Maleficent Page 4

  “I have avenged you, sire,” Stefan announced over a wheezing King Henry. Stefan was happy he wasn’t too late. Pulling open his sack, he revealed Maleficent’s flapping wings. Henry stared up at him, amazed.

  “She is vanquished. You have done well, son,” he murmured. “You have done what others feared to do. You will be rewarded.”

  Stefan beamed. He’d finally done it. He’d overcome his status as a poor orphan to become something great. “I shall do my best to be a worthy successor, Your Majesty.”

  “Successor? You?” Henry gaped at him in surprise.

  “As by your edict.”

  The king allowed himself a throaty laugh. “You? Your blood is not worthy. You are a servant, nothing more. I don’t even know your name!”

  The king continued to laugh heartily, which became a series of coughs.

  Stefan turned, unable to believe what he was hearing. He had not done the unthinkable to be turned away now. He walked swiftly to the other side of the bed and stood over the king. Enraged, Stefan picked up a pillow and forced it over the king’s head.

  “I’m called Stefan.”

  LYING BY THE RIVERBANK THAT ONLY AN EVENING BEFORE HAD SEEMED SO BEAUTIFUL, MALEFICENT LET DARKNESS TAKE HOLD OF HER HEART. She lay there for hours, occasionally feeling the flapping of phantom wings. She wanted to stay there until her heart stopped. There was nothing left for her in this cruel world. So she closed her eyes and waited for the end.

  But the end didn’t come. For as night fell once more, Maleficent slowly awoke, aware of the sounds of nature all around her. Keeping her eyes closed, she heard the trees rustling overhead and groaned. But the trees just rustled louder, as though trying to rouse her. Their branches began to thrash angrily and the wood creaked and groaned.

  Opening her eyes, Maleficent watched the trees shake. She knew they were trying to help, but she didn’t care. Reaching into her robe, she pulled out a broken, crooked branch of the Rowan, a piece of home that she often carried with her. With a sigh, she let it fall to the ground.

  To her surprise, the branch began to straighten out. Then it began to grow. It grew longer and thicker until it was the size of a staff. As Maleficent picked it up, her fingers wrapped tightly around it. She felt a surge of power, and despite her misery, she began to pull herself up. When she was standing, she leaned on the staff. It was hardy and bore her weight well.

  Interesting, she thought as she began to limp forward. With each step, her resolve grew. True, Stefan had taken her wings. True, he had broken her heart. But she still had her magic. And now she had something stronger than magic. She had a mission. She was going to make Stefan and the humans pay for what they had done.

  Maleficent wandered the countryside, and wherever she went, destruction and chaos followed. When she passed by a shepherd’s paddock, the gate magically swung open and the flock of sheep ran out and scattered in all directions, their bleats slowly fading away as they disappeared into the nearby woods. The sky grew darker and the clouds thundered. As she walked through the middle of a farmer’s field, the scarecrow rotted and the wheels on a nearby cart fell off. Moving down the road, she raised her staff high. The ground shook and then broke apart, rocks and debris flying high in the air. Pointing at a mound of hay in the distance, she smiled maliciously as it caught on fire and began to burn, the flames licking the sky.

  With each step Maleficent grew stronger, and with each act of destruction she grew more intense, her focus fiercer. She leaned less and less on the staff until, finally, she didn’t need it at all. Still, she kept it in her hand, unwilling to let go of the last part of her old life.

  After a few weeks of wandering aimlessly, Maleficent found herself outside the ruins of a long-abandoned castle. Birds’ nests had replaced the panes of glass in its many windows. Whole sides of the massive building had fallen down, and only a few of the outbuildings still had roofs. Moss had overtaken the stone floors and walls, giving the whole place a green, muted atmosphere, and where horses had once munched hay in stalls, nothing remained but a few empty, rotting buckets. But as she made her way amid the broken stone and around the fallen timber, Maleficent felt at peace. This place was like her. Left to rot and ruin. And like her, it held on despite being broken. Lying down on the grass that had grown in the middle of the ruins, Maleficent looked up at the stone gargoyles perched on the roof. They glared back at her, their mouths frozen in grimaces that Maleficent found oddly comforting.

  Hearing the rustle of wings, Maleficent watched as a large raven flew into the castle. The bird was carrying a piece of corn in his beak. Landing on the ground, the bird dropped the corn and then began to preen, clearly proud of his prize. As the creature pecked at the corn, Maleficent watched him sadly. The black bird’s wings reminded her of the ones she had lost, and she wished, not for the first time, that she had never allowed them to be taken.

  As the bird flew off, Maleficent sighed and got to her feet. It was no good to wish for things that could never happen. She had done that before and it had only ended up hurting her. She had to focus on the real things that could be done. Like making this abandoned castle her home.

  For the next few days, Maleficent kept busy at the castle. There was not much she could do to rebuild, but she could at least try to make parts of it livable. And it wasn’t like she needed a lot. Just a place to stay dry and hidden from any snooping humans. Having grown thirsty from her efforts, she made her way to a nearby stream. But as she bent over to drink, she heard the frightened cry of a bird from somewhere nearby. Quietly she made her way to the high reeds that lined the stream, and looked through them, kneeling down to keep herself out of sight.

  On the other side, she saw the raven that had visited the ruins trapped under a thick net. Two farmers were approaching, clubs in their hands and dogs at their sides. The dogs growled at the raven, causing the creature to flap his wings frantically. But there was nowhere for him to go.

  Feeling the familiar rage toward the cruel humans building up inside her, Maleficent waved her hand. “Into a man,” she said.

  There was a shimmer of magic, and before the shocked farmers’ eyes, the raven transformed into a man. Throwing off the net, the raven-man climbed to his feet unsteadily.

  “It’s a demon!” one of the farmers cried. The two men turned and took off, the dogs following close behind.

  When she was sure they were gone, Maleficent stood up. Her gaze fell on the bird she had transformed. As a human he was tall, with silky black hair and dark eyes that darted around nervously. While man wasn’t her first choice of form, at least she had saved the creature.

  Catching sight of the faerie, the raven-man cocked his head. “What have you done to me?” he asked, gesturing at his body, clearly unhappy with its present form. His voice was surprisingly rich and melodic for one not used to having the power of speech.

  “Would you rather I let them beat you to death?” Maleficent asked.

  The raven-man lifted his wingless arms into the air. “I’m not certain,” he replied.

  “Stop complaining,” Maleficent said as she began to walk around him slowly, scrutinizing. She had to admit he wasn’t terrible to look at, even for a human. She could have created far worse. “I saved your life.”

  Uncomfortable with her penetrating stare, the raven-man shifted on his feet. “Forgive me,” he said.

  Maleficent nodded. “What do I call you?”

  “Diaval,” he answered. “And in return for my life, I am your servant. Whatever you need.”

  Whatever I need? Maleficent mused. Well, that was certainly an interesting twist. There were so many things she did need and so much she could use. Then a smile slowly spread across her face. There was one thing she needed more than anything. “Wings,” she said, nodding. “You’ll be my wings.”

  STEFAN OBSERVED HIS SURROUNDINGS AS HE SAT PERCHED ON HIS NEW THRONE. The
ornate room was the picture of royalty with its detailed moldings, its draping tapestries, its lofty ceilings. Though he was there to be crowned the new king, he couldn’t help feeling uneasy, as if the small group of advisors, the raven perched outside the window, and even the throne room itself were judging him and knew he didn’t rightfully belong there.

  He felt a small hand on his and looked at his new wife, Leila, sitting next to him. She was lovely. Her kind doe-like eyes met his, and he was instantly reminded of that afternoon in the Moors long before, when Maleficent had tamed the small deer with kindness, so at ease with the natural beauty around her. Leila looked nothing like Maleficent, her locks golden and curled, not ebony and straight, her eyes warm and blue instead of a piercing green. Yet he sensed the same kindness and willingness to trust within her that he’d first seen in Maleficent.

  A fresh wave of guilt rose in his throat, and he pushed it down, forcing himself to concentrate on the task at hand. He’d only done what had been necessary, for his future and hers. Another man seeking the crown would have killed her. Besides, it was finished now. There was no use replaying the events in his mind. This was the moment he’d been waiting for his entire life. He was not going to let anything ruin it.

  The heavy crown was finally placed on his head. He smiled. Then he cleared his throat.

  “King Henry shall be missed,” Stefan announced to the group of advisors before him. “And I am humbled that his final proclamation gave me this crown, this throne.”

  Two advisors grumbled and shared a meaningful look. Stefan felt heat suddenly rise to his face.

  “What do you have to say?” he bellowed.

  The advisors grew quiet, looking at Stefan nervously.

  “Do you doubt me?” Stefan continued, holding up the proclamation that named him Henry’s successor. He’d brought it with him just in case there was trouble. King Henry’s seal gleamed in the sunlit room.

  “By his own hand. Because I avenged him.” He said it so righteously he almost believed that Henry had actually named him as his successor and sealed the proclamation. Really, Stefan had done it himself in Henry’s chamber, shortly after the king had stopped struggling against his pillow. Stefan had lifted Henry’s lifeless hand and pressed the ring onto the molten wax, ensuring his future, believing fullheartedly he had earned it because no one else had the courage to do what he did.

  “So I ask you again, and I advise you to answer carefully,” Stefan continued, his voice echoing with power now. “Do you doubt me?”

  One of the formerly grumbling advisors answered quickly. “No, sire.”

  Satisfied, Stefan leaned back against his throne. He drew in a breath and then glanced at Queen Leila, seeing the encouragement in those warm eyes of hers. “I will carry forth King Henry’s legacy and he will live on through his daughter, now my wife, and the children we will have.”

  Suddenly, there was a flurry of activity in the back of the room. Three small chattering pixies flew in, interrupting his speech.

  “Beautiful vaulted ceilings!” Thistlewit observed.

  “Never mind vaulted—they have ceilings!” Knotgrass replied.

  “And real gowns!” Flittle said, looking at Queen Leila’s flowing dress. “This is paradise!”

  The pixies flew straight toward Stefan, hovering in front of him when they’d reached their goal. He shifted nervously. Creatures from the Moors here in his castle. He wondered if Maleficent had sent these winged fools. And what could they possibly want?

  “Who are you?” he asked.

  Knotgrass performed a small flourish in the air. “Greetings, Your Majesty,” she said. “I am Knotgrass of the Moorland Fair Folk.”

  Not wanting to be outdone, Flittle flew closer. “I’m Flittle, Your Kingship.” Then she nudged Thistlewit.

  “And I’m Thistlewit, Your Royalnesses.” The smallest of the three bowed as low as she could while she hovered.

  “Why have you come?” Stefan demanded.

  Knotgrass turned to Flittle. “Tell him, Flittle.”

  “Why don’t you tell him?” Flittle asked.

  Stefan grunted impatiently.

  “Ugh! You’re impossible.” Knotgrass threw her hands up. Then, to Stefan, she said, “If Your Grace obliges, we would like to live here. We seek asylum.”

  Stefan blinked in surprise. He didn’t know what he’d been expecting them to ask, but this wasn’t it. “Asylum? Why?”

  “We don’t really love wars,” Thistlewit explained.

  “And you have ceilings!” Flittle gestured up toward the fixtures under discussion.

  “And apparently you play dress-up,” Thistlewit added, nodding at Queen Leila, who smiled back.

  Knotgrass tried to rein in the conversation. “We have a strong feeling that darkness descends on the Moors.”

  Stefan took in this information, knowing full well what had caused this change in the place he had once loved to visit. The choking guilt began to flare up again. Once more, he pushed it down, convincing himself that he’d been in the right to take the actions he had. This was the life he was meant to lead, one that he had worked hard to make for himself. Anyone who stood in his way was nothing more than an obstacle to be overcome.

  “And it’s very wet and moldy there,” Thistlewit added.

  “Dank, actually,” Flittle said, correcting her. “And smelly. Not here. Here it’s fresh as a baby’s bottom.” She breathed in deeply to make her point.

  “The baby’s bottom that we wish for you and the queen. We wish that a baby will soon grace your family,” Knotgrass said.

  In rapid succession the other two pixies added to this new thread of the conversation.

  “But not just any old wish. We have magic!”

  “And are very good with children!”

  Leila smiled broadly and looked at Stefan. His gaze softened. He knew that their presence would make her happy.

  With a wave of his hand, he dismissed them. “Fine. You may stay.”

  The pixies curtsied and flew off, cheering loudly.

  “No more bog!” Thistlewit cried.

  “I get first choice of lodging!” Knotgrass said.

  “What’s that smell?” Flittle added, sniffing the air, which, to her, no longer had the appealing scent of a baby’s bottom.

  Outside, the patient raven cawed and took flight, ready to return to his mistress.

  WITH DIAVAL TO BE HER EYES AND EARS, MALEFICENT WAS NO LONGER IN THE DARK. A wave of her hand and he could be changed back into a raven, allowing him to fly over the country side with ease and gather news of the kingdom.

  Returning home from his first flight to the castle, Diaval flapped down into the ruins. As soon as Maleficent turned him back into a human, he began to tell her the news he’d learned.

  “Mistress, Henry’s dead. Apparently, he decreed Stefan would succeed him,” Diaval reported to Maleficent.

  A look of pain flashed across her face. As the information sank in, Maleficent clenched her fist, her long nails digging into her palm. The truth of Stefan’s betrayal was now crystal clear.

  “Now he will be king! He did this to me so he would be king!” It infuriated her that his betrayal continued to surprise her. How had she not seen this coming? He was just like every other human, trying to steal to have more. More riches, more land, more power. Letting out a piercing scream, she raised her staff, shooting a lightning bolt into the dark sky.

  “Now what, mistress?” Diaval asked.

  Her rage purged for the moment, Maleficent slowly lowered her staff, panting and exhausted from the effort. She had been a fool to think the trouble with the humans was over. History was repeating itself once again. It was only a matter of time before Stefan and his army came after the Moors. He knew better than Henry what riches lay there. And that meant it was time to go home.

  Malefic
ent and Diaval arrived at the beautiful Faerie Mound in the center of the Moors as night fell. The plants were brittle and brown, clearly undernourished; the streams had stopped flowing, pooling into dark, dirty spots of water; many of the creatures lay about listlessly. The energy in the atmosphere seemed to have been sucked dry. It was clear that the faerie world had begun to unravel in the weeks during which Maleficent had been gone, and was now in rough shape. But that was all about to change.

  Stepping forward, Maleficent made her way toward the Mound. On her shoulder, Diaval the raven squawked nervously as all around her the faeries began to whisper. “Her wings!” one said to another. “They’re gone!” a dew faerie whispered loudly.

  Maleficent ignored them, gliding to the center of the Mound, a hard look in her eye. Dead tree branches suddenly rose from the ground, writhing together like snakes. They formed a tall throne behind Maleficent, and she lowered herself onto it while keeping her gaze in front of her.

  The Fair Folk looked up at her cold gaze, the command in her presence. She was barely recognizable anymore. They bowed to her instinctually, quaking in fear. The Moors had a self-appointed leader now.

  Across the grove, Robin observed the scene, hovering in the brush. He wanted to fly to Maleficent’s side, to comfort her, to tell her one of their old jokes, to make her face crinkle in a familiar smile. But he knew it would be pointless. Maleficent had grown embittered and dark. Whatever she’d been through had changed her completely. The only thing he and the other Fair Folk could do now was stay out of her way. Tears welled up in his bright eyes as he flew away from the scene. He’d lost Hermia and Lysander long before. And now he felt he’d lost Maleficent.

  Over the next year, Maleficent hardly noticed that the other Fair Folk seemed wary of her. She spent most of her time alone or with Diaval, who she sent on nearly daily missions to the castle to bring back any news, hearing all about Stefan’s new life as king, and his beautiful wife, King Henry’s daughter. It took all Maleficent’s energy to quell the infuriating surge of hurt within her. Maleficent had more important things to think about, such as the well-being of the Moors, and just what Stefan would do when he had settled in at the castle. While she was doing all she could to keep the Moors safe and had brought some semblance of peace and restored order, she remained pensive and often distracted. It was hard to focus on the Moors when danger was so close.