Fairly Wicked Tales (10 page)

“Oh, thank you! Thank you!” the girl cried.

“And thank
you
for the lovely fiber,” said Atropos.

“We will see you at the wedding,” Clotho added.

The girl spun to face the women, her face pale. “At the wedding?”

“Oh, yes,” Lachesis said, “We knew you would not want to insult us by omitting us from your wedding feast. How kind of you to think of us.”

“Of course,” the girl said nervously, “How kind.”

“And at the table of honor, no less. She does spoil us so,” Atropos said with a cackling laugh.

The girl smiled, but fear choked the words in her throat.

***

The wedding went as scheduled within the week of the merchant’s return home. His happiness upon finding a room filled with such delicately spun flax was immense, and he spared no expense for the wedding.

“I must add three additional guests,” the girl told her husband-to-be the next evening during dinner.

“Oh?” asked the merchant, curious that the girl had not mentioned any other relatives or friends during the journey to his home nor after his return. He studied her features and noted she appeared agitated. “Who are these three?”

“They are,” the girl searched for a word that would describe the three women, “my aunts,” she finished.

“Aunts?”

The merchant considered this new information, then thought of the room of spun fiber that seemed to be made from strands of gold. He gave a nod.

***

The entire town bustled in the valley below her new home on the day of the wedding. The girl turned from the window, holding up the hem of her simple white dress as she paced the small preparation chamber.

“You must call us if we are to attend your wedding, child,” whispered a voice from the darkest shadow of the room.

The girl jumped in fright then turned as if to flee the chamber.

“Remember your promise,” whispered three voices in unison.

The girl paused, gave a shaking sigh and said, “I invite you, Clotho, Lachesis, and Atropos. Please join me on the day of my wedding.”

The air shimmered and the three women appeared, this time with no circle to bind them. They gave the girl a smile and walked from the room to join the other guests.

When the girl was summoned to the altar for her nuptials, she was in a state of near panic. She looked out over the audience for the three women, but did not glimpse them. The merchant smiled upon her as she joined him, and the ceremony began.

After the ceremony, as the guests entered the banquet hall, the girl was once more in an agitated state. Try as she might, she could not find the women. As she and her husband took their seats at the table of honor a creaky old voice next to her ear said, “At last! We were wondering if we would need to begin the feast without you!”

The girl gave a cry as the three ancients settled into their seats next to her. They smiled at the couple and looked at the girl expectantly.

“Will you not introduce us to your new husband, dear?” asked Atropos.

“Of course, how rude of me!” said the girl. Then, turning to her husband she said, “These are my aunts of whom I spoke.”

“A pleasure to meet you, ladies,” said the merchant, though the look of disgust written across his features told otherwise.

Throughout the meal he stared at the three women, aghast at their subtle deformities the girl had never noticed in all her dealings with the three women. Clotho’s lower lip was large and drooped from her face like an overripe fig. Lachesis had a foot larger and more flat than her other foot, and one of her thumbs was swollen and engorged as if with infection. Atropos seemed to be the only one of the three women with no visible deformity other than advanced age until she opened her mouth to reveal long, sharp teeth that caused those who looked upon them to shudder.

After several glasses of wine and much rude staring, the merchant at last broke his silence. He leaned across his new bride and his shirt dipped into her plate of untouched food. The girl stared at him incredulously as she attempted to settle him back into his seat.

“I apologize if I am forward, ladies, but I must know …. What caused you to have such odd growths upon your persons?”

“
Growths
?” asked Atropos, who was the closer of the women.

“Yes. For example, your teeth are uncommonly large and sharp-looking for one so aged,” said the merchant to Atropos, then pointing at Clotho, “And you, your lip is too large for your face.” He turned his unfocused gaze to Lachesis, “And you, good mother, your foot and thumb have no comparison!”

The three women stared at the merchant in astonishment. At last Clotho replied.

“My lip is large because I wet the flax,” said she with contempt for the merchant’s rudeness.

“And my thumb is large from spinning the fiber, my foot is flat and large from so many decades of working the treadle while I spin,” Lachesis replied, her voice filled with venom.

The merchant made a noise of disgust and looked to his new bride. “If this is what years of work will do, then you will work no more, my wife. I cannot bear the thought you might one day look like your aunts as a result.”

The girl stared in horror at his words, her protests weak and futile. She stole a glance at the three women, pleading with them to have pity upon a drunken fool who knew not to whom he spoke.

“And my teeth,” Atropos said, raising her voice to regain the merchant’s wandering attention, “are as they are so I may cut the thread at the proper length. The length must be just right, you see, or the life would go longer than it should.”

The merchant scoffed in confusion. “Life? What mean you, old mother?”

Atropos held up a ball of yarn finer than any the merchant had ever seen. His eyes shone with greed as he beheld it and he reached as if to touch the ball. Atropos pulled the yarn away from him.

“This is your life,” Atropos said in a low voice. “A life which has gone on for exactly one week longer than it should have because we were detained with spinning your flax, sir. Our young lady here was kind enough to invite us to your nuptials and to the feast afterwards and so we allowed you one more week. At first we were of a mind to extend your life for several more years, but after your rudeness to us, your honored guests, here at this table, I am inclined to set right what was made imbalanced by our fondness for your bride.”

With those words, Atropos stretched a strand of the yarn taut and sliced through it with her sharp teeth. In an instant the merchant pitched forward into his meal and was dead.

About the Author

Suzi M
spends quite a lot of time wandering woods, back roads, towns, and cities in search of something she calls ‘the rest of the thirteen,’ and her expression is far away when she speaks the words. When not writing horror under the name Suzi M, she writes under the names James Glass and Xircon. She has had stories published in several horror anthologies, and has released novels and novellas under all three pseudonyms. She lives in the center of the middle of nowhere, having forsaken city life after The Gladiola Viola Incident of 2006. When not busy with her own work or getting pictures and autographs of people who recognize her on the street (or train), Suzi helps support the efforts of independent artists, writers, musicians, and film-makers, and has contributed copies of her books to Authors Supporting Our Troops.

You can follow Suzi on Twitter @xirconnia or visit the Suzi M Facebook page at
SuziMOfficial
.

His Heart’s Desire

A retelling of “Sleeping Beauty”

Fay Lee

She was waiting, as she sometimes did, at the bend in the path near the forest’s edge. She waited often enough to keep him dangling, but not too often. No, never too often.

Aleron watched as Stefan pulled up and jumped from his mount, the nervous bay prancing fretfully as he lashed its halter to a branch.

“Shall I meet you at the keep?” Aleron asked his friend, loathe to bear witness to what would follow.

Talia rounded on him. “Don’t be ridiculous,” she snapped.

Because how might he leave her unchaperoned, open to the gossip that would be no more than truth? Never mind how she had managed to slip away from her own lady; the honor of their house—and Stefan’s—was in his hands now. Aleron dismounted with a sigh. He led his horse to the glade nestled in the last of the woods, the stallion’s hooves crunching on a litter of acorns.

Aleron stared into the open countryside and at the castle beyond. The scene barely registered, swamped by unwanted thoughts and memories. Behind him, his sister would be offering a taste of her wares to his besotted friend.

“Her lips smolder like her eyes,” Stefan had recounted last time, “her kisses are honey sweet, her skin is velvet made into silk, and her bosom …”

“Enough!” Aleron had had to interrupt.

Remembering himself, Stefan had fallen quiet. Aleron had caught the sideways glance and read his friend’s mind. A duke’s son Stefan might be, but to dally with any noblewoman held danger and Talia even more so. He should be careful of trespassing upon her brother’s goodwill.

The moment had held a quiet sting. For Stefan to doubt Aleron’s loyalty was both understandable and yet another tiny betrayal of their friendship.

Now, as then, Aleron ground his teeth. Stefan was far too blindly in love to be told Talia was poison. What choice had Aleron had but a grudging complicity with his sister’s manipulation of the young earl?

“I refuse to be part of your machinations,” he’d stormed at her.

She’d smiled sweetly, lips curving into a bow. “Really?” she’d said, and her lower lip had quivered like a string held taut. “Even though the earl will be the one to suffer if we are caught? Some friend you are, then.”

She had weighted the barb with truth and her missile had struck home.

So even now, Stefan was panting his undying devotion as he rucked Talia’s skirts, desperate to experience more than she would ever allow. What twisted amusement she gained by stoking his friend’s desire, Aleron couldn’t guess.

Disgusted, Aleron decided to find somewhere more comfortable to wait. At one edge of the glade, an angular rock shone golden in the afternoon light. Topped with emerald moss, the surface jutted flat-faced from the swaying grass. He’d never noticed the stone before, but at another time, in another season, the rock would no doubt be shadowed to a nondescript dullness.

The rock would make a fine backrest, he thought, taking a step. Something within him tugged, counseling caution. He hesitated. A quick glance around revealed no danger and the only sound to reach his ears was the rustling of the grass. His eyes returned to the stone.

Smooth and sun-warmed, the rock almost shouted how well it would support him. The beckoning grass surrounding it also promised a far better seat than the acorns cushioning Stefan and Talia’s entwinings. He dismissed his unease with a shake of his head.

As he approached the stone, Aleron imagined the promise of a comfort so great he might even fall asleep and dream away thoughts of his sister’s behavior. Yes, he should take his ease here, with nothing but the lazy flies to bother him.

His horse’s reins dropped from his hand, unnoticed.

Aleron yawned. Though he hadn’t been at all tired earlier, he was now exhausted and desperately in need of rest. Indeed, such a heavy fatigue demanded he lay his head against the tombstone flatness and embrace sleep. His eyelids were already starting to droop.

Aleron was almost swaying on his feet, ready to fall to his knees, when his heart started to pound. The thudding rhythm was disturbing, jarring like a discordant note, the throb growing from a murmur to a rumble …

With a jolt, Aleron turned towards the castle, shading his eyes from the glare of the low sun. There, dark against the orange-tinted sky.

“Stefan! Talia! Riders come!” he called. He ran for his horse’s reins and hastened into the copse.

But his footsteps were too well muffled by the soft ground to alert the couple, because as he neared, Talia was still speaking.

“Next time, I’ll give you your heart’s desire. When you have shown me I can be sure of you, I promise nothing will stand between us.”

“Stefan? Talia?” Aleron called again, pretending he wasn’t aware he was almost upon them, pretending he hadn’t overheard what his sister had offered. “Do you hear me?”

A muffled curse and he spotted the back of Talia’s gown. She turned from the shelter provided by a pine’s sweeping boughs.

“What do you want?”

Talia held her arms across her chest, but the spread and sway of the fabric refused to collude with her: the hooks and eyes at the side of her stiff bodice were clearly unfastened.

“Riders come. I’ll see to your horse, Stefan,” he added at their gasps of horror, glad to turn away.

The horsemen found Aleron first. Despite his soothing, Stefan’s bay jerked its head and pawed the ground in alarm as the men reined in their mounts. The horse was a magnificent animal, but why Stefan had chosen such a flighty beast from all the stables’ offerings … it would’ve been to impress Talia, of course.

The first rider dismounted, touching his knee and one hand to the ground.

“Your Highness, I bring a message.”

Aleron continued patting the bay’s neck. His own horse stood calm.

“Well met, Corbin. But were you not hunting with my father and the Duke? What message do you bear? All is well?” He willed away a sudden dread.

The rider rose.

“Sire, all is well. The hunting party chanced to encounter the Red Prince and the King extended the hospitality of his realm. I have taken the news to Her Majesty, who sent me to find you and your sister. The princess’ lady said Her Highness’ horse had gone lame hereabouts and she was awaiting help … ”

“Our cousin is coming?” interrupted a musical voice.

Talia smoothed the skirts of her gown as she approached. The bodice’s catches showed no sign of hasty fumbling. Stefan must be as good as a maid at fastening a gown by now, though his preference was in the unfastening.