The Storybook of Legends

  Raven stopped dead in her tracks.

  “So, wait, would I become your stepmom?”

  “Huh?” asked Apple.

  “In the story. Wasn’t the Evil Queen Snow White’s stepmom?”

  “Well, she was in our parents’ stories, but…” Apple stared, as if trying to fathom… but, no, it was unfathomable. She shook her head.

  Raven scrunched up her face. “Just how would that work?”

  “It will. Somehow. Each generation’s story must be a little different than the last, right? I mean, I’ll be a blond Snow White! You just have to trust that the story will work out in the end.”

  “Hey, I only have to do three things: Pay hexes, stay a queen, and die.”

  “What does that even mean?”

  Raven shrugged. “I heard my mom say it once. As you may imagine, she didn’t like people telling her what to do and how to be.”

  “Yet she played her given part anyway.”

  “And then some.” Wasn’t acting out far more than her scripted part a rebellion against the Storybook, too?

  The breeze shifted, and instead of the smell of sweet, sun-baked grass, Raven was slapped with dank, muddy air.

  Gala and Nevermore stopped. They looked at the girls, their eyes sad.

  “Oh, they can’t come into the marsh,” said Apple. “Maybe we’re too far from the Enchanted Forest.”

  “Or maybe they’re just too scared. They’re still young. It’s okay, girl,” Raven said to Nevermore. “You can go home.”

  The small dragon flew up and snuffled her nose in Raven’s hair, a kind of a farewell kiss. Gala streaked up Apple’s leg and arm and ran circles around her neck three times before leaping off and following Nevermore.

  When the girls entered the marsh, their travel slowed. The ground was as sticky as porridge, the gray mud slurping at their shoes. And the sounds! Hissing, dripping, sluicing, slipping. Gucky, mucky, buzzing noises, and every one made Raven jump. Somewhere lurked the Marsh King.

  “You know,” Apple whispered, “if we’d already signed the Storybook of Legends, we’d be safe, and no Marsh King would be able to kidnap us, since that’s not part of our story.”

  “Maybe,” Raven whispered back. “If you believe what Headmaster Grimm says is true.”

  “Oh, Raven, sometimes you are so silly. Why wouldn’t what he says be true?”

  “Shh,” said Raven. She’d heard a noise. A sloppy kind of footstep. Was it the Marsh King? If he so much as touched the sole of her boot, she would hit him with enough dark magic to fry his hair! So long as it didn’t backfire on her. Which it undoubtably would.

  She held her breath.

  A frog jumped across the path, its wide feet slapping the mud.

  Apple sighed. “Honestly, Raven, you get so worked up.”

  “Yeah, well, my mother sometimes read me stories at night. And you can imagine the kinds of stories she’d choose.”

  The Marsh King, the Boogeyman, the Scissorman, the Wendigo, hungry witches, angry tigers, and wicked sorcerers—these were the heroes of her mother’s bedtime stories. And the subjects of Raven’s nightmares. Young Raven had never wanted to root for her mother’s heroes. She’d dreamed of reaching into the stories to save the poor girl sucked into the marsh or the little boy tricked into the witch’s house. For as long as she could remember, she’d wanted to change the stories her mother told.

  Raven had grown up with creatures of the shadows. Ogres? Excellent playmates. Goblins? She counted several as friends. But she never got over her fear of the characters from her mother’s stories. Even now, if she woke up at night, she’d pull up her covers, afraid to look in her room and see the Boogeyman or the Scissorman. She still felt haunted by the monsters of her childhood.

  Raven swatted the gnats in front of her face. Mosquitoes bit at her arms. She glanced over at Apple, whose blond hair was still perfectly curled, her outdoor-wear tiara tilted at a fashionable angle.

  “Mm, I’d never been in a marsh before,” said Apple. “It’s so shimmery!”

  Then the land just stopped. Water was everywhere. Not just the usual mud or dampness, but deep, scummy green water. Raven poked a stick in and couldn’t touch the bottom. Only two narrow strips of semidry land continued forward, forking off from their current path.

  They were so far into the marsh it would take longer to go back than go forward.

  “In the story,” Raven whispered, “there are two paths through the marsh. One ends suddenly, dumping the unlucky traveler into the water and the Marsh King’s domain. The other leads to safety.”

  “Just… let’s just avoid the water, okay?” said Apple. “I don’t like swimming. Or rather, drowning.”

  “You should be able to float,” said Raven. “Haven’t you ever bobbed for apples?”

  “Ha,” said Apple.

  They stood there, staring at the paths, wishing one looked—as Blondie would say—just right.

  “Always take the right path,” Apple said. “My mother taught me that.”

  So they went to the right.

  Was this a trap? Was the Marsh King waiting at the end of the right path? Or the left? Or both? The buzz of mosquitoes sounded like scary music to Raven, warning the heroine not to go through that door! Don’t go in the cellar! Run away!

  And then the marsh ended. Woods waited, green ferns and grasses underfoot. Raven stumbled into the shade and sat, leaning against a tree, and took a deep breath.

  “Raven, you were actually worried.” Apple laughed. “You’re the future Evil Queen! What Marsh King would dare mess with you?”

  Raven laughed, too. “He wouldn’t have known what hit him. Zap, pow!” she said, swishing her hands around. An accidental bolt of magic flew from her fingertips and hit a tree, wilting it instantly like a plucked weed.

  “Whoops,” said Raven.

  “Please don’t point your hands at me,” Apple muttered.

  They ate princess pea–butter sandwiches from their backpacks and continued on. At first the walk through the woods was pleasant. Raven found herself humming. There were no magic briars to get offended by the sound of the future Evil Queen’s voice and snap around her.

  She missed singing. Recently Headmaster Grimm had let her re-enroll in Muse-ic Class. She suspected he knew she was thinking of not signing and he wanted to win her over with kindness. But so far, Professor Pied Piper gave solos only to the princesses. Technically, Raven was a princess, but not the Happily-Ever-After kind, so, apparently, she didn’t count.

  And there was no solitude in boarding school. No private room with a private shower, where she could blast her vocals to the stone walls. Apple sometimes sang in their room, and though the sound brought birds to the window, it was hard to study to. Raven usually put on her headphones and tried to ignore her.

  And she never sang in front of Apple.

  But now, with just the woods and so many miles from the school, Raven let the hum turn into words, the words into a song.

  Follow the river to the woods and take the

  path on the right.

  Take the right path that won’t end in a bath,

  the path that leads through the night.

  “You have a nice voice,” said Apple.

  Raven stopped, embarrassed. “Thanks.”

  Apple started singing the tune. With Apple taking melody, Raven slipped lower into harmony. She had to admit, they sounded hexcellent together. Apple’s high, pure soprano against Raven’s soulful alto seemed the perfect mix. And they sang through brambles and ferns and bushes till they noticed their groupies. A flock of hummingbirds was buzzing madly around Apple’s head, keeping a safe distance from the Evil Queen’s daughter. A crew of bats with black leathery wings swooped after Raven.

  At least the bats were eating the last of the gnats that had trailed her from the marsh.

  Suddenly the hummingbirds were gone. Raven and Apple stopped singing. The woods were getting deeper. Darker. The hair on Raven’s arms stood up. The air fe
lt full of unseen lightning.

  NIGHT ONCE-UPONED ALL AROUND THEM, and still they walked. Apple thought longingly of riding in a nice, comfy Hybrid Carriage with quality shock absorbers. But even if they’d had a carriage, there was no road out here.

  And no more squirrels. Apple found that alarming. What kind of woods was completely bereft of squirrels? She whistled a happy tune. No songbird whistled back. Woodland creatures knew not to come out here, it seemed. If it wasn’t safe for them, was it safe for Apple?

  She just had to get through this, Apple reminded herself. Once this quest was over, Raven would be convinced and sign the Storybook of Legends, and the rest of Apple’s life would be safely nestled in the story she knew and loved.

  She took comfort and tried to enjoy the scenery. The occasional trollskin tree seemed to look at them, the black spots on their bark like wide eyes, their two branches gesturing madly. Dark strips of moss hung from the trees and tickled them like spiderwebs. Apple thought she saw a bird at last up on a tree branch. She sang out to it. But the thing moved across the branch—not hopping but scurrying, its legs clicking against the bark. A very large spider? Or… something else?

  “I’ve got mother-goosebumps,” Apple whispered.

  “It is pretty creepy here,” said Raven.

  Apple startled. “Is that wolf looking at us?”

  “What wolf?”

  “Right there!” said Apple, pointing.

  “Um… you mean that tree stump? You’re nearsighted, aren’t you?”

  “What? Don’t be ridiculous.”

  “Apple, you squint at things all the time, and I’ve seen your glasses case on your desk. You don’t have to hide with me. I’m not going to think you’re less-than-perfect if you wear glasses.”

  Apple sniffed. She pulled her red-framed glasses out of her backpack and slid them on.

  Really, the view didn’t improve any with clearer vision. The air was musty and thick, as if they were deep in a dungeon. A nice, friendly ghost would have improved this woods. Apple wondered if coming had been a mistake.

  But—no. She straightened her shoulders and walked a little faster. She was here to convince Raven and save her story. At least it wasn’t raining.

  It started to rain.

  Apple attached the rain visor to her outdoors-wear tiara and put on her raincoat—it was royal red, the same shade as her nail polish. Ahead, the trees cleared and rocks rose.

  “This is where we save time by going over instead of around,” Raven said, gripping a travel-size umbrella. “But it’s not going to be pleasant.”

  Apple nodded. She stood tall and walked on.

  An hour later they found themselves hiking up the wickedest fairytale cliffs ever known to story. The higher they climbed, the harder the wind blew. The rain slashed sideways, making it difficult to see, even with glasses.

  The rocks were as sharp as daggers. One fall would chop Apple to pieces. She tried to sing, but if any helpful woodland creatures were nearby, the wind whipped her song away before they could hear.

  Raven was shouting something, but the storm buried the sound.

  “What?” Apple shouted back.

  Raven pointed down. Apple couldn’t see anything—the night was black, the storm was gray. Then lightning briefly lit the sky.

  They were teetering on the edge of a cliff.

  The way before them was craggy, high, and impossible to get over. The way they’d come was slick and sharp and impossible to get back down. And a dangerously steep cliff waited at their feet.

  Apple sang desperately.

  “There aren’t any helpful woodland creatures out here!” said Raven. “But there might be…”

  “What?” Apple shouted back.

  “Well, creatures that would serve me,” Raven said.

  Apple frowned, not understanding.

  “Help!” Raven shouted. “Help! I am Raven Queen, and I command someone to come to my aid!”

  The mountain trembled, and the sound of grating rocks reached Apple’s ears.

  Apple could see torchlight on a ledge far down the cliff. She made a triumphant noise in her throat. Rescued! Would it be helpful woodsmen? A wandering prince and his hunting party? Or perhaps a fairy godmother disguised as an old witch? Apple couldn’t see much besides the torchlight. Which kept multiplying. There must have been at least fifty people on that ledge now. She dried the raindrops off her glasses and put them back on to get a better look.

  Goblins.

  Goblins tall and short, wide and thin, all with skin as gray as stone and bristly hair on their necks and shoulders. One had a deep scar down his face that channeled rainwater from his hair across his cheek and into his mouth. He gulped and smiled up at them. Apple shivered.

  “It’s Her Highness!” said the goblin in a wet voice. “I told ye I felt royalty near.”

  “That’s right,” said Apple. “I am—”

  “Daughter of the Great Queen herself,” the goblin interrupted. He bowed to Raven. “I be Goober Fig, goblin prince. At your service, Your Dark Majesty, and so are me grubs here.”

  “Thank you—I mean, that’s right, you will serve me,” Raven said, as if trying to sound queenly. “Get us down at once.”

  Goober Fig shouted something in Goblinish, and his troop scrambled back inside the rock and brought out a long ladder made of bones. Animal bones, Apple assumed. Or hoped.

  “What be that one?” asked a goblin, sniffing the air with a piglike snout. He pointed a clawed finger at Apple. “She does smell like sugar.”

  “Hmph. I’m Apple.” She was about to say more, but Raven nudged her.

  “We wants the Apple,” said the goblin prince. “It looks delicious. What a stew it would make! Give us the plump red Apple.”

  Apple pulled her raincoat around herself tighter. She didn’t mind if someone called her plump, unless that someone was imagining her in a stew.

  “Um…” Raven said.

  “No Apple, no ladder,” he said, snarling.

  “Yes, okay,” said Raven. “Help us down first, and I swear I will give you what you ask.”

  “Raven!” said Apple.

  “Ye swears on your mother’s crown? Ye swears on bat wings and slug tails? Ye gives us the Apple and no zapping with magic for hurting our hides?”

  “Yes, I swear it,” said Raven.

  The goblins cheered.

  Apple felt cored. She could not believe Raven Queen would be capable of such cruelty, such selfish disregard for anyone besides herself. Well, sure, she’d been encouraging Raven to embrace her destiny, but now was a terrible time to suddenly turn evil. When they’d been singing together in the woods, Apple had actually thought… had truly believed… that she and Raven had become friends.

  Apple felt her eyes get wet, and she blinked tears.

  The goblins leaned the bone ladder against the cliff wall, holding it steady. Raven climbed down first.

  “I’m not coming,” said Apple.

  “Come down,” said Raven.

  “No,” said Apple. She was shivering. She tried to sit, but the jagged rocks poked her backside and she bolted upright.

  “Trust me,” said Raven, looking up. “I have some experience with goblins. It’ll be all right. Come down.”

  Apple gulped. Raven was asking a lot.

  As she climbed down the ladder, the goblins holding it steady snuffled at her arms and hair and made grunting remarks to one another in Goblinish.

  As soon as Apple’s feet hit rock, Raven grabbed her and put herself between Apple and the goblins. The goblins hissed.

  “Your oath!” cried Goober Fig.

  “You served me well, and I’ll keep my oath,” said Raven. She reached into her backpack and pulled out an apple. “Here’s what I promised you—a plump red apple.”

  Apple exhaled.

  Goober Fig grabbed the fruit from Raven’s hand. He growled, but it turned into a laugh.

  “A pleasure being tricked by Your Majesty,” he said with a bow
.

  The other goblins laughed, too, a snarling, soggy sound. Apple tried to smile.

  “It be wet. Come into our home,” Goober Fig said to Raven, gesturing into the opening of the mountain. “We be honored by your visit.”

  “Thank you very much for your help,” said Apple sweetly. “But we must be going now.”

  She started down the path cut into the rocky cliff. But Goober Fig snarled something, and two goblins scampered past Raven and grabbed Apple by her arms.

  “Tricks or no, we be having apple stew!” Goober Fig shouted.

  “Let her go or I’ll—” Raven started, her hands out as if ready to cast a spell, but Apple had had enough.

  “Why, how dare you!” she said. “I am Princess Apple White, daughter of Snow White and future queen. Take your hands off me at once, or I swear by wishing wells, seven-league boots, silver wands, and all marvelous things that you will regret it!”

  The goblins backed away from her, looking uneasily at their prince.

  “But… stew…” he said sadly.

  “You have behaved most nobly,” said Apple. “You were princely in your rescue! At the moment, I think very well of you. Don’t you want me to keep thinking well of you?”

  The goblin prince sniffed. Apple smiled. And then… she batted her eyelashes.

  Goober Fig stood up straighter. “Yes, princess. Thank you, princess.”

  “Good. What a fine, strong goblin you are. All of you. Shining specimens of goblininess. Thanks again! We must be on our way!”

  Apple grabbed Raven’s hand, and they ran down the rocky trail.

  “You were awesome back there,” Raven whispered.

  “I do very well in Debate class,” said Apple. “But your trick was so clever!”

  “I do pretty well in General Villainy,” said Raven. “Though sometimes I try to fail it.”

  “But failing a class is bad, Raven.”

  “Yeah, that’s where I get confused. Which makes me less of a villain? Acing a class called General Villainy or failing it? Doomed if I do, doomed if I don’t.”

  And suddenly, after a mostly silent journey, the two girls couldn’t stop talking. They ran down the mountainside exchanging stories: the worst thing about being a princess or villain, the best, the oddness of their instructors and advisors, their favorite kind of pie at the Three Bears Porridge Café. Fashion and music and how good it would feel to get back to their soft, warm beds again.