Briar and Rose and Jack

by Katherine Coville

  Briar and Lan are now only a few steps away from the archway at the bottom of the staircase, but fluffy feathers are still scattered in the air, and they waft about, tickling and teasing at the tip of Briar’s nose. Briar feels a sneeze coming on. She holds her breath and contorts her face for several seconds until the urge passes.

  Lan, whose larger feet make the going more difficult, stops several yards behind her and, rubbing his own nose, whispers, “Are you all right?”

  She turns and nods, then takes a few more steps, but the sneeze is not done with her. With a sudden, uncontrollable “Ah-choo!” she is given away. She makes a run for it. Dropping her shield and sword, she clambers over bodies, dashes under the archway, and leaps for the stairs.

  “Ha!” bellows the gray fairy, sending a powerful blast of magic after her, collapsing the archway into a wall of rubble just before Lan reaches it.

  He turns to face her, and in a burst of fury and daring, he hurls his broken sword straight for her head. In half a heartbeat, the gray fairy stops it in midair, turning it to ice. It drops to the floor and shatters. All about her, the other fairies gasp as they see that Lan, too, has been turned into ice.

  * * *

  Briar, having narrowly escaped the gray fairy’s destructive blast, finds herself on her hands and knees on the stairway. She turns and calls Lan’s name, but there is no reply. Was he buried somewhere underneath it or had he somehow escaped? And if he had, would the gray fairy let him live? Her shoulders slump, and tears spring to her eyes. Lan is probably dead, and it has all been for nothing. And here she is, trapped in the castle keep, when all she wants is to be back at the beanstalk, waiting for Jack to come to her. Could he be there now, looking for her?

  “Jack?” she cries aloud. “Jack? Where are you?” She closes her eyes and is still, listening for some sort of inner response, but none comes. She gives in to bitter tears. Finally, her mind is overcome with questions. What should she do now? Where should she go? What would Jack want her to do? What would Hilde say to her? Briar supposes she should go find Rose. Rose, who had betrayed her. Rose, who was once her friend. And with that last thought, she kicks free of the heavy rubble and begins to climb the stairs.

  * * *

  In the great hall below, the gray fairy cackles with glee. “Did you really think I would let him pass?” she gloats.

  “What I think,” says the gold fairy, “is that it is not too late to change your course before your hatred consumes you. You still have a choice. Let the young man live. Let him awaken the princess. Then go back to your tower and find another way to live.”

  The gray fairy is incensed by the gold fairy’s words. “Bah! Don’t try your perverse tricks on me! Spare me your goody-goody hypocrisy! I know what you want. You want me to lower my guard so you can undo my powers! It’s what you’ve always wanted! But I am too powerful for you! Too powerful!”

  “I am a hundred years older than you are, and I’ve gained a certain amount of wisdom in that time. You would do well to listen to me. There is more than one kind of power. There is the quiet power of love. It may yet win out in the end.”

  “You can’t possibly win against me! I am unassailable!” The gray fairy shimmers and fades, and in her place a hissing dragon fills the center of the room, smoke streaming from its nostrils. “See me now!” roars the dragon. “Behold my greatness! You think to tame me? One breath, and I will melt your frozen hero into a puddle!”

  And she unleashes a blast of flame directly at the statue of ice that is Lan.

  * * *

  Briar drags herself up the stairs one by one, dispirited and drained. She knows what she will find at the top, but she hardly cares. When at last she sets foot in the room where Rose lies, she is almost taken aback by her beauty, so ethereal and exquisite. Yes, Briar thinks, but it is only skin-deep. She sits on the edge of the bed and sighs profoundly, sorrowfully. Whatever happened, she wonders, to the unspoiled girl who had played with her by the stream, splattered with water and mud and wreathed in smiles? Briar smiles to herself briefly, and then the smile disappears. What had happened to their untroubled devotion to each other?

  Suddenly the floor seems to tremble, and she hears a muffled roar from below. The gray fairy has won, she thinks. It will be over soon. Would there ever be another brave hero who could truly love Rose for herself? But that self was far away now in the land of perpetual sleep. All that was left of Rose to love was her beauty. Alone, it was nothing.

  Briar sits and ponders while the castle trembles. She can’t think what to do next, so she stays at the bedside for a while, lost in sad and fearful thoughts. And then, from somewhere, it occurs to her . . . that maybe . . . just maybe . . . it doesn’t have to be a hero that kisses Rose awake. True love . . . maybe it could come from anyone.

  “But not from me!” she says vehemently. A scene flashes into her head with lifelike clarity: she is at the ball, wearing a fancy dress and flowers in her hair, when Lord Henry and the others stand back to make an aisle. And there, at the end of the aisle, is her proposed escort, the dog dressed up in finery to be her dance partner. Faces split with laughter leer at her on every side. And then Lady Arabella’s face, smug and cruel, assures her triumphantly that it had all been Rose’s idea. All Rose’s idea!

  “No!” Briar cries as she leaps up and backs away. “I won’t kiss her! I won’t even try it! I don’t love her!” Just to prove it, she comes back and, bending over Rose’s sleeping form, reaches out and messes up her hair. “There!” she says, satisfied with the effect. “You don’t look so pretty now!”

  She sits down again on the edge of the bed, and more memories rise to the surface. She recalls a whole gallery of perceived wrongs and injustices, from the first beating she got after they had played in the water together as girls to the many unjustified beatings she received over the years at the hands of Bishop Simon—Bishop Simon, who never disciplined Rose for a thing. She loathed the way Lady Beatrice and the ladies in waiting always thought that she, Briar, was guilty of everything—and that Rose was always innocent—and the way Lady Arabella and the other girls had frozen her out, and the way Rose had defended them. And now there was this whole extravagant ball for Rose’s birthday: dancing, music, feasting. Who would give a second thought to Briar? All they would remember was that she was the butt of that cruel joke, a dog’s dance partner. All these things fill Briar’s troubled mind, and she folds her arms over her chest and says, “Why should I help her?”

  * * *

  The gold fairy counters the dragon’s fiery blast with a wall of water. The flame sizzles out and turns to steam and foul, dark smoke, which fills the room. The frozen statue of Lan remains untouched, but there is a steady drip now. He is starting to melt.

  The gold fairy waves her wand, and the air around her is suddenly bright and clear and filled with silver light. The dragon backs away, hissing.

  “I’m warning you,” says the gold fairy. “I too have been preparing for the last sixteen years. I have my own crystal ball, and I’ve watched you digging your pit of hatred, pursuing the dark arts. You can still renounce it all and start over. Again I say, leave your hatred behind—now—or you will be destroyed by it.”

  “The hate only makes me stronger, and I will never renounce my powers! Never!” howls the frenzied dragon. “Your wheedling words madden me!” The dragon grows even larger, its arched neck touching the ceiling of the great hall as it seems to be gathering its strength for a fresh onslaught.

  “There’s still time. It’s not too late to change your mind,” the gold fairy says quietly.

  * * *

  Briar stands, hands on hips, staring down at the sleeping princess. “I don’t love you!” she declares. “In fact, I think I hate you!” Her expression is stern and unfeeling, yet tears are welling up in her eyes. “You can sleep for all eternity for all I care!” She bends over to wipe some dirt from the floor, then smears it on the end of Rose’s nose. “There! Not so perfect now!”

  Once aga
in she hears the jeering laughter at the ball. She sees Lady Arabella’s triumphant face saying it was all Rose’s idea. But was it? Would Rose have thought of something so cruel, even if she was angry? It wasn’t like her. It was more like Lady Arabella! Briar paces about the room as the whole castle seems to shake, thoughts and memories churning through her head. Almost against her will, she remembers a crisp fall day several years earlier, and the two of them sitting in the gnarled old oak tree in the thicket where they had always played. That day they had become suddenly serious, lounging on a low branch of the tree, inhaling the sweet smell of fall leaves as they discussed the more practical points of good and evil.

  Rose’s words drift back to her. What if there’s no reward for goodness? . . . What if everybody else was evil?

  And what had she replied? I’d go off by myself and just be normal.

  The whole conversation was coming back to her now.

  So it wouldn’t matter if you were evil by yourself? Rose had asked.

  No, because nobody would be affected by it.

  But what about you? Would you be affected?

  Who would care? Briar had asked, shrugging.

  I would care, came Rose’s clear reply.

  But you wouldn’t be there . . .

  . . . I would be with you in spirit, and I would care.

  Well then, Briar had said, I’d try harder to be good.

  So here she was, all alone. If she didn’t try kissing Rose, there was no one to blame her. No one would ever know. No one would care . . .

  I would be with you in spirit, and I would care.

  Briar covers her face with her hands and moans.

  * * *

  “Enough of this!” cries the dragon. “You cannot destroy me with your tricks! I am all-powerful! Behold while I open the bowels of the earth!”

  “Don’t do it!” the gold fairy warns her. “Such magic is beyond anyone’s power to control!”

  But the gray fairy has lost all caution. “Beyond your powers, maybe, but not beyond mine!” she crows. “I am powerful beyond your wildest dreams! I am the most stupendous, extraordinary, stunning—”

  “Extraordinary, stunning. Yes, yes,” says the gold fairy. “But I fear you do not have the power to stop yourself.”

  “Aha!” the gray fairy cries. “I feed upon your fear! Fear this: all eight of you shall be swallowed up by my rage! Never again will you interfere with me! You shall be consumed! Fear me!” The floor in front of the dragon glows red and swells into a boil, an ominous rumbling still shaking the castle. The dragon cackles as the glowing boil burns into a hole. Black smoke and brimstone fumes spurt out, and the fairies choke and gasp as they look on in horror. The terrible hole widens. Tongues of flame flicker upward out of it. A horrendous noise, a sound like screaming and groaning and a dreadful metallic clanging, emanates from deep inside the hole, and even the dragon backs away from the chasm.

  Quickly the gold fairy pronounces a spell, surrounding each of the other fairies, including the three rats, with a protective blue glow. Then she spreads the glow to cover Lan and all the sleeping bodies around the edges of the room.

  A deep chasm has opened in the middle of the floor, and it grows so large that the flames leap at the dragon’s feet and belly. She shrieks. There is no room for her to retreat! In a desperate gesture, she shrivels back into the gray fairy and attempts to fly away, but the intense heat singes her wings and the edges of her gown, and they start to curl and blacken and smolder. The whole room is darkening again with dense, foul smoke, and the gold fairy can no longer see the gray fairy, but she shouts, “Your time is up!”

  Amid the noise and the conflagration, the gold fairy finally hears hissing and a diminishing whine. “Aaaaaiiiiiieeeeeeeeee . . .” And then silence.

  * * *

  Briar sits back on the edge of the bed, crying freely now, and stares at Rose, with her mussed-up hair and the smudge of dirt on her nose. She has to admit that it doesn’t make a bit of difference. Rose is still heartbreakingly lovely. With the dirt and the tumbled hair, Briar sees in her the guileless companion who once sat by her side in the tree and assured her that she would always be with her in spirit, that she would always care. What if she was wrong about Rose being responsible for the cruel joke at the ball? What if she was accusing her unjustly? What if . . .

  Briar, lacking a handkerchief, sniffs loudly and wipes her nose on her sleeve. “Maybe I do love you . . . just a little bit. Maybe enough,” she whispers. For a long moment, she hesitates, then bends down and kisses Rose softly on the cheek.

  Nothing.

  Briar sits back and watches Rose closely for any sign of wakefulness. Is there a slight flush on her cheeks? Did her brow twitch? Briar pokes her on the shoulder and says, “Wake up, lazybones!”

  Nothing.

  Briar pokes her again. “Come on! You’re supposed to wake up! Open your eyes!”

  * * *

  The great hall is suddenly silent. The gold fairy peers into the blackness, straining to see something, to find out what has happened. The flames have disappeared, as has the chasm, and all is dark. “Fairies?” she calls tenuously. “Pink? Blue? Green? White? Are you here? Are you all right?” She dimly hears them respond. Then, out of the gloom, she hears the other fairies, the ones that had been turned into rats: “We’re here too!”

  “Help me clear this smoke away!” the gold fairy directs, and the fairies all wave their wands back and forth until the murk has cleared; then they relight the candles on the great chandelier. There is no sign left of the gray fairy’s rage. She is gone as surely as if she had never been. Only the still forms of the villagers and nobles remain, having slept their enchanted sleep through clamor and cataclysm.

  The other seven fairies gather around the gold fairy, asking what happened.

  “Ah,” says the gold fairy. “The gray fairy was consumed by her own evil. Let us hope all her evil spells are gone as well.”

  * * *

  Rose’s eyelids flicker and open. “What?” she demands in sleepy irritation. “I was just having the most wonderful dream. I was painting a picture, but it was real, and you were in it, and Lan was in it—”

  Briar’s heart contracts painfully. Should she tell Rose that she and Jack had rescued Lan from the giant—only to have him taken down by the gray fairy, and that they still might suffer her wrath themselves? Then she notices that the castle is no longer shaking, although she can’t tell whether this is a good sign or a bad one.

  “What am I doing here?” Rose wants to know, sitting up. “What has happened? I don’t remember . . .” Suddenly light dawns in her eyes. “The spindle! I touched it. I wanted to get away—from everyone!” She takes Briar’s hand. “You were right! You were right about everything, about the curse, and about my parents planning to marry me off to King Udolf. It was all true! I never should have doubted you. But who woke me up? Didn’t you say it had to be my true love?”

  “Well, there wasn’t any true love to do it, so I tried it.”

  “You? You love me truly? Is that it?”

  “Don’t go getting all sentimental over it. I almost didn’t do it.”

  “But why? Was I so terrible to you? Talk to me.”

  “Terrible to me? I guess you thought it was a pretty good joke, giving me a dog as a dance partner. I was the only one not laughing.”

  “What? Did that really happen?”

  “As if you didn’t know!” Briar says, really hoping to be contradicted.

  “I don’t know! I would never do such a thing! You must believe me. I never played such a mean trick on you! May I be struck dead if I’m not telling the truth!”

  Briar stops short, looking into Rose’s eyes for any flicker of deceit. Rose responds with a steady gaze.

  “You really didn’t?” Briar asks. “Lady Arabella said it was all your idea.”

  “Then Lady Arabella lied! Oh, how could she? And how could you believe such a thing?”

  “I . . . maybe I should have kno
wn,” Briar admits. “Maybe I should have trusted you too.”

  “We’ve been foolish,” Rose says, “to allow anything to get in the way of our friendship. I’ve missed you.”

  “I’ve missed you too.”

  Rose holds her arms out. Briar returns the gesture, and for a brief moment they hug each other lovingly. Then Briar, worried about what might be going on belowstairs, quickly informs Rose of the situation.

  “Lan is alive? I think I could bear anything if I knew he was alive.”

  Briar warns her that Lan had been forced to face the gray fairy. “It’s quiet now,” she says. “It may mean that the gray fairy has won—or that she’s been vanquished.”

  “I must know if Lan is still alive!”

  “Then we’ll have to go down and see. If the gray fairy’s wall of rubble is still there at the bottom of the stairs, we’ll know she won.”

  The two young women join hands and make their way haltingly down the staircase, Briar in the lead, both of them listening intently for any sound coming from below. As they round the last corner, Briar sees the open archway and turns to Rose. “The gray fairy must have been defeated! Her spell is undone!”

  “But what about Lan?” Rose asks. “What did she do to him?”

  The two enter the great hall, where light blazes from the chandelier. There, at the foot of the stairs, is the ice statue of Lan, the fine details melted and dripping, but still unmistakably Lan.