A Kingdom Come Short Story

By Jim Doran

Art By Daniel Johnson

Magic flower in hand, Joringel traversed the Forest of Blood toward the witch’s castle. He strode forward, cut through the dense foliage of the woods, and climbed over fallen trees, making his way from one footpath to another. The malignant creatures of the area—illusionary chimera, bloodthirsty were-insects, and packs of dormadogs—never crossed his mind, so focused was he on a single goal—the rescue of the lovely Jorinda.

Every caw of a bird recalled Joringel’s parting with his sweetmate, and his pulse quickened when he thought of her fate and how her life hung in the balance. Only days before, fearing himself to be out of options, he had sat drinking in a wretched state in the Inn of Five, crying salty tears into his mead. But now, after acquiring the enchanted flower, only one pertinent question remained: would he arrive in time to save his beloved?

Joringel walked tirelessly through the long night and the morning of the next day, but soon after the sun reached its zenith, his pace slowed, and his eyelids drooped. Although his blood had raced with renewed vigor through his veins when he’d first seized upon the flower, exhaustion overtook him now. Joringel stumbled, lost his balance, and fell to the ground. He was a fool to think he would reach the witch’s dwelling without slumber, but Jorinda’s fate lay in his hands.

Fearing what the sorceress did with her captives, Joringel pushed away sleep’s feathery tendrils. If he delayed too long, the hag might kill her. Nevertheless, the determined lover blew leaves out of his mouth and whispered to himself, “I must reach her.”

But his depleted legs refused to obey any command Joringel gave them. A brief two-hour nap, he thought, and then he could continue his quest. He decided to sleep under a bush where the acrid scent of mold and soil filled his nostrils as he covered himself with the detritus of the forest. He then closed his eyes and succumbed to the peace of sleep until a sharp jab poked him in the ribs.

He sat up and the shrub’s branches clawed his face. Howling with pain, Joringel rolled from under the bush, spying two diminutive sprites—male and female—standing before him holding pointed sticks.

The woman turned to the man. “I told you he was not a bugbear.”

The male, thirty millimeters long with mint-colored skin, lowered his branch. “Why hide under the leaves then?”

Joringel, dazed by the abrupt awakening, scanned the sky. “Where is the sun?”

The female sprite’s skin tone matched her husband’s. She ran a hand through her straight, purple hair, which contrasted with her husband’s shade of red. “We have three hours of daylight left.”

“I have slept too long. I must be on my way. Leave me alone.”

“Where are you headed?” asked the male sprite.

“It is of no consequence to you, but my destination is the lair of a witch who has trapped my sweetmate.”

The male’s transparent wings fluttered with excitement. “Exactly what we were hoping for!”

The woman sprite crossed her arms. “I do not think so. Let us leave the gentleman on his quest and continue on our way.”

“But what stories it will make for our children!”

Joringel had no idea why he didn’t leave the creatures at once, but something about these sprites made him pause. On the scale of respect in Kingdom, sprites took their place somewhere lower than feral cats but above mosquitoes. However, Joringel had a soft spot in his heart for sprites, and he had to admit, if this creature hadn’t poked him, he might have slept longer. “If you have children, do not follow me. My quest is dangerous.”

The female fairy floated within centimeters from his nose. “We have no children as of this moment. I am Basil. My husband is Gnow. We are on our honeymoon.”

Joringel brushed burrs from his shirt. “In the Forest of Blood?”

Gnow bobbed his head up and down while Basil tipped her head reluctantly. “It was his idea. My new husband is a bit foolhardy.”

“You are no doubt right.” Joringel hitched up his pants. “I would advise the Plains of Safe Passage. A much more pleasant environment.”

“Humans are not kind to us,” observed Basil. “And brutal predators of this forest do not concern themselves with small beings such as us.”

Gnow hovered in front of Joringel. “Let us come with you. We will not be in the way. We talk about quests in the tunnels of Faerie Forest where we live but never seem to experience one. I want to show my bride the abundant adventure outside our little corner of Kingdom.”

Basil scowled. “We will be in abundant pain if we follow this hapless gentleman.”

Joringel scratched his chin. The evil witch was known to cast spells to immobilize her victims. What if she froze him as she had the first time he had met her? Wouldn’t he be better off if he had allies who could aid him if he encountered peril? Two sprites would not be much help, but they might be able to fetch someone to assist him. Or if he dropped the flower, they could pick it up and hand it back. “You may follow, but keep your distance. The witch is a cunning creature who would not be averse to having sprite stew for lunch.” 

Basil’s forehead creased with worry, and Joringel wondered why an apparently normal creature would marry such a dullard of a husband. She was pretty for a sprite, too. Why Gnow?

The three companions traveled deeper into the forest toward the witch’s abode while avoiding the danger of other creatures. Gnow asked questions all along the way. “How do you know this witch has taken your beloved?”

Joringel slashed through the undergrowth. “I was there when the dreadful events occurred. My sweetmate and I were taking a daily constitutional while discussing our upcoming wedding. Thinking ourselves invincible because of our love, we strolled too close to the witch’s grounds, and she froze us with her magic. The hag transformed my lovely bride into a bird and put her in a cage, chuckling as she took her away. I did not regain motion until the sun dropped below the horizon.”

“Did you not then follow the witch?”

“The birds of the air told me to leave or remain still forever. I returned to a nearby inn and inquired of a method to defeat the wicked one. An adventuring party told me I should seek a powerful artifact to counteract her sorcery. A wizened mage suggested an enchanted flower from the forest.” Joringel withdrew the item from a pouch and showed it to the sprites. “This very one.”

The two sprites flitted around the blood-red flower. This species of plant had a white dewdrop-shaped center and a single healthy petal. Mesmerized, the small fairies examined the flower from different angles. “’Tis no ordinary flower. Was it easy to claim?”

The human tucked his flower back into a pouch. “That is another story.”

After a further hour, Joringel recognized his surroundings and knew the way. The sprites had to fly quickly to keep up with the man, and they nearly lost him in a thicket. Then the three travelers at last emerged onto a cleared field housing gardens of vegetables and spices. At the far end of the meadow, an imposing castle with green turrets rose to the height of the surrounding forest, itself emulating a sort of tree of the woods. A round, open door, resembling the maw of a massive creature, beckoned them forward.

Basil perched on a branch of an oak at the edge of the tree line and shaded her eyes with her hand. “I do not like this. Do you see the boy standing yonder?” A boy of about sixteen years of age wearing a wilted green hat and green leggings stood transfixed in the field.

“He is trapped by the witch’s magic, no doubt,” Joringel observed.

The three companions traversed the field and approached the motionless boy, who was holding a box. He blinked and squeaked, “Please help me. My body is immobile.”

Joringel eyed the box. “The witch has trapped you in a spell.”

“I saw her. She took my love,” A single tear fell from one of the boy’s eyes.

“Who are you?” Basil asked.

“I am known as the Simpleton, and my betrothed and I were on a walk. This box held a gift for my lovely cherub. I did not know I was trespassing. The witch turned my dear one into a bird and took her away.”

“I do not think these invisible bonds will release you until we defeat the witch,” Joringel said. “Fare thee well, Simpleton, and may fortune be on our side.”

The travelers continued toward the castle and entered, noticing the chirping of birds from a large chamber on their left. They followed the cacophony of squawks to a room with shelves and hooks displaying a menagerie of hundreds of caged avians, screeching to be released. The remains of a bowl of soup, bird bones placed next to it, sat on a table below the cages.

Basil’s attention went from the bowl to the cages. “She consumes them. She eats them in front of those imprisoned here.”

Gnow turned a different shade of green. “Horrible.”

Joringel scanned the cages. “My beloved is trapped in one of these containers, but which one? How can I tell?”

Before anyone replied, someone cried out from an adjacent chamber. Joringel sprinted and the sprites flew toward the room. Gnow arrived first, speeding into the chamber and emitting a squeak of deep surprise. As Basil and Joringel entered, Gnow passed them going the other way, hurtling toward the wall. Basil caught his arm and the two swung around like dancers twirling each other until they ceased spinning.

A circular chandelier holding five candles illuminated the room. The other occupant, a gray-skinned elf with a wart on her left temple and a turned-up nose, glared at the uninvited guests. The female elf’s eyes were entirely black, lacking pupils or irises. And while her weathered and aged face resembled that of a toad, her arms and hands were young as a woman in her second decade of life.

“How many fools will disturb me today?” she asked. “I sent my familiar away after I captured the maiden.” She examined Basil and Gnow. “I’ll grind your bones to spices and flavor my broth with the human’s blood.”

Joringel reached into his pouch and groped for the flower without averting his eyes from his grotesque enemy. He withdrew the plant and presented it as a hunter would present a crucifix to a vampire. He advanced on the witch with dire purpose, and his eyes danced with victory. At the sight of the enchanted bloom, the witch recoiled, pulling her shawl tightly around her. “Where did you get that?” she shrilled.

“I know you remember me and my beloved Jorinda. Tell me where she is or I will remove your power.”

The witch cackled, her wart wobbling with the motion of her head. “I cannot be expected to know the identity of all my birds.”

“You will remember her. You turned her into a nightingale, and she is the most beautiful bird among your collection.”

The witch spat at Joringel but missed. Her saliva sizzled against the ground and burnt a small hole in the stone. Basil flew toward the indentation and examined it. “Beware,” the sprite warned. “Her spit is like boiling oil.”

Joringel thrust forward the flower. “Where is she? What have you done with her?”

He and the witch locked eyes. Neither paid attention to the two sprites behind the young man. Sprites were, if tavern gossip was to be believed, the most ineffectual creatures in Kingdom. Basil whispered to Gnow, whose expression brightened, and he left the room.

As Joringel and the witch circled around each other in a standoff, Basil flew above the witch to the chandelier and retrieved a candle. She held the candle above the witch and dropped it on her shawl. The sprite’s ingenuity took the distracted spellcaster off-guard as her clothes ignited in flames. Howling, she vanished and reappeared, her burning shawl floating to the ground. The witch then retrieved a small arrowhead and pitched it at the fairy with deadly accuracy—but the sprite anticipated an attack and dodged it.

“Joringel, you have a tardalong by the tail! Use the flower and take her power away.”

The man transferred the magical plant to his other hand. “But the flower will transform my sweetmate back. I cannot use it on this hag.”

Joringel knew he had misspoken before he finished the sentence. The witch’s eyes illuminated with wickedness now that the human had revealed his goal. Her fingers gestured as she started a spell, but Basil interrupted the incantation with another candle missile. This one bounced off the witch’s shoulder and didn’t catch her garments on fire, falling to the floor, and going out with a sizzle.

The witch turned her attention from the man and glared at the sprite. “Nuisance and bother. I will deal with you first.”

The witch spat again, and Basil dodged it. The elf’s discharge sizzled and ate away at the stone ceiling. The sprite flitted around the light fixture. “Your aim is poor, demon-worshipper.”

The hag reared back and spewed more saliva, completely missing the newly betrothed sprite. The viscous fluid stuck to the ceiling near the chandelier. The tiny creature pleaded. “Joringel! You must use it!”

Joringel set his chin. If he used the flower, how would he ever transform his beloved back? Upon reflection, he made a decision. “Better to leave this castle with her as a bird than to die at the hands of this witch. I will find another to transform her to her original human form.” He advanced with the flower again, but the witch anticipated the man’s movement and backpedaled.

Joringel, from the corner of his eye, spotted Basil gesturing to him. She wanted him to corner the wicked woman at a particular spot in the room. Not knowing her plan but admiring the sprite’s pluck, Joringel obeyed her orders. He swung around and forced the witch to move to the location under Basil’s finger. Basil held up her hands to indicate he should stop and then raised three fingers.

The witch narrowed her eyes, realizing Joringel paid her no heed.

Basil held up two fingers.

The witch followed the man’s gaze and turned toward the sprite.

Basil lowered her remaining finger. The spit finished dissolving the stone that had affixed the chandelier to the ceiling. The fixture plummeted—its heavy iron encasement crushing the witch as she shrieked with horror. The witch was ground into the stone floor with the snapping of her misshapen bones, giving off a sound like wood popping in a fire. A slimy green fluid oozed in every direction.

Joringel eyed Basil with a newfound admiration. “You are a surprise, young sprite.” He thought again about the ill-match between her and Gnow. An extraordinary example of her species, she deserved far better than her reckless and ignorant husband.

Basil flew down to Joringel’s level. “Come.”

Joringel and Basil entered the room with the birds and Gnow floated toward them. “I’ve found her.”

Joringel clutched the flower. “You have?”

“Yes, I cannot speak bird, but I speak lizard and I found one in the bird room. I asked this lizard if it could speak nightingale. It could not of course, but it knew a bat that spoke certain dialects of bird. The lizard called the bat, but that noble creature was grumpy because, as you know, it is the middle of the night for its kind.” Basil clasped her hands with impatience.

“Gnow, get to the point!”

“I am. Anyway, the bat could not speak nightingale either, but it spoke thrush. He asked the question and the thrush said to tell me to smell my feet! How insulting! Of course, it may be because the message had been translated into two different languages before it came to me. We tried a second time, and then we realized that the thrush asked me to bring it a treat. Feet and treat are close in lizard, you know. They both have very few vowels.”

Joringel and Basil both eagerly asked, “Which one is she?”

“Allow me to show you.”

Gnow flew to the far end of the room and pointed to a cage hanging on a hook in the middle of a collection of nightingales. Joringel looked up and urged Gnow to bring the cage holding his beloved down to the ground. Gnow’s hands grew four times larger than his body to unhook the cage as the bird to the left started to squawk. Gnow halted his motion—his attention diverted to the neighboring nightingale. He touched his chin. “Maybe this one.”

Joringel frowned and Gnow consulted the lizard, who spoke to the bat, who in turn asked the thrush. The thrush squawked and then the bat flew away. Joringel placed his hands on his hips. “Enough. How can we tell?”

Basil floated between the two birds. “What color are your beloved’s eyes?”

“They are a lovely shade of brown. What does it matter?”

“The birds have different eye colors. The witch’s spell did not erase this characteristic. The protesting bird has brown eyes. The other does not.”

Gnow grabbed the cage with the squawking bird. As he retrieved the nightingale and flew toward Joringel, Simpleton rushed into the room, his box tucked under his arm. Gnow set the cage down as the newest member of their group approached the human. “I am at your service,” Simpleton said.

Joringel indicated Basil. “Actually, you are in hers.”

Startled, the boy spoke his mind without censor. “A mere sprite?” Basil pressed her lips together tightly, but Simpleton continued. “Are you a powerful fairy? Do you have magic to transform my love back from a lark to her true form?”

Basil gestured at the plant in Joringel’s hand. “This man has the only means to restore her.”

Joringel held the flower close to his chest. “The flower has but one petal left. Once I use it, the petal will drop and I cannot use it a second time. The flower is intended to recover my beloved.”

Simpleton dropped to his knees. “Use it on my maiden. She is a baroness and will have spellcasters at her disposal to transform your beloved and the rest who are here.”

Joringel brushed his chin with his knuckle. “Do you promise on your honor?”

Simpleton’s eyes lowered to the floor. “It is not for me to make a guarantee. Deja must promise, not me.”

Joringel pointed to the nightingale. “Then I must use the last petal on my beloved.”

Simpleton stood and spread out his arms. “I will give you anything for the flower. I do not have much but what I have is yours.” He presented his box and scowled. “I will give you this. ’Tis my most prized treasure.”

The youngster opened his box to reveal a goose. The bird had a shiny pelt that glittered like honey-colored gold. It regarded the others with dull eyes and honked.

“Does it lay golden eggs?” Gnow asked.

Simpleton tilted his head. “Would I be a man without means if such were the case?”

Gnow shrank back. “I have heard of such tales.”

Simpleton said, “No, it does not lay golden eggs, but ’tis such a beautiful creature. And magical, too.”

Joringel’s attention returned to the nightingale. “I must say no.”

Simpleton’s eyes filled with tears. “But you do not understand. When I went to the Forest of Death to chop a tree, I met an elderly lady who asked for bread and water. I gave her what I had and she directed me to a tree to chop down.”

Joringel interrupted, “I am sure your story fascinates tavern dwellers, but—”

“I beg you to listen. I chopped the tree down and found the goose in its center. This goose is special. I went to present it to the baron’s daughter to win her hand. It fascinated her. We touched the goose and it allowed us to fly away. We flew from her castle to these woods where we set down, and then the witch caught us. I will be in your service, sacrificing my future with the baroness if you but restore her.”

“Sacrificing yourself for your true love,” said Basil. “A man of honor.”

Joringel held aloft the cage containing the pinecone-colored Jorinda. “We do not know which one is the lark, but I know my sweetmate. I know I can restore her.”

Gnow said, “But I can find the lark the way I found the nightingale.”

Basil touched her husband’s arm. “Perhaps it would be better to change Joringel’s love. Simpleton must find a different method.”

“My dear, it is no arduous task for me to determine the lark.”

“You misunderstand me. I think it would be wise—”

But Gnow conferred with the birds and reptiles. After a brief chat, he floated to a high corner of the room and then returned with a caged lark and presented it to Joringel. The young man considered his choice. If he freed the baroness, she could free his beloved and the others, and he would do an honorable man a good turn. Yet he longed for Jorinda, and Simpleton could not guarantee the removal of the witch’s spell. He crouched down before Jorinda’s cage, his image reflected in her bright eyes. “You are my choice.”

But the bird turned its head toward the lark, and Joringel knew what she thought. She would remain a bird for the rest of her life if needed to unite the lovers. Simpleton’s selfless sacrifice for his beloved should be rewarded, and she would rather admire Joringel as a bird than be his wife and know they had broken the hearts of Simpleton and Deja.

Joringel slouched. “Release the lark.”

Gnow opened the lark’s cage and Joringel presented the flower to the bird. The item in Joringel’s hand flashed with light like a fire igniting. Blue, red, and yellow lines emerged from the spark and encircled the bird, and the creature expanded and changed. The beak flattened into red lips, the feathers fell off and revealed white skin, and the straw limbs filled out to dainty legs. The teenage girl stood before the group, shaking her straight, black, page-boy-styled hair. She had a pale face and high cheekbones, accentuated by the downturn of her mouth.

Simpleton danced with joy. “Deja.”

The woman peered down her nose at them. “I see the peasantry has not lost its terrible stench since I have been a bird. I would thank you, but you took so long to turn me back that I hardly think I should. I shall now return to my father’s home.”

Basil retreated from the transformed woman. “Charming.”

“But, Deja,” said Simpleton. “’Tis three day’s journey from here, and the goose is no longer ours.”

“My nurse taught me a magic word to take me home without the burden of travel. I would have said it as a bird, but I could not. An ancient word of power. I would not expect you plebeians to understand it.” She pulled herself up to her full height and put her index finger in the air. “Poo.”

Instantly, Deja disappeared. 

Simpleton cried after she left, and Joringel stared at the spot where she had once stood, mouth agape. Basil retrieved the stem and the petal of the magic flower, now disenchanted. The nightingale chirped and flapped her wings, cheated of its chance to change back. Gnow bit his lip. “Poo? What kind of a ‘word of power’ is that?”

Joringel hung his head. “My former companion had an odd expression he used. When fortune did not favor us, Hero would say, ‘What a bummer.’”

“If by ‘bummer,’ you mean I want to back up and race into a stone wall headfirst, then I agree with you.” Basil rubbed her forehead. “A bummer it is.”

Simpleton said, “You do not understand. Deja is under a curse.”

Joringel threw his hands into the air. “Another one? Why did you not tell us this at first?”

“Normally a lovely creature, she was cursed by an evil sorcerer, which replaced her sunny personality with a sour disposition. She is now mirthless, condescending, and petulant. The goose may break the curse. If we can set Deja to laughing, she will be her old self again.”

Joringel eyed the box. “And this goose is the key? Do we pluck a feather and tickle her?”

Simpleton opened the case and the golden goose’s half-lidded eyes focused on nothing, and it honked again. The boy lifted the bird from the box and held it up for all to view. Basil flew around the fowl. “What does it do?”

“If you hold onto its tail, it has the ability to fly you around Kingdom.”

Perturbed, Basil responded in a shrill voice. “All it does is fly around?”

Simpleton lifted the bird and examined it from underneath, a dangerous endeavor. “I think there may be more to this bird than meets the eye.”

“Let me see it,” said Joringel.

As he reached for the bird, Simpleton held it aloft. “One moment. I want to stroke—” He never finished his sentence. Gnow had flown behind Simpleton to examine the goose and his arm and Simpleton’s elbow bumped each other as the boy had jerked away. When their arms touched, Gnow’s arm stuck to Simpleton’s elbow as if the two were glued together.

Simpleton wrenched at his arm, pulling Gnow through the air. “Botheration!”

Gnow steadied himself. “Remove your arm from mine!”

“I cannot. I must pet the goose to avoid sticking to it, but you prevented me.”

Simpleton tried to use his arm to push Gnow away, but the sprite remained attached. “You worthless sprite. Now, we are stuck together.”

Gnow shook his head. Basil said, “We do not have time for this. I will grab Gnow under the arms and pull him away.” She reached under his armpit and grabbed hold of him. “Ready?”

She yanked with all her might, but the two, so strangely affixed, remained together. Basil started to fall backward; Joringel grabbed her around the waist to keep her from falling. When Joringel was unable to prevent Basil from toppling over, everyone stumbled backward and fell.

Joringel, along with the others, got to his feet. “Well, that did not work. Now what?”

Basil struggled to remove her hands from her husband’s sides. “I cannot let go.”

“Nor I,” said Joringel, now stuck to Basil.

Gnow leaned back from Simpleton. “Apparently, whoever grabs onto the duck forms a line of people stuck together. How awkward.”

“Let us pull again,” Joringel suggested.

They stretched and pulled but could not free themselves from each other. Jorinda, still a nightingale, flew around them in a flurry. Simpleton observed the golden fowl. “We had better separate before the bird decides to leave. The goose flies faster than a dragon. In our positions, its flight may strain our bodies.”

The goose, indeed, stretched its wings, preparing to depart. Joringel turned his attention to the brown-eyed nightingale in front of him. “Good-bye, Jorinda. I have failed to save you and am trapped myself. If we should ever see each other again—”

The bird fluttered up to him and touched its beak to his lips. An unexpected move. Joringel did not pull away from her kiss, and their mouths stuck together.

Though connected to her love, Jorinda could still sing from the side of her mouth. Gnow interpreted, “She thought she would be immune to this turkey’s curse.”

Simpleton tensed his body. “Prepare yourself! The goose departs.”

The goose waddled across the room. The rest of the party stumbled after it in a tortured conga line. Joringel managed to speak from the corner of his mouth. “Where are we headed?”

Simpleton jerked his head. “I will direct it to Baroness Deja. She might find this amusing.” Basil shook her head.

“I hope to never see that woman again.”

“Maybe,” said Gnow, “if we break her curse, it will break this curse.”

Basil squeezed Gnow’s armpits. “Your theory is absolute rubbish, but nothing else has made sense today. It may be true.”

The goose flapped its wings and it launched itself through a window at the top of the hall. Its passengers, though expecting pain, didn’t experience any discomfort as they floated behind the magical fowl toward the grasslands.

The party flew over the Forest of Blood to its edge and then beyond. They passed farms at an incredible speed. In less than an hour, the group landed at the baron’s castle. After they had all gathered their bearings, Simpleton tucked the goose under his arm and they entered the nobleman’s residence together. Joringel instructed “One, two. One, two.” from the side of his mouth to keep time and so they would not trip over each other.

Simpleton announced to the guards they had come to make the baron’s daughter laugh. The curse was well-known, and the baron invited in anyone who attempted to break it. The baron and his wife sat on chairs in the center of the ornate room with banners of ships. Their daughter, Deja, sat on a chair that was off to the side. The chair’s high legs kept her feet from touching the floor. She scowled at the goose’s party and crossed her arms. “Oh, you again!”

The strangely arrayed quintet shuffled into the room. Simpleton attempted an unsuccessful bow. “Baroness Deja. I bring you the line of people.”

He marched across the room as Joringel counted out the time. They stumbled and tripped but remained upright. Simpleton chuckled. “We are all stuck together. What an awful mess for us to walk around as.”

The baron threw his head back. The room filled with his mirth, and the baroness, an older version of her daughter but with softer features, giggled and clapped her hands. “Oh dear, is it not delightful? Observe the last two. A man and a bird stuck together by their lips.”

The girl tossed her short hair derisively. “You think it humorous? I think it sad.” She waved her hand. “Please remove these freaks from my sight.”

A guard ushered the visitors from the room, using his sword to poke at them, afraid of sticking himself. Hanging their heads, they exited the chamber. The swordsmen left them in a hall outside of the ornate room—a long hallway with more banners along the walls and a steepled ceiling.

Jorinda flapped her wings and squawked from the side of her beak. Gnow interpreted. “She asks what we do next.”

“I do not know.”

Gnow eyed a door at the end of the corridor. “Perhaps we should head to town and..hee hee…should visit a magician…hee hee…and take the Golden Goose to…” He chortled. “Basil, please stop tickling me!”

“No. You deserve far worse for getting us into this calamity.”

“Calamity? We are having the most interesting honeymoon ever. I have an idea! Before we figure out how to separate, summon an artist to paint our portrait together. We shall always have it to remind us of our unparalleled experience!”

Basil’s eyes bore into her husband’s back, her nostrils flared, and her skin tone went from green to purple, the same shade as her hair. “A painting! How could you think of such a thing right now? We may never be free of each other and the two of us will never return to our new hole in the ground that we excavated together. We shall never see Faerie Forest again, nor our families and friends. We shall never eat alone, or have a moment to ourselves. We shall never experience a family! ’Tis all too horrible to consider our lives like this.

“You have ruined my life by honeymooning in the Forest of Blood. And you have ruined everyone else’s when you insisted on finding Deja. If you had left well enough alone, we would be kissing under a full moon on the roof of the Palace of Harmony in Gareth. And now—look at us!”

Silence descended on the party like a pall over a newly dead body. No one spoke for thirty seconds. Gnow broke the silence. “Does this mean you will not sit for the painting?”

Joringel didn’t think Basil’s inquiry funny at all. He shook his head, wondering again how any respectable creature, let alone a clever woman like Basil, could ever love a jackass such as Gnow. Fortunately, everyone didn’t share Joringel’s sense of humor, and Gnow’s offhand remark tickled the funny bone of a concealed person behind a nearby banner. The sound started as a titter and then grew to be a small guffaw, then a snort, and the hidden person burst out laughing.

The tapestries parted and Deja emerged—her haughty expression vanquished. Her face blossomed into a flower-like elegance. Her smile transformed her once condescending features into a beacon of loveliness. Giggling, she released the tapestry while joyful tears fell down her cheeks. She reached out and stroked the goose’s pelt.

After Deja petted the avian, the party separated. Deja approached Simpleton, snickering and weeping at the same time. She wrapped her arms around her beloved and kissed him. She bent her head down until her forehead rested on the bridge of his nose.

Jorinda perched on Joringel’s shoulder and rubbed her head against his hair. Simpleton noticed them. “Deja, do you have a magic wielder who can transform the nightingale back into Joringel’s beloved?”

Deja turned her attention to the nightingale. “Of course. I shall call for our mystic immediately. After he completes his task here, I shall send him to the witch’s castle to free the other prisoners.”

Ten minutes later, the lovely Jorinda, a young woman with warm, soft brown eyes and black, flowing hair, stood among them. She opened her arms and Joringel fell into them, kissing her with such force she had to step backward. While not their first exchange of passion, Joringel planted this moment in his memory as the conclusion of his heroic tale. From discovering the flower, to conquering the witch, to removing multiple curses, he and Jorinda had undergone many trials…and they hadn’t yet even exchanged vows.

When they finished with their signs of affection, Joringel turned to Basil and Gnow. “I thank you. The two of you, unlikely companions as you may be, have reunited me with my beloved. Anything you wish, I am at your service.”

Basil cast a sidelong glance at Gnow. “Would you pose in a portrait with us?”