Don't Let the Fairies Eat You (26 page)

“And we must journey and start a new village,” the Golden-haired Man said. “There will soon be demons hungry to scour this place, now that Dagshire is gone and our tricks and deals are void.”

“And it is time we wed,” the White-haired Man said, taking Anzi’s other hand. “For I see no more fitting an end to a trick than to marry the tricked one’s intended.”

The three spirits married Anzi once they crossed the burned out sun shrine, for the disciple remained, though he did not know how to bless her fate with foxes. A new village was formed elsewhere, better than Oye, for though raiders and demons sometimes came hungering, no girl had to worry each season if she would be a vampire’s bride, and there lived three spirits who relished in deceiving anyone who threatened their new home. Anzi gave them children and gave them her years. When she died, she took to living with her husbands in the wild. Her shape changed to run with them as foxes and wind through the land of a thousand demons, and together they plagued the nights of men and demons with sneaking and trickery and laughter.

Zazan’s wedding to Teli was a small event, but a much-loved one. They lived in the wilderness days of old, a time when the mortal peoples of the world wandered, sleeping in fields, forests, and caves, when villages were few and mortal cities but a dream, when giants ruled and men were easy prey for them and their fairy-kin. Days of celebration were few, for they might attract the fairies and the wrong kind of attention, but occasionally, a special day merited the risk. The wedding of Zazan and Teli saw dancing to drums, drinking of fruit nectar, feasting on mammoth flesh, laughing at jokes old and new, elders telling stories, children acting them out, vows, loving, games, and an unwelcome envy.

The clan was small and often men were forced to leave in search of brides. Not so for Zazan. He was a determined hunter, and fiercely loyal to his people. His friends, Mor, Elor, and Listor, were lazy brothers who often trailed behind Zazan in hopes of soaking up a few drops of his glory. They could never hope to win a woman like Teli, who had the radiance of the sun, the serenity of the moon, and who was more beautiful than any other mortal woman they’d ever seen, and it burned at the brothers’ hearts.

“Why should Zazan have Teli to himself?” Mor wondered, only loud enough for his brothers to hear as they all watched the dancing from outside the fire’s light.

“Because our people only wed one-to-one, and Teli has her one now,” Elor said. “But what you meant was, why should Zazan have the most beautiful of our women while we either scour the leftovers or leave our people altogether?”

“I say we go find women and bring them back,” Listor said. “There’s no reason we should leave the comfort of our friends and families. In fact, I think we should all have wives as beautiful as Teli.”

“What are you scheming?” Mor asked.

“Tonight, we’ll sneak off into the wild,” Listor explained. “We’ll go up to the cliff and catch us wives of the fair folk. They’re much more beautiful than any mortals.”

“And more likely to eat your face than kiss you,” Elor said nervously.

“Not the kind we’ll catch. You’ll see.”

On the cliff lay a bed of thick mammoth furs, so old that some said the skin of the first ever killed by men sat at the bottom of the pile, gripping the cliff’s stone. Here the three brothers came in the dark of night, leaving camp, crossing the thicket, and climbing up the rocks until they found the smooth, jutting outcrop.

“How is being here going to get us beautiful wives like Teli?” Mor asked.

“Firstly, don’t talk about Teli around other women,” Listor warned. “Second, when our people would stop in this area for a season, they used to bring new brides to this bed of furs and break their maidenheads. It is a place of love and sacrifice—like marriage.”

“I’d guess there’s more to your plan,” Elor said.

Listor had his brothers build a fire while he built a circle of stones and explained what had to be done. First he cut a thin sliver of skin cut from the back of his leg and dropped it into the circle. Next, he held a dried-up bull’s heart, cut from the beast while he was driven for a female and kept as a charm by their father, and dropped it into the fire. Last, he placed three flowers in a triangle around the stone circle, each a symbol of love.

“Where did you learn to do all this?” Mor asked.

“This is not the first night I’ve wandered outside the camp after dark,” Listor said. “On many nights I’ve sat alone, thinking, listening to the whispers of the wild.”

“They say the whispers drive men to madness,” Elor said.

“But I learned instead. The love, lust, and sacrifice will lure a fair one. She won’t have all of us herself, so she’ll be forced to call on others. We will all have wives more beautiful than any mortal woman. Now, be quiet and wait.”

The brothers didn’t have to wait long as the bull’s heart burned and its smell wafted over the stone circle, coupling with the flowers’ scent. The shadows themselves seemed to stir near the cliff’s edge as a fairy-kin emerged. She was a head shorter than the men, dressed in robes so thin they might have been wind and water, and her hair shined like a rainbow. She crept into the stone circle, likely out of curiosity as to why there was no fairy man to greet and woo her, and then suddenly Listor’s hand snatched the flowers away.

“I bind you in love, lust, and sacrifice,” Listor said. Three sets of eyes glared down on the fair one. “You will be my bride.”

“Why do you get to have her?” Mor asked. “She’s incredible.”

“I feel she should be mine,” Elor said. “I’ll gamble for her, unless she’ll have us all.”

The fair lady cringed. “Good sirs, I cannot wed all of you, but I do have sisters. If you’ll listen, I’ll tell you how to catch them, keep them bound to you, and then there will be no need for bickering or sharing, and I won’t be lonely in your company.”

Listor beamed—all was going exactly as he planned. “Tell us then, fair woman, how to snare your sisters.”

The fair one, called Felidrea, told the brothers to fashion ropes out of mammoth hair, which they had in abundance from the bed of skins nearby. Mor’s rope was shortest, Listor’s was longest, and Elor’s was a length between them. Each rope was tied in a noose on each end.

“One noose is for your ankle,” Felidrea told the brothers. “The other will catch the sister. Cast the spare nooses into the darkness, where my sisters will step into them.”

“Then we’ll have three women,” Elor said.

“What about you?” Mor asked, looking to the fairy.

“My sisters outshine even me in womanliness,” Felidrea said. “They are shapely, well-endowed in the proper places, and their wild passions stir when lying with men. They’ll be happy to bear many children.”

Excited, the brothers tossed their second nooses into the darkness, beyond the firelight.

“Now, I’ll call them,” Felidrea said. “Melemity! Esty! Lality! Come visit your sister!”

Within moments, the ropes of mammoth hair went taut and the brothers grinned in victory. Then their brides appeared from the shadows and all semblance of mirth sank from their faces like stones in water.

Melemity came tied to Mor. She was more than twice his height, her clawed hands grown longer than his torso, and her black eyes lay wide on a round face, staring as unsympathetically as a lion.

Esty came tied to Elor. She was even taller than Melemity and just as pale. Her claws hung longer, her back bent as if she’d had to stoop under many tall trees, and wild hair scattered every which way from her scalp, like a lion’s mane. Her white eyes gleamed as hungrily as her sharp, white teeth.

Lastly, Lality came tied to Listor. She was the tallest of all, the palest of all, the most well-endowed, with the widest hips, the longest claws, the most wild of hair. Her silver eyes stared dumbly down at the men. Her lips curled back hideously like a shark’s, revealing blackened gums, crooked flat teeth, and a long, lapping tongue.

“Felidrea, what sweet gifts you give,” said Melemity.

“Sweet enough to eat,” growled Esty.

Lality said nothing, but a wet, slurping sound echoed from her cavernous mouth, where her tongue plopped around like a dying snake. Her toes flicked at the stones surrounding Felidrea, breaking the circle, and Felidrea went to embrace each of the slack-jawed men.

“Isn’t it wonderful?” she cried. “My future brothers by marriage, I know you’ll make my sisters happy—or else.” She bounded away then, off the cliff and into the darkness, laughing with every step.

“Yes, that is the way of it, my dear,” Melemity said softly, tugging the rope around her ankle until she had Mor upside down in her hands. “Off to home.”

Elor pulled a dagger from his belt and began to saw at the mammoth hair rope that had been so easy to sever and twine an hour earlier. Now his blade grated and sparked like he was trying to cut stone with bone, and he realized some fairy binding was at work here. A flick of Esty’s finger sent his hand throbbing and his dagger clattering over stones. Then she dragged him away by the ankle.

“Come, husband-to-be,” she hissed. “You’ll follow on foot or your back will bleed.”

Listor was on his feet and running before Lality could grab him and confuse her betrothed for a side of beef. He clambered down the rocks, through the sparse woods, his long rope giving him decent leeway, and hoped the spell on the binding would break if he reached other people. The ground quaked and trees snapped behind him as Lality chased, clacking her awful teeth.

The clearing came into Listor’s sight, where Zazan’s wedding party was winding down and the fires shrinking. “Help!” he cried. Zazan himself was the first man he saw. Everything Listor and his brothers had done spilled from his mouth in the few moments before Lality neared the clearing.

“Tug the rope, Lality!” Melemity’s voice cried.

Listor’s leg and luck jerked back from the clearing and Lality’s horrid face breached the tree line.

Zazan started to chase his friend, and then realized he couldn’t hope to stop the pale giant. “What can I do?” he asked.

“The whispers of the wild once told me of two witch sisters who live in a cave a day west from here,” Listor said, sliding back through the dirt and brush. “Take my place in the tether while I go fetch them, and they can help free us from our new brides-to-be.”

Zazan was a fearless hunter, and intensely loyal, but he wasn’t stupid. “I’ll find the witch sisters for you and your brothers,” he said as Listor was scooped into the giant’s arms. “Hang in there.” Shrieking was Listor’s only response as his bride or devourer carried him back to his brothers and her sisters.

Zazan meant what he said, even if he wasn’t willing to trade places with Listor. He was married now and couldn’t risk having the pale giant marrying him—his people wed one-to-one, no more. He also wasn’t willing to ruin his own wedding night over the brothers’ foolishness. The stars and moon passed over his head, and Teli’s, as they slept on soft furs, and also didn’t sleep, through the night. In the dawn, he told her where he had to go, why, and when he’d return.

The hunter prepared for a harrowing journey, packing what food he needed and a few weapons—a great axe, a barbed spear, and a bola made from mammoth skin and stones. He laid with Teli again, so in case he wouldn’t return, she would hopefully still bear his child. Then he set off for the west, ready to face tusked cats, two-headed, crawling dragons, and horned burl giants that were thicker, larger, and bulkier then the one he’d seen take Listor.

Yet he traveled through the thick woods and plains with not so much as a fairy-kin to come trick or hurt him, and arrived at the hill of the witch sisters without once having to draw his weapons. Cave mouths opened from the foot of the hill to the top and likely connected within.

“Look, here comes a disappointed man,” said a kindly voice.

“How do you know that?” he called, not daring to leave the waning sunlight for the caves’ darkness. “Did the wild whispers says I was coming?”