Fablehaven: The Complete Series (10 page)

“What are the covenants?” Kendra asked.

“The specific details are complex, with many limitations and exceptions. Speaking broadly, they are based on the law of the harvest, the law of retribution. If you do not bother the creatures, they will not bother you. That is what affords you so much protection when you are unable to see them. You can’t interact with them, so they generally behave likewise.”

“But now we can see them,” Seth said.

“Which is why you must use caution. The fundamental premises of the law are mischief for mischief, magic for magic, violence for violence. They will not initiate trouble unless you break the rules. You have to open the door. If you harass them, you open the door for them to harass you. Hurt them, they can hurt you. Use magic on them, they will use magic on you.”

“Use magic?” Seth said eagerly.

“Mortals were never meant to use magic,” Grandpa said. “We are nonmagical beings. But I have learned a few practical principles that help me manage things. Nothing you would find very remarkable.”

“Can you turn Kendra into a toad?”

“No. But there are beings out there who could. And I would not be able to change her back. Which is why I need to finish this thought: Breaking the rules can include trespassing where you are not allowed. There are geographic boundaries set where certain creatures are allowed and certain creatures, including mortals, are not permitted. The boundaries function as a way to contain the darker creatures without causing an uproar. If you go where you do not belong, you could open the door to vicious retribution from powerful enemies.”

“So only good creatures can enter the yard,” Kendra said.

Grandpa became very serious. “None of these creatures are good. Not the way we think of good. None are safe. Much of morality is peculiar to mortality. The best creatures here are merely not evil.”

“The fairies aren’t safe?” Seth asked.

“They aren’t out to harm anyone, or I wouldn’t allow them in the yard. I suppose they are capable of good deeds, but they would not normally do them for what we would consider the right reasons. Take brownies, for instance. Brownies don’t fix things to help people. They fix things because they enjoy fixing things.”

“Do the fairies talk?” Kendra asked.

“Not much to humans. They have a language all their own, although they rarely speak to each other, except to trade insults. Most never condescend to use human speech. They consider everything beneath them. Fairies are vain, selfish creatures. You may have noticed I drained all the fountains and the birdbaths outside. When they are full, the fairies assemble to stare at their reflections all day.”

“Is Kendra a fairy?” Seth asked.

Grandpa bit his lip and stared at the floor, obviously trying to choke back a laugh. “We had a mirror outside once and they flocked around it,” Kendra said, studiously ignoring both the comment and the reaction. “I wondered what the heck was going on.”

Grandpa regained his composure. “Exactly the sort of display I was trying to avoid by draining the birdbaths. Fairies are remarkably conceited. Outside of a sanctuary like this one, they won’t even let a mortal glimpse them. Since they consider looking at themselves the ultimate delight, they deny the pleasure to others. Most of the nymphs have the same mentality.”

“Why don’t they care here?” Kendra asked.

“They still care. But they can’t hide when you drink their milk, so they have reluctantly grown accustomed to mortals seeing them. I have to laugh sometimes. The fairies pretend not to care what mortals think about them, but try giving one a compliment. She’ll blush, and the others will crowd in for their turn. You would think they’d be embarrassed.”

“I think they’re pretty,” Seth said.

“They’re gorgeous!” Grandpa agreed. “And they can be useful. They handle most of my gardening. But good? Safe? Not so much.”

Kendra swallowed the last of her hot chocolate. “So if we don’t go into the woods or the barn, and don’t bother the fairies, we’ll be fine?”

“Yes. This house and the yard around it is the most protected location in Fablehaven. Only the gentlest creatures are allowed here. Of course, there are a few nights a year when all the creatures run amuck, and one of those is coming up. But I’ll tell you more about it when the time comes.”

Seth scooted forward in his chair. “I want to hear about the evil creatures. What’s out there?”

“For the sake of your ability to sleep at night, I’m going to keep that to myself.”

“I met that weird old lady. Was she really something else?”

Grandpa gripped the edge of the desk. “That encounter is a frightening example of why the woods are forbidden. It could have been disastrous. You ventured toward a very hazardous area.”

“Is she a witch?” Seth asked.

“She is. Her name is Muriel Taggert.”

“How come I could see her?”

“Witches are mortal.”

“Then why don’t you get rid of her?” Seth suggested.

“The shack is not her home. It is her prison. She personifies the reasons why exploring the woods is unwise. Her husband was a caretaker here more than a hundred and sixty years ago. She was an intelligent, lovely woman. But she became a frequent visitor to some of the darker portions of the forest, where she consorted with unsavory beings. They tutored her. Before long, she became enamored with the power of witchcraft, and they acquired considerable influence over her. She became unstable. Her husband tried to help her, but she was already too demented.

“When she tried to aid some of the foul denizens of the woods in a treacherous act of rebellion, her husband called in assistance and had her imprisoned. She has been trapped in that shack ever since, held captive by the knots in the rope you saw. Let her story serve as another warning—you have no business in those woods.”

“I get it,” Seth said. He looked solemn.

“Enough jabbering about rules and monsters,” Grandpa said, standing up. “I have chores. And you have a new world to explore. The day is fading, go make the most of it. But stay in the yard.”

“What do you do all day?” Kendra inquired, walking out of the study beside Grandpa.

“Oh, I have many chores to keep this place in order. Fablehaven is home to many extraordinary wonders and delights, but it requires a great deal of maintenance. You might be able to accompany me some of the time, now that you know the true nature of the place. Mundane work, mostly. I expect you’d have more fun playing in the garden.”

Kendra laid a hand on Grandpa’s arm. “I want to see as much as I can.”

Chapter 6

Maddox

Kendra snapped awake with her sheets tented over her head. She was supposed to be excited about something. It felt like Christmas morning. Or a day she was going to take off school so her family could visit an amusement park. No, she was at Grandpa Sorenson’s. The fairies!

She pushed off the sheets. Seth lay in a contorted position, hair wildly disheveled, mouth open, legs tangled in his covers. Still out cold. They had stayed up late discussing the events of the day, almost like friends rather than siblings.

Kendra rolled out of bed and padded over to the window. The sun was peeking over the eastern horizon, streaming gilded highlights across the treetops. She grabbed some clothes, went down to the bathroom, took off her nightshirt, and got dressed for the day.

Downstairs, the kitchen was empty. Kendra found Lena out on the porch balancing atop a stool. Lena was hanging wind chimes. She had already hung several along the length of the porch. A butterfly flitted around one of the chimes, playing a sweet, simple melody.

“Good morning,” Lena said. “You’re up early.”

“I’m still so excited from yesterday.” Kendra looked out at the garden. The butterflies, bumblebees, and hummingbirds were already going about their business. Grandpa was right—many clustered around the newly refilled birdbaths and fountains, admiring their reflections.

“Just a bunch of bugs again,” Lena said.

“Can I have some hot chocolate?”

“Let me hang these last chimes,” she said, moving the stool and climbing fearlessly on top of it. She was so old! If she fell she would probably die!

“Be careful,” Kendra said.

Lena waved a dismissive hand. “The day I’m too old to climb on a stool will be the day I throw myself off the roof.” She hung the final chime. “We had to take these down for you kids. Might have made you suspicious to see hummingbirds playing music.”

Kendra followed Lena back into the house. “Years ago, there used to be a church within earshot that would play melodies on the bells,” Lena said. “It was so funny to watch the fairies imitate the music. They still play those old songs sometimes.”

Lena opened the refrigerator, removing an old-fashioned milk bottle. Kendra sat at the table. Lena poured some milk into a pot on the stove and began adding ingredients. Kendra noticed that she was not just scooping in chocolate powder—she was stirring in contents from multiple containers.

“Grandpa said to ask you about the story of the guy who built the boathouse,” Kendra said.

Lena paused in her stirring. “Did he? I suppose I am more familiar with that story than most.” She resumed stirring. “What did he tell you?”

“He said the guy had an obsession with naiads. What’s a naiad, anyhow?”

“A water nymph. What else did he say?”

“Just that you know the story.”

“The man was named Patton Burgess,” said Lena. “He became caretaker of this property in 1878, inheriting the position from his maternal grandfather. He was a young man at the time, quite good-looking, wore a moustache—there are pictures upstairs. The pond was his favorite place on the property.”

“Mine too.”

“He would go and gaze at the naiads for hours. They would try to tease him down to the water’s edge, as was their custom, in order to drown him. He would draw near, sometimes even pretending he meant to jump in, but always stayed tantalizingly out of reach.”

Lena sampled the hot chocolate and stirred some more. “Unlike most of the visitors, who seemed to regard the naiads as interchangeable, he paid special attention to a particular nymph, asking for her by name. He began to pay little heed to the other naiads. On the days when his favorite would not show herself, he left early.”

Lena poured the milk from the pot into a pair of mugs. “He became fixated on her. When he built the boathouse, the nymphs wondered what he could be doing. He constructed a broad, sturdy rowboat so he could go out on the water and be closer to the object of his fascination.” Lena brought the mugs to the table and sat down. “The naiads tried to upset his craft every time he set forth, but it was too cleverly constructed. They succeeded only in pushing it around the pond.”

Kendra took a sip. The hot chocolate was perfection. Barely cool enough to sip comfortably.

“Patton began trying to coax his favorite naiad to leave the water, to come walk with him on the land. She responded by urging him to join her in the pond, for to leave the water would mean to enter mortality. The tug-of-war went on for more than three years. He would serenade her on his violin, and read her poetry, and make her promises about the joys their life together would hold. He showed such sincerity, and such perseverance, that on occasion she would gaze into his kind eyes and falter.”

Lena sipped the hot chocolate. “One day in March, Patton got careless. He leaned too close to the gunwale, and a naiad caught hold of his sleeve as he conversed with his favorite. A strong man, he resisted her, but the struggle pulled him to one side of the boat, upsetting his typical equilibrium. A pair of naiads heaved upward on the other side and it capsized.”

“He died?” Kendra was horrified.

“He would have died, yes. The naiads had their prize. In their domain he was no match for them. Giddy with the long-awaited victory, they rushed him toward the bottom of the pond to add him to their collection of mortal victims. But it was more than his favorite could bear. She had grown fond of Patton, seduced by his diligent attention, and, unlike the others, she did not consider his death an amusement. She fought off her sisters and returned him to the shore. That was the day I left the pond.”