Yeah, that was really nice.

HEY! Maybe now they can meet Roger Wilco! XD

At last, the plot gets underway.

-------------------

Chapter 8:

The sorcerer removed the mangy black cat from Graham's cloak and shoved the scrawny animal into an iron cage, which he and Graham carried up to the top level of the tower and set on the floor. Manannan hissed and spat at the two men weakly.

"The poor devil seems like he's not long for this world," the sorcerer said sadly. "He's half-starved, and I think one of his back legs might be broken."

"He does look bad, but can you understand him?" Graham asked the sorcerer, not feeling any sympathy for the former wizard that lay on the floor of the cage.

"I believe so, though my Feline is a bit rusty," the sorcerer admitted.

"What is he saying now?"

The sorcerer squinted intently at the furious, snarling cat for the better part of a minute.

"He says that he is displeased," he finally said.

"I see," Graham said impatiently, "But I might have come to that same conclusion."

"Sorry," the sorcerer said. "But he's doing nothing but muttering obscenities at you at the moment. He's not very happy to see you."

"I have the same feelings towards him," Graham said impatiently. "Do you think he can still understand our language, sorcerer?"

"I should think so," the sorcerer said. "After all, he still has the intelligence of a man, he simply can't speak like one any longer…"

Without waiting for the sorcerer to finish, Graham picked up the cage and glared at its black, scruffy occupant.

"Listen, Manannan," he growled. "My son-in-law's life has somehow been replaced with a cat's life. He is now reaching the end of that life and he is going to die in a matter of weeks. You are the only one I know who has the knowledge that can save him. I could easily kill you now, but I'll let you live on the condition that you help me."

Manannan stirred feebly and meowed and snarled quietly.

"What did he just say?" Graham asked the sorcerer.

"He said that he isn't impressed by your threats," the sorcerer said. "And that death would actually be welcome now…he has apparently had a very difficult two years on that island."

Graham clenched his jaw and angrily shook the cage.

"You help me save Edgar or I'll make your life even more miserable than it already is, you filthy, conniving, worthless…"

"Your Highness, Your Highness, please," the sorcerer pleaded.

Graham stopped shaking the cage and stared at the sad creature within it. There was no malice in those golden eyes now, only pain and weariness. It seemed as if the wizard hadn't adapted to the life of a cat very well. Without his brother to care for him, it was a wonder that he had survived this long, and it seemed unlikely that he would last much longer.

Graham slowly regained his composure, realizing that it would do him no good to let his rage overwhelm him. He needed to think clearly now, and anger and clear thought could not exist in the same mind.

"Sire?" the sorcerer asked cautiously.

"What?" Graham asked, the man's words barely piercing the surface of his thoughts.

"I've just had an idea. Come here…but leave the cat where he can't hear us."

Graham set the cage down and walked over to the other side of the room with the sorcerer.

"Why don't you offer his own body back in exchange for his help?" the sorcerer whispered.

Graham gaped in disbelief at the sorcerer.

"His own body?" the king repeated. "No! No, I would never even think of offering that monster such a thing!"

"He seems to have gone through a lot during his isolation," the sorcerer reflected. "Perhaps he is no longer the villain he once was…"

"And perhaps he still is," Graham retorted. "Besides, even if I were foolish enough to offer such a thing to him, there would be no way to keep my promise."

"Why is that?"

"The spell my son used to turn him into a cat is irreversible. There's no way to change him back."

"Are you certain?"

"That's what the book of spells he used said."

The sorcerer kneaded his beard thoughtfully with two of his fingers.

"Hmm…I still think you might want to make him that offer, in the hopes that he takes the bait."

"And what if he decides to comply and I'm left with no way to fulfill my part of the bargain?" Graham asked. "He might take his revenge by sneaking into the castle and clawing all our eyes out in our sleep!"

"We'll deal with that problem when we come to it," the sorcerer said firmly. "Right now we have to concentrate on finding out what you need to know: how to save your daughter's husband. After all, you just might find a way to make things turn out for the best for both your family and the cat."

"All men will be keeping dragons as pets before that happens," Graham grumbled.

"Oh my," the sorcerer muttered, shaking his head. "To be honest, though, dragons aren't that bad…"


When Graham made his proposition to Manannan, the cat seemed slightly suspicious at first. Then, after several moments' contemplation, he grudgingly agreed to help Graham. After all, the former wizard had nothing left to lose, and if, by some amazing stroke of luck, Graham did find a way to restore him to human form, he had everything to gain.

"Very well," Graham said once the two of them had come to an agreement. "Now tell me: how can I save my son-in-law's life?"

Manannan began meowing and caterwauling again, and the sorcerer quickly began translating:

"There's nothing that any…that any mortals or wizards can do. If the boy's life has truly been…replaced, the only thing left to do is to…is to consult…"

The sorcerer paused and blinked nervously.

"Consult whom?" Graham asked.

"Consult…Death."

Graham stared at the sorcerer's frightened face, then at Manannan lying languidly in his cage.

"What do you mean?" the king demanded.

"You must seek out Death…and speak to him," the sorcerer said as Manannan began howling again, "With luck…he will take pity on you and restore the boy's life."

"Seek out Death?" Graham asked. "Do you mean I must travel to the Realm of the Dead and…"

"No," the sorcerer translated. "Not there. The entity that lives there only reigns over the souls of the dead. You must find the being that watches people's lives…and comes to them when it is their time."

Graham was much relieved that he didn't have to go to the Realm of the Dead. After what his son, his son-in-law and his daughter-in-law had told him about that eerie realm, he didn't want to visit it even once while he was still alive.

"So where does this being live?" he asked Manannan.

"In a realm outside this world," the sorcerer translated. "There is only one way that mortals can reach it…you must wear a Mortis charm and recite this phrase seven times…"

The sorcerer said something in an ancient-sounding language that Graham could not understand. Manannan then fell silent.

"And…is that it?" Graham asked.

"Yes – no, wait," the sorcerer said, as the cat began to speak again. This time the sorcerer didn't say a word until Manannan had grown quiet again.

"He says that you should leave that shield behind," the sorcerer said somberly, looking at the exact spot where Graham was hiding the magic shield beneath his cloak. "He and I both know of the power of that shield, but it can only protect you from mortal harm, and Death is no mortal. After all, Death may be much more receptive to a man who enters his domain with no means of defense."

The sorcerer leaned towards Graham and spoke more quietly:

"You might also want to take this opportunity to tell your family that you are leaving," he said. "There's no way of knowing how long this mission of yours might take."

"Shouldn't I bring some men with me?" Graham asked.

Manannan howled from his cage.

"No," the sorcerer said. "A journey outside the mortal realm is one best made alone. If many men went on such a journey, they could easily be turned against each other and become scattered."

"Are you sure that that cat is telling the truth?" Graham asked suspiciously.

"I'm afraid it is true," the sorcerer said. "I have done some reading on the various realms that exist alongside this one, and what he says is the same thing as my books say."

"So…" Graham said slowly. "I should return to my castle and come back here once I am ready?"

"Yes," the sorcerer said. "I am certain I have a Mortis charm somewhere, and I'll hunt for it while you are away."

Graham nodded silently, then began making his way down the spiral staircase. Once he had reached the floor, he opened the heavy door and stepped out into the cool autumn air of the Daventry countryside. He refastened his cloak around his neck and pulled the hood up. Then, with his head down, he slowly walked across the bridge that led from the sorcerer's island to the mainland and began the journey back to Castle Daventry, which seemed much longer than it had been earlier that morning.


-------------------

Chapter 9:

When Graham entered the castle's throne room, Valanice was there. She came to him and embraced him tightly, then glared crossly at him.

"You could have at least told us you were leaving the castle yourself," she said.

"I'm sorry, Valanice," Graham said earnestly. "I was just in too much of a hurry to think clearly."

"Can you think clearly enough to explain exactly why you left us so suddenly?" Valanice asked. Though her voice was stern, there was still a faint touch of humor in it.

"I was looking for a way to help Edgar," Graham replied.

Valanice glanced at the floor, her face downcast.

"Oh," she said quietly. "I see…I should have known. Were you successful?"

"I believe I was," Graham said. "But I'm afraid I have to leave again, and this time, I don't know when I will return."

"Why?" Valanice demanded. "What's going on, Graham? Do you know what's happened to Edgar?"

Graham had known Valanice for too many years to think that he could keep the truth from her for long. After finding a servant to return the magic shield to the Royal Treasury, he quietly led his queen to their chambers, and there, he told her everything that had happened that morning. Valanice remained completely silent until he had finished his story.

"So…you're going on another adventure?" she asked, trying to make light of the dire situation.

"I'm afraid so," Graham replied.

"What if that demon Manannan is secretly trying to do you in?" Valanice said worriedly.

"The notion has crossed my mind," Graham said, "But why would he kill me when I have offered to change him back into a human?"

"And if you should find a way to do that, what do you think he will do to us once he is his old self?" Valanice said.

"I don't know," Graham sighed. "But all we can do now is hope that I will be successful in persuading Death to help me."

"I suppose so," said Valanice gently. For a while, she and Graham held hands and said nothing, wondering what the future held in store for their family.


Graham and Valanice went to Edgar and Rosella's chambers, where they found Edgar sitting in a chair near the door, looking just as frail and aged as he had been that morning, his pygmy griffin Scrimshaw perched on the back of the chair. Rosella was sitting on the bed, and she swiftly rose to her feet at the sight of her father.

"Father, where were you?" she cried, running to meet Graham. "Mama and I had no idea where you'd gone, and all the Court Physician could tell us was that you were out looking for a sorcerer, and…"

"The Court Physician was right," Graham said.

"A sorcerer?" Edgar said in a tired voice, staring up at the king. "Why were you looking for a sorcerer? Were you…"

He suddenly paused. His wrinkled brow furrowed in thought, then he looked back up at Graham with deep concern in his brown eyes.

"It's about me, isn't it?"

Rosella stared at her father, and Valanice nodded solemnly.

"Yes, it is." Graham said quietly. "Edgar…the reason this is happening to you is because of the cat's life Rosella healed you with after your aunt nearly killed you. It has replaced the life you started out with, and now that cat's life is nearing its end."

Rosella let out a tiny gasp and stared in horror at Edgar, who blinked several times but said nothing. Scrimshaw stared at Graham, sitting as still as a statue.

"However, I believe I have found a way to help you," Graham continued. "But I must leave Daventry in order to do it. I may be gone several days or several weeks, but I promise to return successfully and as soon as I can."

"Is there…is there anything we can do?" Rosella asked shakily.

"Just help your mother and the servants keep the kingdom running, Rosella," Graham said gently. "And most importantly, look after Edgar."

Edgar smiled bitterly and snorted amusedly.

"I suppose I should have seen this coming," he muttered.

"Oh, Edgar, I'm so sorry," Rosella said in a quavering voice, putting her arm around his shoulders. "This is all my fault…if I had only known…"

"If you had known, it wouldn't have made much of a difference," Valanice said. "If you hadn't given that life to Edgar, he would have died. You did what was right at the time, Rosella. Now we need to do what is right at this time."

Rosella sighed and let her head rest on Edgar's shoulder.

"Don't worry," Graham said after their embrace was over. "I won't come back until I have succeeded. Just promise me that you will keep my castle and people safe until I return."

"I promise," Rosella said, blinking back tears.

"As do I," said Valanice.

"I may not be of much help," Edgar muttered. "But I promise to do what I can…and thank you, Your Majesty."


It was late in the afternoon when Graham had finally finished preparing for his journey. The only preparations he had made involved packing a small knapsack with enough rations for several days and various other essentials, and this hadn't taken nearly as long as saying good-bye to his daughter, wife and son-in-law.

Graham's heart felt ten times heavier than his knapsack as he departed Castle Daventry, making his way through the much quieter town streets. Even though his cloak was once again hiding his face, he sensed that his despair was all too obvious to the people who noticed him slowly trudging along with his head bowed.

Once he had reached the less populated outskirts of the town, he pulled back his hood to let the cool air reach him more easily, as well as to get a better look at the surrounding land. The peaceful countryside's fields and trees had been painted gold and red with the passing of the seasons. Twenty years ago, much of Daventry had been a dangerous country to travel alone in, since thieving dwarves, fierce ogres, mischievous sorcerers and ravenous wolves prowled nearly every mile of land within its borders.

When Graham had inherited the throne and put the powers of the three treasures to good use, however, the various fiends roaming the kingdom were either driven out by Daventry's strengthened population or retreated of their own accord into the thickest, most inaccessible forests in the realm. These days, those places were the only ones in the kingdom that were still considered dangerous.

As Graham continued south, he suddenly heard a voice coming from close by:

"Your Majesty…Your Majesty!"

Graham turned in the direction of the frantic shouts to see a young man approaching him through the trees at a fast walk. The king stopped and waited until the stranger had reached his side before responding to him:

"Yes? You wished to speak to me?"

The stranger opened his mouth, but suddenly became very nervous and insecure, rubbing his hands together anxiously, glancing at the ground and stammering as he tried to talk:

"W-w-ell, K-k-king G-graham…I w-w…w-wanted to…th-that is, I…I…"

Graham raised a hand and the young man halted in mid-stutter.

"Please," the king said gently. "Calm yourself. I'm not wearing a crown and we're not standing in a throne room, so at the moment, why can't we merely speak to each other as two men, regardless of our status?"

The stranger seemed puzzled by these words for a moment, but he nodded eagerly and seemed to relax somewhat. He couldn't have been much older than twenty, and his shaggy brown hair almost covered his icy blue eyes. His face was thin and somewhat angular, and a tiny, trim goatee bisected the curve of his chin. His clothes, though undoubtedly the clothes of a peasant, were oddly elegant, despite their simplicity.

"Please forgive me, Your Highness," the stranger finally said in a steadier voice. "I just never imagined that I'd meet you like this. I'm truly honored to finally meet you, Sire."

"I'm afraid you have the advantage of me," Graham said. "Who are you, stranger?"

"You may not know me," the stranger smiled, "But you did know my parents."

"Your parents?" Graham repeated, confused. "Who were they? What were their names?"

The stranger's smile grew wider.

"Do you, by any chance, recall a clay bowl with the word 'fill' painted inside it?"

Graham's eyes opened wide as the truth of the stranger's identity began to unfold inside his head.

"Of course…then the couple I gave it to…they were…"

"…My dear mother and father," the stranger said with a hint of pride. "Your gift saved them from starvation, and when I was born years later, it helped keep me fed as well. They were astounded to hear that the young knight that gave them that magic bowl had become king of Daventry, and they never stopped telling me the story of your visit. I've always dreamed of meeting you, but I never imagined that I truly would."

"My word," Graham gasped, thunderstruck. He had nearly forgotten the poor woodcutter and his wife that he had encountered so many years ago in his quest to find the kingdom's three lost treasures. And now that woodcutter's son had reached manhood…where had the time gone?

"I've become a tailor now," the woodcutter's son continued. "And I have come into possession of a needle that is unlike any other needle in existence."

"How so?" Graham asked.

"With it, I can sew anything together. Not just cloth, but anything. Wood, stone, glass, metal, even living flesh. I can repair anything that has been broken, leaving it good as new."

"That's quite remarkable," Graham said, considerably impressed by the tailor's claim. "But why are you telling me this?"

"I want to repay you for saving my family," the tailor replied. "I know sewing something together probably isn't an adequate means of returning such a noble need, but it's the only thing I can offer to you. If you ever have something that needs mending, come to my home. Even if it isn't cloth, I have no doubt that I can fix it."

"I thank you for your generosity," Graham said, "But I'm afraid I don't know where your home is."

The tailor reached into a pocket and pulled out a small spool of thread.

"You don't need to know," he said. "Take this thread."

Graham did.

"What am I supposed to do with this?" he asked.

"When you want to visit me, simply drop that spool on the ground. It will unroll, and the thread will form a path to my home. Just follow it, and eventually, you'll arrive at my door."

Graham eyed the spool with interest, then tucked it safely away.

"Well, thank you very much, young tailor," he said to his new acquaintance, "But I must be on my way now."

The tailor's eyes looked concerned for a moment.

"You're not…you're not on another journey, are you, my king?"

Graham paused, then decided that the tailor was a trustworthy soul and that it wouldn't hurt to be honest with him.

"Between the two of us, yes, I am," the king said in a low voice. The tailor nodded gravely.

"Well, good luck to you then, Your Majesty. And please consider my offer if you come upon anything that needs mending."

Graham thanked the tailor again and bid him farewell. As the young man walked away, the king contemplated his offer. Though Graham had no doubt that the tailor's needle and thread could do all that the lad claimed they could do, the king doubted that they could mend his breaking heart.


-------------------

Chapter 10:

As Graham reached the bridge to the sorcerer's house and began to cross it, he once again heard a loud voice to his left:

"Halt! Who goes there?"

He turned to face the stone creature, much more irritated than surprised this time.

"King Graham of Daventry."

"And what is your business here?"

"The sorcerer told me to leave his home and prepare for my journey," Graham said impatiently. "And to return once I was ready, which I am now."

The beast looked puzzled.

"Then you've been here before?" it asked.

"Yes," Graham said with a sigh.

"Oh," the creature grunted. "Very well. You may pass."

Relieved to leave the creature behind, Graham cautiously crossed the wooden bridge, trying not to glance down at the vicious currents beneath it. He didn't bother knocking on the door of the ramshackle hut this time, but simply let himself in, and noticing no one on the first floor of the tower concealed within the hut, he made his way up the iron staircase to the second floor. There he found the sorcerer sitting in one of the large chairs in the alcove, with the caged Manannan on the small, round table between the two chairs. As Graham approached the alcove, he noticed that there was a bandage around one of the cat's back legs.

"I hated to see the poor wretched thing suffering so," the sorcerer explained, noticing where Graham's eyes were directed. "So I took it upon myself to feed him and fix up that leg of his. It turns out that it was broken. Something heavy must have fallen on it. It must have been a humiliating injury for him, suffering from something so common as a broken limb, unable to repair it himself with magic…"

"I'm ready to leave now, sorcerer," Graham said, uninterested in hearing about his former nemesis's physical condition.

"Oh, yes, of course," the sorcerer muttered. "My apologies, Sire."

He rose to his feet and started rummaging in one of the deep pockets of his star-speckled robe. Despite the man's various eccentricities, Graham was starting to have better feelings about this nameless sorcerer. Though he had had his doubts about him at first, the sorcerer had turned out to be a surprisingly kindly gentleman, who just happened to have a good deal of knowledge about magic. In some ways, he reminded Graham of the wizard Crispinophur of Serenia, whose heart was always in the right place (though his mind was often wandering). Graham hadn't known many benevolent wizards in his time, and he was thankful that he had found one, especially now.

"Here we are," the sorcerer said, pulling a small object out of his pocket and holding it up for Graham to see. "You just need to wear this, and I'll tell you the phrase you need to say to enter Death's domain if you've forgotten it."

Graham stared at the object. It was a small, oddly shaped black amulet on a silver chain, with a crude depiction of a doorway carved into the amulet itself. When Graham took the odd charm from the sorcerer, he shuddered as he realized that the amulet felt as if it were made out of bone – and upon closer examination, he recognized it as a bone from a human hand, stained black.

"So this is a Mortis charm?" he asked.

"It is," the sorcerer confirmed. "It's odd – I've known what that thing is for decades, but I've always thought it was merely a charm to ward off death and illnesses. I never even dreamed that such a thing could actually send a mortal into Death's domain…"

Graham stared coldly at Manannan as the sorcerer spoke. Was the cat-wizard truly scheming to kill him, or was he truly desperate enough to aid his foes in order to regain his humanity? There was only one way to find out…but there was another uncertainty that was troubling Graham as well.

"Sorcerer, once I have reached my destination, how do I return to this world?"

"I asked the cat about it while you were gone, and apparently you just need to recite the same phrase you say to enter the realm – seven times as well, of course."

"What if I can't remember the phrase once I'm there?" Graham asked, who certainly couldn't recall it now.

"Don't worry, I'll write it down for you," the sorcerer said. He walked over to one of the room's cluttered desks and began rummaging about, looking for a quill and paper. As he searched, Graham slipped the Mortis charm over his neck. He didn't feel any different wearing the charm, but a trinket powerful enough to open a doorway to another realm undoubtedly contained an incredible quantity of magic. He cast a look at Manannan once again, and prayed that the twisted old fiend was being true to his word.

"Here we are," the sorcerer said several moments later, returning to Graham with a small scrap of paper. "I had difficulty translating the runes to your language, but the phrase should be effective just the same."

Graham squinted at the scrawled characters and convoluted words on the paper and tried his best to pronounce the odd phrase. The sorcerer shook his head and spoke the phrase aloud. Graham attempted to repeat it, but again the sorcerer shook his head. The king's third attempt was apparently successful, since the sorcerer smiled and nodded encouragingly in response to it. Graham held the paper tightly and repeated the phrase written upon it again, then a second time with greater confidence.

After his fourth recitation of the phrase, the air in the room seemed to have grown colder, and the objects in the room had grown oddly indistinct, as if a dense fog had entered the tower. Apprehensively, Graham continued to repeat the phrase, the words resounding louder and louder within his mind every time he spoke them. As he spoke the phrase for the seventh and final time, the room had become a gray blur about him, and when the last words of the phrase left his mouth, a strong, howling wind came out of nowhere, nearly knocking him over. As the scream of the wind became louder, the room swiftly faded into blackness, and Graham could just make out a faint "Good luck!" from the sorcerer.


The blackness faded as soon as it had come, and Graham found himself in a strange new world. It was not a dark, gloomy place that could drive all hope from the hearts of Man, but a pale, misty place that looked like an overcast sky before a sunset. It was hardly the sort of place Graham would associate with Death.

The king was standing on a small, gray rock ledge, with no land visible beneath him. Wisps of cloud drifted slowly by, and directly ahead of him was a series of stone slabs suspended in midair, each one slightly higher than the last, forming a floating staircase, leading somewhere that was impossible to make out in the thick mist. As daunting as the staircase looked, it seemed to be the only route Graham could take.

As he stood staring dubiously up at the stone steps, there was a sudden gust of wind, and the scrap of paper with the magic phrase on it was plucked out of Graham's hand. Panicked, Graham prepared to make a grab for it, but just as quickly stopped himself and watched the paper drift away and become lost in the clouds. If he had reached out for that paper, he would have lost his balance on the tiny ledge and fallen…and if there was ground beneath him, it was a very long way down.

A cold shroud of dread fell over Graham. If he forgot that phrase now, there would be no way for him to return to his own world. All that he could do now was see where those mysterious floating steps led, and hope that he could find another way out of Death's domain…after he found Death.

*Whew*...I was a little nervous earlier today when I started getting a phpBB error whenever I tried to access the boards. I encountered the same error for almost a week with the Janitorial Times, and I was afraid I would be seeing that problem with the SP boards for a similar amount of time. Anyway, on with the story...

-------------------------

Chapter 11:

Graham climbed the floating stone steps as slowly and carefully as he could, trying his best not to look down. Though the fog made it impossible to see just how high in the air he was, somehow not being able to tell this made the experience even more unnerving. It took all his will to limit his gaze to only the steps ahead of him and the thick mist ahead.

The never-ending silence that dominated the realm made the sound of his footfalls almost deafening. There wasn't even a distant whistle of wind in the air or the far-off call of a bird. This place didn't need to be dark and cloistered to frighten mortals, Graham realized. The absence of all familiar sights and sounds was enough to make any man fear it.

Graham suddenly stopped, his right foot planted firmly on the next step. A large shape had appeared in the mist ahead of him. He watched it intently, as if it were a fierce beast crouched behind some foliage. Then, one of the larger clouds that was masking the shape drifted away, and before him, Graham beheld something that appeared to be part structure, part landform. It towered above him like a fortress, yet it was not constructed out of stones or bricks. It seemed as if it were formed out of solid rock, though the rock looked as if it had been wrapped around itself and sculpted like clay. The top of the fortress was topped with long, sharp, twisting pinnacles where the stone coils ended, looking like solid gray flames frozen in time…if there was such a thing as time in Death's realm.

Graham slowly continued up the steps, refraining from looking at the peculiar formation again until he had reached the top of the surreal staircase. Once he had, he found that, like the steps, the massive structure was also hovering in midair, and at the base of the structure was a tall doorway. There was no door or gate barring the opening; there was simply a doorway. Praying that the Fates would have mercy on him, Graham stepped through the doorway, wondering who or what he would encounter on the other side.


The doorway led into a dark, narrow, twisting hallway, lined by the same peculiar rock that the exterior of the structure was made up of. There were no carvings, paintings or decorations of any kind on the walls, making the hallway feel as barren as a mole's tunnel. The hallway finally ended in a large, circular room that was much brighter than the passage leading to it. A look upwards explained why: the room had alarmingly high walls, but no ceiling, letting light from the world outside filter down, bathing the chamber in a soft, ethereal glow.

Somehow, the fog seemed to be present even within the structure. It swirled around Graham's feet and made the rest of the room indistinct. There were several doorways lining the walls of the room, but a strange, dark smoke obscured each one. Though Graham had no idea exactly what the smoke was, he was fairly certain that it served the same purpose as a lock on a door.

The king lingered on the threshold of the doorway he had entered the room by, uncertain what to do next. After several anxious minutes, a wind suddenly swept through the chamber, stirring up the mist and twisting it into a plethora of bizarre shapes. Then a wisp of gray fog appeared in the center of the room. It rapidly grew larger and denser until it resolved itself into a tall, thin figure clad in a tattered, faded black robe. A pointed hood partially hid the figure's face, which seemed to be scarcely anything more than skin stretched over a skull. Long, bony fingers affixed to sinewy wrists and emaciated arms protruded from the robe's oddly short sleeves, and equally gaunt, sandal-clad feet stuck out from beneath the robe's frayed hem.

Even though Graham had never set eyes upon this entity before, in his heart he knew that it had to be the one he had come to this realm to seek help from.

"Good day," he said as humbly and reverently as he could. "Are you Death?"

The figure's bloodless mouth frowned slightly. Then he slowly opened it and spoke in a low, hoarse mutter:

"Yes, that is the name Man has given me…though I am afraid your concept of days is rather foreign to me, mortal."

There was no malice in his voice, and the words he spoke didn't fill Graham with fear either. Death was hardly the dark, sinister monster that the king had expected. Death could probably walk the streets of any city just the way he appeared and not call any attention to himself…and, with a shiver, Graham suspected that Death did do just that, and often.

Death beckoned to Graham with his twig-like fingers.

"Do come in," he said politely. "It has been eons since a mortal has come to my abode."

As Graham nervously approached Death, two stone chairs materialized on either side of Death. They too were made out of the warped stone that the room and the structure were composed of, and hardly looked comfortable, but Graham, not wanting to offend Death, gingerly sat down on the chair offered to him.

"Before you tell me why you came here," Death said, lowering his frail body onto the chair facing Graham, "I wish to know your name and what part of the mortal world you come from."

"My name is Graham, and I come from the land of Daventry."

Death leaned forward slightly.

"King Graham?"

"Yes."

Death stroked his angular chin thoughtfully.

"Ah, yes…King Graham of Daventry. I know you."

Graham shuddered, wondering whether he wanted to hear what Death was going to tell him next.

"Your life nearly ended recently," Death said. "I was certain that it was going to end, so certain that I watched you for some time. I was quite surprised when your life suddenly grew even stronger and brighter than it had been before. You were quite fortunate then, King Graham."

Graham realized that Death was speaking of the sudden illness that had overtaken him several years before, just after his son's triumphant return to Daventry. If it weren't for Rosella's help, Graham's life would indeed have been cut short.

"And now we meet again," Death continued. "Only this time, you have sought me out. Why have you done this, King Graham?"

"I've come to you on behalf of my son-in-law, Prince Edgar of Etheria. I was told that something has gone terribly wrong with his life, and that I should seek out your help in order to heal him."

Death was silent for a moment, making a soft, growling noise as he contemplated what Graham had told him. Then he rose to his flat, bony feet.

"Come with me," he said dully.

Graham followed Death to one of the smoke-filled doorways. As Death approached the doorway, the smoke vanished, revealing another tunnel leading off what had to be the central chamber of Death's abode. Death led Graham down the length of the tunnel, which twisted and turned and grew increasingly darker. Soon, however, Graham could see a faint glow ahead of them, and when they reached the end of the tunnel, he froze in astonishment at what lay before them.

It was a huge cavern, so tall that Graham couldn't see the ceiling and so long that he couldn't see its end. However, the cavern wasn't dark or gloomy at all, for lining its walls were rows upon rows of brightly burning candles of various heights, fading into a dull golden glimmer in the distance. Some burned brightly and constantly while others flickered constantly. There seemed to be more candles in this cavern than there were stars in the night sky.

"What is this place?" Graham breathed, unable to contain his astonishment.

"This chamber," said Death solemnly, "Contains the lives of every living mortal. Each candle you see is a mortal's life. The tall ones are those of younger people, the short ones are those of the sickly or the elderly."

Death held out his hand and a candle appeared in it. Though it wasn't as tall as some of the candles, its flame burned strongly and steadily.

"This is your life," he said.

Graham felt a little lightheaded as he gazed at the candle in Death's hand. Death, apparently sensing his agitation, made the candle disappear, returning it to where it originally was in the cavern.

"So…when someone's time is drawing near…you 'put out' their life?" Graham asked.

Death frowned coldly at Graham, then softened and sighed shallowly.

"So many mortals say that I take their lives from them, blaming me for the misfortunes of their world. But I do not end mortals' lives. When a mortal's life is destined to end, I merely go to that person to make certain that their soul completely leaves their body. I don't deal directly with souls; I just make sure that they do not stay in the mortal realm to become what you call ghosts."

Graham nodded silently, trying to comprehend what Death was telling him about the inner workings of the afterlife.

"But enough about my duties," Death said. "What did you say that other mortal's name was, King Graham?"

"Prince Edgar of Etheria," Graham said. "He was born in the realm of Eldritch but now resides in Daventry."

"Ah, yes," Death growled. He held out his palm and another candle appeared in it, this one much taller than Graham's.

"Is that Edgar's life?" Graham asked hesitantly.

"It is."

"But there doesn't seem to be anything wrong with it," Graham said.

"That's because there isn't anything wrong with it," Death said. "This Edgar is quite an unusual case, King Graham. Like you, I also visited him when his life had almost gone out. His soul had even left him, but it was still clinging to the mortal world, though it might have briefly been in the Realm of the Dead. Then suddenly he was alive, but his life had been jolted from his body…by this life."

Death held out his other hand, and in it appeared a tiny, flickering stub of a candle.

"This is the first time I can recall a mortal walking around in perfect health, yet living on a life that isn't his. This cat's life has apparently displaced Edgar's life."

"Is there any way that his life can be returned to him?" Graham asked.

"I believe there is," Death said after another thoughtful pause. "Yes, I am certain that it can be done."

"Then will you please return Edgar's life to him, Death?"

Death sighed a heavy, ponderous sigh. The two candles in his hands vanished.

"I admit your predicament has interested me, King Graham," he said, "But I do not grant favors such as this at the drop of a hat, as you mortals say."

"What do you mean?" Graham asked worriedly.

"Come back to the central chamber with me," Death said, brushing past Graham and entering the tunnel that led out of the cavernous room. "I'll explain there."


-------------------------

Chapter 12:

"As I said," Death explained once he and Graham were once again seated in the stone chairs, "I do not grant favors for every mortal who calls out my name and begs for me to have mercy on them and their loved ones. I also do not interfere directly with the lives of mortals."

"Is there anything I can do to convince you to help me, then?" Graham asked desperately.

"I believe so," Death said. "I will help you, King Graham, but only if you perform a series of tasks to prove yourself worthy of my assistance. I will send you where you need to go in order to complete each one, but you cannot return home until you have succeeded in all of them."

"What are these tasks?" Graham asked.

"Tell me whether you wish to embark on this mission first," Death said.

Though Graham didn't like the idea of blindly plunging into whatever plans Death had in store for him, he didn't have much of a choice.

"I do," he said firmly.

"Good," Death said, smiling widely, exposing several long, yellowed teeth. "Once you have completed the first task I give you, I will bring you back here and tell you what the next one is. Therefore, you do not need to use that charm any longer."

He pointed to Graham's chest with a long, sinewy finger. Remembering the Mortis charm that he was wearing, Graham gratefully removed the black bone from around his neck and carefully tucked it into his pocket.

"However," Death continued, "I may not be able to bring you back here immediately, because there are many dying people that I must attend to, especially now that I've spent all this time talking with you."

"I'm sorry," Graham said, unaware that his presence had been interfering with Death's duties.

"Don't be," Death said. "It was my decision to speak with you, so the fault rests only with me. Now, for your first task, I will be sending you to a land in the northern part of your realm, where you are to locate a – "

Death stopped in mid-sentence and turned sharply towards one of the doorways. Graham turned as well, just in time to see the smoke obscuring it dissipate. Suddenly, his mind felt clouded and his eyelids became heavy. He felt his body begin to weaken, and though he fought with all his might to remain conscious, his surroundings quickly faded to a blur and a thick darkness swallowed him.


"King Graham?" came a hoarse, low voice. "King Graham?"

Graham slowly opened his eyes to find himself slouched in the stone chair, with Death standing beside him. He didn't feel any different than usual, and he still seemed to have a body, so he couldn't have died…

"What happened?" he gasped, cautiously sitting up.

"Something that was my fault again," Death muttered, shaking his head. "My brother told me he was going to pay me a visit, and I completely forgot. I suppose I should have warned you about him."

"Your brother?" Graham asked confusedly.

"Yes," Death replied. "I'm certain that you know him. He's kept even busier than I am, tending to all you mortals. I'm amazed that he was able to find time to visit me at all."

"But who is your brother, and what does him coming here to do with what just happened to me?" Graham demanded.

Death's wrinkled mouth shaped itself into a tiny, wry smile.

"What happened to you happens to all mortals whenever my brother visits them," he said. "He is the one that you call Sleep."

Graham stared straight ahead, his mind swimming.

"The poor fellow was so ashamed," Death muttered. "He's much too self-conscious for his own good. After apologizing to me about seventeen times, he gave me something to give to you when he departed."

"And what is that?" Graham asked, still feeling slightly disoriented.

Death held out a small, elaborately carved crystal vial filled with a dark blue liquid, corked with a piece of black cloth sewn into the shape of a bung.

"It is a potion which will send any mortal that drinks it into a deep, restful slumber," Death explained. "During which all of the questions and problems that may be preying upon his mind will be answered in his dreams."

"Well…tell your brother that he has my thanks," said Graham, taking the vial from Death. "I'm sure I might find a use for this."

"I'm certain he will be relieved to hear that," Death said. "He's so terribly sensitive. Now, where were we? Ah yes: Your first task, King Graham, will be to find and procure a fresh snowdrop."

"A snowdrop?" Graham repeated, rising to his feet. "But that flower only blooms in early spring. How can I possibly find one in autumn?"

"You will have to find a way to accomplish that yourself," Death said. "I am going to send you to a land north of your own, and there, if you are fortunate, you will be able to find me a snowdrop. Farewell, King Graham."

Graham was suddenly surrounded by mist, so thick that he couldn't see his hand in front of his face. Then the mist was gone, and Graham found himself standing on a low hill, looking down on a wide valley surrounded by tall mountains, which cast long shadows in the light of the setting sun. Several small houses dotted the valley, with a little grouping of them at the base of the hill Graham was on. A tiny road wound its way through the valley, and thick groves of trees sprouted up hither and thither.

Graham had no idea where this valley was, nor did he have a notion as to how he could possibly find a flower that bloomed in late winter when it was mid-fall. Since he knew he wasn't going to become any wiser by standing where he was, he began walking down the hill, heading towards the group of buildings that started to look more and more like a small village as he neared it. Hopefully, he would be able to find someone to advise him there.


-------------------------

Chapter 13:

The sky was completely dark by the time Graham arrived in the village. There were fires burning in many of the small houses, but most of the businesses had closed for the night. Only one business had a lamp burning outside its door, indicating that it was still open. It was a small tavern with a sign that identified it as The Cockerel's Spur. Two large men dozed in chairs under the eves of the tavern, and a warm glow came from the building's windows. Glad of an opportunity to get out of the cold evening air, Graham pushed open the tavern's door and went inside.

The Cockerel's Spur had many tables, but only a few of them were occupied, mostly by men who seemed too busy with their drinks to talk to Graham. However, there was an upset-looking young man seated at one of the tables who didn't look much older than Graham's son.

A large fire was blazing in the tavern's fireplace, and a door that probably led to a small storeroom was set in the wall opposite Graham, with a tall, muscular man standing beside it. Standing behind the tavern's counter was a man with bristly black hair and an even more bristly beard who had to be the barkeep. Behind him were shelves stacked with mugs and bottles, and below them were several kegs lined up against the wall. As Graham approached the counter, the barkeep greeted him boisterously.

"Ah, welcome to my humble establishment, traveler," he crowed. "I assume you are a traveler, judging by your attire and the knapsack you carry – am I correct?"

"Yes, you are," Graham replied. "But I'm afraid that I have lost my way. Can you tell me what land this is, barkeep?"

"You are near the northern border of the kingdom of Monticore," the barkeep said. "I'm afraid this little village is too small to have earned itself a name, however."

Graham vaguely remembered Monticore as a small realm some distance north of Daventry and Serenia.

"Then I believe I am in the right place," he told the barkeep.

"I'm glad of that," the barkeep replied. "What brings you to Monticore, stranger?"

"I know it may sound ridiculous, but I was told that I might find snowdrops flowering here."

"Snowdrops?" the barkeep asked quizzically. "What in the world are those?"

"Small white flowers that only bloom between winter and spring," Graham replied.

The barkeep grunted amusedly.

"Then I doubt you will find any blooming this time of year," he chuckled. "In case you haven't noticed, it's harvest time now."

"I know," Graham muttered. "But I was told that they might be found here, despite that."

"Well, good luck looking for them," the barkeep shrugged. "I certainly don't know how you'd find these snowdrips of yours if they only grow in the snow."

"Thank you," Graham said flatly.


As Graham turned away from the kindly though unhelpful barkeep, he looked at the young man he had noticed upon entering the tavern, and saw that he wasn't merely upset, but downright distraught, as if he had lost everything that mattered to him. Though Graham's own problems were troubling him, he couldn't help but feel sympathy for the lad.

He slowly approached the young man's table and quietly addressed him. The man shakily looked up at Graham. His black hair was tousled, his clothes were unkempt, and there were dark circles under his hazel eyes.

"What do you want?" he said, his voice cracking.

"I want to know what is troubling you, and whether there is anything I can do to help," Graham said.

"What's troubling me is none of your affairs," the man said angrily. "And there's nothing anyone can do to help me, so leave me alone!"

"What makes you so sure of that?" Graham asked.

"I know no one can help me," the stranger trembled. "I just want to be left alone."

"Listen to me," Graham said gently, "I've lived much longer than you, and consequently I've gone through many more hardships and misfortunes than you, and if there's two important things I've learned over the years, it's to never turn down help that is offered to you, and never keep your misery to yourself."

The young man stared coldly at Graham, breathing heavily.

"If I tell you what's troubling me, will you go away and not bother me again?" he snarled.

"I promise," Graham said.

"Very well," the man muttered. "I live in a kingdom east of here, at the edge of a deep forest. My fiancée Jorinda and I were walking together in the forest one evening when suddenly, right before my eyes, Jorinda changed into a nightingale and began to fly away. I tried to run after her, but I couldn't move…if was as if I had been turned to stone. Then a haggard woman appeared, grabbed Jorinda and vanished.

"Soon after that I was set free from the enchantment that bound me, and I learned that that woman was a witch. She lives in a castle deep in the forest and changes any young maiden that comes too close to her home into a bird and takes her prisoner, and if any young man is with the maiden, the witch casts a spell on him that freezes him in his tracks so that he doesn't get in the way.

"They say she has hundreds of birds that once were maidens in her castle, and she loves their songs so much that she continues to collect more and more…and no one has ever even seen the witch's castle, let alone reached it without having a spell cast on them by her…Jorinda…my Jorinda…"

He had started sobbing as he reached the end of his story. Graham was inclined to agree with the fellow's claim that no one could help him find and rescue his beloved, but the king had had experience with witches in the past, and there was almost always a way to defeat them. Unfortunately, Graham had no way of knowing how the young man could deal with this witch. Then he had an idea. He reached into his pocket and withdrew the vial of potion that Death had given him.

"I think I might be able to help you."

"Oh?" the man said cynically, his face buried in his arms.

"This is a powerful potion that will send you into a deep sleep, and the dreams you have during that sleep will answer all the questions you have about how you can find Jorinda and triumph over her captor."

The lad looked up at Graham.

"Are you speaking the truth?" he asked coldly. "Or are you merely trying to play a cruel joke on me?"

"I swear by all the stars in the heavens that I'm not trying to trick you," Graham said. "I'm only trying to help you."

He stared earnestly at the young man, who stared back at him through weary, bloodshot eyes.

"You do seem like an honest fellow," he said softly. "And I must admit that I haven't been able to sleep for days…I suppose I would be a fool to refuse that potion."

He slowly took the vial from Graham and solemnly thanked him.

"If this truly does work," he said, holding the vial up and watching the blue liquid in it shine in the lantern light, "I'll never be able to thank you enough. All that I can give you to thank you right now are these."

He pulled two gold pieces from his pocket and handed them to Graham. As he did, Graham suddenly remembered that he had left the pouch of gold coins he had brought to the sorcerer's house in his room while he was preparing to leave Daventry, and immediately felt just as grateful to the young man as the young man felt towards him.

The man slowly rose from his seat at the table.

"I should be leaving now," he said. "By the way, I suppose it was rude of me not to introduce myself: My name is Joringel."

He extended his hand, which Graham shook.

"My name is Graham," the king said. "And if we ever meet again, I hope circumstances will be better than they currently are for both of us."

Joringel nodded and left the tavern. After a few moments, Graham began to move towards the door as well, but just as he was about to grasp the door's handle, something struck the left side of his face. He turned in the direction that the projectile seemed to have come from, but saw nothing except an empty table in the tavern's corner. He turned back to the door again, but was once more hit with something that seemed no larger than a tiny pebble.

This time, Graham decided to take a closer look at the empty table. As he approached it, he was startled to see a man holding a sling standing on top of the table – a man that didn't seem more than three inches tall.

The boards were acting up for whatever reason, but Kat got the problem fixed. I was worried, too, when I couldn't get in earlier today.

http://sierraplanet.com/boards/viewtopic.php?t=708

Looks like the boards are still ailing a bit, but I'm still grateful that Kat's gotten them back up and running. There are a couple of fairy tales in the following chapters that you might recognize.

-------------------------

Chapter 14:

"Closer," the man said to Graham, in a voice surprisingly loud for his small size. "Closer. Now sit down."

Graham obeyed the tiny man, too dumbfounded at the moment to ask why. It was difficult for the king to make out the details in the man's face, but all that he could tell was that the man was quite muscular, had dark brown hair, wore a quiver of arrows on his back and a sword at his side, which appeared to be nothing more than a needle.

"The reason I called you over here is that I am in need of your assistance," the man said curtly, tucking his sling away. "Do you see that big oaf standing near that door?"

He pointed towards the large man beside the door to the right of the tavern's counter. Graham glanced at the man and nodded.

"There are currently several men in the room behind that door," the tiny man said, "And a some of them are discussing a topic which I must listen in on. I need you to carry me into that room, and now."

"But why me?" Graham asked suspiciously. "And what sort of men are in that room?"

"No time for questions," the tiny man said impatiently. "You must take me in there now. I'll answer any questions you have later. Now hold still."

Astounded by the man's audacity, Graham sat frozen as the little individual leapt clambered up his sleeve with startling quickness, climbed up the side of his head and nestled inside the brim of his hat.

"Now listen to me," the tiny man hissed in a much quieter voice, "When you approach the door, the oaf will ask you for a password. It's 'While the watchdog rests, we shall work.' Now hurry – move!"

Graham felt strange that he should feel so compelled to obey the word of a man that he could probably kill with one hand – but this man could move much swifter than Graham, and Graham was certain that the man's weapons, tiny as they were, could still be dangerous.

"Before I go through with this little scheme of yours," Graham whispered, slowly walking towards the door at the back of the tavern, "Might I ask your name?"

"There are many names that people call me by," the tiny man said with a touch of pride, "But the only one I will answer to is Thomas."

"Thomas?" Graham repeated. "Just Thomas?"

"Yes, just Thomas," Thomas repeated crossly. "Now hurry! Remember, it's 'While the watchdog rests, we shall work!' And don't try talking to me again once we're inside the room!"


Graham slowly approached the door. The muscular man guarding it looked at him with a pair of tiny eyes shadowed by bristly eyebrows.

"Password?" the man grunted.

Graham quietly repeated the phrase that Thomas had given him. The man peered skeptically at Graham for a moment, then shrugged and opened the heavy door. Graham nodded his thanks and cautiously stepped through the doorway.

The room behind the door was small and cramped. There were no windows, and the only light in the room came from several lanterns placed upon a number of oak tables. Sitting at these tables were men talking in low voices, most of them with thick beards and hardened looks on their faces, dressed in shabby clothing. Many had knapsacks at their sides. Some sat alone, some sat in pairs or trios, but the largest grouping of men was at the far side of the room, crowded around a table that seemed much too small to accommodate all of them.

Graham felt something tug at a lock of his hair, followed by a small, stern voice from his hat:

"Move slowly and act completely disinterested in everything," Thomas said. "At the same time, move close enough to each group so I can hear what they're saying. I'll tell you what to say if any of them should speak to you. Now go!"

Graham reluctantly obeyed Thomas and casually shuffled over towards the nearest group of men, who were hunched over a table by the door. As he grew closer, he could make out snatches of their conversation.

"They say he'll be riding along the east road," one of the men growled.

"But all the men I've talked to say he'll be on the south road," another man protested. "Should we watch both roads, or have everyone watch one of the two roads, in hopes that it is the right one? We may not get a chance like this again."

"Keep moving," Thomas suddenly whispered.

Graham slowly turned and walked idly towards a pair of men who appeared to be boasting about their latest accomplishments – all of which involved theft.

"Move on to the next group," Thomas urged.

Graham continued moving from one table to the next, hearing more and more unpleasant snatches of conversations from the men that sat around them. This room seemed to be full of morally bereft scoundrels that relied on nothing but robbery to support themselves, and probably wouldn't be below killing in cold blood either.

Finally, Graham reached the largest gathering of men at the far side of the room. When he started to overhear what they were talking about, Thomas excitedly hissed:

"Stop – but don't stay in one place. Wander around the table and occasionally lean against the wall and stare at the floor. Just be sure to stay close enough so that I can hear them. I'll tell you when we can leave."

Graham did what the tiny man asked, idling around the table, pretending not to notice them. As he did this, he listened to the men's conversation and learned that they were planning to ransack a large mansion in a nearby town the following evening. The leader of the mob, a large, muscular man with a scar across his nose, went into exacting detail about where each of the men were to be stationed during the robbery to ensure that none of them were caught, as well as where they were to meet up afterwards.

Graham nervously listened to the robbers' conversation, praying that none of them would notice them. Though he thought he saw one or two of the men glance suspiciously at him, none of them ever spoke to him. After several tense minutes of this eavesdropping game, Thomas told Graham that it was safe to leave, and Graham gratefully left the gloomy room as quickly as he dared.

Once Graham and Thomas were back in the main room of The Cockerel's Spur, Graham made his way to the table nearest to the tavern's door and sat down. Thomas swiftly jumped out of his hat, landed on his shoulder and leapt onto the table.

"Thomas, why in heaven's name did you make me go in there?" Graham demanded. "Those men could have killed me – and you as well!"

"I had a very good reason for wanting to go in there," Thomas said coolly. "I've been in this tavern for several days now, and I've been hearing rumors about a major robbery soon to take place involving a gang of several men. As luck would have it, this tavern appears to be a secret hiding place for a band of thieves, among which are the very thieves planning on robbing a nearby mansion – apparently, they bribe the barkeep to keep him quiet. I've been planning to find out the details of this robbery and reveal them to the people that own the mansion. Then once the robbers have been caught, I will most likely be rewarded with money for my help, and I will send the money to my parents – who, incidentally, are the same size as most other people. All in a day's work for me."

"Why didn't you sneak into the robbers' den yourself instead of using me?" Graham asked. "You could have slipped under the door."

"If you were my size, would you walk into a dimly lit room full of large, uncouth men?" Thomas asked crossly. "I'd prefer to listen in on a conversation without running the risk of getting stepped on, thank you very much. I also didn't want to hitch a ride on a robber who might mistake me for a mouse and crush me."

"So I seemed like the best candidate for helping you?" Graham asked.

"Yes," Thomas said curtly. "Not only that, but you aren't from around here, so those ruffians probably won't be able to find you. And now that you have done all that I required of you, I'm going to go talk to the barkeep, then I'll be on my way. Excuse me."

Without waiting for a reply, Thomas sprang onto Graham's shirt and quickly climbed down until he reached the bench Graham was sitting on. Then he leapt onto the floor, made his way towards the wall and began following it towards the left side of the tavern. Graham glared angrily after the impudent little man. For such a tiny individual, he had an incredibly inflated ego, and he didn't even have the courtesy to thank Graham for risking his life. Fuming, Graham left The Cockerel's Spur and stepped out into the cool evening air.


Once outside the tavern, Graham paused to allow his eyes to become adjusted to the night. Though he had just aided two people, he was no closer to completing Death's task. As he was staring out at the surrounding countryside, something flat and heavy thumped him on the back. He turned to see a tall man with unruly golden hair standing next to him, smiling.

"Hello," the man grinned, patting Graham's back with his large hand. "New to our village, eh? Well, don't worry, you'll get used to it quick. I am Eskel. What is your name?"

"Graham," the king replied cautiously, suspecting that Eskel had had one too many drinks at The Cockerel's Spur.

"Well, Graham, I'm certain you will enjoy your stay here," Eskel said, still grinning.

"I'm afraid I'm not going to be here very long," Graham said.

Eskel's round, jovial face fell.

"Oh," he said sadly. "Why not?"

"I've been sent here on an odd mission," Graham said, "One that seems impossible to complete."

"Oh?" Eskel said again. "What's that?"

Although Graham felt that his time could be better spent doing something other than conversing with a drunk, he reluctantly continued talking.

"I'm supposed to find a flower called a snowdrop that blooms in the winter, even though it's fall at the moment," he muttered. "I don't suppose the seasons are incredibly erratic around this village?"

"Er…no…" Eskel began. Suddenly his eyes lit up.

"Wait a minute," he said in a much more lucid voice. "I just remembered something. Come here."

Eskel stepped out into the dirt street and gestured for Graham to follow, which Graham did. Eskel led the king to the outskirts of the tiny village and pointed towards the vast mountain range that bordered the north end of the valley. One of the mountains seemed separate from the rest, standing alone about half a mile away from the peaks at the end of the valley.

"You see that?" Eskel said, pointing towards the lone mountain. "One day in winter I looked out my window at that peak, and I swear to you that its top was completely green, as if spring had come there. A few hours later, it had turned white with snow again. The next day I sat and watched that mountain, and this time, I saw it turn green with my own two eyes – and I hadn't drunk a thing that day!

"Then the day after that, the top of the mountain turned golden, as if it were autumn up there…then after that, the mountain never changed again. I asked some of the other villagers about it, and some admitted seeing the green and gold on the mountaintop too."

"So you think that mountain is enchanted in some way?" Graham asked.

"I think it has to be," Eskel said. "This happened years ago, but I don't see why it couldn't happen again – but I wouldn't try climbing that peak without knowing more about it."

"Neither would I," Graham agreed. "Who do you think would know about the mountain?"

Eskel scratched the side of his head for a moment.

"I know a farmer named Stefan," he said. "He lives with his wife in a cottage that's closer to that mountain than any other house in this valley. I'd say he's the best person to ask about it."

"Well, thank you, Eskel," Graham said. "I think I will call on this Stefan."

"Very well," Eskel replied, turning and starting to make his way back to the tavern. "Good luck finding your flower, Graham."


-------------------------

Chapter 15:

The journey to Stefan's cottage was shorter than Graham thought it would be. A small path wound its way through the valley, and a nearly full moon made it easy to see. Soon, Graham was nearing the base of the lone mountain, and he could see a small yet beautiful house standing beside it, surrounded by a low wooden fence. Smoke curled from the house's chimney, and a golden glow filled its windows. There was even a small stream nearby, surrounded by tall reeds.

Graham knocked on the cottage's door. A man with dark hair and a short beard answered it.

"Good evening," Graham said. "Are you the farmer Stefan?"

"Yes, I am," the man replied. "But who are you and what do you want of me at this late hour?"

"My name is Graham, and what I am about to ask you may sound peculiar, but is it true that the top of mountain that stands near your cottage once changed to spring and fall during winter?"

Stefan looked confused, then concerned.

"Come inside," he said quietly.

Graham stepped inside the cottage, which was humble, yet just as lovely as it appeared from the outside. Graham followed Stephan into the sitting room, where a woman with straw-colored hair sat in a rocking chair near a blazing hearth, knitting.

"Marushka?" Stefan said gently.

The woman looked up. She had deep blue eyes and small, delicate lips.

"Marushka, this man asked me about the mountain…I felt that you were the one to decide whether we should tell him about it or not."

Marushka laid her knitting down and peered closely at Graham.

"He has a kind face," she finally said in a voice as sweet as honey. "I'm certain it's safe to tell him – and don't waste your breath, Stefan. I'll tell him the story myself."

Stefan nodded and invited Graham to sit down in a nearby chair, taking another one for himself. Marushka turned back to Graham.

"As Stefan already revealed to you, my name is Marushka," she said. "Who, may I ask, are you, stranger?"

"Graham."

"And why do you wish to know about the mountain, Graham?"

"I'm trying to save a man's life," Graham said. "And in order to do it, I must accomplish an odd and almost impossible task: finding a snowdrop in autumn."

Marushka cocked her head to one side.

"That is indeed an odd task," she said. "But you were right to come here, for what is on top of that mountain may indeed be the solution to your problem."

"What is up there?" Graham asked.

"The twelve months of the year," Marushka said in a near-whisper.

Graham stared at Marushka, perplexed by her words.

"I'll try to explain," Marushka said. "Years ago, I lived here with my stepmother and my stepsister, Holena. They both treated me cruelly, and made me do all the work that they despised. One winter day they must have decided that it was time to get rid of me, for they told me to climb up the mountain and pick violets for them, knowing that I would either freeze to death or come back empty-handed. When I reached the top of the mountain, there were twelve men sitting around a fire…and they told me they were the twelve months."

"Twelve men?" Graham asked. He had never before pictured the months of the year as men…but of course, he had never pictured Sleep as an individual either.

"Yes," Marushka said. "I told them of my troubles and they took pity on me – Brother March brought spring to the mountaintop so I could bring violets back to my stepmother and Holena. The next day, they demanded that I go up the mountain and bring them back some wild strawberries, so once again I climbed to the top and told the months why I was there, and Brother June made it summer."

"I take it your mother and sister still weren't satisfied?" Graham asked, somewhat familiar with situations like Marushka's.

"No, they weren't. The next day they sent me up the mountain for fresh apples, and the day after I returned with them, Holena decided to climb up the mountain and find some more of those apples for herself. When she didn't return, my stepmother went out after her…and I haven't heard from either of them since."

"What do you think happened to them?" Graham asked.

"I don't know," Marushka said with a sigh. "Perhaps they met the twelve months, who might have decided to punish them for the way they treated me…or perhaps they merely perished. Whatever happened, I can't say that I miss them. Now that I'm married to Stefan, I've never had a day half as miserable as the days I spent with stepmother and Holena."

Stefan leaned towards Marushka from his seat and gently patted her hand. Graham nodded.

"So do you think the twelve months can help me by changing the season from autumn to winter, when snowdrops bloom?" he asked.

"If you treat them respectfully and your intentions are good, I am certain that they will help you," Marushka said. "But I don't know if you will be able to climb that mountain now."

"Why not?"

"There was a great landslide several days ago, and the bottom of the mountain is covered in boulders and loose stones," Marushka said sadly. "You can't possibly climb it wearing only those boots."

"But I've got to get up that mountain," Graham protested. "There has to be a way."

"There might be indeed," Stefan said. "There's an old shoemaker in the village who sells spiked metal contraptions that can be attached to shoes that help the wearer keep their footing on difficult terrains. He also has a habit of working late at night."

"Where does this shoemaker live?" Graham asked.

"I'm not certain," Stefan admitted. "I've only heard of him; I've never seen his shop. I don't visit the village very often. Try asking the barkeep at the tavern."

"I'll head there right away," Graham said, rising from his seat. "Thank you, Stefan…and thank you too, Marushka."

Marushka smiled an angelic smile.

"Good luck, Graham," she said.


Graham hurried back to the village and made his way to The Cockerel's Spur, which was almost empty except for the barkeep and the man guarding the door to the robbers' den.

"Ah, welcome back," the barkeep said. "I'm afraid that we're going to be closing within the hour, friend, so if you're going to buy any drinks, buy them now."

"Thank you, but I'm afraid I must refuse your offer," Graham said. "Instead, could you please answer a question for me?"

"As long as it isn't about flowers," the barkeep roared, letting out a bellowing laugh at his joke.

"It isn't," Graham said. "It's about the shoemaker. Where is his shop?"

"His shop?" the barkeep repeated. "It's on this side of the road, four houses down. If you're lucky, he may still be up. Poor fellow…it's no wonder he always such a grouch in the morning, working at all hours of the night."

"Thank you," Graham said. "That's all I wanted to know. Good evening."

As Graham was moving towards the door, something close to the floor in the corner of the tavern caught his eye. It looked like a mouse caught in a large spider's web. Upon closer examination, the spider web turned out to be just that, but the mouse was not a mouse at all, but Thomas. He had become ensnared in the web and was trying frantically to cut himself free, and for a very good reason: moving quickly towards him was a large, black spider. Though Graham knew little about spiders, he knew a venomous spider when he saw one, and this spider was not a harmless one.

Graham thought quickly. He couldn't pull Thomas from the web since the spider was too close to it, and trying to shoo a venomous spider away was a ludicrous idea. Graham looked quickly around him and spotted an empty wooden mug sitting on a nearby table. Grabbing the mug and dropping to his knees, he moved as close to the spider as he dared, then brought the bottom of the mug down on the spider, crushing it. Thomas sighed with relief.

"Can I help you out of that?" Graham asked, replacing the mug.

"I'm perfectly capable of freeing myself, thank you," Thomas snapped, starting to slice through the remainder of the sticky strands that were binding him. "I'm sure I could have taken care of that eight-legged fiend myself as well."

He pointed disgustedly at the spider's smashed body with his sword.

"Now, if you would please leave me be now, I would appreciate it."

Graham glared at Thomas in disbelief, then rose to his feet and turned away from him. The king had just saved the man's life, and the impudent little thing didn't even have the courtesy to thank him. Graham hoped that he would never see the arrogant thumb-sized man again.

He made his way towards the door, but paused as he noticed that the door to the robbers' den was slightly ajar, and the guard was talking to someone on the inside. Not wanting or caring to know what the conversation was about, Graham left The Cockerel's Spur.


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Chapter 16:

The shoemaker's shop did indeed prove easy to find, and Graham's luck seemed to be holding strong, for there was a lantern flickering in one of the shop's windows. Graham rapped gently on the door, and a weary voice from inside muttered, "Who is it?"

"A stranger to this town," Graham replied, "But there is something I need to buy from you that can't wait until morning. I saw the light in your window, and – "

"All right, you can come in," the voice droned. "But please don't let in any more cold air."

Graham entered the shoemaker's shop, which looked just as he had expected it to look. It was small, dimly lit and sparsely furnished, with shelves lining the walls displaying many pairs of shoes and boots, while a long table near the rear of the shop had several unfinished pairs resting on it. Hunched over this table was an elderly man with long white hair, carefully shaping a piece of leather around a wooden mold. He barely glanced at Graham as he entered.

"So what is it you want?" he grumbled, not looking up from his work.

"A pair of spiked metal devices that can be fitted on shoes," Graham said.

"Oh?" the shoemaker muttered, still not looking up from his work. "Why do you need them?"

"I need to climb the mountain at the north end of the valley."

This got the shoemaker's attention. He stared piercingly into Graham's eyes.

"Now why in the world would someone like you want to go tramping around – "

He paused and stared quizzically at Graham.

"Odd," he remarked. "You dress like a commoner, yet the way you stand and the way you speak…you're not royalty by any chance, are you?"

"Well," said Graham quietly, "Now that you mention it, yes, I am."

"My word," the shoemaker breathed. "Fancy that. A king, I presume?"

"Yes."

The shoemaker shook his head in disbelief.

"You know," he finally said, "Though I may not look like it, I was a king once too."

"You were?" Graham asked in surprise.

"Oh yes," the shoemaker said dreamily, rubbing his temple. "I was once the ruler of all Monticore…and a good ruler too, from what I was told by my servants. But after only a few years as king…things started to go a bit wrong."

"Oh?"

"Indeed. When my oldest son came of age, he decided to seek out and destroy a witch that was causing trouble in a nearby village. When he didn't return, my middle son set out after him. They both returned many days later, but it turns out that the witch had cast a spell on my oldest son to make him fall in love with her, and when my middle son killed her, it broke my oldest son's heart. To this day, he still mourns her death. As for my middle son, he is still haunted by the witch's ghost. He has tried to find a way to be rid of her, but to no avail."

"I'm terribly sorry to hear of your misfortunes," Graham said sincerely, "But if you could – "

"Then sometime later," the shoemaker continued in a monotonous voice, "The witch's brother found out what had happened to her and came to my castle, where he changed my youngest son into a deer. Shortly after that, a minor war broke out, and a peasant approached me and informed me that he was the true king of Monticore. News of this 'true king' spread quickly, and since the people of my kingdom were eager to have one of their own in power, my family and I were forced out of the castle."

"Er…was the sorcerer responsible for this as well?" Graham ventured.

"No," the shoemaker sighed. "Apparently a conspiring nursemaid had switched me with that peasant when we were infants, and the true king had just been waiting for the ideal time to take the throne. After we were thrown out of the castle, my two older sons moved to different parts of the kingdom, while my wife and my youngest son came with me to this village, where I became employed as a shoemaker's apprentice. I became good enough at the craft to take over his shop when he died, and my wife and I had another child, a lovely girl. The people here have grown used to my youngest son, so he doesn't seem in danger of being shot by a hunter, though I still try to keep him indoors most of the time."

"Well, it sounds like you finally found a happy ending after all." Graham said encouragingly.

"Of course, a few years ago, my wife grew tired of being married to a old shoemaker and left me in search of a younger man who made more money than I. As for my daughter, she's gotten it into her head that she wants to be a carpenter when she grows up, of all things."

"Well, there's nothing too unusual about that if she's still a child," Graham said.

"Perhaps not," the shoemaker agreed, "But I can't help but wonder whether the sorcerer is still taking out his revenge on us. I suppose I should be saddened by all of this, but to be honest, after so many misfortunes I feel that I've grown quite numb to my sorrow. At least all of my family is alive…and I do occasionally get letters from my two older sons, and my daughter helps take good care of my youngest boy, especially when his antlers start re-growing in the spring…"

"Er, sir?" Graham interrupted cautiously. "Could I please get what I came here for?"

The shoemaker blinked.

"What you came here for? What was that?"

"The metal things that I need to climb the mountain at the north – "

"Oh, those," the shoemaker muttered, getting up off his stool and shuffling towards a door at the back of the shop. "I'll get them for you. It may take a minute, though."


Graham stood beside the table full of unfinished shoes, dumbfounded by the shoemaker's almost ludicrously sad account of his life. It certainly made the misfortunes of Graham's own family pale by comparison. Though Graham pitied the former king and wished that he could help him, he had no idea where to start, even if he had the time to help him and his family.

As Graham waited for the shoemaker to return, he heard the door behind him creak open. He turned around and felt a cold chill rush through him, for standing in the doorway was a large man with a scar across his nose. It was the leader of the mob that Graham had eavesdropped on…and he didn't look very happy.

Finally, a new page!

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Chapter 17:

"Well, well," the mob leader growled. "So you didn't leave the village after all, did you?"

"I don't know what you're talking about," Graham bluffed. "Who are you?"

"You know perfectly well who I am," the man said with a snarl. "And as for you, you were the one that somehow got into our den earlier tonight…I should have known you weren't one of us. How the blazes did you get the password, you whelp?"

"I truly don't know what you're talking about," Graham said as calmly as he was able, searching the room for some sort of weapon. "You must be mistaking me for someone else."

"Oh, no I'm not," the man replied, stepping closer to Graham and taking a long, pointed dagger from his belt. "Nobody in this village looks like you, and I have a good idea where you've come from and why you're here."

"Oh, do you?" Graham asked.

"Yes," the man hissed. "I think you're a man sent by the king to spy on us and then expose us. Your disguise might have fooled the barkeep, but it didn't fool us. I'm afraid you're never going to see your king again, you poor fool…"

He suddenly flinched, looked confused and scratched at the side of his neck with the hand that wasn't holding the dagger.

"And if you should be stupid enough to try yelling for that miserable old shoemaker," the man continued. "I will kill both you and him."

"Well, why aren't you killing me now?" Graham asked, contemplating ducking under the table or throwing one of the wood molds at the mob leader. "Don't you have a robbery to plan with the rest of your men?"

"That can wait," the man said with a hideous grin. "I want to make this murder a special one. It's not every day that we get a visit from a man from the court of dear old Castle Monticore. I want this to be a memorable experience."

He suddenly swayed slightly on his feet and shook his head.

"First," he said unsteadily. "I'm going to…I'm going to cut out…your…"

He pitched forwards and tumbled to the floor, where he lay perfectly still. Graham at first thought that it was a trick to put him off his guard, but when he slowly walked to a nearby shelf, pulled a shoe off the shelf and threw it at the man's head, the mob leader didn't even flinch.

Graham was perplexed by this odd but fortunate turn of events until he heard a tiny voice coming from a shelf near the door. He approached the shelf, and there, standing between two black leather boots with a bow and arrow in his hands was Thomas, looking winded but triumphant.

"Spider venom," Thomas panted. "My arrows become pretty nasty if I put a little spider venom on their tips…and I was lucky enough to have a spider willing to part with it close at hand."

"Thomas," Graham whispered. "Why in the world did you do that?"

Thomas hesitated a moment before replying.

"If there's one thing my parents told me when I was a boy," he said solemnly, "It's to always repay good deeds. I never really thought much of that phrase for most of my life, since I usually relied on my own luck and skills to get by…but I don't think I've ever been on the receiving end of a deed as noble as the two you've done for me tonight."

Graham nodded silently.

"I think I came to this realization shortly after you saved me from that spider," Thomas continued. "As I was dipping my arrows, I noticed the leader of the robbers and the oaf at the door talking, so I ran over to them, and sure enough, they were talking about you. I realized that you were probably going to run into some trouble, so I hopped onto the leader's boot, and he took me to the shoemaker's shop. He must have waited outside because he didn't want to kill you with the shoemaker present. When he finally went inside and I saw you, I hopped off his boot, made my way up here…"

Here he pointed to an arrow with a length of thread tied to it protruding from the side of the shelf, which he had undoubtedly used to reach the shelf.

"…and took care of him."

"Is he dead?" Graham asked.

"No," Thomas said. "This much venom should put a man or a large animal to sleep for several hours, but it won't kill them."

"Well…" Graham said, "You have my thanks, Thomas."

"And you have mine," Thomas said with a nod. "I'd better be going now, but before I leave, I want to give you something."

He reached into his quiver and removed one of the arrows, which seemed no bigger than a sliver of wood.

"Be careful you don't prick yourself with it," Thomas warned. It may look small to you, but there's enough poison on it to knock you out for the rest of the night."

Graham started to reach for the arrow, then wondered how he was going to carry it without breaking it. Then he glanced over at the shoemaker's table, which had several scraps of leather on it. He picked up the smallest, thinnest piece he could find, then took the arrow from Thomas and rolled it up in the leather, which he tied closed with a small piece of thread.

"You are certainly a resourceful fellow," Thomas said approvingly. "I doubt we'll ever see each other again, but I'm glad I had the pleasure of meeting you just this once."

"Well, thank you again, Thomas," Graham said, carefully stowing the wrapped arrow in one of his pockets.

Thomas smiled and nodded, then descended the long thread hanging from the shelf, walked across the floor and walked through the shoemaker's door, pausing to make the daunting three-inch jump from the threshold to the ground outside.


The shoemaker came back into the room a few minutes after Graham had dragged the mob leader's body outside, shut the door and put the thrown shoe back in its proper place.

"I thought I heard some noise out here," the shoemaker muttered. "What was going on?"

"Nothing you need to concern yourself with at the moment," Graham said.

"Very well," the shoemaker said. He held up two roughly shoe-shaped metal frames with several thick spikes protruding from their bases.

"These are what you asked for," he said. "I call them grips. I designed them myself, but the local smith helped make them, so I can't really take full credit for them. My daughter wants to use them to climb some of the mountains nearby…I told you about my daughter, didn't I?"

"Yes," Graham said quickly. "And I simply tie these 'grips' to my boots?"

"Exactly," the shoemaker said, indicating some straps attached to the devices. "Now, if you would please take these grips and leave, I would much appreciate it. I have a lot of work left to do."

"Thank you," Graham said, taking the grips from the shoemaker. "How much money do these things cost?"

"Oh yes, I almost forgot: one gold coin per grip, so two gold coins."

Graham handed the two coins that Joringel had given him to the shoemaker, who nodded and pointed towards the door.

"Thank you again, sir," Graham said over his shoulder as he was leaving. "Oh, and incidentally, I've seen a fairly ill-tempered man lurking around here, so you might want to lock the shop's door after I leave."

"Very well, I will," the shoemaker mumbled. "Just don't let in any more cold air when you leave."

There was a sudden sound from the shop's back room. Graham glanced at the door to the back room just in time to see a small stag with a modest pair of antlers poke its head through it and stare at the shoemaker.

"I told you that noise was nothing to worry about, Bernard," the shoemaker said dully. "Try to go back to sleep."


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Chapter 18:

Graham left the village and began walking along the road that led to Stefan and Marushka's house. Instead of heading toward their house this time, he left the path and made his way through the thick trees that stood between him and the lone mountain where the twelve months of the year dwelt.

When he reached the foot of the mountain, he found it covered by rocks and boulders piled up so steeply that there didn't seem to be any way he could climb them, even with the help of the shoemaker's grips. He slowly circled the mountain, searching for a gap in the obstructing heaps. He finally found a section of boulders that seemed safe enough to climb, but digging at the base of a shrub directly in front of it was a large wild boar. Fortunately for Graham, the boar didn't notice him, but it was clear that the king wouldn't be able to climb the boulders with that animal in the way, and he didn't know how long the boar would be busy digging up the shrub.

Though the miniscule poisoned arrow Thomas had given Graham seemed like the quickest way to deal with the boar, the king had no way of shooting the boar with the arrow from a safe distance. He retraced his steps, hoping an idea would come to him. He soon reached the stream that flowed by Marushka's house and noticed the thin, hollow reeds growing along its banks. As soon as Graham saw them, he knew he had found the answer to his problem.

He broke off a short section of one of the reeds and hurried back to where he had seen the boar. Slowly and silently, he drew as close as he could to the animal. Dropping to his knees, he removed Thomas' arrow from the leather it was wrapped in and carefully inserted it into the end of the reed, which the arrow fit perfectly. Then, making certain that the arrow's tip was pointing away from him, he aimed the reed at the boar's flank, inhaled deeply, put the near end of the reed to his lips and blew into it as hard as he could.

The boar twitched and snorted loudly, and Graham remained still, hoping that the beast wouldn't notice him. After glancing left and right, the boar returned to his rooting. Graham wasn't sure whether the arrow had penetrated the animal's hide at first, but within a minute, the boar's movements began to grow slow and lethargic. It swayed slightly for a few moments and then collapsed.

Relieved that his plan had worked, Graham approached the heap of boulders, took the shoemaker's grips out of his knapsack and tied them onto his boots. He tried taking a few practice steps, and found that the grips fit snugly and securely. He then cautiously began to make his way up the massive pile of stones. The grips more than lived up to their name; biting into the rock wherever Graham set his foot down, ensuring that he wouldn't slip. As he became used to the grips, his confidence and pace quickly grew, and though it was fairly dark, the moon provided plenty of light to see the boulders by.

After climbing for roughly a quarter of an hour, the rocks began to grow smaller and less numerous, and soon, Graham wasn't stepping from rock to rock at all, but walking on the ground. Since this meant that the grips were of no further use now, he removed them and tucked them away, then continued walking.

There were many trees growing on the sides of the mountain, which fortunately weren't nearly as steep as they had appeared from below. Climbing the mountain wasn't as difficult as Graham had feared it would be, for he would often encounter small paths winding their way up the slope, like the ones left by animals. Perhaps these were the paths that Marushka had taken.

As Graham climbed higher, he could see more and more of the kingdom of Monticore spread out below him. There were many more mountains in this realm than there were in Daventry, and Graham was certain that it was colder in the winter as well.

After almost an hour, the fatigue of climbing combined with Graham's lack of sleep began to slow him down. However, his determination to get to the top of the mountain was strong, and he pushed himself forward, refusing to stop when he was so close to completing Death's task.


When he finally reached the peak of the mountain, he found himself standing at the edge of a grassy field surrounded by trees and shrubs of numerous shapes and sizes. In the center of the field was a brightly glowing fire surrounded by several robed figures, and as Graham drew closer, he could see that there were twelve of them.

Before he could get close enough to the fire to be heard by the twelve individuals, however, something came brazenly flapping out of the night. Graham thought it was a small owl at first, but by the light of the fire, he could see that the creature had four legs, a long, tufted tail, and an eagle's head.

"Scrimshaw?" Graham exclaimed.

The correctly identified pygmy griffin squawked eagerly and landed awkwardly on Graham's shoulder.

"What in the world are you doing here?" Graham asked. Edgar's pet was rarely far from his master's side for very long, which made his presence in the far-off kingdom of Monticore very peculiar.

The griffin took off from Graham's shoulder and flapped in place in front of him, frantically shaking its right foreleg. There was a small pouch tied to it, and it appeared to have something inside it.

Graham cautiously extended his arm for Scrimshaw to perch on, but fortunately, the little beast didn't grip it hard enough to puncture Graham's skin. The king reached into the small pouch and withdrew a folded piece of paper. Upon unfolding the paper, he discovered that it was a letter – written in Rosella's hand. There was just enough light from the nearby fire to read it:



Graham smiled, even though his heart ached. Edgar's promise to do whatever he could to aid Graham hadn't been an idle one. Despite his unusual ailment, he had devised a way that would ensure that Graham wouldn't be completely separated from his family during his journey. The boy certainly had a good head on his shoulders, but his time was still running short.

Graham reread the last paragraph of the letter and wondered what he could send back to Daventry with Scrimshaw. If there were any flowers growing on the mountaintop, he would have sent one of them back with the little griffin, but the only nearby plants that weren't completely brown were several delicate ferns growing at the bases of the trees. Graham picked the greenest sprig he could find and tucked it securely into Scrimshaw's pouch.

"Fly carefully, little friend," he told the griffin. "May your journey home be as successful as your journey here."

Scrimshaw bobbed his head and took off, sailing just over the tops of the trees and soon becoming lost in the dark veil of the night sky. Graham stared after him for a moment, tucked Rosella's letter carefully away, then turned and slowly approached the fire in the center of the meadow.


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Chapter 19:

The robed men facing Graham looked up at him as he drew near to them, and the men who had their backs to him turned to see what had caught their fellows' attention. The men were of varying ages; some were scarcely more than boys, some seemed to be Graham's age, and some were downright ancient. A middle-aged man sat on a stone that was slightly higher than the rest, holding a gnarled wooden staff in his hand.

"Good evening, sirs," Graham said. "If it's not too much trouble, may I please speak with you?"

"You may, traveler," said the most ancient of the men, whose hair and long, flowing beard were as white as snow. His voice seemed to make the air even colder than it already was. "Come closer so that we might get a better look at you."

Graham slowly drew closer to the fire, gratefully warming his numb fingers.

"Judging by your question, you must have deliberately sought us out," the oldest man said. "I presume that you know who we are, traveler?"

"You are the twelve months of the year, aren't you?"

"Indeed we are," the oldest man replied. "I am January, and I'm certain you know the names of my Brothers. The one who currently occupies the high seat is Brother October. Why have you come to us, son of Man?"

"I seek your help," Graham said, bowing his head. "My son-in-law is dying, and the only way he can be saved is if I carry out a series of tasks for Death. This first task he has given me is to bring him a snowdrop, even though it is autumn at the moment. A woman named Marushka told me about you, and I came here hoping that you could see it in your hearts to…"

"Say no more," January said. "You have come to us not out of greed but for the sake of another, and we will always help a person with a heart as compassionate as yours."

January turned to October.

"Do you agree to temporarily relinquish your position, Brother?"

"I do," Brother October nodded.

January then turned to the month sitting on his left, an elderly man with gray hair tinged with white.

"Brother February," January said, "Take the high seat."

February approached the place where October was sitting, and October handed him the staff he was holding. February stood before the high seat and waved the staff over the fire. Instantly, the night grew freezing and blustery, and Graham wrapped his cloak tightly around himself. The dead leaves blew off the trees, clouds filled the night sky and snow began to fall and blanket the ground, rapidly swallowing up the dead ferns and grasses. Within moments, Graham was standing in snow that covered the tops of his boots. Though the mountaintop was mostly white now, there were several uncovered patches where the brown soil could be seen, and in several of these patches grew a number of petite, down-turned white flowers on slender green stalks.

"I may be the briefest of the months," February said, smiling proudly, "But I am the one that calls forth the first flowers of spring."

"Thank you," Graham said, gently plucking one of the flowers from the earth. "Thank you all. I don't know how I could have accomplished this with without you."

"It was our pleasure," said January. "We are rarely visited by men and women with problems such as yours, and it brings us great satisfaction to aid those worthy of our assistance."

Graham thanked the months again, warmed his hands before the fire a final time, then left the twelve men, trudging back across the now snow-covered field. He wondered how long it would take for Death to bring him back to his domain now that he had completed the task, and more importantly, how much longer it was going to remain February atop the mountain.

Graham paused and looked out over the Monticore countryside, where it was still October. He smiled and imagined that Eskel was watching the peak right now and wondering why it was changing again after all this time, although he was probably in bed by this time. The night seemed to be nearly half over, and naturally, Graham had grown quite tired, but it was too cold and too dangerous to doze off on top of a mountain. He braced himself against the side of a tree and fought to stay awake. Finally, a vaguely familiar mist began to obscure Graham's vision, and when it cleared, he was standing in Death's central chamber, leaning against one of its walls.

"I hope I was not too late in returning you here," said Death, who was standing next to Graham.

"You weren't," Graham replied wearily.

"May I have what I sent you for?" Death asked, holding out a bony hand.

Graham handed the snowdrop to Death, who held it delicately, running a finger around its various contours and touching its delicate white petals.

"I've always found these flowers oddly fascinating," he said gently. "It is so strange, the way they choose to live while the rest of their world is dead, smothered by snow, deprived of warmth and light. While all other plants lie withered and dormant, snowdrops stand tall and proud, defying the winter that has slaughtered and staunched all other life."

Death carefully closed his hands around the fragile bloom, and when he opened them, the snowdrop was gone.

"You have done excellently, King Graham," he said. "You may rest now, and when you awaken, I will describe your second task to you."

He motioned towards a stone slab that had appeared in the center of the chamber, replacing the two chairs that had been there earlier. A thick gray sheet covered the slab, the only thing that made it resemble a bed. Nevertheless, Graham was too exhausted to care, and he gratefully removed his hat, cloak and knapsack and lay down on the slab, too tired to wonder about what the next task was or how many more tasks he would have to complete before Death was satisfied. He was too weary to wonder if Thomas had successfully stopped the robbery or not, if Joringel had learned of a way to rescue his fiancée, if it was still February on top of the months' mountain, or if the family of Monticore's unfortunate former king would ever be at peace. He was even too tired to even think about Valanice, Rosella and Edgar.

Cliffhanger alert! Are we having fun yet?

EDIT: At the rate I'm releasing the chapters, this story should be done three days before Christmas. Whee.

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Chapter 20:

Graham was not certain how long he slept, and when he finally awoke, the sky showing through the open ceiling of Death's cave-like home was the same misty gray it had been when he had first arrived.

"You are awake?" said Death's monotonous voice. Graham turned to see the gaunt figure standing beside the slab, gazing down at him.

"Yes, I am," Graham replied, letting his legs hang off the edge of the slab as he sat and rubbed his eyes. His hat was lying on the floor beside him, and he picked it up as soon as he noticed it.

"I'm afraid I have some unfortunate news for you," Death said.

Graham's heart pounded wildly.

"What is it?" he asked quietly.

"The mortal whom you are trying to help is still alive," Death said, almost as if he had read Graham's thoughts. "And your family and kingdom are in no danger that I know of."

Graham sighed with relief but still remained slightly tense.

"So what's wrong?"

"Time as you mortals perceive it moves differently in my realm," Death said. "Compared to your world, time normally passes very quickly within my domain, which makes it easier for me to keep track of mortals' lives, since your world moves so much more sluggishly. However, when you arrived, I thought it would be a good idea to increase the speed at which time passes here so that my realm moves at the same rate as yours does."

Graham nodded slowly, the idea of adjusting the speed of a world as foreign to him as the concept of a person's life being displaced from his body while the person remained alive. He gripped the sides of his hat worriedly.

"Unfortunately, I fear that I increased its speed too much," Death sighed. "And by the time I had realized what I'd done, it was too late."

"Increased its speed too much?" Graham repeated. "What do you mean, Death?"

Death sighed again and shook his hooded head.

"Since your arrival to my world, thirteen days have passed in your world," he explained. "Two days passed before I sent you on your first task, and another eleven days passed while you slumbered."

Graham gaped at Death, not knowing what to say. It would do good to get angry at Death, and at least Edgar was still alive…but for how much longer?

"I have tried my best to return the flow of time here to its original rate," Death continued, "But I'm afraid you will have to complete your remaining tasks quickly. Even I'm not certain how much longer the one whose life you are trying to restore will last. He is strong, but he is still fading fast."

Graham put his hat and cloak on, shouldered his knapsack and rose to his feet.

"He won't die if I get all your tasks done fast enough," he said determinedly. "What do you want me to do now, Death?"

"Your next mission will be much quicker, but a bit more dangerous," Death said. "Deep in the forests of the northeast region of your world dwells a witch. For many years, she has caused much suffering for those foolish enough to stray to close to her lair. Your task is to find and defeat this witch and bring me back a mirror that she keeps in one of the castle's rooms."

"And how am I to defeat this witch?" Graham asked. "I don't know anything about her, and I have no weapons I could use against her either."

Death smiled almost imperceptibly.

"You will find a way," he said. "You have my word."


The mist swirled around Graham, and when it evaporated, he found himself standing on a narrow path winding its way through a thick, cool forest. The sun was up, and several thick clouds kept it from beating down too harshly. However, there was no sign of a witch's dwelling nearby, nor where there any houses along the path where he could ask where he might look for the witch.

Graham began cautiously walking down the path, occasionally glancing from side to side. He had dealt with witches several times before, and he hoped that the witch that lived in this forest wasn't watching him from nearby, planning to capture, enchant or kill him.

The first witch he had encountered lived in a gingerbread house in Daventry. He had barely escaped from her when she was flying low over the land on her broomstick, and was later able to destroy her by pushing her into her own oven. The dame Hagatha in Kolyma was a gruesome creature that ate human flesh, and Graham considered himself lucky just to survive his adventure in that land without getting caught by her. There was a third witch in a dark forest in Serenia that he had been able to get rid of, but if it weren't for the protective amulet Graham had been wearing when he encountered her, there was no telling what she might have done to him. After all, she had stolen the heart of a young princess and turned her into a willow tree when her fiancée refused to marry the witch. Graham wondered how the witch Death had sent him to find would compare to the previous three, and how on earth he was going to conquer her with hardly anything in his possession.

All at once, a strange, glowing ball of light appeared before him. Graham froze, fearing that it was the witch. The ball hung suspended in midair for a moment, then burst into a brilliant blaze of color and sparkling light. This spectacle faded as quickly as it had come, and standing where the ball of light had been a moment ago was a tall woman with long golden hair. She was wearing a shimmering gown that was mostly violet and royal blue, but there was an iridescent quality to her garments that made them shimmer with all the colors of the rainbow, and she held a silver wand in her hand.

Though Graham had only seen this woman once more than twenty years ago, he recognized her immediately, and he stared at her just as stunned as he had been the first time he had seen her.

"Aren't…aren't you my…"

The woman smiled.

"I am glad that you have not forgotten your fairy godmother, King Graham," she said gently.

"But what are you doing here?" Graham exclaimed. "I haven't seen you since I was a knight!"

"A fairy godmother's mission is to help her godchild succeed in a mission of his own undertaking when no other powers can aid him," the woman said. "Hence, after I helped you on your journey to win the throne, you had no further need of me. Now, however, your situation is dire enough to require my assistance again."

"Oh?" Graham asked.

"Indeed," his fairy godmother replied. She turned and pointed to the north.

"The witch's castle is close, but this path will not lead you to it. You must proceed through the woods this way to reach it."

"Is there any chance of your placing a protective spell on me?" Graham asked, remembering his fairy godmother performing a similar action when he last encountered her.

"Alas, no," the fairy godmother said sadly. "This witch is far more powerful than I, and there is but one way that her charms can be thwarted."

"And what way is that?" Graham asked.

The golden-haired woman smiled enigmatically.

"You shall see," she said. "For now, go the way that I have pointed out to you, and quickly."

Graham began to head in the direction his fairy godmother had indicated, but he had not taken more than a single step before he felt a hand on his shoulder. It was his fairy godmother's, and it felt peculiarly warm and light.

"There is one last thing I must tell you before you leave," she said softly. "The promise you made to the wizard Manannan must be kept. He must be returned to his original form."

"What?" Graham yelled.

"I know it sounds like a bleak prospect to you now, but it must be done."

"But why?" Graham protested.

"I'm afraid I cannot answer that," his fairy godmother said. "But fear not. Though the future may seem to be dark now, it will be bright when it becomes the present. Farewell, King Graham."

With that, her body became enveloped by a bright, blazing light, which became a glowing ball again and vanished. Graham groaned in frustration, then left the path and began walking into the woods. He pulled a piece of bread from his knapsack and gnawed aggressively at it as he stomped through the underbrush. How in the world was he going to change Manannan back? Alexander couldn't do it, and he was the one who was responsible for changing him into a cat in the first place. And how could a future in which Manannan was once again free to live out his wicked life as a wizard be a bright one?


-------------------------

Chapter 21:

As Graham continued stumbling on through the thick woods, he became aware of something approaching him through the trees. He froze and listened, and sure enough, something was drawing closer to him, and by the sound its feet made, it sounded very much like a human.

"Hello?" Graham called out cautiously. "Who's there?"

The approaching footsteps stopped abruptly.

"What?" a male voice called back. "Who spoke? Is that you, foul hag?"

"I'm no foul hag," Graham said.

"Then who are you?"

"A traveler," Graham replied. "I am on a mission to get rid of the witch that lives in this forest."

The stranger began moving towards Graham again.

"You are?" the voice continued as its owner came closer. "Why, so am I!"

"Oh?" Graham asked.

"Yes," the stranger said. By this time, Graham could make out someone pushing his way through the thick bushes barely thirty feet away from him. It was a young man with dark hair. "I have something which will protect me from her spells, but perhaps if the two of us faced her together, we – "

The young man stopped abruptly and stared at Graham, who stared back in utter bewilderment.

"Joringel?" Graham asked.

"Hey, it's you!" Joringel cried. "The man who gave me that potion…what did you say your name was? Graham?"

"That's it."

Joringel crowed with laughter.

"I don't believe it! I never thought I'd see you again!"

"Neither did I," Graham chuckled. Joringel was barely recognizable as the sullen, haggard, gloomy man that Graham had met in The Cockerel's Spur. The dark circles had vanished completely from beneath his eyes, and there was a lively look on his face that made Graham think back to his own days as a young (and slightly foolish) adventurer.

"Graham, if I'd known how much that potion of yours was going to help me, I'd have given you a hundred pieces of gold," Joringel said.

"So it worked?"

"Worked?" Joringel cried. "Not only did I sleep better than I've ever slept in my life, but I had a dream about not only where I could find the castle of the witch who changed my Jorinda into a bird, but where I could find this!"

He held up a large, blood red flower with five large, pointed petals. In the center of the flower was a large, glistening pearl.

"My dream told me that anything I touch this flower will be released from the curse of the witch, and it will protect me from her magic as long as I possess it. I searched days for it and finally found it, and the witch's castle is only a short distance away, through these trees. I had no idea that you were seeking this witch too, Graham, but perhaps that's just as well."

"What do you mean?"

"We'll stand a much better chance together," Joringel explained. "Especially if the witch has any accomplices. This flower may protect me from her magic, but if one of them were to take the flower away from me…"

"I see what you mean," Graham nodded. "And that flower of yours looks like the only way the witch can be defeated, so I suppose I had better come with you."

"Oh, thank you, Graham," Joringel said eagerly. "The witch's castle is this way. Come with me and keep close."

Graham followed the young man through the forest for several minutes. Gradually, the trees began to thin, and soon, Graham could make out a large shape looming in the distance. Finally, when there were no more trees between them and the shape, Graham could see that it was the castle.


It was small and almost completely covered by ivy, making it blend in with the surrounding trees. The windows peered out of the ivy like eyes spying on them, and the only part of the castle not covered by ivy was the pair of double doors leading into it. Joringel cautiously approached the door, with Graham close behind him.

"Do you think she knows we're here?" the king asked.

"I don't know," Joringel said. "But even if she does know, she can't hurt us. Not as long as I have this flower."

"Wait a moment," Graham said. "How do you know that flower will protect me as well as you? Does it protect anyone who is near it or just the person who holds it?"

"Eh…" Joringel muttered sheepishly, his face and ears turning pink. "I don't know that either. But don't worry, Graham. If she should freeze you where you stand, I can easily undo it."

"I hope so," Graham said as they slowly approached the castle through the thick brush that surrounded it. "But how will we know where to go once we're inside the castle? If we start blindly searching every single room, we might run into that witch."

"I was thinking about that too," Joringel said. "I think the best thing to do would be – "

He fell silent and halted in his tracks. Graham stopped too. He didn't have to ask Joringel why he had stopped, for now that they were close to the castle, the air was filled with the slightly muffled sound of hundreds of birds all singing at once. They had to be the enchanted maidens that the witch held prisoner.

"That's our answer," Joringel said. "Once we've gotten in, we'll simply follow the sound of the birds until we find them."

"And hope we don't find the witch on the way," Graham said.

"Exactly."

When they reached the castle's double doors, Joringel tried pushing them open, but despite his hardest efforts, they didn't even rattle. Graham tried to open them, but was no more successful than Joringel.

"Odd," Joringel said. "They don't feel locked, but they still won't budge…what's going on?"

"Perhaps they're sealed by magic," Graham said. "This is a witch's castle, after all."

Joringel's face lit up.

"Of course!" he said triumphantly. "Why didn't I think of that before?"

He lifted the flower and gently touched the doors with it. Instantly, the doors shuddered and slowly swung open.

"That's certainly an impressive plant," Graham remarked.

"Don't forget," said Joringel, "You were the one who helped me find it."

They cautiously stepped through the doorway and into a gloomy main hall, sparsely decorated with cobwebbed furniture, ratty rugs and faded tapestries. Two doors led off of it and a stone staircase led up to a second floor. The bird songs were somewhat louder now that the two men were inside, but they seemed to be coming from somewhere above them.

"Let's try the staircase," Joringel whispered

"All right," Graham hissed back, "But be careful."

They silently crossed the hall and ascended the stairs, which led them to a much narrower hall. This one had more than three times as many doors and several ivy-obscured windows letting in thin slivers of light. The singing was even louder, but it still seemed to be coming from above Graham and Joringel. The pair made their way down the hallway, which turned sharply to the right and continued until it reached the base of a spiral staircase.

"They have to be up there," Joringel said once they had reached the staircase, pointing heavenward. "They're louder than ever here."

He bounded up the stairs, with Graham trying his best to keep up with him. They were both out of breath when they finally reached the top of the staircase. Before them was an oak door, which was also tightly secured, but when Joringel touched it with his flower, it sprang open.

Behind the door was a room filled with birdcages. They lined the walls, dangled from the ceiling, rested on the floor or stood on pedestals, and every single cage was occupied by a bird. There were birds of every shape and color (though they all appeared to be songbirds) and they were all singing, creating a deafening din in the crowded room. Graham suddenly realized that their songs weren't as cheery as they had first sounded: there was an anguished, plaintive tone to their voices, as if they were trying their best to sing but were still unable to hide their sorrow.

"Looks like we've found them," Graham said over the cacophony, "How will you be able to tell which one of them is Jorinda?"

"I'm not sure," Joringel faltered as he and Graham walked through the room. Judging by the view through the room's wide windows (which, remarkably, were not covered by ivy), they were at the top of a very high tower.

"It looks like I might have to try touching each cage," Joringel continued. "Unless I – "

"Well, well, well," came a shrill voice from behind the two men. "What have we here?"

D'oh! Now I have to wait until next week. LOL

Ack! Cliffhanger... though I like having it spread out over several weeks, gives me something to look forward to

Kinda wish I hadn't read the outline now...

You can blame me for that. I had no intention on writing a complete story based on either of the outlines when I first wrote them. However, I have changed and added quite a few things in the stories since then.