Original Fairy Tale Challenge: "The Mortals and the Fae" -- by Anne Leskey

The Mortals and the Fae

by Anne Leskey

Once upon a time there were two Faeries. They were both beautiful and clever, but one was wicked and the other was good. They had charge of the two most important girls in the entirety of the kingdom: Princess Aithne and Princess Ciara. The Faeries themselves were known as Isolde (that’s the wicked one) and Neala (the good one). Of course, the King and Queen didn’t know that Isolde was wicked; she was clever and powerful, and they thought that she was the best fit to have charge of Aithne, who was going to be the Queen someday. As for Neala, she was a Faerie and good enough for Ciara. Nobody thought much of the younger princess, she was dark, had a tendency to be sullen, and was moreover capable of impertinence. 

The sisters had been removed from the castle to the Faeries’ abodes, in order to protect them from wicked Fae. Princess Aithne was tall and fair, and learning much cleverness and bitterness under the hands of the wicked Isolde. Ciara was slowly overcoming her sullenness with the tutoring of Neala. It wasn’t until their sixteenth and fifteenth year that anything happened. 

Ciara was still dark. Brown hair, brown eyes, and even a darker complexion then her sister who was blond, blue-eyed, and pale. Their Faerie godmothers were as different as the princesses, though they, too, were sisters. Isolde had a thick lot of black curls, black eyes, and was as pale as snow. Neala was blond, her eyes were pale pink, and she was also very pale. They both had long, tall wings, that created a refreshing breeze wherever they moved. 

“Faerie godmother,” Ciara said, walking down the steps of the house, “I should like to visit my sister in her place.” 

“Mortal goddaughter, your request shall be granted,” answered Neala, albeit with misgivings about taking her charge to the house of such a wicked Faerie. 

“Faerie godmother,” continued Ciara, “I worry over my sister Aithne.”

“That is not sensible, mortal goddaughter,” replied Neala.

“I know; but she is becoming insufferable,” answered Ciara, “I would like, Faerie godmother, for you to give her something that will fix her.”

“Why I, and not her own godmother, child?” queried Neala, for, despite Ciara being the princess of the mortals, she held no power over the Fae, and Neala was not obligated to obey her every wish nor to address her by ‘princess’ and ‘your highness’. 

“Because I’m not sure if Isolde would admit to her training coming out wrongly,” sagely answered Ciara, “Faerie godmother, can you do it?”

“Alas! She is not my charge, and I dare not undertake to give her something which my sister does not allow.”

“Why do you say things such as ‘Alas’, Faerie godmother, none of the rest in the kingdom do, and if I do, they laugh,” Ciara wondered. 

“Ah, little mortal goddaughter, but the Fae are so much older then you mortals, we become accustomed to speaking in a different fashion, little mortal goddaughter.”

“Oh. When shall we go, Faerie godmother?”

“On the morrow, mortal goddaughter,” answered Neala.

“Why can’t you call me Ciara, as do Mama and Papa?” the young princess inquired a trifle sullenly, “It is my name.”

“I shall attempt to call you thus in the future, little princess,” Neala agreed.

“Faerie godmother, how do we find my sister and her godmother?”

“Easily enough,” snorted Neala, “Bartram, good fellow, where does the castle of my sister the Faerie Isolde lie?”

The raven fluttered towards her ear and made some harsh croaking noises before vocalizing the best he could, though it was well mixed with caws and croaks: “Five miles caw east.”

“Five miles to the east? In a straight line? I didn’t expect Isolde to make it so easy.”

“You caw sister,” Bartram tilted his glossy black head, apparently considering it a good substitute  for a shoulder shrug. 

“True,” trilled Neala, “We could go there on foot.”

“Oh, but magic, Neala,” pleaded Ciara eagerly, “Magic.”

“Very well, Ciara,” Neala agreed reluctantly, “We shall take the flying coach, once I make it.”

“Must you make it, again?”

“Yes. Fetch me the dust, Ciara.”

Ciara grimaced, “Can’t you just, like, magic it over?”

“You are getting lazy, little mortal goddaughter, go and fetch the box,” rebukingly dictated Neala.

Ciara morosely went, and picked up the small, black box and handed it to her godmother, who stared for a long time at the picture embossed on the cover.

“This box, Ciara, is the most precious thing I own.”

Ciara looked more respectfully at the box, and nodded, “Because of the dust?”

“Yes. The dust is very valuable. But if it weren’t for the box I couldn’t retain it. If anything happens to me, will you guard the box and dust?”

“With my life?” suggested Ciara.

“If you must,” nodded Neala, “Promise me.”

“Oh, alright,” carelessly agreed the young princess, “Now, can we go?”

“Not yet, you impatient girl. I must prepare things. Now, run along to your room and pa-oh, never mind, you’ll just creep down to watch me.”

“Yes, I will. So do it for me,” Ciara was a little commanding, after all, she was a princess. 

And so the princess stood and watched as the Faerie took a small ball out of her box, and sprinkled it on the ground, her face twisted up in concentration. A white ball appeared and enlarged and stretched until a good sized carriage was sitting on the floor, with bouncy, blue velvet seats inside. Then the unicorns trotted in, and the vines curled around them elegantly and formed a quite proper equipage. 

“Are you not the princess?” was the light comment that Neala returned when Ciara exclaimed at the beauty. 

“Caw you?” Bartram the Raven croaked.

“Aye, little birdie,” Neala responded, stretching out her wings with a flap, “My wings, Ciara, get stiff.”

The Princess gasped as they spread to their full extent, looking precisely like enormousmonarch butterfly wings. To Ciara’s surprise the Fae woman decided that they would go immediately, so the princess and the Faerie got into the carriage, and the raven flew above it. Directly, the unicorns, who were white with twisted horns that emitted sparkles, proceeded to charge forward. Glowing mushrooms sprouted from the carriage and lit the way. Ciara’s dark eyes sparkled as she took in the whole magical lot of it. Despite her Faerie godmother, she very seldom got to see what she termed ‘real’ magic. 

The carriage bounced as the unicorns pranced forwards, tossing their heads and attentively listening to the harsh directions of the raven Bartram. The unicorns were named Ginessa and Vanora.  The carriage bounced down the dark road and arrived at a solitary black tower, which was attached to a house, but the tower was enormous and attracted the most attention. 

“Faerie godmother, this is the place.”

“Yes, mortal goddaughter,” agreed the Faerie, looking around sharply. 

They got out of the carriage and went towards the tower. The tower was the home of Isolde, who often sat at the top, brooding over her imaginary misfortunes, and teaching Aithne to be just as discontent and miserable. But the two sisters met amiably enough, and even squeezed each other’s hands. Aithne kindly inquired how her younger sibling did, and her younger sister responded favorably. The two Faeries had a rather more curt meeting.

“Isolde.”

“Neala.”

“May I come in?”

“Come in.” 

The princesses and their godmothers entered the house in apparent toleration of each other, but the two Faeries were meditating revenge and ruin. Neala was patient to a degree, but her sister made her ruthlessly vindictive, while Isolde was just naturally nasty. 

The staircase dropped from underneath their feet and they were pushed into the dungeon, which was outfitted with squashy sofas. Isolde tranquilly mentioned that it would be more comfortable down there. The frog on the steps boldly agreed in a bellowing sort of way.

“Did the frog…speak?” Ciara said, “I mean, I’m used to the raven, but frogs?”

“Yes, frogs, Ciara, don’t display your ignorance,” commanded her older sister, “When I am queen the castle will be filled with frogs.”

Ciara snorted, remarking that she wouldn’t be queen for a long time, as their parents were but in their thirties. Aithne was not fazed,

“Isolde says that there may be occasion for me to rise to the throne earlier, Ciara. But hush! don’t speak a word of this to anyone, will you, sweet sister?”

Ciara smiled, but made no promise. Aithne didn’t look troubled by this lack of assurance, and chattered gaily on, but it seemed to Ciara that she looked worried. Meanwhile, the two Faeries were staring maliciously at each other.

“Not bellowyoung bellowmore,” croaked the bullfrog thoughtfully.

“You say what?” snapped Isolde, “I’ve a good mind, frog, to turn you into a cockroach, and there, I think I will.”

“If bellowyou bellowlike,” the bullfrog amiably consented. 

The Princess Ciara, who was a kind being at worst, bemoaned this, “No, no, Aunt Isolde, don’t turn him into a cockroach. I’m sure he’s much better as he is, don’t you think?”

“Well…but any more impertinence out of that, that creature and into a cockroach he goes, mind that,” Isolde shrieked. 

Aithne made the ill-natured comment that the frog would look better as a cockroach, but here the frog put in his opinion that he’d much rather remain as is, thank you. Just then a pixie tumbled in, bearing a collection of wobbly cakes on a stacked up platter that resided upon its head.

“I told you, Pi, this was not to be tolerated. I told you decoration, and you brought muck,” the Faerie sent the cakes zooming into the pixie’s face, and the pixie grimaced a fearful grimace, “Return with requestedones, you know what I mean. Make sure they look appetizing.”

For she intended to poison her sister, such was their mutual dislike. The poor pixie, who was actually named Pierette, did not wish to poison the visitors, and so thought that if she continued bringing the wrong thing perhaps they might get away. But fate, as usual, did not allow this in little Pierette’s case. Poppy was waiting for her at the kitchen door, holding a spoon, which she promptly applied to the little pixie’s head.

“Dunce!” Poppy denounced, “Taking the wrong cake to our mistress. There…and there!” she smacked her with the spoon a couple more times before thrusting a large lemon cheesecake into the little pixie’s hands, “Take that, and be quick about. Thatis what the mistress wanted.”

“Poppy, what flavoring is in it?” Pierette quickly asked, turning her head half way around to question her superior.

“Lemon,” snarled Poppy.

“Ah!” Pierette scurried out of sight, and mumbled something very quickly under her breath, snapped her fingers, and drew out a long thread of scarlet liquid, laced with purple. She shuddered, “Oh, what a wicked mistress I have!” she sighed, putting the liquid into her pocket, and stumbling in her haste down to the dungeons.

“Thatis not the cake, Pi.”

Pierette tittered, “But…mistress…Poppy gave it to me.”

“Tell Poppy to bring the lemon chiffon one. And tell her to bring it herself. We’ll be having a nice little chat later on, Pi,” Isolde assured her.

Pierette scurried off. Poppy calmly took the deadly dessert and walked into the dungeon with it, cutting generous slices. Isolde shook her head, and lamented the fact that Princess Aithne had a stomachache, and would be unable to eat. 

“Perhaps she ate a poisonousmushroom, sister dear,” observed Neala. 

Ciara, fond of her desserts, reached for the cake, and had her fork in it before anyone could say a word. She took a deep breath of the lemony scent, smelled something like a burnt mass of rice in an equally burnt cooking pot, and tumbled over in a faint. 

“Ah! The little princess has been taken ill,” Poppy exchanged a smile with her mistress, who was putting on an affected look of concern. 

In reality, Isolde felt that if the younger princess was poisoned that would be nearly as good as if it had been Neala. She casually moved her fingers towards a small locket she wore around her throat, and suddenly Princess Ciara found herself awaking with a deep gash over her eyebrow which her godmother was attempting to heal, only making it hurt, though the blood was stopping.

“Oh, dear, what did Pierette put in that cake? I always knew she’d be troublesome when I, out of charity, took her in,” lamented Isolde, who did not care for Pierette and wanted to lay the blame, for the time being, on someone else so that her sister Faerie would not be even more vengeful. Besides, she suspected, with abhorrence, that Princess Aithne still was, in some degree, fond of her younger sister, and therefore it would not do to be the cause of that younger sister’s poisoning. 

Isolde had a wicked, plotting mind which was forever thinking of betrayal, subtly done murder, and various other evil things that were fitted to a Faerie that had black wings. She now thought that, if she laid the blame to another, she could have much more success at a second attempt. The gash had just been to relieve her feelings when she found that the young princess was not dead. It was really very annoying. 

Neala by this time had healed the forehead of Ciara, and was now contemplating whether they had better not leave at once.

“Poppy,” Isolde interrupted her sister’s thoughts, “Poppy, who made that cake?”

“Oh,” drawled Poppy flippantly, “Oh…Mistress, that was Pierette. She told me she would slaughter me, and very disgustingly, too, if I didn’t let her make the cake, and what could I do? I thought to warn you, but she was too cunning.”

“How too cunning, Poppy?” Ciara, who had rather liked the little pixie Pierette, inquired.

“She forestalled my attempts by saying that the mistress had ordered it, and I could but obey,” sniffled Poppy.

Isolde was delighted. Here was her favorite pixie working a more beautiful lie then she could have thought up herself. Neala, on the other hand, was suspicious still, and half-inclined to remove immediately, but she was detained by anxiety about her goddaughter, who was looking pale and weak. 

“That must have been some powerful poison,” chattered Aithne graciously, “Didn’t you say, Isolde, that the kind that knocks you out or kills you by scent alone could only be the red apples soaked in vinegar and mud for ten weeks? And then joined with ashes of a fallen star and the hair of a stag?”

“Silence, Aithne, you know nothing,” commanded the wicked Faerie, seriously alarmed at this revelation of the extent of knowledge Aithne had of her evil brews. 

“For knowing nothing,” commented the good Faerie, determining to alert the King and Queen to this poisoning of the mind in their oldest daughter, “She certainly recollects the details of the concoction well, Isolde.” 

“An imaginative girl,” assured Isolde. 

Here they were obliged to stop because Ciara, regaining her health, was whisked off by her godmother, who determined to travel directly to the castle, knowing that after her sudden disappearance which she had effected by using a little magic and some dust out of her box, Isolde would have her followed, and in all probability killed. The king’s forces combined with Neala’s power might do wonders, though. 

Ciara was quite out of breath, but was pleased to learn where they were going, innocently chattering about what a surprise it would be to ‘Mama’ and ‘Papa’ who were in reality the kind rulers Queen Alyda and King Curtice, a pair of fearsome objects to many of their subjects simply because of the grandeur with which they conducted themselves. 

“Wasn’t Aunt Isolde strange about the cakes? And Aithne never has stomachaches,” remarked the young princess, her eyes wide.

Neala sighed, stretching her hand out with the dust still on it from when she’d healed the princess’ forehead, and started to sing quietly. Princess Ciara fell asleep, and Neala knew she would not remember most of the visit, when she awoke. It was best that way, for all concerned. 

The Faerie was greeted with kindness and surprise at the castle, which was exactly what she had anticipated, and the Queen was all delight to see her ‘dear Ciara’ again. Queen Alyda was a pretty, plump, queenly sort of woman, who delighted in Faeries and said that they were ‘whimsical’. She was not at all acquainted with the evil ones like Isolde, and would have laughed at the thought, up to now. 

But the Faerie godmother of Ciara was determined to make known her suspicions, and told them that she was not sure, but believed―and there followed the tale of their visit with the added conjectures of the good Faerie. The Queen instantly went into hysterics, weeping and sniffing into an enormous silk handkerchief.  She was not prepared to meet with the fact that the Faerie who had charge of the heir to the throne was wicked. It quite astounded her, in fact.

“What steps must we take to remove Aithne from her clutches?” dramatically demanded King Curtice, waving his hands and stomping up and down the hall in what was supposed to be a ferocious pose. 

“Invite her back for a visit. Easy enough to do, Ciara’s birthday is coming up. Her fifteenth one, you know, her sister should be there for it. Then, have Isolde go looking for the glowing fish, for a present, and then I will hide Aithne, making it very hard for my sister Faerie to find her,” answered Neala promptly. 

This was carried out in a truly royal style. The Princess Aithne entered with ceremony, riding on her winged steed, with her godmother riding calmly on a rhinoceros, her bullfrog in hand.

“Oh, Auntie Isolde,” Ciara clattered out on her unicorn to meet them, “I was so glad when I heard you were coming.”

She had not been present when the king, queen, and Neala discussed the probability of Isolde being horribly wicked. Isolde returned an answer, and gazed angrily at the castle, suspecting something was different in this summons. And she was proved correct. A couple hours after her arrival, she was asked to go looking for the glowing fish, and furthermore, to bring one back for Ciara. She agreed, and started on her journey. Meanwhile Neala took Aithne, and descended with her into the very cellar of the castle, and then she threw a little dust into the air out of her box, and vanished into the portal it had created. But, unknown to Neala, the younger princess Ciara had followed, and walked in, too. They all landed in a heap in the ground.

“Ciara,” groaned the Faerie, “How am I to get you out, now?”

“Is not Aithne returning?” queried the princess.

“No, Aithne is not returning,” grouchily returned Aithne, “Aunt Neala says that I am being targeted by a wicked Faerie, and if I am not hidden, then Ishall be killed. Me, imagine!”

“But if Aithne is gone, then the danger would fall to me, I should remain hidden here…too,” reasoned Ciara.

“Alright. But mind yourselves. I’m just going to run back and tell the Queen and King that we’re safely here and all that, and then…come back.”

She followed her own words to the letter, and returned quicker than any human could do, accompanied by the two unicorns (Ginessa and Vanora)  a winged horse (Wings), and Bartram the Raven. There was a small cottage.

“That?” Aithne sniffed, “That’s a pathetic place.”

They moved towards it and then Pierette, who suddenly popped up, shrieked,

“Oh, Faerie and princesses! My mistress is wrathful and ruinous! She will be coming with anger, do not tarry in this place, I implore you!” the little pixie agitatedly started running around on the rim of the birdbath she was seated on. 

Princess Aithne started snapping angrily at the pixie, accusing her of deserting her post, spreading falsehoods, and being the worst little pigin the world. Neala shook her head, knowing that every word Princess Aithne spoke of a nasty nature would tend to make her more under Isolde’s power, thus enabling Isolde to get to them quicker, when she had such a human under her control.

“There! I don’t care what you say,” Princess Aithne gave Pierette a shove, and Pierette shrieked, tumbling over the edge of the fountain, but managed to catch herself with her small golden wings. 

“Aithne,” remonstrated Ciara, going over to her, “I like Pierette, leave her alone, won’t you?”

“She’s a scandalous gossip about Isolde,” sniffled Princess Aithne. 

A clicking sound was heard, and Neala groaned, burying her face momentarily in her hands, knowing that the clicking meant that Isolde had almost found the place, and would be there in a few minutes.

“She’s just a harmless pixie,” Ciara answered.

“She tried to poison you,” hesitated Aithne.

“I don’t think it was her, Aithne,” Ciara answered.

Aithne frowned, “But…”

“Aithne, Isolde is a wicked Faerie,” mumbled Neala.

“Don’t you start! You’re just going on the information of that biased pig of a pixie.”

“I am Isolde’s sister, I think I know her disposition,” Neala answered, “And, Aithne, Pierette is not a pig.” Neala had heard a louder clicking sound, and knew that she only had a few minutes left until her sister arrived, “Your highnesses, do not interfere, and don’t let Isolde take you, no matter what she says. Make sure you stick together, too, and go stand by the unicorns.”

The girls exchanged frightened looks, for Neala sounded very serious, and they went to the unicorns, grasped their horns gently, and then, as Isolde billowed into the place, Ciara grabbed her sister’s hand, attempting to make sure that Isolde couldn’t get Aithne, without getting her. 

“A premature trip for the birthday girl?” silkily inquired Isolde, fluttering golden butterflies into the air with a single gesture, “I brought the fish,” she threw a bulging bag of something directly into Ciara’s stomach, causing the latter to tumble over, but her hold on the unicorn helped her, and Aithne pulled her back to her feet, clinging somewhat tighter to her palm. The glowing fish soared out of its bag and landed in an enormous pond, making a brilliant golden light flash all over them, and the scene looked incredible in it. 

The two Faeries’ wings fluttered out to their full extent, and their ears pointed forwards accusingly. Pierette moved cautiously over to the princesses, hoping to remain undetected, but she knew it was too much.

“Pierette!” a sharp call made her move back to the Faeries, “Kill the Princess Ciara.”

Pierette trembled, and shuddered as a knife was thrust into her hands, but she dropped it, and looking up timidly out of her large purple eyes, “No.”

“What?” snapped the Faerie, “I shall kill you, if you don’t.” 

“Leave the pixie, Isolde,” drawled Neala, “There will be no fighting amongst any of the others until one of us is vanquished.”

“It will be you, little sister,” Isolde laughed, “We both know I’m more powerful.”

“We both know you’re more wicked,” corrected Neala, “There’s a difference.”

“I have much more magic.”

Neala had prepared for that though, with the contents of her black box, some of which she held in her hand. A fight followed, each sending bursts of light into the other; black, green, yellow, and pink sparkles fluttering through their faces. Sharp spears of orange light slashed into Neala’s wings, and she let out a shuddering gasp, before driving a blinding pole of white into Isolde’s wings. It remained quivering there and her wings started slowly turning to ashes.

“NO!” she shrieked, launching herself at her sister, with a common butcher knife. That was soon flung out of her hand, and Isolde resorted again to her lights. Meanwhile Poppy the Pixie had turned up, and was engaged in a somewhat violent fight with Pierette.

“Mistress Isolde will be avenged,” snapped Poppy, “For your failure with the cakes, Pi.”

“PIERETTE!” shrilled the little pixie, barreling to her opponent with fury. 

“Face it, Neala,” smiled Isolde, as a well-plunged bolt of green light ripped close to Neala’s heart, and caused an oozy, sticky yellow substance to pour out, “I’ve killed you.”

Neala’s mouth barely moved as she uttered these words: “Not…yet.”

She flung the handful of dust she had full into Isolde’s face, and the Faerie crumpled with screeching wails, she shriveled up like a raisin, and black ooze swam out of her as she got more shriveled. She then landed completely on the ground and a sudden blaze of fire burst from where she was. Neala coughed raggedly, and Ciara burst from her sister, running towards her, falling on her knees. She didn’t know what to do in this situation.

“Neala!” she screamed, “What’s wrong?”

“I fear I am killed,” responded Neala, “There’s a bit of dust left in the box, Ciara…the dust is made when a Faerie voluntarily does a good deed. It appears in these special boxes and is one of the most powerful bits of magic…because it comes from good, which means it must be powerful, you know.” she reached into the box feebly, and pulled out a handful, and then she put it into Ciara’s mouth. Ciara would have coughed, but the Faerie told her that if she chewed it while she spoke she could make three wishes.

“It’s my dying gift to you.”

Ciara clearly spoke through her mouthful of grainy dust, “I wish that my sister was good and kind and altogether fit for the throne, when that comes.”

Aithne felt an immense load fly off of her, and she too fell to her knees, weeping. 

“I wish that Pierette could be free from her persecutions,” continued Ciara.

The little pixie suddenly felt joyous, and knocked Poppy over with a well-aimed punch from her little fist. Then she started to sniffle because Neala was dying.

Ciara made her last wish, speaking very clearly, “And I wish that Neala should heal completely, and not die prematurely.”

Neala’s wound healed, the golden ooze flying back into her, and she stood up, her wings mending miraculously. Ciara looked up, tears still running down her face, and she swallowed the dust.

“I feel queer,” Ciara said suddenly.

“That’s because you swallowed dust! My dust is gone, but look at your hands,” answered Neala.

The Princess looked down and saw piles of golden dust, which she instantly put into the box, and handed it back to Neala.

“There! Now you have dust.”

More dust appeared in her hand, “What’s this?” she fearfully inquired.

“Now whenever youdo a good deed voluntarily you get dust,” replied Neala, “I shall fashion you a box.”

She did so, and Ciara put hers into it, locking it carefully with a ruby key. Then they went back to the castle, and they took the pixie Pierette with them, and everyone was astonished at how gracious and good Princess Aithne had become. The two sisters now shared Neala as their godmother, and the little pixie lived happily in the castle with them.