In the ages long ago, when the lands were full of tiny kingdoms that could be crossed sometimes in less than a day on horseback, there was a King of WinterRose. His name was Farris, and his Queen was the beautiful Janessa and they were deeply, madly, in love. As is the case in such instances, they eventually had children, two boys and two girls. But when Janessa bore her fifth child, the gods saw fit to gather her soul, and Farris was left to raise his five children and govern his kingdom alone.

Farris was a brave man, but even brave men have limits. He decided that he needed a governess for his heirs, and searched high and low, and after a few days, hired a young woman named Phylla to oversee the royal offspring. By this time, the four oldest were known by all the servants as the Royal Terrors. The two girls were Serina and Millethe, and the two oldest boys were Harap and Young Farris. The fifth child, a boy named Brion, was small and quiet, and never said a word, for the four others bullied him at every chance. For even Royal Terrors love their mothers, and Brion's siblings blamed him for Janessa's death.

Such was the state of the WinterRose nursery when the brave Phylla took matters in hand. She set bedtimes, checked lessons, meted out punishments and cod lover oil as needed, and protected Brion from the cruel pranks of the others.

Two months after her arrival at Castle WinterRose, the unfortunate Mistress Phylla slipped on the steps outside the children's quarters and fell to her death below.

King Farris was devastated.

The servants, having noted that the top stair was slick from a puddle of melted butter, had grave suspicions, but said nothing of them to the king. But even the best of help gossips, and none would step forth to take the place of the late Phylla, and the king was forced to seek even further afield for her successor.

One chill autumn night the door to the main hall blew open, and in stepped a tall imposing figure of a woman. She was dressed in red, and her black hair was long and curly. Her face was fair to look upon, but her eyebrows were thick, and met over her nose, but other than that, thought King Farris as he looked at her, she was very pleasing to look upon. He watched as she stepped forwards and bowed gracefully.

"I understand you have need of a governess, your Highness. I would like to claim that honor. I am Mhari and here are my credentials." She handed him a pouch that contained several letters from nobles that praised the skill of the Mistress Mhari in caring for their children, which, truth be told, Farris barely read. All he knew was that he needed someone to take charge of his rambunctious brood, and this tall woman seemed to be quite confident.

"You're hired!" he said, and had someone show Mistress Mhari to her chambers.


Much to their dismay, the Royal Terrors found their new governess even more diligent than the late, lamented Phylla. Worse, somehow or other all their vicious pranks they tried to play upon her went badly awry. A pail of water set over the door to drench her when she entered flew halfway across the room to soak Harap and Millethe instead. Somehow Serina sat in a chair smeared with jam that Mhari should have sat upon. And when Young Farris went to sprinkle itching powder on the woman's bed, a sudden gust of wind left him scratching all over for a week.

"Something," Young Farris said, "has to be done."

He'd called a secret council of the royal children and the four oldest huddled in the dark under a comforter in a corner of the nursery. Brion, always the outsider, had been pushed out, and sat silent as ever in a nearby chair.

The other three children nodded agreement. "Then we'll do the stair again."

Serina frowned. "That killed Phylla. It's too dangerous, Farris, and if Mhari dies too, people will talk."

"They talk already. Besides, it was an accident that Phylla died. She'll slip and fall a few steps, and either break something, or be so scared she'll quit and we'll never see her again."

Harap peaked out of the comforter, then ducked back under. "What about Brion? He likes her."

"What about him? He never talks."


The next night, at dinner, the Royal Terrors each snuck some butter away with them when they left the table, and melted it in a small cup over the flames of candles. Harap and Farris carefully smeared it on the steps outside the room, and then the girls called loudly for Mhari to come tuck them all in. She came through the doorway that joined her room to the nursery, and as she did, Farris pointed at the outer door.

"I heard someone out there, Mhari! Go see if someone is outside the door!"

The tall woman raised a brow, and turned. She walked across the room as the children watched breathlessly, put her had to the doorknob, and opened the door.

Two things happened:

Brion yelled: "Watch out!"

And Mhari stepped out of the door, slipped on the butter, slid across and out over the stairwell…and hung there, motionless, in midair.

The Royal Terrors were so surprised that Brion had spoken, it took a few more moments to realize Mhari was floating and unhurt. At last they realized what they were up against. Mhari was a sorceress!

"We're sorry!" said Harap.

"It was a joke!" Young Farris offered.

"We didn't mean it!" the girls cried in unison.

Mhari stepped back onto the stair and walked back into the room. "You certainly did, and perhaps the first time it was a joke, when my sister Phylla died, but it wasn't this time. It was pure wickedness." She looked at Brion. "Except for you. You tried to warn me." She turned back to the other four. "But you four, you must be punished, until someone speaks in your behalf."

She raised her hands, a cloud of smoke appeared, and when it had cleared, Brian stood alone in the nursery, his brothers, his sisters, and Shari vanished from sight.


Four and twenty years passed. King Farris died and followed his beloved Janessa to the gods, and was succeeded by his son, King Brion. No trace of the four royal children was found, although the common folk spoke of a red-clad figure driving a coach in the air that was pulled by four great carrion-birds. At any rate, they had been gone for sometime and it was King Brion's birthday feast when the hall doors once more crashed open and a beautiful woman in red strode boldly in, trailed by four carrion-birds.

"Milord, twenty four years ago, you spoke to save my life. Tonight, for your birthday, and in honor of that act, I will grant you any wish you might have."

Brion looked at her, then looked at the four birds, and the memory of what she had said that night long ago sprang to mind. He turned back to her.

"I wish my brothers and sisters to as they were."

Mhari bowed, then gestured, and there, laying on the floor were Harrap, Serina, Millethe and Young Farris. Brion had clothes and food fetched for them, gave them rooms to sleep in, and then next day shipped them off to live out their days as clerics.

Brion was merciful, but he wasn't stupid.

As for Mhari, she had once again vanished. As time passed and the story was retold, children came to call her Hairy Mhari for her hairy eyebrows. And to this day, governesses tell this tale to their charges, that children should be obedient and should not pick on their younger brothers or sisters, else they too might end up pulling Hairy Mhari's coach across the skies.