“Meet Sir Greyhound!” Henry announces with mock gravity, and every eye turns to Briar to watch her reaction. She gets it. It is all a joke—everything. The acceptance, the attention, the dress, the camaraderie, it was all to lead up to this moment, to prove how ridiculous it was to include her. Her believing that she was wanted as a guest at the ball—that was the joke. She fiercely holds back the tears that are threatening, and she keeps her face carefully blank as the laughter rings out all around her.
“Well, you said you preferred dogs to people!” Lady Arabella cries, smothering her laughter.
“Yes,” says Briar calmly. “Yes, I most certainly do.” And she steps forward, and taking the dog’s leash, she turns to leave. The crowd parts before her, still laughing as she controls herself with what dignity she can.
Suddenly she turns back to Lady Arabella and asks her quietly, “Did Rose know about this?”
Lady Arabella barely hesitates before she replies, “Of course! It was her idea!”
The last of Briar’s iron control fails her. She feels her chin begin to tremble and her eyes sting with tears. She tries to focus all her concentration on getting to the door. But there, in front of her, Bishop Simon steps forward. He is the only one not laughing. Instead he says with all seriousness, “Get you gone, girl! Go back to the kennels where you belong!”
Briar gasps at his cruelty. This, from one who was supposed to be a man of God! He may as well have declared her the castle freak. Suddenly she pulls her emotions up short. She will not cry before this man. She steps deliberately around him and continues on. The walk seems like the longest she has ever taken, with the laughter still ringing behind her. But not everyone laughs. Some there frown at the cruel joke, especially at the clergyman’s additional cruelty.
Briar, however, does not see them. Finally free of the place, she bends down and pets the long-suffering dog, speaking soothingly to it as she tries to remove the ridiculous clothes. There are footsteps behind her and then a warm voice saying, “Here, let me help.”
She turns to find Zane, the jester, but he isn’t laughing. He bends down and eases off the dog’s makeshift doublet as Briar removes the feathered hat. She opens her mouth to thank him, but the lump in her throat at first makes speech impossible. Then she chokes out, “I only want to get away—from everyone!”
“Of course, poppet. You go on. I’ll take care of the dog.”
“Thank you,” Briar whispers. She hurries on her way, breaking into a run, feeling like a dam about to burst.
She flees through the village with her head down, sobbing now. She is barely aware of the distant crowd in the town square and wants to avoid everyone. As she nears the edge of town, however, members of the Giant Killers’ club are dispersing from the thicket, and seeing her grief, several gather round her to offer comfort. Jack comes up to the little gathering and asks her what’s wrong. She only shakes her head and says, “I can’t tell you here!”
Jack takes her by the hand back to the thicket to talk privately.
“Come on, Briar. What is it?” he asks, looking into her eyes. At first she covers her face with her hands and only sobs, but slowly, bit by bit, the story comes out: the way Lady Arabella and the others cajoled her into dressing up and then hustled her down to the ball, only to make her the butt of their elaborate joke in front of everyone. Worst of all, Arabella said it had all been Rose’s idea! Rose, who had once been her closest friend!
“Are you sure she was telling the truth?” Jack asks. “Seems like Lady Arabella would say anything hurtful she could think of. And Princess Rose—could she really have done such a thing?”
Briar pauses. Was Arabella’s claim true, or had it been a lie just to hurt her? “Maybe,” she says. “But you don’t know about the terrible fight Rose and I had before the ball. I’ve never seen her so angry! Oh, she could have done it after that!” Briar sobs quietly for a bit while Jack struggles to find something soothing to say.
“You’ve still got all of us in the village,” he offers hopefully. “I know we’re just peasants and you’re a lady an’ all, but aren’t we your friends?”
“Yes,” she says as she slowly reins in her emotions. “You are, and that’s a comfort.” They sit in thoughtful silence for a bit until Briar is down to the occasional sniffle.
“Jack?” she says.
“What is it?”
“There’s something else I need to tell you. It’s about a curse that may have been cast on me when I was only a baby. I just found out about it, but it might come true at any moment now—before the day is over.”
Jack’s interest is immediately claimed, but he is conscious that time is passing and that Lan must be waiting for him—if he’s still alive. “Tell me about it fast,” he says. “It’s urgent.”
So she does.
“You see,” she finishes, “I may fall asleep today, or Rose may. Or both of us. And if I do, I’ll never wake up. I would need a blind man who was in love with me, and there just isn’t anybody like that. Promise me, if I go to sleep, you’ll put me someplace beautiful, like maybe back by the waterfall.”
“I’ll take care of you,” Jack says, “if I’m still alive. But now it’s time for me to go back up the beanstalk.”
“What? What beanstalk?”
“Follow me.”
Jack leads her out of the thicket and takes her toward the far field. When she first perceives it, the beanstalk looks like a rope in the distance, but as they get closer, the last rays of daylight illuminate its silhouette. She looks up at it and is properly amazed.
“Where does it lead?”
“Up to the giant’s house, in the clouds.”
“Oh, Jack, you mustn’t go back again! You might not be so lucky this time.”
“I have to go. Lan is up there. He’s locked in a cell, with bars on the window, an’ the giant keeps the key around his neck. I’m not sure how I’ll get the key, but maybe I’ll wait until he’s asleep an’ try to get it then.”
Briar clutches his shoulder. “Lan is still alive?”
“Yes, but I don’t know for how long. He told me to tell Rose that he loves her, just in case.”
“But that’s wonderful! Do you see what that means? If Rose falls asleep—”
“He could wake her up! If only I can rescue him.”
“Tell me about the bars on his window,” Briar says. “Could I reach them?”
“Yes, but what good would that do?”
“I’m very strong. You wouldn’t believe how strong! Look. Watch this!” She roots around looking for something suitable to demonstrate with and finally grabs a large branch, more than twice as thick as her arm, and tears it from a huge tree. Then she breaks it in two pieces over her knee.
Jack stands dumbfounded, then finally finds his voice. “How long have you been able to do that?”
“Oh, a long time. I just didn’t want everyone making a fuss over it. But you see what I’m getting at? Maybe I could bend the bars on the cell window! Let me come with you and at least try.”
“But it’s so dangerous! And what if you fell asleep while you were climbin’? You’d fall to your death!”
“I’m willing to risk it. My life wouldn’t be worth much then anyway.”
“Yes, it would! Don’t say that! There’s always hope!”
Back and forth Jack and Briar go, neither giving way. Finally, Briar reminds him of the oath they took as Giant Killers so long ago, to defend each other to the death, and the code of honor, which began with valor. Briar says she must fulfill her role as a Giant Killer or lose all honor, and sighing deeply, Jack has to agree.
* * *
Princess Rose has met every suitor in the great hall and danced with each of them, her armed guard never far from her even while she’s dancing. She maintains her frozen smile though her heart is breaking, and she does whatever is expected of her, but now she is dancing with King Udolf. He is the one Briar had named as her future husband. He is bragging unceasingly about his own g
reatness and wealth, but despite the costly appearance of his magnificent apparel, he smells bad and has dribbled food all down his front. He is, as Briar said, easily three times her age, and he looks at her as if she is some especially tasty dessert. Her revulsion for him is physical. She quails at his very touch. She feels as if she’s suffocating from his overbearing attention, and the guards behind her, hounding her every step, are enough to make her scream. Mercifully, there is a lull in the music, and excusing herself politely, she turns on the closest guard and says, “Leave me, for God’s sake. You make me insane with your vigilance!”
The guard, slightly taken aback, mumbles, “It’s by the queen’s orders, Your Highness. I can’t go against the queen’s orders.”
Rose, flushed with anger now, makes her way to the queen’s side and demands to know why she is under such close guard. “Please, Mother,” Rose says tightly, “get rid of them!”
“They are here to protect you, my dear.”
“Protect me from what? I demand that you tell me. I won’t dance with another suitor unless you tell me!”
The queen seems to deflate, and she says, “I had hoped to spare you this on your birthday. It should be a happy occasion. But if you must know, today is the day for you to find out. Come with me.” She dismisses the guard and leads Rose into a small anteroom, ordering everyone else out. Overcoming years of reserve, she begins to tell a story, the story of Rose’s birth. Even now, she carefully omits any mention of her older twin sister. She tells Rose only of her father’s pride and of the great party held in celebration of her arrival. And then she tells of the gray fairy and the terrible curse she cast that day on the royal infant, and Rose turns white.
“So, it’s true!” she gasps.
The queen looks at her, her mouth open in surprise. “Someone told you?”
“Someone, yes, but I didn’t believe it! Oh, what have I done?”
“No need to be so upset, dear. Your father had every spinning wheel in the kingdom burned when you were still an infant. We didn’t want to ruin your birthday with thoughts of such a dreadful curse, but now that you know, you’ll know better than to touch a spindle if you see one. No one can force you to touch it. You’re safe!”
Rose, overcome with dismay, is recalling that other thing Briar had told her. Just out of spite, she’d thought at the time. But what if it wasn’t? What if that was true too?
“Mother, you must tell me the truth. I realize that Father won’t announce it until tomorrow, but I have to know. Is he going to marry me to King Udolf?”
The queen does not meet her gaze. She wrings her hands and says, “You must see how much he can do for the kingdom, my dear. He’s really—”
“Oh! Oh no!” cries Rose, and she turns and runs away, desperate to find a place to be alone. She hastens back into the great hall, pushes past the ladies in waiting, and, lifting her skirts, runs up the stairs, up past the chapel, up past the solar, all the way up to the tower room where she sleeps. She throws herself on her bed, her face buried in her arms, and wishes for the old days when Briar was there to share her burdens. She thinks of the repulsive King Udolf and tries to imagine that there’s a way out. Only there isn’t. She is the princess—the heir—and she must do what she can to save her people. But can she bear to do this? She sobs into her sleeve. Can she? If only she could go to sleep and not wake up until her true love woke her with a kiss. But her true love is dead, and she’d be happy now to sleep forever.
“Come and get me, Gray Fairy!” she cries out in desperation. “I’m ready! Come and get me now!”
A soft, whirring sound comes from the corner of the room. Astonished, Princess Rose looks through wet lashes at the unfamiliar machine that has suddenly appeared and the strange, intense woman, dressed in gray, who sits there working it. It has a large turning wheel on one end, and the woman feeds wool onto a twirling spindle on the other.
“Here I am, Princess,” she says. “I’ve been watching and listening for you to call on me. I was only waiting for your invitation. And here I am! Here is my spinning wheel. And here is the spindle. Just what you wanted, eh? Now do as you will! ”
Rose is suddenly sobered. She looks over the strange woman and her machine and sees that they are quite real. All she has to do now is get up and walk over to it and touch the spindle. And then oblivion. For a moment she is afraid. Though the woman sits unmoving, she radiates a black, simmering rage, the likes of which Rose has never experienced. It seems to turn the very air dark and evil. But what does it matter now? Rose thinks. What does anything matter? She stands up and takes a step toward the spinning wheel.
“Oh yes, dearie. There’s nothing left for you here. I’ve watched it all unfolding in my crystal ball. Ahahaha! Think of it! Your own parents have betrayed you for greed! Sold you like a prize cow! But you can escape. One touch, and all your problems will go away.”
Rose listens to the rant, repulsed by the woman’s words. Betrayed! A prize cow indeed! She backs away, looking at the woman with doubt and loathing, but a minute’s contemplation forces her to see the truth of it and she moves toward her again. Yes. The spindle.
The strange woman croons to her. “That’s right, poppet. Come. Touch it. You’ll just sleep. Ah, yes. Sleep peacefully.”
Closer, closer Rose goes. Then she reaches out and pricks her finger on the spindle. The next moment, she lies crumpled on the floor, deeply asleep. The gray fairy, fired up by an exultant fury, lets out a bloodcurdling cackle.
“At last! At last! The fools actually thought they had beaten me! As if my magnificent magic couldn’t overcome their puny efforts to thwart me! Ahhhahahaha! Now they’ll see. They’ll see what it costs to go against me! They’ll see what pure, unbridled hate can do!” Then the fairy looks down on the sleeping princess, a smile of deep satisfaction on her face. “Look what I’ve done. Look at her sleeping there, so beautiful. So serene. So deathlike.
“Sleep on, sweet princess. I shall never let any man near enough to kiss you! Not while I live! Oh fairest, lovely, beauteous princess, you’re as good as dead!”
* * *
Night has fallen. Jack and Briar stand ready at the bottom of the beanstalk, Jack issuing final instructions to the village contingent of the Giant Killers. Young people from eight to eighteen have assembled in the moonlight, armed with axes and anything else that can cut. They are ready for an all-night vigil.
Briar has changed into men’s clothing and is braiding her hair to keep it out of her way. Her fingers work nimbly as she tries to mentally prepare herself for whatever awaits them at the top of the beanstalk. Jack hands her an empty knapsack, saying, “Here, we might need this—”
Briar reaches out her hand to take it, and in the very next instant she falls to the ground, as if dead.
“Briar!” cries Jack. He kneels next to her and, moaning, cradles her head in his arm. The young people gather around her, gasping with shock and dismay. Then Jack looks up at them with a tormented expression. “It’s a curse,” he says, and the others stand back, making the sign against evil.
“What do I do?” Jack asks. “She told me the spell can only be broken by true love’s kiss.” Smoothing Briar’s hair with one hand as he looks at her unconscious face, he shakes his head and says, “I love her truly. I’ve always loved her. But how could I tell her when she wakes up that it was me who kissed her? A peasant?”
“Just kiss her anyway, Jack!” several of the villagers say. “If you love her, you’d better kiss her. It’s the only way!”
Jack stares into Briar’s face, stroking her cheek with one grimy finger. Then he leans down and kisses her, a long, tender kiss. Her eyes flutter open, and she looks squarely into Jack’s worried countenance.
“Jack? What are you doing?”
Jack pulls back, as if stung. “Oh, nothing,” he replies lamely.
“Yes, you were. You were kissing me!”
“I had to, Your Ladyship. I had to wake you up.”
“So, I’ve been asle
ep? So it was all true, then. But—wait! Only true love’s kiss could wake me up!”
“Yes, Your Ladyship.”
“Stop calling me that! Does this mean that you . . . love me? Truly?”
“Yes, your—Lady Briar.”
“Just Briar!”
“All right, Briar.”
Briar is quiet for a minute, considering. It has never occurred to her that anyone would ever truly love her. Or that she could love him back. Memories of their first childhood encounter playing by the stream, that first night he came after her in the forest and brought her home to his mother, his earnest face calling for valor at the formation of the Giant Killers’ club, the time he had taken her hand with such humble courage, volunteering to follow the giant up the great mountain, and said, “I can do it,” the way he had always treated her with kindness and respect—all these things well up in her mind. And yet she has never had the temerity to think of him as anything more than a friend. She blinks at him, then feels suddenly shy.
She sits up and covers her deformed face with a heavy lock of hair, but Jack reaches over and brushes it aside, smiling. “Don’t. It’s a part of you, and I love you just as you are,” he says, and some frozen, injured corner of Briar’s heart melts and heals. It is exquisitely painful and sweet. Still, she can barely believe it. Glancing at the villagers, who are greatly interested in the proceedings, Briar wonders if she hadn’t better have this talk with Jack privately. But looking around, she recognizes them as friends, and so she doesn’t worry about sharing this personal conversation.
“But when did this happen?” she asks Jack.
“It’s been happening since we were children, since the first time I watched you dance an’ heard you sing by the waterfall. I’ve watched you often since then. Whenever you took the path to the waterfall, I followed. An’ I’ve watched your kindness with all the village people, an’ your courage in the Giant Killers’ club, and—”
Briar and Rose and Jack Page 21