Re-clarification: This is a fic for Adam Gidwitz's sort-of-not-really trilogy, composed of the books A Tale Dark & Grimm, Through a Glass Grimmly, and The Grimm Conclusion. So . . . ah . . . yeah. But technically, it can be read by anyone (I think).
(And, by the way, these books deserve waaaay more publicity than they've received. In the last book, a raven mentions METAFICTIONAL DIMENSIONS. . . . Something I didn't know I needed in my life . . .)
So onto the story!
Jungreich:
(YOONG-rike)
German; prop. n. : the Kingdom of Children
The fires fell from darkened skies
to the fortress far below—
No matter that it fell on children;
it never failed nor slowed—
But this fire was not quite alone
in its deadly twisted goal:
It flew the skies with sticks and stones
that sought the deaths of children.
But the children won, that they did
though vict'ry comes not cheap:
Battle cost them one hundred friends
whose souls dark Death did reap—
Their walls were felled, their spirits split
but for their friends they lived—
Because the only time a candle's lit
is when a room's too dark to see.
And so that day a phoenix rose
from the ashes of the fallen—
A phoenix even the dragon fears:
a phoenix with the spirit of children.
Marchenwald:
(MARE-shen-weld)
German; prop. n. : The Forest of Story.
Once upon a time, three ravens sat in a tree.
Well, okay. They didn't really sit. Ravens can't physically sit.
All right: They perched.
"The metafictional dimensions of this place seriously blow my mind."
". . . Yours and mine."
"Wait!" The first two ravens ravens scowled as one at the third raven, who flapped his wings and puffed his chest feathers, making himself look like a giant midnight feather-ball. "Someone's coming! This way, from— from that place— that one story—"
"'That one story'?" the other two ravens repeated incredulously.
The first raven sighed. "Bob, bro, listen, I'm sorry. You and I both know you can't See, and well—"
"What're you talking about, I can't See?! You're the one who's blind, Charlemagne—"
At this the first raven puffed up in fury. "Oh yeah, you wanna go—"
"SHUT UP, YOU TWITS!" roared the second raven. Both Bob and Charlemagne turned to stare at their sister.
"You shut up, Princess," replied Charlemagne lightly.
Princess's eye glittered death. "What did you just call me?"
"Princess," sniggered Charlemagne, as Bob stared at the spectacle of his sister swelling to twice her size like a giant black hole, ready to gobble up the next bird that called her Princess. "Princess, Princess, Princess—"
"Princess Fen, if you will. So sorry to interrupt, but I heard my name . . . Did you summon me?"
Charlemagne and Princess glanced down from their perch with a start, stunned. A girl of no more than ten years old stood below their tree, gazing up at the birds as if the sight and sounds of talking ravens were nothing out of the ordinary. Her green eyes reflected the ravens' surprised expressions and her hair was pale as mist.
Bob squawked in indignant smugness. "See, I told you!"
Princess's beak had dropped open sometime after the girl had appeared, and there it hung. Charlemagne blinked blankly without any response.
Princess Fen tilted her head and stepped back, her pale green dress following her movement with a whisper of cloth. Mist clung to the girl, surrounding her in wreaths of whiteness, rendering her half ghost.
"I beg your pardon," Princess Fen said politely, bowing a little. "I'm afraid I've lost my sense of direction. Do you happen to know which way the kingdom of Jungreich is?"
Bob nodded gravely, suddenly deciding to fill Charlemagne's usual role. "That way," he said, nodding in the direction with his beak. "Follow the clouds 'til they spell trouble and turn towards daybreak. You ought to arrive before dusk."
Princess Fen smiled as if this were a completely normal set of directions. "Thank you so much, sir raven, on my behalf and on the behalf of Jungreich." With that she curtsied like grass dipping in wind and vanished into the fog.
An ominous silence permeated the air, laced with mild rage.
Then, long and drawn out, Princess growled.
"Bob."
Bob gulped. When Princess said something like that . . . Well, it wasn't going to be pleasant.
"Yeah?"
"Did you just—?"
"Um . . . yeah. Sorta."
"'Sorta'?!" Princess was twice her normal size again, and murder was back in her eyes. "'Sorta'?!" She cawed, and with the sound she shrunk back to the size a raven should be. "That girl— She's, she's—" Princess faltered, then settled for, "You have NO IDEA what you've just done!"
"Oh shut your beak, Princess, I know," groaned Bob. "You're still not getting it, sis. I can See now."
Princess squawked disbelievingly. "You can See my face."
"Uh, Prin, you don't have one."
"Exactly!"
"Well she's going to come back and ask for help again, and this time it'll be even more important because they'll be trying to get back to Manhattan and the man Jorinda and Joringel met—"
Princess scoffed. "Pure rubbish!" She turned on Bob, eyes still flickering. "You promise—right now!—that you won't pretend to See or pretend to use it, ever, ever again, not while this forest stands—"
"Wait!" Charlemagne's caw snapped through their argument, sharp as twigs. "The girl's coming back. . . . Already." He eyed Bob, his gaze suspicious. "I'm Seeing what Bob just described. And if I'm right, she's brought others."
If looks could kill, the attack Princess delivered Charlemagne would have turned him into a pile of dust.
"There's others all right," Bob said calmly. "All of Jungreich."
This time, both Princess and Charlemagne swiveled their heads around to stare.
"What?"
And faintly through the mist, the sound of song rang clear and thin:
"Oh ravens, oh ravens
The darkness 'gainst the green,
Shadows flitting 'cross the sky
And voices cawing nigh.
'Twas ravens, oh ravens,
Who brought me ba-ack home,
Now once again I-shall heed your call
If you will answer me at all . . ."
And on it went, soon followed by the muffled tramping of weary feet. Bob glanced at his siblings; both of them were mirror images of each other, beaks slightly gaped and eyes unbelieving.
"They made up a song about us," whispered Princess, her voice croaking in hushed tones. "A song."
"And we didn't even use the ivory monkey," agreed Charlemagne in awe.
Princess glared at him, returning back to her normal state. "This isn't about the song, you nitwit," she snapped, making Bob wonder once again just how hypocritical a raven could get. "They're asking us for help, and we'd be rot mushrooms not to answer them!"
"But you just said—"
"Never mind what I just said, move those tail-feathers and hurry up!"
Three ravens took off into the mist, following the voices of children.