The League of Homunculi 

Part 5

After some trial and error, the League finally pried open the bedside drawer with the aid of a discarded sewing needle. They eyed the nude giantess sleeping peacefully nearby and contemplated their next move.

“All right,” said Thumbelina. “I’ll fly over there and dump every potion I’ve got down that witch’s throat. If ‘Ling’s theory is right, it’ll create a violent reaction and she’ll expunge them, along with everything else in her system.”

“We’d best steel ourselves,” Tom added, solemnly. “If this works, she’ll cough up the key but also what…what’s left of Issun. It likely won’t be a pretty sight.”

“It’s for the best,” ‘Lina responded with sadness. “Issun was our friend. A great warrior and a good man. He deserves a proper burial, not to be left dissolving in that woman’s gut. God, this is going to kill poor Haru.”

“All I can say is if he’s mush, I ain’t carryin’ him,” Thumbling said.

“’Ling, show some respect!” ‘Lina hissed at him, whacking the little tailor in the head. She then turned back to Tom. “I’d better get started before she wakes up.”

“No, I’ll do it,” Tom announced. “My plans have already brought us enough suffering. It’s past time I take responsibility and assume the risk myself.”

Not caring to argue, ‘Lina took hold of Tom’s hand and activated her wing harness. Together, they flew across the gap to Morgan’s bed and landed lightly on the woman’s smooth forehead where they had room to work. ‘Lina reached for her belt and removed every vial of faerie potion in her arsenal, handing each to Tom in turn. The tiny princess took off into the air once more and hovered above the landscape of Morgan le Fay, waiting for Tom to carry out the plan.

As Morgan slumbered, Tom crept carefully between her closed eyes and down the bridge of her nose. He circled around the base and felt the rush of wind from the gaping nostrils as the sorceress breathed gently in and out. The little man’s hair and clothing rustled with this breeze and his feathered cap was pulled from his head, hurtling towards a dark cave. Shifting the potions to the crook of his arm, Tom caught the cap before it was inhaled, not wishing to trigger a sneeze. At last, he approached her crimson lips and readied the first vial of potion.

He was dismayed to find that, unlike before, Morgan’s lips were pressed shut. Experimentally, Tom reached out a tiny foot and nudged the woman’s lower lip with his boot. When there was no response, he pushed harder. Eventually, he braced himself against the upper lip and began pushing on the lower with both feet, trying to pry the massive mouth open.

At last, the huge lips slid apart so suddenly that Tom nearly slipped inside. He found himself balancing precariously over the precipice of her mouth, his feet against one side of the divide and his hands and elbows against the other. A wave of heat wafted upward over Tom as the sorceress exhaled, completely oblivious to the tiny drama unfolding on her lips.

Quickly, Tom readjusted his position and began to uncork the potion bottles one by one, pouring their contents down into the yawning chasm. After half a dozen potions had trickled down her throat, Morgan gave an unconscious moan, already starting to feel the effects. This caused a vibration that rattled Tom’s bones and nearly shook him loose from his perilous balancing act. Lacking for time, the little man simply dumped the remaining bottles themselves into her mouth and allowed them to tumble down into the dark. He tilted himself around in an attempt to pull back up onto her upper lip.

Morgan gulped down the tiny glass bottles as they hit her throat. As she swallowed, her lips instinctively closed, slamming shut around Tom’s waist. The tiny knight found himself caught, his hands clawing at her face and his legs dangling and kicking freely inside her mouth. Like a baby with a pacifier, the giantess sucked lightly on Tom’s lower half. The little warrior panicked as he felt himself gradually sinking.

With a weary sigh, Thumbelina swooped downward and grabbed hold of Tom’s hands. Her wings beat furiously as she pulled him free. Tom slid out from between the giant lips with a noisy, wet slurp. One boot was missing, already sucked off his tiny foot and gone forever. Or at least until what came next…

As ‘Lina and Tom flew away, Morgan’s eyes shot open. The woman groaned in pain and leaned over the side of the bed, hacking and coughing violently. Dry heaves gave way to a sickly gurgle until the sorceress was vomiting onto the castle floor.

The little ones surveyed the unpleasant scene and sure enough, saw the key lying amid the muck. But their breaths caught in their throats when they saw the miniature figure clinging tightly to it like a man adrift at sea.

“Issun!” ‘Lina shrieked.

His fine silken robe was in tatters and his skin had been scalded an unnatural beet red. Barely any movement was discernable from the limp figure wrapped about the key. But astoundingly, it appeared that Issun-boshi still lived.

‘Lina dove down once more and released Tom’s hand, letting him jump nimbly down to the floor. She swooped forward and gathered her wounded comrade into her arms, cradling him against her like a helpless child. His breathing was shallow and his eyes shut tight. But his hands remained curled tightly about the center of the key.

“Tom, ‘Ling, we’ve got to go—NOW!” Thumbelina declared. She took off for the doorway and Tom bolted across the floor behind her. Thumbling tried desperately to navigate his way down from the bedside table, hopping and dropping from one drawer handle to the next.

Having purged the source of her sickness, Morgan was slowly beginning to come to. She blinked in bewilderment as she saw the scurrying creatures and the shimmering golden-winged figure making for the door.

“Why, you ungrateful insects!” she bellowed. “I let you live and this is how you repay me?!” The woman leaped from the bed, still naked as a jaybird, and gave pursuit to the little people. She reached up towards ‘Lina and slapped her hands together repeatedly, as if trying to crush a fly. Though weighted down by her passenger and the key, ‘Lina managed to avoid the giant hands and shoot out of the bedroom like a comet.

Morgan snarled and cursed as she quickly grabbed a grey robe from a nearby hook. She slipped the garment on haphazardly as she ran down the corridor after her prey. Tom and ‘Ling tried to pick up their pace as gigantic bare feet slapped the stone tiles behind them, landing inches from their position. The enchantress cared little for who might be underfoot for her attention was focused on the faerie-winged girl up ahead. The little men below ran ever faster.

Even at full speed however, they could not hope to match Morgan’s mighty strides. A giant foot landed thunderously beside ‘Ling and the resulting rumble knocked him to the floor. Noticing him at last, Morgan stooped and caught him in her hand.

“Come back here this instant, little princess!” she shouted to ‘Lina and lifted Thumbling up to her face. “Or this one gets it! There’ll be no miraculous escape this time! I’ll bite off his limbs and chew him into a thousand bits if I must! I didn’t want to hurt you but you’re forcing my hand! Which will it be? The key…” She held Thumbling closer and licked her lips. “…or snack time?”

Thumbelina hesitated and began to turn. It was then that Thumbling struck. “Bite this, sweet-cheeks!” he said, and sunk his teeth into the flesh of her hand. Morgan screamed in surprise and released her grip. Tumbling through the air, ‘Ling blew a little kiss and plummeted down the front of the sorceress’ robe.

Furiously, Morgan tried to retrieve him but ‘Ling was already scurrying down further into the robe. He clambered skillfully over the curves of her body, every movement tickling her skin. Like a schoolgirl who’d had a mouse dropped down her dress, Morgan wiggled and squirmed in place, trying to shake him loose. ‘Ling continued his journey unconcerned, crawling down a smooth tummy, around her hip, and across a generous rump. In and out of every hollow of flesh he darted, until Morgan felt she could stand it no more.

At last, ‘Ling slid down her leg and darted after Tom, leaving the giant woman breathless and angrier than before.

“You presumptuous little worm!” she shouted after him. “I’ll eat you alive!”

‘Lina doubled back and descended for her comrades. Throwing Issun over her shoulder like a sack of potatoes, she held the key out in front of her like handlebars. Tom and ‘Ling took hold of each end and the entire team lifted into the air.

“Lords of the Fair Folk, grant me strength,” Thumbelina muttered, straining to carry this imposing load. The golden wings flapped faster than ever but the tiny woman breathed a sigh of relief when she saw the dungeon stairway ahead.

‘Lina coasted down the stairwell on a castle draft, allowing gravity to do most of the work. Her wings were splayed out to each side, helping her navigate. The sounds of Morgan’s footsteps echoed behind them, awakening Sir Lancelot from his quiet meditation in the cell.

“God’s wounds!” the knight cried. “You’ve done it then?”

Tom and ‘Ling dropped to the ground from a perilous distance as Thumbelina flew to the lock in a panic. She shoved the key into the keyhole and tried to turn it, though her tiny muscles were already weary. Lancelot quickly reached through the bars to assist her. In moments, the cell sprung open and Camelot’s champion was free.

It wasn’t a second too soon. Morgan reached the bottom step and sprinted into the dungeon, raven hair swirling behind her. It was not a collection of little people she now faced however but a full-grown warrior.

“Stand down, Morgan,” Lancelot commanded. “It’s over.”

Morgan took a battle-ready stance, lifting her hands to cast a spell. “I defeated you once, Lance, I can do it again!”

But for all her bravado, the sorceress was still somewhat weak and nauseous from the faerie potions. After a brief tussle, the knight overpowered her, pinning her to the ground.

“Kill her, Sir Lancelot!” Thumbelina called as she lighted on the man’s shoulder. “Snap the witch’s neck!”

Lancelot looked into the dark eyes of the woman below him as she struggled against his grasp. Her gaze was piercing and fierce and her beauty as bewitching as ever. His mind returned to a blissful memory of youth, when he first saw this enchanting creature. Against his foster-mother’s wishes, he had wandered far across the hills of Avalon. And there she was, emerging from the morning mists like something out of a dream, as radiant as a faerie queen in all her glory…

“I…I cannot,” the knight sighed, loosening his grip on Morgan’s neck.

‘Lina was livid. “Look what she did to Issun!” she said, fighting back tears and stroking the unconscious samurai’s hair. “He was almost digested alive like so much meat! She tortured and violated us, left you imprisoned for weeks! Finish her now or she’ll strike again!”

“Yes, Sir Lancelot,” Morgan mocked with contempt. “Slay the vile heathen. No doubt your god would smile on you for that. And your whore-queen as well.”

For a moment, Lancelot’s fingers tightened about the enchantress’ throat. But his grip relaxed and he pulled Morgan up from the floor, holding her hands behind her back forcefully.

“You shall live to stand trial for your crimes,” he said. “These are civil times now and I must uphold the code of Camelot. For the sake of the woman you once were, I pray your sentence is merciful.”

“Spare me your false mercy, du Lac!” the enchantress answered. “You hate me like all the others, don’t deny it!”

“Nay. We were friends once, you and I,” said Lancelot. “Like Arthur, I pray that there is good in you, beneath all that anger and vengeance. If you cooperate, this need not go badly for you.”

In short order, Lancelot had bound Morgan’s hands with rope and salved Issun’s burns with special ointments procured from the castle. The samurai was still in ill health however and they would have to return home at once. Lance retrieved his horse from the stables of Castle du Fay and prepared for the journey. The stablehands did not seem too concerned that the knight was arresting their mistress. In fact, some seemed downright relieved.

At dawn’s first light, Sir Lancelot rode for Camelot with the tiny League riding on his shoulders and Morgan tied to the saddle behind him. The sky was cloudy and a light rain fell upon the travelers as they departed.

Tom and the others feared that Morgan would try to snap at them with her teeth or cause them to fall from their perch and be trampled by Lance’s steed. But the woman sat there dejectedly, ignoring them all and quietly muttering to herself.

As the group passed through a forest near the border of Gorre, the drizzly British weather became even more oppressive. A thick mist enshrouded the area until the knight and his tiny friends could not see an inch in front of them. Lancelot urged the horse on bravely through brambles and branches and fog. When at last the mist abated, Morgan le Fay was gone.

“Damn me for a fool,” Lancelot spat. “I should have bound her mouth as well. She has some sorcery in her yet. This witch-wood serves her as surely as any vassal.”

Disheartened by Morgan’s escape and Issun’s rapidly failing health, the group pressed on. After a day’s ride, they arrived at Camelot to much fanfare and celebration. As Guinevere ran out to meet them, Lancelot longed to embrace her but held back when he saw that Arthur was at her side.

“It’s good to have you back, Lance,” the king said, clasping his hand. “And you, my wee warriors! What an extraordinary job you’ve done! When the queen told me of your mission, I thought it madness for sure!”

Guinevere scooped the League off Lance’s shoulders, showering them with kisses and affection that she would have otherwise reserved for her favorite knight. She was dismayed to see Issun’s fading condition. The samurai had hardly stirred during their journey and even the salves Lance had used to treat his burns had done little. Issun laid there nearly motionless, his breathing ragged. Princess Haru had accompanied the queen out with her other handmaidens and now cradled her injured husband in the palm of her hand.

“Issun,” she cried. “Issun, you cannot leave me. You’ve already come so far, my love. Hold on, please hold on!”

As the princess sobbed and the League watched helplessly from Guinevere’s hand, another figure made his way through the crowd at the castle’s gates. A hunched old man in dark blue robes and a long white beard shuffled forward on his walking stick, an inquisitive owl perched upon his shoulder.

“So,” said Merlin, “my League returns triumphant, as I knew they would.”

“Please, Merlin-san,” Haru implored. “My husband…he is ill! Perhaps dying!”

“Eh? What’s that?” the old man asked, cocking a bushy eyebrow. “Ah, right. Of course. Got gobbled up by that le Fay woman for a spell, didn’t he?”

“How did he know that?” Thumbelina whispered to the others.

“It’s Merlin,” Tom whispered back, shrugging his shoulders.

“Let me see the lad,” the wizard said, absently, approaching Haru. He leaned in to inspect Issun’s condition and placed his gnarled hand on the princess’ palm, covering the tiny warrior completely. A faint white light seemed to shimmer from the old man’s fingers.

“Rubbish. I haven’t the foggiest what you’re on about, woman. He seems fine to me.”

Haru started to protest but when Merlin lifted his hand away, there was Issun sitting groggily in her palm. His skin was its original healthy hue once more and not a tear or wrinkle could be seen in his silky garments. The samurai looked up at his giant wife.

“In the dark...” said Issun-boshi, “it was your face that sustained me, beloved.” Tears in her eyes, Haru kissed the little man repeatedly with large ruby lips.

Tom, ‘Lina, and ‘Ling watched this scene joyfully from Guinevere’s hand while Lancelot and Arthur stood nearby.

“Well, gang,” Tom said, “another successful mission for the League of Homunculi. Looks like we’ve still got it!”

“Yes,” Thumbelina smiled. “I guess we do, at that.”

“Ha! Never doubted it for a minute!” Thumbling announced, dancing a little jig on the queen’s fingers. His movements attracted the attention of Merlin’s owl, which swiftly flew past and snatched the tiny tailor up in its talons. Thumbling’s teammates cried in alarm.

“Archimedes!” Merlin bellowed reproachfully. “Leave that little man be! He’s a returning hero, not a mouse for your lunch.”

“Whoo--” the owl hooted in annoyance, releasing its grip on Thumbling and setting him on the ground. “--Whooooooo do you think I am?! Some heartless barbarian?” The educated owl stuck up its beak scornfully at Merlin. “I was just going to congratulate the lad, that’s all.”

“Right,” said Merlin. “Well, see that that’s all you do or I’ll have you stuffed for my mantelpiece.”

“Nag, nag, nag, you old goat,” Archimedes muttered, nudging Thumbling with his foot and sending the tailor scurrying under Guinevere’s skirt. “Such a lot of fuss over such little creatures. Honestly. What use could they really be?”

 The End