Toad

Deep in the gloam of an enchanted forest, a lone toad crouched among the reeds of a marsh, soaking up the fragile warmth of a fading sunbeam.

Atop a mossy rock, two warty eyes surveyed its stagnant kingdom.

Secluded and cool, the wetland provided plenty of lush vegetation along its soft and quaggy banks. Toad’s life was comfortable. Each day, he enjoyed a delectable banquet, feasting on the dragonflies, beetles, spiders, and woodlice that burrowed and slithered and buzzed near the water’s murky surface.

Most of his days were spent swimming or snoozing, pausing every so often to listen for predators or to snack on an unsuspecting fly. One day, he’d perhaps find a mate and spawn a few thousand children. For now, he felt perfectly content with his own company and the stirrings of the earthworms.

He was enjoying his third nap of the day when the snap of branches underfoot startled his slumber.

Toad stilled, listening to the familiar chitters and chirps of the forest. A rustle among the leaves made him glance upwards.

Two black eyes, shiny and pebble-like, stared down at Toad with curiosity.

The creature was a peculiar looking thing. It was larger than Toad (granted, most things were), but not much taller than the hollow log he was fond of dozing in.

It was completely barefoot, its feet long and narrow and black with dirt. Clothed in a dress of brambles and bindweed, its limbs drooped long and twig-like. Weedy, black hair spilled loose beneath a giant toadstool cap that sat askew its small, round head.

The creature blinked down at Toad. Toad blinked back.

“Hello,” the creature said.

“Croak,” croaked Toad.

Toad considered his options. He could dive and sink beneath the filthy waters, or hop for safety somewhere far beyond the marsh. But the creature was nimble and sprightly, and appeared far too cunning for that.

A cold and bony hand closed around Toad’s bulbous body before he could decide.

He flinched as the creature pressed its face close to his, examining him closely. Its grip was gentle, but resolute against Toad’s squirms.

“Hm,” the creature said. “I wonder...”

The creature tilted its head, hair spilling like dripping weeds across Toad’s face. “Curious,” it murmured, turning him this way and that. A long finger brushed against a sensitive spot beneath his throat, searching for something.

Toad groaned irritably, startling himself. It was not the common grunt of a marsh-toad that escaped its throat, but something that sounded distinctly… human. The creature’s pebble-eyes widened.

“Oh,” it whispered, clutching Toad tighter. “It is you. I thought you were only a story.”

Toad blinked, uncomprehending. The creature grinned, revealing needle-sharp teeth.

“A fairy king, under an enchantment, trapped in mud and warts. Forgotten by his court, abandoned by his kin. Oh, how pleased your Majesties will be when I reunite you with your Queen! How shall I be rewarded?”

At this, Toad paused. Fleeting images unfurled within his slow, toad-like mind. Golden curls. A marble throne. A wedding ring.

And then, darkness.

The creature leaned in close, as if in understanding, voice dropping to a sing-song murmur.

“Do you remember, little king?”

The reeds rustled with a sudden breath of wind, as if the marsh itself leaned in to listen for his answer.

Could it really be true? Toad considered. Could he be king of more than his beloved, putrid quagmire?

Eventually, Toad shook his head in reply.

The creature’s grin widened, beaming with pleasure.

“Don’t worry, Majesty,” said the creature. “You will.”

…

Toad had never left the swamp. At least, he didn’t think he had. But then, he couldn’t remember arriving at the marsh either.

How many years had he spent like this? All he’d ever known was the comfort of his fetid glade and his penchant for caddisflies. Now that entire, beautiful daydream had been interrupted.

The further Toad and the creature (who had finally introduced herself as ‘Moth’) wandered from the marsh, the more uncertain Toad became of himself. Mere hours had passed, yet already inklings of recollection were returning. He remembered grand, expansive halls; roaring fireplaces; gifts of fine jewellry and gold; an endless supply of dandelion wine. Didn’t he once have a dog?

It was as if some mystical fog had lifted from his mind. Truth groped through the sore and tangled threads of his memories like hands digging for weeds.

On one thing, Toad was almost certain. His transformation and exile had been no accident.

Moth seemed to think so, too. Beneath her unsuspecting size and polite manners, the creature appeared to harbour a rather malevolent nature. As they strolled through the forest, Toad perched upon her shoulder, Moth delightfully recounted the many torturous ways Toad could exact his revenge upon the courtly fae who had tricked him, each method bloodier than the last. Toad indulged her, pleased that such fantasies weren’t imagined upon him.

Despite this, Moth was a surprisingly attentive host. She paused often to allow Toad to soak in shallow puddles and gentle streams, tearing roots and loosening stumps with keen fingernails to allow him to reach the largest and juciest bugs.

She ate little, nibbling on small morsels of fallen nuts and seeds and berries. Toad watched curiously as she foraged, her nose wrinkling like a rabbit’s as she detected the edible from the indigestable. On one occasion, she had hissed, recoiling in horror from a tree whose boughs drooped under the weight of berries the colour of blood.

“Rowan berries,” she sat, spitting on the floor with disgust. “Poisonous, Majesty.”

“Dan-ger,” Toad croaked in agreement. Time and distance from the marsh had worked their magic on whatever enchantment had held him. He could now even manage to croak the occasional word.

Twilight soon fell. The familiar bogs and marshes turned into prettier, greener stretches of forest. Uneven forest ground gave way to rolling sprawls of meadows and tall grasses that reached Moth’s waist. The trees thinned, exposing the swollen belly of the full moon and a patchwork of starlight that cast the world into strange shadow.

Unease crept over Toad. He knew this place, had glimpsed it before through sharp, fairy eyes.

“We are near, Majesty,” Moth breathed. She pointed a long, inhuman finger to a darkened shape looming upon the horizon. “Look.”

Turrets. Towers.

A whisper of melody carried along the breeze, an alluring snippet of an enchanted symphony. If he weren’t a toad, Toad would’ve shivered with goosebumps.

“Home,” he croaked.

…

They followed the music to a grand set of gates.

Ethereal and sweet, the melodies lulled and seduced the senses, a perfect harmony of fiddles, pipes, flutes, and drums.

The gates themselves shimmered as though woven from smoke and moonlight, alight with faint silver glow. Beyond them, lanterns bobbed like fireflies over a courtyard thronged with dancers, marble pillars, and creeping vines. Silken figures spun and bowed, their laughter cutting the air like chimes.

Toad shifted with discomfort. He remembered these gates, remembered walking through them with a crown pressed to his brow. How could his people take him seriously now?

He missed his swamp.

Moth leaned close, her whisper curling against Toad’s ear.

“Do not let their pleasing songs and pretty faces trick you, Majesty. Behind their sweet smiles lay teeth as sharp as mine.”

There was no time to protest as Moth pushed her way through the gates and into the courtyard.

Outrage peeled from the dancers as she parted the crowd, her soiled feet trailing filthy marks across the pristine floor. Despite being twice Moth’s height, the dancers kept their distance, expressions twisted with a mix of interest, surprise, and disgust.

If Moth felt any fear, she didn’t show it. Grinning, she jutted her chin, a look of pure triumph alighting her features.

Toad studied his courtiers closely, seeking a familiar face. The fae’s unforgiving eyes, black and cold as steel, glared murderously back.

By the time they reached the monarch sprawled across the marble throne, the musicians had found the sense to cease their playing. Detecting fresh amusement, the dances drifted forward like a murmuring flock of birds, whispering among themselves.

The Fairy Queen regarded the strange pair with careful scrutiny, a crown of silver, emeralds and diamonds positioned perfectly upon her head. Golden curls cascaded in thick rivers to her small willowy waist. She sipped boredly from a goblet of wine, her dark, fathomless eyes eventually settling on Moth, and then on Toad.

Their gazes locked. Recognition struck Toad like lightning.

Wife. Queen.

Traitor.

“Majesty,” Moth cried. She clutched her skirts and curtsied low, arms swooping dramatically. The gesture might have been more impressive had not loose leaves tumbled from her hair. “I present to you, your missing king.”

The crowd gasped. A few spectators laughed. Some shouted their protests. Most tittered nervously to each other, their gaze trained anxiously on their Queen.

A slow, imperceptible smile curved the monarch’s lips. She set her goblet upon the throne’s dais with deliberate precision, the soft clink echoing through the hall.

“‘Your missing king’,” she mimicked cruelly. She tilted her head, examining the visitors with mocking consideration. “I have heard that the small folk do love a practical joke. Yet, as you can see, little one, I am not laughing.”

A hush fell over the courtyard, thick and expectant.

Toad fidgeted, catching Moth’s eye. Hands fisted at her hips, she stood defiant, chin still jutted proudly. But beneath it, Toad glimpsed the faintest temor of doubt. Fear.

He felt the sudden desire to rush to Moth’s defense, though he had neither the power or brawn to do it. His courtiers had deserted him. His Queen had betrayed him. And yet, this fearless, little creature was now standing resolutely by his side.

He could not abandon her. Not now.

Toad glared at the Queen. “Enough,” he commanded.

It was not the weak, confused croak of a toad. It was the order of a Fairy King.

The silence that followed was deafening. Every flicker of torchlight seemed to pause, every whisper stilled, as if the courtyard itself had drawn in a breath.

The Queen narrowed her eyes, a spark of something dangerous and unreadable glittering in their depths. Slowly, deliberately, she rose to her feet, the air thickening with the promise of violence.

But then, like a curtain lifting, her expression transformed into gentle warmth. Tears welled in her eyes as she glided from her throne to address the unexpected pair.

The Queen opened her arms, as if moving to embrace him.

“My husband,” she said breathlessly. “At last, you have returned.”

The courtyard erupted into cheers. Feet stamped, hands clapped, tears glimmered in the torchlight. The musicians renewed their playing with effortless vigour. But Toad’s eyes never left the Queen. Something in her tone, the polished perfection of her smile, set every instinct on edge.

“And you,” she said, turning to Moth. “The brave little creature who has returned him to me. How will I ever pay you back?”

Moth blinked, disoriented by the Queen’s sudden change. She hesitated, unsure what to do, feet shuffling anxiously. She curled her fingers into her filthy skirts. “Will you turn him back?”

The Queen laughed with polite amusement, the courtiers joining in. She looked astonishingly beautiful in the torchlight, her curls shimmering like coils of sunbeam. But no laughter shone in her eyes.

“Of course. But first, a toast. Everyone must join us in our joy,” her fingers unfurled towards Toad in invitation. “May I?”

Moth shot him a worried, uncertain look. Toad looked at her sympathetically, patting her cheek in a gesture of what he hoped was confident reassurance. He hopped onto the Queen’s outstretched hand, delighting in the fleeting look of revulsion that crossed her face.

For a heartbeat, silence pressed down upon the crowd. The Queen rose to her full height, voice chiming throughout the great courtyard.

“Rejoice! Our king has returned! For a century we have mourned his absence; for a century we have revered his memory. Tonight, we feast in his honour. May he forever wear his rightful crown.”

Moth watched silently, unease clawing at her chest. The Queen snapped her fingers at her in warning, pointing to her goblet. Moth whimpered and scurried to fetch the cup, placing the brimming goblet into her impatient hand.

The Queen raised it high, Toad’s unblinking stare following her every movement. Her dark gaze met his, a flicker of promised vengeance dancing in her eyes.

“To the king!” she cried.

“The king!” The room echoed, voices trembling with excitement.

The first drop of wine barely passed her lips before the Fairy Queen fell.

She stumbled blindly, eyes glazed, her smile curving unnaturally. She swayed and faltered, goblet clattering to the floor with a splatter of wine. It pooled like blood at her feet, soaking into the hem of her skirts.

Toad clambered to Moth’s shoulder just before the Queen’s body came thudding down.

And just like that, the Fairy Queen was dead.

Time appeared to freeze. Courtiers gaped; the musicians faltered mid-note.

Then the chaos began.

Instrument and cups and plates clattered to the floor, smashing and crunching beneath careless feet as the fae tore this way and that, screeching nonsensically. They clutched at each other, tore at their skirts, tugging and shoving and shouting to be the first to cross the threshold of the mystical gates Toad and Moth had entered through.

The pair watched the disorder unfurl from the vantage of the marble throne’s dais. Toad tried not to feel unsettled by the childish delight that flooded Moth’s unearthly face.

As the clock struck midnight, the last of the fae slipped between the gates.

Toad and Moth stood alone in the empty courtyard, silent at the sight of the Queen that lay dead before them.

“Berries?” Toad asked.

Moth reached for the pouch at her side. It gave off a faint, sweet tang as she tipped the ruby culprits into her palm. “I thought they might come in handy.”

They said nothing more. Together they watched as the Queen’s lips darkened, the stillness heavier than victory ought to be.

Moth tucked the pouch away, her grin already fading. “She never spoke the last words,” she said. “She never turned you back. Her spell has not broken. I deserve no reward.”

Toad shook his head and squeezed her shoulder tenderly. “Hero,” he croaked.

And for Moth, that was reward enough.

“What next?” she asked.

From his perch, Toad’s gaze fell upon the Queen’s crown lying in the dust, its jewelers glimmering in the wavering torchlight.

A kingdom still needed its king.

“Home,” he said.

…

Deep in the gloam of an enchanted forest, a toad crouched among the reeds of a marsh, soaking up the fragile warmth of a fading sunbeam.

Atop a mossy rock, two warty eyes surveyed its stagnant kingdom.

Nearby, a creature preened at its reflection in the murky waters, a crowd balanced upon its head.

The toad closed his eyes, satisfied. There were worse kingdoms to rule.

-THE END-