Awaken - By Anya Richards Page 0,3

to his surprise, he beheld the figure of a man emerge from the nearby trees. Tall, with a whimsical face and flowing golden hair, he approached and stood looking down at the prince, shaking his head. The faery’s long, mobile mouth was tilted in a hint of a smile, but the gleaming eyes were serious, almost sad.

Help me! the prince shouted, but of course he made no sound at all.

“If you must spy on the Fey in their enchanted places, my lad,” said the other, “you must learn more skill so as not to be detected. Alas, such advice is tardy in the coming, I see.”

Free me! the prince beseeched, and it appeared the other could hear him, for he slowly shook his head.

“Unfortunately, a spell cast by Mab is too strong for me to break.” The golden-haired faery tapped his chin and surveyed the stone-bound prince with what appeared to be some sympathy. “But as one who likes to watch to another, perhaps I can find some way to mitigate it.”

Thereupon he stepped forward and laid his hand on the prince’s shoulder and chanted words unintelligible and frightening, in a voice so clear and sharp the very ground seemed to move. Surely, the prince thought, such a spell would be more than enough to free him?

But when the chant was done, there was no difference. He could neither stand nor move nor even speak, and his despair grew deeper.

The faery patted the prince’s shoulder before releasing him, and once more the little smile tilted the corners of his mouth. “I told you I couldn’t break the spell, but I have given you a chance to one day be free. Over time Mab’s spell will weaken slightly, and on the awakening of another, you might find you own release. You will be safe asleep here until then.”

I don’t understand! the prince cried silently, horrified to see the other step back and an almost solid wall of bracken and weeds begin to rise between them. In a blink the vegetation surrounded the prince’s kneeling form, encasing him in an impenetrable tangle. Wait!

But the faery disappeared, leaving the stone-entombed prince to his anguish.

Chapter Two

“If you show him your tits or, better yet, your quim, he gives you a penny, all for yourself.”

Myrina watched her friend Elawen carefully wrap the old woodsman’s provisions in a length of clean linen and, blushing, shook her head in bewilderment. “You don’t really do that, do you? Show old Gottreb your quim for a penny?”

Elawen laughed, face alight with mischief beneath her lace-trimmed cap. “Yes, I do, and gladly. He used to be the talk of the village—sticking his cock wherever it was welcome, and I hear it was welcome almost everywhere. Now the poor old soul can hardly move from his bed. Seems the least I can do to cheer him up.”

Curious now, as well as embarrassed, Myrina crossed her arms and leaned a hip against the kitchen table to ask, “What happens—after you show him?”

“Nothing.” Elawen took a piece of twine and began to secure the bundle. “He says his cockerel doesn’t crow anymore, but he still likes to see a bit of flesh every now and again.”

“Silly old man,” Myrina pursed her lips, still trying to figure the whole thing out, “to tease himself thusly.”

Elawen shrugged, tying the last knot and giving the package a little pat. “I won’t complain. If he wants to sit there, randy as an old goat with no chance of a swive to give him ease, I don’t care. I just take my penny and go.” She gave Myrina a saucy wink as she took off her apron and hung it on a hook. “I know where to show my wares if I want someone to handle them.”

They were still laughing together when Elawen’s mam, Goodwife Harbottle, came into the kitchen, a basket of vegetables on her hip.

“So, there’s time enough for laughing in the day, when the work goes a-begging.” With a little grimace, Elawen rushed to take the burden, as her mother continued. “While the rest of the world toils, ye can feel happy shirking your lot.”

“Eh, no, Mam.” Elawen put the basket on the table with a thump and gestured to the bundle sitting alongside it. “I was just going to deliver Woodsman Gottreb’s provisions, honest.”

Myrina reached for the cloak she’d hung on a peg near the door, hoping to slip away before she too got a taste of the goodwife’s sour temper. But there was