hastily. “I mean, most of the time when I try to hang out with a pretty girl, they just babble on and on. They have no self restraint and, well, treat me like...” he drifted off, looking at the dance floor.

“No way!” a girl’s voice next to me shrieked.

I looked down in annoyance to see my younger and older sister staring dumbfounded at my companion. “How did you...When did he...?”

“Hi,” he said with a smile. “I’m Lupus—”

“We know!” they said in sync with each other. My younger sister held out her hand. “I’m Diamond, and this is Ruby.”

Lupus grinned uneasily and I glared meaningfully at my sister. “So, ahem, why don’t you two go find the drummer and the pianist? I thought I saw them in that corner over there.” I jerked my head for emphasis.

Ruby took the hint and dragged my protesting little sibling away.

I turned back to Lupus, my mind still reeling and out of place. I had totally just lost my train of thought.
“Look, I have to go pack up my gear,” Lupus began, and my heart sank, “but if you give me your number, I’ll call you later. Maybe we can get together, see a movie...go to a concert...”

I laughed at his attempt at humor and was rewarded by a sweet smile. “Sure!” I said, scribbling my number on a nearby napkin.

“No wait,” he said. “I’ll lose a napkin easily. Why don’t you write it on my arm?” He procured a Sharpie often used for signing screaming fans’ scraps of paper or flesh.

My breath catching in my chest, I took his wrist and began writing my number on his warm skin. I felt my cheeks flush as his warm breath played on my neck, his eyes fixated on me in a calm stare. He smelled like spicy deodorant and heat from the stage lights.

“There,” he said, taking his Sharpie back. Our fingers touched and I swallowed. “I don’t even know your name.”

“Onyx,” I replied huskily.

Lupus smiled, his dark eyes glittering. “Beautiful,” he said, and disappeared into the crowd. I sat dazed, rubbing my fingers where we had touched and breathing his scent.


The next morning my eyes were sleepy and itching. I had gone to bed in my makeup, too exhausted to wash it off. I crawled from between the quilts and stood up, stretching. I wiggled my slippered-feet and put a finger to my lips, imagining his eyes. The thought filled me with warmth and I gave a wriggle to shake off a giggle I knew would come.

I walked into the bathroom and set about washing my face, combing my hair, brushing my teeth. I nearly jumped out of my skin when the phone rang next to me. I heard frenzied footsteps in the hall and a crash. Someone picked up the phone before I did and I heard the twittering tones of my younger sister as she answered the caller.

A split second later Diamond was standing in front of me, her eyes wide and her mouth covered so that her giggles would not spill into the air. She handed the phone to me.

Breathless, I took the phone and put it to my ear.

“Hey,” Lupus said, not waiting for me to announce my presence. “Was that your sister from last night?”

“Yeah,” I answered, wincing. “She didn’t say anything embarrassing, did she?” Diamond punched me in the arm with a laugh and retreated.

“No,” he laughed, his voice crackling over the reception. “I was wondering...are you free tonight?”

I winced. “No, actually I’m working. I didn’t think you’d call today...or at all, actually.”

“Honesty, ouch. But no worries—I know the common tradition for popular people to hang out with a pretty girl by night and return to their vampires by day.”

I laughed. “Well, the reverse of that is true as well. But hey, if you wouldn’t be too embarrassed, you could come see me at work.”

“Sure,” he said, and I jumped up and down silently in the hall. “Name the time and place and I’m there.”

“I work at Taka’s Silks and Traditional Cloths, from 5-9.”

I heard him whistle and wrinkled my nose in a grin. “High class. No wonder you were wearing such exotic clothing at the concert. I’ll be there.”

“Great,” I said with feeling. We said our goodbyes and I hung up, frozen. I let out a whoop that could probably be heard across the city. My sisters charged into the room. “What what what!” they cried.

“He’s coming to visit me at work tonight!”

Diamond squealed and Ruby smiled knowingly. Since we all worked at Taka’s for the same hours, they would get to see my famous rock star hottie in his natural persona. It was sure to be an interesting appearance.


I could not stop trembling as I sorted papers. The different colors of wall hangings created an exotic atmosphere around me, and the beautiful people who came in for kimono fittings made me envious of their raven hair and dark eyes. At each ring of the sweet bell I looked up, waiting for his appearance.

My coworker, a Japanese girl named Usha, touched my arm consolingly as 8:30 chimed in the department clock. “Maybe he’s just late,” she said.

I nodded but didn’t bother trying to bolster my hopes. I was a girl who worked in a cloth shop. He was a musician. The two didn’t seem to go together.

At 8:47 the bell rang and I didn’t bother to look up.

A hand touched my cheek and I nearly jumped out of my skin. Lupus jerked back, his face twisted with an emotion I couldn’t describe, but then we were both laughing. The mixture of fear and rage seemed to never have crossed his beautiful features.

“I thought you weren’t coming,” I said.

“I got held up,” he said honestly. “I had a lot of affairs to put in order before dinner.”

“You’ve eaten, then?”

Lupus sighed. “No, and I’m starving. Maybe I’ll just eat you.”

I laughed but he seemed not in the mood for laughter. A sour expression had crossed his lips, turning his sweet smile into a flat, disinterested stare into another place I had no connection to. Hoping to cheer him, I held out my wrists. “You could always find out.”

He chuckled and took my hands in his, kissing my fingertips. I shivered and blushed, and he smiled at me.

I didn’t know that I had jerked my hands out of his grip until I was standing there, trembling and staring at him with fear, my hands at my sides. He gazed at me with bewilderment. “What?” he asked. “Is something wrong?”

“No,” I muttered, running a hand through my hair. “I-I just thought I saw something...” For a moment his teeth had looked jagged, his eyes sharp and predatory. “I have to go to the storage room really quick. I’ll be right back out.”

“Ok,” he said softly, and his eyes followed me to the door at the back.

I slammed the door shut behind me and leaned against it, breathing hard. This was the silk department, the bright colors of the soft cloth dazzling my eyes. My younger sister looked up at me, a twinkle in her gaze. “Have you kissed outrageously yet?” she asked.

“No,” I said softly. “Something’s wrong.”

“What?” Diamond asked.

“I don’t know. He’s—”

Something slammed against the door at my back. Diamond screamed as I locked the door and leapt away, my eyes wide. The door shook again under the pressure of something heavy and sturdy being flung against it.

The silence that followed after was far worse than anything that had preceded it. Then I heard him singing. “Let me in, let me in,” he crooned. “Or I’ll huff and puff and blow the door in.”

This was nightmarish. “I said I’d be right out,” I called shakily. I turned to my sister. I felt the blood drain from my cheeks and saw it leave hers. What do we do? I mouthed.

The door slammed open with such force that it spun off of its hinges. I grabbed Diamond’s wrist and yanked her away, throwing spools of silk and manikins behind us as we charged for the next door. An inhuman snarl zoomed up on me as we crossed the threshold and I screamed, covering my head.

The door slammed shut behind us and I fell to my knees, trembling. The linen department, my usual place when I was on cloth duty, was filled with the plain colors of the sturdier cloth that under robes were made of. We could hear Lupus crashing and swearing in the silk room, throwing things and screaming. I looked up at Diamond. She was staring at the door, shaking, tears streaking her cheeks.

“Let me in, let me in,” we heard his voice again. “Or I’ll huff and puff and blow the door in!”

“This can’t be happening!” my sister whispered. “Is he a schizophrenic? Does he live out fairy tales for fun?”

“Maybe this is his opinion of showing a girl a good time,” I said. My sister cast me a wild glance, wondering how I could joke at a time like this. “Go away!” I screamed at him. “This isn’t funny and I don’t want to see you anymore. Get out now before I call the police.”

We waited, poised, ready to run. Maybe he had left. Maybe not.

This time the door exploded into tiny shards and I caught a glimpse of a dark figure with shimmering teeth, expanding its cavernous chest for another breath. Then Diamond yanked me off of my feet. The linen hall was shorter than the silk, and we made it to the other door before the dark figure behind us.

Ruby looked up in confusion as we bolted the door and backed away from it. We had no reason to expect that this door would be any different than the other two, but we had to hope. There was nowhere to go from this. I looked around me helplessly—the machinery room. Sewing machines, cloth hammers. My older sister wanted to be a mechanic when she grew up, and supervising or mending the machines was right up her alley.

“What’s wrong?” she asked.

“Onyx’s boyfriend is possessed!” Diamond shrieked. “He just blew up two doors trying to get at her! Or us!”

“What?!”

“And he keeps chanting the wolf’s line from the Three Little Pigs!”

Ruby pursed her lips and grabbed a huge sheet of metal from the wall and placed it against the door. Special bolts secured the sheet in place. I looked curiously at it and then at my sister. “It’s sort of like a firewall,” she explained. “This is supposed to act as a storm shelter or something. We’ve never had to use it, but it seems like it’ll come in handy about now.”

“Why am I the only one panicking?” Diamond asked hysterically. “I think it’s a good time to panic!”

“Hush,” I said, listening intently. There it was again, his soft crooning.

“Let me in, let me in, or I’ll huff and I’ll puff until I blow the door in!”

Diamond clenched her hands so tightly that they turned white as she squeezed the blood out of them. She looked absolutely terrified.


There was a rushing of noise, and the door strained, the screws popping out of several of the bolts that held the metal in place. My older sister jerked as one struck her, but she did not let go of Diamond’s shoulders. I felt as if I could stare the door into place, never taking my eyes from it.

It held. I felt as if I could kiss that door, but I had no desire to approach it.

Lupus did not make noise and destroy the hall as he had before. He seemed deep in thought. The silence stretched on until I wanted to scream from it. I covered my ears as the quiet pressed down on me.

A rattling in the ceiling made me flinch. Ruby looked up and bit her lips. “He’s in the ventilation!” she said breathlessly.

I scanned the room. The only vent into this room sat right over one of the cloth flayers. “Ruby!” I screamed, pointing. The vent had begun to shift.

Ruby ran, her hand outstretched for the switch. Her hand was on the switch. The vent had disappeared, Lupus’ grinning face appearing in the darkness.

The flayer whirled on just as he fell. His grin of triumph twisted into one of horror and he howled in dismay. A moment later he had been dragged into the machine.

Ruby fell back, her hands shaking. There was blood on her shirt and she had a cut on her hand where the machine had slashed her in her haste to get it running. We sat together in a heap, crying and holding onto each other for comfort.



I danced wildly amid my fellow fans, tossing my hair about with the confidence of having a long length of it. I could feel the drums in my blood and the lyrics were meaningless sound in my ears. The drummer was cute, head banging with a will while the guitarists were serious about their work.

My sisters and I reclined in one of the many coffee-house styled corners with comfy chairs and sofas. I stared distantly at the dance floor, twirling a lock of hair around a finger.

“Hey there.”

We all looked up to see the drummer, grinning bashfully at us, his hair standing on end. For a moment we shared a look, but then Ruby stood, grinning at the young man. “Hey,” she said. “You were great up there.”

“Thanks,” he said. “I think I have as much fun playing it as you guys have dancing. I’m Angus, by the way. Do you mind if I join you?”

“No, not at all.”

He sat down and ordered a round of drinks for us. I sipped mine cautiously, wrinkling my nose at the taste of alcohol. “So,” Angus said. “What do you lovely ladies do in the land of normalcy?”

“We work at Taka’s Silks and Traditional Cloths to earn money for concerts,” Diamond said with a grin.

“Hey, I know that place!” Angus said. “I’m by there all the time, maybe I could stop in and—”

“NO!” we all shouted.

Angus looked at us in confusion, his brows drawing together in a concerned frown. “Oh, I...uh...”

“I mean,” I said quickly, “it’s really busy there all the time and there’s currently construction underway. We hang out at the coffee shop down the street all the time, though. It’s sort of the hot spot for night crawlers like us.”

“Cool!” he said with a smile. “Very cool. Maybe we could go for a muffin, after the concert. Some coffee to help with our hangovers.”

We laughed and toasted to coffee and muffins, and hangovers, for the heck of it. I leaned back and drifted, my eyes hooded as I watched Angus. Angus...that means ‘lamb’, doesn’t it? A lot safer than ‘wolf’. Edited January 5, 2008 by Kikuyu Black Paws

[Elvina]

I just read the last one, Predator, and I thought it was very interesting. At first I thought there would be a twist to it - like Onyx was the true predator, but then Lupus showed his real canines, so to speak. I thought the sisters' names were too unrealistic and I was confused as to why they would even go back to a concert after that, but the story writing was really good and I thought it was a well contained little piece. I'll surely be reading more of your work in future, Kikuyu.

 

*Edit - And I read the Beginning of Neverland one as well. It was also very well written. You have great talent there, Kikuyu. There were a few parts where certain things were not particularly clear, like the fact that Hook's hooks were his favourite weapons and not yet attached to his stump (which, of course, he didn't have yet). There were also a few parts where the word order in a couple of the sentences was a little backwards, but only in a few instances. I really like the idea of writing a sort of "where it all began" for this story and you seem to have just the imagination and skill to write it. Very nice. Arr!

 

Edited January 5, 2008 by Elvina