Of Fairytales and Magic by Emma Hamm
Chapter 12
She noticed the first faerie not long after their argument. It appeared out of the mist as though it were nothing more than a stone standing at the edge of the path. But when she walked past, the owl creature opened its golden eyes and watched her. It moved nothing other than its eyes, and somehow that was all the more terrifying.
Then another, although this was a goblin she’d never seen before. Its face wasn’t the only thing that was animalistic. Instead, it leaned on long arms that were a mockery of wings. The feathers indented into the ground. She couldn’t tell if it weighed so much that it had moved the earth, or if it had been kneeling there for so long that it had sunk into the dirt.
Yet another creature, one that looked like the owl who was leading her, appeared on her right. Then another. Then hundreds. Each owl lining the path and watching her with disappointed eyes.
None of them wanted her here. None of them thought she was worthy of the magic that burned in her chest.
Let them hate her, she decided. They wouldn’t be her subjects and they could think what they wanted. She had stolen the magic as an Autumn Thief should, and that would be the end of their ridiculous judgement. She had done nothing wrong.
Freya lifted her chin and focused on the small path ahead. The dirt trail grew more narrow with each step until she was walking through the line of owls so close that her shoulders brushed their chests.
In her experience, most faeries flinched when a mortal touched them. But these creatures? They didn’t move at all. Just watched her with those haunting, disappointed eyes.
The faerie she followed disappeared again. Freya raced forward to catch her, nearly at a run in the fear that she’d be left alone in this crowd and swallowed up by a mountain of feathers and disapproval.
Racing forward, she almost didn’t see the cliff until it was too late. A sheer drop plunged into the mist and shadows far below her feet. Freya skidded to a halt, her toes hanging over the edge and her arms pinwheeling to catch her balance. If she had noticed the cliff even a heartbeat later, she would have tumbled into the darkness below.
Somehow, she didn’t think these faerie creatures would have cared one bit. Her death would have been one less situation they had to take care of, and a far easier end to this trial.
Breath ragged in her lungs, Freya looked over at the owl faerie, who stood a few steps to her right. Eldridge’s sister had crossed her arms over her chest and watched her with clear disapproval. “Well, I suppose you’re smarter than I gave you credit for,” she grumbled.
Freya fought every ounce of her desire to shove the other woman over the edge. It would be so easy. The faerie would never expect that Freya would be so bloodthirsty, and all she’d have to do was push.
“My daughter may make you angry, but touching her would be the last thing you ever did. You have greater things to worry about than the existence of a faerie who inconveniences you.”
The voice was deep, like the burble of water. Raspy as though the woman smoked the cheroot cigars Freya had seen so many of the sailors hang from their lips. And power echoed through the very tones of the woman’s voice, though Freya was unsure how she knew that.
Slowly, she turned her attention across the great chasm. Mist surrounded her. Freya couldn’t see the other side of the gap in the earth, nor could she see the sides where a long rope must have been connected. And yet, there was a thick rope hanging mid air in the fog and a woman seated on top of it.
She wore a long cloak like her daughter, though she hadn’t brought the hood up over her head. Her gray cloak pooled around her small figure, dangling into the mist and disappearing into the shadows below. Her barn owl face was like looking at the moon. And her eyes were crystal blue.
This was the Owl Mother. No one else could be.
Freya dipped into a low bow and tried not to stare down too long in fear that she’d lose her balance. Her heart thudded in her chest. This was the moment. She’d been waiting for what felt like forever for these trials to start and now, here she was.
Freya didn’t have the faintest idea what the Owl Mother would ask of her. She didn’t even know how long such a trial would take. The fae had thousands of years to waste their time. Would they let a court be leaderless for that long? Freya didn’t know.
She feared what would happen if the court was on its own, however. The goblins were good, dutiful people. But they were also wild and untamed. They needed someone to lead them so they didn’t get into too much trouble.
Wings beat by her ear, though she almost didn’t hear them at all. With her heart in her chest, Freya watched a great horned owl fly past her and land on the rope beside the Owl Mother.
The faerie woman shifted underneath her cloak. A clawed hand emerged from the folds of fabric and gently patted the top of Eldridge’s head. “Welcome home, my son. You know better than to meddle. Your sister has to have her show, after all.”
Eldridge ruffled his feathers and clacked his beak at the Owl Mother’s hands. He barely missed one of her talons, and Freya wondered how powerful his jaw was. Could he have cut through the Owl Mother’s taloned finger? Most likely.
His mother tsked. “Come now. You’re being dramatic, as always.”
“In my experience he’s rarely dramatic until necessary.” Freya watched as the feathers on top of Eldridge’s head flattened. “But perhaps that’s simply being here. I’m sure being dramatic in your eyes is far different from my reality.”
The Owl Mother’s ears twitched. She reached into her pocket and drew out a strand of hag stones, each one bone white. Lifting one to her eye, she peered at Freya through the small hole in the center, as though she expected to see something other than a mortal in front of her.
Freya had gotten that from the fae before. They rarely thought she was what she said, and they all needed to realize that she was very much a mortal. But she wasn’t afraid of them.
“How curious,” the Owl Mother muttered. “You are what you say you are, and yet, you don’t act like it.”
“Perhaps your experience with mortals is lacking.”
“Careful. You still stand before a god and I have no problem wiping you off the face of this earth.”
Freya shifted her stance, taking a single step away from the cliff edge, just in case. “I think if you planned on doing that, I would have fallen off this cliff before I even noticed it was here. You’re bound to the old ways like the rest of us. I think the only way to get rid of me is to have me fail a trial. Or is that incorrect?”
“Clever and pretty.” The Owl Mother pocketed her hag stone and gracefully clasped her hands in her lap. “I suppose you are correct, then. My trial is simple. The Autumn Thief cannot be someone who is dim-witted or dull. Your intelligence is what I’m most interested in, Freya of Woolwich.”
She was so tired of the faeries calling her that. She was no longer of Woolwich, or even the mortal realm. Without thinking, she blurted, “You will call me Freya of the Goblin Court.”
All the faeries around her stilled.
Silence filled the fog with bated breath as if every living creature and magical mist were waiting for what Freya would say next.
“Explain yourself,” the Owl Mother snarled.
“I do not yet call a court my home, at least not one of seasons. But the Goblin Kingdom, the one that the Goblin King calls his own, that is my home.” She gulped, then continued. “I cannot say I am a member of any court or kingdom other than that one. And I understand that the Goblin King has no subjects. But he has me.”
The harsh set of the Owl Mother’s shoulders softened. She glanced over at her son, who stared at Freya with wide eyes filled to the brim with love.
“As you wish,” the Owl Mother murmured. “Freya of the Goblin Court, are you ready for your trial?”
She wasn’t. But would she ever be? If this was a test of her wit, then Freya knew she could survive this one. Though she worried what the other tests might be.
Clearing her throat, she nodded. “A test of wit it is. Do your worst.”
The Owl Mother shook her head and rolled her eyes. “Three riddles, mortal. And I won’t do my worst, considering you are not of this realm. There are many things here you may not yet have seen or experienced. But I do keep an eye on the mortal realm. I know your world, although you were quick to judge that I did not. In this case, I will provide you with the most difficult riddles from your own kind. If you know the answers to them, then I will be satisfied with your... intelligence.”
That was easier. Why was the Owl Mother not taking this opportunity for difficulty?
Freya narrowed her gaze and widened her stance. In some way, it felt as though aggressive body language might make her more focused. She didn’t really know, but she still held her hands clasped behind her back in preparation.
The Owl Mother leaned too far forward on the rope until she looked like she would topple over the edge. “In a land far from yours, there is a god named Odin. He asked a man worthy of being king this riddle. Four hang. Four sprang. Two point the way. Two to ward off dogs. One dangles after, always rather dirty. What am I?”
Ah. So the Owl Mother wasn’t playing fair after all. She said that she was using riddles from Freya’s world, but she wasn’t going to use riddles that Freya might ever have heard of. Odin was the name of a god who didn’t exist for Freya or her people.
She took her time thinking about the riddle. Warding off dogs, always rather dirty, the words all jumbled in her head. They didn’t make sense. She had no idea what the answer to this riddle was, and it was only the first one.
A farmer? Perhaps? Or maybe a scarecrow, although that wouldn’t explain the numbers of four.
The magic in her chest rose and pressed against her throat, trying desperately to be released. Freya didn’t know what it was trying to do. She felt like someone else was reaching out of her throat and if she opened her mouth, then a hand might pop out. It hurt. It ached.
Finally she opened her mouth and heard herself say, “A cow.”
A what? That wasn’t at all what she wanted to say and already she had lost!
The Owl Mother clapped her hands a few times. “Bravo. I see you are quicker than I thought.”
Wait a minute. That was right?
The magic inside her head seemed to chuckle, as though someone were quietly laughing in her ear. Of course it was right. The magic might have been locked in the faerie realms for all its time, but it was thousands of years old and had lived in countless heads. Riddles were nothing to a power like this.
“I suppose so,” she replied, although it felt wrong to say. She hadn’t solved the riddle at all. The magic had.
And yet, the Owl Mother still continued. “There is a house. One enters it blind and comes out seeing. What is it?”
The magic again pressed in her throat, but Freya suppressed it. She had heard this one before. She’d gone into the village with her parents, and a wandering band of minstrels had paused for water at the same time as Freya. The leader of the troupe had said the exact same riddle to one of the others, stumping his entire team before he dramatically revealed the message.
Freya only remembered because she had been so shocked. A wandering band full of ragtag people from all walks of life in her little town? The colors of their clothing had been a feast for her eyes. She’d heard his answer, and it had stayed with her for as long as she could remember.
“A school,” she said. “You walk in blind, but you leave with the entire world at your feet. Knowledge is powerful like that.”
“Hmm...” the Owl Mother muttered. “I’m glad we agree. How curious it is to know that you didn’t even stop to think about that one.”
Freya opened her hands at her sides and drew them out wide. “You never said the riddles had to be ones I had never heard. You chose unwisely with that one, Owl Mother. I have heard it and it was a lesson that remained with me for much of my life. Even as a farmer myself, I always knew to continue pouring knowledge into my head. I refuse to be blinded.”
A few owl faeries next to her muttered. They leaned close together, whispering in each other’s ears and Freya knew she had impressed them. They thought her nothing more than a wild heathen of a mortal. Likely they had thought she would arrive with her face painted, weapons in hand.
They had forgotten that time passed quickly in the mortal realm. Her people had many centuries of learning since the last time any of these old gods had walked that earth.
“And the last?” Freya asked. She wanted to get this over with sooner rather than later. Yes, she understood that she should savor this moment. Or perhaps even feel a little apprehension that this last riddle would be impossible to answer.
Yet all she wanted was to leave this place. She wanted Eldridge back in the form he drew comfort from and for him to be away from the family that thought him dramatic. Useless. Unworthy.
The Owl Mother narrowed her eyes, and all her owl children fell silent. Freya had the sudden sick feeling that this last riddle was going to be more difficult than any of the others.
“You should know this one as well, if you’re as well read as you claim. It’s from a rather holy book for your people.” Her eyes narrowed with glee. “Out of the eater came something to eat, and out of the strong came something sweet. What is it?”
Oh, that was a difficult one. Freya swallowed hard and waited for the feeling in her throat again. The feeling that the magic would take over because she had no idea. She really didn’t.
But the magic didn’t know either. She could feel it tossing up its hands in shock because that was a riddle neither of them knew.
Freya met Eldridge’s terrified gaze and wracked her brain for something. Anything. There had to be a logical explanation for this, though it was unlike any riddle she’d ever heard before. What could this mean?
A holy book. That was a clue.
The Owl Mother tilted her head to the side, then tapped her claws on the rope. The twanging sound was distracting. “Come on, now. You said you were witty and intelligent. You said I underestimated mortals.”
“Stop rushing me,” she grumbled.
The Holy Book. There was only one that mortals worshipped more than others, but Freya and her family were unlikely to go to church. Fables were more her mother’s interests.
Freya touched a hand to her head, running her fingers through her hair as if that might help pull information from her mind. Her fingers tangled in knots at the bottom of her long strands, and that was what made her remember.
Hair.
Samson.
This was a riddle from the Holy Book. A good, dutiful mortal should know the answer to this. They lived their lives based on the truth written on those ancient pages. But perhaps to the fae, the idea of faith in a god no one had ever seen meant that the stories were only that. Stories.
Freya met the Owl Mother’s gaze with triumph burning in her own. “You shouldn’t have told me it was from the Holy Book, or you would have stumped me, Owl Mother. Samson killed a lion, and bees made honeycomb in the great beast’s carcass. I believe that’s what you are referring to.”
All movement stopped. Even the mist hesitated in its swirls as it waited for the Owl Mother to confirm or deny what Freya had said.
The Owl Mother sniffed, then nodded her head. “You have passed the first test, Freya of the Goblin Court. Now, I believe I would like to speak privately with the woman my son wants to marry.”
The mist swirled. It rose in a great wave that crashed down on Freya’s head. She ducked, curling her body tight to her knees and waited until the wind died down yet again. This time, when she opened her eyes, she stood in a meadow on the edge of the cliff. No mist. No ropes.
No owlish faeries staring at her in an army of feathers and disdain.
Instead, Freya was alone in this clearing. And so, she waited until the Owl Mother returned to speak with the woman who would be the Autumn Thief.
