Golden (Fairytales Retold)

The Quest

THE QUEST

T he next day, Tabian set out on his quest. There was no fanfare, no crowd of nobles to see him off, no trumpeter to blast the announcement of his departure. The only people who knew that Tabian was going off in search of the golden bird were his father, brothers, and Elda. While Hans was aware that Tabian was leaving on a trip, he didn’t know why. Elba thought it would be wise not to tell Hans the true reason for his journey.

“The poor lad is already so distraught about his father. I don’t want to give him false hope,” Elda had said.

Her words weren’t meant to be cruel. She was merely trying to protect her son. Like Tabian, Elda knew the grim reality of his mission. The chance of him finding the bird, capturing it, and bringing it back was a long shot. Lingering questions gnawed at him: had the maiden transformed into the bird, or had a bird transformed into a maiden? He wasn’t sure which one he was searching for—the golden-feathered creature or the enigmatic woman.

When Alistair heard the news about the golden bird and the part that Tabian would supposedly play in capturing it and thereby ushering the kingdom into a golden era, he scrunched up his face like he’d bitten into something rancid. Then he threw Tabian a look of such utter astonishment that it had Tabian doubting himself even more.

“ If the fate of the kingdom rests in his hands, then we’re in serious trouble ,” he’d said.

Lucien had thrown back his head and howled with laughter. Mirth rippled out of him in peals that shook his shoulders as tears rose in his eyes. Then, as if to soften the blow, he politely suggested that Father could have a tainted memory of the story their mother had related. He pointed out that it had been many years since she passed. Father could’ve misunderstood the meaning of her dream.

To his credit, Father silenced Alistair and Lucien with a curt, “Enough.” With deep emotion totally uncharacteristic of Father, he turned his attention to Tabian. “You have an important mission to fulfill. Your mother believed you could triumph … as do I.”

Tabian had nearly jerked out of his skin at the last part, unable to believe his ears. Father actually believed that he was capable of doing something worthwhile? Never would Tabian have imagined that he would ever hear such words coming out of Father’s mouth.

While Father’s vote of confidence was shocking … and touching to a certain degree, Tabian wasn’t foolish enough to fall for a token sentiment of emotion. The harsh reality was that Father had given him two weeks to return with the bird. Otherwise, Garrin would be executed. It irked Tabian that Father was being so stubborn about the situation. Did he believe that if he didn’t hold the threat of Garrin’s death over Tabian’s head, he would refuse to go on the quest? Or maybe Father wanted to raise the stakes so that Tabian would have a crucial reason for wanting to bring the bird back.

Tabian had no idea how he was supposed to track down the bird, much less haul it back to the castle. He might be able to swing carting a bird back, but a maiden? How could he accomplish such a task? They would surely pass other travelers who would raise eyebrows when they realized that the maiden had been kidnapped. The quest seemed impossible. But Tabian somehow had to do it! Garrin, Elda, and Hans were counting on him. He couldn’t let them down.

He turned his face to the bright sun, appreciating its warmth and how it made his skin tight and tingly. The one thing Tabian had going for him was that he was accustomed to traveling the countryside and fitting in with common folk. He knew the lay of the land in the villages and the countryside like the back of his hand—at least in most parts of the kingdom. He knew how to take care of his basic needs along the way. He’d packed enough to eat for several days, and he had enough money to procure lodging and to buy more food when he used up all of his provisions.

After leaving the castle and the surrounding township, he traveled through the countryside, where the terrain grew wilder, and the dwellings were sparse. Eventually, he found himself alone on a dusty road. His plan was to travel in the direction of the ocean. The maiden mentioned that she enjoyed walking on the beach, so he could only assume she lived in a coastal village. He would go to the nearest village along the seaside and inquire about a cobbler who possessed the skill to craft uncommonly fine shoes.

It was a two-day journey to The Cliffs, which marked the Northern tip of The Kingdom of Verdermere. Tabian had traveled to The Cliffs once before because he wanted to see the spot of shoreline he’d heard so much about—the area his brothers defended in the War of The Cliffs. The Kingdom of Willamen had been the aggressor in the War, claiming that they should take ownership of the shoreline and cliffs since their kingdom sat on the other side of the sea.

Known as The Strait of Veligara, the sea was more than simply a stretch of water separating the two kingdoms. It was a lifeline—vital to both Verdermere and Willamen as its narrow waters were a critical passage for trade where ships carried cargoes of supplies to neighboring lands.

According to his tutor, Tabian had learned at a very early age that The Cliffs were vital to Verdermere for two reasons—the waters provided a steady diet of fish for several villages that carried them through harsh winters. Also, the bays provided shelter for merchants and fishermen fleeing fierce storms.

Possession of The Cliffs equated to power.

Thankfully, Verdermere won the war, and Willamen retreated. However, there were always rumblings of another attack from Willamen.

The land to the north of The Cliffs was largely uninhabited due to the harsh weather conditions, not to mention the dragons that resided in the region. It was highly unlikely that the maiden lived there. Tabian planned to start at The Cliffs and work his way down. He would scour every seaside village in Verdermere and then work his way down to the Kingdom of Millcrest next. There was a chance that the maiden lived across the sea in Willamen. If he couldn’t find her in either Verdermere or Millcrest, he’d have to cross the waters and go to Willamen next. He hoped he wouldn’t have to venture into enemy territory. If anyone were to discover his true identity in Willamen, he would be arrested immediately and used as a political pawn.

A chill ran down his spine. Should he get into trouble, it was doubtful that Father or his brothers would lift a finger to liberate him. He was on his own.

It was just as well. Keeping hold of the reins of the horse with one hand, he touched the stone with his other hand. Even though he’d only been in possession of the necklace for a short period of time, it brought him immense comfort. He felt stronger with it on … more in control and forthright. The stone had helped him withstand the maiden’s powers. He wondered what else the stone could do. Could he use it to compel her to return to the castle with him? If only he knew how it worked. Longing swelled in his chest as he wished his mother were here to guide him in this quest. He had no idea why he was the one who was supposed to capture the golden bird. He was a nobody.

Only stopping to eat, he traveled until nightfall. After finding a place to spend the night, Tabian awoke early the next morning and started out again.

When he reached the village near The Cliffs, he got down from his horse and decided to go on foot, leading the horse by the reins. He approached the first man he saw with a friendly smile. “Good day, Sir. I’m in need of a cobbler. Can you point me in the right direction?”

The man pointed to a cobbled street lined with rows of tightly clustered structures on both sides. “Third shop on the right.”

Tabian nodded his head. “Much obliged.” He went in the direction of the structures. After tying up his horse, he searched the shops until he found a cobbler. The door creaked as he went inside, where the scent of leather and polish invaded his senses. He found a silver-haired man bent over a counter, his rugged hands deftly shaping a sole.

His heart quickened. Could this be the maiden’s father? Pressing on a congenial smile, Tabian approached the counter. “I’m in need of some shoes.”

The man barely glanced up. “I can take your measurements and get something started for you.”

“The shoes aren’t for me. They’re for my fiancée. I want something special.” He began describing the shoes the maiden wore, making sure to emphasize the fine quality of the stitching and the graceful points on the toes.

When he was finished, the man frowned. “I’m not equipped to make what you request, but I could do a simple design worn by most of the ladies who come into my shop.”

Disappointment coated Tabian’s throat. “Thank you, but that won’t be necessary. Do you, by chance, know of any other cobbler who could make the shoes I described?”

The man shook his head. “Nay, I don’t.”

Tabian drummed his fingers on the counter. “Alright. Thanks for your help.”

Nodding, the man picked up the shoe and resumed his work.

One cobbler shop down and a countless number to go.

Tabian spent the next three long days traveling southward and repeating the same process. Not having any luck, he traveled down to Millcrest.

Two days later, he came upon a cobbler who’d heard of another cobbler who could make the elaborate shoes. “He’s in the Village of Cloverfeld. It’s a day’s journey from here.”

Thanking the man for the information, Tabian set off with a renewed step. Nightfall slowed his progress. He was forced to sleep in an open meadow where the wind howled and chilled him to the bone. Despite the fitful night’s sleep and his aching muscles, he started out just after dawn the next morning. As the sun rose higher in the clear blue sky, eagerness quickened his pulse. He worked his brain, trying to figure out the best way to approach the situation. If he walked into the cobbler’s shop and started asking the wrong questions, the maiden could be alerted. She might flee, and he would never catch her.

Or she might even be at the cobbler’s shop. And then she would flee all the same. Or worse. She might put some type of spell or curse on him. A sense of foreboding churned his gut. Whatever lay ahead wouldn’t be easy; he was sure of it.

Dusk was settling in by the time he reached the village. The aroma of roasting meat titillated his senses and caused his stomach to growl. He’d been in such a hurry to reach his destination that he’d not taken time to stop and eat a midday meal. He heard the merry sounds of a lute being played and saw a large gathering of people milling about the center of the village.

After finding a place to tie up his horse, he wandered into the heart of the celebration, making sure to go at a leisurely pace, keeping his expression pleasant. A hint of apple cider tinged the cool, crisp air, which pulsed with excitement as the flames from the torches flickered against the night air. He heard a squeal of laughter as a young lad darted away from a stand, carrying a long twist of bread.

His mouth watered, looking at the array of pastries displayed at one of the booths. Nearby, a woman was using a long, wooden stick to stir a bubbling cauldron of what smelled like a scrumptious stew.

He chuckled to himself, thinking that now was not the time to be fixated on the demands of his hungry stomach.

He scoured the crowd, hoping to spot the maiden. No such luck.

There were numerous stands. Some held jewelry, wooden carvings, leather goods, and woven items. Another displayed pottery and candles. There were several stands of brightly colored pumpkins, apples, pears, and grapes. A booth displaying dolls, wooden swords, and games was of particular interest to the children who were gathered around it.

A group of performers caught his attention. Dressed in colorful clothes, their faces were painted with exaggerated expressions. One was teetering on a pair of stilts, another was juggling, and one was breathing out plumes of fire amidst oohs and awes from the observers crowded around him.

A long table and chairs sat on a platform off to one side. The area was highlighted by torches, and the table was decorated with an elaborate display of ribbons and garlands made of greenery and wildflowers. Evidently, the grand event of the gathering had yet to take place.

His stomach growled again. He decided to assuage his hunger and thirst by enjoying some of the delicious-smelling food and cider.

After his stomach was satisfied, he meandered through the crowd, searching for the maiden. If he didn’t find her tonight, he would go to the cobbler’s shop tomorrow and start asking questions. That was the only thing he knew to do. He was on the eighth day of his journey. He estimated that if he headed straight back to the castle from here, it would take him a good three days to make the journey … and that was assuming he could travel quickly with no impediments along the way.

Time was running out.

Perhaps it would help to strike up a conversation with several folks and casually mention the cobbler. He saw a group of men gathered near a cider stall, their mugs full. Two men sat on a wooden bench. One was on a log, and another lounged on a bale of hay. Tabian strode over and purchased his second mug of cider for the evening before making his way over to the group.

“Greetings,” Tabian began with a friendly smile. “Mind if I join you?”

A man motioned to an unoccupied bale of hay. “Suit yourself.” He lifted his mug in a salute.

Tabian sat down as the men eyed him with curiosity.

“Where you from?” a man asked before taking a long swig of his cider.

“Verdermere,” Tabian answered, figuring it was best to stick as close to the truth as possible.

“You’re a long way from home,” the stout man reclining on the bale of hay remarked.

“Aye.”

“What brings you to these parts?” another man asked.

“I’m looking for a cobbler to make some shoes for my fiancée. I want something unique and heard that there’s a skilled cobbler in Cloverfeld.” He let his gaze drift casually around the group.

“Aye,” a bald man with a thin mustache said. “We have the best cobbler for miles around.” He raised a hand and looked past them. “Bartholomew,” he called, “your service is requested.”

Tabian’s heart skipped a beat. He turned to see a broad-shouldered man with a full head of snow-white hair standing near one of the booths.

“Bartholomew,” the man said again, even louder, flagging his hand. “Over here.”

Offering a nod of acknowledgement, the white-haired man said something in parting to the man tending the booth. Then he sidled over to the group, his expression open but scrutinizing.

Tabian took a quick assessment of the older man. His face was rounder than angular, but he wasn’t heavy set. His spindly eyebrows were dark instead of white like his hair. A network of wrinkles framed his eyes and mouth. He had large, calloused hands—the kind one would expect from a seasoned cobbler. Even though he was dressed in a simple brown tunic, there was a sense of refinement about him, a quiet dignity. His expression was kind as he peered out from behind spectacles. Tabian wondered if the cobbler knew that his daughter was a thief. Err … maybe he should make sure the man in question had a daughter. Then Tabian would know that he was on the right track. He couldn’t afford to waste any time scouting out the wrong cobbler.

The man with the mustache motioned at Tabian. “This man wants to order a pair of shoes.”

“For my fiancée,” Tabian explained, keeping his expression benign.

“Your reputation has spread far and wide,” another man grinned. “This lad traveled all the way from Verdermere.”

Bartholomew looked impressed. “That’s a good three-day journey from here.”

“Aye,” Tabian nodded. “I heard you were the best … and that’s what I want for my fiancée.”

“I’m honored. Come by my shop tomorrow, and I’ll take your order.” Bartholomew inclined his head in a cordial nod before looking around at the men. “Good to see all of you on this fine evening.”

The men gave murmurs of agreement.

When Bartholomew turned to leave, a twinge of panic went through Tabian. He had yet to learn if the man had a daughter. “It was your daughter who told me about the fine quality of your work.”

Surprise flicked over Bartholomew’s face, and then his expression grew wary. “How did you meet my daughter?”

Sensing the change in Bartholomew, the demeanor of the men immediately shifted from only a mild interest in the conversation to a peaked curiosity.

Feeling all eyes on him, Tabian sought to come up with a satisfactory explanation that would appease not only Bartholomew but also the other men who seemed protective of their fellow countrymen. “The last time I was traveling in these parts, we happened to meet on one of the roads. I noticed your daughter’s shoes and remarked that my fiancée would love a pair. That’s when she told me about you.”

The explanation seemed to suffice Bartholomew. What looked to be relief crossed his features. Perhaps Bartholomew did know about his daughter’s escapades. Was Tabian the first to ever come and seek her out? It was doubtful that the golden apples were her only thefts. She’d probably enchanted scores of men with her rare, ethereal beauty.

“Katerina travels to the neighboring village to get supplies for my shop,” Bartholomew explained. “She was probably either coming or going from the village of Craigspire when you met.”

Katerina . Tabian committed the name to memory. It fit her. Realizing that Bartholomew was waiting for a response, he roused his tongue into action. “Perhaps. She didn’t mention the name of a village, and I didn’t ask.” He kept his response vague in case Bartholomew was testing him or laying a trap. He shrugged his shoulder in a casual manner. “We met in passing and spoke for only a few moments.” He gave Bartholomew an admiring smile. “But it was long enough for me to remember those fine shoes.”

“It would be my pleasure to make you a pair for your fiancée,” Bartholomew said.

His warm smile was a good sign that he didn’t suspect Tabian of having any motive other than what he claimed. A heady relief swelled through Tabian as he fought to keep his expression impassive.

Bartholomew glanced toward the platform. “If you’ll excuse me, I need to go and check on Katerina. She’s planning to sing at Lady Ravenshire’s birthday celebration.”

The portly man on the bale of hay smiled broadly. “No need to worry about Katerina. She’ll do great, as always.” He looked at Tabian, a breathy adoration in his tone. “Wait until you hear her sing; she has the voice of an angel.”

And insistent, warm lips as soft as velvet. An unexpected wave of desire went through Tabian as he blinked, grateful that he’d only thought the words and not spoken them aloud. “I look forward to the performance,” he said politely as a sharp thrill ran through him.

She was here.

As Bartholomew turned and ambled away, the other men rose to their feet one by one as Tabian did the same.

He thought of something that Bartholomew had said. “Is this festival a birthday celebration?” On Father’s birthday, a large feast was held, but he was a king, so that was to be expected. A great deal of effort had gone into this festival. The person being honored must be important.

“Aye,” the mustached man answered. “We’re celebrating the birthday of the Lady Ravenshire, also known as the Lady of the Hill.”

“Is she nobility?” Tabian asked.

“Nay,” a man answered. “She was born as common as any of us. ‘Tis her kindness to the village that has catapulted her to a high position of respect.”

“That’s impressive. What has she done?”

“What hasn’t she done?” one of the men chuckled.

The mustached man began ticking off items. “She sponsors several feasts, she commissioned the schoolhouse, she had a new well dug so people wouldn’t have to walk long distances to get their water.”

“She donates sacks of grain during the winter to make sure no one goes hungry,” another man chimed in.

“Don’t forget the communal granary or the repairs on the roads.”

“She hired a midwife for my wife last year,” the stout man said.

A short man with hawklike features smiled broadly. “And those are just the things we know about.”

“She sounds like a saint,” Tabian said.

“She’s the closest thing I’ve ever seen to one.” This came from the tall, thin man who’d been sitting on the log.

Tabian filed in with the other villagers as they gathered around the podium. A woman he assumed to be Lady Ravenshire was seated at the center of the table. She was an attractive middle-aged woman with a flawless complexion, rosy cheeks, ruby lips, and dark, intelligent eyes. Her chestnut hair was done up in an elaborate braid, and she was dressed in a crimson flock, which accentuated her striking features. Several other men and women were seated around her. From their fine dress, Tabian thought them to be council members or other notable figures of the village.

A man with curly dark hair stood and gave a touching tribute to Lady Ravenshire, who wore a cultured smile of appreciation. He listed many of the same contributions that the other men had mentioned. When he was finished, a thunderous applause broke out. Tabian couldn’t help but be impressed with Lady Ravenshire and her watchful care over the people in her village. It just went to show what a person of influence could do if his or her intentions were pure. Father was a king. There was so much good that he could do for Verdermere. And yet, his sorrow over Mother’s death had left him scarred and tainted.

Several more people gave speeches honoring Lady Ravenshire. And then, Katerina stepped from the back and moved up the platform. The sight of her caused Tabian’s breath to catch. Her long blonde hair shimmered down her back like liquid sunlight. She wielded her willowy figure with the same ethereal grace he remembered. Nay, not quite. Her right arm was wrapped in a sling, and there was a slight stiffness about her movements that suggested she was trying to hide the pain caused by her wound.

He was unprepared for the pang of guilt that slithered through him. He’d done that to her. As soon as the thought came, he pushed it away, reminding himself that she was the villain, not him. She was the one who’d enchanted him and so many others so she could steal the apples. She was lucky that he’d only gotten her shoulder with the arrow.

After offering Lady Ravenshire a smile of acknowledgment, she turned to face the crowd. Her sapphire eyes shimmered under the torchlight, which also highlighted the soft curve of her jaw.

She took in a long breath as if to get her bearings and then began to sing. Her voice had a haunting, lyrical quality that held the villagers captive. Her voice was so pure and pristine that it was the substance of dreams.

For a few moments, Tabian was so caught up in the rapture of her performance that he forgot the reason why he’d come.

Then she noticed him.

Her voice faltered, a sharp intake of breath revealing her shock. Fear edged into her large, sapphire eyes before she managed to regain her composure.

Lady Ravenshire noticed the exchange and turned her attention to Tabian. She studied him with a thoughtful expression. Tabian offered her a friendly smile to diffuse any suspicion . I’m no threat , he tried to convey, just a traveler enjoying the festivities before passing on to someplace else . To his relief, she smiled back, settling into her seat.

A swell of victory surged in his chest as he turned his attention back to Katerina.

He’d found her.

Now, he just had to capture her.