From the Stories of Old: A Collection of Fairy Tale Retellings: JL Anthology, #1

By Heather Hayden, Allie May, B. C. Marine and 10 more

In this international collection, new life is given to fairy tales, both classic and obscure.

Mythical creatures put the fairy in Fairy Tale. Mermaids, selkies, and ocean guardians experience the best and worst of humanity; sisters encounter an unusually friendly bear; a brave bride meets a silly goose; and a spinner of gold sets the record straight.

Urban fantasies modernize classics: a Frenchman learns the truth about magic, his past, and his girlfriend; a girl sets out to find love but receives a curse; and today's naughty list makes Old Saint Nick not-so-jolly.

New worlds bring a fresh sense of wonder! In the future, a young woman fights for her people and herself; a bastard son finds acceptance in a world ruled by women; and a farmer's wits win the heart of a frosty king.

Discover unexpected twists on old favorites, and fall in love with new tales and worlds to explore!

• Language: English
• Publisher: Rowanwood Publishing, LLC
• Release date: Dec 7, 2016
• ISBN: 9781943171217

Book preview

From the

Stories of Old

A Collection of

Fairy Tale Retellings

This is a work of fiction. All of the characters, organizations, and events portrayed in this anthology are either products of the authors’ imaginations or used fictitiously.

No section of this publication may be reproduced in whole or in part, or stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without written permission of the author or authors who created said section.

Text Copyright © 2016.

All rights reserved.

Illustrations Copyright © 2016 by Heidi Hayden.

All rights reserved.

Book Cover Design Copyright © 2016 by Louis Rakovich.

All rights reserved.

Published by Rowanwood Publishing, LLC.

www.rowanwoodpublishing.com

First Edition

Introduction

We are the Just-Us League, a group of friends dedicated to the craft of telling stories.

We come from all over the world. We all have different backgrounds and different styles of writing. But we all have storytelling in common. We bonded over our writing, and our love of putting words onto a page to entertain is what makes us truly happy.

For our first anthology, we have each chosen to adapt a fairy tale and make it our own, since fairy tales and myths are the foundation of our genre: fantasy. Mermaids and princesses, magic and mystery abound! Some of the tales are well-known, others are obscure. At the back of this book, you will find a list of all the tales we’ve adapted, but we invite you to read the tales first and guess which ones they are before consulting the index.

Without further ado, we present to you the Just-Us League Anthology: Volume One. Please enjoy.

Sincerely,

The Just-Us League

Table of Contents

Beneath His Skin by Heather Hayden

Her Dearest Treasure by B. C. Marine

Daughter of the Air by Renée Harvey

Rose and Thorn by Allie May

The Bear in the Forest by Kelsie Engen

Mother’s Gift by Corinne Morier

The Goose and His Girl by Lynden Wade

The Princess of Alantilus by J. L. Bernard

Kris and Krampus by Louise Ross

The Glass Maker by Mckayla Eaton

The Guardian’s Secret by J. E. Klimov

The Miller’s Daughter by Katelyn Barbee

The Female Warrior by Matthew Dewar

Story Index

Author Biographies

About the Illustrator

About the Just-Us League

Also by the Just-Us League

Beneath His Skin

Heather Hayden

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Part One: Light into Dark

The first time he saw her, it was as if sunlight had taken human form to dance upon the beach. Golden locks bounced and spun as the young girl moved over the warm white sand down to the water’s edge. Back and forth she skipped, dodging the rippling waves. Her laughter rang out, clear and bright, startling seagulls. It also sent a strange pulse through his heart, one he had never felt before. A warmth like an early summer day.

For weeks, he watched her from afar, only his eyes rising above the ocean’s surface. Humans rarely frequented this short stretch of sand nestled between two steep cliffs and a backdrop of wild dunes. Their docks and boats lay to the south, in a protected bay.

She came down from the dunes at different times and on different days. Each visit, he found himself moving closer to shore. Dangerous, his mother would have warned. Humans could not always be trusted. But he was young, not long separated from her, and had little experience with humans yet. The lure was too strong, like a storm’s riptide tugging him forward.

Some days, the girl played in the waves. Others, she chased crabs or seagulls, laughing as they scuttled or flew away. No harm came to any creature; she merely followed them, eyes wide with wonder.

One day, those eyes landed on him. He would never forget their brilliance. So blue, like the cloudless sky. For a moment, they gazed at each other. Then he dove, a shudder running down his body, rippling through the thick layers of blubber beneath his skin.

When he resurfaced, further out to sea, she still stared at the point in the bay where he’d been. No fear in her expression, only clear, guileless awe.

A few days later, he risked coming ashore.

At first, she kept her distance. He made no attempts to approach—moving over the sand was difficult, his flippers awkward on land. Better to remain still, soak in the sun, and wait for her to come closer. She did at last, small feet creeping one after the other across the sand. He lay still and silent.

Her hand brushed his head, gentle as a young kelp frond. She smiled and stroked his nose, then skipped back, eyes never leaving his. He dipped his head, beckoning. This time, her hand stayed.

A week passed, then two. Sometimes, he came ashore and rested in the sun while she patted his head and brought him shells and pretty rocks to admire. Sometimes, he stayed in the water and watched her splash in the shallows.

At times, his inability to speak in his seal form frustrated him. She would chatter away about anything and everything, but he could respond in nothing more than a nod or a shake of his head, a quiet bark or whine. One day, he finally took a chance and shed his usual form, his seal skin sloughing from his body to leave him transformed. With the skin draped around his waist, he waded ashore.

Hello, he said, voice rough from disuse.

She shrieked and darted down the beach, vanishing over the grassy dunes.

He slumped to the sand. Water droplets dripped from his damp body. Tears trickled down his cheeks to join them. He had made a mistake. Now she might never return.

Listless, he sat on the beach, watching the waves roll back and forth. The ocean called to him to return, but he remained lost in thought. What had he expected? It was foolish to have shed his skin. Better to have remained her strange playmate. But it had been a long time since he’d spoken with someone. His kind were loners, rarely traveling together, and although he loved the ocean and its creatures, he longed for companionship.

As the sun reached its highest point, he stood and headed for the water. No point staying any longer. She might bring someone.

The soft scuff of bare feet on sand made him turn.

She stood a few paces away, eyes still wide, but her fear faded. Who are you?

He gestured toward his furred skin wrapped across his hips.

The fear returned, along with another emotion, hot and piercing. You killed him!

His mistake came to light. Shaking his head, he brushed a hand over his skin. No, no. I am your friend. I am selkie.

Sel-kie? She stumbled over the unfamiliar word, frowning. Too young to have heard the tales, perhaps. Or perhaps her mother didn’t tell her stories as his had told him.

He nodded. Sometimes I am seal. Sometimes I am human.

She peered again at his furred skin, then at his human skin, then deep into his eyes as though searching for his soul. He didn’t move, hoping she wouldn’t flee again.

Same eyes, she announced, and a bright smile spread across her face. She lunged forward and wrapped her arms around him.

He froze, then realized this was what humans called a hug. He returned it gently, mindful of her frail bones. She was so small, like a seal pup. He wasn’t much older himself, as selkies aged, but stood a full head taller.

Come play with me. She grabbed his hand and dragged him down to the water’s edge.

He complied, the ocean’s pull fading as his heart rose on a swell of delight. They spent the rest of the day building mounds of wet sand she called castles. Around each one she placed rocks and shells, labeling them homes, shops, and barns. He didn’t know the meaning of these words, beyond a vague understanding that a building was a wooden structure in which humans lived, and a town was a gathering of such structures, like a mussel bed, only for humans.

As evening approached, he heard an odd growling. She clutched her midsection, grimacing.

I have to go. She stood and brushed mud and sand from the skirt of her tattered dress.

You’re hungry. His own stomach ached. The transformation had taken a lot of energy, and he had spent more running up and down the beach to gather decorations for their sandcastles. Wait here. I will catch dinner.

She cocked her head, then sat down again. He got to his feet and dashed into the water.

Only once he was chasing a school of fish did he realize he had left his skin on the shore. But she didn’t know the stories, wouldn’t know what to do with his skin. Besides, she had never disturbed a gull’s nest or harmed a crab she chased. More than once he’d even seen her carry sand-encrusted jellyfish into the water. She wouldn’t harm him.

He caught two fish and returned to the shore. Shadows stretched across the beach in the dim twilight. At first, he thought she had left, then saw her sitting by their largest sandcastle, its bulwark rising high above her head. He was startled to see his furred skin draped around her shoulders. It enveloped her and spread across the sand like a dark shadow.

It’s warm, she whispered as he looked down at her.

He held up the fish and was rewarded with a smile. However, when he offered her one, she pulled back and shook her head.

It was fresh, perfectly edible. He frowned and held it out again. Eat.

Her nose wrinkled. Not cooked.

Why did humans need to ruin fresh food with fire? He looked up and down the beach for a solution, knowing he had no way of creating flame or any idea how to cook a fish. At last, he sat, placed one fish near her, then bit into the other. His teeth weren’t as sharp and his jaw wasn’t as strong in human form. Bones required chewing, and some crunched unpleasantly.

She watched, mouth hanging open, as he ate his fish. But still she wouldn’t touch her own. Her stomach grumbled again.

He picked up a piece of kelp and wrapped the second fish in it, then held it out. Here. Take it home.

She stared at the fish for a moment, then lunged forward, his skin slipping from her shoulders to the sand. He jerked back, halting when her arms wrapped around his neck. Another hug. Did all humans like to hug so much? With his free hand, he patted her back.

Thank you, she whispered, pulling away. She took the package and tucked it under one arm. Her feet shuffled in the sand. Bye.

He caught her wrist as she turned to go. Please don’t tell anyone I’m here.

She gave a solemn nod. I won’t.

He waved as she vanished into the grass above the dunes. Only when her shadow had faded into the night did he pick up his skin, brush off the sand, and wade back into the water.

She did not come every day, but those she did were the brightest, regardless of the weather. Some days they played hide and seek among the rocks near the cliff’s edge. Other days they built sandcastles, each grander than the last. Or they splashed in the waves, though she refused to let him teach her how to swim. The deeper water scared her. It was the only thing that seemed to.

One day, it occurred to him to ask her what her name was.

Eveline. Like Mother. Her smile vanished for a moment before reappearing, like a sun that briefly dipped behind a cloud. What’s yours?

He paused in his placement of shells around the edge of a castle wall. I don’t have one. She stared at him until he shifted uneasily and began laying tiny mussel shells side by side again. Humans name things. Selkies don’t.

You’re human.

I’m selkie, he corrected, though it was true he spent more time in his human form when she was around. It was less taxing on his body—transforming once every few days was difficult enough—and easier to communicate that way. More fun as well. If he tried to build a sandcastle with his flippers, he would fail.

Eveline continued to peer at him, head tilted. Can I give you a name?

He blinked, surprised by the offer, then nodded.

Her brow furrowed above a thoughtful frown. Kiesel, she proclaimed after a long moment of silence.

He laughed. That’s simply ‘selkie’ mixed up.

Kiesel, she insisted. You’ll always remember who you are.

He nodded slowly, surprised by the maturity of her explanation. At times, she seemed older than he was. That saddened him. His childhood was a carefree one, raised by a mother until weaned and old enough to travel on his own. Lonely, at times, but he could never remember feeling darker emotions such as those that sometimes flitted like storm clouds behind Eveline’s sky-blue eyes.

Her face crumpled. You don’t like it.

No, no. It’s perfect. Thank you, Eveline.

Her smile broke out again, and she jumped to her feet. We need more shells! Come on, Kiesel!

Laughing at her sudden enthusiasm, he stood, brushing sand from his seal skin wrapped about his waist, and followed her to the mussel beds.

Later, they gathered long fronds of kelp and danced about the beach—he more awkwardly than she—pretending the fronds were ribbons like the kind Eveline said circus dancers used.

Can I tell you a secret? Eveline asked as they sought fresh strands of seaweed.

Of course.

I want to be a ribbon dancer. Father promised I could when I’m old enough. Her eyes sparkled at the thought.

He picked up a piece of kelp nearly as tall as him and handed it to her. Who is your father?

His name is Rickard. He runs a traveling circus. A huge one! She spread her arms wide. They travel in caravans and come home every autumn. I can’t wait!

Her excitement was catching. He tickled her nose with a strand of sea grass. You must practice, then!

She nodded and spun down the beach again. Her arms swept up and around in an attempt to guide the limp kelp in wild circles. In his eyes, it was the most beautiful ribbon dance ever performed.

As the weeks floated by, the air grew cooler. Eveline’s visits became less frequent. The ocean sang to him of migrating, of warmer waters and winter days. The pull of the sea lessened when she was around, but grew much stronger during her absences.

I need to leave, he told her one day.

Eveline stopped digging a moat around the castle and looked up. Her curls clung to her cheeks. Sand coated her arms up to her elbows. Her ever-present smile waned to nothing. Why?

He shrugged. It’s time to go.

Her lower lip quivered. When are you coming back?

I don’t know. He didn’t tell her the truth, that he might not. The sea did strange things to memory, and what felt like no time at all for him might be several years for her.

She sat back on her heels and rubbed a sandy wrist over her eyes. Please stay.

He shook his head. I can’t.

Just a little longer? The circus will be here in a week. You have to see it!

She had never suggested he leave the cove before. He had never considered it. He shook his head again. It wouldn’t be right. I’m not human. I wouldn’t fit in.

We could say you’re selkie!

That sent a bolt of panic through him, like the shock of an electric eel. No! You mustn’t tell anyone about me. His tone was harsher than he intended, and he regretted it the moment he’d spoken.

But you’re my friend. Tears slipped down her cheeks.

Please, Eveline, he begged. You promised not to tell anyone about me. Remember?

She looked down at the sand, tracing random lines and loops with a finger. Yes.

Please don’t break that promise.

Her blond curls bobbed as she gave a slow nod and whispered, I won’t.

He gazed out over the water. Earlier that day, while fishing, he had found himself a long distance from the shore. He had struggled to remember why he had to return. But the expression on her face was difficult to ignore. I will stay until the circus arrives. Then you can leave with your father, and I will return to the ocean.

Her eyes searched his face. Promise?

He nodded and was almost knocked over by her tackling hug. Gently, he patted her back, feeling her body shake in sobs.

I don’t want you to leave.

He hugged her, feeling tears of his own slipping down to drip into her mass of curls. He was torn—part of him wished to stay, part needed to leave. The ocean sang in his bones, beckoning. Staying for a few more days would be hard—longer would be near impossible. But for her sake, he would try.

As for him returning, that was another matter. He waited until she pulled away, wiping sandy tears from her cheeks.

Can you keep a secret? he whispered.

She nodded, sniffling.

There’s a way you can summon me if you want to see me again. It doesn’t matter when you first call me to you, but after that, you can only do so once every seven years. Do you understand?

Another nod. Her nose dripped, and she wiped it away with the back of her hand. How?

"Every seven years, shed to sea seven tears, to summon me to thee," he half-spoke, half-sang the rhyme his mother had taught him, the one meant for someone he truly cared for. Someone like Eveline.

She repeated the rhyme, stumbling once or twice. He coaxed her until she had the words memorized, though the message they held was the important part, not the rhyme itself.

Once he was certain she knew it by heart, he led an expedition to the mussel beds to collect more shells for their sandcastle. The distraction dried Eveline’s tears and soon she was laughing again.

Days passed. Eveline spent many hours dancing up and down the shore with her seaweed ribbons, determined to join the circus this year. She would spin and leap and prance until exhausted. Sometimes, he joined in. Other times, he simply watched. Often he stayed in his seal form, too weary to shift. The sea continued to call him.

As the week drew to a close, and no word came of the circus, he regretted his promise. The sea’s lure was a constant tug. Even fishing became difficult—he’d drift out to sea without realizing it. On the beach, he often gazed out across the water, lost in thought. Eveline would have to shake his shoulder—or, if he was in his seal form, poke his nose—to get his attention.

I have to go.

Eveline clung to him, sobbing. Two more days. Two more days, Kiesel, please?

He shook his head and pulled away. Before she could latch on again, he retreated into the water until it rose to his shoulders, deeper than she would dare go.

I’m sorry. His voice cracked with pain, with regret. Dance well for your father. I’m certain he will take you with him this year.

Please! Her voice rang out across the water, hoarse with tears, like the shriek of a gull.

Goodbye, Eveline. He sank into his skin and dove. For a long time, he swam underwater, not surfacing until the beach lay far behind.

At last, he was at peace. The ocean’s chill soothed him. It would take time for the memories to tuck themselves away, but he chased them back each time they crept near. It had been too many days since he’d gone for a long swim. He frolicked among the waves. He weaved through a kelp forest. He chased a school of mackerel—not to eat, simply for the fun of it.

For a few days, he rejoiced in his freedom.

Then the tug of magic came. A harsh yank in his gut, as though he had caught against a sharp rock, or a fisherman’s hook. He even checked for a wound, so sharp was the pain. But the ache lay deeper than that, stronger than the pull of the ocean. Something called to his very soul.

It was Eveline. It had to be. She had cried for him, and now he had to return. Much sooner than expected, but that was the way with humans. Always rushing.

Anguished by his sudden loss of liberty, he turned with a heavy heart. His mother had warned him against sharing the secret with humans. Perhaps he should have listened.

Memories rose unbidden—Eveline’s smile, her laugh, the way her eyes sparkled at some new wonder. His sorrow faded, replaced with determination. Humans had a word—what was it? Friend. She was his friend, and he wouldn’t let her down. Couldn’t. Not with the magic drawing him as it did.

It took only a few hours to return to the beach. He had not realized how close he had stayed. Perhaps part of him missed his time there. Or perhaps it was chance, or the magic having its way with him. Whatever it was, the sun had only just slipped below the horizon when he splashed onto the beach in his seal form. His eyes searched the darkness. There lay the half-collapsed form of their last sandcastle, the largest they had ever built. There were the rocks where they had played many games of hide and seek. Beyond the beach spread the dunes, moonlight silvering the edges of sharp dune grass.

No sign of Eveline.

But the magic would not let him leave. She was here, somewhere. It hurt to transform, after having expended so much energy rushing back, but he shifted, collapsing in the sand from the effort. After catching his breath, he sat up and called her name.

Eveline! Where are you?

Moonlight glinted on golden curls as she burst from behind the nearby sandcastle and ran to him, arms outstretched, tear tracks shining on her pale face.

You came! You came! She flung herself at him, still sobbing. Had she been crying all this time?

He hugged her back. Now that she had greeted him, the magic holding him there began to ebb. The sea’s song in turn grew louder, tugging deep in his bones.

Why did you call me so soon? he asked. You can only summon me once every seven years. We only just parted.

I’m sorry, she whimpered into his neck. Tears trickled down his back, mingling with the seawater that still streaked his skin. You said... Father didn’t believe me... You promised...

Her words faded as his ears began to ring. Eveline?

As she continued to mumble, he grabbed her shoulders and held her at arm’s length. Eveline, what do you mean? What about your father? Why did you summon me?

She didn’t respond, eyes wide. Startled into silence, perhaps. He’d never treated her so roughly before. Still, sour unease stirred in his gut. He released her, stood, and scanned the beach. Nothing moved. The sea screamed for him to run, to return to its embrace.

He turned to go, but Eveline grabbed his wrist. Though small, her grip was strong with desperation. He didn’t want to hurt her, so he stopped.

Eveline, please let me go.

Not until you meet Father.

A dark shape rose from the seaside shadow of the sandcastle and moved toward them, towering over Eveline and him both. He took a step back, yanking his arm from Eveline’s grasp.

I have to—

Something hard slammed into the side of his head. He gasped and collapsed on his hands and knees as his vision went dark. From somewhere in the distance, Eveline screamed. The sea screamed too, and he reached for it, trying to crawl toward the waves. Something grabbed his waist—no, the skin around his waist, and tore it from him. He cried out, reaching for his skin, but darkness rose up and swallowed him.

Part Two: Dark into Light

Raucous laughter met Kiesel’s ears. Cowering, he covered them. The sound reverberated through the cage’s floor and into his bones, rivaling the constant ache of the sea’s call. He shifted on the cold metal and winced as a bruise on his back ached. Soon enough, the curtain would lift, and Showmaster Rickard would invite all to behold the wondrous selkie, a seal-man from the deep ocean.

Every day, in whatever town they were in, the traveling circus would attract all sorts of passersby. Folk with a few pennies to spare, looking to play some games or watch a show. Or get a peek at whatever freak the circus boasted.

Years ago, when Kiesel first woke on the filthy floor of this cage barely large enough for his seal form, he had no idea where he was. Over time, the story began to take shape, fed by bits of conversations he caught here and there. Rickard overheard his daughter singing a strange song—upon asking her about it, he learned a friend had taught it to her. Rickard then convinced Eveline that he didn’t believe her, insisting that she summon her selkie friend if he existed. When Kiesel arrived, Rickard knocked him unconscious and took him prisoner.

Not that Rickard saw him as a prisoner. He told Kiesel on more than one occasion that life with a traveling circus was a far better life than that of a seal in the dangerous sea.

Be grateful I rescued you, Rickard would say.

Kiesel never responded. Ever since that night, whenever he attempted to speak, only pain filled his throat.

There was plenty of noise to fill the silence. The laughter of circus-goers, their cries and cheers and jeers. Rickard’s voice ringing out above them, ushering them toward various diversions and entertainments. And always, always, drumming up a crowd to enter the secluded, patched canvas tent to gawk at the star of his show, the selkie called Kiesel.

Kiesel hated his name. Once a kind gesture, it was now twisted into a circus pun.

He wanted to hate Eveline, too. He’d never seen her again—Rickard hadn’t stopped at his hometown since the year Kiesel joined the circus. From what he gathered, Eveline became hysterical on the beach. Her father was forced to carry her home, kicking and screaming the entire way. She was handed over to her mother, and the circus departed that night, never to return.

Kiesel wasn’t even sure if Eveline remembered him. Sometimes, he wasn’t sure he cared. There were nights he almost hated her, especially when hunger bit deep and he shivered in his cage under a thin, itchy blanket. But every time hatred boiled up inside him, a flash of memory would remind him that she was not to blame. The blame was his, for trusting a human with such a secret.

So, instead, he hated himself.

...I present to you the Selkie Kiesel! Rickard’s voice trumpeted through the air and the tent flap drew back. A new crowd pressed in, red-faced farmers and gawking dairy maids. Some frowned at his naked form, huddled in the cage. But Rickard herded them in, crowding as many as would fit into the tent, before letting the flap drop.

With a flourish, he produced a folded pile of fur from beneath his red, star-spangled cloak. Don’t blink now, folks! The transformation is almost instantaneous, and the most remarkable sight you will ever see! As he continued his scripted speech, Rickard stepped up to the cage and dropped the fur inside. It unrolled across the metal floor.

There were a few gasps from the crowd as it became clear the fur was a seal skin. Kiesel gathered his skin around him, wincing at how tattered it had become—but then, so was he these days, weak and skinny, barely able to shift. Shuddering with effort, he transformed, his skin melting over his body as it lengthened and spread. Once, his bulk had pressed against the bars. Now, he barely stretched the full length of the cage. Still, the display was enough.

More gasps. A few screams from