Sitting safely away from the cliff’s edge, her little legs bouncing happily, was Aurora. Weirdly, it looked like she’d been placed there, as if someone had been concerned for her safety. But Aurora was unbothered by the seemingly mysterious circumstances. All she did was giggle. And then, clapping her hands together, she said, “Pretty birdy.”
years had gone by. Aurora, now a child of eight, grew more and more beautiful by the day. No longer as big a worry to the pixies, she spent most of her days alone, either in the woods just beyond the clearing or, when her aunts insisted that she finally come in, in the loft with the windows open wide. There she had tea with her imaginary companions, talked with the birds, and made colorful drawings. She spent hours making long flower chains out of daisies, doling them out as presents after dinner. More often than not, the pixies were sure to find Aurora among the trees, always smiling, always happy.
For Knotgrass, the human child’s attachment to nature was perplexing. Even she, who had grown up in the Moors, where nature was a magical force, didn’t like spending that much time among the birds, bees, flowers, and trees. She was much more content to stay in the cottage, dreaming of the day she could return to the castle, or entertaining herself by beating Thistlewit or Flittle at a game of chess.
On one particularly sunny summer day, Aurora spent the entire morning exploring the woods. When she headed back to the cottage for lunch, Knotgrass insisted she spend some time indoors that afternoon. So Aurora climbed up to the loft to play with her favorite homemade dolls.
Honestly, that child is so odd, Knotgrass thought as she watched Aurora take out the large horned figure and the small stuffed raven. What kind of dolls are those? Shrugging, Knotgrass headed downstairs, eager to beat the other pixies at a game of chess.
Soon the three pixies sat at the long wooden table in the middle of the cottage. A cloth with poorly drawn checked squares on it had been laid out on the table. A large pile of rough wooden chess pieces was in front of Flittle. Sitting across from her, Knotgrass stared at the pile, frowning. She hated losing. Especially to flighty Flittle. Pointing across the room, she waited for Flittle to turn away and then grabbed a few of her pieces back. But she wasn’t quick enough.
“What’s this?” Flittle said as she snapped her head around in time to see Knotgrass’s fingers close on one of the wooden figures. “You’re cheating!”
Knotgrass opened her mouth, pretending to be offended. “I resent the insinuation!” she cried.
“There’s no insinuation,” Flittle said, shaking her head. “I’ve caught you in the act. You…you…” She struggled for the worst insult. “You cheating hedgepig!”
“You sulking hen!” Knotgrass shot back.
Flittle’s eyes narrowed. It was on. “Strutting peacock!”
“Reeking pantry rat!”
Back and forth they went, shooting insults. It looked as though there was no chance of the war of words ending when, suddenly, a drop of water plopped down on Knotgrass’s head. She brushed it away like it was an annoying bug. Then another drop splattered on her forehead. Looking up, she tried to see if there was an obvious leak. Seeing none, she sighed and moved over on the bench.
Plop, plop, plop.
Three more drops landed right on Knotgrass’s head. That couldn’t be coincidence. It reminded her of something that had happened to them long before in the Moors, a particularly devilish rain cloud. That had to be magic. She shot Flittle a suspicious glare. “Stop doing that,” she ordered.
“I’m not doing anything!” Flittle protested.
Plop, plop, plop, plop. More water fell.
“Well, someone is!” Knotgrass snapped.
Flittle shrugged. “Maybe we have a leak in the roof. Did you ever think of that?”
“It can only leak if it’s raining.” She gestured outside. Not a cloud floated in the perfect blue sky. “Is it raining?”
Thistlewit, who had up until that point been simply watching the other two in amusement, shook her head. “No.”
Knotgrass nodded. “Exactly. Then it can’t be a leak. You two are having a go at me and I won’t…” Her voice trailed off as more water began to plop down onto her head. Slamming her hands on the table, Knotgrass jumped to her feet. “Stop it!” she screamed.
Instantly, the water stopped.
For a tense moment, no one said a thing. They all waited for the drops to resume. But when, after a few minutes, they didn’t, Knotgrass slowly sat down. She looked up to make sure it was well and truly over. The ceiling looked dry. Not a drop to be seen. She smiled.
And then it began to pour.
Water flooded down right on top of Knotgrass, soaking her to the bone. Flittle and Thistlewit began to laugh, only to get hit with a wave of water that appeared to pour down from the stairs. Everyone screamed.
“Who’s using magic?” Knotgrass yelled. “I said no magic!”
But it was no use. The rain kept coming, soaking the entire cottage. Someone was using magic. That was clear. But what wasn’t clear was who.
A few hours later, Knotgrass stood in front of the clothesline, hanging her dress, and just about everything else from the cottage, out to dry. The random water storm had ended as quickly as it had started. Every nook and cranny of the downstairs was wet, but at least no one had been hurt. Still, the day’s events had raised a worrisome question. If none of the pixies had used magic to create the miniature flood, who had? Because there was no doubt: magic had most definitely been used. And that meant someone, with relatively good control of their powers, was nearby and keen on playing jokes on the three pixies.
As Knotgrass bent down to pick up her waterlogged quilt, she had a terrible thought. What if it was Maleficent? Could the powerful faerie, with her strong horns and fierce eyes, be watching them? No, Knotgrass thought. Not once in the past eight years has there been any sign of her. I’m just worrying myself over nothing. No one knows we are here. Not the king, not his men, not Maleficent nor her minions. Plus, what would Maleficent want to do with the pixies or Aurora? What was left to do? She had already done her worst. The curse had been cast and now they were hiding there just awaiting the day when Aurora would either outwit destiny…or not.
No, Knotgrass said to herself once more. It was probably something else altogether. Maleficent is far away in the Moors. Aurora is safe. And we just have to keep it that way…for another eight years. If only she would stop going on about her weird imaginary friend. She kept saying she loved the sweet shadow that followed her around. That she wanted to invite it in for tea. Honestly, that child was so strange.
raised her nose and inhaled the crisp fall air. Multicolored leaves crunched beneath her feet as she made her way along the edge of a stream. The water had grown icy, and in the afternoon sun it sparkled and twinkled. Reaching out her hand, she gently brushed the top of a cattail. The soft touch caused snow to drift off the plant’s feathery leaves and fall, silently, to the ground.
This was one of Aurora’s favorite times of the year, when vibrant leaves blanketed the trees and covered the ground. The air took on a hushed quality as the animals prepared themselves for winter. Foxes borrowed deeper into their dens; birds nestled into holes in trees, their little beaks tucked beneath their wings as they awaited spring. The creatures more comfortable in the cold, such as the snow hares and the deer, with their thick fur coats, sought out the sparse blades of grass and winterberries that would keep them fed till spring. It was a season both sleepy and wide-awake.
For nearly sixteen years, Aurora had wandered the woods during every season, finding beauty in each and every tree. Her aunts always teased her, saying she was going to turn into a tree one day if she stayed in the forest much longer. They warned her that if she wasn’t careful, her love of nature could draw the attention of a faerie who might spirit her away to the faerie world. The Moors, they said, were no pla
ce for a pretty human girl like her. But while her aunts had expected their warnings to frighten her, they’d had the opposite effect. They had given credence to her belief that there was someone watching over her, a faerie godmother of sorts who lived deep in the heart of the Moors.
In her fantasies, Aurora pictured the Moors as a world full of beautiful and magical creatures who loved nature with the same passion she did. There were faeries of all shapes and sizes. They all had different jobs. Some worked to help plants grow, while others played in rivers, moving rocks and stones to help the water flow. But her faerie godmother was different from all the others. Her only job was to watch over Aurora and keep her safe.
Aurora had first begun to believe in her faerie godmother when she was just a child. It wasn’t because she had seen the creature. Quite the opposite. It was always just a perception of a shadow at the edges of her vision. A shadow with horns and a dark cloak that appeared at various intervals. There was the time Aurora had wandered too close to the edge of a cliff during a picnic. She had almost fallen over when she sensed someone behind her, saw the familiar shadow, and, a moment later, found herself safely seated away from the cliff’s edge. There were the times, when she was barely old enough to remember, that the shadow appeared in her room and a sense of calm would fill Aurora and she would fall asleep happy. She believed, more than anything, that it was her faerie godmother who loved her most of all, who wanted to make sure her life was a happy one.
It wasn’t that she had a bad life. Quite the opposite, really. Her aunts, Knotgrass, Thistlewit, and Flittle, gave her everything she needed. She wanted for nothing. Their home was cozy; there was always food on the table and a warm bed to sleep in. True, her aunts could be a bit cold at times, and on more than one occasion she had gotten the distinct impression that they looked at her as an obligation. But all in all, it was a good life. She was allowed to wander where she pleased—as long as she did not leave the woods. That was strictly forbidden. She had glimpsed a road once, though, through the trees. She rushed home excitedly and asked Knotgrass where it went. Her aunt had grown pale. Then she had told her it led “nowhere good” and that she was never, ever, to go back there. “Promise me,” Knotgrass had pleaded. “You must believe me, it’s for your own good that you stay away.” Aurora had nodded and said, “Of course,” and the subject had been dropped.
Yet sometimes, Aurora’s mind wandered back to the road, and she found herself making up stories about where it went. She imagined it was a long, long road that led to a great body of water where huge animals played along the shore. Other times, she told her animal friends that at the end of the road was a beautiful castle where a handsome king and his pretty queen lived. This one was partly true. She could see the castle in the distance, a gray, far away mass. But she didn’t know who lived there. For all she knew, it could be inhabited by a dragon.
Her favorite fantasy, though, was also the only one tinged with sadness.
In that fantasy, the road led to her mother and father. At the end of its long, twisty path was a small cottage, just like the one she lived in now, and inside, her mother stood by the stove baking a warm berry pie. Her father was in the yard, chopping wood. And when she arrived, out of breath and exhausted, they raced to her and embraced her in their warm arms. And then she had a family.
That fantasy was the hardest. She loved her aunts. She truly did. But as she had grown older, she had begun to wonder more about her parents. On her thirteenth birthday, she had wanted only one present. When her aunts had asked what that present was, she had answered, “I want you to tell me about my mother and father. What happened to them? Are they still alive?” But the aunts had shaken their heads and said they would tell her when she was older.
Now she was nearly sixteen, and still her aunts had shared only one piece of information: her mother and father had died a long, long time ago. She was left with nothing to do but try to imagine what her parents had been like. She pictured her mother with blond hair, just like hers. While hers hung past her waist, her mother’s would be shorter, less wavy. Her mother’s eyes would be the same bright blue as Aurora’s and they would share the same little nose that pointed up ever so slightly at the end. Aurora’s pale skin would also be like her mother’s, the smattering of freckles the only hint to her father’s darker complexion.
While Aurora always imagined she looked just like her mother, she believed her father had given her all her other qualities. From her father, she got her love of nature. Her adventurous and open spirit. He passed along his willingness to love unconditionally. Yes, she would tell herself as she lay in bed daydreaming of her lost family. If I were to ever meet my father I know we would be one and the same.
Walking along now, her thoughts once more with the family she had never met, Aurora let out a sigh. She so very much loved her life in the cottage with her aunts. Lately, though, she had found herself growing more and more antsy. It was not just the increasing fantasies of being reunited with her mother and father. It was something more. It was a feeling that there was more for her than a life in the woods. That there were adventures to be had out beyond the trees. That there were people to meet and places to see.
Aurora frowned. But how was she ever going to do that if she wasn’t allowed to leave the woods? Her aunts had raised her to avoid strangers. She was to stay by herself and only rely on her aunts for help. They seemed frightened at the very idea of other people. But Aurora was different. She wanted to meet new people.
Suddenly, Aurora had an idea. Her aunts had told her not to seek out the road or talk to strangers, but how would they know if she did? They never came with her when she went into the woods, and rarely asked about her day when she returned. That was it! She could just go to the road, see what it was like, and come home. What harm could that possibly do? No one would be the wiser and her curiosity would be quenched—for now. Yes, that was it. She was going to see the road.
Aurora picked up her pace. She needed to get home and tell her aunts she would be out walking for a while. It would do no good to have them in a panic. Especially if she didn’t want them asking too many questions. She had never kept a secret from them before and was worried she would tell them her plan if pressed. But as she threaded her way through the trees toward home, a smile spread across her face. She had a plan. And perhaps—just perhaps—what she would see would change her world forever.
stood at the edge of the forest, her heart pounding in her chest. It had taken all of her courage to make her way to this point. She had told her aunts she was going to pick berries, grabbed a basket, and then rushed into the woods before giving herself a chance to change her mind. A few short hours and many panicked moments later, she found herself at the edge of the road.
To her dismay, when she had left the woods and stepped into the bright sunshine, she had discovered that the road was just a road. It was brown and dusty, the grass on both sides of it a dull green. It seemed to stretch on forever in either direction, growing wider in places and narrow in others.
In the distance Aurora could make out what looked to be a small bridge, but aside from a lone cow wandering along, there was no one nearby. It was not a beautiful road. Nor was it special in any way.
But as she continued to look at the road, her heart began to thud loudly. The air felt heavy here, as if the area was cluttered with the ghosts and secrets from events long ago. Aurora’s heart beat even louder as she looked at what was on the other side of the road.
Rising high into the sky was the largest wall Aurora had ever seen. And it was no ordinary wall. It was a wall made completely of thorns. The branches weaved in and out of each other, making it impossible to see through to the other side.
The sun’s rays did nothing to brighten the dark and twisted structure. In fact, it seemed just the opposite to her, as though the wall was repelling the warmth. Thorns the size of Aurora pointed out in every direction. Their sharp
tips stabbed at the air.
Her eyes wide, Aurora crossed the road and made her way up to the Thorn Wall. Hesitantly, she reached out a finger and gently touched the tip of one of the thorns. She let out a little yelp. Looking down, she saw a single drop of blood welling up on her finger.
Aurora slowly began to walk along the Wall. Is there something beyond these branches that needs to be protected? And if so, from whom? Then another fleeting thought flashed through Aurora’s mind. What if the Wall had been built not to keep someone out, but rather to keep someone in? The thought made her shiver. She had spent all of her life hidden in her woods. This was the closest she had ever come to anything potentially dangerous.
She took a deep breath and looked at the twisting vines more closely. No. The Thorn Wall wasn’t scary, nor was it threatening. For some reason, she had the feeling that the Wall wasn’t a bad thing. That despite its foreboding appearance, it was just another product of nature. Like the trees that shaded the cottage in the clearing, perhaps this wall was shading someone special on the other side.
Glancing up, Aurora saw that the sky had begun to darken. A storm was on the way, and she needed to get home before her aunts started to worry.
She turned to go but not before taking one last look over her shoulder at the Wall. Perched on the very top was a dark raven. Seeing her, it let out a caw and took to the air, disappearing from view. Aurora smiled. Yes, she thought, there is more to this wall than just thorns and brambles. And I intend to come back every chance I get until I find out what lies beyond.…
Over the next few weeks, Aurora made good on the promise she’d made to herself. She visited the Wall almost every day. She made her way in the early morning to see what it looked like as the sun rose, the pink hues casting a gentle glow on the brambles. She wandered over as the sun sank beneath the horizon and marveled as the Wall went from black to orange before turning black once more. She visited at midday, hoping to catch a glimpse of life beyond the thorns. But she never saw anyone or anything. It was always just the Wall and the empty road.
The Curse of Maleficent Page 5