by Ana Mardoll
No, not unmoving; he heard the flutter of wings again and the cry of a bird. The call crashed into the unnerving silence and he moved to the hall windows, seeking the sound. Pulling aside the curtains which had been drawn against the night, he was surprised when not an ounce of daylight filtered in.
"What is that?" His voice was loud in his own ears.
Sprawling hedges surrounded the hall, wrapping the castle in a protective barrier which extended as far as his eye could see in every direction. They rose to twice his height and were studded with thorns as long as his arm and as sharp as a blade, knit together so thickly that not a ray of light could pierce them.
Why would someone trap him here? Was this a fairy trick meant to keep his True Love out? Claude swallowed a bitter laugh. If that were the case, the joke was on them. No True Love was coming, nor was he in the proper state to receive one if they did come.
Claude had been raised to appreciate and understand pageantry, the ways in which elaborate ceremony stirs emotions in an audience. The part of him desperate to remain calm managed to be impressed as he stepped inside the long shadow cast by the hedge away from the rising sun. The massive wall of thorns probably didn't need to be well over twice his height but if the goal was to make him feel small and insignificant in comparison, then the gardener who had placed it here had done their job well.
He followed the length of it around the perimeter of the castle, careful not to stray too close to the thorns; visions of a stumble and headlong trip into their midst haunted him as he walked. The long thorns were sharp as rapiers, capable of blinding or even killing anyone foolish enough to wade into their midst. Moreover, the hedge was so deep that not a single stray sunbeam could pierce the tangled depths. Even if he could safely wade in, he couldn't imagine how far he'd need to penetrate before he came out the other side.
How had this grown? It had to be magic. He had no way of telling how long he'd slept, but even if he'd been asleep for years rather than the hours or days he suspected, there was no way this growth could be natural. Someone had shaped this hedge into a perfect oval around the castle, but why and who were questions to which Claude had no answer. Carefully he stepped closer and reached out to touch the hedge, only to yank his hand back when the tip of a thorn drew blood from his finger. He wasn't getting out this way.
Was that the intention, to trap him here? That made no sense; he wasn't supposed to be awake, so how could he try to leave? There was no sense in caging a person who was already trapped in slumber. Since the palace residents were similarly cursed to sleep until the arrival of True Love's kiss, the hedge couldn't be meant to keep them in either. Nothing in the castle stirred; even the horses in the stables were silent. Why was this barrier here, impossibly tall and impassably wide?
Perhaps he had it the wrong way round, thought Claude as he stepped back from the hedge and continued his circuit of the castle; maybe the barrier had been erected not to pen people in but to keep them out. Could the fairy who had cursed Claude at birth have gone further, actively trying to prevent any True Love from reaching him? Her task was superfluous, Claude was sure, but she had no way of knowing he didn't feel that way for anyone and didn't think he ever would.
He skirted the main stables, poking his head in briefly to confirm what he'd already guessed: horses slept comfortably in their stalls while the grooms who'd been tending to them snoozed in the straw nearby. A tabby cat, who held court over the stables and kept rats out of the hay, nested like a hen at the top of a shelf on the wall. Nothing stirred apart from the collective soft breath of so many bodies. Claude closed the doors gently behind him and turned back to the hedge, considering his options.
As long as the hedge stood, he was trapped. Maybe he could scrounge some of the ladders the servants used to clean windows in the great hall, and work out a way to strap them together to increase their length. Yet he'd cut himself to ribbons if he leaned the resulting ladder against the hedge, and even if he could successfully clamber to the top, then what? The hedge seemed as thick as it was tall; did he have the strength to haul up more ladders and set them horizontally across the top to walk over? More ladders would then have to follow so he could come down the other side. Claude doubted they owned enough.
Something nagged at him as he peered at the obstacle, and he chewed the inside of his cheek while he chased the thought. Hedges were a thing of earth, not air, yet the fairy who had cursed him was a patron of winds and birds. The one who saved his life, turning death into sleep at the cost of saddling him with the pressure of a True Love's kiss, had been a lady of earthy things, growth, and plants. Had she put the hedge here? He couldn't think why, unless it was meant as protection for the unconscious castle population against intruders. Perhaps the thorns would part for someone sufficiently pure in spirit.
If the hedge were the work of a benefactress, then its creator could be reasoned with if she returned. She must have visited the castle to grow the hedge, and someone had been inside his room; Claude had been in bed when he awoke, rather than sprawled on the floor where he'd fallen. If his guardian came back to check on things, he could explain the situation. Maybe she'd let him out of the hedge, and he could travel the world seeking to break the curse. Claude shook his head, feeling drained. The pressure to find a True Love had been almost unbearable; now the weight was crushing.
In the meantime, there was nothing he could do out here. Claude might as well go back inside the castle, though what he would do in there he wasn't sure. He didn't feel hungry, which he assumed was due to magic; at least he hoped so. How long would he have to wait for the earth fairy to return so that he could breach the hedge, assuming she returned at all? A thought struck him and he froze mid-stride: what if she returned on a girl-day? Would he fall asleep again when his next girl-day occurred?
Again he heard the flutter of wings and his head turned to follow the sound. He could hear no other movement than the wind; presumably any rats living in the walls now slept as deeply as the cats who hunted them. Why were the birds who fed on the orchards and nested in the towers not similarly asleep? He searched the sky for movement and his eyes widened when he saw an enormous riot of birds in every shape and size and color roosting on the western tower: the one they used for storage because it was too drafty to comfortably inhabit and no one wanted to sink money into renovating the ancient wing.
Claude hesitated on the castle steps, his heart beating fast. The birds who fluttered and flew above him went about their business, ignoring the human below. He'd never seen so many in one place, and half their number were unknown to him. One great scarlet bird was as bright as the sun at sunset; another with massive black wings and a ghostly white face seemed like death in avian form. They must have gathered here for a reason; something or someone must be inside the western tower, drawing these birds to itself. Claude took a deep breath and steadied himself against the stone wall. Maybe it was time to find answers.
She sat in the very center of the top room of the western tower, surrounded by birds and unaffected by the bitter wind whipping through the dusty garret. Her dress was a maelstrom of color and texture, boasting feathers as tiny as Claude's fingernails at the bodice and as long as his arms in the skirt. Her face was impossibly beautiful, fairer than any human could ever be; but when he cautiously climbed the tower stairs and poked his head into the garret, her expression was anything but lovely.
"You're awake?"
"I am." Claude offered her a deep bow. "Are you the great Lady Mélisande?"
Her eyebrows arched as a little red bird perched on her shoulder and chirruped loudly. "I am she," she agreed with a tilt of her head. "I had been led to believe that my name was out of favor in these parts."
Claude swallowed and wondered whether he dared lie; some said fairies could tell true words from false. "Madam, from my earliest days I have heard tales of your power. You are much respected in this land."
"You see?" Her lips curled into a smile, on the verge of a sneer when contraste
d with her unfeasibly perfect face. "A reminder, now and then, helps people learn their place. Why are you awake? I did not expect it."
He hesitated, licking his dry lips as chilly drafts ruffled the feathers of her rainbow dress. "Madam, I confess I am not certain, but I believe I am awake because I am a boy today. Lady Giselle's, ah, gift of sleep was framed in terms which expected me to remain female for the duration."
Eyes as blue as the sky studied him and Claude thought he saw a flicker of interest. "You see how shoddy her work is," she complained, thinning her lips. "My curse was elegant. A youthful burst of grace and skill, cut away swiftly by death; the stuff of tragedy. No messy lingering in sleep until this or that event occurs; no gray area concerning what would happen if the subject's gender shifts like a wind current. Sloppy work. Amateurish, even. You ought to be offended to receive such a gift."
Claude took a deep breath, trying to channel his mother's patience. "I cannot argue with the truth of what you say, Lady Mélisande; your gift was far more direct. I'd hoped to find Lady Giselle and ask if she could undo her spell but as I find you here, could I beg you to be the one to lift her curse?"
He quavered to ask, for lifting the curse of sleep might bring about his death. Yet perhaps the mercurial fairy would forget that part or he might manage to avoid pricking his finger again before his birthday, for surely he could argue that his death ought to result as a direct consequence of the spindle-prick rather than hours or days later. If he must die, however, at least his family and people would be awake.
Her lips split in a wide grin and she screeched with glee. "Oh! Oh-ho-ho, no! Of course not. A fairy can't undo another's magic. If we could, Giselle would simply have undone my curse. Why do you think she altered its course instead? No, I cannot lift her curse; she has charged you all to sleep and sleep you shall."
Claude's heart plummeted. The request for Mélisande to lift the sleeping curse had been a long shot, but desperation had raised his hopes. He was no worse off than when he had entered the garret, but it felt as though he'd suffered a fresh blow. Struggling to steady his breathing, he decided he needed to get through the hedge barrier so he could look for an answer outside these walls.
"I did not know that, madam. Thank you for the information." Determined not to weep in front of this woman, he took another deep breath. "May I ask if you created the hedge around the castle? I need to pass through and I notice that you are here, unhindered by its presence."
Mélisande laughed again, a high little giggle. "I was already here. Remember the little old lady and her spindle? You should have seen your face! No, the hedge is earth magic, not mine. I assume Giselle put it up to screen candidates. Only True Loves allowed; can't have thieves running off with the silverware." She sniffed, amusement flickering over her unearthly face. "She didn't consider people who can fly. Her head is full of dirt! We noticed this nice garret and thought we'd make use of it; didn't we, pet?" she cooed at a falcon which had alighted on her wrist. "No, if you want the hedge taken down you'll have to ask Giselle."
"That's it, then?" The last of his hopes dashed, Claude felt a painful lump rise in his throat. "Everyone I care about is going to sleep forever while I'm stuck here waiting for the arrival of something that may not even exist? My True Love? But I don't have a True Love! I don't even want one!"
The fairy's eyes flashed with mischief and she grinned teeth as white as winter clouds. "Do you have any particular feelings for fairies? I haven't had a boy in a while, and you're cute. Perhaps you have been unnecessarily limiting yourself to humans. Experimentation could be pleasurable, and I was planning to stay here a while."
Claude blinked and waited for his heart to resume beating. He harbored a thousand objections to this idea but he must remain polite; he'd suffered through one lifetime already for discourtesy shown to this woman. "Lady Mélisande, I'm flattered but I don't know if True Love is something that exists for me. Certainly I cannot find it while under this curse, as my every interaction is tainted with enormous and unbearable pressure. I cannot make an attempt with you and must decline your kind offer."
"Mmm." She shrugged, looking bored as she gazed at the falcon. "Well, I suppose you'll have to find someone else then. Good luck."
"Could you fly me out on one of your birds, or send word to Giselle—?" Claude stopped and glanced at her with a frown as a thought occurred to him. "Forgive me, but you said Giselle can take down the hedge if she were so inclined?"
Mélisande nodded, looking up with a single raised eyebrow. "Well, yes, it's her own creation."
"Fairies can undo their own magic? Not each other's magic, but their own?"
"Of course! How else would magic work?"
"Lady Mélisande." He considered going down on bended knee, but he didn't like the idea of stepping closer to the falcon who was watching him with hungry eyes. "Will you please undo your curse on me?"
This produced a modicum of interest and she studied him with bright eyes. "What would be the point? You're not dead and I've done my trick with the spindle. Quite entertaining, wasn't it? I could have done it at any time, you know, but I waited until it would be most funny. Giselle isn't the only one with a sense of humor. Why would you want me to undo a curse which is already complete?"
"Because it's not complete," Claude urged, fighting an anxious impulse to chew the inside of his cheek. "Lady Mélisande, you said Giselle's curse—the sleeping, the true love, the hedge—altered the course of yours. If you undo your curse, the death curse that serves as the foundation for everything else, will hers crumble?"
She tilted her head for a moment, looking as much like a bird as the creature on her arm. "Possibly," she allowed, and Claude felt the air knock out of him in the sudden rush of relief. "But why should I?"
Throwing caution to the wind, he fell to his knees. "Lady, your curse served its purpose. My parents disrespected you, but because of what you did I was raised with the utmost respect for your name. This kingdom knows your power and the price of angering you. Yet if you leave us to rot like this, you will not be respected; you will be hated and denigrated. Your name will be dragged through the mud because of Giselle's foolish mistake. They will forget that the shoddy work was hers and will wrongly attribute this mess to you."
Her lips twitched, a gathering about the edges which spoke of old anger, deep and bitter. "They would not dare. Any fool who so slanders my name will be corrected. Painfully, if necessary."
"What if there were another way?" His heart pounded in his chest but he held her gaze. "You can undo the curse. I come humbly before you to beg your forgiveness. Judge for yourself that my family has learned our lesson, mended our ways, and will henceforth be your true friends. You are welcome at our court to forever sit as a guest at the highest place of honor. You can be my fairy godmother!"
She blinked at him, tilting her head so far he half-expected it might rotate like an owl's. "Your what?"
"My guardian. My protector. It is a great honor to be a godparent to royalty." He swallowed hard, wishing his throat were not quite so dry. "You would be seated at the head of our table at every event. If I marry or bear children, your presence would be expected at the ceremonies—if, ah, it suited your schedule, of course."
Mélisande studied him, her expression unreadable as a bird on her shoulder buried its beak into a wing to scratch at itself. "I keep my tower," she demanded, her feathery skirts shifting as she crossed her legs and settled deeper into her makeshift throne. "My birds have become quite fond of it."
"Of course." Maman would not be pleased to have a fairy in residence, but they would make it work.
"Are there any other fairy godmothers in the family? I wouldn't be sharing the title with someone else?"
He shook his head. "Not a single one. You would be the only one in the kingdom. A unique and honored guest at every royal occasion, immortalized in painting and sculpture throughout the land; my own paintings and sculptures among them, my lady. The other fairies gave me artistic talent, bu
t I will use their gifts to honor you."
The birdlike fairy almost preened. "I've attended many a royal ball here before, you know. I danced with your great-grandparents, actually! Human favor is always so fickle, but I don't mind trying again; at least for a decade or two." She reached out a hand, her eyes flashing with fresh intrigue. "Deal?"
Claude's breath caught and he rose with care, stepping forward to take her hand in his own. This could be a trick, a trap, a cruel joke, but as they touched a sigh seemed to shudder through the castle. Through the tower window he saw the hedge crumble into dust, leaving only a soft circle of earth surrounding the castle. From below he heard movement, and his heart leaped with joy as a chorus of sleepy voices mumbled in confusion, demanding answers no one could provide.
"You did it," he breathed, grinning up at the fairy woman with unforced gratitude. "You broke the curse!"
Her smile was as beautiful as the day and a wild as an uncaged bird. "I told you I could. Now, my little godchild, let us go downstairs so that you can introduce me to your court. I have waited over sixteen years for a proper invitation, and I don't wish to wait another moment."
No Man of Woman Born
Content Note: Governmental Oppression, mention of Emergency Cesarean Births, mention of Rape
Neopronoun Pronunciation Key: Kie ("kee" or /kiː/), Kir ("keer" or /kir/)
The prophecy was very clear: 'No man of woman born can harm Fearghas.' It had been made by a somber and reputable druid, and confirmed by numerous witches and oracles throughout the kingdom. One or two of them could perhaps be suspected of spreading official propaganda out of fear or from motives of avarice, but they couldn't all be guilty of compromised integrity. No, the prophecy was unambiguous with independent verification from multiple magical sources.