Fairy Tales: Unraveled: A twisted retell shorts collection Read online

  King David was a pragmatic man and did not hold to fairy tales and happy ever afters. His own wife seemed to be unable to bear him a son. The prophecy was likely an old wives’ tale to make lower-ranking expectant mothers feel better when the reality was that they would always be poor with no hope of making a good match for their offspring. And yet, he pursued the boy across his kingdom. Not wanting to look too closely at his motives, he looked down at the boy. He was a strong boy with a shock of black hair and startling green eyes.

  It’s like he can see into my soul.

  Turning from the child, he remembered staring into another set of green eyes . . . no, he would not think of that.

  “Hector!”

  His most trusted knight appeared at his side. “Yes, my king?” Hector was an honourable man; this kidnapping did not sit well with him. With his back to the Moses basket, the king ordered that he take the squalling brat and dump him in the river. He felt sick but did not show his distaste to the king. Picking up the basket, Sir Hector left the room.

  The journey to the water’s edge was not far as the river was swollen from the last rain and the current was fast. Looking at the young boy, he thought of the child’s mother and the waste of an innocent life over a superstition. Checking that no one was watching, he carried on along the river until he came upon some fisher wives. They glared at him as they wished him good day.

  If the king finds out, I shall be hanged from the battlements!

  Searching the faces of the women, he found what he was looking for green eyes. He approached the woman and her eyes never left his. This one will protect him. Hector dropped to his knees before her.

  “This babe needs a home. I will give you five gold coins to take him with you. His name is John. Keep him hidden. Will you do this for me?”

  The woman looked into the eyes of Sir Hector; everyone knew who he was. Sophie wanted to refuse the child. If this was his bastard, he should raise him. It was then she looked at the child as he began to fuss in his basket. In that moment, she fell in love.

  “Yes, I shall take the child, I have none of my own and no husband to speak of, but that is no matter to my people,” she replied, already reaching into the basket to pick up the child who would henceforth call her Mother.

  Relief washed over Hector. Reaching for his purse, he gave her the whole thing. It would buy her passage that would take them far from here.

  “Take it all and leave this land. I beg of you.”

  Eyes wide, Sophie took the purse and hid it in the folds of her skirt. Laying the baby back in his blankets and taking her by the elbow, Hector walked with her to the king’s road and waited for a merchant to pass by. The day was fine, but he knew the chill would be brought with the dusk. Helping her into the back of a wine merchant’s trailer, she and the babe snuggled amongst the barrels of wine and crates of salted meats. He bid her and the child farewell.

  I pray the king never hears of this day.

  TWENTY YEARS LATER...

  “MA . . . MAAAAAA! I’m going now. I will be back tomorrow . . . Ma?” John knew she couldn’t hear him, but still he yelled her name across the fields she was ploughing; his ma was a tough lady. She bought the house and the land when he was a babe. He had never met his father. “Died” was all his ma would say. Watching her, he felt so proud to be her boy. He was a man grown, with a job as a stone mason. John had built quite a reputation and was waiting for the day that one of the nobles commissioned him to build a folly. His real dream was to visit his birthplace. Sophie told him it was a gloomy place with an evil king. But he had found her drawings of wee cottages and streams with coloured fish and a castle that was the kind of building he could only dream of working on.

  It had been a long day fixing the drystone wall of the garden. At least now the cattle couldn’t stick their heads in the kitchen window and eat the pears. John knew there was more out there than this farm and the village. He wanted adventure. His ma had other ideas. She wanted him to wed one of the local girls and have babies. Build a nice house and live happily ever after.

  Yuck!

  John was aware he was handsome, with his dark hair that sat in waves to his shirt collar. He was well-built from all the masonry work, and every girl within a hundred miles dreamt of his green eyes. All he wanted was to experience more than the daily toil of work and admirers and really experience life.

  Korf was fed up; his brothers were all older, bigger, and meaner than him. Not that he was a wimp, far from it, but it got awfully tiresome being called Goldilocks and Kelly every chance they got. Lumbering to his feet, he decided to take a risk and go for a walk. This wasn’t allowed during sunlight. Giants were slain on sight if the army was big enough.

  Stupid people, always wanting to kill what is different from themselves.

  His family was visiting the lowlands to gather straw and corn for later in the year. The myth that giants ate babies meant that the humans never thought of giants when their grain stores were a bit lower.

  “Where you going, Kelly? Off to brush your hair?!”

  Hank yelled from his seat near the cave mouth. Rolling his eyes, Korf just kept walking.

  John heard the shout carried on the breeze. He was too far away to make out the words, but he was sure it was coming from Cain Rock. He wondered what he would do if he came across some smugglers.

  Will I be able to subdue them? Take them to the square for justice? Shaking his head, he carried on along the road.

  “Stupid lumbering idiot brothers, I wish they would go boil their heads,” Korf grumbled as he stomped along the country lane, not caring who saw him.

  Let them see the big scary Goldilocks. Pfft! Idiots the lot of them.

  It was then that John appeared on the road before Korf. He had been daydreaming about his riches and fame for building a new keep for old King David. When he looked up and saw the biggest man he had ever seen—no . . . not a man . . . a GIANT; he was prepared to fight to the death. There’s no way I’m going to die from being struck down while running away.

  He charged forward.

  Wonderful, an idiot human come to slay the big bad giant.

  Korf watched as the man ran at him.

  Moron.

  Korf sat down in the middle of the lane and waited. John faltered; was he seriously sitting down? He certainly didn’t look aggressive; in fact, he looked a tad bored and pissed off. Stowing his pickaxe at his hip, John approached at a more measured pace.

  “What do you want? Want to make a name for your‐ self killing a giant?”

  John was still a good ten feet away when he answered, “Not especially, no. I just don’t fancy being killed by one while running for my life. It would shame my mother.”

  Korf chuckled. “Well, I guess we are in quite a pickle then. What is your name?”

  “John. I am a stone mason. And you are?”

  “Korf. I am the youngest son and no use to anyone.”

  It hit him like lightening: If he could get this giant to work with him behind the scenes, hewing stone from the cliffs and caves, he could build in half the time and maybe, just maybe, earn enough to see the land of his birth. He put the idea to Korf.

  “So, we have an accord?” John held out his hand.

  Korf just looked at him.

  “You are meant to shake my hand, as a way of sealing the agreement.”

  Taking John around the middle Korf shook him up and down, then placed him back on shaking legs.

  “Not quite what I meant!” John sat on the grassy verge and put his head between his knees.

  Their arrangement worked better than they could ever have imagined. John rose in fame, and Korf was able to make his own wages. Life was good. Then the letter from The Royal House of David arrived that changed everything.

  THE KING HAS GRANTED JOHN, MASTER STONE MASON, AN AUDIENCE AT HIS HUNTING LODGE ON THE SOUTH BANK OF THE OOGE RIVER. THE MEETING SHALL TAKE PLACE FOUR DAYS FROM THE DAY YOU RECEIVE THIS MISSIVE. DO NOT DISAPPOINT YOUR KING.


  That night, John took the letter and read it to Korf. He explained that on this trip he would have to go alone. But as soon as he secured a commission, he would ride back for him. The king had left him a fine horse to use for the journey, so it would take no time at all. Korf just nodded and went back to hewing stone for their stores. He was content that John would not abandon him. They were friends, after all.

  As soon as King David set eyes on the mason, he knew Hector (now long since dead) had lied to him. He had a good mind to dig the bastard up and throw his bones in the river, like he should have the boy all those years ago. Even aged, David was still as mean and power- hungry as ever. Though the fates seemed to favour him, why else would they allow him to cross paths with the boy again?

  “I would very much like you to build me a new tower for my lady wife. She is wishing for a space to house her embroidery. She has quite outgrown the bower,” King David said in an almost bored tone. Inside, though, he was seething with rage. He wanted to choke the man before him. However, looking at his frame it was but a dream.

  John was beside himself with happiness and agreed to the commission at once.

  “But I will need you to collect a few things for me before you start, mere trinkets if you will. I feel they would appease the queen while the noise and dust of the build is underway.”

  “Of course, Sire, name it, and I shall endeavour to fulfil the tasks,” John replied, bowing low. The king smiled callously at the top of his opponent’s head, for that is how he saw him.

  “Good, good. Now, I need you to find a golden fruit that only grows in the mountains to the north, a jar filled with the water from the Well of Eternal Youth, and enough gold to make three strands of continuous chain, what we call the giants’ style hair. Do all of that and not only will I have work start immediately, I will offer you my daughter’s hand in marriage.” David knew these were impossible tasks. It didn’t matter. The fool would die trying.

  TWO MONTHS LATER...

  John was annoyed. There was no such thing as the Well of Eternal Youth. There was no tree that bore golden fruit to the north. And he couldn’t find gold anywhere that wasn’t under the same king’s protection. Knowing he had been duped, he was determined to find out why. Returning home, he went directly to his mother’s house.

  “Where have you been? That giant friend of yours is living in the barn now. Looters have taken up in his cave. It has been months, John!”

  Her heart was filled with relief that he was alive, but she was so very angry at him. Disappearing and swearing that giant to tell no one where he had gone. How could he?

  If nothing else, Korf was loyal.

  “I met the king. He wanted to commission me to build a tower for the queen, only he sent me on a wild goose chase that nearly got me killed on many occasions!”

  This was not the greeting he had hoped for, but knew it was the one he deserved. Sophie felt the colour leave her cheeks. Once again, she was a fisher wife—well, maiden—down on the banks of the Ooge. She would never forget that day or the words the knight had spoken to her with such earnest. She had not taken them far enough. The tale of the babe’s birth had reached her years later and with some digging she discovered a truth she never could have guessed.

  “Sit, John, I need to explain things to you.”

  “Korf, I am in need of three of your hairs and do you happen to know where we might find some gold? Enough to cover an apple or pear?” John asked.

  He had a plan and it was going to work. Korf nodded and allowed Sophie to cut three of his thick golden hairs from his head. She wound them like twine and put them into a leather bag. The next few hours were spent feeding stream water through pink clay to give it a slight colour and then adding one crusted quartz stone to make it shimmer. Korf found a nugget of gold and proved himself to be a pretty good goldsmith. The pear looked perfect.

  John returned to the king within a week. He walked up to the throne and presented the items. King David was shocked and angry.

  “Liar!” he screamed, “Fakes and lies! Guards!” “Before you do that, your majesty, I would like it to be known that my late father would not have approved of you treating your nephew in such a manner,” John said calmly.

  The news that he was indeed the son to the late and would-be King William, had David not had him poisoned just days before his coronation, was a shock but also an opportunity. He had gotten messages to his mother who had been secreted away to a cottage with her hand‐ maiden, Martha. It was when he had met her before coming here, and he had asked her to accompany him, that the plan was put in place.

  “Lies!” King David was turning puce and tell-tale beads of sweat had collected at his temples.

  John smiled. He had him.

  “May I present my lady mother, Helen, wife to your rightful and sadly departed King William, the usurper’s older brother?"

  Helen was just as David remembered her. Those green cat-eyes gleamed with a secret triumph long- overdue to be paid in full. Helen then told her tale. Some of the staff still remembered that night and spoke up. The king was put in irons and thrown in the dungeons to live out the rest of his days.

  John never did marry the princess. She and her mother left under peaceful terms. But he had had the adventure and now he was king. Lesson learned: Sometimes happily ever after is not about getting the girl, it’s about fulfilling your dreams . . .

  UGLY, BROKEN THINGS

  BASED ON THE SIX SWANS

  Dear Diary,

  It has been three years since my father remarried, three years since I saw my home, and three years since I uttered a sound. The scars on my lips are still sore and red. I must scratch at them in the night. I can’t be too careful. I still have nightmares of the day my bothers held me down and stitched my soft mouth closed, save for a tiny hole to push soft fruit through and sip at broth. I promised them I would never speak; I swore to it. Yet here I am, alone and living in the forest. I wish I could go home . . .

  Eliana pushed her diary aside and looked out the window of her treehouse. She could just make out the top of the church spire. It glinted in the sunlight, mocking her. Why was her father such a stupid, self-centred man? Why had he married that hateful woman? Rising to her feet, she picked up her salve and applied it gingerly to her swollen lips. Her beauty was lost to her now. She would never marry; her brothers had seen to that.

  She could hear her flock calling to her from the lake; the swans had been her constant companions since her family abandoned her. In that time, they had given birth to six beautiful cygnets. All were as white as snow, apart from wee Gerald; his grey baby plumage still clung to him in places. Eliana watched his siblings pull and pluck at him. She knew how poor Gerald felt. It was hard being the odd one out.

  DEAR DIARY,

  The king is the most loathsome man in the kingdom! After three years of marriage and the worst sex imaginable, it is no wonder I have never given him a son. My body is refusing to be infected with his seed. His six sons from his dead wife still loiter in corridors and beg for more gold, more attention, and better homes. They are never satisfied. It is my own fault, of course. I should not have made it known to them that I am an enchantress. I made them the men they are today. The price they paid was small and thanks to a little enchantment, not one of them remembers what they gave up to have their hearts’ desires.

  The Queen smiled as she closed her diary, and hid it once again behind the picture of the swans bathed in moonlight. The king would soon die if she had her way and the kingdom would pass to her. She would make sure of it.

  DEAR DIARY,

  Today I met a man. He tells me he is a king; he is handsome, but I do not want a king or a prince, I want to be able to sing again and smile. I threw the socks I had been darning at him until he left. Now I have to wash them all. The swans are restless again. I do hope they aren’t thinking of leaving. My brothers were also in the forest today, hunting deer. Only one, the youngest and dearest to me came to my tree and threw me some chocol
ate. Simon is a good boy. Just sixteen, he is a man grown I suppose, but with his deformed arm he is for the church; there is no choice for him. I hate my father for that. Simon has as much right to marry and have children as the others. If I ever get free of this curse, I will help him. He reminds me of Gerald. Broken, ugly things often have the biggest hearts.

  Simon missed his sister; he had watched the day his other brothers had used the enchanted needle to sew her pretty mouth shut. He saw the moment the curse took hold. His brothers just walked away. To this day, they do not remember Eliana or what they did to her. He did, but he never let on. His stepmother was not to be angered, and he was mostly overlooked. Being a cripple had some advantages. Simon had a plan, and one day he would execute it.

  The weeks turned into years, and the king died just as the enchantress predicted. All the sons renounced the throne, and so Magda became queen of the land. Eliana remained in her treehouse with her swans on the lake. Everyone just accepted the hand life had dealt them. Everyone except Simon. Now a full eighteen years old, he had left the church and travelled to a far-off kingdom. It was time to put his plan into action.

  Dear Dairy,

  Today the swans returned. I was so worried. They had been gone a full month and I feared I was to be truly alone. I have been collecting their feathers over the years. They are so beautiful and pearly white. I shall make myself a dress out of them. For my brothers, all except darling Simon, I shall make crowns from the grey feathers I kept from the cygnets. Ugly, dull headdresses for the ugliest and dullest men in the kingdom. I shall keep Gerald’s beautiful silver feathers for Simon; he has always been the silver lining to this prison. And like Gerald, he shines with a beauty that can only come from the heart.