Of Fairytales and Magic by Emma Hamm

Chapter 10

The bronze owl woman’s head depressed into the wall. Fine seams appeared around the edges of a doorway that Freya hadn’t realized was even there. It swung open and revealed the strangest room she’d ever seen.

Moss and grass grew up to the edge of the doorway, and a slight breeze tickled the ends of her hair. Fog covered the meadow beyond, but there weren’t any walls or ceiling. She leaned in slightly and looked up, peering into a gray, cloudy sky.

“It’s a portal?” she asked.

“All the doors are strange,” Eldridge replied. “I can’t promise they won’t take you somewhere else. And I certainly can’t say they won’t transport you to places where the old gods feel more comfortable.”

“Right. Impossible things.” Freya had always found a reason to love the phrase Eldridge had said when she first arrived in this realm. Nothing is impossible. But now, it seemed to have lost its luster.

She took a deep breath and stepped onto the grass. Somehow, she knew Eldridge followed her. She could feel him in the depths of her very soul, wandering next to her, never too far behind.

The air here was colder. She found herself slightly breathless with the ache of ice and the chilled bite of autumn. Though the grass was still lush, it already had brown patches where frost had killed it.

“Where do we go now?” she asked. The mist dampened her tones, making the words difficult to hear.

“I don’t know,” Eldridge replied. “You’re the one undergoing the trials, my love. They will draw you where they wish you to go, and no further than that.”

Right. Everything was on her shoulders right now, and she was realizing how terrible she was at listening to godly figures that wanted to order her around. She already thought to walk aimlessly through the fog if they desired to play this game.

Freya saw right through this. The Owl Mother wanted her to be disoriented. She wanted Freya to lose her way in the fog and then require a god to help her. That wasn’t going to happen.

Lifting her hands, she blew into her palm and willed the magic to do something with the air. The power of the Autumn Thief knew exactly what to do. Her breath amplified into a wind that rivaled the misty air. It blew a clear path ahead of them and led all the way to the roots of a dead tree. The scraggly, gray bark rose into the sky like arms. Tiny circles hung from the branches, twisting in her wind.

“There we go,” she angrily muttered. “Was that so hard?”

The ground rumbled as though it were responding, yes. It was hard. She forced the land to do what she wanted, and that was a cruel thing to do. The land hadn’t bent to anyone’s will in a very long time, and even if it had back when Lark first became the Autumn Thief, it hadn’t done so willingly.

This place needed to learn that she wasn’t like the other Autumn Thieves. Freya was more than any of them could have been, because she was mortal and she knew the value of life. She knew how hard it was to live, to love, to learn how to walk through each and every day with death dogging her heels.

That set her apart. The fear of death and the love of life would always make her more dangerous than any other fae who had walked through this place.

They approached the tree, footsteps quiet through the moss. She held her breath until they stood directly under the skeletal branches.

Circular stones hung from each branch, hundreds of them turning in the wind. Each stone was hollow in the center, tied with a leather thong, slowly spinning as though they all wanted her attention.

“What are they?” Freya asked, burning with curiosity.

Eldridge tucked his hands behind his back and watched them spin. “Hag stones.”

She’d heard the word before, although Freya couldn’t remember where. A memory bloomed. “Hag stones,” she breathed. “Mother used to talk about them. She said witches used them to see the faerie realm.”

“They do,” Eldridge replied. “In your realm, they are the only way to see through glamour. Witches look through them to see our true form, and then they can tell if they’re dealing with one of the fae, or perhaps another witch. It’s a dangerous job to have, making magic for those you don’t know.”

“I suppose it could be.” Freya reached up and stopped one of the stones from spinning.

With its slow, meandering journey paused, she could look through the hole into a world beyond. This one showed a shoreline with grey skies and foaming white surf. The pale sand almost melted into the sky beyond.

“What do they reveal in the faerie realm, then?” she asked.

“You always were too smart for your own good. This is a tree where we collect the matching pair to each hag stone in your realm. It shows what the witches are looking at.” He reached up as well and stopped another, looking through it before letting it spin again. “They don’t know the fae can spy on their every move, and we would like to keep it that way. Witches are so distrustful.”

Considering the fae were spying on them, she thought they had a reason to be. Witches would likely lose their minds if they realized the fae used the hag stones against them. Magic was magic, after all.

Then his words rang in her mind like a bell. He’d said witches used the hag stones to see through a faerie’s glamour. And she knew what that was. Her mother always said the fae never showed their true form because they were so ugly underneath.

Of course, the goblins didn’t seem to mind. They were all some horrible mashed creation of man and beast.

But the Goblin King wasn’t.

She’d never really thought about it, considering he’d always been so “other” to her. His title was the Goblin King, yes, but that didn’t mean he was one of them. He had tufted ears and claws, which wasn’t enough to make him a goblin, and she’d never once thought that strange. Until now.

Until he said those words that made her question if he’d told her the entire truth. Or, like always, if he’d hidden away a part of himself because he was embarrassed.

“What would happen if I looked at you through one of these stones?” she asked.

Freya remained frozen in place. She didn’t want him to think she was about to lunge at a stone and immediately brandish it in his direction. If he’d hidden what he looked like from her, then perhaps that was for good reason. The Goblin King was many things, and vain was one of the most important.

He cleared his throat and awkwardly looked to the side. “I’d appreciate it if you didn’t.”

“That doesn’t answer my question.” Freya had to push. She couldn’t let this go when she knew there had to be a good reason for him to hide what he looked like. This was yet another puzzle for her to solve, and one that was delicious.

This was better than the reality of having to face a god. Knowing what he really looked like would give her something to focus on, other than how her life might end very soon.

“Freya.” He shook his head. “I don’t want to talk about this right now. Look through the stones. See all the world through them and all the witches who know our powers. Experience mortal life for a little while longer.”

“What if I was always bored with mortal life and I want to know the answer to this now?” She fiddled with the hag stone in her grip, ever so tempted to turn it on him.

What would she find through the small hole, bored by the ocean tide? Perhaps he would be more monstrous than any of the goblins she’d met thus far. After all, he was the strongest one. The most powerful faerie in all the realms. So surely he must look at least a little different from the others. He must be more ghastly. More dangerous.

But even knowing all she did about the fae, and about Eldridge, she couldn’t imagine a version of him that she found ugly. He was the man she wanted to marry. The man who made her so happy and so strong, no matter what she faced.

She hoped that he would eventually show her what he looked like underneath all that magic. But she would also be satisfied honoring his privacy and all the anxiety he felt in knowing that she could choose to see him for who he truly was.

Freya dropped the hag stone.

A great sigh released from Eldridge and his shoulders curved him. Breathing hard, he chuckled and clapped his hands together. “For a moment there, I thought you were going to look through it even if I didn’t want you to.”

She waited until he caught his breath before she replied, “I almost looked.”

The laughter in his chest died down, and he watched her with wide, bright eyes. Freya was more powerful than she’d ever been in this moment. She had faced the temptation of seeing his true form, and she had defeated it. But she had also proven how strong she was to him. She could have taken away all his safety. All his lies in one simple movement.

“I won’t forget that,” he breathed. His voice was a whisper in the mist, carrying with it all the bright tones of reverence. “I won’t forget that you showed me mercy.”

“If only that was the real test.” Freya looked back up at the hag stones that spun above their heads. “I would pass with flying colors, I think. But mercy is not in the nature of the fae.”

“You’re right about that,” another voice replied from beyond the thick white fog.

And so it began.

Freya turned on her heel and peered through the mist. It swirled as though something were alive within it. Everything in this cursed, holy place was alive. Even the ground they walked on.

Slowly the fog parted and revealed a person standing on a single dirt path that wove across the ground away from them. This person wore a black cloak, hood drawn over their head to hide their features from her sight. They stood with their shoulders and head lowered, staring at the ground.

“Who are you?” Freya asked.

She shouldn’t have said the words. Obviously this was the person they were waiting for. The person who would either prove to be one of the old gods, or the person who would lead her to the place where she would finally be judged.

The figure lifted its hands and pushed back the hood. It was a woman with an owl’s head. Though not the same woman that had been on the wall. This one was no barn owl, but a woman with tufted ears like a great horned owl. She stared at them with wide, yellow eyes. Her hands clutched the edges of her cloak as though she were ready to flee at any moment.

Freya didn’t want her to be frightened. This obviously wasn’t the godly figure that she was meant to meet, and scaring away a god’s subjects seemed like a bad idea.

“My name is Freya,” she said, trying again to get the woman to speak. “Who are you?”

“I am no one,” the owl woman replied. “And everyone. I serve the Owl Mother and all who come into her kingdom.”

“Ah.” Freya awkwardly shifted her stance. “I assume I’m supposed to meet your Owl Mother, then?”

An awkward silence stretched between them again. Could she only say so many things and the rest had to wait until Freya saw the old god?

Huffing out a breath, she looked over her shoulder at Eldridge, who had frozen in place. He stared at the other faerie with a mixture of horror and sadness in his eyes.

“What?” she asked. “Do you know her?”

Before he could answer, the owl faerie giggled and covered her beak with a hand. “Know me? Yes, Eldridge. Why don’t you answer that question? Apparently you haven’t told her all that much, now have you?”

Freya frowned. “Eldridge?”

He didn’t reply. His horrified expression never budged until the owl woman huffed out a disappointed breath.

“Fine,” the new faerie muttered. “Follow me, Mortal. Oh, and welcome home, Brother.”