4
Finnulaugh's Riddle Test
As they walked onwards, Bobby peered at his wife and said, "I hope this Sidhe lady is fair in her challenge. In the old tales, they were often harsh and unpredictable, but generally stuck to their word and their tests, though difficult, were not impossible."
"I will do this, Bobby," Belle said determinedly. "This riddle challenge is something that I shall pass because I must. Because nobody takes my baby girl!" Her jaw clenched tightly, and she continued on down the trail at a good pace, slowing slightly when she saw how her husband seemed taxed by it. "Your leg holding up?"
"I'm managing," he answered stiffly, not letting on how much pain he was enduring. His leg was stiff and he leaned most of his weight on his cane as he walked, gritting his teeth heard against the shooting pains climbing up and down it. He needed a good soak in a hot bath and a massage, and probably some muscle relaxants as well. But having none of those things, he just had to bear it.
All magic comes with a price, Gold. And this is yours, he reminded himself. When the curse had been broken, he'd brought a magical field back to Storybrooke, so he wasn't helpless and could protect those he loved, and also find his son. And the price for such an act had been his physical well being. He would be forever a crippled sorcerer, dependant on his cane, but there were worse fates.
And at least now he could track and rescue his beloved child. He had lost one child, he'd be damned to eternal darkness before he'd lose another. His hand rubbed the athame at his belt. It was cold iron, and such was anathema to the fae. But he would use it only as a last resort. The fae could be bested at their own game.
Belle rubbed her eyes as they came upon a beautiful meadow filled with wildflowers-crocuses, goldenrod, pink nasturtiums, dandelions, and so on. She couldn't believe such a profusion grew here, in a place beneath the ground without sunlight. When she squinted, however, she saw glittering rocks in place of the wildflower meadow. She blinked and rubbed her eyes again. "Bobby? Why am I . . . seeing two different things? I see crystals and then the meadow."
"The seeing drops, dearie. It'll enable you to see through fae glamourie," he explained. "But it takes some getting used to. And lookâthere's our Riddlemaker." He pointed to a large rock in the middle of the meadow, where an old woman wearing a shapeless gray dress sat.
Belle squinted, and saw that the old woman was actually a fair looking Sidhe with deep red hair and large blue eyes wearing a gossamer gown of spun moonbeams and rainbows. But when she blinked, the guise of the old crone came back.
Finnulaugh looked at them and beckoned with her withered hand. "Travelers! Come closer, me dears! I be Finnulaugh, the Riddlemaker. Be ye here to answer me challenge?"
"We are," Belle declared. She walked up to the Sidhe and said, "I shall be the one doing the answering, Lady Finnulaugh."
"Aye, lass. And ye are?"
"Belle. Belle Gold," Belle answered.
"And this fine lad?"
"My husband, Bobby," Belle replied.
"Good. Good. Sit ye down, Belle," Finnulaugh gestured and another flat topped rock appeared in the meadow.
When Belle "looked" with her eyes half-closed, she could see that this rock was real and not glamouried. She sat down, and Bobby limped over to lean on one end. He glanced at his wife and took her hand in his briefly.
His touch gave her much needed support and courage. Belle looked at Finnulaugh and said, "I am ready. Ask away."
Finnulaugh's eyes narrowed. "For each riddle, ye have until the sun passes a quarter hour to reply. Here be the first one." She cleared her throat. "Poke your fingers in my eyes and I will open wide my jaws. Linen, quills, or paper, my greedy lust devours all."
Belle listened carefully to the riddle, repeating it silently in her head. There were always clues within the body of a riddle, she had learned. This one, she suspected, was metaphorical for something. She chewed the inside of her lip, as she often did when thinking hard.
Poke your fingers in my eyes . . .what sort of item has eyes, so to speak? A potato does, but it doesn't have jaws . . .what sort of thing would "devour" paper, linen, and quills? You cut or trim a quill with a knife, but a knife doesn't have eyes. Now what cuts linen? She blinked sharply. Then she recalled seeing a familiar item almost every night in the workbasket beside her husband's chair, stuck into a ball of yarn. And it fulfilled all the criteria.
"I have it!" she declared triumphantly.
"What be your answer?"
"Scissors!"
Finnulaugh's eyes crinkled. "Tis correct! Not bad! Now for the next one. 'Tis a wee bit harder now!" The crone steepled her fingers and then recited, "Though 'tis not an ox, it has horns, though not an ass, it has a pack saddle, wherever it goes it leaves silver behind. What is it?"
Belle cupped her chin in her hand. Her brow furrowed. Another description. She tapped her finger against her lower lip.
Bobby watched her thoughtfully, thinking idly that she never had looked more adorable and desirable than when she was pondering something, her tongue protruding slightly from between her front teeth. You can do it, my Belle. I have faith in you. You're the smartest woman I know, your brain is second to none. Then he crossed his fingers, for it didn't hurt to have a little luck on your side.
Minutes ticked by and Bobby feared his wife was stumped.
But then she cried, "I know the answer."
"What be it?" cackled the crone.
"A snail! It has horns on its head, and carries a saddle in its shell, and leaves silver slime behind," Belle cried.
"Indeed, lass! Indeed!"
Bobby chuckled softly. How very ironic!
"And now, for yer final challenge," Finnulaugh cried. "I am the beginning of sorrow and the end of sickness. You cannot express happiness without me, yet I am in the midst of crosses. I am always in risk, but never in danger. You may find me in the sun but I am never out of darkness."
Her husband squeezed her hand. "You can solve it, Belle."
"Mmmhmm," she made a noncommittal noise. Her tongue protruded even more between her teeth as she thought hard.
This was a tough one, because there were so many variables. She had to find the thing they had in common.
Minutes ticked by. Finnulaugh yawned and stretched upon her rock. Gold shifted position and leaned even more heavily on his cane.
Belle thought. And thought. Then thought some more.
Time passed. Finnulaugh clucked and said, "Almost time, lassie. Have ye an answer for me?"
"I . . . I . . ." Belle stammered, trying to remain calm and collected. It was almost as if she could hear a clock ticking down the remaining minutes.
She almost bit her nails in frustration. She could solve this. She could. If only she had more time!
Suddenly, Robert put his hand on her shoulder. "Breathe, dearie. Then just relax."
His sound advice buoyed her flagging self-confidence. She closed her eyes, breathed in and out, and let the tension in her neck and shoulders flow out of her. She drifted . . . and then she opened her eyes and said, "Here's my answer. All of those things have something in common. The letter S."
Finnulaugh stood up then and bowed. "Right ye are, milady Gold! And a worthier opponent I've not had in nigh a hundred years!" She gestured and a road of cobblestones appeared behind her. "Ye may go on to the River Nye, where yer next test awaits ye. Good luck!"
Then she vanished.
"I did it!" Belle cried, and then she was being kissed deeply by her husband.
When at last they broke apart, Belle was flushed and glowing. "Come on! Let's see this kelpie."
"That's a water horse, dearie. Known to try and drown its victims if it can."
"How can we stay on its back?"
"Hmm. I have a spell to make sure we stick on," mused Bobby. "But I'll need to figure out one to make sure we don't drown."
"I have faith in you, love," his wife said confidently.
Soon they came to a quick flowing silvery stream and on the other side, in the distance was a glowing castle with midnight colored turrets.
Bobby was tempted to use his magic to try and bypass the stream, but then shook his head. He had agreed, after all to these tests, and now they'd have to make the best of them.
As he limped up to the River Nye, he cast a single enchantment upon himself and Belle.
After he'd done so, a sleek black horse with a flowing inky mane and tail entwined with green water weeds emerged from the depths of the river, rearing up and shrilling a battle cry, its hooves festooned with water weeds and its eyes burning with a cold clear intelligence. They were the eerie green of a predator's.