by Tom Howard
in Issue 89, June 2019
Matton adjusted his backpack, cursing the loss of his horse. The previous owner had been adamant about getting it back. Matton sidestepped a tendril of black ivy as it slithered across the road from a grove of ancient apple trees, gnarled and fruitless. God-forsaken place.
Wolf poked his head through the hedge. Watch your step, old man. He and Matton had travelled together for a long time. His canine friend slipped off to hunt or sniff butts or do whatever wolves did when they disappeared. Large with gray and white markings, Wolf looked like his wild cousins, but he wasn’t. Matton was unsure of Wolf’s history. He just appreciated his company.
“Keep your eyes open for the Shadowland folk,” Matton said. “Don’t ask for their help for anything, not even directions. Their payment is more than we can afford.”
You have warned me. If these fairies are so dangerous, why are we here?
“Trying to save a member of my family. Against my better judgment.” After years of not being invited to gatherings, he’d received an urgent message from his sister asking him to help his foolish niece. He remembered little Vicara as blonde, blue-eyed, and sweet. As a young woman, she’d caught a prince’s eye, been given a precious heirloom comb, and lost it. The dim-witted girl had promised she’d pay anything if the fairies located it for her, not realizing the little devils extracted harsh payment for their help. They’d found the gift, but she’d be working in Queen Dioine’s castle for the rest of her life or until the fairy queen tired of her. Either way, pretty Vicara was lost.
If we fall into a mine shaft, can we ask them to toss us a rope?
“Not unless you’re surrendering your first born or a cherished part of your anatomy.”
What about asking that old woman if she’s seen any evil fairies?
“What old woman?” The road ahead was empty.
Wait, Wolf replied.
A crone hobbled toward them, bent and aged. Her staff stabbed at the dirt with each step, and she stopped to peer at them with one good eye.
“Hurry along,” she said. “I can’t wait around all day.”
“Who are you?” Matton asked. “Are you waiting for us?”
“I’d hoped for better. Not an old man thinking to outsmart the fairy queen when she opens the gates one day a year.” She snorted in disgust. “My cottage is near. We’ve time for tea before you’re killed or transformed into a hat rack.”
Matton stood his ground. “I’m not accompanying you. You could be working for the queen.” He held a few magic spider eggs clutched in his fist. If she attacked, he’d entangle her in webs and escape.
“Is she a fairy?” he asked Wolf.
Wolf sniffed. No. There is witch magic about her. She may be able to help us.
“Or she might serve us gingerbread and stuff us in her oven.”
The old woman turned to move away. “Listen to the hound.”
“He’s not a hound.” Matton followed her up the road. “He’s a wolf. He’s wondering if you are as tough to chew as you appear.”
I certainly am not.
Matton didn’t argue. How did she know Wolf was speaking to him?
“Smells like a hound.” She turned onto a path off the road. “What happened to the horse?”
How did she know about the horse? Curiosity overcame him, and he followed her. If she was a monstrous demon, at least his quest would be over before he had to walk much further.
Her cottage wasn’t made of gingerbread. Instead, thousands of twigs were woven together to resemble a giant nest leaning against a rock wall. Birds zipped in and out of the upper whorls. Her home was their home.
She opened a door and disappeared inside, leaving it open for Matton to follow. Wolf curled up on the stone patio in the sunshine.
“I’ll be right back,” Matton told him, trying to convince himself. Maybe the old woman could help them defeat Queen Dioine and rescue Vicara. And maybe pigs could fly.
“Tea?” she asked. The cottage was snug. Two circular windows let in the light and revealed a room cluttered with books, jars, and an occasional nesting cardinal or jay. Two chairs stood at a table.
“Thank you,” he said. “I have my own tea.” He put the spider eggs away and unslung his pack. He fished out a small brown pot. While he had entered her abode of his own accord, he refrained from ingesting anything in the Shadowlands, especially food or drink offered by a stranger.
“Sensible,” she said. Her kettle whistled on the hearth. “My little friends told me you were coming.”
“I see. I know why I’m here, but why are you? The Shadowlands are dangerous.”
She poured herself a cup of tea. “I promised myself I’d live long enough to see the queen destroyed. I never imagined it would take so long.”
Matton caught the hatred in her voice. “What did she do to you?”
“What did she do to you?” the old woman asked. “Steal your money? Make your son fall in love with her?”
Matton took the empty brown teapot and poured piping hot tea into the cup she provided. He didn’t offer to pour her one. She’d be suspicious of strangers, too. “I guess your little birds don’t tell you everything.”
He took a sip. Tea, strong the way he liked it. He considered taking Wolf some bloody gruel, but he’d been hunting on his own most of the day. He’d let Matton know if he were hungry. “My niece made a stupid contract. In exchange for finding a lost gift a prince had given her, she said she’d do anything the queen asked.”
“Anything? So, not a lot of brains in your family? Your niece is an umbrella stand in the castle foyer by now.” The old woman sat in a wicker chair and watched the teapot as he poured heavy cream from it into his cup.
Again, he didn’t offer her any nor an explanation how different fluids existed in his teapot. “She’s supposed to be the queen’s maidservant for the rest of her life. I’m here to convince the queen otherwise.”
“So, you’re a powerful wizard after all. I should have known from the magic teapot.” A large cardinal landed on the back of her chair and smoothed his feathers.
“I’m no wizard,” Matton said. “This magic teapot was a gift. I pushed a burning wizard into a pond.”
“And the villagers gave you his teapot as a reward?” She took some seeds from her pocket and held them in her palm for the cardinal to nibble.
“No. The wizard had been set on fire by the townspeople, and I doused the flames. He was appreciative.”
“You’ll need more than magic crockery and a talking hound to best the queen of the fairies. You should have approached using the royal road. These backroads are patrolled.”
“Why did you invite me to tea? Do you have some advice or an artifact to aid me? Isn’t that how it goes in these hopeless challenges?”
She shook her head. “Did you pull a thorn out of my paw while I wasn’t looking? Why should I give you my magic sword or invisible cloak, even if I had one?”
“You’ve waited for someone like me to come along. What did she do to you?”
“If I told you I used to have two eyes and twin sons, would that make a difference?”
“What did you bargain for?”
“My husband’s health. In exchange, I gave her my sons. She turned them into candlesticks while I watched. When my husband grew better, he fell in love with Queen Dioine. She’d done what she promised. Her contract was satisfied. When I tried to forge a new contract to get my husband back, she took my eye. And laughed.”
“You’re not a witch?”
She chuckled. “Not a very powerful one. If I was, the queen would have killed me long ago. No, my magic is the magic of birds.”
She reached for a box on the table. “However, I have something that might help.”
“Poison? A magic potion?” He already had those in his pack. While he wasn’t a wizard, he wasn’t above trading and using magic items.
She removed something small and placed it on the table.
Matton squinted to make it out. “A strand of hair? How will that help my niece?”
The old woman shrugged. “That’s for you to discover. I plucked it when the queen took my eye.”
A part of the queen herself. That might be handy.
He stopped as he reached for it. “Only one?”
“One per champion.” She looked away. “I’ve not many strands left.”
He picked up the hair. How many had the bird woman given to unsuccessful champions over the years? It glowed green. Wrapping it into a coil, he placed it in the pocket with some pixie dust. He always carried some in case of an ogre attack.
He finished his tea and placed the teapot back in his pack. “Thank you very much for your help. I hope to see you again.”
A rider comes.
“A rider?” Matton asked.
The old woman stood. “One of the queen’s patrolmen. Those seeking her benevolence are supposed to take the main thoroughfare to the castle.”
“Is there another way out of here?” He doubted it. The woven room was composed of twigs, and the stone fireplace was carved from the adjoining rockface.
She nodded to the cardinal, and it flew to the mantle and lit on a protruding rod. The fireplace swung aside and revealed a dark passage beyond. “Take every right tunnel, and you’ll come out in the forest with the castle to the west. Tell your hound to be careful. Creatures inhabit those tunnels.”
“Thank you.” Matton summoned Wolf. When they entered the tunnel, the stone fireplace slammed behind them and left them in darkness. Matton pulled a jar of cold fire from his pack.
Smells bad here.
“Yes. The old woman said to follow the tunnels to the right. Maybe we’re smelling creatures who live on the left.”
What is your plan?
“Well, she gave me a gift of the queen’s hair. Maybe if I sprinkle persuasion powder on it, she will become my best friend.”
Doesn’t that have to be sprinkled on her? I thought the nymph said–
“Are you making the plans now?” Matton brushed a giant cobweb off his face. “We should be near the castle when we leave the tunnels.”
Do you trust the old woman?
“In our line of work, we use whatever comes along.”
No matter how useless?
Matton’s feeling were hurt. “Those gold rings I traded for weren’t useless. They made good fishing weights when they turned back into lead.” While some people considered Matton an unscrupulous con man, he saw himself as an honest trader of goods. It wasn’t his fault people were willing to pay more for things than they were worth. If he saved Vicara, he’d be the guest of honor at his sister’s dinners for the rest of his life. Worth the risk of becoming a doorstop.
Something’s moving ahead.
Matton didn’t ask if it was friend or foe. In these tunnels, anything they encountered would be dangerous. So much for the right-hand tunnels.
“Hold still, and I’ll spread this cold fire on you. Nothing like a flaming wolf to scare an enemy off.”
Why don’t you spread it on yourself this time? It’s hard to lick off afterward.
“Because it sticks better to hair, and I don’t have much. Someone with a ring of fire above their ears isn’t very frightening.”
Wolf allowed Matton to pour the cold fire on him. He looked terrifying with the blue and red flames flickering along his body. When he moved, the flames danced higher.
Smelly.
“The oil?”
No. The argus dragon approaching.
“Damn.” The flames wouldn’t repel a reptile. When it appeared, the argus dragon was a smaller version of its bigger cousins. It had no wings, and its short muscular legs lifted its body inches off the ground. Its large maw contained terraced rows of sharp teeth.
Matton drew a handful of pixie dust from his pocket and threw it into the air. Wolf moved behind him as the cloud drifted toward the little dragon. The dust, so effective on ogres, made creatures who breathed it believe they encountered the thing they feared most. It didn’t last long, but it had saved Matton’s life several times.
The argus dragon, pale and yellowish from years underground, paused as it breathed in the particles. It roared and reared up, incensed by whatever imagined it saw. It charged, and Wolf leaped in front of Matton, busily searching his pockets for something to throw at the dragon.
Wolf, his illuminated fur raised, growled and showed his own teeth to the attacker. The dragon’s eyesight was sensitive from living underground, and it whined and turned aside as Matton tossed a black marble at it. The tiny sphere stuck the ground beneath the dragon’s front legs and exploded. The smell of rotten eggs and swamp gas filled the tunnel and Wolf and Matton backed up to escape the worst of the fumes. The argus dragon wasn’t so lucky. It choked and coughed, shaking its massive head and retreating. It backed down the tunnel for a hundred paces, turned, and disappeared into a tunnel on the left.
You could have used the stink bomb earlier. I am sticky for no reason.
“Don’t whine. You didn’t have to come with me.” Matton put away the jar. Wolf would illuminate their way until they left the tunnels. “This is my family responsibility.”
Wolf didn’t answer. He took the next right-hand tunnel.
Matton hoped nothing else lurked underground. Wolf looked like a walking bonfire and made an easy target. Whatever had frightened the argus dragon might also travel in these tunnels.
Fresh air.
“Thank the four-headed gods,” Matton said. “Let’s get out of here and take care of Queen Dioine.”
That’s your plan?
“One step at a time, buddy.” The dark forest was a welcome sight. Wolf’s flames died down in the last rays of the sun, and the two travelers breathed in the fresh air. Birds of different breeds and colors darted amongst the trees.
“We should stay off the forest paths,” Matton said. “The queen’s patrolmen may be looking for stragglers like us. She may even have a way to tell we’re coming.”
A crystal ball or magic mirror?
“Exactly, my furry friend. Let’s find a pond and wash off that cold fire oil before we reach the castle.”
Wolf did appear a little matted. Oh joy. Algae and oil.
Matton chuckled and led the way between the trees. He had a few tricks up his sleeves, but when it came to an outright battle with the fairy queen, he was no match for her powerful magic. First, they needed a ploy to get inside the castle. What personal dilemma would be convincing enough to gain an audience with Queen Dioine?
“Wolf,” he said in the gathering darkness, “let’s camp here for the night. I want to look at that hair strand before we reach the royal road.”
We take the royal road?
“Yes, I intend to get us an audience with the queen.”
She must have minions who insure the most beneficial offers come her way. What have we to offer?
“I’ll think of something.” He removed his pack and gave himself a tiny flame by pouring cold fire from his teapot into the jar.
So, you have no plan.
“I will. Now, make sure we’re alone. I need to try some things.”
Wolf stopped licking his fur and trotted off.
Matton removed the coiled hair strand from his pocket and brushed off the pixie dust. In the evening shadows, the long hair shined sickly green. He took a saucer from his pack and poured a white viscous liquid into it from his teapot. Cobra venom. He dipped the end of the strand into the liquid, expecting it to blacken and shrivel. If anything, it glowed brighter. He tried belladonna extract, then a tincture of living death, and finally black plague. Nothing.
Wolf returned as he poured a saucer of hemlock sap on the ground. Wolf backed off from the noxious fumes. What are you doing?
“Trying to kill this strand of hair. If I can destroy it, I may be able to kill the queen with the same substance. The poisons the teapot comes up with make the strand more vibrant.” He used to worry one day the teapot would dry up, but for years, it had produced whatever he wanted whenever he wanted it.
Wolf moved closer and returned to grooming his fur. Perhaps if poisons make it stronger, an elixir of good might weaken it.
“Excellent suggestion.” The sun had set, and the forest was dark except for the weak light provided by the cold fire jar. Matton had moved to a gap between fallen trees so the light could not be seen. “What would be a beneficial liquid? An herbal tea?”
No effect.
“Brandy?” Holy water, willow bark syrup, and treacle all dimmed the hair’s glow, but nothing killed it.
“You’re onto something, Wolf.” Matton poured out a saucer of spring water to cleanse the teapot. “What would be so good it could destroy something evil?”
Wolf’s eyes glowed golden in the cold fire light. Perhaps something personal. A father’s sweat, your grandmother’s parsnip cider.
Matton tried them all, and they had an effect, but nothing dimmed the hair for very long. He sighed. “It’s no use. Even if we finagle an audience with the queen, I have no way to kill her.”
Wolf stopped licking. Maybe a fairy’s destruction is tied to their creation. What makes an evil fairy?
“Well, a good fairy is supposed to be born whenever a baby laughs the first time. I guess a bad fairy would be born the first time a baby cries.”
Cold, wet, hungry. Those things make a pup cry.
“Humans, too.”
With no easy solution in sight, he replenished his cold fire supply and pixie dust before taking out his bedroll.
Wolf curled up on a patch of moss. How will you gain us a royal audience?
“I don’t know. We must offer her something worthwhile.” He held the magic teapot and stared into the darkness as an idea formed in his mind.
“Stop cleaning your fur. You need to look bedraggled tomorrow.”
A plan?
“The beginning of one. If we’re lucky, we’ll have Vicara back to her prince in time for dinner. Her mother makes a fine pot roast.” Or he and Wolf would be matching ottomans.
Matton awoke stiff and cold when the morning sun made its way through the trees. Nothing his magic teapot created made him feel any younger after a night of sleeping on the ground, but a cup of strong tea and some porridge got him to his feet.
Wolf appeared from the shadows, licking his chops. Matton hoped he hadn’t eaten one of the old woman’s bird friends.
Royal road not far.
“Good, I don’t feel like a long march today.” Matton placed a pebble in the heel of his boot. “We should stretch our legs while we have some.”
Wolf, his hair sticking up from yesterday’s oil, led them out of the woods and onto the roadway. Even after a short distance, the pebble in Matton’s shoe worked, and he leaned on a seasoned branch as he limped onto the dirt-packed road. He appeared to have walked a long way to beg a magical favor. Maybe her minions would have pity on him. At the very least, an old man with his dog wouldn’t look very threatening.
The road still sparkled with morning dew, and a few early risers were making their way to the ivory castle in the distance. A fine coach sat parked in the nearby trees, the lord or lady within still asleep.
Matton wasn’t the only one limping toward the castle. Old and crippled people, helped by family or servants, hoped to take advantage of the queen’s midsummer offering. An occasional horse or oxcart passed them, but no one paid attention to Matton and Wolf.
“Poor fools,” he said. “The fairies always come out ahead. Yet, they still come, hoping their children will be healed, gold coins will drop from their mouths, and they’ll receive something for nothing.”
She must grant some wishes or people wouldn’t keep coming every year.
“Perhaps they think they are cleverer than the queen of the fairies and know how to drive a hard bargain. Probably give her a good laugh.” And lots of cheap décor.
The gate guards waved them through to lines already forming to see the queen’s representatives. Their queue moved fast. Some people spent moments in one of the tents in the courtyard, some spent longer. Many departed angry. Some sobbed and leaned on their family members as they left. Rich or poor, young or old, they came and went while the sun climbed into the sky.
When the red-faced man ahead of them stormed from the tent, Matton prayed his story would grab the minion’s attention.
The guard opened the tent flap to reveal a monk sitting at a table. He didn’t seem very fairy-like except for the small set of antlers on his bald head.
“My name is—” Matton began.
The man held up his hand. “I don’t care. What boon do you seek?”
“It’s my wolf.” Matton’s voice cracked. “He’s had a terrible accident.”
The monk looked down at Wolf, sitting on his haunches. “He looks fine to me.”
I am fine. Should I roll over and look ill?
“I found him in a hollow stump when he was just a tiny pup.” Matton’s words rushed out, growing louder and louder as fear and desperation overtook him. He had to sell this with years of his trading skill and powers of persuasion.
Matton wrung his hands. “I don’t know what I’d do without him.”
“What’s wrong with him?”
Matton wiped a tear from his cheek. “It’s disgusting. Every full moon, he turns into a feral human and runs around like a madman. It’s the reason my wife left me.”
The monk stared. “You mean he’s a…”
“Were-human,” Matton finished. “Yes. Sad but true. He was bit by a rabid lunatic. I want my old Wolfiekins back. He’s become a menace to the village, running around naked and smeared with who knows what.”
Wolfiekins is wondering how tough you’d be to chew, old man.
Matton detected a faint smile at the corners of the monk’s mouth. These screeners must get tired of the same old “make him love me,” “I wanna be rich,” and “find Aunt Minerva’s brooch.” In all likelihood, the monk had never heard of an animal being bit by a human. Thank goodness the next full moon was weeks away so a demonstration wasn’t possible.
“And what would you give to have your wolf cured of his…condition?”
A nibble at the bait. Excellent first move. Matton took off his pack and pulled out his teapot.
“Tea?” the monk asked. “You want to repay us with a cup of tea?”
“Oh no.” Matton took a cup from his pack. “As my wolf is no ordinary wolf, this teapot is not an ordinary teapot. Watch.” He poured a sip of steaming tea and drank it. Next, he poured a long drink of grape wine. “It can produce any liquid you wish. What is your favorite, sir? Brandy? Port? Sherry?”
Matton took out another cup while the monk watched. He’d seen every sleight-of-hand trick.
The monk smiled. “I’ll have ambrosia from the Ice Mountains of Zignat.”
“Yes, sir,” Matton said. He poured the bright blue liquid into the monk’s cup. Ambrosia was rare, expensive, and very potent. If he could get enough into this monk…
Were-human. That’s even more ridiculous than the two-headed llama you tried to sell with the stuffed head strapped to its rump. This will never work.
Matton hushed Wolf by nudging him with his foot.
The monk sniffed the cup, swirled its contents, and took a sip. His eyes lit with happy recognition, and he smiled again. “Just like home.” He finished the cup in one gulp.
“Worthy of a boon to save my poor wolf?” Matton poured the monk more ambrosia.
“If you leave the teapot with me,” he said, “I will grant you access to the queen’s hall.”
Matton frowned. The monk hadn’t said Matton could speak to the queen, only stand in her hall. Shrewd. “I’m sorry, kind sir, but the teapot only works for me and whoever I present it to. It’s an old family artifact, and the ritual to change ownership is intricate and bloody.” He lied, but the monk didn’t know that. Let him think he’d need to open a vein to own the teapot.
The monk glanced at a glowing crystal ball on the table. “Well, maybe just one more drink before I pass you on.”
Matton obliged. “The queen will reward you for acquiring this.”
The monk waved at the back wall of the tent, and the rear flap lifted to an ornate door into the castle. The monk sipped his ambrosia as Matton and Wolf departed.
The door opened by itself, but Wolf braced himself on the steps, refusing to enter.
“What is it?” Matton asked.
I don’t know…something is affecting me.
“Probably all this fairy magic holding the transfigured items in place. Come on.” The expanse of white marble and gold trim was daunting. Lines of guards in crisp white uniforms stood at attention inside the great hall.
Wolf followed with his teeth bared and his tail down.
Matton’s skin tingled from the amount of fairy magic floating through the grand chamber. In addition to the guards, a dozen identical handmaidens stood around the queen’s golden throne and fairies stood in small groups watching commoners beg the queen for gifts.
Wolf growled again, and Matton limped forward to bow before the most amazing creature he’d ever seen. Tall and as white as her marble throne, the queen never took her turquoise eyes off him. Her golden robes flowed around her, and her wings glittered in the bright sunlight pouring in from the open windows high in the hall.
Giant candleholders in the shape of two young men stood on either side of her throne. The bird witch’s sons? Curios and furniture dotted the chamber, and Matton wondered how many of them had been people. Even if Vicara was one of the beautiful handmaids serving the queen, he wouldn’t recognize her.
“You are the one with the were-human?” she asked. Her voice echoed through the chamber, and all other conversations died.
“Yes, your highness. I’ve come all this way—”
She addressed the guards. “Seize him and bring me his pack.”
Matton stood helplessly as two guards pinned his arms and relieved him of his belongings. They passed them to the queen, and she removed his magic teapot.
“It’s true!” She held his teapot as if it were the most incredible thing she’d ever seen. “How did you come by this, peddler?”
“On my travels, your highness. It’s just an old teapot.”
She gestured at the crystal ball on the arm of her chair. “From what I’ve overheard, it’s an old teapot that produces anything your heart desires. You fool, I’ve been looking for this for centuries, and you have no idea what it’s worth. You’ve been using it to make tea.” She laughed, but it sounded cold and brittle like glass breaking.
With the teapot in her hands, he had no control over it. Even if he could think of a substance to destroy her, he needed it in his hands to command it.
Two guards grappled with Wolf as he growled and snapped at them.
“Wolf!” Matton shouted. “Stop!”
Can’t. Fight. It.
“I understand there is a ritual to transfer ownership,” the queen said. “Start it now.”
“But what about my wolf?” Matton had to grab the teapot and think of something to destroy the queen.
She caressed the teapot. “Do you know what a treasure you’ve stumbled upon, peddler? I thought this object lost, destroyed by the oceans it created. Guards, kill the pet.”
“No!” Matton shouted. “If he dies, I die. I won’t be able to transfer this incredible gift to your highness.”
The gifting was a simple process of giving it to the new owner as the grateful wizard had done, but he couldn’t let her kill Wolf.
“Interesting,” she said. “A bonded were-human? I might find that intriguing if you hadn’t brought me the Cornucopia of Plenty, lost these many centuries.”
The guards pinned Wolf down, but he struggled against them.
“It’s a legend the Cornucopia created the world’s oceans,” Matton said.
“Its creator asked it to produce water and drowned before he could stop it. We thought the pressure of the sea he created had destroyed it.”
Matton wrung his hands and edged closer. “Why would you need a teapot? You have everything you could ever want.”
“Imagine a world where we create air and water only fairies could breathe and drink. No more human parasites.”
She laughed again, and the sound sent shivers down Matton’s spine. Wolf howled, and Matton used the distraction to move a step closer. If he lunged, he might wrest the pot from her before a sword ran him through.
What could he conjure out of the teapot to destroy her in the few remaining seconds of his life? The blood of a hero? The tears of a saint?
Pups.
“What?”
“The gifting ritual!” the queen demanded. “Invoke it or you and your were-human will be flayed.”
“Please!” Matton begged, but he spoke to Wolf. “What do pups have to do with anything?”
Stop crying when… Wolf’s thoughts faded, and he howled again. Had he lost all his humanity in this fairy hell?
The queen looked at him as if he’d lost his mind. Her beauty darkened in the bright hall. “What about pups? Is that some spell you’re chanting?”
Matton didn’t take his eyes off the queen. What stops pups or babies from crying? What in an evil fairy’s creation could be used to destroy them?
Matton was old, but his legs were strong from years on the road. He could reach her with a leap. He thought of pups, crying babies, and disgusting fairies while he looked for something to distract Dioine.
A large cardinal flew down from an overhead window and attacked Dioine’s face with its claws and wings.
The fairy queen recoiled, using the teapot as a shield.
Matton leaped and tore it from her, but the guards grabbed him. What would stop a crying baby?
He thrust the teapot out as if it were a sword. Mother’s milk gushed like a geyser from an overflowing rainspout.
Queen Dionine screamed. The liquid drenched her and left black spots wherever it touched. Her wings smoldered. Her robes and hair writhed about her. As if it experienced her pain and deterioration, the walls and ceiling of the great hall discolored and fell. Without her power, the transfigurations were collapsing.
The queen wiped away the white liquid, but she couldn’t stem the dark blood flowing from her body.
Matton stood back and focused the spout of the teapot on her. The guards, instead of cutting him apart with their swords, released him and ran for the doors as more openings appeared in the walls. Wolf snapped at the fairies as they took to the air and flew away.
“What’s happening?” one of the candlesticks asked. He threw down the heavy candle on his shoulder and helped his brother to his feet.
Matton looked at the crumbling walls and smiled. “A little present from your mother.”
The fairy queen moaned and slithered to the floor, looking more like a black eel than a ruthless monarch. The cardinal shrieked, and Matton gave Dioine’s still form one last dousing before he joined Wolf.
“Thank you,” Matton told him. “I’d have figured it out on my own.”
I’m sure you would have. Now let’s leave before the castle kills us.
“Uncle Matton?” A young woman stopped as she ran by. “What are you doing here?”
“Working hard for a home-cooked meal, Vicara,” he said. “Come on.” He took her hand and led the twins, Wolf, and other people who had been furniture from the collapsing hall and into a courtyard filled with hundreds of flittering birds.
©June 2019, Tom Howard
Tom Howard is a fantasy and science fiction short story writer living in Little Rock, Arkansas. He thanks his family and friends for their inspiration and the Central Arkansas Speculative Fiction Writing Group for their perspiration. His work has previously appeared in S&SM.