The grumpy dwarf suddenly leaps up, hefting her spear and stepping back.
YOU DARE BLACKMAIL US AT OUR OWN TABLE!? The other small folk stand up, putting their hands on their weapons — of which, you notice, are surprisingly many given the informal nature of this dinner.
In return for a princess, who we NURSED and CARED FOR and FED, no less! She spits at Samen's feet. Here's the worth of Klavakian honor!
Iloinen raises a hand. The other is behind his back. His glasses somehow hang off the tip of his nose.
Now, Juro. You'll clean it up tomorrow. And I'm sure that nice human didn't mean to try and blackmail us. It must be a understanding….
"Of course it’s clear you’ve shown great care. You’ve done what I, her sworn protector failed to do. Alas, I fear the Queen’s the one who gave a poison apple to my ward. Now we are left to find the means to wake her up."
He looks to Samen. "I trust you jest about the Queen. No friend to you, to me, nor any in this room."
”Really? You’re going to use a human being as a bargaining chip and then spit on us? Very classy.”
”Look, the way I see it, and you can stop me if I’m wrong, we all have a common enemy here. So, I’m not going to negotiate over Lumi’s return, ‘cause quite frankly I don’t want her back. I don’t want to return her to the queen or the prince. I want her to wake up and do whatever the seven hells she wants.”
”I say, let’s return to the castle as allies and tear this kingdom apart!”
Klaytal slices into the juicy turkey meat. Listen friends, to be honest, we're just glad that Lumi is safe here with you all. That's some pretty impressive defenses you all have. I was a bit worried that we'd be dealing with some kind of undead menace, but instead get to learn more about Klavakian/small-folk relations.
"I don't think of it as "blackmail" or "bartering". To be honest, this is really just thanks for the hospitality! So you know that we are indeed just protectors, so the tools available to us are mainly in the martial realm of things. Is there anyone nearby that gives you trouble we could trounce as thanks?
Grumpy looks properly abashed by Gate's righteous chastisement.
Iloinen sighs. You're right. We shouldn't use a human as a bargaining chip, even if Klavek is hurting our folk. Perhaps our kindness will be remembered, and your nation will do something kind in turn… namely, stop killing us and taking our land.
He takes you to a back room, where there's a four-post bed, and sleeping comfortably in it is Lumi! She still wears the clothes she was wearing when she was teleported away from the castle, and looks perfectly unharmed.
We don't know how to wake her up. She has been like this ever since we saved her from that huntsman, who seemed to be up to no good.
"Hm. My apologies. I did not intend that as blackmail, but rather as an honest assessment of the situation and as a starting point for negotiation. I shall choose my words more careful in the future."
”That huntsman who was actually a woman and raised killer insects? Yes, I would say your intuition was correct. She met a terrible end, if you ask me.”
”Do we know how to wake someone from this magical sleep?”
One who has eaten a pomum may be awoken only by one of three methods. First, one may use a limited wish, miracle, or wish spell to instantly awaken a slumbering creature. Secondly, a noble quest may be undertaken on behalf of the slumbering creature, the results of which must restore and strengthen a family bond which was previously severed. Thirdly, the powerful magic of true love’s kiss instantly awakens a slumbering creature. The kiss must be heartfelt and meaningful.
Iloinen and the other "dwarves" gather around Lumi. They look at you. Well? What will you do with Lumi?
"We could perhaps seek out her truest love. Or find a djinn to grant a wish. Or..."
Birne sings again of family trees, attempting to find within Lumi's mind some evidence of lost, living family members.
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”Perhaps you should give her a kiss, Birne. Surely no one loves her as truly as you do.”
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The doll’s porcelain face shifts to a look of disgust, the very meaning of, Ew, cooties. He manages to maintain focus on his divination.
Lumi dreams of her father, sitting in his study and listening to a magical harp play her mother's favorite tune…
grandfather walking his vineyards…
auntie smoking her pipe behind her desk…
cousin Beatrice returned from Klavak, swooning over a handsome prince…
grandmother, stone-faced, leaving something swaddled in a basket on the stoop, a tithe for the Rabbit King.
"I cannot see within her dreams a person of her blood who's lost. Unless there's kin she never knew she had. Perhaps her gran would know."
The doll shakes his shiny head, perplexed.
Iloinen shrugs. A mystery. We can keep her safe if you want to visit… her granny? (He seems perplexed at this idea, not fully understanding the spell Birne used.) …Or, we can help you carry her back to the edge of the forest, and from there I'm sure you can find a cart.
You spend the night at the Small folks' place, getting to know them better. They each have a nickname: Doc (the leader), Dopey (the one making faces into the spoon), Bashful (the good-looking one who blushes whenever you look at him), Grumpy (the one who spit on the floor), Sneezy (the druidic one in the bear hat), Sleepy (the one you met on the porch), and Happy (the chef).
You stay up into the night, eating cakes and drinking tea with your new friends. You learn they are spies sent here by the kingdom of small folk. The small folk want Klavakian aggression to stop.
The small folk scare travelers away from the forest by pretending to be ghosts, and deploy whimisical pranks and traps that usually unburden material wealth from their victims.
The next morning, Sneezy the druid teaches you the secret back trails that lead to and from the cabin. Her hayfever is severe, but with Gate's survival skill, you manage to get the gist of it between the sniffles. You should be able to return to the hidden cabin without issue.
At the Northwestern edge of the forest, Sneezy wipes snot onto her crusty bear sleeve and looks at you with watery eyes. She says she'll wait here.
You make your way out of the forest and into the rolling hills of Klavakian wine country. Cutting across the back fields, you make your way to a dusty country lane, and soon see a modest but well-made cabin ahead — according to Birne's knowledge this is where Lumi's grandparents live.
Birne notices a the watersprout on a vine bending against the gentle autumn breeze, as if being pushed. Something tiny and invisible is floating in the air alongside to Gate.
Grandma's cabin lies just ahead.
"Tis truly sweet to see her Nana's home at last. If only our good Queen could see our kindly deeds just now."
The tyrant is watching us! Have a care!
"Indeed. If only there were something we could do to show her."
Is there anything to be done about it?
The boy goes to the door and knocks. "Madame! Madame!"
Someone shuffles around inside and the door opens. A little old lady in a red bonnet peers out at Birne. Yes? Who're you, little one? Who are these folk with you?
"Good gosh, madame. They're rescuers who freed me from the Rabbit Prince. I bring you news: The child yet lives. Alas, another's caught in sleep's embrace whom you most surely love."
What? Rescued from old Puck? Young man, I doubt that, though I don't doubt you think you were rescued! She chuckles.
Granny looks confused at the mention of sleeping loves. What? Whose asleep now?
She steps outside, shutting the door behind her. Come, now, let us sit and talk. She shuffles over to an old rocking chair and slowly sits down; clearly, her bones ache. To her left is a pile of stones, and to her right is padded bench with a fluffy pillow.
Have a seat, young man. I insist. Tell me your troubles.
This is done because when the Rabbit Prince visits, he must sit on your left if he is in a mischevous mood, and on your right if he is in a benevolent mood. Ensuring that the mischievous rabbit prince is sitting on a heap of sharp stones keeps the visit short, and trickery to a minimum.
Birne sits beside her, but remains a bit wary.
"Tis true. His cages trap with glamers that may leave you feeling free. For many moons I sat within his manse, a puppet clothed in dreadful finery." Birne describes his escape, conceding that even that may have been intended by the Rabbit Prince as just an extension of the leash.
"If not for your sweet granddaughter, milady Lumi, who now sleeps. She kept me out of Robin’s grasp. And now my brother here, the younger but for Puck’s perverted curse."
He pauses. "I trust the child still lives. Capricious though he is, the prince does not dispose of any toy. Could finding one mean saving both from their ill fates?"
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"What big eyes you have Granny. And sharp teeth too. What do you do, living out here all alone?"
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Granny smiles sadly at Gate. My eyes are big, but going blind. My teeth are dull from cracking the marrow of the years…
She slowly rocks back and forth on her chair. Old Puck, your "Rabbit Prince…" some folk also call him Phocce.
The Phocce visits me betimes. He walks out from the vineyards, when the rain is falling on a sunny day.
Her cloudy eyes move over the vineyards, where a wind moves the leaves. I've never told a soul this — not even grandpa. She looks sidelong at Birne. But, you… you know of these things. Uncanny. Perhaps there are some things an old wolf shouldn't take to her grave.
Lumi's mother — my daughter — she had died days before. They were burying her in the city. I couldn't go, not with all that stately pomp, and fancy visitors from the capital. An old wolf doesn't belong there, not even for her daughter. It wasn't real…. She trails off for a moment, lost in her own guilt and grief.
That particular morning, that day was when I made the fateful bargain. It was just such a time as when Puck comes out from the field. Right over there, he walked forth. The sun was shining. The rain was falling.
She chokes back a sob. It was a vulnerable moment! My daughter just died! What can a grandmother do!? All I wanted was for Lumikko — Lumi's newborn brother — so young and innocent and new to the world — to be safe!
Old Puck, in the guise of a kindly sage, sat on my stoop and said he'd make sure this was so. "Forevermore, he'll ne'er come to harm. not until his heart stops its beat." So says the Phocce.
Further, he promised to make it so that Lumi would never be lonely. That she would have a friend, loyal and true and pure, forevermore.
Ahh, fool I was! I thought Lumikko and Lumi would be safe and happy. I had but to leave him swaddled on my stoop, where the Phocce said my wish'd be fulfilled!
And left in the basket, nothing but a doll — the boy is gone, and now Lumi suffers too!
Shock. Anger. Disillusionment. Birne stands, unsure of what to say. "My gaoler sits before me. Made a doll to ease her pain." He seeks shelter in Samen’s shadow.
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"Surely you'd been turned well before, Birne. An asset held, later to be used. This Rabbit Prince, or Puck, or Phocce--Lumi and her family are more victims." Samen's voice trails off for a moment. "The boy may have been the price of what freedom you have now...I wonder if he took your place in Phocce's foul toybox?"
”So, you’re running a vineyard out here? Is that what I’m to understand? Out here in this forest? And you traded away Lumi’s brother for Birne, here? Left your baby grandson overnight on your doorstep? To a known trickster you said, ‘Alright, sure, I’ll leave the newborn child of my recently departed daughter out on the stoop over night.’ Really? I’ve heard crazy stories before Granny but this one is truly a masterpiece of insanity. And to think, we came here looking for help, for a way out of our problems. Not to dive in deeper.”
A deep growl rubmbles in Granny's throat. Young pup, it would be far better for you to respect your elders. Her old yellow eyes roll over the courtiers surrounding Gate. At least I do not need weaklings faming over me day in and out. And I like it here, alone with grandpa, under the stars and moon.
She looks shocked at the boy cowering in his brother's shadow. Gaoler? Are you the one who was brought before me? Let me see. Perhaps there was one promise old Puck didn't twist… at least, untwisted to me.
Uncomfortably looking on as Granny peers closer at A Boy, Klaytal clears his throat.
Well uh, this is quite troublesome. Ma'am, do you know of any way we might be able to reunite the siblings? Perhaps we could offer the Rabbit Prince something less... innocent, in order to trade for freedom? Lumi is still unconscious, and only true love's kiss, family, or powerful magic could help. I unfortunately doubt the prince is anywhere near qualified as a suitor for Lumi.
Birne the Boy becomes the as yet unnamed doll. "Of course. You’re just another pawn within his game. And gladly so if you would trade in souls to soothe your grief. But now you have a chance to set things right. To free not just your kin, but my misshapen limbs as well. Now tell us of foul Puck and where he takes his toys."
Diplomacy abandons him, with only fury left at the old wolf’s complicity.
She leans in close to Birne; he can smell meat on her breath.
Oh my dear. What a pretty, pretty doll Puck game my sweet Lumi.
She leans back, unwilling to stay close to the frightening doll for too long. I'm sorry it came to this. I never believed Lumi's mother died of natural causes… certain powers in the Kingdom were were so jealous of her wit and beauty, you see… I worried for my graddchildren, who took so much after their mother…
She leans back. Puck, foul? Oh dearie, no no no. Fair and foul! And you want to find old Puck's treasures, do you? You think you can escape his web? Well then, let me tell you…
She twitches a twisted old claw and speaks a quiet syllable. A white porcelain box floats out from the porch window, and settles on her lap. Carefully she opens the lid and shakes out its contents: thirteen gems of grey quartz.
She touches them lovingly with a finger, moving them in patterns. Thirteen living dreams, each one child's fantasy, taken when all of creation seems new and everything is possible. She licks her lips and gazes at them for a moment before choosing a single gem and holding it out to you.
Take this dream to Madling Meadow, just as the first rays of sunlight sweep down across the dewy grass. Do not enter the meadow by moonlight, or you will die a haunting death. Do not enter by daylight, or you will live a haunted life.
The doorway to the Rabbit Prince's kingdom lies through the Madling Meadow. A dangerous journey to this meadow, for mundane folk. More dangerous once you're there. To find this place, you must travel back into the haunted forest. Wait until the noonday sun passes under a cloud, then step into the shadow of the oldest oak you can find. Then the paths I say, and do not stint not on shortcuts — else the Madling Meadow be lost to you forever!
There are three guardians old Puck has put in place to guard the road to his home. Defeated by him long ago, now they serve.
First, you must pass through Swer Smod Ravine. Above its most narrow gap rests a boulder perfectly balanced on the head of a pin. Upon this boulder sits the one-eyed raven, who lacks both wings and tail. He will drop a single feather to topple the boulder and crush your heads. Always watching the path with his one eye, this raven is, never sleeping, never blinking. You must find a way past and continue through.
Next, you must ford the River Qweek. There is an old woman with a fox’s head and a chicken’s legs who will beg you to carry her across. You must cut her in half and carry each piece over separately, or she will walk behind you in your dreams, and fill your lungs with water to drown you in your sleep.
Last, where the road passes by Undervale Cave, you will encounter a pair of quarreling rocs. They are invincible, but have a love of sweets. Give each a fresh honeycomb, both coming and going, or they'll tear you apart. I know not where you can find such treats this time of year, alas.
Finally, you will be in Madling Meadow. If you leave at noon, you should be there just as the sun rises the next morning.
Look to the low mound on which grows a small gnarled oak. It looks like very little, but it is much indeed.
Show the crystal to the sunrise and let it glint in the rays. Let him see the dream inside, spinning in the golden light. Call for Phocce, which is his oldest name, thrice. Do not let the go the gem until an agreement is made to deal in good faith — no matter what!
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”Anything special we need to wear? Wooden shoes on the left foot or something like that? I say we just take her back to the prince.”
"You'd leave our Lumi's kin within the grasp of he who made me this?" The doll looks coolly at Gate and then his entourage. "You're right. Heroic deeds are not for courtiers. No tales are sung for those who put their neck upon the line."
He turns to the older wolf and gently retrieves the quartz. "If what you say is true, I'm in his web right now. As are we all. You can't destroy a spider's web if yet its spinneret remains."
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Klaytal teases, "We could just cover you in honeycombs, Gate."
The doll becomes a boy and reaches into his bag. "I'd like a honeycomb for Monsieur de Gateau."
He wishdraws a waxen mustache comb filled with the golden liquor of a giant whisky bee. "I doubt that this'll do the trick."
So, you will make the journey and bargain with old Puck? I wish you well. And it's almost noon now, would you look at that!
"This sounds like a bad idea. Pity we don't have a better one."
At the edge of granny's vineyards you find an old oak with gnarled boles and great out-flung branches. You step into its shadow. Off in the distance shimmering shadows and sunbeams dance, as if you're in an underwater forest.
The path follows along an ancient riverbed, long since dried. It dips, descending into a steep gorge where the air grows cool and pale strands of lichen hang down from the exposed roots like hair. The sky above is but a sliver. This must be Swer Smod Ravine.
Birne produces a ball of yarn and ties one end to Klaytal's boot. The nimble elf scrabbles quietly up the side of the ravine while Birne unwinds the tether. Klaytal crests the top, and just ahead he sees a great big boulder in precarious balance atop a tiny pin. A bedraggled-looking crow perches atop, its one red eye staring into the ravine below.
Klaytal approaches from the crow's blind spot and — ever so gently — blows a breath against the boulder. The huge rock crashes from the pin and rolls away, smashing a clear line through the undergrowth. The raven utters a cry of dismay and hops after the elf, trying to peck his eyes out. Not fast enough, however, and Klaytal quickly follows the yarn back to the magical path that runs between shadow and sun.
The old ravine flattens out and meets a wide river full of deadly rapids. There is only one place to cross, a ford of shallows about a hundred yards downstream. On a stump nearby sits an old woman with the head of a fox and chicken legs. You can't help but stare, at which she takes great affront. "Why do you stare so? Are my whiskers ugly? Are my legs scaly?" Samen apologizes out of instinct, and the fox-faced old lady says "By way of apology, I ask a small boon of you: please, carry me across the river! If your nature is true and chivalrous, you would nnot hesitate to help an old lady who does not wish to get her whispers wet, nor crack her painted claws upon the river-rock."
Stepping forward, Gate says "Gladly" — and savagely cuts her in twain. But the pieces do not rest. The pelvis and chicken-feet run about in circles, and the torso beats its fists against the rocks while the fox-head screams arcane curses that chill the blood. Samen catches the running legs and fords the way across. Then Gate brings the torso.
Once across, the pieces lay quiet in the sand… but upon inspection, you see they're creeping closer and closer together. Birne considers for a moment that their task has been done to the letter — the pieces have been carried across. So he kicks the head into the water where it swirls away towards the rapids, howling objurations at the boy until it's dashed against the rocks and lost to sight. The chicken legs leap up and run after, blindly banging into rocks and trees.
You travel late into the moonlit night. Finally, you pass below a bald hill that that looks like the top of a skull, with caves that form two dark eyes. Under eight black cypress trees, each hung with a torch, sit two massive Rocs. They are playing chess at a stone table. Each has feathers made of shining black admantium; each wears a long beard of delicate gray feathers, which he strokes ponderously with a claw whenever he considers the next move. They hardly look up from their game as you approach.
“Step this way,” say one, “to save us the trouble of rising.” "It is vexing to stop from our game," says the other. "It vexes indeed, so much that one might break another's bones, if they do not do as instructed" says the first. "And futher, we are famished with hunger and quite bored, for no one has made it this far to see the Rabbit Prince in ages and ages," says the second. He uses his massive beak to glide a tiny knight made of rose-colored marble across the board. "Step this way; a game of chess before dinner will be lovely," says the first as he strokes his magnificent beard and thinks about his next move.
The idea of more fey games before being eaten is profoundly enraging. Birne reaches into the snacks bag and hands Gate two dripping combs of fresh honey. The burly man saunters over and slams them both on the stone table, upsetting chess pieces. The rocks screech and raise their beaks over his head.
Gate says something to the effect of: "One comb for each of you. Of course, if one of you is more hungry than the other, he should have both! That's what I would do."
As he turns away, the Rocs fall upon one another and begin pulling upon their long beards. Chess pieces fly everywhere. Their howls echo in the empty sockets of Undervale Cave as you scamper past.
Just as the sun rises, you approach a meadow. Its ringed with Quercus oaks, and in the middle is a grassy mound from which grows a miniature old oak. The morning light stabs into the meadow from between the boughs.
As you hold the dream gem, an invisible hand pinches your ear, something tickles the side of your stomach, and something grabs at the gem… but you hold on tight. A laugh titters from behind the tree.
The boy takes Samen’s hand in his own, steeling himself. "Present yourself, whom some folk call a prince and old wolves call Phocce. We’ve dreams to trade for flesh and blood."
A moment of silence, as if the whole of Madling Meadow is drawing a breath. The mound suddenly becomes misty, shifting in and out of focus. From the mist comes a red carpet, unrolling across the turf, ending at the very tips of Birne's toes.
A little rabbit hops along the carpet, a wreath of holly around his ears. Halfway there, he stands on hind feet and sniffs the air.
When he talks, the Rabbit Prince's little mouth moves up and down like he's chewing a blade of grass, but the words don't match at all — it's quite disconcerting. .
What a naughty mortal! Where is your gentility for Madling Meadow Court? 'Twere told to call my name thrice, which I had made one third of yours! Our fun is ruined!
A fairy's voice squeaks: Coarse as rats, mortals! and a little hand yanks on Gate's hair.
In Samen's ear a deeper voice whispers: Let's transform them into sparrows with the horn of elk!
Or a milkweed fluff! Klaytal's rapier falls to the ground, unbuckled. Puff puff!
Another voice, syrupy with avarice: Your majesty, the gem… it dazzles! A thrilling hue! and Birne feels another invisible little hand trying to pull the treasure away.
The prince continues Tis true, Tis true.
Blood and flesh? Nothing here like that I see. Naught but fairy-folk and toys, in princely pageantry. The rabbit hops about in a circle and proffers a paw to the boy. I promise you: you will find no harm at Madling Meadow today. Now, allow me to hold this bauble.
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The boy grips the bauble tightly as fear, hatred, and hope flash across his face. He looks at Samen for strength. I always disobey. And then I go back in the box.
Samen looks down at Birne and squeezes his hand before returning his gaze to the rabbit. "Not until we've struck an accord, sir."
Hopeless! The Prince thumps his powerful feet on the red carpet.
No flesh but ours capers here, nor blood to run the rivers in our limbs. Toys and fairies are my opus! Now then—” his voice becomes harsh “—do as I command, or back to dusty shelf you go!
He starts running in circles around your feet. And for the rest: a mordent curse you will receive! For seven years you shall taste naught but vinegar. For seven years you will smell bad smells, and never find the source! For seven years you will know an itch that no scratching will relieve! The voices in the glade titter all around.
So it must be, until I can hold this bauble's color! 'Tis my most cherished thing!