Someone rich, Milo thought. I wonder if the king and queen made up the stories of stolen children to keep us peasants out of the woods. That way, they could have it all for them and their friends.
Milo picked up the coin and rubbed it till it gleamed as brightly as he imagined it might gleam in the king’s own money pouch. A coin like this will buy roast beef for every night of the year, he beamed.
No sooner had Milo put the coin in his pocket than he saw another, twenty feet farther into the woods beside a puddle from the last big rain. He retrieved it and, to his amazement, saw a third coin far ahead on a rock.
Some poor noble has a hole in his money pouch. Well, finders keepers. Milo paused. Maybe I should turn the coins in to the king instead. For my honesty, maybe he’ll give me a place at court and my family won’t ever have to worry about money again.
Milo pictured a suite of rooms at the castle, his mother in silks and satins, his father with a new fitted foot from the royal carpenter, and himself knighted by the king. Imagine, Sir Milo.
It was a foolish fantasy; for that kind of reward he’d need a purse-full of coins.
Well why not? If the purse has a hole in it, there’s bound to be more.
And there were. Milo found a fourth coin a few hundred feet ahead, near a cluster of berry bushes, and a fifth coin in a patch of brambles.
A great owl peered down at him from a hole in an old elm tree. It twisted its neck and hooted. Milo looked beneath its perch. To his delight, he saw a sixth coin lying on a cluster of mouse bones.
The owl ruffled its feathers and flew deeper into the forest. Milo hesitated. Six coins was a lot. Maybe it was time to go home. But what if the owl is good luck? Ten coins. I’ll stop when I have ten.
He ran after the owl. But the owl’s hoot was always a little farther than he could see, and he was slowed by thorn bushes, rocks and potholes. The hooting faded away into the distance. Milo decided to go home. The light was dim. The forest canopy hid the sun. Or could it be dusk?
Milo turned around. The cornfields were nowhere to be seen. In fact, there was nothing but trees – trees in every direction disappearing into darkness. A cold sweat trickled down his neck. There’s nothing to worry about, he told himself. I just have to go back the way I came.
But which way was that?
Milo remembered he’d just passed three boulders on his left. Returning, they should be on his right. Only they weren’t. The world had turned itself around and everything was opposite to what it should be. It was like walking into a mirror.
He heard a whistle of wind; felt a swirling around him in the brushwood. He froze. Maybe whatever it was would go away.
The sound stopped. Everything was still. Milo breathed a sigh of relief. He prepared to tiptoe away, when –
‘Good evening.’ The voice behind him was like metal grating over stone.
Milo’s throat went dry. Deep down, he knew who it was, but he was afraid to face her. As long as he didn’t see her, he could pretend she wasn’t there.
‘You have something of mine,’ the witch said quietly.
Milo gulped. He fished the coins from his pockets, and held them out to her, head to the ground, eyes tightly shut. ‘I’m sorry. I didn’t know they were yours.’
‘You didn’t know they weren’t.’
‘I was going to turn them in.’
The witch chuckled. ‘Because it was right? Or for a reward?’
Milo’s legs began to tremble uncontrollably. He wanted to run, but he couldn’t. Why did he have to be so scared? So stupid?
He felt the red-hot glow of the witch’s eyes; the icy grip of her long, curled nails as she took his hand.
He pictured his mama and papa waiting anxiously at the door, calling his name as the sun went down, and running in panic to the neighbours. He imagined their howls filling the night.
Milo wanted to ask where the witch was taking him. He wanted to ask what she was going to do. What was the use? He’d have his dream: to leave home forever.
No matter where, no matter what, Milo knew he would never see his parents again.
And Then
There Was One
‘Milo, where are you? Please Milo. Answer us. We love you. Where are you?’ Deep in their bones, Milo’s parents knew the truth. Their calls turned to sobs. ‘Our son! The Dream Witch has our son!’
Neighbours joined their wails, and the neighbours of neighbours. Voice upon voice, the chorus of grief filled the night air, sweeping across the cornfields and throughout the town around the castle. Everyone knew someone who had lost a child and the disappearance of young Milo rekindled shared pain.
Princess Olivia gripped the ledge of her turret cell. Her pet mouse, Penelope, put a paw on her hand to comfort.
‘This is my fault,’ Olivia whispered. ‘I deserve to be locked up. Not just to keep me from the Dream Witch, but for all the misery I’ve caused.’
Olivia’s cell was fancier than most. Its single window had thick bars embedded in the stone sill; lead shutters that were locked at night; a heavy oak door that bolted shut; and sentries who barred the entrance to everyone except her parents. But it also had a wall of mirrored wardrobes filled with silk and satin dresses and a hundred pairs of shoes; bookcases lined with stories in hand-crafted leather bindings; and a large armoire where she kept the dolls of her early childhood.
And, of course, she had Penelope. The little mouse first appeared when the princess was in her crib and had stayed nearby ever since. Olivia would discover her hiding in a sock, or wake to find her curled up on her pillow. She was the closest thing to a friend that the girl had ever had.
‘I wish things could be like they used to be, when everything felt safe,’ Olivia said quietly.
Penelope nuzzled her hand.
*
Olivia had felt safe until she turned five. Before that, the Dream Witch had done nothing and the kingdom had pretended all was well. This amused the witch. She enjoyed seeing children believe the happy lie while their mothers and fathers lived with the Great Dread, wondering when or if she’d strike.
The witch chose Olivia’s fifth birthday.
Olivia’s parents had arranged a celebration in the town square. They sat with their daughter on a reviewing stand above the crowd, with the twelve pysanka in a festive bowl carved like a chicken.
A magician approached on stilts. He had a face like an apple, hair like straw, and the longest fingers Olivia had ever seen. The trickster waved a hand over the bowl and opened his mouth. One of the coloured eggs popped out. He plucked two more from thin air, another two from under his elbow, and a last from behind Olivia’s ear.
‘Put the pysanka back in the bowl,’ the king demanded.
‘I’m sorry,’ the magician said. He returned the eggs and fled the square.
Back at the castle, Olivia learned the truth: Ephemia’s talismans were all that kept her from the witch. The king and queen learned something, too: Six of the eggs were now made of wood. The magician had plucked fake eggs from the air. At the king’s command, he’d put these in the bowl and had stolen the real ones.
The thief was caught by morning, but not before he’d broken the eggs for the Dream Witch in exchange for his dream of fame and fortune. He got his wish, though his fame was his crime and his fortune unhappy. King Augustine had a stroke and the first of many children went missing.
Olivia was kept in the castle with the six remaining pysanka locked in a metal box. One day, a servant boy knocked it over and all but one of the eggs cracked. The king had a second stroke and all children were banned from Olivia’s presence.
The last pysanka was placed inside a silver pendant lined with velvet to protect it from falls. A maid was caught trying to steal it by sneaking it out of Olivia’s room under some laundry. Her nephew had been kidnapped by the Dream Witch who’d demanded she bring her the pysanka, or the boy would be ground up for pies.
Olivia’s father suffered his worst seizure yet and was no longer able to
move or speak, except by tapping his left thumb. Her mother wrapped the last egg in a ball of wool and hid it in the turret cell at the bottom of a box of ribbons at the back of a shelf.
‘Forgive me,’ she said to Olivia, ‘but I must lock you here to keep you safe. Don’t worry. I’ll keep you company at all your meals, and servants will carry your father up to join us on Sundays.’
Even so, it meant Olivia, now twelve, had spent most of her time alone with Penelope and her books. Just like today.
Penelope curled up in Olivia’s palm. The pair watched the parade of torches heading to the forest. This always happened when a child went missing: The family and family friends of the child tried to rescue their young. But the moment their torches entered the witch’s forest, their homes burned instead.
Olivia shook her head in sorrow. ‘It’s useless. Why do they try?’
There are some things you just do.
Olivia looked at her friend in shock. Had Penelope spoken? The mouse blinked twice and fussed with her whiskers. No, impossible, Olivia thought and rubbed the creature’s ear.
‘The world should live without fear,’ she said. ‘One day it will. I’ll face the Dream Witch. One way or another the kingdom’s nightmare will be over.’
An Unwelcome Surprise
The next afternoon, Olivia sat at the marble table in her room, eating jam tarts with her parents. Penelope perched on the princess’ shoulder, nibbling crumbs from her hand.
King Augustine had been bathed, shaved, and dressed in his military uniform. He was held upright by sturdy clips that secured his epaulettes to the back of his portable throne. Olivia tried not to notice how his cheeks and chest had shrunk, or how his mouth hung sideways.
Queen Sophia sat beside her husband, feeding him and stroking his right hand. She stroked it all the time, as if her touch might bring it back to life. The sight was hard for Olivia to bear. It drew attention to the hand’s stillness, its shrunken muscles, and the thick blue veins that stood out against its pallid skin.
At least her father could still communicate. One tap of his left thumb meant ‘yes’; two, ‘no’. And, as always, his feelings flew through his eyes as quick as songbirds. The sparkle in those eyes helped Olivia to remember his laugh and the tender ‘good nights’ when he’d tucked her into bed and looked at her just so.
‘I wish you’d keep that thing in a cage,’ the queen said with a nod at Penelope. ‘Especially when we’re eating.’
The princess glanced at Penelope. ‘You won’t steal Mother’s tart, will you?’ Penelope sat on her haunches and scratched her ear with a back paw. ‘You see? That means: “Of course not, I’m a lady.”’
‘Hah,’ her mother said, ‘I think it means, “I’ve got fleas.”’
Penelope sniffed and turned her back on the queen. Queen Sophia smiled despite herself. Olivia beamed. Her mother’s tolerance of Penelope, especially around food, was a true sign of love.
The queen set aside her plate and tapped her lips with her napkin. ‘About tomorrow . . . the day before your thirteenth birthday . . . we have a big surprise.’
Olivia put down the end of her tart. Her mother had never mentioned her thirteenth birthday, as if ignoring it could make the witch’s curse disappear. Why mention it now?
‘You’re going to have a visitor,’ her mother continued. ‘Prince Leo of Pretonia. He’s about your age; a year or two older, maybe. You’ll like him. His father is sending him with his uncle, the Duke of Fettwurst, and a retinue of several hundred.’
‘Are they coming to reinforce the castle?’
Her mother’s smile teetered, like a toddler on skates. ‘Don’t be silly.’
‘I’m not. The Dream Witch said my talismans would all be gone by my thirteenth birthday. And when they are, she’ll have my heart.’
King Augustine’s eyes darted between his wife and daughter.
Queen Sophia stiffened. ‘We won’t have that kind of talk.’
‘I’m only saying what everyone knows,’ Olivia said. ‘It’s why I’m locked up. Honestly, Mother, do you think pretending everything’s fine will protect me? I’m not a child. Even if I were, I’m not stupid.’
The queen gripped the king’s hand as if it were a cane. ‘Prince Leo and his uncle are coming as guests to your celebration. The following day, they’ll take you back to Pretonia as a birthday present. A holiday. You’ll have fresh air. A chance to see the world beyond this turret.’
Olivia fiddled with her spoon. There was something her mother wasn’t telling her. What was it? She was afraid to ask, but the not knowing made the secret worse.
‘Your pysanka will come too, of course,’ the queen continued. ‘Each of Prince Leo’s soldiers will have a copy, each in its own identical silver casing. Several hundred decoys will ensure your safety, so please don’t worry.’
‘I won’t. I always feel safe when you’re around.’
‘We won’t be coming,’ her mother said gently. ‘Your father’s not well enough to travel and I’m needed here to rule the kingdom.’
‘But you have to come.’
‘Olivia. Please. A trip on your own. It’s so grown up.’
‘No!’
‘I’m sorry,’ the queen said. ‘It’s been decided.’
‘Then un-decide it.’
‘After Prince Leo and his uncle have travelled all this way?’
Olivia banged her spoon on the table. ‘There’s something you’re not telling me. What?’
‘I’m sure I don’t know.’
‘You do! Tell me!’ But in her heart she already knew. ‘Oh Mother! You plan to marry me to that prince, don’t you? You’re sending me far away where I’ll never see you again.’
‘That’s not true.’
‘Why do you always pretend things aren’t the way they are?’ Olivia roared. ‘Why do you lie to me? To shut me up? To make me feel better? Well I don’t feel better and I won’t shut up.’
‘Please understand,’ the queen pleaded.
‘No!’
‘There’s a wizard in the Pretonian court far stronger than any in our kingdom. You’ll be out of danger. Free as the wind.’
‘I don’t care. I want to be with you and Father. Please! Just the three of us, forever and ever.’
‘It’s not possible, my love. Why, even if you stay at home, your father and I won’t always be around.’
‘But you have to be. I need you.’
Her mother’s voice broke. ‘One day, Olivia, you’ll be all grown up and your father and I will be but a memory.’
‘No!’
‘It’s the way of the world. In the meantime – now – there are others who can take better care of you than we can. We’re giving you the chance of a new life. A real life.’
‘A real life? Trapped in marriage to a stranger?’
‘You don’t have to marry. We promise,’ the queen insisted. ‘In Pretonia, you can see if you like Prince Leo. If you do, you have our blessing. If not, you can remain as a guest.’
Olivia didn’t know where to turn or what to think. She dropped to her knees beside her father, took his left hand, kissed the palm, and pressed it to her cheek. ‘Father, is this what you want, too?’
Her father gazed at her with sorrow. He tapped her cheek gently, once.
Olivia shuddered. ‘But do you promise I won’t have to marry?’
One firm tap.
‘Good. And I can come home again?’
Her father paused. Tears welled in his eyes.
At that moment, Penelope hopped from Olivia’s shoulder onto the king’s hand. She scampered up his arm and nuzzled her nose into his ear. For a second, he was startled. Then his eyes cleared. His mouth twitched.
‘Olivia,’ the queen squirmed. ‘Your mouse. It’s tickling him.’
‘No,’ Olivia said in awe. ‘Father’s smiling. I think Penelope’s told him something.’
‘What an imagination.’ Her mother swooshed the air and Penelope scurried back to Olivia’s shoulder.
‘Whisper in my ear. Please,’ Olivia begged her friend.
But Penelope just blinked as if to say: Are you crazy? I’m just a little grey field mouse. Aren’t I?
In The Witch’s Lair
Milo roused. What time was it? The room was so dark he couldn’t tell. All he knew was that he’d had the most terrible nightmare:
He’d been in the forest and the Dream Witch had caught him and brought him to her cottage. Milo shuddered at the thought of it. The outside door was a mouth. Not something that looked like a mouth, but a real mouth. And inside was an earthen stairway that swallowed him into her underground lair. The witch flew him through a fog filled with the howls of evil things, over vast dreamscapes of jungles and castles and lava pits, then into a terrible darkness.
Like this darkness.
Milo rolled onto his side. Strange. He should be feeling his straw mat, the one in his corner near the stove where he must have fallen asleep. Instead, he touched a floor of cold metal that seemed to be cut into sharp triangular slats. Where the slats met, he felt a thick iron pole. He ran his hands up it. Just over his head the pole went through a ceiling.
Milo’s heart beat fast. Where was he? What was the last thing he could remember from yesterday? He’d been in the forest. And it was dark. And he’d turned to go home. And . . . and then what?
He tried to remember a return, his parents scolding him, eating supper. He couldn’t. All that came next was his dream. His throat went dry. Please let it not be true. Please let me still be asleep.
Milo became aware of a curious sound: Whimpers from somewhere beyond, from the left and the right, above and below. He took two steps across the metal slats and hit a wall of glass. He groped his way to the right and found himself moving in a circle. He was in a glass cage. A bottle. He tried to smash it with his fists but the glass was too thick.
‘Let me out! Let me out!’
At the sound of his cry, the murmuring stopped.
A girl’s whisper echoed out of the silence: ‘You’re awake.’
Curse of the Dream Witch Page 2