Part 4

When the mists swept by the group once more, both Thumbelina and Thumbling had vanished from sight. Only Tom remained perched on Dindrane’s shoulder, staring into the fog with bewilderment and concern.

“I am to be last, eh?” the little knight said. “Very well. I shall be ready for whatever the Wasteland throws at me.”

“I’m not certain, Sir Tom,” Dindrane told him. “It is difficult to read the land’s intentions, even for one such as I who has lived here many years. But unless I miss my guess…your trial has already begun.”

“What? How?”

“You’ve watched each of your friends disappear to uncertain fates,” the girl told him. “From what I gather, you are the guiding force of this team of yours. If your allies cannot overcome their challenges, this could very well be the end of your League of Homunculi. The Wasteland is already playing on your fears.”

“You do not know them as I do, Lady Dindrane,” insisted Tom. “We homunculi are not to be underestimated.”

“Let us pray you are right,” the young woman said quietly.

* * * *

            As her vision returned, Thumbelina looked about her in surprise. She no longer seemed to be in the Wasteland but rather in her own homeland, the Danmark. High above loomed the ancient ash tree where her people, the Flower-Folk, made their homes. The tiny princess stomped a slippered foot in annoyance.

            “What’s this?” she called to no one in particular. “Is this a trial or have I been weighed and measured and sent home in defeat already?”

            She caught herself when she realized that she was not alone. A short distance away, standing in the shade of the colossal tree, were two small figures, both the same size as her. One she recognized as her beloved husband Cornu, Prince of the Flower-Folk. She was about to run to him when she saw the second figure—a slender, beautiful faerie woman with golden hair and a dress made of rose petals. The woman appeared to have her arms about the prince and Cornu did not shun her advances.

            “Oh, my prince!” the lady said breathlessly. “I’m falling in love with you. Kiss me again, Corny!”

            “Corny?!” Thumbelina repeated the ridiculous nickname more loudly than she had intended. At once, the two faeries turned to face her.

            “Maia!” Cornu exclaimed, speaking her faerie name with a mixture of alarm and guilt. He quickly pushed the other fae aside, though she scowled at him in a huff. “My love, uh, what brings you here? We were not expecting you!”

            “I can see that!” Thumbelina blurted angrily. “Is this what you do while I am away on League business, Cornu? Fly straight into the arms of the first willing hussy you see?”

            The faerie girl’s wings beat furiously in place and she took a step toward Thumbelina, pointing a finger. “Who are you calling a hussy, you ginger tramp?!”

            “Now, now, Annalea,” the prince chided.

            “She’s just jealous,” Annalea declared. “Jealous that you’d rather be with a REAL faerie-woman instead of a skinny, flat-eared, wingless freak!”

            “Is this true, beloved?” Thumbelina asked, her brow furrowed and her jaw clenched.

            Cornu said nothing for a moment then hung his head in shame. “It’s true. Maia, you’re a lovely girl but we were kidding ourselves. You aren’t a flower-fae. You never were. I have to think about the future. I will need heirs if the line is to continue.”

            “Heirs?”

“Think about it,” Cornu said. “Can a faerie and a homunculus have children together? The gods know we’ve tried. Do homunculi even reproduce? You were not born conventionally. You might not have the proper…equipment to bear children.”

            “How long?” Thumbelina’s voice was barely a whisper. “How long has this been going on?”

            “Since the year you first left with Sir Thomas,” Cornu admitted. “I began seeking a new mate among the women of the village and a few from the surrounding lands. I have bedded many a maiden but none quite as extraordinary as Annalea.”

The prince placed his hands on the lady faerie’s wide, womanly hips. “She is beautiful and vivacious and strong, with the commanding presence of a queen. She will bear me many sons.”

“Cornu, how could you?” Thumbelina tried to fight back the tears forming in her eyes. “I...I thought you loved me.”

“Oh, wake up!” Annalea scoffed. “How could he ever love you? You’re an abortion of nature. Too small to be human but lacking the gifts of the true Fair Folk. You’re an oddity, a mere curiosity. Corny has outgrown his dalliance with you.” She sidled up to the prince and wrapped an arm around his waist, drawing him closer.

In rage, Thumbelina burst forward, arms outstretched. “I’ll wring your neck, you wretch! Don’t you touch him!”

Annalea reached into a pocket of her dress and drew forth a handful of glowing powder. She flung this at the approaching Thumbelina, who stopped her advance with a startled cry.

The shimmery powder struck her face and floated down over her shoulders and dress. Unwillingly, she breathed it in and soon began to feel lightheaded. The world swam around her then seemed to stretch and draw away from her at startling speed. The faces of Cornu and his mistress seemed to retreat into the sky and their bodies elongated and expanded. When her head cleared, ‘Lina realized what had happened. The huge masses before her were the feet of her husband and his lover. Thumbelina had shrunk!

Annalea took a step forward, planting an enormous sandal in front of the miniaturized princess. The ground shook violently as she did this. Thumbelina craned her head back and stared up at the mountainous shape of Annalea in shock. She had always felt small but now she was tiny beyond reason. How small was she? She had descended from the faeries’ three-inch height to…she knew not what scale. A quarter of an inch? A hundredth? A strong wind was liable to kill her, let alone a romantic rival the size of a monolith. ‘Lina recoiled in dread.

“Yes, cower, you insect!” Annalea boomed from the stratosphere above. Her dulcet voice was now a deep bass that rumbled in ‘Lina’s chest. “Do you understand now? This is what you are and always were! A tiny, little insignificant freak! Cornelius does not want or need you anymore. No one does! This will be a mercy.”

Annalea lifted her immense foot into the air and poised it above Thumbelina.

* * * *

            When his vision cleared, Thumbling too found himself in a place that seemed like home. He was still in Britain (at least, he thought so) but he was surrounded by dozens of his own people, the Saxons. Their tawny heads, rugged faces, and harsh language were unmistakable. Thumbling walked towards a group of towering warriors. They were standing around a campfire, sharpening their swords on a grindstone.

            “Well met!” he called up to them. It felt odd after all these years to speak the Saxon tongue again. He’d relied on Merlin’s translation pendant at first but, over time, it had instilled in him some knowledge of the Britons’ language. “What’s cookin’, fellas? Could someone tell me where I am exactly?”

            The warriors glanced down at their feet and their faces beamed with happiness. “Master Thumbling!” they cried. “You’ve returned! Hey, boys! Thumbling’s back!”

            Before he knew what was happening, a big bear of a man had scooped him up and brought him to the center of the camp circle. Thumbling was placed on a log the Saxons had been using as a bench. A savory leg of fresh-cooked chicken meat was thrust towards him, as well as a mug of beer that was twice as tall as the little homunculus. The Saxons crowded around him, smiling and laughing and (lightly) slapping him on the back with their fingertips as if they were old friends. Thumbling was perplexed.

            “Hey, not that I’m complaining or anything, but what’s with the welcome wagon?” he asked. “Do we know each other? Where are we, the Saxon Shore?”

            The men guffawed as if he’d just told a fantastic joke. “Quit kiddin’, Thumbling! You know very well we’re in the Camelot province.”

            Two Saxons behind him stepped aside and afforded him a view down the hill that the camp was situated on. Sure enough, Thumbling could see the spires of Camelot about half a mile in the distance with Arthur’s red dragon banner dancing in the wind. He suddenly had a bad feeling about this.

            “Hold up, what are we doing here?” Thumbling said. “You fellas aren’t thinking of starting the invasion again, are you? I thought King Arthur put a stop to that at Mt. Badon. The war’s been over for years? Right?”

            The Saxons looked back and forth at each other with concern. “He’s not jestin’, is he?” one ventured.

“Little Thumbling must have taken a blow to the head or something.”

“He really doesn’t remember?”

A tall, blond, bearded man in elaborate chain mail pushed through the crowd. He wore a tunic with a royal crest on it, the silhouette of a horse. The man dropped to a crouch beside the log, setting down an impressive battle axe and staring at Thumbling intently.

“Do you know me?” he demanded.

“Er, no,” Thumbling answered. “Should I?”

“I am Eormenric of Kent, King of the Oiscingas. Son of Octa, unjustly slain by Uther Pendragon of Britain.”

“Okay,” said Thumbling. “That rings a few bells. Think I’ve heard of ya, or at least your forefathers. Why are you here?”

“You led us here, my wee spy,” Eormenric told him.

“Spy? Hold up a second…”

“You have lived among the Britons for many years now and have discerned their strengths and weaknesses,” the Saxon king continued. “And you informed me of the perfect time to strike. With Arthur Pendragon’s warriors searching for the Grail-cup, his fortress and lands are insufficiently defended. We shall sweep in like a summer storm and slay the Bretwalda.”

“What? No!” Thumbling protested.

“Uther’s son will pay for his crimes,” Eormenric announced, ignoring Thumbling’s outburst. “And Britain will at last be ours.”

“You can’t do that! I know Arthur! He’s a good king, a good man!” Thumbling squeaked in desperation, leaping to his feet on the log. “Look, I’ve got as much Saxon pride as anybody but we can’t just take this kingdom! It isn’t our land!”

“No, it is not. Not yet anyway,” Eormenric said, rising to his feet. “Too late to grow a conscience now, small one. Besides, you have yet to claim your prize.”

“Prize?”

Eormenric beckoned and a tall, shapely Saxon girl approached the campfire. She was strikingly pretty with tawny hair bound in two braids on either side of her head. She wore a long, brown dress, bound by a leather belt, and a pair of fur-tufted boots on her feet.

“As payment for your aid in this campaign, I promised you Ælfrida, my daughter,” the king informed him. “Once you are wed, you will be a prince of the new Britain, Thumbling. Or rather, of Angland, as we shall call it, for our Angle kinsmen.”

Ælfrida drew closer and sat down next to Thumbling. The log rumbled below him as her weight touched down and Thumbling was thrown off his feet. The gigantic girl giggled and reached down to scoop him up. She clasped him tightly against her sizeable bosom in a firm embrace. Thumbling gasped for air.

“Be gentle with your betrothed, Ælfrida. He’s quite fragile,” Eormenric warned. He then turned to his soldiers and hoisted his battle axe high. “Oiscingas! Prepare for war!”

The Saxons let loose a thunderous cheer and followed their king in a charge down the hill. Thumbling squirmed desperately in Ælfrida’s grip, trying to free himself from her fingers.

“Stop! Come back! I don’t remember doing any of this!” the tiny tailor called to them. But his voice was drowned out by the clamor of the war band.

“Arthur!” Thumbling screamed. “Someone must warn Arthur!”

* * * *

            Annalea’s gargantuan foot fell to earth with a crash, narrowly missing Thumbelina as she leapt to the side. The teensy woman rolled across the dirt out of the giant faerie’s path. In blind panic, she pressed the button on her harness and released her artificial wings. Jumping to her feet, she took off into the air.

            Annalea watched the shimmery trail left by a barely visible shape that swooped past her. She laughed cruelly and began to follow.

            “Still pretending to be one of us, speck?” she called. “I’ll crush those false wings between my fingers!”

            She reached out a massive hand and attempted to snatch ‘Lina out of the air. Enormous fingers swept past the tiny figure, barely missing their goal. The princess felt the gust of wind from the sweeping motion of Annalea’s arm and fought to maintain her course. It was like being buffeted by a hurricane.

            Thumbelina flew to her husband and landed on the huge plane of his shoulder. She called out to him desperately, staring up at the dramatic cliff-like contours of his face.

            “Cornu! Help me!”

            The prince’s expression did not change and he seemed unable to even hear her. With a few flaps of her wings, ‘Lina rose up to Cornu's finely pointed ear. It loomed before her, as vast as the entrance to a cave. Bravely, the tiny girl swooped in and bellowed into the darkness.

            “Husband! You cannot allow this! If ever there was affection between us, please, I beg you—help me!”

            Annalea watched the little creature vanish into the side of her lover’s head. She moved closer and leaned in seductively, nibbling on the prince’s earlobe. “Let me whisper sweet nothings in your ear, my love,” she said.

The faerie woman began to kiss Cornu's ear repeatedly, starting at the lobe and working her way up. When she reached the opening of the ear canal, she extended her tongue and began to flick it in and out of his ear. ‘Lina scrambled backwards in fright as the tip of the massive tongue felt around for her. It filled the opening of the ear, cutting off the light. Slimy, wet noises echoed through the chamber as Annalea continued to lap at the ear and the minuscule prisoner within.

Thumbelina fumbled with her belt, seeking something that could aid her against this staggeringly colossal foe. She searched each pouch of her belt in desperation—potions, potions, and more potions, but nothing that could provide an immediate defense. She could risk dabbing a drop of mystic elixir on Annalea’s tongue on the hope that the faerie would swallow it and fall under a spell. But at this infinitesimal size, even the contents of a whole phial of potion would be smaller than one of the girl’s taste buds. Their effect would be minimal, if there was any at all.

At last, she opened a final pouch and drew forth a tiny hunting dagger. Tom had given it to her years ago when he’d sought to teach the sheltered little princess basic survival skills. The knife’s edge was somewhat blunt from disuse (‘Lina disliked violence and could not bear to slay an animal in the wild, having known many that were her friends). But in such dire straits, it would have to do.

Grasping the hilt with both hands, she lifted the dagger above her head and brought it down swiftly on the tip of the gigantic, slithering tongue. It stuck into the flesh, barely making so much as a dent. At this size, its effectiveness was limited as well. Undeterred, ‘Lina dragged the blade to the side and continued to apply pressure until it cut a deep gash in the flesh of the writhing muscle.

Annalea’s scream was the most deafening sound the princess had ever heard. Cornu's entire head seemed to vibrate from the sound waves and ‘Lina frantically covered her ears with her hands. When the aural onslaught was over, her ears were still ringing louder than a bell tower and she felt a small trickle of blood running down her cheek. Regardless, the attack had had its desired effect, for the giant faerie had retreated and the opening of the ear canal was clear.

Annalea was rubbing her bleeding mouth and cursing like a sailor. “Ya misrabl’ li’l maggot!” she slurred, struggling to form the words with her wounded tongue. “Tha’ act’ally hur’! Wher’ ar’ ya?!”

‘Lina spread her wings and leaped out of the opening. She pressed her arms and wings against her side to streamline her form and began a rapid dive through the air, speeding towards the giant woman’s hip. A plan had begun to formulate in her mind and she hoped her insane idea was achievable.

As her gigantic adversary searched for her and spat blood onto the forest floor, ‘Lina dove headfirst into Annalea’s pocket. Fumbling about in the dark and jostled by the monstrous movements of her host, the princess finally found what she sought. A small amount of the shrinking powder was left. She held her breath, fearful of breathing in the powder’s fumes, and gathered up as much of it as she could, filling her hands and her own pockets with the substance. Satisfied, she blasted up into the air once again, wings beating furiously as she flew up to the level of that monumental face.

Annalea squinted as she focused on the barely visible form floating before her. “Aha! Ther’ ya ar’!” she muttered, blood spattering her lips. “I’ll crush ya t’ paste!”

‘Lina flung some of the shimmery powder directly below Annalea’s colossal nose. The tiny handful was sucked up into a cave-like nostril as she breathed in. The giantess didn’t even seem to notice, no more than someone would sense inhaling a few particles of dust.

Annalea lifted her hands, palms facing inward, and prepared to slap them together around her enemy as one would swat a housefly. She stopped as a funny feeling swept over her. With a meek cry of surprise, her height dropped down a few inches.

“W-Wha’ did ya do?”

‘Lina scooped the powder from her pockets and continued assailing the titaness’ nose with it. She swooped around like an angry hornet, flinging the powder into the girl’s nostrils, mouth, and even her eyes. The lady’s loss of height continued with each handful that struck home and now the dwindling had increased in speed.

Cornu looked on in bewilderment. “Anna? My love? What’s happening to you?”

“Gods damn it, Corny! Wha’ d’ ya think?!” his mistress swore at him from knee height. “Find her! Squish her! Do somethin’!”

After a few more moments, Annalea had shrunk almost to the level of Cornu's ankle. She was approximately doll-sized, while Thumbelina was about the size of an insect. The difference was negligible enough that the princess could tackle her opponent and fight on more even terms.

“Steal my man, will you?!” ‘Lina snarled, wrestling the comparatively Amazonian girl to the ground. She pummeled her again and again as Annalea continued to shrink further. When she was child-sized, ‘Lina pinned her to the floor, sitting on her chest. Her enemy dwindled more, nearly crushed under the other woman’s weight. ‘Lina reached down to grasp her in one hand like a ragdoll and held her up to her face.

“Do you yield, Annalea?” the princess asked. “I would not have your blood on my hands.”

The speck of a woman screeched in fury and spat in ‘Lina’s eye. Blood from her slashed tongue speckled Thumbelina’s tear ducts, as well as traces of the magic powder that had been flung into her jaws.

‘Lina gasped in surprise as she too started shrinking again. High over their heads, Cornu loomed like the tallest mountain in the world. He watched, helpless and torn, as his two lovers shrank down to apparent nothingness. A thick mist blew through the land and enveloped all.

* * * *

“Let me go! Let me go, blast you!” Thumbling bellowed as he was crushed against Ælfrida’s magnificent bosom. Under other circumstances, this would have been a pleasant diversion. But there was simply too much at stake.

“Silly man!” the Saxon girl giggled. “Little Husband must learn obedience! He is Ælfrida’s now!”

“We’re not married yet, you daft cow! A lot of good people are going to die if you don’t let me go!”

“And where would my Little Husband go, hmm?” the young lady asked, holding him up in her fist. “The warriors have already gone. You cannot hope to catch up to them with your tiny, little legs. They will reach the castle any moment now.”

Thumbling sighed in resignation. She was right. There was no way he could outrace the Saxon army to Camelot’s gates. Even if by some miracle he caught up to their position, he’d be trampled into the dirt unnoticed amid the charge. Arthur and any poor souls in the fortress were doomed. And it was all his fault!

This made no sense. Thumbling wracked his brain, trying to recall how he’d gotten here. He couldn’t really have been Eormenric’s spy, could he? The last images he remembered were of his friends and teammates. They were going somewhere, yes? Seeking something? It was all a haze in his brain.

“Forget the Bretwalda,” Ælfrida cooed to him, planting kisses on his tiny face. Her rosy lips enveloped his head and the pleasing sensation blocked out all else. “He was not your true lord. You are back where you belong, Little Husband. Stop struggling so. Better to save that energy for our wedding night, eh?” She giggled girlishly at the thought. “Don’t let it all go to waste.”

“Go to waste…” Thumbling repeated. “Waste. Go to…the Wasteland! I remember now! This isn’t real! None of this is real! Is it?”

Ælfrida pressed him to her sizeable chest once more. “What about me, my little love? I feel real enough, don’t I?”

Despite himself, he nuzzled his face against her. “Yes, you feel…wonderful.” He shook himself and resumed his squirming. “This is the test, isn’t it? Release me!”

“It is over, my love bug,” Ælfrida said. “Where would you go? Would you fly to Camelot like Harald’s falcons?”

Thumbling fought harder. “I have to try! I have to—wait. Who’s Harald?”

“My father’s falconer,” the girl explained. “He always has those nasty, dirty creatures around him to hunt game and bear messages to the other camps.”

Thumbling looked up and, sure enough, there was a wooden cage on the other side of the camp with a brooding falcon perched within.

“Damn it, Ælfrida!” he shrieked. “Why didn’t you tell me there were falcons in this camp?!”

“It didn’t seem relevant at the time,” she answered, sheepishly.

“Not relevant?! Lady, you MUST have come from my imagination! I always did fall for the dumb ones.”

“Who are you calling dumb, pipsqueak?” Ælfrida snarled. Her face abruptly changed to a wide smile and she squeezed him even tighter against her. “Aww, look at us! We’re having our first fight!”

As she held him to her chest, Thumbling finally managed to wriggle out of her grasp. He had nowhere to go however and soon tumbled headfirst down the neckline of her dress. Ælfrida gasped and began laughing at his ticklish descent.

“Oh, Little Husband! I knew you couldn’t resist me!” Thumbling continued falling until he emerged from the bottom of her dress and darted across the campsite. “Husband?” the girl called, confused. “Where are you?”

Thumbling scurried over to where the cage was resting and shimmied up to unhinge the lock. The falcon looked down from its half-sleeping rest and saw the little creature entering its home. Beady eyes burned into Thumbling’s head as the massive bird sized him up. The falcon advanced, deciding that the intruder would make a fine afternoon snack.

“Easy, birdy, nice birdy,” Thumbling muttered, backing up slowly. The falcon let loose a screech and its razor-like beak descended, striking the ground a little to the side of the homunculus. Thumbling bucked and weaved and ran about the cage floor as the bird stalked its prey.

“Ahhhhhhh!!!!!! I’m already regretting this plan!” he shouted, jumping down from the cage door and taking off like a shot. “C’mon, birdy, you don’t want me! There’s a nice chicken leg over by the fire! I’m almost positive it’s not a relative!”

Ælfrida, meanwhile, was still peering down into her dress, looking for her vanished betrothed and completely oblivious. When she finally looked up, she was astonished to see Thumbling mounted on the falcon’s back, tugging on the feathers of the animal’s neck to direct it.

“That way! That way, you big buzzard!”

“My beloved, what are you doing?” the lady asked.

“What’s right, Ælfrida,” he called down to her as the falcon rose into the sky. “Sorry, babe, we could have been great. If you’re actually real and not a figment of my perverted imagination…look me up some time when this is over.”

The majestic bird of prey swooped into the air and began soaring toward the spires of Camelot. Far, far below, Thumbling saw the Saxon troop marching to battle. At this height, they all seemed tiny and insignificant, no bigger than he or his companions. Thumbling urged his winged steed onward as Eormenric’s forces began to storm the castle gates. Archers began to fire at them from the battlements and the Britons within sounded the alarm. At Thumbling’s urging, the falcon dove from the sky over the heads of the Saxons. At its back, a cloud of mist swept over the battlefield, obscuring friend and foe alike.