Apples and Sticks: The Impossible Adventures of Terry and Andelin

This is undignified, I thought to myself as I traipsed through the Emerald Wood as gracefully as the unkempt wilderness would allow—or rather, as gracefully as you would expect a high-fae of the Great Realms to traverse the vast and unknown wilds. I kicked mud off my once-pristine boot and shook my head with disdain at the caked earth drying on the hem of my ivory robes. 

Of all the suitable brides in the kingdom, why did mine have to run away the morning of our wedding?

As I stumbled along, gnarled stick in my hand, I made my way through the deep forest, cursing all the way. I shuddered as I pictured what my father would think of me in my current state, but because my betrothed, Lithelen, decided to flee to the far reaches of a forest I had never set foot in before that morn, it could not be helped.

A loud rustling in the leaves made me jump. A small whimper escaped my lips—not a proud moment for me, I thought, despite myself—as a harmless hare hopped out of the brush and onto the dirt path at my feet. The small beast stared at me with beady black eyes, nose twitching as it vigorously chewed on a twig. I let out a sigh. 

This was not the way I saw my day of matrimony unfolding. 

Undignified, indeed, I inwardly grumbled as I shook my stick at the rabbit and continued on my way. I wandered along the path with my two constant companions—my insufferable inner-narrative and the squelch of my boots in the muck—until I came across a fork in the road.

The distant sound of singing echoed down the leftmost path, and with my keen vision, I spotted a speck of a man, dressed in brightly striped jester’s clothes. I shielded my eyes from the sun and watched as the man approached. He was boisterously reciting the words to a rather inappropriate folk song, and as he drew near, what I heard made my face flush. 

“. . . And to tell you the truth, I bed her once more . . .”

As my face turned impossible shades of rose and crimson, I noticed that he was tossing fruit into the air in a repetitive circular motion as he walked and sang. 

Is he . . . juggling?? I thought, dubious. 

Before I could fathom what a strange man was doing in the middle of the woods, performing an act punishable by torture and a considerable dungeon sentence in the Great Realms—that is, unfortunately, a story for another time, involving a terrible mishap at a royal banquet where a noble nearly lost an eye—the man bellowed the final line of his song, which startled me even more due to its profane nature. ‘Twas certainly not a song that would have been well-received at court, I thought as my face took on a faint shade of purple. 

“. . . Before I discovered that she was, in fact, a whore!”

The jester stopped short and his smile faded from his lips when he realized he was not alone. The apples he was juggling fell to the ground, three distinct thumps. The sound of his deep gulp came shortly after. 

“Oh my,” the jester muttered with a nervous laugh. “Forgive me, Your . . . Grace?”

“Please,” I said dryly, holding up my palm. “‘Tis my father you owe the pleasure. I am merely his secondary successor . . . a meager Highness.”

The jester’s eyes bulged out of their sockets as he stumbled backward. Arching a brow in confusion I watched as began to perform some nonverbal ritual with his hands. I raised my stick and sent a wave of air forward, blowing the conjured flames back towards the jester, causing him to fall onto his back. He held his arms up to protect his face as he screamed, “I cannot go back to prison!” Rolling onto his side, he pulled an apple to his chest and caressed it as he rocked back and forth. 

“What in the seven heavens are you talking about?” I asked, alarmed and just as dumbfounded. “You do not think that I was sent to arrest you?”

The jester’s wailing ceased immediately, and he balked where he lay, a humorous sight despite the circumstances.

“You mean . . . you are not here to bring justice to the Defamed Jester once more?”

‘Twas my turn to be surprised. 

“You do not mean to tell me you are the famously outcast Terry the Trickster? You almost rendered my uncle blind—or worse—with those knives you were throwing around.”

Terry slowly stood, dropping the apple before brushing off his clothes. 

“The very same,” he said with a sheepish grin. “I do sincerely apologize for that . . . I was practicing for a new act that blends my arcane and performing talents. Perhaps upon reflection I should have practiced before the royal banquet.” 

“Indeed,” I said, raising my chin and sniffing haughtily. 

“Say,” Terry said after a brief pause, “if you are not here to arrest me, then what business brings you to the Emerald Wood? I must say, this is not a very dignified place for a high-fae such as yourself, and not a very dignified appearance I have found you in, if I may be so bold.” He gestured to my mud-caked boots and robe hem, all the way up to my disheveled silver-white hair that fell over my shoulders, rumpled and filled with twigs and leaves. 

“You may not be so bold,” I reassured him as I straightened and smoothed my filthy clothes.

Terry gave a nervous bow. 

“Of course,” he mumbled as he took a step back and crossed his arms behind him. “And as for the reason for your presence here, you need not tell me. ‘Twas mere curiosity that pressed me to inquire.” 

I let out a sigh as I shrugged. 

“I suppose it will not be a secret for long once the bards hear of my runaway bride, Lithelen. We were to be wed this morn, but she fled before the ceremony, leaving only a letter and a crudely drawn map behind. I have reason to believe that she is somewhere in the Emerald Wood.”

The jester’s interest was piqued. He took a step forward. 

“May I inquire about the contents of the letter, and the nature of this map?”

I reached into my robes and retrieved the crumpled paper that contained a cryptic and hastily written note in regard to Lithelen’s whereabouts, and the reason for her abrupt departure. 

“I found this, along with the map, when I awoke . . . in a message in a bottle, of all places, floating in my freshly drawn bath. And I intend to see what she has set forth to find . . . to inquire as to what could be more important than our upcoming nuptials.”

Terry’s brows raised. 

“I suppose she wants you to find her, at the very least,” he reassured me. “But what does this riddle mean?”

“You tell me,” I muttered as I ran my palm down my dirty face. “I have been wandering in circles all morning.”

Terry mumbled the words to himself, tapping his chin. 

“Find me in the heart of the great beast’s lair, where all our desires will soon be fulfilled.”

“Nonsense . . . pure nonsense,” I mumbled as I shook my head.

“Much like Muriel’s songs,” Terry agreed. “He was always one to sing in mysterious rhymes.”

“Who was that guy?” I asked, confused.

“You have never heard of Muriel, the Mystical Minstrel?” Terry asked, baffled. “He was known across the Great Realms for his musical talent and his wit. However, his pride would be his downfall, for he met his match with an even more witty and prideful adversary: an onyx dragon. ‘Twas a battle of rhyme and riddle that would bring forth Muriel’s untimely death. ‘Tis such an unfortunate tale, if I do say so myself.”

“Ah,” I said with a vacant nod. 

“‘Tis beside the point,” Terry said with an eager wave of his hands. “May I see this map of which you speak?”

I set the rolled parchment in his upturned palm. 

“I am afraid it does not make sense to me. Though I am sure you might guess I am not one to wander the Emerald Wood . . . well . . . ever.”

“The great beast’s lair, where all our desires . . .” Terry mumbled, puzzled as he studied the rough map sketch on the yellowed paper. A moment later, he jumped in the air, clicking his heels before lighting on the ground. 

“What a portentous day it is!” Terry exclaimed, dancing around. His foot landed on one of his discarded apples, which sent him tumbling to the ground in an awkward flail of limbs. 

I tilted my head curiously. 

“Pray tell,” I said as I stood over him, hands folded over my walking stick. 

“Do you not see?” Terry said as he waved the map in the air. “‘Tis the map to Dread the Destroyer’s lair! The dragon beast that brought forth Muriel the Mystical Minstrel’s dreadful demise! You really mean to tell me you have not heard the songs before?”

“I have never been fond of the arts,” I said matter-of-factly. “Especially since a certain jester almost caused my beloved uncle to suffer a ‘dreadful demise,’ as you just so poetically described Muriel’s undoing.” I gave him a wry look. “Forgive me if I am not cultured in that area.”

“Of course,” Terry said with a resigned nod. “Apologies.”

“‘Tis no matter,” I said with a wave of my hand. “You must lead me to Lithelen at once. I fear she may not know the danger she has placed herself in.”

“A stranger in the forest, a map, and a quest of epic proportions? How could one say no to such an unexpected call to adventure?” Terry declared.

“I suppose if you consider a lost high-fae in search of his runaway bride the start of a quest of epic proportions . . .” I mumbled as I started down the rightmost path.

“Um, forgive me,” Terry said, clearing his throat. “I believe the map points down the leftmost path from whence I came.”

“Right,” I said dryly as I turned on my heel and followed after him. 

As we travelled down the narrower and wilder road, the unmistakable scent of smoke filled the air. We rounded the corner to find a wide cave mouth, dark with a distant red glow emerging from within. Terry and I exchanged glances.

“After you,” I said with a plastered-on smile, gesturing with my walking stick to the cave entrance.

Terry gulped. 

“‘Twould be rude of me to decline, but even more rude to stand in the way of a noble and his betrothed. Please, I insist.” He mirrored my gesture, and I gave him my best scowl. 

“Have it your way then,” I muttered as I made my way into the darkness. I tried to remain composed as fear took hold. Terry’s bell-adorned shoes tinkled in a nervous rhythm as we crept along. 

“Damn your musical shoes,” I hissed between clenched teeth. “You will reveal our position.”

As soon as I said the words, a sharp cackle rang through the dark tunnel. We stopped in our tracks, and my blood ran cold as I met Terry’s mortified expression.

“Come, dearest Andelin,” a familiar voice echoed. “‘Tis your beloved.”

“Lithelen?” I whispered, my feet carrying me forward before I knew what came over me. Terry trotted frantically behind, clinging to my robes with trembling fingers. 

I rounded the corner and found my betrothed there, cloaked in darkness and a crimson glow. She smiled, and my heart seized in my chest as a massive beast growled in the shadows. Two gleaming-gold eyes pierced the blackness, and I took a step backward, stumbling over Terry’s tinkling boots. The faint jingle was jarring in the shocking silence that followed. 

“‘T— ‘tis . . . ‘tis . . .” Terry stammered, pointing with a shaking finger. 

“Dread the Destroyer,” I whispered as the behemoth stepped into the faint light. Lithelen smiled a sinister smile before another unworldly cackle escaped her lips. 

“I knew you would come, my sweet Andelin,” she cooed, voice tinged with ice as the words reverberated from infinite unseen mouths. “The time has come.”

I took a hesitant step forward, eyeing the void-black dragon that followed my every move. 

“What is the meaning of this?” I demanded, voice wavering. “What was so urgent that you should flee on our wedding day?”

“Oh, my sweet, sweet, Andelin.” Lithelen’s gaze deepened, her eyes taking on the same red glow that bathed her skin in the darkness. “There was never going to be a wedding.”

I stumbled backward, only to find that Terry had fallen unconscious. I tripped and fell over his limp form, shielding my body with my stick as my bride-to-be transformed into a wretched hag before my very eyes. The witch began to chant, her unfamiliar voice soft and low, growing louder with each recitation. 

“Oh, mighty Dread, grant me your gifts, take my offering and kill my love dead . . . Take my sacrifice, pure and true, and I will forever serve you, and only you.”

As the wind swirled and howled around the cave, the beast’s mouth opened, and a ball of flame sat kindling in his throat. That was the moment Terry came to, blinking in confusion at my legs draped over his stomach, still laying where I fell. When he saw the hag and the dragon rearing to strike, he let out a low whimper. 

“Another part of the tale you may not have heard,” Terry whispered as he crawled backward on his elbows, “is that of the dark temptress who lures innocent men to their doom . . . on their wedding day.”

“I do wish you would have mentioned that earlier,” I said, more regretful than accusatory. 

“Do you think they will write songs about us?” Terry asked, chest heaving. 

“An exiled jester with a previous record and a high-fae who almost married the fabled Baba Yaga of the Emerald Wood before being roasted on a spit by Dread the Destroyer, the dragon beast of Muriel’s legendary demise?”

I aimed my gnarled stick and conjured a flame of my own. 

“They will, without a doubt, write songs about us.”