The League of Homunculi

Part 2

Issun-boshi stood upon the raised knee of his beloved, Princess Haru, regarding the landscape of femininity before him. Far across the vast plane of a purple kimono, dark almond eyes regarded him through a curtain of silky black hair. Though the princess seemed unfathomably large to the tiny samurai, she was nonetheless the love of his life and would ever remain so. They had been playmates as children and had faced many challenges together, not least of which was his infinitesimal size.

All that had seemingly changed the day Issun defeated a monstrous oni and saved Haru’s life. The oni’s hammer, a mystical “Mallet of Luck,” offered the bearer one’s heart’s desire. In an instant, Haru wished that little Issun was a full-sized man. The two were wed soon after.

But on their wedding night, they discovered that the oni had played one final trick. The Mallet’s effects were not as permanent as one might expect. In the midst of consummating their union, Haru had nearly lost her husband when he reverted back to half the size of a peapod. Quickly, she had fished around between her legs, seeking her vanished darling, and finally managed to remove him from within herself. Both were quite shaken and bewildered by the incident.

Another touch from the Mallet and Issun was a tall, noble warrior once more. Yet the effects would only last for a few days before changing him back. In time, they learned to live with this awkward arrangement and news of the tiny samurai’s exploits spread. This brought him to the enchanter Merlin’s attention and eventual service with the League.

Haru herself was very popular at the court, sharing stories and customs of the exotic East with Guinevere and her ladies in waiting. But she ever feared for her husband’s safety on his team’s adventures.

“Must you go, beloved?” the princess implored in their native tongue.

“A fellow warrior is in danger and honor commands that I assist,” Issun responded.

“Why does it command?” Haru asked. “This Arthur is not your daimyo.”

“Camelot has been good to us, Haru,” the miniature man replied. “Merlin’s League has allowed me to make use of this…this curse of my birth.”

Haru reached forth and lifted the little samurai from her knee with two fingers, bringing him to her lips, each nearly as large as his body. “It was not a curse that brought you to me, Issun-boshi.”

Issun buried his face in the softness of her kiss, allowing Haru’s massive lips to envelope his entire head. “I know that, my love. But the samurai code is clear on this point. I cannot abandon Lancelot to his fate. Thomas believes we can free him.”

“If you would but let me use the Mallet…” the princess began.

“No, Haru,” Issun said. “This mission requires stealth. I must be the Little One Inch for a while longer.”

“Very well,” said Haru. “But promise you’ll come back to me, Issun.”

“Though the ship tries to sunder it, the sea cannot be divided, beloved. I shall return.”

* * * *

The League stood assembled in the forest of Gorre, eyeing Castle du Fay in the distance warily. The castle was a grand imposing structure, a gift from Morgan’s estranged husband, King Uriens (though all, even Uriens himself, knew that their marriage was merely for show). One of Guinevere’s ladies had carried them hence in a basket bound to her horse’s saddle and though the ride was a rough one, they had arrived intact.

The woman looked down at the tiny creatures at her feet. “Goodbye, wee ones,” she said. “I don’t expect we shall see you again. Pity. I always thought you were pretty cute.” With this, she remounted her horse and disappeared into the night.

“You see?” Thumbelina declared, exasperated. “She thinks it’s suicide too. What are we doing here, Tom? Spying is one thing, insane rescue missions against giant sorceresses is quite another.”

Tom studied the massive stronghold with determination. “Quiet, ‘Lina, I’m looking for a way in.”

“There is no way in!” ‘Lina insisted. “Hullo, magic castle? Dark powers? Mystical force field? What part of this are you not getting exactly?”

“The part that leads to defeat and acceptance, Thumbelina-chan,” Issun said.

“Hey, it’s not like we haven’t faced impossible odds before,” Thumbling ventured. “Did I ever tell you about the time I was swallowed by a cow?”

Thumbelina rolled her eyes and sighed. “Yes, ‘Ling. Only about a hundred times.”

“I must have been in there for an hour before they heard me shouting,” Thumbling continued, unconcerned. “The farmer thought the damn thing was bewitched. I felt bad when he slaughtered the poor beast but at least it got me out. Of course, then that hungry wolf came along and—”

“We know, ‘Ling!” Thumbelina shrieked. “We’ve heard it before!”

Thumbling stopped quietly with a look of hurt. “Well…it’s a good story.”

“There!” Tom announced suddenly, pointing excitedly. “Look at that bird on the ramparts. Completely fine. Morgan’s mystic shield does not extend that high.”

“Peachy keen, fearless leader,” Thumbling said, recovering his casual demeanor. “But how do we get up there?”

“Oh, honestly,” Thumbelina muttered. “Do I have to do everything myself?”

Depressing a button on her belt, ‘Lina activated a device strapped to a harness on her back. Two vast golden wings extended past her shoulders dramatically. After her many adventures, Thumbelina had married Cornelius, the Prince of the Flower-Faeries, in her native land. His people had graciously outfitted her with a pair of artificial wings to better assimilate into their culture. It was a gift that had served her in good stead on the League’s missions.

Thumbling gave a low whistle. “Not bad. You always did look good with those things, kid.”

Thumbelina scowled at him. “When I’m in royal regalia, it’s ‘Princess Maia of the Fae’ to you, bucko. Now everybody grab hold of me. ‘Ling, watch the hands.”

Tom and Thumbling took hold of ‘Lina’s arms, while the smaller Issun climbed onto her back between the wings and wrapped his arms about her neck. As they held fast, the little woman took off into the air. ‘Lina’s golden wings beat furiously and her muscles strained as she fought to hold her three friends aloft. The group faltered slightly and lost altitude a few times but soon reached the peak of Castle du Fay.

‘Lina carried her teammates down a winding staircase and into the heart of the stronghold. They landed as softly as possible (though ‘Lina “accidentally” released Thumbling a few inches from the ground, sending him tumbling in a heap). They found themselves in a vast antechamber below an elaborate table decorated with food and drink.

The little people scurried for cover as the sound of footsteps entered the room. There, looming in the doorway was Morgan le Fay herself. She was a stunning woman, of that there could be no doubt. Long raven black hair framed a beautiful face whose fair features could put any true fay to shame. Dark grey robes hugged a wondrous figure with curves that would dwarf the tiny heroes like the hills of the Otherworld. But there was a hardness and rigidity to Morgan that marred her beauty ever so slightly. Anger and bitterness clouded her mind until there was little room for aught else. Though a lovely creature, more often than not Morgan had the look of a vengeful goddess.

As the sorceress passed through the room and descended down another stairway, the League scurried after, hoping to find Lancelot’s cell. And indeed, after clambering down the vast stairs (each twice their height or more), they arrived in the dungeon of Castle du Fay.

A handsome knight, his armor dulled by grime and rust, sat hunched behind jail bars, hanging his head. Morgan approached the weary Lancelot. Her voice was surprisingly sympathetic.

“No one’s coming, you know,” she said, gently. “I’ve worked long and hard on this castle’s defenses. The spells woven into these stones are strong. Not even my brother and his knights can penetrate these walls.”

“Why not kill me and be done with it?” Lancelot spat. His Gaulish accent gave each word a musical lilt, even in anger.

“Lance, if I’d wanted to kill you, I could have done so weeks ago,” Morgan stated. “I had hoped things could be different between us. You could have been my guest here, not my prisoner.”

The League listened intently, uncertain what to do. Tom, ‘Lina, and Issun inched cautiously forward, sneaking past the towering form of the sorceress and slinking into the shadows near the dungeon cell.

“At what cost, Morgan?” the knight asked. “Your conditions were too steep. You would have me renounce my king? My faith?”

Ever the mischief-maker, Thumbling lingered behind, rather than joining the others in hiding. The little tailor tiptoed between Morgan’s feet and under the canopy of her dress, trying to sneak a glimpse up it. Alarmed, the others motioned to him silently. Thumbling merely grinned at them.

“You still don’t see it, Lance,” the woman said. “Your faith is a poison, a disease that spreads over Britain. These followers of the Christ-god seek to destroy the Old Ways, to drive out the druids and the ancient wisdom. They would banish the Mother Goddess utterly from these lands. Is that what you want?”

Lancelot said nothing.

“No, I know what you want,” Morgan announced to the knight, a scowl crossing her pretty face. “It’s not the Christ-god you love but that hypocritical twit, Guinevere. Filled with piety one moment and off to your bed-chambers the next.”

“It could have been me sharing your nights,” she continued, slinking forward seductively and sliding a foot across the floor. Thumbling tried to stumble out of the way but was barreled into by the giant foot. The toe section of Morgan’s shoe slammed against him, causing him to slump forward and land atop it. As the woman walked forward, he clung fearfully to the shoe as if it were a bucking wild horse.

 “There was affection between us once,” Morgan said to her prisoner. “Or have you forgotten? The home of your foster-mother, Viviane, Lady of the Lake? Our tutelage on Avalon?”

“That was a long time ago,” said Lancelot, avoiding her gaze.

“Not as long as it seems,” Morgan replied. “That world is dying, Lancelot. Avalon recedes ever further into the mists. Soon, it will be gone forever and the old gods with it. That’s what these blasphemous Christians and your pious queen have wrought.”

“They aren’t all the same, Morgan,” Lancelot insisted, looking into her dark eyes at last. “There is good and evil in us all, Christian and pagan alike. If we could but have peace—”

“Peace?!” the sorceress repeated, infuriated. The League scurried aside as Morgan took an angry step forward, slamming her foot down on the spot where they had previously gathered. The impact sent Thumbling bouncing off the edge of her shoe. Morgan continued to rage at the captive knight.

“We will have peace, Lancelot du Lac! When the Goddess reclaims these isles, when the Christ-god’s churches are burnt to ashes, when my brother and his pompous wife are gone from the throne and Camelot falls….aye, then we will have peace.”

“Morgan, please,” the knight called to her. “What’s happened to you? This is not your Goddess’ way! Nor is it yours! It’s not too late! Arthur…he still loves you.”

“Arthur betrayed me!” Morgan raged. “Just as you betrayed me! Well, you can rot in there for all I care, du Lac.” The enchantress reached into her pocket and drew forth the key to Lancelot’s cell. With swift finality, she brought it to her lips, tilted her head back, and swallowed it.

The League members leaped aside again as the sorceress pivoted around and stalked back towards the stairs. They nimbly dodged her swirling dress and the massive feet that stomped past them in anger and carried Morgan back up into the castle. It would be long before there was silence in the halls above but it was not the rage of a goddess that echoed through Castle du Fay that night. It was the cry of a woman scorned.

“Well, fearless leader,” Thumbling said, as the drama before them at last ended. “What now?”

To be continued....