Pawel went over to the downed door and nudged it with his foot. "Was it supposed to fall over?"

"It didn't have anything in it when I opened it upright, so probably," Anselm answered idly before looking at the crow. "What do you know, bird?"

"Ever had a memory you couldn't recall and the void itched at your mind?" The bird acted like it would hide in Olbrecht's hair—not that it was nesting-long, but the faint curls did barely brush the bird's head. "Well, most everything is like that. I know the witch and I are both part of the cow's husband—we are fragmented because we are the sorcerer's consumed dead. I know I have reason because I have the sorcerer's spark. The witch wasn't rational, only knew the hate I once held for my former wife."

"Former?" Olbrecht muttered. "So the cow is freed?"

The crow dipped its head. "Ellema is free."

"That's your name, miss?" Anselm couldn't believe it was a real name at all.

The young woman shook her head, "That's a southern kingdom name. My husband called me that. Names have meaning so the sorcerer used it to ensnare us."

The crow nodded."The insult means Milking a Cow. I refused to bow to that sorcerer on principle, so he used the path I left open to my hatred. If I had betrayed her, perhaps our story would be better."

"No it wouldn't, " the harp called out from Pawel's back as he strained to lift the door open, nearly causing him to drop it. "Gainard remembered he loved his wife. They had just lost their child, and he sided with the sorcerer in a gamble to save his wife's sanity. That ass snared Isolde in a delusion of a child, left Gainard with the truth, and me entwined with his spark, hoping I'd protect my daughter by deceiving the men he sent to us."

Pawel whistled as the door finally fell open. "Well, that looks like we are descending into hell. The horses won't make it. Any chance we can wake the sleepers?"

"No, if they are asleep, some spell has to be broken, don't know what one yet. The most common is one of us has to snog a sleeping woman without permission or let her sleep until her body wastes away. Or if it's the adult version, well... It's not honorable." Anselm walked over to peer in. Steps disappeared into the depth on crooked stone. "Check to see if the harp glows. You'll be leading if it does. Crow, can you see in the dark?"

"Depends," the bird perched on the frame to look.

" But what is your name, lass?" Olbrecht was still caught back in his own worries, staring at the dark haired woman—not too common for their northern kingdom.

"Brina. They are already going down the stairs, Olbrecht."

"Aye." Olbrecht took her arm out of knightly custom, but at the entrance she chose to walk in front of him. He'd be the furthest from light and the first attacked from behind, which suited him.

The crow hurtled past Pawel as he carried the harp in front of him. He could feel Isolde's hand on his shoulder, but until now she refused to speak out—had not said much of anything since they fled the giant. "I miss him."

"Who, Jack?"

"Jack was never real. No, that child was a girl. I miss Gainard."

"How many times did you live that story?"

"This was the 7th. He couldn't get through to me, even as he maimed each Jack against his will. He was such a gentle man, and he was forced to be violent."

"Well, that explains why he broke character so quickly." Pawel found himself frowning, not sure of how gentle he should be. "He genuinely loved you."

"He betrayed our nation for me and failed. Even if we had survived, either Father or I would have had him beheaded."

That got a faint smile out of the heir to the throne. "I understand. Everything is sacrificed for the good of the people."

The crow called from the dark. "I found the axe!"

The party increased its pace to get to where the crow cawed, dropping their conversations.

At the bottom of the stairs, light began to steep into their vision—not true light, but an unnaturally bright day. They stood in front of a densely packed forest that stretched as far as the eye could see. An enormous stump blocked their pathway. Lodged in it's wood was a crystal battle-ax, ready for use.

Anselm had to wait on Pawel and Isolde to move off to the side to get a good look at the weapon. "Shit. Because neither of you could get that axe, I'm left with this one."

"What's wrong with it?" It would be Pawel who asked. Olbrecht already hated the idea of a glass weapon.

"This particular one shatters the first time it is used, is a cursed thing meant to fail the wielder. I'm supposed to chop down this whole forest and worse."

"Well, it's glass..." Olbrecht couldn't help but state the obvious.

The crow cackled. "It's fairy glass. The strength is determined by the fairy's will."

"Yes, being of fairy eliminates some other stories that have glass axes. This one is about a mother and daughter. The mother cursed a prince to be bewitched if he ever stepped on the ground, and then threw him into manual labor when he did. I assume she was some glowing bright thing, but stories usually assume brightness in those fickle creatures. The other? Supposed to be as dark as sin, and that's a problem."

"What's wrong with being dark?!" Brina objected almost reflexively.

The crow cackled. "Remember, they aren't talking southern kingdom humans here, my dear. What color was my skin when I lived? "

"About the color of the tree bark?" Brina answered as if she was unsure of herself.

Anselm shook his head. "The dark one hides until the prince breaks the axe—and her mother isn't watching. The thing is I'm not wasting the amount of time you did, so I will be very annoyed if she takes her sweet time showing up."

"What about listening to what they tell you to do?" Pawel asked pointedly.

"Their requests conflict. The mother tells me not to talk to her daughter and her daughter is the one who strengthens the axe—and the story follows disobeying the bright fairy."

"So why are we standing here talking?" Olbrecht started his usual twitch at being held back.

"Because these be fairies. I will not be able to remember myself without your interference. Wake me out of their trance, and no, I'm not sure how."

The harp laughed a scale. "Have the crow play my strings. The sorcerer is stronger than false fairies."

That was enough for Anselm. He grabbed the hilt of the axe and a fairy fell like a shooting star to catch him up in a whirlwind, where they disappeared from sight.