Don't Let the Fairies Eat You (23 page)

“Mercy, my forest friend!” the gremian cried as wolf jaws bore down on him. “I could be of great use to you!”

“You will be useful in my belly,” Old Wolf said.

“It is unwise to eat magical things, for I will make your belly ache.”

“My belly already aches with hunger,” Old Wolf growled.

“I could be more useful to you by putting other things in your belly. We gremians know the workings of a creature from inside and out. If you were to eat me, I would have you under my control, like a puppet. Instead, let me perform this trick on your food. I can get inside other creatures, work their limbs and bring them to you, and then you’ll have much more food than a tiny fair folk.”

More food sounded better than less, and so Old Wolf lifted his paws from the gremian. “I have a great hunger,” the wolf said.

“Then I will bring you great food,” the gremian said, and he hurried off into the woods.

Old Wolf trusted the gremian to return, for he and his pack had always been honest. He’d long forgotten how to be suspicious of anything but mortal men. Any other creature might have taken this as a chance to escape, but the gremian felt wronged and was subject to bouts of ill temper. While one path called for his freedom, to go back to his human town and never see another wolf, another path called for revenge over nearly being eaten, and he answered merrily.

After a little searching, the gremian found a big bull that must have wandered into the woods from a farmer’s pasture. He began kicking the bull’s jaw until the bull bellowed in fury. Horn and hoof swept after the gremian, but he was too quick and bounced up into the bull’s throat. Within moments, he’d worked his way deep into the bull’s body and gotten hold of all the wet strings that made the bull work. His puppetry was a bit jerky and he couldn’t make the bull walk straight, but he managed to guide the horned beast in Old Wolf’s direction.

The wolf waited faithfully where he’d found the gremian and salivated as the meaty bull came stumbling through the forest. “You’ve brought me a feast, little friend,” said Old Wolf. “You are indeed useful for putting things in my belly.”

When the bull had nearly reached Old Wolf, the gremian inside pulled other muscles and nerves that commanded the bull’s body, and tried swinging the beast’s horns at the gray-furred predator. Yet the bull’s head jerked as clumsily as the legs, and the gremian ended up turning the creature away from the wolf. Old Wolf took one look at the bull’s side and opened his mouth wide, tearing off huge strips of meat. The wolf swallowed the bull so fast that the gremian barely had time to escape the bull’s innards before there was no more bull at all.

“A delicious meal from a good gremian,” said Old Wolf. “But why did you make the bull begin to run?”

“You are gaunt and starved,” the gremian said. “You’ll need your muscles back if you’re to hunt again.”

“I only need food.”

“Then I will bring you more.” The gremian hurried off into the woods again. After a little searching, he found an unthreatening rabbit, which he forcibly climbed inside of. Pulling at the rabbit’s strings, he sent it dashing into open meadows within the forest, where the woods were not so dark and the trees parted to let in the sun and sky. An eagle soaring through this sky spotted the rabbit and swooped down to devour it.

Once the rabbit was inside the eagle, the gremian climbed out of the rabbit and began commanding the eagle from within. Though he could see his village plainly now beyond the forest, the path of revenge still called to him, and he answered by bringing the eagle down to Old Wolf.

The wolf waited faithfully where he’d eaten the bull and salivated as the thick eagle came soaring from above. “You’ve brought me an odd morsel, little friend,” said Old Wolf. “You are indeed useful for putting things in my belly.”

When the eagle had nearly reached Old Wolf, the gremian inside pulled other muscles and nerves that commanded the eagle’s body, and tried baring the eagle’s talons so they might slash out the wolf’s eyes. Yet the eagle’s talons threw off her balance and the gremian sent her swooping into a tree. Old Wolf charged after his feathery meal and swallowed the eagle so fast that the gremian barely had time to escape her innards before there was no more eagle at all.

“A delicious meal from a good server,” said Old Wolf. “But why did you make the eagle begin to fight?”

“You are alone and aged,” the gremian said. “You’ll need to remember your survival skills if you’re to hunt again.”

“I only need food.”

“Then I will bring you more.” The gremian hurried off into the woods again, this time in search of a man. He knew men well and their weapons too, and hoped he could take command of a hunter. Soon he heard a voice among the trees.

“I had that deer by rights!” the voice bellowed. “He’ll have lion’s teeth around his throat and a tiger’s gullet to drop down once I bring him back to my castle.”

“A royal huntsman,” the gremian said to himself. “Perfect!” He ran through the trees, following the voice.

Yet when he reached the clearing where the voice’s owner stood, he found no mortal man, but a great ogre holding a broken tree limb in his hands. The gremian thought first of hiding in a tree’s hollow until the giant passed, but then he remembered that ogres are shape-shifters.

“Greetings, good sir!” the gremian called. “I have a proposition for you.”

“And what proposition would that be, little cousin?” the ogre asked.

“I will find and fetch your deer, climbing inside and steering it toward you. Then you may smash its skull open, or become a lion and tiger at once and tear it to pieces. In return, I’d like a minute of your time in vexing an old wolf.”

“Those wolves are the ones who made all the deer here skittish,” the ogre grumbled. “I’d have had an easy time changing into a stag or doe, whatever the occasion called for, but the deer don’t even trust their own anymore. I’d be happy to smash his head in.”

“Better yet, why not change into something so small that he’d swallow you in one bite,” the gremian asked. “Then, when he thinks his belly’s full for good reason, change back to yourself and make him pop from the inside.”

The ogre and the gremian laughed a while. Then the ogre changed his shape to that of a pheasant and followed the gremian through the woods, back to Old Wolf.

The wolf waited faithfully where he’d devoured the eagle and salivated as the fat pheasant came strutting from behind the gremian. “You’ve brought me a sweet treat, little friend,” said Old Wolf. “You are indeed useful for putting things in my belly.”

No tricks came this time when Old Wolf lunged for his food, as the gremian was not inside to try assaulting the gray-furred predator. Old Wolf gobbled up the pheasant in a single bite, and then rested on the forest floor.

“A delicious meal from a good friend,” said Old Wolf. “I have not felt so full in quite some time.” Then he rolled over on his back and began rubbing his middle. “In fact, I may feel too full. Perhaps some of your magic wore off on these animals and I have a bellyache after all.”

“It is possible,” the gremian said, and watched eagerly as the wolf’s belly swelled and deflated, again and again.

Old Wolf rolled on the ground, clenching his teeth at times, howling at others, and finally he began to tremble. “Yes, I believe the magic is doing something. I should have heeded your warnings, friend. I thank you for the kindness you’ve shown, nonetheless. Little enough of that is done for an old, lonely wolf. I’m glad to have met you and not eaten you.”

At the wolf’s words, the path of revenge that had called so alluringly earlier seemed a narrow, solitary road to the gremian, and he felt ashamed of the trick he’d played. The old wolf was the last of his kind in these woods, whereas the gremian could have spent his time finding a hundred humans to vex, with a hundred more waiting to be vexed in the future.

“Let me inside and I’ll see what the damage is,” the gremian said, and at once he hopped into the wolf’s jaws that he’d avoided so well earlier in the day.

Inside the wolf’s belly, he found the ogre twisting and turning amidst the bull and the eagle. “So I see he has eaten you as well,” the ogre called. “How old is this wolf? I fear he is older than the forests and hills, for his belly won’t break as a normal one’s would. Help me snatch these bull horns and eagle claws, and we will carve our way out.”

Instead, the gremian stuffed the ogre deeper into the wolf’s guts until he fell into blackness, and then scurried out of Old Wolf’s mouth as his belly went rumbling even harder. “I feel my body taking hold of whatever is in there, like it should with proper food,” he said to the gremian.

“Something inside did not agree with you,” the gremian said. “I’ve changed its mind.”

The wolf’s body trembled again, and then it ceased to entirely be a wolf. Great white bull horns stretched from Old Wolf’s head, and gray, feathery wings sprouted from his back, each as long as his body. His trembling ceased and he stood up, healthy and strong once more. “I seem to have grown and changed,” he said, looking down on the gremian. “Is this the magic you warned me of?”

“Indeed!” the gremian cried. “And I daresay, I have a feeling in my own gut that you’re likely to run into more troubling foods without someone to guide you. You may have your instincts, but I’ve been in men’s kitchens for a hundred years and know all about what should find its way inside your belly, and what should keep out. I believe you’ll need such a food expert to accompany you.”

“And where will I be going?”

“Anywhere, it seems, with your new wings. You could sample the strange six-legged deer that supposedly live in the swamps of the eastern kingdoms, or devour shining eagles of the grand desert that lies between the cold lands and the sunset lands. We could find the cloudy kingdoms of the stroms, giants with great horns like your own, and perhaps learn even more in their kitchens. There are many villages and many peoples, and this one day in the forest has shown me that some creatures are much more fun to toy with in variety. I’ve sampled malice against only humans for far too long.”

Old Wolf laughed at all this and welcomed the gremian onto his back. “A break from being alone will be refreshing, my friend.” The horned wolf then spread his wings, charged through the forest, and flew off into the sky, in search of distant lands with his expert in food, for all corners of the world.

In the days before the old man Gendel and the old woman Washa became so old, they made dolls for the little town. Gendel gathered wool and tanned the leather, and his wife Washa sewed the pieces into torsos, limbs, and heads.

Most important, however, was the stitching of a name with her magic needle, for these were no ordinary dolls. Once the name was stitched onto a doll’s back, it came to life, and whatever name was given dictated the doll’s task. One was named Egg-gatherer and was given to a farmer. Fox-chaser was another, and had a shorter existence.

The lives of the townsfolk grew a little easier with every doll, and they had hours for reverie and revelry. At one time, Gendel and Washa enjoyed the parties, the dancing, the singing, the sweets and the laughter. Yet as they grew older, their own dolls, such as Wool-gatherer and Cook, had to do more work for them, and one task the dolls could not achieve was to give their makers a peaceful night.

The old couple knew patience. They patiently waited for the dolls to complete their tasks every day. They patiently endured old bones, and chills and pains. They patiently hoped the noise would cease, even for an evening, but it went on over lively spring and long summers, battering their ears and jabbing their nerves.

Eventually, one summer night, their patience snapped.

Gendel and Washa agreed, enough was enough. They understood now why spirits moaned when the living moved into their haunting grounds, and monsters ruined noisy towns dwelling too close to their lairs. The two were too old to move, and felt they had every right to live out their remaining days in peace. They had given the town so much already—now came the time to take.

They needed many dolls for their task, and so Washa set to work sewing hundreds of stuffed limbs, torsos, and heads, while Gendel went to market with dolls named Servant, Carrier, and Lifter to retrieve more leather and wool. They worked for many days and nights, Gendel cutting leather, Washa sewing pieces, and both counting out the townsfolk, even the babies, taking note of those so old that they died first, matching person to doll, until the numbers were the same.