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They found the path to the banshee’s hovel just as the sun was setting. Instead of trying for it at night, they sparked a fire and made a little hut out of tree branches to rest for the night.
After some loud and confusing discussion, they took the wax out of one ear each. That way they could talk to each other and listen for other dangers, but had the option of replacing the wax quickly if any kelpies showed up.
The next morning they were both awake early. Neither had slept well. Between the damp ground and the fear of being eaten by water demons, it hadn’t been a restful night.
Before he put the wax back in her ears, Warbel gave Angelina a final warning. “Keep to the path. It goes straight to her hovel, but there are inviting branches and—” She hesitated. “Other things to tempt you. Don’t follow them, no matter what you see or how much better the new path looks.”
“I understand,” Angelina said.
Warbel hovered in front of her. “Angelina, please, remember what happened when you ignored Valus’ advice?”
The memory of cave teeth crashing down, ripping out some of her tail hairs, skittered through her mind and Angelina closed her eyes. “I remember. I won’t make that mistake again, I promise.”
“Good. Now, one last thing. Like all fae, the banshee loves making deals, and she’ll try to make one with you. Don’t do it.”
“But what if it’s a good deal?”
“It will sound like an excellent deal. She’ll promise you what you want most in all the world, but the cost...” The wren perched on a nearby branch, her chest rising in deep sigh. “She will make it sound entirely reasonable and fair. But it won’t be, trust me. The cost is always too high.”
“Don’t wander from the path, don’t make any deals. Got it.” Angelina nodded once, twice, her horn bobbing.
Warbel trilled. “Good. And if you get into trouble, shout. I’ll be with you, just out of sight. Remember, no matter how it seems, you are not alone.”
Angelina stood at the head of the trail. It extended, narrow but straight, into the heart of the bog.
Pools of scum-crusted water ponded on either side. Hummocks of sedge and creeping wildrye grass rose from the water, all looking solid enough to stand on. And maybe some of them were. But the swamp loved to deceive and Warbel had told her that until you put your foot on it, you couldn’t tell which ground was solid, and which was simply an illusion, meant to suck you under.
As she scanned the swamp, Angelina caught movement out of the corner of her eye. She watched a heron try to step from a little island to a nearby hummock. The clump of sedge and dirt lurched sideways at the last minute, dumping the heron into the murky water. The bird thrashed once, twice, and went under. A few bubbles and several feathers rose to the surface, but the heron didn’t.
Angelina shuddered and decided the path was just fine, narrow or not.
Black cypress and Ash trees hunched over the trail, casting it in deep shadows. As far as she could see, nothing moved. Silence descended on the bog that she didn’t think had anything to do with the wax in her ears.
Angelina swallowed hard and set her foot on the path. As she walked, she did her best to keep her eyes on the trail ahead. If she didn’t look right or left, she reasoned, she couldn’t be tempted.
Something splashed to her right, and automatically, she turned her head. A pebble-strewn walkway led from the path to a charming little house. Outside, rocking in a miniature rocker, was a bright winged fae. The tiny creature jumped up, smiling and beckoning.
She couldn’t be the banshee, could she? All the tales said banshees were horrid creatures, wicked and ugly in their black hooded robes.
Angelina hesitated. The nixie rose up, flashing wicked sharp teeth and a bright, slashing sword in her hand. Startled, Angelina drew back, surprised to find that she had stopped with her front feet on the walkway, her rear ones still on the trail.
Quickly, the girl-turned-unicorn returned to the path and moved off. The wax in her ears deadened the shrill screeching of the nixie’s laughter, but she could still hear it.
“Mean thing,” Angelina muttered.
Now she hurried as the sun rose toward its apex. Warbel had said she should reach the banshee’s cabin by noon, so she should be almost there. The trail never curved or turned, but cut straight as an arrow flies through the bog.
Angelina saw a few more nixies, and more than one kelpie tried to lure her from the path, but she only trotted faster, ignoring them.
There were turnoffs, each one prettier than the last. One had sweetly scented yellow flowers along both sides. Another had what looked like her favorite cookies growing on long green stems.
That had been tempting, since she was getting hungry, but she bit her lip and ignored it.
“Anything that looks good in this place is probably poisonous anyway,” she said to herself, and trotted on.
Then she came to a fork in the road. The path ahead was straight, but to her right...
A flash of wild hair and a long, pink skirt.
“Mom?” Angelina stopped dead in the road. She stared at the woman standing on the detour. She was carrying a basket of food on one arm and a blanket on the other. The food smelled delicious. “Mama?” Angelina’s voice came out barely a squeak. She missed her mom so much.
The woman beckoned. “Yes, it’s me. Come. I brought you some good things to eat.”
Angelina took a step toward her. She looked behind the woman, and to both sides. Something was missing. She stopped. “Where are my sisters? Where are Marianna and HollyAnne?”
Frowning, the woman put the basket down next to the path and started spreading out the blanket. “I wanted us to have some alone time, so they stayed home,” she said. “Don’t worry. They’ll be fine on their own for a bit.”
Angelina backed up. This wasn’t right. Mama would never leave Mari and Holly alone for more than a few minutes. She rarely left Angelina alone long enough to run to Wally’s Grocery, and that was just on the corner, not more than a minute or two from their front door.
“No,” she said. “I don’t know what or who you are. But you aren’t my mom.”
“Angelina Smith!” The woman bounced to her feet; her features set in stern lines. “You come here right now. I’ve come all this way, gone to all this trouble. The least you can do is try some of this wonderful food I’ve brought you.”
Angelina stopped. She looked over her shoulder. “What is my middle name?”
The woman’s face darkened with anger. “Don’t be disrespectful. Come here, immediately.”
Angelina started walking. “You aren’t my mother. She would have answered me.” She tossed another glance over her shoulder, this one at the basket, and shuddered. “And she wouldn’t have made me eat that!” The contents of the basket writhed, black and red and hissing.
Picking up the pace, Angelina galloped up the trail. She heard nothing more behind her and when she looked back, the woman, the basket and the blanket were all gone.
A little further on, she saw it.
A huge hummock, and perched on top, the rattiest, most tumbledown hovel ever built. The thatch roof sagged, and the chimney listed to the side, with several bricks missing. The front door hung askew, and the windows were crooked. The front steps were missing two of their treads. Caulking fell away from between the stones, leaving gaps for the wind to thrust its cold hands through. Whatever else she might know, Angelina knew she wouldn’t want to sleep a night under that roof.
In the clearing out front stood an old woman dressed in a tattered black gown, belted at the waist with a bit of rope. Her gray-black hair straggled unbound over her shoulders, and a peaked black hat with a wide brim hid her features.
She stirred something in a huge, black cauldron over an open fire, and as she stirred, she sang.
Children’s bones and a little dog’s fur,
Broken promises, and essence of myrrh,
Little girl’s tears and a big man’s fears,
That’s been my dinner, for many a year.
As the unicorn stepped into the clearing, the singing stopped. Angelina shivered.
She’d found the banshee.
The woman turned slowly; the huge paddle she’d been using to stir the pot clenched in her gnarled hands. Angelina fought back a gasp.
The woman was horribly ugly. She had a long, hooked nose that nearly touched her chin. On it were two warts, one with a long, stringy hair sprouting from the center. Her eyes were squinty, her chin pointed and sharp. And one tooth hung over her thin lower lip as if trying to nail her mouth shut. It wasn’t successful.
“Who are you and what do you want? And don’t lie to me, girl. I’ll know if you lie, and I don’t have time for foolishness.”
“Why do you call me a girl? Everyone else thinks I’m a unicorn,” Angelina said. “At least, they do at first.”
“Then they’re idiots,” the hag snapped. “Anyone can see that someone’s cursed you into a body that isn’t your own.”
Angelina stiffened. Not only was this person ugly, she was rude. “My friends are not idiots.”
“Your friends, are they? Then why didn’t they turn you back?”
“Most of them don’t know how. Why don’t you?” Angelina asked.
“I’m not your friend,” the hag said. “And I don’t do favors for free.” Her black eyes glittered, and her voice grew oily with greed. “But if you can pay, perhaps we can make a deal.”
A trill from overhead made Angelina’s ears prick up, but she was already shaking her head. “I’m not here to make a deal,” she said.
“Then what do you want?” the banshee grumped. “I’m a busy fae and I don’t have time to play games with foolish girls.”
“If I am to become human again, I must gather five ingredients for the spell that will return me to myself,” Angelina said. “I’ve gotten the first four, but now I need the last one.”
“And what is that?” the banshee asked.
“I need some of your tears,” Angelina replied, and the creature threw back her head and roared with laughter.
“Why are you laughing?” Angelina asked. “None of this is funny.”
The banshee held her belly and gave a great sigh. “I haven’t cried in a thousand years, so I doubt I’ll cry for you. You’re welcome to try, though. Go ahead. Try.” The evil creature leered at Angelina. “But if you fail, into the pot you go. I love a good unicorn stew, you know.”
Instead of nodding or replying in any way that the banshee could interpret as agreement, Angelina backed a few steps away and tried to think of a way to make the banshee cry.
First, she tried to think of things that made most people cry. “Stubbing my toe or falling in the skinning my knees makes me cry,” she murmured.
“Eh? What’s that?” the banshee asked irritably.
“Nothing, nothing, just thinking out loud.”
“Well, stop it. Dead irritating, it is.”
As awful as she was, Angelina didn’t want to hurt the banshee, so skinned knees and stubbed toes were out, especially since she couldn’t think of a way to make either of them happen. Shoving her over would probably just make her angry, anyway.
When was the last time I cried when I wasn’t hurt? She asked herself. And an idea came to her.
“I have a story to tell you,” she said to the banshee.
“It better be a good one.” the creature went back to stirring the pot with her giant spoon.
Angelina told the banshee the saddest stories she could think of, but nothing moved her. Not the Tale of the Mother, or The Babes in the Wood. Even the Children of Llyr didn’t bring a single tear to the banshee’s eye, though Angelina almost shed a few while telling it.
Story after story Angelina told, each one sadder than the last, but the banshee laughed through each one. “I will have a lovely meal tonight,” she cackled as Angelina finished the tale of the Little Mermaid, (the original, in which the mermaid dies, not the modern version.)
There are no stories left, Angelina thought. I’ll never see my sisters or my mother again. Agreement or no, the banshee won’t let me leave here. I’m going to die in these woods and this horrible creature will throw me in a pot and eat me.
Her eyes filled with tears, and they trickled down her cheeks. The banshee looked up, startled. “Here now. I thought I was the one supposed to cry. What ails you, girl?” she asked.
So, Angelina told her.
She started at the beginning, waking up with a pillow stuck to her horn and not being able to properly brush her teeth. She spoke of the mean Mrs. Finchhagle and being chased by the Air Force into the woods.
She described the wizard’s hut and the eagle’s aerie. Her tale wound through scraped knees and the loss of her tail hairs in the cave’s terrible teeth. She related her terror on the ocean, jumping from sunbeam to sunbeam and the awful danger swimming below her.
She spoke of the wren’s loyalty and wise advice, her own mistakes, and the lessons she learned along the way. Last of all, she cried when she talked about her family and how she missed them. Her tears came fast and hard when she spoke of her fear that she would never see her mother again.
Through it all, the banshee sat entranced. All the other stories had been distant, created from time and fantasy. Perhaps they had been real once, but the characters who lived them were long ago, and far away. This tale was real, and the one who lived it present, aching with the hurts and triumphs lived just this week.
The banshee thought of the friends she’d laughed with and loved so long ago; of her own lost mother, who she’d never see again. Tears trickled from her dark eyes, cutting trails down her dirty cheeks.
Angelina looked up and saw the banshee crying just as Warbel swooped low with a glass bottle in his claws. He scooped up the tears, stuffing the cork into the bottle with his beak as he soared away out of the creature’s reach.
The banshee screamed with rage. “Thief! You bring those back!”
“She isn’t a thief. She’s my friend. And you said if I made you cry, I could have the tears. Warbel just collected them for me.”
Warbel dropped the bottle of tears into Angelina’s satchel and perched next to her horn. “She’s right,” the wren said. “You never said she had to collect them herself.”
“Neither did I say I was bound to let you leave this clearing alive,” the hag said. She opened her mouth wide, showing jagged, yellow teeth.
Warbel dove for the satchel, tugging the leather cover over herself. “Cover your ears, child!” she shouted.
Angelina huddled on the ground, clapping her hooves over her ears.
Inhaling deep, the banshee wailed. It started low and deep, but the awful scream built until it shook the fresh green leaves from the trees and made the ground shudder. The swamp water frothed, sending fish and frogs leaping into the air. They landed with ugly splats, floating dead in the stagnant muck. Birds and bugs fell from the trees, their dead eyes staring.
Angelina’s heart pounded and her mouth went dry. The terrible wail pounded at her ears, demanding entrance so it could travel to her heart and kill her. But her hooves clapped tight, and the wax held fast, keeping it out.
Warbel huddled inside the pack, the wax in her ears keeping her protected, but the wail made her dizzy and she had to use both wings and claws to steady herself.
Finally, the banshee ran out of breath and stood panting with rage. She glared at Angelina. “You tricked me!” she yelled.
“I did not.” Angelina pushed shakily to her feet. “You asked why I was crying, and I told you. It isn’t my fault that you have a heart under all that meanness. I’d think you’d be glad of it instead of angry.”
“Well, I’m not,” the banshee snapped. Then she took a deep breath.
Angelina braced herself, thinking the hag was going to wail again, but she didn’t. Instead, the anger faded from her expression, and she smoothed her hands over her ragged dress. She gave Angelina a sidelong look.
“It’s true,” she said after a moment. “You have beaten me fairly. And to show there are no hard feelings, I have a piece of advice I’ll give you for free.”
“Don’t listen to her, Angelina,” Warbel said. “A banshee gives nothing good without cost, and you’d best count your fingers, even when you pay.”
“Shut up, you little flying rat!” the Banshee said. Calming herself, she smiled slyly. “It costs me nothing to tell you this. Whatever others may have said, you must trust the wizard. Do whatever he asks of you, or you will never be a human child again. Do you understand?”
Angelina gave no answer. “Thank you for the tears,” she replied instead. Spinning on her hind hooves, she ran from the bog as if she was racing for her life.
And perhaps she was.
