Attercop
by Kit Tiefling
You look world-weary. Here, sit a while. I’ll tell you the story of a knight and a princess. I promise you haven’t heard this tale before. We spinners know this story. A gift for my guest.
The king had one daughter who killed her mother in childbed. Such tragedies are rare among our kind. Humans are fragile. The princess was approaching adulthood and had yet to accept a suitor. She’d dream instead of lowly Tom, squire to Sir Maximillian.
Who knows the dreams of maidens, you say?
I do. I heard her dreams as I spun in the corner. It is the gift spinners have: we spin ourselves into dreams.
Sir Maximillian’s dreams were gold and purple. He wanted to be king, as all boys do when they become knights. Sir Max’s family were merchants, rich but untitled. You know what human ambitions are, they shape the dreams of their children. Sir Max’s dreams had been spun by a generation of hungry, grasping social climbers.
Cruel, you say? Yes, cruel but accurate.
Squire Tom was a farm boy and his dreams were that dull.
I often visited the stables where Sir Max and Sir Bert and their squires competed for the bravest tale. This one slew a wyvern. That one bested a giant. Sir Max did not boast any louder or lie any better. His lies were reserved for the princess.
He’d sing to her of her beauty. He alone would uphold her honour. The girl was bright, much too bright for Sir Max. And far too bright for Tom. They saw her for her grace, her wealth, her crown. Since they couldn’t see the warp and weft of her dreaming, they couldn’t know her fire.
I admired her, yes. She changed her destiny as easily as you change your shoes.
This kingdom sat at the feet of great mountains. To the south were farms and the sea my people first rose from. To the north, nothing but steely sky and black rock. Trolls guarded the mountains, eating whoever attempted the crossing. There’d been a bridge long ago, when the mountain passes opened like books. Traders had made the journey that swelled the kingdom’s coffers.
The princess knew this and named a challenge at her birthday tournament: her hand for whomever slew the troll of the bridge. Her hand and the crown. Sir Max’s purple dreams were a terrible temptation.
Not Tom’s, no. Humble boys have humble dreams. A full belly, a soft bed, a warm body beside him. Terribly dull.
Sir Max opened his dreams for me, so I stepped in and let him shape our meeting. Oh, such a delicious secret. The form he gave me is like what you see now, only two-legged and two-eyed. And male. Sir Max desired a prince, not a princess.
“We are well-met, sir knight,” said I. He thought me flirtatious. His purple dreams turned lusty red.
“Are we, Attercop? And what of this dream?”
I admit, I lied. Sometimes lies are what’s needed.
“This is an omen, sir knight. I’m here to tell you what you wish, and that it will never be.”
“Then I will kill every spinner in this castle, Attercop, and you.”
He was lying. He didn’t kill without purpose.
“I could help you, sir knight. I’m here to offer a deal.”
“What deal, Attercop?” said he. His eyes were hungry for my shape. I had to refrain. He didn’t belong to me yet.
“Only this. I will give you magic to slay the troll and you will give me your soul.”
“And the crown?” He wasn’t thinking of any crowns or princesses, not with what awoke between his legs.
“I take it you accept?” said I. He smiled. He was handsome. I admire that in humans.
“I do. My soul is yours once the crown is mine.”
His smile faded like ink in water when I told him I must bite him to seal our pact. I didn’t bite his neck, now you ask. He enjoyed it all the more.
While he slept off our meeting and his red dreams became purple again, I hurried to the mountains.
It is a simple thing to slay a troll, for they are stupid and I am smart. I turned into a lamb and lured it into the great river under the bridge. Trolls are heavy like rock and like rocks they can’t swim.
Knights were not long in coming to my new home and they all died quickly. When Sir Max arrived with Tom in tow, he had Sir Bert on his heels. I will say this: no one can prove Sir Max pushed Sir Bert to his death. No one but Tom.
Sir Max brandished his sword. In my trollish shape, I smiled.
“We are well-met, sir knight.”
His golden dreams turned black, like his eyes. I gave him a good fight, and when he struck the killing blow, I went meekly. He took a claw for proof and he and Tom returned in triumph.
Now, you know the human conscience is prickly as a spindle, and Tom’s troubled him. The morning of Sir Max and the princess’s wedding, Tom’s conscience unspooled like yarn in a cat’s claws. He told the scullery, who told the cook, who told the steward, who told the princess, who told the king.
For his honesty, the king awarded Tom a knighthood and the princess. The lovely princess had her humble squire. For his treachery, Sir Max was banished . . . which is how he ended up at my bridge.
“You promised me a crown,” said he.
“You promised me a soul,” said I. “And I never said you could keep your crown.”
“Then my soul?”
“You needn’t be dead to give it,” said I. Sir Max smiled.
Yes, it is a love story. Sir Max’s soul came to me once I’d consumed his life.
Oh this seat? It is rather like a web, isn’t it.
Kit Laver (they/them) is a writer and library technician from Toronto, Canada. By day, they love helping readers find that perfect book; by night, they’re crafting speculative fiction in a caffeinated fury. "Attercop" is their first published flash fiction. Their short story "Diamonds and Dolls" was also long-listed for an award. When not writing, they’re catering to the demands of their adorably picky guinea pigs or photographing their growing collection of BJDs. You can follow them on Instagram at @aweetiefling.