“So you refuse to do anything at all?”
“If he leaves to explain, they’ll never let him return,” Oria said. “Worse, the giants will be none too pleased with me either when they learn of this. There are very few ways of getting to the castle, but they certainly exist. I can’t defend if there’s an invasion.”
She set an elbow on the table and rested her chin on her hand, her lower lip extending in an apologetic pout. “So, you can see why I can’t let you leave, then.”
My mouth fell open. “You can’t… What? Why?”
Aaron shrugged. “If you leave, you’d tell people where I am, and we can’t have that. Don’t worry, though, you’ll be very comfortable here, and the food is excellent.”
Heart racing, I tried not to panic. Calm reasoning would see me out of this, I was sure, but it was difficult to think past being told I was now a prisoner.
“It’s not a bad thing, Jack,” Oria said, her wide smile genuine with her belief. “Now you’ll be able to sing and play as long and as often as you like. Wouldn’t that be lovely after enduring so much hardship? I’d say you earned the rest.”
Her words chilled me as the realization sunk in. I wasn’t merely a prisoner.
I was a new pet.
There was no joy in the life Aaron and Oria proceeded to describe for me. She spoke of adding a third cage to the table, allowing me my own little gilded confinement. Talk of soft sheets and downy pillows and custom clothing and endless food did nothing to ease my sorrow from losing the one thing I had for myself. In exchange for pampered living, my freedom was forfeit. Never again would I walk a road, or see the open sky, or know the feel of a warm spring in winter, or hear the words of strangers in a town square. The rest of my days would be contained by gold bars, with only two selfish children for company.
“Oh dear,” Oria said. “She doesn’t seem happy, Aaron. Or are those tears of joy?”
He flashed her a reassuring smile as he slid a handkerchief across the table to me. “You mustn’t worry over it, My Lady. I’m certain they’re grateful tears. Who wouldn’t be glad for a life of leisure?”
Beside myself, I covered my face in my hands, my silent sobs mourning the loss of any good I might ever do in the world, any choices I might ever make, any wonders I might see. To be denied all of those things, I could think of no worse a fate. Even if my end had come with the wolves, it would have been an end in freedom.
I’d wished for peace that day in the clearing. I never dreamed it would be forced on me behind bars.
It took me two days before I spoke to either of them. Lady Oria added the third cage as she said she would, but the plush furnishings did nothing to ease the ache in my heart so long as its door remained locked, which was always but when she brought me food. I dressed as she told me on the third day, unable to hold out any longer against the ripe smell of my clothing. The dress I was given was the blue of the sky before dawn, a thing I thought never to see again, and it nearly reduced me to tears for the first time since my initial imprisonment. The food she brought me went mostly uneaten. I ate enough to sustain myself, but little more.
The only thing I was given that heartened me at all was the silver lute awaiting me the fourth morning. I hadn’t spent much time with a lute even when I was younger, but my fingers itched to touch the strings. Something inside me awoke the evening I sang for them, and it was begging me to take it up again. My voice remained silent, however, words caught on the sorrow I felt every time she turned the key on my cage.
Most would’ve thought me mad to be so overcome by despair. I was surrounded by finery and plenty of delicious things to eat when so few could say they had even enough to fill their bellies once a day. Some might’ve shouted at me for being ungrateful. Some might’ve lectured me for not taking advantage of the security I’d been blessed with.
But there was nothing for me but an empty desire to be in the world again. All I wanted, more than anything, was to feel my feet upon a road.
“You might as well accept it,” Prince Aaron said to me, leaning up against the bars of his cage. “The beanstalk’s been taken down. Even if you could get out, you’ve no way of leaving.”
I hadn’t thought it possible, but my heart sank even further. Of course Oria would get rid of the beanstalk. She couldn’t have anyone else stumbling upon the place.
“I had some trouble with it at first, but I got over it well enough.”
I lifted my eyes from the lute on my lap. “How long did it take you?”
At the sound of my voice, he perked up, immediately interested. “Oh, about a month, maybe less. I fully came to terms with it being better for everyone this way.”
My gaze settled back on my instrument. “And now, you have no regrets?”
“There are some things I miss, but I don’t regret my choice, no.”
“What is it you miss most?”
There was a long pause as he thought, but he came to an answer eventually. “My youngest brother, Willem. Well, I miss both of my brothers, but him especially.”
“Why?”
Aaron stretched, releasing a wistful sigh. “He’s the cleverest person I’ve ever met. His jokes could keep you laughing for an hour, if he had a mind to lift your spirits. He was none too shabby with a story, either, though not as talented as you are with it.”
My interest in speaking waned, although a small part of me was curious about anything that had nothing to do with life in Oria’s castle.
“You’d like him, I think,” he continued. “Most people do. He has a way about him that makes him easy to talk to.”
One more person I’d never get to know. One more face I’d never see.
Even after beatings, even when I’d been forced to march the cows to market, I’d never felt such sorrow. It ate at me, tearing at places I didn’t know could hurt so badly. The sensation suffocated me.
If I had known how, I would have given it away.
Lady Oria chose that moment to bring dinner. She pranced in with steps surprisingly light for a giant, first delivering a tray to Aaron before unlocking my cage to reach her massive hand inside. The platter of cheese and bread and stew looked tiny between her fingers, but took up over half of the table she set it on.
“I’ve only got the one enchanted pot, but if you’d like some tea, Aaron could bring you some,” she chirped.
I shrugged, absently plucking at a lute string. The beautiful note rang through the study, and I shivered. The instrument called to me.
“Oh, lovely,” Oria said as she seated herself. “Have you finally decided to play again? I’d be ever so happy if you would.”
Frowning, I didn’t wish to do anything that would bring her pleasure. I rose from my seat instead, laying the lute across the chair, opting to eat rather than perform. She scowled a little, but there’d be no forcing me to it.
As I ate, I dwelled on the situation. If she could feel but a sliver of my misery, share at least some of my burden, I’d be lighter for it. Oria was determined to be happy, however, and nothing I could do would make her feel…
The spoon stopped halfway to my mouth.
Hadn’t they told me I was a Bard? My first performance reduced the both of them to whimpering sobs one moment, to laughing uncontrollably the next. If I could do that, surely I could share how utterly miserable I was the same way, couldn’t I?
The idea gave me hope, which was more than I’d had in days. The only problem lay in my own lack of knowledge. I barely knew what a Bard was, let alone how to be one properly. What if they were mistaken in their assumption? Perhaps I was simply talented rather than magically inclined. I didn’t know all that many songs, and most weren’t particularly sad.
The problem plagued me through the remainder of my meal. I paged through the list of songs I knew, which came surprisingly easy, but none held the emotion I wanted. There simply weren’t any about the tiny joys I longed for. At least, none I’d heard in my very limited exposure to music. My father never brought me t
o the public house he frequented, and I was only ever in Breen on special occasions, perhaps three or four times a year. And it wasn’t as though we were ever invited to small gatherings on neighboring farms. No one wanted my father in their home, not that I blamed them.
After my meal, I returned to the stuffed chair and continued to think. If a song such as I wanted didn’t exist, perhaps I could create one. An original melody? Did my gifts extend to such a length? I supposed there was one way to find out.
When I held the lute to play it, Lady Oria leaned forward in her seat, and Aaron watched me with keen interest. Having an audience was unnerving, as I wasn’t entirely sure what might happen if I played freely, rather than from a song I knew. I would’ve much preferred privacy, but I’d never get that in my cage. It was strange enough dressing with nothing but a screen shielding me from their eyes, but playing from my heart felt far more intimate. What if my ability carried some unknown consequence when I used it? Stories of sirens on the seas drifted back to me. Their songs drove sailors to madness, causing them to wreck their ships on rocks or throw themselves into the waves. I didn’t wish to cause madness or death. Neither would see me free, and might possibly result in my own demise if there was no one to bring me food and water.
Still, there might not be another way. If my words couldn’t convince them, perhaps my music could.
I closed my eyes.
I set my fingers against the strings.
And then, I began to play.
Chapter 7
I called to my memories, to every small moment of peace or freedom I’d ever had. The rock where I’d sit and watch the stars, the crunch of pebbles beneath my boots, the crackle of a fire amidst the buzz of summer insects, the absolute stillness after a fresh fall of snow, showing kindness even knowing I’d get nothing for my trouble… All of those things and so many more. I let them weave around my heart and pour out through my fingers as they touched the strings of the lute.
The good memories came first. I let them surge and rise, building to a hopeful solution, towards a goal of happiness and peace.
And then, I took it away.
I pictured the bars of my cage, connecting fully with how devastating such an existence was to me. I took away the comfort of freedom, of the best memories I had, and replaced it with absolute isolation and loss. The yearning for the simple pleasure of a walk in a warm spring rain and mourning that sunrise and sunset were no more than simple shifts of ambient illumination drifting in and out of the windows high above— those were all that were left to me now. Every choice I ever had in the world was lost to me, and it was a punishment greater than death. What began as a melody reminiscent of the best things in life turned into a suffocating prison, holding my very soul hostage in an existence that would never bring me a moment of peace.
I plucked the final note, listening as its tone rang through the room, all else completely silent. Perhaps my song would have no effect on them, but I felt a little lighter for having tried to express my feelings. If nothing else, it eased my own suffering some.
When I opened my eyes, I wasn’t fully prepared to see my audience’s reaction. Lady Oria’s face was hidden behind her knees, and she shook silently in her chair. Prince Aaron was kneeling by his door, one hand gripping the bars. His back trembled with each breath, but he didn’t speak a word.
Movement caught my eye, and I turned. Two beady, black eyes stared back at me.
The bird from the beanstalk.
It stood between my cage and the empty one, its head cocked, listening and studying me intently. After a minute of the two of us staring at one another, it let out a quiet caw, the barest hint of comforting empathy underlying the sound. Tentatively, I stood and approached, not really knowing what I might say to the creature or if it would understand me. Smiling sadly, I nodded.
“Hello again,” I said. “Are you well?”
It blinked at me, turning its head to the other side with a slight squawk. There, a small red gash bloomed amongst the blue-black feathers, and I frowned. “It seems we’ve both met with misfortune. I’m sorry for yours, friend.”
I turned and took the napkin from my dinner tray, wetting the cloth with water from my porcelain basin. While my audience remained as they were when my song ended, I reached out to the giant bird, beckoning it closer through the bars.
It hopped nearer and I reached out, pausing before attempting to touch. “May I clean it? I’ve no wish to hurt you.”
A single caw was his reply. As it didn’t leave, I assumed that was permission granted.
The tiny feathers of its face were softer than the one it left behind at our first meeting, and it confused me why anyone would want to hurt something so lovely and unique. I talked as I worked, hoping to distract it from any pain I might cause. “I wonder where you’ve gone off to since I saw you last. You must see such lovely things in your travels. I wish your adventures didn’t result in new scars, but I suppose the greatest journeys always bring us a little pain at least.” Pausing, I looked in its eyes. “Do you come here for safety, friend? Is that other cage yours?”
Another caw. Perhaps this creature understood my words, though maybe it was my own wishful thinking.
“As you’re not in it at the moment, perhaps you’re like Aaron then, free to come and go as you like. It’s lucky for you to have found this place, but not as much for me.” I wiped away the last of the grime and retracted my hand. “It’s nice to see you again, anyway. I’m glad you’re all right.”
It rose up and flapped its wings, lifting itself atop the empty cage. Following the line of sight, I looked to the ceiling, at the great rotunda of windows lining the dome. A single pane was propped open, providing passage for the bird.
“Ro likes you,” Lady Oria’s trembling words interrupted my thoughts. “He comes and goes as he likes, but always returns.”
“Ro,” I said to the bird. “That’s a nice name. Where does he come from?”
She sniffled and stood long enough to open the door to the empty cage before making her exit. “Don’t know. I don’t speak bird.”
The study door clicked closed behind Lady Oria. Perhaps she was sorry she’d encouraged me to play. If that was how she felt, I might make a habit of it. Perhaps she’d let me go, or at least fling me into the sky.
Either way, I might earn my freedom yet.
Prince Aaron didn’t speak to me the following day. Lady Oria couldn’t even look at me when she brought my food. A second, more beautiful dress than the first waited for me in the morning, this time a bright coral silk with white lace around the neckline. I was only glad it wasn’t itchy.
I tried not to feel overly smug about what I’d accomplished with my improvised playing, but deep satisfaction was unavoidable. That I’d managed so much on my own gave me a sense of pride I’d never known before. Even more, for the first time in days, I had hope.
My problem became whether or not I should attempt to play again, and what that might bring about. Of course I didn’t want to die if there was another way to get out of the cage. But if I was set free, how would I get back to the world below? With the beanstalk gone, I needed another route.
Ro seemed content to extend his stay. I watched him flying in and out of the upper window, always returning with bits of straw or twigs. The nest inside his cage grew hourly, and by the second morning was nearly finished. I marveled at Ro’s speed and efficiency as much as the skillful way he crafted the bed of sticks and sundry. I’d never looked very closely at a bird’s nest before, and the weaving astounded me.
“Even a free creature knows the value of this place,” Aaron mumbled over a cup of tea.
I sighed, a little irritated he thought I was so stupid that he needed to explain it to me. “I understand its value to others, but it holds nothing for me. I’m going mad here. How long before I pace a hole in the floor of my prison?”
He sipped his tea. “I am sorry for that. Bards have an insatiable wanderlust. It’s a pity we have to keep y
ou here. I know you suffer, but we can’t permit you to spoil the peace we’ve had for two years.”
I stomped to the bars closest to him, glaring. “This isn’t peace. It’s cowardice and selfishness, nothing more. What dreams you must have, Highness. Do the dead visit you in your sleep? I would surely point them to you if asked.”
The color drained from his face. “I spoke true about my failings. No kingdom should have to suffer me as king.”
“Don’t pretend martyrdom, Your Highness. Your failure is only in your ability to see outside your own desires, to be clever enough to find another way. Not only do the people below suffer and die for your shortcomings, but now, so do I.”
Pushing back from the bars, I threw myself in my chair, angry. Were all princes so insufferably self-involved? Were they not raised to put the needs of the kingdom before their own? It seemed neither Aaron nor his king father had been, as the elder was as driven with his own desires as much as the younger. If I was ever able to leave, I’d be sure to avoid involvement with royalty in the future if I could.
I decided to distract myself with tuning my lute. The notes the instrument produced were clearer and crisper than any I’d heard before. Surely that was to do with the metal nature of it, as I’d never seen one that wasn’t made of wood. The strings glistened gold, a warm contrast to the cool silver body. Such fine filaments didn’t exist on normal instruments.
“Elvish,” Aaron said, interrupting. “You’ll not find finer craftsmanship outside of the deepest pits of dwarven mines, though I can’t imagine a dwarf forging anything but weapons or the occasional crown. Oria came by this pair, yours and mine, when she acquired the cages. Aren’t they lovely?”
I lifted my eyes to him, startled. “Elves? Where? No one’s seen elves in over a century.”
Prince Aaron studied his nails, picking at them in boredom. “They see the wisdom in seclusion also. When they do go out in the world, it’s only for significant royal births or weddings or deaths, and even then they wear disguises. You’d likely not know if you had met one.”
The Stillness of the Sky: A Flipped Fairy Tale (Flipped Fairy Tales) Page 7