The snake emerged from within the hat and slithered around his fingers. He had them; he had found all three. His quest was over. It was all over.
The giant combined his six ingredients as the witch had informed him to do, and he came away with a liquid most vile. Vincent’s eyes watered at the pungent smell.
“If this works,” the giant said as he set his trembling hands into the thick liquid, “I shall set you free.”
Vincent watched closely as the giant’s fingers, covered in what looked like blue paste, rubbed against his white eyes. He rubbed and rubbed and rubbed for several minutes.
“Is it working?” Vincent finally asked.
Like a mask, the giant’s massive hands hid his face, his eyes. “I don’t want to pull my hands away,” he said with great trepidation in his voice.
“You’ll be able to see. I know it.”
“And if I can’t?”
“You will. Trust me.”
And slowly the giant uncovered his eyes. The dark irises had somehow returned to the sclera, and immediately they focused on Vincent.
“I can see you. Vincent, I can see you!” The giant leaped to his feet, fresh tears in his fresh eyes. “You did it, my boy! I can see again!” Laughing, he picked Vincent up and swung him around, the chain rattling in a glorious melody. Hearing this, he looked at the shackle around Vincent’s leg. “I have my sight. I will keep my promise.” After setting Vincent down, he reached into his pocket and grabbed a black key with red teeth. With it, he undid the lock and tossed the chain far into the cave.
Vincent clutched his leg in disbelief. He had almost come to believe the chain was an extension of himself, a fifth limb. He wasn’t sorry, however, to see it go.
“But please, stay one more night,” the giant begged him. “I will prepare us the greatest feast you will ever witness. A celebration, with you as my guest of honor.”
Vincent knew he should just leave the cave. Although the giant’s vision had returned, although he was kinder than ever, something wasn’t right with him. Those eyes revealed something Vincent didn’t trust. Those eyes told him there was another side to the giant, an even darker one, of which he must beware.
But there was something else, something disturbing, in the back of Vincent’s mind. He couldn’t stop looking at the door through which he was forbidden to enter. It was that room, more than anything else, that kept him from leaving. Over the past months its hidden contents had plagued his mind. And now after what the gnome had said . . . If he was ever going to find out what was inside, it had to be now. He agreed to stay for dinner.
As the giant left to gather food for the feast, Vincent hovered outside the room, feeling the wood of the red door, listening for whatever sounds might come from beyond it. He shouldn’t go in, but it was now or never.
It wouldn’t hurt if I just took a quick peek, he thought after some time. The giant would never have to know. I’ll go in and out before he even suspects a thing. And so, as he watched the giant, basket in hand, disappear farther into the distance, the trees swaying in his wake, Vincent made his decision. Now, now, now, he thought. For your mother! Hurry! He ran to the red door and pushed against it with all his might. It was heavier than all the rest, opening just enough for him to squeeze through. But squeeze through he did. Finally he was on the other side.
The room was more like a barn than anything else. Straw was everywhere, wood beams were overhead, and behind a gate a horse was sleeping. Even more shockingly, it shared its pen with a pacing lion. Yet as odd as this was, the animals didn’t capture Vincent’s attention quite like the fountain in the center of the room did, for this fountain did not contain water—well, not water as Vincent knew it, but something far more precious. There was definitely liquid pooled at the base and pouring from the mouths of stone gargoyles, but it wasn’t blue or clear. It was gold. And in the center of the fountain, set upon a pedestal, was a thick book, and it too was made of gold.
Vincent approached slowly. From behind the gate, pacing even more quickly now, the lion watched him closely.
Vincent reached the fountain and peered into it. His reflection could be seen in the gold liquid. He liked the way he looked; the image mesmerized him. He leaned even closer. The liquid was so inviting, so intoxicating. Was this what had been pulling him all this time? Was this what the gnome had sought?
He reached out with a hand, finger extended. He brought it closer . . . closer—
“Don’t!” someone screamed, but it was too late, Vincent had already dipped his finger in.
He pulled it out quickly, surveying the room, looking for who it was that had yelled. But there was no one, only the animals. He turned back to his finger, inspecting it closely. The liquid was warm, beautiful. He attempted to wipe it on the straw but realized his finger didn’t come clean. He tried again. Nothing. He had a gold finger. Vincent shook his hand violently as if to throw the liquid off. He sucked on it, he tried scraping it with his teeth, all to no avail.
“The giant . . . ,” he fearfully whispered to himself.
“You must conceal it,” said the voice. “Hurry.”
Vincent’s head snapped up. It had come from the direction of the pen; he was almost sure of it. He walked a step closer. “Conceal it how?” he asked.
Now there was no denying whom he was speaking to. The lion looked directly at him and said, “Wrap it in cloth. Pretend that it is a wound. The giant will never know. Do this, and you will be safe.”
Vincent couldn’t believe it. How could it speak? Why didn’t it ravage the sleeping horse?
“Over there,” the lion said, nodding toward a supply shelf. “There is cloth there the giant uses to wrap the horse’s legs.”
Hesitantly, Vincent approached the shelf on which countless supplies were stocked; it looked like there was everything one could ever need. But there was no time to inspect such contents. Quickly he grabbed the cloth as the lion had said.
“Oh, no, no, no.”
Vincent turned around. The horse was up, head sticking out between the bars.
“Best not to hide it,” the horse said. “The giant detests liars most of all. Just be honest, and because you healed him, he may grant you a reprieve.”
“Like he did us?” the lion roared. “He will kill the boy. Or worse.”
The horse ignored the lion. “Boy, you have to trust me. I’ve been here a long time, far too long; I know everything there is to know about this place, about the giant. Admit your mistake. It is your best chance of leaving this cave alive.”
“But the giant warned me already,” Vincent said. “I was forbidden to enter this room.”
“That’s right. That is why you must hide the finger,” the lion said. “Hide it. Lie to him, and then, the very first chance you get, when the giant is at his most vulnerable, kill him. It is the only way.”
“Don’t be foolish,” said the horse. “You must not listen to the lion. He is brash and proud. It is what got him locked away in here in the first place. Take my advice. Inform him of what you did. If you don’t, you will discover that the giant is wiser than you imagined. He’ll know of your deceit immediately, and he’ll never let you go.”
The lion laughed. “The horse is weak and naïve. Pitiful. His fear bests him, and that is why he has been trapped here for so long now. I tell you the truth. The giant shows no mercy. For touching his fountain, for being so close to the gold book, for even setting foot into this room, he will have your head. Believe me. Hide the finger and kill the giant in his sleep.”
Outside the door there were footsteps, loud footsteps. The giant was returning home. Vincent had to hurry. Panicking, he began wrapping his finger. “I’ll get away,” he said. “I’ll figure it out. I just need some time.”
“I said the same thing,” the horse said, staring down at the hay.
Vincent turned to run out, but the lion called out to him.
“Boy, if you happen to find a key, a black key with bloodstained teeth, would you grab i
t and come release us before you leave? Would you do that for us? We can escape together.”
Vincent thought back to the giant’s reaching into his pocket for just such a key. It had freed him, so it stood to reason it could also free them. “I will,” he said.
“Do not risk your life any more than you have to,” the horse said. “By lying you have already risked too much. If you are able to, save yourself.”
Vincent looked at his wrapped finger, then at the lion. “Thank you,” he said to the beast. “I will come back for you.”
He crept out the door and pulled it closed, and just in time too, for the giant had returned.
“Where were you?” the giant asked, emerging from the darkness. He eyed Vincent suspiciously.
“Nowhere,” Vincent said, unable to raise his head and lock eyes.
“Nowhere. I’ve been there before,” the giant said. “It is a dangerous place to be. Especially for a small young boy like you. Tell me, what have you done to your finger?”
Like a guilty child, Vincent pulled his hand behind his back. There was no way he could tell him where he had been. “Nothing. I cut it.”
“Is it serious? I will treat it for you.”
“No need. I have already done so.”
“I see.” The giant was quiet for some time. “Come here,” he said finally. “Come here so that I may thank you for healing my eyes.”
“You have already thanked me. In fact, I should leave.”
“But I wish to thank you again. I have brought you a gift.”
“I can receive it from here.”
“And what about the feast? I have gathered us a magnificent assortment.”
“I am not hungry.”
“Why do you play games with me, Vincent? Come. Come to your friend.”
Quivering, Vincent walked a few feet closer, his eyes darting around the cave.
“Closer,” the giant said.
Vincent, desperately searching his mind for a way out, took another step. “I have done what you asked, and now I wish to leave.”
“Closer,” the giant sang.
He would have to run, right between the giant’s legs. Vincent placed his foot forward and was about to flee when the giant, with uncanny speed, reached down and snatched him up. In a flash, he grabbed Vincent’s hand and unwrapped the cloth, revealing the gold finger underneath.
“Aha! What have we here?” he growled.
“It was an accident!”
“Betrayal! You have betrayed me!”
Vincent could feel the giant squeezing the life out of him.
“The book! Did you open it?”
“N-no.” He could hear his bones cracking.
“I have warned you the price you would pay for entering that room.”
“I didn’t mean to— Please. I made a mistake.”
“Indeed you did. And now you shall pay for it.”
“But—But . . . I healed you. Why is it that you were even able to see the cloth?”
The giant hesitated, his grip loosening. “Yes. Yes, you did heal me. But you have also lied, something unforgivable. I will spare your life, Vincent.” Vincent exhaled but then saw the giant’s eyes go dark. “But you must still be punished. You like gold, do you?”
The giant rushed down the hall with Vincent still clutched in his hands. The giant kicked open the red door and stepped inside. The horse neighed, the lion roared, and the giant stripped Vincent of his clothes and tossed him face-first into the fountain.
“There,” the giant said as he removed him moments later. He brought Vincent back out of the room and locked the chain around his leg once more. “You are now my golden boy.”
CHAPTER 8
An announcement crackled and buzzed through the overhead speakers and vibrated straight into Vince’s ears: “Next stop: Eastbrook.”
Already? Vince tucked his grandfather’s book into his backpack and glanced to his left. Across the aisle the seat was empty. Eric was gone, and in his place was a single piece of paper with the words “Thank you” written on it. It seemed Vince had been so absorbed in the book he hadn’t even noticed the artist departing the train. When he read, it was almost as if he were connecting with his grandfather, as if the stories were the real history of his family. But these, he had to remind himself, were fairy tales and nothing more.
It was the same as it was with the stories he had told at the orphanage. His father wasn’t a spy or world traveler, and there was no truth in his grandfather’s book. His grandfather certainly wasn’t gold when he last saw him. And what about the horse and the lion? How were they able to talk? Where was that tower painting now? Had anybody gone back into that cave to look? Was everybody just ignoring that there was a fountain of gold somewhere in it?
Vince laughed and shook his head. It was funny when he thought it through like that, especially after finding himself hanging on every single word of that last tale, even going so far as to envision himself in his grandfather’s place; he could almost feel the chain locked around his own leg. He saw it all so clearly—the painting of the tower, the volcanic room, the fountain of gold—and for the entire length of the tale all his doubt was gone. In those moments, as far as he was concerned, it was all true, every word. He believed. And that scared him.
Maybe it was safer to think his father wouldn’t show, not now, not ever. Maybe Vince really was abandoned for good. Maybe his father had found a new life, a happier one with a new family, and everything in Andrew’s letter was just a coincidence. Or maybe it was just safer to think that back in the fire his father . . .
His stop came, and Vince stepped off the train and into the steadily falling snow. There weren’t many people around, and the few shops in the station that were still open wouldn’t be for much longer. Vince stopped in a few and, with the money he had received from M, bought two slices of pizza to fill his stomach and a map to guide him to the place where his home once stood. Then, somewhat warmed and rested, he set back out on his journey.
The snow was persistent in its dense accumulation, falling with a sort of permanence. There was nearly a half foot piled on the ground, and to judge by the sky and repeated news reports, there was plenty more to come. Temperatures were nearing zero, and there was no evidence that the mercury in the thermometers would halt its rapid descent any time soon. The wind picked up in the direction Vince needed to venture, severely slowing his stride. It was so sharp it practically had teeth, tiny teeth that pricked Vince’s face and blurred his eyes and pierced his threadbare clothes, scratching away at his skin and bones beneath. His clothes were ill suited for such weather, his shoes much too thin. But still, he pushed on, tucking his head to his chest and shoving his hands into his pockets as he marched through the deep snow.
For a while nothing looked familiar to him, especially with all the snow blanketing everything, whitewashing the entire town. But as he turned a corner, that all changed. He saw a huge oak tree that he used to climb with his father on their walks to the local park. It was beautiful, the snow clinging to the bare branches like white moss, the trunk twisted and gnarled as if uncomfortable from the cold. In deep reflection, he walked up to the tree and placed a trembling hand against it. His head lowered and his eyes closed as he recalled those happier times.
“Grab my hand,” his father said, dangling from a thick branch high above him. “I’ll pull you up.”
Vince remembered how scared he was that first time, scared but excited. As fun as the climb might be, the ground felt safe; he wasn’t sure he should ever leave it.
His father extended his arm even farther. “Don’t be scared. I won’t let you fall. I’ll hold on. I promise.”
“Dad . . .”
“You have to see the view up here. It’s magical.”
Without another thought, Vince reached up and clasped the outreached hand. It was his father’s eyes that compelled him. It was as if they had truly seen that magic and were filled with the splendor of it. In that moment, Vince so badly wanted
to share such an experience his fear was wiped clean.
Without time to even close his eyes, he was off the ground and hanging from the same branch as his father.
“Okay, that was the hard part. The rest is just fun. Come on.”
From there they climbed higher and higher, his father guiding him carefully up every branch until they reached the top.
“We’re high up,” Vince said, looking out over the town, all the trees and wilderness to the south, the mountains far to the north, the river to the east, his house to the west. It was a stunning sight, one of undeniable beauty sprawling as far as the eye could see. There truly was magic up here, the strongest kind.
“Top of the world. It’s all yours. Go ahead, shout something. Anything you want. It’s your kingdom. Let them hear you.”
And how does one come to reign over such a land? Vince wondered. What does one say? He looked over at his father and shouted the very first words that popped into his head. “Umbia Rah!” His voice echoed for miles like a slight thunderclap.
Laughing, his father shook his head. “Umbia Rah. I can’t believe you remember that. That’s what your grandfather always used to say to you when you were a baby. It was like your own language, just the two of you. You shared a terrific bond.”
After that the mood changed, and Vince and his father climbed down, not saying a word, and went straight home instead of to the park.
The memory ended when Vince’s eyes snapped open. Chills, colder than the air around him, were running up his spine. He wanted so badly to see his father spring out from that tree once again. He wanted to see him dangle from that last branch, swinging back and forth, picking up speed. He wanted to watch him let go and spin and flip and land right in front of Vincent. A young boy and his father once again. They would play together; they would run all through Eastbrook—their town, their kingdom—sprinting down every street, slapping stop signs, and tossing snowballs, never once saying what needed to be said, never once acknowledging their relationship, never once saying how terribly they missed each other, because it would all be felt, it would all be understood. Vince saw this and smiled.
The Dyerville Tales Page 9