Three months later
Merida’s heart beat wildly as she marched behind her mother. She ignored the stares of the people who had just witnessed the most brazen act of defiance Merida had ever dared perform against her parents. When she hid the bow and arrows on the dais with the intention of shooting for her own hand at this year’s Highland Games, she had known that it would enrage her mother.
She did not care.
Nor did she care what the people of their kingdom who were gawking at her with such astonishment thought about her. They knew nothing of the pressure she felt—the weight of the responsibilities she carried as the daughter of the king. They could attend these games without worrying that their freedom hung in the balance.
Merida kept her head held high, never wavering throughout the journey across the grounds and into the castle and finally into the sitting room. Once they reached their final destination, her mother slammed the door and lashed out.
“I’ve just about had enough of you!” her mother hissed.
“You’re the one that forced me—”
The queen pointed at the door. “You embarrassed them. You embarrassed me! I told you before that this marriage is your fate! It is your responsibility to this kingdom!”
“But that is unfair! It is not my fault I was born into this family. Why must I suffer the consequences for something I never asked for?”
Back and forth they went, talking over each other, each trying to get her point across.
“I will not be forced to marry!” Merida yelled.
She drew a claymore from the display stand, not because she thought she needed the long sword for protection, but because she felt more at peace with its heavy weight in her hand. Her mother had never understood her. She wanted Merida to be like her, a prim and proper royal lady. But Merida had never felt drawn to that life. She wanted to be free.
She relished the feel of the wind in her hair as she raced her horse across the glen. Delighted in the exhilaration of hitting a target from fifty paces away with her bow and arrow, or tumbling in the dirt with her three brothers.
She was her father’s fierce lass, not her mother’s proper princess.
Years of pent-up frustration and resentment poured forth from Merida’s mouth. She knew she should stop. She knew her mother deserved her respect, not the venom she was now unleashing on her.
But she could not help it. She’d held in her feelings for too long, and look what it had led to: her mother believing that she could marry Merida off to some bumbling stranger just because he shot an arrow at a target. Was that all she was worth to her parents?
She would not stand for it.
“You’re acting like a child,” her mother said.
“And you are a beast!” Merida returned. She marched over to the tapestry her mother had been working on for years and poked at it with her claymore.
“Merida!” Her mother gasped when Merida twisted the sword’s tip into the fabric. “No! Stop that!”
But Merida was too far gone to see reason.
“I’ll never be like you!” Merida cried. “I’d rather die than be like you!”
She slashed the tapestry, ripping a huge gash right down the center.
What followed tore a hole through Merida’s soul. Her mother grabbed her beloved bow and threw it in the fire.
Merida fled the room. In moments she had reached the stables and climbed onto the back of her trusted horse, Angus.
“Yah!” Merida yelled, pressing her feet against his flank while snapping his reins. The horse shot out of the stable.
She could hear the people still enjoying the Highland Games, but she wanted no part of it. She no longer cared about the event; let them have it. She needed to be alone.
Unable to stop the tears from falling, Merida clutched Angus’s neck and wept like a baby as the horse galloped at full speed across the glen. Sobs tore from her chest. Fierce, tormented sobs. The mass of fury, hurt, and disappointment fueling her cries seemed to grow the farther they traveled.
She could not shake the image of her mother’s furious expression from her head. Worse than her mother’s fury had been her father’s look of disappointment.
What had they expected? That she would just go along with their plan? That she would marry that dolt from Clan Dingwall without objection? Or that cocky Macintosh lad? Did they not know her at all?
She reached the edge of the open glen, but instead of turning around as she had first planned, Merida encouraged the horse to keep going. Angus continued into the forest. Low-hanging tree limbs slapped her face, their knobby branches scraping her skin and pulling her hair.
Suddenly, Angus drew up, his thick hooves skittering along the ground. Merida couldn’t fight against the momentum that propelled her forward. She lurched, then went sailing off her horse’s back.
She hit the ground with a painful thud.
“Angus!” Merida called in an accusatory voice.
The horse ignored her cry as he stomped around in a tight circle, neighing and huffing and carrying on as if he’d been spooked by a ghost.
A brisk wind began to blow. Merida moved her hair from her face and pushed up from the ground.
“What…?” she started. She slowly twirled, staring in stunned silence at the towering menhirs that now surrounded her. Angus danced around the outskirts of the stone circle, pawing at the ground and huffing his disagreement with this entire situation.
Merida started for him, but a strange noise caught her attention. She whipped around, searching for its origin. And that was when she saw it—a tiny ball of blue hovering above the ground.
“A wisp,” she breathed.
Few people believed in the magical beings, brushing them off as folklore. But Merida knew they were real. She had seen them before, back when she was but a wee lass. Legend claimed that the wisps would lead you to your fate.
What were the odds she would see one that day, the day of the contest, of all days? It could not be a coincidence.
The floating lights multiplied. “Come on, Angus,” Merida whispered to her horse. He neighed again, shaking his head. “Angus,” she said more forcefully. She started forward, not wanting to lose sight of the wisps.
Merida tiptoed behind the tiny floating fairies, being careful not to slip as she traversed the dense forest floor, which was dotted with downed tree limbs and boulders. She was relieved to hear Angus behind her, but kept her eyes forward. Deeper and deeper they traveled, going much farther than Merida had ever ventured. The trees were massive, their trunks covered with thick vegetation. Their gnarled, spindly branches twisted and twirled, stretching above her.
At last, they came upon a clearing with an abandoned structure that had been swallowed up by the forest.
“Why would the wisps lead me here?” Merida wondered aloud. She slowly made her way to the door, surprised to find it unlocked. She pushed the wooden door aside and entered the dim cabin. Her brow furrowed in confusion at the sight of countless wooden bears.
“Oh, look around!”
Merida swiftly turned at the voice.
A short woman with wrinkled skin and a head of thick gray hair stood next to a large carving. “You holler if you see anything you like. Everything is half off.”
“Who are you?” Merida asked.
“Just a humble wood-carver.”
In an instant, the woman was at her side. Merida gasped, wondering how the old woman had made it across the room so quickly.
The wood-carver took her on a tour of the display room, pointing out the various offerings for sale. The woman held out a rather ingenious carving of a bear fishing for salmon. Merida’s brothers would have had a grand time playing with this toy. Before they broke it into a million pieces.
A swishing sound grabbed Merida’s attention.
She turned to find a straw broom sweeping the floor, without any help from anyone.
“Your broom!” Merida cried.
The woman responded with a quick explanation that Merida barely registered. There was something strange about this place. A feeling in the air that she couldn’t quite explain.
She came upon a crow that appeared to be the only thing that wasn’t carved out of wood in this entire cabin. In fact, it seemed…real.
“Oh, ah, ah,” the wood-carver said in a warning tone. “That’s stuffed.”
Merida poked a finger at the crow’s beak, and it snapped at her.
“Staring is rude,” the crow squawked.
Merida gasped. “The crow’s talking!”
The crow flapped its wings and started singing. Confusion and fear rippled through her. What was she seeing? This could not be real.
Then it dawned on her.
“You’re a witch!” Merida shouted at the woman.
“Wood-carver!” the woman rebutted far too quickly.
Merida knew it. She knew there was something strange—something mystical—about this cottage hidden so deep in these woods. She thought she would be more terrified if she ever came face to face with a real witch. Instead, Merida felt a sense of hope.
“That’s why the wisps led me here,” she murmured.
“Wood-carver!” the woman said again, demonstrating how expertly she carved wood.
“You’ll change my fate,” Merida said, excited now. This must have been the way the will-o’-the-wisps could do it, by leading her to a witch with the power to alter things. “You see, it’s my mother—”
“I am not a witch!” the witch cut her off. “Too many unsatisfied customers. If you’re not going to buy anything, get out.” The woman snapped her fingers and a dozen weapons appeared. Merida jumped back, her heart pounding against her chest as she stared at the gleaming blades. Axes, hatchets, daggers. All shiny and sharp and pointing directly at her.
Merida backed away, bumping into tables and stools. The door opened, illuminating the dark room with blinding sunlight.
“Get out! Shoo!” the witch proclaimed.
“I’ll buy it all,” Merida shouted, thinking quickly. “Every carving.” She reached behind her neck and unhooked the pewter chain she’d been given as a child. In the center hung a pendant emblazoned with the DunBroch crest, three bears disposed in a circle.
The weapons fell to the ground. The witch tried to take the pendant, but Merida held it out of her reach. “Every carving…and one spell.” She quickly explained what she wanted, making it clear she was serious.
“Done,” the witch said before snatching the chain from Merida’s hands.
The short woman walked out into the clearing. Then she turned and led Merida back to the cottage, but Merida didn’t enter. She stood in the doorway, once again stunned into silence.
The carvings were gone. There was not a bear in sight, wooden or otherwise.
The witch began telling a story about some long-ago prince, but Merida barely heard the words. She was trying to get over the shock of what she was seeing. A black iron cauldron stood in the middle of the dark room. The witch clapped her hands, and a fire ignited underneath it.
She continued with her story of the prince who had sought a spell to change his fate.
There was that word again. Fate. It rang in her ears.
“My mum thinks she knows what my fate is, but she’s wrong,” Merida said.
“Is that so?” the witch asked, tilting her head to the side as she studied Merida. “Your mum is trying to control your destiny, you say?”
“Yes, but I will not let her. My mum does not understand that I have much to do with my life before I am married—if I am ever married.” She began to pace. “This is all happening too soon. I need my freedom! I need more time! I cannot be tied down in a marriage. I will not stand for it!”
“So it is more time you seek?” The witch tapped her finger against her chin. “Time,” she repeated. “And a different fate.”
Merida nodded.
“I had a spell in mind, but I believe there is another that suits this situation even better,” the witch said. She reached into her garment and retrieved a glass vial. She tossed its contents into the cauldron, along with various other objects.
The liquid sizzled and popped, changing color with every item it consumed. Without warning, the witch slapped her hand over Merida’s eyes. Even with her eyes covered, Merida could feel the energy from the bright light that shot out from the cauldron. She heard Angus neighing outside, clomping around after being spooked yet again.
“Now, let’s see. What have we here?” the witch said.
She lifted a pair of metal blacksmith tongs and lowered them into the thick sludge that bubbled in the cauldron. She retrieved a small disk of some sort and carried it over to a table.
The disk was…
“A cake?” Merida asked with an incredulous frown.
“You don’t want it?” the witch asked.
“Yes, I want it.”
Unsure that a simple cake could be the thing that altered her future, Merida asked the witch if this spell would change her mother. If she could change the queen and her rigid adherence to tradition, perhaps her mother would not be so determined to see Merida married.
“Trust me. It’ll do the trick, dearie,” the witch answered. She wrapped the cake in cloth and handed it to Merida. “Give this to your mother, and a great transformation will be made. And you will have all the time you need to do the things you want to do before you are required to marry. Now, off you go,” she said, shoving Merida toward the door.
The witch spouted off something about Merida’s purchase—she’d already forgotten that she’d bought hundreds of wood carvings. The only thing Merida could think about was this cake, and the power it supposedly held. This small, unassuming sweet was her ticket to the life she’d hoped for.
Merida held the package against her chest as she left the cabin and headed toward Angus.
She thought she heard the witch’s voice. “Did you say something?” she asked over her shoulder. She turned to find the grass-covered cabin had disappeared. Just like that, she was standing in the center of the tall menhirs.
“How…?” Merida breathed. How had she ended up back in the ring of stones? She’d walked at least a dozen yards before she’d reached the cabin, hadn’t she?
What did it matter? She had her answer now. Wrapped in this piece of cloth was the thing that would put her mother—and her—on a new path.
But as she considered returning to the castle, all Merida could think about were the things that wouldn’t change, despite the witch’s spell.
Even if her parents became more accepting of Merida’s wishes, it wouldn’t alter the archaic tradition her people had adhered to for centuries. This spell wouldn’t change the expectations of those three lords, who all believed their sons had the right to her hand in marriage without any thought to what Merida wanted.
This was not only about her mother. This was about her and where she fit in this world.
Even if the witch’s spell changed her mother, Merida would still be the Princess of DunBroch. And, as princess, she would be expected to marry, because that was their custom. It was as her mother said: it had become her fate the moment she was born into the royal family.
If Merida wanted any authority over her own life, she was the one who needed to change. Not her mother.
She stared at the package ensconced in her palms.
With shaking fingers, Merida peeled the fabric away, revealing the tiny cake. She felt the wings of a thousand butterflies fluttering about her stomach as she brought the cake up to her mouth.
“With this, I will win my own hand,” she whispered.
And then she took a bite.
Merida grimaced at the tart, gamy flavor. The witch’s cake might have looked appealing, but that was where its pleasant qualities ended. The chalky texture stuck to the roof of her mouth. If she were to lick the sandy shoreline that ran along the edge of the river at the bottom of the gorge, it would probably feel this way. She had thought the gooey center was made of her favorite dark cherries, but it tasted more like dirt.
She stood in the middle of the ring of stones, impatiently waiting for something to happen. She was not quite sure what she had expected to happen, but she had been assured by the witch that something would.
“Well,” Merida called out. “Why am I not changing? Why is your spell not working?”
Frustration bubbled up in her veins. She should have known better than to trust that charlatan, with her mystical phrases and stories of past princes whom she’d helped. The witch was nothing but a trickster. Merida wouldn’t have been surprised if the woman had no magical powers at all.
How could she have been so gullible? The triplets were but wee lads, but surely they wouldn’t have fallen for the ruse. She had been so desperate that she had been willing to believe anything.
“Magical cakes,” Merida muttered.
Of course, there still was no explanation for the broom that swept the floor on its own. Or the crow that talked. And there was the matter of the hundreds of bear carvings that had disappeared in the blink of an eye.
It had to have been a trick. If the witch’s spell were real, Merida would have felt something.
She took a step toward Angus but stopped mid-stride.
Something was…off.
She felt woozy, as if the ground had started to undulate beneath her feet. Merida stretched her hands out, reaching for an invisible wall on which to steady herself. The imposing menhirs surrounding her swayed back and forth, as if the thick stones were doing an old Scottish folk dance.
Merida turned in a slow circle. The menhirs had doubled. So had the trees. There were scores of them all around. Their leaves and branches waved as if caught up in a strong wind.
She looked for Angus and saw two horses. Both neighed, stomping their hooves against the trampled grass. She blinked hard, bringing her horse into focus. He was still fuzzy around the edges, but at least there was only one of him now.
“Ang…Angus,” Merida muttered.
She tried to walk to him, but instead of moving forward, each step took her sideways. She moved the other way, tumbling to the right. Then to the left. Then right again. Her head spun like the wooden top her brothers played with back home.
“Angus,” she said again, the word barely making it past her lips. Dark clouds drifted overhead, casting sinister shadows around the ring of stones.
The last thing Merida saw was the glow of a wisp before she passed out.