Layer 26: A Plan and a Parting

Hazel’s cottage was situated a few miles away from the ogres’, in a dryer patch of forest and one with a higher concentration of trees. It had not been easy for the inexperienced Fiona to maneuver the carriage through the woods, and Hazel occasional harping that she was doing something wrong did not really help.

Once there, Fiona and Hazel helped the ogres inside. This was not particularly easy either, not only given the ogres’ size and weight but because Hazel’s cottage, although similar in square footage to Moyre and Groyl’s, was much more cramped due to being lined with tall shelves stocked full with assorted bottles and flasks and various other containers holding Heaven knew what. A large cluttered desk, topped with numerous chemical stains and a few burns, took up quite a bit of space, too.

Within an hour Hazel had treated Groyl with a plaster made of a mixture of exotic herbs and had brewed a noxious-smelling concoction that she had him gulp down. He now lay asleep in a bed too small for him as his legs overlapped from the knees down. Moyre now sat on a chair by the open bedroom door, listening with concern to her husband’s fitful snoring while Moyre worked on the ogress’s leg wound. Yaga, now bound, sat slumped in a corner, still unconscious, her own snoring nearly matching Groyl’s for volume.

Fiona had tried to help where she could, but had mostly gotten in the way, as Hazel had pointed out with irritated bluntness. Now the princess paced as best she could in the confined space of the main room, worried, confused, and sulking. Out of curiosity, she idly picked up a little jar that was labeled ‘Pickled Newt’ – it contained some sort of liquid within which was suspended a small amphibian creature with a surprising shock of gray hair.

“Put that down!” Hazel snapped.

“Fine!” Fiona snapped back as she plopped the jar back down, her imperfect patience having reached its limit. “Look, I appreciate you helping us, I really do, but could you please let me know who the heck you are and what’s going on?”

“Hazel here’s a friend of the family,” Moyre explained. “At least as close to being a friend as anyone, that is. She comes over every so often for a visit and we usually do some business together. She provides us with stuff like healing herbs and what-not and we supply what we can in return.”

“Ogre lice is a particularly potent ingredient in a number of spells,” Hazel noted.

“Okay,” Fiona said, “but why were you on that wagon, what did this Rumlesskiltskin do with my parents, and – did you say lice?”

Hazel sighed. “You heard what that knight said about the ogre raid on Far Far Away,” she began.

“Aye,” Moyre said. “And the whole idea’s absurd. Why would ogres organize t’attack a city without provocation? It’s preposterous. It’s hard enough t’organize ogres to do anything together let alone – Fiona, stop scratching yourself.”

“I’m not scratching!” Fiona protested, quickly dropping her hand from her hair.

“Anyway,” Hazel said, “Rumpelstiltskin exploited the attack and some deceptive economical wheeling-dealing to overhaul the government. Order is maintained by an upper echelon of witches, who now make up the military as well as the civil authorities.”

“And the people accepted that?” Moyre said. “Nothing personal, but being lorded over by a bunch of witches…”

Hazel shrugged. “You’d be surprised what humans will accept if they think it keeps them safe,” she said. “We’ve kept order and provide a presence, and the people are content with that…so far.”

“And nobody’s taken issue with this regime?” Fiona asked.

“Not allowed to. All information outlets are controlled by Rumpel. And anybody that makes a fuss anyway…well, they’re branded as ogre-lovers, their faces painted green and they’re gagged and put in stocks for a day, where people pelt them with rotten fruit. After a few examples, people have become even more…cooperative. And it’s not just them; when we capture ogres, Rumpel has us drive them through town in caged wagons like the one you were in on our way to the castle, and the people get to jeer and take their frustration out on them, too.”

“Well, what does he do with them when he gets them to the castle?” Moyre asked.

“Oh, after he inspects them, they’re locked in internment camps. Some are eventually sent off to do forced heavy labor – strength and size comes in usefully that way.”

“And these ogres participated in this…this raid, you spoke of?” Fiona asked.

“No ogre would participate in such a raid!” Moyre snapped at her.

Fiona held her hands out in a placating gesture. “Hey, I’m just trying to make some sense of this,” she said.

“There’s not a lot of sense to be had,” Hazel admitted. “As far as I know, none of these ogres are guilty of anything. None have been put on trial or even had a hearing. But under the new rules, if Rumpelstiltskin says they’re guilty, or just might be a threat, then they’re locked away indefinitely. As far as the raid itself goes…well, I was just recently recruited, but it appears to be an open secret among the witches that it was some sort of magical stunt pulled off to create just the sort of climate that exists today and blame it on ogres.”

“But why ogres?” Moyre asked.

“Well, for one thing, look at you!” Hazel said. “Nothing personal, but from a human perspective…you’re big, strong, suspiciously reclusive, fearfully anti-social, and scary as heck. You’re the perfect bogeymen.”

“But what’s with the inspections?” Fiona asked. “You said he inspected them at the castle. Inspected for what?”

“Good question,” Hazel said. “It does seem his interest in ogres goes past setting you up as fall guys. He’s got a personal beef with you, too. Or, actually, with one of you in particular. I don’t quite follow all of his logic, and he’s not the most patient explainer, but it seems that he made an especially important deal with one of you in the past who got shafted particularly hard, and he wants to make sure that when he shows up that he’s put under control before he takes any hasty actions.”

“Shows up? Shows up from where?” Fiona asked.

“That part’s a bit hazy,” Hazel said. “Rumpel won’t go into details – said we couldn’t understand it anyway – but that this ogre would just appear somewhere at some time, and so we have to take all our captives to him until he’s identified.”

“Well, I don’t know why he’d be so concerned about one individual ogre,” Fiona said. “It seems to me that he’s ticked off enough other ogres that they’d like to take their own hasty actions.”

“If other ogres were aware of what’s going on,” Hazel noted. Then looking at Moyre she asked, “But were you all aware, before today?”

“Obviously not,” Moyre replied.

“Bingo,” Hazel said. “Your species’ isolationism works against you.”

Moyre frowned and shook her head. “Blast,” she muttered.

“But please,” Fiona said. “What about my parents? What really happened to them?”

Hazel shook her head. “That I don’t know,” she said. “Rumpel got rid of them somehow, but…again, I’m a relative newbie, and all I’ve found out has been through grapevine chatter. There’s not exactly a class in Rumpelstiltskin Double-Dealings 101.”

“Did he…kill them?” Fiona asked, choking a bit on the question.

“Again, sorry, but I don’t know.”

“Then…how can I find out?”

“Well…hang on a sec,” Hazel said, and then proceeded to one of the bookcase shelves. She pulled down an object covered in a black cloth. She brought it over, sat it down on the desk, and uncovered it. It was a crystal ball. Mysterious white mist swirled within it.

“They’re blood of your blood,” Hazel said, “so we may be able to see their fate.”

“How?” Fiona asked anxiously.

“By blood,” Hazel replied, reaching into a desk drawer and withdrawing a large knife with deep, ragged serrations running along both the front and back of the lower half of the blade.

Fiona took an instinctive step back. “What’s that for?” she asked suspiciously.

“To see the fate of your folks,” Hazel said, “it is required. A small slit along the lifeline of your palm should do.” She held one hand out toward Fiona while grasping the knife handle with the other.

Fiona hesitated, and then looked down at Moyre questioningly. The ogress shrugged. “I trust her as much as anyone,” Moyre said. “It’d seem silly for her to do what she’s done so far just to do us harm now.”

Fiona sighed, and then turned to face Hazel again. She tentatively offered her hand – which Hazel snatched and made a cut on her palm. Fiona gasped as Hazel placed the knife on the table then took Fiona’s hand and planted it, palm-down, onto the top of the crystal ball.

The swirling mist within the ball immediately began to change, turning pink, then red, and then gradually lifting to reveal an impish man sitting behind a desk within a small cluttered room.

“Who’s that?” Fiona asked, leaning down so that her face was near the ball.

“That,” Hazel said, “is Rumpelstiltskin.”

The view of the scene pulled back until Fiona was able to see a couple sitting together on the other side of the desk from the imp. She gasped again. They were obviously older, but Fiona recognized them immediately. “Mom! Dad!” she said. She stared at their concerned faces and felt her heart pounding. They not only looked older, but the worry lines especially seemed etched in their faces. Particularly her father, who now seemed so many years older than his actual age, even older than the burden of governing a kingdom should warrant, as if he were carrying even heavier burdens as well.

Fiona watched as the scene unfolded, finding she could hear as well as see them. She witnessed the negotiation as her parents bartered their kingdom for her freedom. She found herself weeping even before her father stood and said boldly, “Nothing is worth more to us than our daughter.” Her father, whom she had thought sought her death, was actually willing to give up virtually everything for her. She had to bite her lip to keep from breaking down in sobs.

Then he signed Rumpelstiltskin’s contract…and a few seconds later, he and her mother vanished from existence, leaving a chortling Rumpelstiltskin behind.

“No!” Fiona screamed. “This can’t be! This can’t—”

Suddenly the scene in the ball from the past vanished and Fiona found herself staring directly into the eyes of Rumpelstiltskin, whose face now filled the globe. “Who are you?!” he demanded angrily.

Fiona gasped yet again, pulled her hand from the ball and drew back a few inches. Rumpelstiltskin’s face did the same – and Fiona could now see that he was wearing a powered wig and his collar was that of some sort of formal white suit. She could even make out a couple of witches trying to peek over his shoulders. He squinted as he seemed to be looking at Fiona. “No…are you…I’ve only seen artists’ depictions of your human form but…yes, I can tell by the features, even now…Princess Fiona! But you’re dead!”

Fiona’s expression quickly changed from shock and surprise to anger – anger like she’d not known, not even for the prince who stabbed her. “No,” she said, “you’re dead! As soon as I lay my hands on you, you filthy little monster!”

Rumpelstiltskin’s own expression morphed into…annoyance. “Well, my dear, I’m sorry to disappoint you, but that won’t be happening. I do have to give you compliments on finding a way to thwart our lovely prince, but you made a mistake in trying to pry into my past with your crystal keyhole and triggering my intruder alarm. But this time I’ll be more thorough. Yes, I’ll get you my pretty. Or ugly, depending on when we find you.” He then seemed to be looking around past Fiona into the room’s interior. “Just where are you, anyway—”

Hazel suddenly grabbed the ball and hurled it across the room, where it burst against a far wall. Small shards tinkled to the floor while white mist swirled briefly and vanished into the air.

“Blast,” Hazel said. “And I still had two payments left on it.” She then looked from Fiona to Moyre. “We’ve got to go. Now!”

“Go where?” Moyre asked.

“We can catch a ferry across the sea to Worcestershire,” Hazel said. “I know an old wizard there who can put us up for a while in his cottage, nice and secluded. We used to be…well…friends. We can cast a shielding spell. And although he might send an overflight, which won’t be able to see past the shield, Rumpel’s realm doesn’t extend there yet, so he can’t do more in-depth searches.”

“And how do you know that?” Fiona said, turning to Hazel, the princess’s anger over her parents’ fate not yet abated. “Why did you join his coven of minions, anyway? Are Moyre and Groyl the first ogres you were involved in kidnapping?”

“As a matter of face, yes,” Hazel said. “I…I didn’t realize at the time what I was getting into. When a couple of old friends came by one day and said that Far Far Away had been turned into a witch’s haven, that it was now one place where we no longer had to hide or feel shame…where we could walk down the streets and not be afraid. Do you know that the word ‘witch’ derives from the term ‘wise one’? We should be revered, not feared or hated or stigmatized or—” Hazel paused to sigh. “Anyway, Rumpelstiltskin had made that change possible. It was only later that I learned that he regarded us as just his servants and vassals, and what the cost in self-respect was to follow him. A lot of witches, I’m shamed to say, have been willing to pay that, and if a few humans or ogres have to suffer for it, so what? It’s not like they cared for witches’ feelings. But…it just wasn’t right. And when they decided to assign me this abduction detail because I was from the area and they thought it would make it easier to ‘handle’ Moyre and Groyl...even if you weren’t involved, princess, I wouldn’t have been able to go through with it. In fact, you complicated things.”

“Yeah,” Fiona said with a derisive snort, “I tend to do that.”

“What did you mean when you called Fiona a ‘catalyst’?” Moyre asked.

Hazel nodded toward Fiona. “His paranoia begins with her.”

“Well, naturally,” Fiona said. “I’m the rightful surviving heir to the kingdom.”

“No, it’s more that that,” Hazel said. “First, your parents did indeed sell their kingdom to Rumpel, even if they didn’t get what they thought they were getting in return. He’s devilishly shred that way, but legal. In your case, though, he’s really intent on getting rid of you; your mere existence poses some sort of threat to all that he’s built.”

Fiona paused for a few seconds, letting everything sink in. Then her expression grew cold, and her next words were chillingly calm as she said, “As well it should.” She then snatched the knife from the table.

“Fiona, what’re you doing?” Moyre asked.

“Simple,” Fiona said, working the knife into her belt. “Mine won’t be the only blood spilled by this blade. Rumpelstiltskin’s will be next.”

“Don’t be foolish, girl,” Moyre said. “Think what you’re doing.”

“I am thinking,” Fiona said, and then turned to Hazel. “Take care of Moyre and Groyl. Get them to that place across the sea you spoke of. Nurse them back to health. I’ll figure out a way to take care of Rumpelstiltskin.”

“You and what army?” Hazel said.

“No need to be sarcastic,” Fiona said.

“No, I’m being literal,” Hazel said. “Let’s say the unlikely happens and you get past the many levels of protection Rumpel has set up and you kill him. You’ll no doubt be killed in return; there’s just too many witches at the feet of power. Then they’ll take over…” Hazel paused, and sighed in embarrassment. “Unfortunately, they’re the wrong sort of witches. They distort our traditions and turn their power to evil ends. Having them running things with Rumpel gone will go no better for the people of your kingdom. Even if you take him down, without a complete regime change, what have you accomplished but blind vengeance?”

“So what’s so bad about blind vengeance?” Fiona said, her voice still stony. But a small tear fell unbidden down one cheek.

“Do you really want that to be your family’s only legacy?” Hazel said.

Fiona frowned. “Well what ‘army’ do you suggest I recruit?” she said. “The Dulocians? I somehow doubt Farquaad would offer much assistance to me. I suppose I could try to form an alliance of some of the smaller kingdoms – but their aim would be dividing the kingdom for themselves. I couldn’t in good conscience leave the kingdom to that fate.”

“Like Hamlet leaving Denmark to Fortinbras,” Hazel mused.

Fiona raised an eyebrow.

“What?” Hazel said. “You think I’m illiterate, too? There you go, presuming again. Like you complain about people presuming about ogres.”

“Sorry,” Fiona said, but then an idea struck her. “Wait,” she said. “That’s an idea!” She turned to Moyre. “Moyre, do you know where the various ogre families are located?”

“Well…yes…” Moyre said. “But why—”

“And you said that that warrior – Mutik, was it? – formed an ogre army, right?”

“Fiona,” Moyre said, shaking her head, “that was just a story—”

“Maybe,” Fiona said, “but think of it. An army of ogres, with our strength, stamina, and intelligence – if we were successful, and could overthrow Rumpel’s regime, then we could institute a more proper government. Since ogres wouldn’t be interested in conquest and certainly not in running a government, then once they were assured they and their families were safe they would just go back to their lives.”

“And who would recruit and lead this ogre army?” Moyre asked.

“I would,” Fiona said, jutting out her chin.

Moyre visibly choked back a chuckle.

“What?” Fiona said, perturbed. “I’m quite versed in both the workings of government and in military strategy from hours of study I did in my room in the keep—”

“The ogres still wouldn’t follow you,” Moyre stated flatly.

“Why not?” Fiona challenged. “Is it still that gender thing, after all? That we can only be successful in stories—”

“No, no, no, it’s not that,” Moyre said. “It’s the human thing.”

“But I’m only human half the time—”

“Half is enough. Actually, if they knew you came from human stock at all – let alone royal human stock – you really can’t fathom the resentment bred through generations of distrust and persecution we’ve suffered at the hands of humans. And you royals have only encouraged it, often t’get your subjects’ minds of their real troubles. And now you think you can ride in, some well-meaning member of ‘civilization’ to lead the ‘savage’ ogres in their own defense – well, maybe such tales appear in your culture, and you don’t give them a second thought, but we would find it condescending.”

“But I’m most qualified to lead!” Fiona objected.

“It’s not a question of qualifications. It’s a question of trust. A human princess whose goal it is to overthrow a kingdom so that she can crown herself its new ruler – how do you think that sounds?”

“It wouldn’t be like that!”

“Says you. But we ogres have been sitting on the sideline for generations watching you humans play your grim and nasty game of thrones, replete with broken vows and backstabbing. It’s a disgusting game, and we’ve decided the only way to win is not to play.”

“But… you trust me, don’t you?” Fiona asked, an imploring edge to her voice. “I mean…you took me in and all. Could you…well, help convince them?”

A sad smile played at one corner of Moyre’s mouth for a moment. “Groyl and I might be able to persuade perhaps a handful, but not nearly enough to form an army. And when we took you in, the circumstances were different. You weren’t showing up and asking us to risk our lives and livelihoods. Plus, Groyl and I are a bit more open-minded than most of our kind.”

“More open-minded?” Fiona blurted in surprise.

“Oh, aye,” Moyre said. “When it comes to obstinacy, you can’t really top a good traditional orthodox ogre.”

Fiona sighed. Then she looked down at her thin, pale human hands and her face took on a sad, ironic smile. “Well,” she said, “if they can’t trust me when I’m honest, perhaps they will if I’m not as forthcoming of my origins.” She looked over at Hazel. “I thought I’d never in my life ask this,” the princess said, “but…can you cast a spell to make me into a full-time ogress?”

Hazel blinked. “That is an odd request,” she agreed. “Sorry, dear, but if you’re already under one shapeshifting spell, I can’t lay another over top of it.”

Fiona sighed. “Blast,” she said.

They were all silent for a moment, then Hazel’s face brightened. “However,” she said, “there is another possibility.”

Fiona cocked an eyebrow. “Such as?”

Hazel went to one of her shelves and looked over its contents, tapping her jutting chin with a crooked finger. “Hmmm…” she said. Then, “Ah, here we go!” and pulled a couple of jars and three flasks from the shelf. Bundling them in her arms, she trotted over to the table.

“What’s that?” Fiona asked a bit nervously.

“Rumpel’s witches cast a cloaking spell that made people see the raiders as ogres,” Hazel explained as she started setting things up on the table. “I can make a version of that spell and infuse it into an amulet. When you wear the amulet, in the daytime it will make people – including ogres – see you in your ogress state.”

“Really?” Fiona said. “You can do that?”

“Yes,” Hazel said, pouring the contents of the flasks into a small quart-sized cauldron. “It lasts longer than the spell they used – pretty much indefinite – but it isn’t as powerful. There’s two things to remember. Those that know your human form will still see you in that human form. So, for example, the people in this cottage will still see you as human. Also, if someone gets too close to you and makes physical contact while you’re human, since your ogress form is larger than your human one, they’ll see their hand or whatever sort of ‘sink’ a little past the overlaying cloak. That might break the illusion and lead to…unfortunate discovery. Obviously, you want to avoid that. So keep two words in mind when cloaked: ‘personal space’. Or even when not cloaked, to remain consistent and not raise suspicion.”

“Right,” Fiona said. “Got it.”

“Good,” Hazel said, “now pick out a jewel to use as the amulet. There are some uncharged ones in that drawer over there.”

Fiona opened the drawer that Hazel indicated. Within it she found an unorganized array of cheap looking necklaces, broaches and rings, each bearing a gaudy imitation gem of some sort.

“These are so tacky,” Fiona mumbled.

“What’s that?” Hazel asked, still distracted by her work as she set a small fire under the cauldron.

“Oh, nothing,” Fiona said. Just then she spied a broach whose setting bore tiny lettering. Thinking it might be a magical inscription, Fiona picked it up and read it, and discovered that instead it referred to the object’s place of origin. She looked over at Hazel with surprise. “You’ve been to China?” Fiona asked, impressed.

Hazel blushed. “Just pick something,” she snapped.

Taken aback, Fiona shrugged and looked down at the contents again. A somewhat rectangular dark green gemstone caught her eye. It looked unfinished compared to other items in the drawer, its edges unevenly rounded. But it seemed solid and the hole through one end seemed durable enough. It was attached to a nondescript chain necklace now, but once removed from that and attached to her own necklace it wouldn’t look too out of place and appeared durable enough to stay in place. In fact, the color even appeared to match the beads already set between the jabberwock teeth. “I choose this,” she said, handing it to Hazel.

“Fine,” Hazel said. She let it dangle by its chain over the cauldron for a few seconds while she mumbled some words that Fiona found unintelligible. Then Hazel slowly lowered it into the boiling liquid, still mumbling. As it entered the liquid, some luminous purple smoke rose from the mixture. After a few seconds more she lifted it out of the liquid, shook off residual liquid, and handed it to Fiona. “Here you are,” she said. “You should be all set for your fool’s errand.”

“Thank you” Fiona said, slipping on the necklace. She fondled the green stone for a moment – it was a bit warmer, but appeared no different that it did before. Neither, as far as Fiona could tell, did she. “I don’t feel different,” she said. “Do I…look different?”

“Didn’t you listen earlier?” Hazel asked irritably. “Everybody here knows your human form. It only works on those that don’t.”

“But…then how do I know it really works?” she asked.

“Well, I guess we’ll find out when we run into somebody you don’t know,” Hazel said. “If it fails, then come find me and I’ll give you your money back. Oh, wait, you didn’t pay me anything.”

“Sorry,” Fiona said, a bit embarrassed. “If there is anything I can do—”

Hazel waved it off. “Yeah, there is. Help me get Groyl into the wagon out there and let’s get out of here before Rumpel figures out where we are.”

Hazel turned away, but Fiona said, “Wait, there’s one more thing!”

Hazel slowly turned back. “What is it now?”

“Do you have a map of the area?”

“Yes, on an old parchment. Why?”

Fiona turned to Moyre. “Do you think you can mark where the ogre homes are located? I can use that to go about and recruit—or a least warn those that don’t want to join.”

“Aye,” Moyre said, a bit skeptically. “But—”

“Good!” Fiona said. “You can do that as we travel. I’ll go make sure the horse is hitched and the wagon’s cage door is open.”

Fiona turned and hurried to the cottage’s door. When she opened it, she found herself staring down at a little girl wearing a red hood and cloak and carrying a covered basket, her arm was raised as if she were about to knock. “Excuse me,” the girl said. “I seem to have lost my way and was hoping that—” Then her eyes focused on Fiona’s face and widened in sudden fright. “Ahhhh! Ogre!” she yelled, then let out an ear-piercing scream, and then turned and ran, leaving the basket behind.

Hazel came up and looked around Fiona’s shoulder as they watched the little girl dash into the woods.

“Well,” Hazel said with satisfaction. “I guess we’ve confirmed that the amulet works.” Then, looking down at the basket, added, “At least she left us something to munch on during our trip.”

A few hours later the group had arrived at an old, weathered, out-of-the way dock, its rough planking hewn from rare bong trees. It was just before sunset, and the dwindling light shimmered off of the placid water. An old boat was tied to the pier, its faded pea-green paint peeling in areas. While the rest of the group stayed out of sight Hazel had rented the boat from a nearby couple, an owl and a cat that had taken up an awkward residence together. A marriage, so they claimed. Fiona found it amusing how she would have been shocked to learn of such a pairing not so long ago, but now she had taken it in stride. After all, who was she to judge? “An it harm none, do what ye will,” Hazel had commented. “That’s our rede. Or it was, until Rumpel’s witches traded in their ‘w’s for ‘b’s.” It took Fiona a little while to figure out what she meant.

Fiona, Moyre, and Hazel had just finished helping Groyl down into the boat and getting him laid down atop a blanket and pillow. Moyre now stood beside his supine form, and Hazel stood on the doc by the post where the boat’s rope dockline was hitched. Fiona stood in the boat between Moyre and Groyl.

“I want to thank you both again so much for all that you’ve done for me,” Fiona said, looking back and forth between them. “I wouldn’t be alive today if it weren’t for you. And you’d be safe at home today if it wasn’t for me. It seems I can’t help but bring heartache to everyone I care for. I’m…I’m so sorry.”

“Tut, tut, child,” Moyre said. “Heartache? Not a’tall. You gave Groyl and me some…meaning in our lives. Living your life in a pointless rut can get quite boring after a while. And as for our home…well, many an ogre has lost theirs to hateful mobs, and it had nothing a’tall to do with you.”

“Aye,” Groyl agreed. “And who knows…if yeh hadn’t been there to chase away those villagers that night, Moyre and I might well be dead ourselves. Not to mention what havoc that jabberwock might’ve wreaked, starting with me, if yeh hadn’t gone all Hermey on him.” He gestured toward Fiona’s necklace. “Wear that with pride, lass.”

A thin smile played on Fiona’s lips as one hand fingered the jabberwock-teeth necklace, and she absently rubbed the green amulet that she had attached to it during their journey here. “What pride I take from it,” she said, “will be that it came from you.” She felt tears start to well in her eyes, and then she fell on her knees beside Groyl. She hugged him as tightly as she could while trying to be careful not to press on his wound’s dressing. “Thank you, thank you so very much.”

“Not a’tall, lass, not a’tall,” Groyl said, hugging her back weakly.

Fiona stood back up and exchanged another smile with Groyl. She then wiped her eye and turned toward Moyre.

“Yeh should come with us, child,” Moyre said, her face serious. “You’re likely t’get yourself killed with that scheme of yours.”

Fiona shook her head determinedly. “No,” she said. “Rumpelstiltskin needs to pay for what he’s done to my parents, my home, and to the ogres. I’m done with hiding away while bad things happen and people die around me and because of me. He took my parent’s kingdom from them, and I’m going to take it back. Besides, since he seems to have a vendetta against me personally, even if I do die, maybe that alone will placate him enough that he goes easy on the other ogres.”

Moyre frowned darkly. “That’s not a very positive attitude,” she said.

Fiona shrugged. “I thought it was,” she said. “But I don’t plan to get myself killed. This is not meant to be a suicide mission.”

“Then maybe we could help,” Moyre said. “After we recuperate a while—”

“No,” Fiona said in a tone so hard and stern that Moyre looked taken aback. Fiona sighed, and then said more softly, “You need to take care of your husband. Not to mention yourself.” She indicated Moyre’s bandaged leg. “Ogres or not, it will take a while to recover. Besides—and sorry to be blunt—but if you were with the troops I plan to recruit, I’d always be worrying about making sure you were safe and possibly endanger our mission.”

Moyre stared at Fiona for a moment…and then smiled. “No need t’apologize for being blunt,” she said. “It’s a good ogre trait. I’m glad we were able to have some impact on yeh.”

“More than you know, Moyre,” Fiona said. “You’ve opened my eyes to so much, set me straight on so many things. Life might not have given me many blessings, but that I found my way into your home has definitely been one of them.”

“That’s funny,” Moyre said. “I was thinking something along those lines meself.”

The two females stared at each other for a long moment, and then fell into each others’ arms in a tight hug. They held it for several silent seconds. More tears fell from Fiona’s eyes, and where her cheek was pressed next to Moyre’s she felt a tear fall from hers as well.

“When you hear that the kingdom has fallen and Rumpelstiltskin has been deposed, come visit me,” Fiona said. “All ogres will be welcome then, and you two most of all.”

“We’ll do that,” Moyre said. “Although I don’t think the fancy food they serve at the castle would agree with us.”

“Oh, you might be surprised,” Fiona said. “Especially with the caviar and escargot. But I’ll also have them prepare your favorite dishes.”

Moyre chuckled. “I doubt your chefs would have the recipes.”

“I’ll supervise,” Fiona said. “I’ve learned quite a bit from you…in all sorts of ways.”

They released their embrace and stood uneasily apart for a while for a while trying to compose themselves, both awkward wiping their eyes and sharing uneasy smiles.

“Well, um…” Moyre said.

“Yes, well…” Fiona added.

“I guess it’s time to shove off, as they say,” Moyre said.

“Yes, I suppose,” Fiona agreed, and climbed out of the boat and onto the dock.

Hazel slid the loop of the rope off of the mooring post and then slid it down her broomstick, tightening it just above the bristles. Fiona noticed that she had a slight tremble in her hands as she did so.

“Are you all right?” Fiona asked.

“Just a tad nervous,” Hazel admitted. “Water and witches…well, I told you what happens on the trip here.”

“Yes, I know,” Fiona said, and looked out over the expanse of water they were about to venture upon. “Maybe if they raised the sail—”

Hazel shook her head. “No time for a course in seamanship. As long at it stays calm, I should be able to tow us there fine.”

“Well…okay. I want to thank you again. You really didn’t need to do all this.”

“Actually, yeah, I did,” she said. “Moyre and Groyl are the closest people I have to friends in this fouled up world. Besides, when a bunch of radicals perform heinous acts in the name of your faith…well, I felt compelled to do something to counter that, however small, if only to calm my own conscience.”

“I’ll try to make it count for something bigger,” Fiona said.

Hazel shook her head. “The odds are really against you,” she said. “Are you sure you don’t want to come with us, at least until we can think up something with a better chance of success?”

Now Fiona shook her head. “No,” she said. “This is something I’m compelled to do. But we’ve gone over this. Just take care of my family. I’ll send word when we’ve succeeded.”

Hazel fought back a skeptical smile. “Yeah. Well, good luck, Princess.”

“Just call me Fiona,” Fiona said, and leaned forward and hugged the witch.

“Oh, good grief, stop with the gushiness,” Hazel said in a chiding tone, but after a moment hugged Fiona back, however briefly. Then she broke the embrace. “Well, see you. Gotta fly.” She then mounted the broom side-saddle and lifted off into the air. She glided out over the water, the rope leading from her broom to where it was tied to the bow of the boat tightening. A moment later the boat slowly drifted off out to sea, following Hazel’s tow.

As Fiona watched them go, she suddenly felt the familiar first stirrings of the transformation. She looked over and saw the sun’s orb had just set beneath the horizon. Looking down, she saw the glittering golden mist beginning to swirl. In a moment it enveloped her again, and she felt the full pain of the transformation take her. A second later it was over, and she looked down at her ogress self.

Fiona looked back at the boat which was several yards further away as the distance continued to grow. She saw Moyre and Groyl looking back at her, and she felt a tug at her heart. She waved and called, “I’ll see you again! I promise!”

“Looking forward to it!” Groyl called back.

“Take care of yourself!” Moyre called.

“I…I…I love you!” Fiona blurted out.

Moyre and Groyl looked somewhat taken aback. The shared a communicative glance at each other, and Groyl nodded. Moyre looked back at Fiona, clenched, both hands, and pressed them to her chest. “Us too!” she called, then unclenched her hands and motioned them toward Fiona as if tossing a piece of her heart, adding as she did so, “You!”

Fiona smiled and pretended to grab it with her right hand, and held that clenched against her chest as she waved heartily with her left. She started to say something, but a lump in her throat held it back. She continued to wave for several seconds as the boat continued its trek, growing more and more distant.

Eventually Fiona sighed and turned away from the shore. She again felt a pang of loneliness, magnified now by this fresh parting, however temporary. She looked down at her right hand, which was still clenched. But then her mind drifted back to that image of Rumpelstiltskin and what he had done to her parents, and her right hand clenched tighter now in anger, joined by the left. She felt the muscles tighten in her arms and across her back, and her lips curled back from her broad teeth. “Now it begins,” she snarled, and strode purposefully back to where they had parked the wagon with Yaga locked within its cage.