by Cameron Jace
“You mean…” I shrugged. “The Queen of Sorrow? Snow White? Who?”
“I mean whatever I mean,” He patted me as if protecting me from the evil surroundings in the air. “I don’t want you to know much about this. You better stay the Sandman you are, a gentle and caring man who pours sand in children’s eyes.”
“But I will know the truth eventually when I start collecting the diaries.” I smiled, proud of myself for being handed such a job by Morpheus, the King of the Dreamworld.
“That’s going to happen a hundred years from now,” Jacob said. “For now, I’d like you to be just as caring and loving as you are, because once you read the diaries, your life will truly change.”
“For the better or worse?”
“That’s something that you’ll have to decide. The stories are made for the reader to decide. Not even the most skilled forger can fool you as a reader,” He chuckled at himself wearily, stressing on the forger word. He even picked up the candlestick, checking a tooth in its reflection for a second. I leaned back so its surface didn’t reflect my face, then I tightened the cloak around my head. Those damn mirrors.
“So why are you here, Sandman,” Jacob said, putting the candlestick back. “Checking up on old Jacob Grimm?”
“Not exactly,” I said.
“That’s sad. I thought you cared about me,” He leaned forward with a funnier drunk face. “Can you tell me what dream you poured in my eyes when I was a kid?” It astonished me that it was a sincere question. “Was it the one where I rode a coach with a beautiful woman who turned into a frog when I kissed her?”
I was about to burst into laughter because it was definitely a sincere question.
“I’m here to ask you about what you did with Morpheus,” I said firmly and shrugged. “Did everything go well with cursing the fairy tale characters?”
Jacob’s eyebrows furrowed, “What kind of question is that?” He leaned back. “Don’t you know we did? Didn’t you meet Morpheus?”
“I didn’t have a chance to meet him yet. I came from a long travel,” I said. “I just heard that he has assigned me to seal the Book of Sand after a hundred years. I read a few of the shorter diaries, which Morpheus suspected were lies, and will not be taken into account of the main books a hundred years from now. I could go ask him if that bothers you.”
“It’s alright,” Jacob patted me again and smiled. “You’re such a sweet man, naïve, but a good man at heart. I’ll tell you what you want to know. Morpheus did bury all the nasty characters from my books in the Dreamworld.” He laughed again with pain oozing from his chest.
“And?”
“It wasn’t an easy process. All that magic stuff, spells, and rules of the Dreamworld, but the curse has been cast.”
“How?” I wondered. “I heard many of them are still awake.”
“The curse takes seven days to work,” Jacob said. “We just cast it yesterday. A number of Dream Hunters will bury each character in their dreams with their own ways. I was told it’s going to be a vicious hunt.”
“You have any idea how the Dream Hunters do that?”
“No,” Jacob shook his head. “We’re not entitled to know. It’s a secret art,” Jacob lowered his head to whisper again. “The Dreamhunters work for Heaven,” he explained. “They’re half human, half angels, and Morpheus said we weren’t supposed to know more about them.”
“Interesting,” I rubbed my chin. “So it’s all set as you desired to get rid of them.”
“Not all that easy, though,” Jacob considered, acting as if sober again. “The curse itself isn’t like I thought it would be.”
“How so?”
“Morpheus said a curse that large comes with consequences. He said the universe demands balance in situations like these.”
“I don’t understand.”
“He said although the curse will bury them in their dreams, they will be able to wake up every hundred years for a certain amount of time.”
“Is that necessary?”
“It’s all about the balance Morpheus was talking about. It has to be this way. He explained something about alchemy, but I didn’t get it.”
“I think I know what you mean,” I said. “In alchemy, you can’t use a spell to create something unless you give something back. It’s a universal rule in magic and curses. Equilibrium of the lost and found.”
“If you say so,” Jacob drank up. “The problem is what happens if they come back? Can they manipulate history? Can they change roles? Can they break the curse? Or worse, can they tell the world about what really happened? It’s such an irrational rule. I didn’t like it.”
“What about Wilhelm? Did he like it?” I asked, knowing that Wilhelm had a soft spot toward the characters. He had always loved them and believed that many of them were good, only misunderstood.
“Wilhelm liked it, of course. I’m afraid that my brother and I are more of enemies when it comes to the way we look at the curse. You know how he keeps insisting on adding small lines in the forged tales; lines that hint to the truth.”
“He does?” I wondered.
“Always. Each fairy tale we collected or forged contains riddles to the truth. He even started spreading lullabies all over the Kingdom of Sorrow that also hinted at the truth.”
“Lullabies?”
“They call them Nursery Rhymes now, little song that hint to the truth of historical incidents, only disguised as children’s happy rhymes. It’s a smart trick of Wilhelm if you ask me. Children love these rhymes, and sing them all the time. This way Wilhelm guaranteed the rhymes will live on forever, century after century.”
“Wilhelm has always been smart, but why did you approve of such a thing?”
“I couldn’t stop him. Morpheus was at his side all the time. Like I said, he demanded balance. If we were allowed to forge the tales, then there had to be clues as well. It’s the Dreamworld rules.”
“I understand,” I nodded. “So was that all? I mean I still don’t understand what the conflict is exactly, but I take it that I will when I read the diaries. I read something about the Jar of Hearts in one of the single entry diaries. Do you know about that?”
Jacob seemed sober all of a sudden, and pulled me from my cloak. “Don’t ever talk about what you don’t know about. Unless you read the full diaries, don’t ever mention the Jar of Hearts,” Jacob’s eyes shifted to the dark corner again. “Did you hear me?” He whispered, looking back at me.
“Alright,” I couldn’t shake myself from his strong grip. “You make it sound like the Holy Grail.”
“You don’t get it. It’s far more important than the Holy Grail. You are asking me too many questions that you shouldn’t. It’s easier for you to meet Morpheus and learn from him, and leave me with the guilt that’s eating me up.”
“I still have one question though,” I said, reluctantly while Jacob still gripped my cloak. I was a stubborn old man.
“You don’t give up. Do you, Mr. Sandman?”
“I want to know the name of the Dreamworld Morpheus created for you?”
“Why would you want to know that?” Jacob eyed me suspiciously.
“Can you just answer me, please?” I said, avoiding that candlestick’s reflective surface again. “I’m trying to learn everything about this world. It’s my responsibility to seal the diaries later. Hearing the point of views of different sources will always help me get the picture, and make up my mind about what is true and what is false. So please help me. I don’t know when I will be seeing you again.”
“If you weren’t the Sandman I always loved, I wouldn’t tell you. But I understand your eagerness to know as much as you can,” Jacob drank again. I didn’t think he’d have told me more if he weren’t drunk. “It’s called Jawigi.”
“Jawigi?”
“Yes,” Jacob said. “And you’re not going to ask me what it means and how the name was constructed. I told you enough already.”
“Of course not,” I fidgeted a little, althou
gh I needed to know badly. “I know all about the power of names, and I know the power of the Dreamworld’s names lies in knowing what the names really mean. Some names could be read backwards, some names are anagrams, some names are referencing to ancient languages like Latin, and some names are abbreviations of some sort. If solved, you know the meaning behind the name. Thus, control its power and have access to the dreams of those who were cursed.”
“That’s right, Uncle Sandy. You don’t mind me calling you that,” He leaned forward again and whispered to me through his fingers, “It’s an abbreviation of some sort. Ja. We. Gi. Each two letters are an abbreviation of a word. Happy now?” He winked then leaned back. “But don’t expect me to tell you what it is.”
“I understand,” I nodded. I looked around, especially at the dark corner. “Knowing the real name of a Dreamworld is a dangerous thing, and we wouldn’t want the curse to be broken, not after all you went through to do that.”
“That’s right,” Jacob asked the Innkeeper for another drink.
“We wouldn’t want Snow Whi—“
“Stop!” Jacob turned to me, with furious eyes this time. “I don’t want to hear anything about these stories anymore.”
“I understand,” I nodded again, still wanting to ask more questions.
I watched Jacob drink for a while, not uttering a word. How was I going to get him to listen to me?
“You know I’ve been reading the single entries in the diaries, right? The ones I heard are called Prequels.” I said.
“Cut to the chase, Sandman,” Jacob said. “You just told me that already. If you go on reading and believing every written word, you’ll get confused even more.”
“Yes, I know. Just bear with me. I know you don’t want to talk about them, but I just wondered if you read a certain entry.”
“Which one is that?” Jacob said impatiently.
“The one about the Queen of Sorrow.”
“She wrote a dozen of those, and most of them were lies.” Jacob said.
“The one where she describes the day Snow—I mean her daughter— was born.”
“What?” Jacob squinted. “There is a diary entry of that incident?”
“Not just that,” I explained. “It’s a diary that puzzled me more and more about the whole thing. I could read it to you if you like. It’s not that long.”
Jacob gave me a puzzling look. Curiosity showed on his face, although he had just been finished with the curse and didn’t want to hear about it.
“Look, Sandman,” Jacob pointed at his drinking bottle. “My bottle is half full. You read it to me while I drink. If I finish my drink before you do, I’ll leave and you’ll not see me again for sometime. And I will make you pay for my drinks, too. So make it quick and read the damned diary.”
“I will,” I said and put my crescent glasses on. “Once upon a time…”
“Don’t feed me that nonsense,” Jacob interrupted. “I invented that ‘Once upon a time’ phrase. Just get into the matter.”
“But this is how the diary begins.” I pleaded.
“There is only one true ‘Once upon a time’ sentence, Sandman. You know what that is? It goes like this, ‘Once upon a time, fairy tales were goddamn dark and twisted, and that was when they were so awesome!’” Jacob laughed hysterically, pounding the bar again, then clicking his bottle with the Innkeeper’s glass. I even heard a soft laugh coming from the dark corner in the Inn.
Jacob was drinking faster, so I decided I was going to read him the Queen’s diary, neglecting whatever he would do to interrupt me again.
Here is what I read on behalf of the Queen of Sorrow…
I screamed in pain as the doctor’s calash stopped outside the gates of my castle. I was in my royal bed, and my beloved husband, the King of Sorrow, cringed as he looked out the window. He loved me dearly. My pain was his pain, and I knew he couldn’t stand looking at me while I was suffering.
It was best for him to look out the window, watching the doctor arriving amidst the snow. Moments later, my husband turned back to me with a smile. The doctor had come.
I hardly nodded while I pressed tightly on my servant’s hands, trying my best to fight the pain in my back. My bones were almost breaking from the pain as they watched me with worried and sympathizing faces. Every muscle in my body trembled as I arched my back again against the pain. The servants advised me to bite on a pillow. I did, but it was useless, and I ended up screaming, which only increased the pain and left me breathless.
Previous doctors had advised me to inhale slowly in four counts and let the air out again. I tried, but it was impossible. Those damn doctors were useless, too. There was no way I could breathe steadily with this pain tearing me apart. Instead, I found myself breathing faster, irregularly, like panting dogs and dying fishes.
I glimpsed my reflection in the mirror on the wall, unable to believe it was me in there. I used to be the most beautiful in the kingdom, but no more. I looked insane, bewitched, and older all of a sudden, swimming in my sweat as my nightgown stuck to my body.
But I couldn’t take my eyes off the mirror, because I saw a dark future waiting for me. It showed on my face. I was afraid of the unknown, which had manifested itself into the daughter I was about to give birth to.
Eerie images flooded my thoughts. I was imagining her being born in the most gruesome ways, bursting out of my guts and splitting me apart.
Although I knew what kind of monster I was pregnant with, I wanted her more than anything in the world. I had sacrificed everything precious to me to have her, and I was determined to have her.
“Hold on, dear,” said my husband. “The doctor has finally arrived. He should have a solution.”
“Which one?” I screamed. “You’ve sent for many, and none of them were helpful.”
“His name is Frederich Van Helsing,” said the king. “He is Dutch, but he was born in Lohr in Germany.”
“Lohr?” I managed to ask, still breathing like a maniac. My husband was born in Lohr, although his ancestors were Hungarian.
The king stopped for a moment, gazing at the servants, afraid they’d know more than they should about us.
“Don’t worry,” I ached, and gripped my two servant’s hands tighter. “They are trusted.”
My husband had been absent for months, leading an epic war against the intruders trying to breach into the kingdom.
“In that case, you should know that Van Helsing knows about us, too. He knows what she is,” He meant my yet-to-be-born daughter. “He has been studying others like her all over Europe, and he is also literate. He knows about the prophecies.”
At the time, Europe was threatened by what the locals called the ‘Vampire Craze’, an unexplained phenomenon about people returning from the graves as blood sucking creatures.
Minutes later, Doctor Van Helsing entered the chamber. He was short with broad shoulders and a heavy German accent.
“Mein Gott,” he said. “I have always wanted to meet you, your highness.” He addressed my husband, for he was a legend all over Europe; a scary version of a legend, but unforgettable as well.
“We have no time for that,” My husband said. “Call me Angel, please.” He shook Van Helsing’s hand, then patted it gently with the other, as if discreetly begging Van Helsing to save me.
“I could never allow myself, addressing your highness with your first name,” Van Helsing bowed his head, still not taking off his hat.
“Stop the formalities,” Angel said firmly, sending a flicker of fear into Van Helsing’s short soul. “I am glad you made it. How many days and nights did it take you to arrive?” It was Angel’s most imminent attribute, frightening someone one minute then being tender the next.
“Twenty one days and nights, My King,” Van Helsing couldn’t bring himself to say his name. “We sailed in Demeter, the bravest ship in the sea. I consulted with other doctors in Europe first then boarded on a ship from Spain and crossed over the ocean. I spent a week on the land until
I arrived at the Kingdom of Sorrow.”
“Did you meet my father?” the king wondered with worried eyes.
“No harm, My King. He doesn’t know I am here. If he did, I would have been dead by now.” Van Helsing turned to me and took off his hat.
Even in dark moments like these, mentioning Angel’s father sent shivers to my servants’ spines.
Van Helsing broke the tension in the room by turning back to me, “I am honored, My Queen.” He said, taking off his hat.
“Please help ease my pain!” I screamed at him.
“But of course.” He said.
Frederich Van Helsing started examining me after partially sedating me with a golden apple’s syrup, which he claimed was his own invention. I almost fainted for some minutes before he made me drink what he called Mermaidala, a blue drink he had brought along from Europe. He said it was mermaid’s blood – it was supposedly blue, the color of the ocean. I didn’t question him for I had seen crazier things in my short life of twenty years, and I pleaded for anything that could ease my pain.
“So?” Angel asked Van Helsing. “Can you ease my wife’s pain?”
“I am sorry,” said Frederich absently, thinking about something. “This might be beyond my expertise.”
“What do you mean?” Angel roared. Frederich took a step back. Even in my pain, I feared my husband’s rage. “I sent for you from all over the world because you are the expert.”
“Bear with me, My King,” said Frederich. “The only way for your wife to live is to give up on that baby, and even that is almost impossible since she is about to deliver at any minute.”
“So what are you suggesting?” Angel looked confused.
Van Helsing took a slow step back toward Angel, and asked him to talk in private. I saw them walk to a corner of the chamber. Angel got furious upon Van Helsing’s suggestion, which I couldn’t hear.
The only thing I heard was the words, ‘Queen Bathory’. I wasn’t sure but it seemed like Van Helsing was connecting my daughter’s birth to the rise of this Queen Bathory.
“Who is Queen Bathory?” I screamed at Angel. “And what is this doctor telling you?”