by Anna Mendell
Rosa weakly rose, staggered to the open window, and leaned through. Nothing was left for her, no husband and no children. She was alone in a strange time, in a place where she did not belong. Why had she survived alone of all her family? Her mind turned to her godmother as it had many a time before. Why did she not come? Was Faerie so irrefutably banished that she could not rescue her? Or did her godmother choose not to come? Either way, she was alone. Surely it was right for her to die and join her father and her mother and her two children in their graves?
Rosa’s vision sank down to the ground far below, but then a tree, whose branches rose up almost to her window, fixed her gaze. Every veined leaf stood out sharp and distinct, each edge crimsoned as if red flames of fire licked it and would later transform it into a full blaze of brilliance. Even now, the world was still beautiful.
Every fiber in Rosa’s being thrilled with a sudden burst of life. How silly, the thought floated across her mind, to lock her up when there was this tall tree beside her window. With the thought of escape, the princess hastily withdrew from the window, shuddering. What had she been about to do? The very life force within her vibrated in outrage over the fact that she had been contemplating her own death. Her very being gloried in each waking day after so long a slumber in her tower.
Her head cleared, and she had one thought: she must flee the castle. There was nothing to tie her here. Erik had abandoned her, and she must escape the queen’s poisoned words.
Rosa stared grimly outside the window. The queen must think so little of her that it never even crossed her mind that she would attempt escape. She must think her so helpless.
ROSA waited until dark and, when the queen came in to check on her, she pretended to sleep. After the door closed she waited silently for a few moments, then she slipped out of bed, opened the casement window, and climbed onto the narrow ledge on her hands and knees. The dark outline of the tree loomed before her, and Rosa took a deep breath, then leapt from the window. The slender bough tremulously shook under her weight, but she managed to wrap her arms around it and swing her leg over the bough, and then climbed down to the lowest branch to drop onto the soft grass below.
Rosa knew that most of the castle guards were all stationed further out at the outer gate, so she was easily able to slip into the garden under the cover of darkness. There she climbed up the trellis and the ivy that led over the wall and thanked the stars that the walls were there to keep those outside from coming in, not those on the inside from going out.
Once she reached the top, she saw that the wall joined with the mountain rock and was able to find firm handholds to lower herself down the mountain side. Soon the mountain smoothed into a sheer drop, however, and Rosa realized that there was nothing for her to do but to leap down to the ground below.
She lowered her hanging body down as far as she could, and let go. Rosa stifled a cry as she landed, and a sharp pain flashed up her side from her ankle, but she had no choice but to go on, limping painfully into the forest with her bare feet. Her shoes had fallen off when she dropped, and she could not find them in the darkness.
Rosa crept slowly and painfully through the dark wood. She knew she had to find shelter in the morning. By then her flight would be discovered, and she would not be able to travel in the daylight.
The ghostly half-light of the early dawn seeped through the forest, and, as she journeyed through the morning mist, she hovered at the outskirts of the woods until she came upon a farm. The farmer and his son were at their early morning chores, and, when she called out to them, they dropped their hoes and rushed to her side and then almost carried her to their farmhouse, where the farmer’s wife, a stout woman with a white kerchief tied neatly about her head, was just putting her loaf of bread into the fireside oven.
The woman exclaimed at the sight of Rosa, sat her down on the nearest chair, then shooed the men from her kitchen. The farmer’s son cast one last admiring look at Rosa over his shoulder before he returned to the fields. Then the farmer’s wife placed on the table a heaping bowl of steaming porridge. Rosa fought back the tears that were threatening to fall over the woman’s kindness.
The farm woman took Rosa’s bleeding feet in her rough hands and began to wash and bind them. “Now why don’t you tell me of your trouble, you poor, little dove?”
Rosa shook her head. “No, you are being very kind, and I do not want to endanger you for helping me.”
“Is it very bad?”
“I am fleeing for my life.”
The farmer’s wife clucked and then shook her head. She must have observed that Rosa was struggling to keep awake because she gently said, “Ah, poor, little dove, you want some sleep. Why don’t you rest in my bed?”
Rosa insisted that she rest in the barn. She did not want these kind people harmed if she was discovered, and she could always claim that she had snuck into their barn unawares. She hoped she had had enough of a head start to catch a few hours of sleep, and the pain in her foot was worse, almost burning.
It seemed to Rosa that no sooner had she fallen asleep when she woke to load oaths, horses clamoring outside, and rough hands seizing her, pulling her up, and yanking her to the barn door. She was dragged outside past the farmer’s wife, whose face had hardened to implacable granite.
The woman’s eyes narrowed, and she spat out, “We don’t hold with witches or murderesses.”
Rosa pulled herself straight, queenly and tall. “I am not any of those things of which you say. I forgive you, because you do not know any better, and for the kindness you showed a stranger before you were deceived.”
Doubt stamped the woman’s face, her lips turned white, and she turned away. Rosa was lifted onto her horse by the guard who had dragged her from the barn. She looked down and caught his gaze. She saw that the guard was young, his eyes wide and dark against a freckled, ashen face.
Rosa was taken back to the castle, to another cell in the tower, this time without a window. The only light was the little that came through the narrow slits in the stone walls. She wondered if at last Erik would come to see her, or if he was being prevented in some way, or if it was true that he had abandoned her.
She had no way of keeping track of time without a window, and the oppressive darkness drew the seconds into hours. Finally, Rosa heard the jangling of keys outside her cell, and, as the door swung open, Rosa’s heart leapt with the hope that Erik had finally come to see her, but that hope was quickly dashed as the queen, bearing a lighted torch, stepped into the room.
The torch cast long and eerie shadows on the stone walls and the ground, illuminating the queen’s pale face with a hellish glow. Queen Sigrid did not speak at first, but only looked coldly at Rosa, though the fire flickered in her eyes. “I did not expect you to flee, but that does not matter, for your flight has served the same purpose as would have your death. You have confirmed your guilt.”
Rosa remained silent, and the queen leaned over her, triumph blazing forth from her face. “Do you have nothing to say to me? I, who have engineered your destruction?”
Rosa met her gaze without flinching. “It is you who took my babies. Are they dead?”
The queen did not answer, but she smiled, and her smile was cruel.
Rosa closed her eyes.
The queen stood tall and raised her torch high up into the air. “You are to stand before the king for judgment tomorrow. What will you say?”
Rosa’s eyes remained shut, but she whispered, “The truth.”
“No one will believe you, and you will be burnt at the stake as a witch. The people live in dread of the old kingdom and a magic they have never known. In their suspicion, they have twisted all into darkness beyond recognition. But I do know…,”and the queen leaned over until her face almost touched the princess’ own, “…I know that our two worlds cannot exist together and that the old magic would banish my own. When I first saw you, I knew you and I hated you, but even now, if you admit that you are a witch and that you ensnared the prince, I will
save you and you will be forgiven.”
Rosa opened her eyes. “If the truth kills me, then so be it.” Her voice was sharp and cold.
The princess refused to say another word, so the queen departed, leaving behind her the darkness and the echoes of her triumphant laughter.
ERIK LAY ON the dry and hard ground, gazing into the still waters of the grey pool. He gradually became aware of a low, plashing sound and looked up to see a boat emerging from the mist, the figure within only a silhouette in the darkness.
The boat reached the shore. The dark shape did not step out, but only sat motionless, as if ominously waiting. There was no sound except the ghostly stirring of the branches overhead.
Erik approached the boat, and, when he reached the shadowy figure, it looked up, thrusting back its hood to reveal an old man with strangely shifting eyes that changed from grey to liquid gold. The eyes bid him come, and Erik stepped onto the boat behind the old man, who then cast off, rowing back through the mists. Erik soon realized that what he thought was merely a small grey pool was really a lake, and, as he strained his eyes to peer through the mist, a dark shape slowly solidified into a small island in the middle of the lake. When they reached the dark island, Erik stepped out from the boat, and the old man wordlessly signaled that the prince should continue deeper into the island’s veiled darkness.
Erik walked through the low, clinging growth and the pines until he came to a small clearing in the mist. In the center stood a tall woman robed in grey, and the mists wrapped so thickly around her feet that he could not tell where the mist ended and her robes began. Her eyes were like diamonds, their brilliance shining forth from a face as dark as night. A dart of fear stabbed him. This strange lady was old and powerful, and here he was, already weakened by hunger and sleepless nights and even more, he knew, by doubt.
The women spoke, and all the riddles of the deep earth were contained in her voice. “What has led you to the Grey Isle?”
Erik’s throat became suddenly dry. His tongue cleaved to the roof of his mouth. How could he answer the lady’s question, if even he didn’t know what he was searching for? Finally he said in desperation, “I seek the truth.”
“That is not what brought you here, for you possessed the truth, and you did not believe it.”
“Then doubt brought me here.”
“What do you wish to change for this doubt?”
“Certainty.” He spoke barely in a whisper.
The woman’s shining, inscrutable eyes observed him silently. Then she said, “Follow me.”
Erik obeyed and followed her to the edge of the island, where she pointed to a small pitcher standing on the shore.
“Fill the whole lake inside this pitcher.”
Erik tried to make sense of her words. What she asked of him was clearly impossible, but, nevertheless, he grasped the earthenware pitcher and, kneeling by the shore, he dipped it in the cold, dark waters. When he drew it back up, the pitcher was heavy and already full of water. He tried again a second time and then a third, but every time he drew the pitcher from the lake, it was full, and the water in the lake was no less in any distinguishable way than before.
“It is impossible,” he finally said. “The pitcher is too small and the lake too great to fit into it.”
“And so it is with you,” the woman said. “You seek to understand the truth with certainty, but you are too small to contain it. Do you think that the truth is something that you can measure, that it is something that you can hold? Its height and breadth and depth are something that you cannot fathom and you can but glimpse a small part, but it can fill you in your entirety.”
“Then how can I go on,” the prince asked, “if I know nothing?”
The woman pressed her hand over his heart. “When a man speaks some secret thing about himself, how do you know he speaks the truth?”
Erik thought for a moment, “Because I trust him.”
“Why do you trust? How do you know, how do you ever truly know, that anyone is who they say they are?”
Erik searched deep within himself. He knew from growing up in his father’s court that it was so easy to say one thing, but do another. There were very few people whom Erik trusted without question, and, even then, it was conceivable that those he trusted might betray him. Yet he did know, he did trust in others. Who were those people he did believe?
“Love bindeth all things,” the woman whispered.
Erik stared into her shining eyes and saw. Another person’s heart was a mystery, and only one who loves can behold another truly as they are and as they are meant to be, and it was on this love that trust rests. Then it was as if the morning sun broke and dispelled the dark night of his doubt.
He loved Rosa, and that love was enough.
The woman bent down and picked up the pitcher. “Drink and renew your strength. The princess’ life is in danger as we speak. You must make haste, for, if you delay, it will be too late.”
Erik felt the blood draining from his face. He gripped the pitcher and drained it. He knew now that, if he lost Rosa, all the love would go out of his life.
Then the woman took him to the ferryman, who once again wordlessly rowed him to the shore. There Lodestar was waiting for him. Grim and determined, he did not question the horse’s presence, but saw the purpose in it.
The prince and his horse galloped through the wood, leaving the wind behind them. Their course was straight, and they did not falter. Bursting forth from the wood, they galloped across the plains, picking up speed. A dark speck materialized in the distance, and another rider rapidly approached. Erik would have shot past him, but, upon seeing that it was Dunstan, he pulled up tight, and his friend reined in beside him.
“Erik!” Dunstan exclaimed. “I have been scouring the countryside for you. We must go back. Rosa is in danger and the queen plots against you both.”
“I know. We have not a moment to spare.”
ROSA knew it was morning, because she could hear the birdsong. As the princess sat alone in her prison cell, the lapsing moments lengthened, and Rosa held every one of them deep within her breast. She thought on her time with the faerie, her time with her mother and father, and of Edmund’s sacrifice. She thought on her slumber and the curse, her brief happy moments with Erik, and on her children’s beautiful faces. Rosa did not know where Erik was or why he did not come to her, but she knew he was trapped like herself. Only she wondered if his prison was one of the mind and spirit, while hers possessed physical walls.
As she continued to reflect, Rosa could not but feel that this morning was familiar, that she had experienced this all before on the eve of her sixteenth birthday, only then she was going to her sleep, and now she was to go to her death.
She heard the keys turn in her cell door, and the guard opened it.
“Follow me,” he ordered.
The guard did not bind her as they both knew that another attempt at escape would be in vain. He led her down the long twisting stairs and into the throne room with its timbered arches. The lords of the hall gathered to hear the sentence pronounced, and any who might have been the prince’s supporters were absent from the courtroom. Their faces were grim; not one doubted the outcome of the trial.
Rosa’s eyes fluttered over the hard faces. Erik was not among them. She did not know if she felt relief, or if his absence made her heart grow colder. It no longer mattered. She turned her full attention to the king.
“You have been charged with witchcraft, murder, and treason. How do you respond?”
She met the king’s gaze. “I am innocent.” The white flame of her innocence blazed within her. Her voice rang the clarion call of the clearest purity.
A shifting murmuring echoed in the court. Rosa stood alone and defenseless yet was unafraid. The king’s face was as hard as stone, the queen a dart of ice at his side.
“We took you into our kingdom and wed you to our son. Yet you turned him against us with your witchcraft and murdered your own children. Tell me why w
e should not burn you at the stake?”
“The prince has ever been faithful to you.”
“Then tell me where he is now,” the king commanded.
“I do not know, but, if he were here, he would defend my innocence.”
“He is not here because he is plotting with my enemies. Where else would he be unless…,” and the king looked at the princess coldly, “he fled because he was convinced of your guilt.”
The fire within Rosa abruptly extinguished. A film passed over her eyes, and all she could see was the dark. Then the conviction of her innocence welled up within her, and she once again blazed forth. “I do not know where Erik is, but why do you not ask the queen what she did with him and what she has done with my two babies?”
An awful silence filled the courtroom, then it was shattered by the queen’s piecing laugh. The king’s knuckles grew white as he gripped the arms of his throne.
“You dare?” His voice was the smoothness of the deepest of rages.
Rosa continued in ringing tones. “I am not afraid to die, for I am innocent and bear no stain of guilt upon my soul. Yet for the truth’s sake and for the kingdom’s, I will speak. The queen is a deadly poison that pollutes the kingdom. She has already tainted the love you bear your son and turned you against him, and, as she divided you from him, so she will divide you from the kingdom. Though you will not heed me now, remember my warning when you stand before your undoing and hope that you will still have the strength to save yourself, for her poison already lies deep within you.”
“Burn her.” The two words weighed hard and heavy as lead.
The guards surrounded the princess, roughly gripped her by the shoulders, and thrust her out into the courtyard. The crowd followed, and the king and queen sat on the elevated dais to watch the princess burn.
She was tied to the pyre, the ropes cruelly biting into her wrists. The herald proclaimed the decree of her death, and the flaming torch was brought forward. Rosa’s eyes fixed in fascination on its roaring fire, and she could already imagine the heat of its blaze consuming her into ash.