by Anna Mendell
When her godmother had finished, Rosa asked, “Who is the Golden King?”
The lady’s gaze was filled with pity as she spoke. “The Golden King is one of the founding kings of Aurlia and he was gifted with the animal tongue because he was faerie-born. It is also the title given to the one who sits on the Aurlian throne, so that the monarch is called the Golden King or Queen. Did no one ever tell you this?”
Rosa squirmed uncomfortably on her seat, and the lady looked sad.
“I will tell you more stories of the Golden King, but some of them must wait until you are ready to hear them. But enough questions. I’ll leave you to freshen up. You will find a new dress at your bedside. You may come out and join me when you are done.”
With that, Rosa’s godmother stepped outside and closed the door behind her.
Left alone, the first thing Rosa did was to go over to the shining globes which her godmother had told her not to touch. She watched in fascination as the globes spun about, then she reached out to pluck the nearest sphere that shone the clearest crystal. The instant her fingers closed around the orb, every suspended globe lost its color and thumped to the ground.
She opened her fingers and saw that she held nothing but a lump of dusty, burnt out coal in her hand.
Rosa started at the sound of the door latch and darted to her bed in fright, swiftly hiding the lump of coal under her pillow. She turned just as her godmother entered the cottage.
The lady looked from the coals on the floor to the princess’ guilty face. “Rosa, did you touch one of the globes?”
“No, they fell on their own.”
The lady gazed back down at the black, coal lumps. “Rosa,” she said, “one of the globes is missing, do you know where it is?”
Rosa pursed her lips and refused to meet her godmother’s gaze. She shook her head.
The lady’s voice grew stern. “When you have known me better, child, you will know that I do not allow untruth in my home. Tell me where the globe is.”
“I will not!” Rosa burst. “You are a mean and horrible woman and I hate you!”
The princess started crying. Rosa had never felt guilty before and she did not like it. That nagging guilt transformed her sobs into piercing shrieks. But the lady did nothing and continued to gaze sternly at the princess.
The princess felt the challenge in her godmother’s silence, and fury hit her like a crashing wave.
She darted to the table and with a single sweep, sent every single glass goblet hurling down on the ground with an enormous crash.
“You are an evil woman and I hate you,” she shrieked. “My father would punish you dreadfully if he knew that you had kidnapped me to turn me into your servant. I do not wish to stay here and want to go home. I command you to take me back to the castle.”
The lady strode to the door and opened it. “Rosa, you are free to go. I will not force you to stay here.”
Rosa glared into her godmother’s serene eyes resting in her terrible, unsmiling face. Seething with anger and resentment, she stormed out the door barefoot, fists clenched. She did not look behind her or notice her godmother watching her until she disappeared in the thick gloom of the shadowy woods.
“YE MUST BE getting back to the castle or ye will be missed,” Ninny Nanny said.
“Must I? But what happens to the princess?”
“I thought ye didn’t care much for the spoiled princess, princeling.”
Erik stiffened. “Not really, but it’s dangerous for a silly girl like her to be alone in the woods. She doesn’t even have a knife to protect herself from the wild beasts!”
The old woman chuckled. “Ye must go home, princeling. For if ye are missed, then ye will be watched carefully an’ not be able to visit me again.”
Erik tried to disguise the interest in his voice. “And then you can tell me more about the princess?”
The old woman’s face cracked into a grin. “That I will, princeling.”
She took him by the hand and led him out of the cottage and through the forest until they reached the edge of the woods in view of the castle. “Now run along. But before ye go, take this bag of dried sticks. If ye want to find my cottage shake the bags and say:
Old Ninny Nanny’s bones rattle, tattle,
To Ninny Nanny’s cottage skittle, skattle.
“Then cast my sticks an’ they will fall in a straight line. Do that as many times as ye need, an’ if ye follow faithfully the way of the sticks, then ye will come to my cottage.”
Erik grasped the bag and then impulsively threw his arms around the old woman. She gave a loud “oomph” and the prince started back as if he had been caught doing something he shouldn’t have. The old woman chuckled, patting him on the head, and he turned and ran back to the castle.
“That one don’t smile much, does he?” The old woman muttered to herself.
MIDLOTH Castle was hewn into the side of a mountain, fortified by thick walls circumscribing whatever part of the castle was not naturally defended by sheer rock. Erik heard a falcon’s cry and spotted the bird of prey wheeling over the castle ramparts. Buzzing traffic to and from the castle passed through the heavily guarded main gate, but the prince instead went to the left side of the castle walls and ducked around the overhanging boulder shielding the postern gate from view. The postern gate was left open during peacetime, and he knew the guard’s rounds well enough to slip in and out of the gate unobserved.
Erik stole into the castle and almost made it to his room before he was stopped by Kenelm, the captain of the king’s guards, who also happened to be his own personal sword trainer.
“The king sent me to find you. You are to go to the feasting hall.”
The prince’s shoulders slumped. He did not want to go to the feasting hall and see his father with his new stepmother. But Kenelm was a grim man of few words and a sword arm strong enough to bear the weight of the command in the mountain castle. He was not someone Erik wished to cross.
“I didn’t know I was wanted during today’s celebration,” Erik mumbled.
“You are to toast the new queen’s good health.”
The prince nodded reluctantly and followed Kenelm into the feasting hall.
The rafters in the large hall’s highly vaulted wooden ceiling were obscured in the dim, evening shadows. The only light came from capped torches that cast their light on the floor below and the large fire whose raging flames radiated warmth into the cold night and cast shadows on the grey stone walls.
Erik saw that the king and queen sat at the head of the long feasting table, while everyone else stood, ready for the toast. The king and queen were swathed in furs, the king in a black bearskin and the queen in white ermine; her fair hair rippled through the ermine like water trickling through snow and her fingers sparkled with rings. Someone shoved a goblet into the prince’s hands, and he saw his father’s gaze turned on him.
The prince bowed first to his father and then to the queen.
The king seemed satisfied and raised his glass, thundering, “To the queen’s good health!”
“To the queen’s health! Hail to King Mark and Queen Sigrid of Lothene!” boomed the resounding replies followed by cheers. Everyone drained their cups, and the prince backed up against the door and then snuck out of the hall.
THE prince lay in bed, thinking over the events of the day. Meeting Ninny Nanny had brought back to life a world he had thought buried with the dead queen. He remembered his mother’s soft, grey eyes and gentle expression. She had been the only one he ever laughed around, and that was because, whenever she gave him one of her rare smiles, those smiles were meant only for him. They would curl up on the fur rug before the fireplace, and she would tell him stories while running her fingers through his dark hair. She told him about her people in the west and of the golden kingdom from long ago and how its court was full of laughter, song, and dancing. She told him tales of the Golden King with his golden crown, who traveled throughout the kingdom and watched time pass by.
One day King Mark found the queen telling the prince her stories, and Erik was sent from the room. When he returned, his father had gone and his mother had tears in her eyes. From that day on, she stopped telling the prince stories of the golden kingdom.
But he hungered after stories; so he wandered throughout the castle’s dark and secret places until he came across two old women whispering before the fire.
At first they fell silent when they saw the prince, but he sat by their feet at the hearth, and they saw by the look in his eye that he would not tell. So they began again to talk in hushed voices, and their tales were very different from his mother’s stories.
They whispered of a wandering king searching for his stolen crown, but this king was different from the Golden King he remembered. If the wandering king thought you had taken his crown, he would hunt you down, and, when he touched you, your body would wither and your remains scatter like dust in the wind.
The old women also spoke in ominous voices of the Shadowood, a dark wood in the west where the ancient faerie race was banished—they were vengeful spirits who preyed on those foolish enough to wander past the margin of their wood. Not least of all, the old women would murmur between their stories of witches caught and burned at the stake, and these witches were women from the west.
Erik remembered how he had asked his mother why her stories were so different from the old women’s stories by the fire, and she said it was because the people of the west had long memories, and those from the north were new to the land and did not understand it, and therefore were afraid. Then Erik understood why his father did not like his mother’s stories, and why his mother was sad, for she loved her people and their long memories.
Then the queen had died. Not many in the castle mourned her, for she had not been one of them, and the king found a new bride.
Erik brooded over all this and wondered how Ninny Nanny was connected to his mother. He knew that he could never tell anyone about the old woman, for, if he did, she would surely be burned as a witch. Somehow the prince knew deep in his heart that Ninny Nanny was no witch, that she was his friend.
The next morning the prince grabbed the pouch of dried sticks that Ninny Nanny had given him and snuck out of the castle. Kenelm would thrash him for missing his morning sword practice, but he didn’t care. When Erik reached the edge of the forest that skirted the edge of the town, he said the rhyme that the old woman had taught him and cast the sticks on the ground. He raised his eyebrows as he saw that the sticks all rattled and fell pointing in the same direction.
After gathering the sticks up again, he set off into the woods. Whenever he thought he was swerving off the path, Erik cast the sticks again and followed where they pointed. Sometimes they even sent him off on an entirely new direction, full of twists and turns, but eventually he caught sight of Ninny Nanny’s cottage with its picket fence, thatched roof, and smoke rising from the chimney. Erik opened the gate and knocked on the cottage door.
“Come in, princeling,” called the voice from within.
THE PRINCESS had not traveled far from her godmother’s house before she regretted not wearing any shoes. When she had first stalked outside into the forest, fuming rebellion, she was so lost in a hornet’s nest of anger that she was oblivious to anything beyond her injured feelings.
Finally the sharp pain from crushing sharp branches and small rocks with her feet broke through her cloud of anger, and with a sob Rosa crumpled against the trunk of a large tree. She sat there crying, waiting, and hoping that her father and mother might have regretted their decision to send her away and be looking for her even now. But in her heart she knew that they were not looking for her, but were instead relieved that she was gone.
This realization woke a deep pain within Rosa that eclipsed the pain in her feet. She set her jaw, pushed herself up against the rough bark of the tree, and stubbornly set forth again. This time she was not searching for the castle, but was instead aimlessly wandering, trying to find her way out of the woods. Rosa walked for hours, her feet numb, her body exhausted. Dazed with hunger and thirst, she thought that the trees about her all looked the same.
Darkness descended on the forest, casting its shadowy veil lightly pricked with stars. Rosa broke through a thick line of thick trees into a clearing of tall grass scattered with wildflowers bowing their heads in the on-setting dusk. She watched in horror as the glowing sun sunk below the tree line and the sky grew dim and then black. The trees surrounding the clearing became menacing, reaching out clawed, grasping branches gnarled like witches’ fingers. The rising moon was a ghost, yellow and worn.
She wrapped her arms tightly about herself, while she stared up at the ghoulish moon in terrified fascination. Its flat, yellow disc grew larger and larger, and the wild thought leapt through her mind that the moon wanted to roll around the floor of the sky like one of her clay marbles until it tipped out of the sky and crushed her flat.
A sharp howl, eerie, mournful, and long, pierced the cold night air and sent a stab of shivering fear through Rosa’s heart. What a fool I am, she thought. Now I’m all alone out here in the dark with the wild beasts. A groan escaped her shivering little body, and she sobbed, “Godmother, please help me!”
Branches snapped, and a low growl emerged from the darkness behind her.
She spun around and glimpsed a flash of silver before an onrushing force sprang and toppled her over, its heavy mass pressing her to the ground. Rosa felt a panting breath hot against her skin. A pair of golden-yellow eyes loomed above her, blocking out the moon and paralyzing her with fear so that she could not utter a sound. The yellow eyes blinked shut, and the night fell into absolute darkness. Her senses reeled in terror, and the last thing she remembered was hearing a sharp, unintelligible command before she herself was lost in the inky blackness of the dark night.
THE SCENT OF FRESHNESS and springtime surrounded Rosa. Her head rested on something as soft as a pillow, and she realized that she was back in her godmother’s house, being cradled in godmother’s arms.
Rosa heaved a great sob and flung her arms around her godmother, tightly clinging to her while her godmother hushed her with soft, murmuring words until Rosa’s tears died down.
“You saved me from the wild beasts!” Rosa gasped.
“Hush, hush, you have nothing to fear. No beast can harm you as long as you are under my protection.”
Rosa’s godmother gently laid Rosa down on the bed and then went to the wooden cupboard to pull out a large copper basin, which she filled with water from the well and brought to Rosa’s bedside. Rosa gazed into the basin, and its clear water reflected her dirty tear stained face, with shallow scratches flaming red across her cheeks and forehead.
Her godmother soaked a soft cloth in the water and carefully washed Rosa’s hot face, dabbing her cuts until Rosa no longer felt a sting. Next she knelt down, gently lifted Rosa’s feet into the basin, and tenderly wiped her bleeding toes until the water’s coolness soothed the burning in the princess’ feet.
Tears again sprang from Rosa’s eyes, but they were tears she had never shed before. Gratitude and love sent their wet trails down her face, and, when her godmother finished, Rosa wrapped her arms around her and fell asleep.
Rosa woke the next morning, tucked in bed and in a new nightgown, to the cheerful sight of her godmother tending the bubbling pot over the hearth. She had cast off her dusk cloak and was clothed in a gown as green as the new leaf, while around her waist hung a simple belt of copper links that bounced off the light like the sparkle of fire.
“Godmother, you look so pretty!” Rosa exclaimed.
Her godmother gave Rosa a glowing smile that made her appear as young as a maiden before she returned to stirring the pot.
Then Rosa remembered the events from the day before and felt under her pillow. Her fingers closed around the lump of coal she had hidden there, and, as she pulled it out, it left an ashy trail behind on the bed cloths. She shamefully held it up to her godmother.
/>
Without a word, the lady took the coal and blew on it. There must have been a glow deep inside it that she fanned back to life with her breath, because it shone again the brightest crystal. The lady went to the corner of the room and placed it in the air where it hung suspended before her. Then she breathed on each of the fallen globes, and, when the last one hung suspended in the air, they all again wheeled and spun in their endless circle.
Rosa breathed a sigh of relief. Then she spotted a broom and leapt out of bed to sweep up all the broken shards of colored glass scattered across the floor. When she finished, her godmother drew up the bucket from the well, and Rosa poured all the tinkling glass shards into the bucket, and then her godmother lowered them down deep into the well. When the lady drew the bucket back up, Rosa saw to her amazement that each goblet was made whole.
“This is my well,” her godmother explained, “and it makes whole again what was broken. Whatever is bathed in it turns into what it was before it was hurt or damaged.”
Rosa stared at her godmother in wonder and asked, “Is it magic?”
“That depends on what you mean by magic. Some think of magic as tricks and illusion, willing things to be otherwise than what they are. That is not magic but deception. Magic is true to the harmony and nature of things, nurturing things to grow into what they really are, or purifying them into what was originally intended. So yes, in answer to your question, my well is magic.”
“So I shattered goblets that were always meant to be goblets and never anything besides?” The princess widened her eyes. “No wonder it was so wrong of me to break them.”
The lady burst into a peal of laughter. “How single-minded you are, my princess. When faced with a magic well that can restore all things, you are still thinking of my goblets. But you are right. Magic is as wondrous in the smallest of things as in the mightiest.”
“So what happens if I drink the well water?”
“That depends. Sometimes it takes a long time for the magic of the water to bear fruit. Other times it takes effect right away. Whatever happens, it is different for each person, and it only changes you as far as you are willing to be changed.”