Lolly turned her head. A pulse of magical potency brimming with orange light built up on the end of her wand. The magic stored up in her fairy being for five hundred years surged inside it, eager for release, eager for direction. “Bwaaawk, bwok-bwok-bwok!” Lolly cried and shot enchantment in a stream from the wand’s end.
Viola cried, “Be small, furry, and cute!” She blinked her goggly eyes at her friend. “That’s what you meant, right?”
Lolly shrugged.
Magic flew in a brilliant arch, lighting up the dawn courtyard with orange glow as bright as midday. Then it fell like a streaking star. The Swamp Beast looked up, its mighty jaws gaping, and the magic plummeted directly down its slavering gullet.
The Beast gulped. Then it hiccupped.
One last burst of orange sparkles, and Franz stared down at a bulldog puppy worrying away at the feet of King Pintamore.
Franz let out a huge sigh of relief. Roselee, floating at his shoulders, gave him an enormous, glowing smile. “Quick now, Chosen One!” she said. “You’ve only got to climb the stairs, and your princess awaits your kiss!”
Franz, still holding tight to Crete’s pin, started to slip his legs from around the statue’s shoulders . . . when suddenly the world went dark.
Chapter 11
LADY MARA STEPPED THROUGH the ruins of the doorway leading up from the dungeon. Two handsome henchmen followed her, but they were difficult to see for the raging, roiling storm of darkness that wrapped the Mistress of Briardale in a maelstrom of malice.
From behind her wafting veils she saw the red-haired bank clerk perched on the shoulders of the stone king. She saw her cute little Slavering Swamp Beast snorting and pawing at the statue’s knees, its curly tail wagging. She saw the fairies high in the tower window . . . holding their wands.
A sneer creased her lips, unseen by all and yet somehow sensed like the shiver of ice on a spring morning.
“Do you imagine I will allow my curses to be broken after all this time?” she cried, and even her henchmen flinched away at the terrible thunder of her voice. She raised her right arm, her fingers curling and kneading the air as she formed a ball of enchantment between her long black nails. She aimed directly at Franz and cried, “Il’v—uggggh!”
Her eyes could not perceive the stream of green vapors that whipped across the courtyard quicker than thought, darted through her veils, and plunged into her mouth, choking the enchantment before it could be fully spoken.
Franz, clinging to the stone crown, stared aghast at the little puffs of ectoplasm vanishing in his ghost friend’s wake. “Roselee!” he cried, straining his eyes for some sign of her appearing out the other side of Lady Mara’s head, even as she had darted through the Swamp Beast’s eye.
But there was nothing. Not even the faintest green glimmer.
Crete and Eidor, almost falling over themselves in their haste, burst out the tower doorway into the courtyard. Their mission of delivering the wands accomplished, they did what True Heroes must do—charged back into the thick of the action. “Hurry, Franz!” Crete shouted even as his mighty legs propelled him across the statue-littered yard. “Get up there!”
Lady Mara, still choking and gagging, almost doubled up against the sickness boiling in her stomach, gestured wildly with one arm. Her henchmen, understanding the silent command, drew their swords and ran out into the yard. The raven-haired one would have caught Franz by the back of the collar even as he leapt free of the statue, but something furious and invisible head-butted him in the stomach and sent him sprawling.
“Some hero you are!” Eidor, now visible, snarled at the brawny human who lay groaning at his feet. “Picking on a skinny little banker’s clerk . . . pshaw! Why don’t you pick on someone half your size for a change?” He kicked the former hero in the ribs.
The golden-haired hero dodged behind a great stone horse then sprang leapfrog-like over the shoulders of an elegant lady elf who had stood for centuries half bent, adjusting her skirts. Franz, with a desperate glance to one side, saw a mighty arm reach out and knew he lacked the speed to outrun a True Hero, however false that hero may have proven himself.
But with a battle roar, Crete sprang between Franz and his assailant, swinging his huge arms. Without a thought for himself—because true True Heroes never think of themselves when rescuing the helpless—he knocked aside the golden-haired hero’s sword with his left fist and planted his right fist in the man’s chiseled jaw with a satisfying crack.
“Go on, Franz!” he cried.
Franz picked up his pace, finding reserves of speed he never knew he had. He was so desperate to reach the tower doorway that he couldn’t even spare passing notice for the bulldog puppy yapping at his heels. He was almost there! He was going to make it!
Suddenly a wicked voice bellowed in a horrible croak: “Il’ve!”
Franz braced himself, fully expecting to turn into something hideous. Instead, he heard a low “Mooooooo!” somewhere behind him.
“Il’ve!” Lady Mara shouted again, and this time Franz heard a forlorn donkey’s bray.
He had no time to think of this, however. He must get through that door, climb that stair, kiss that princess!
Hardly knowing how he got there, he found himself racing up the tower stairs, one hand pressed to the wall for support—for he was very out of breath—the hand holding Crete’s pin pressed against his side where a painful stitch stabbed him with every gasping breath. Yet he did not pause, did not hesitate. He climbed those stairs as fast as any hero ever could, turning the last bend and seeing an open door before him. He raced for it—
And hit the invisible barrier.
“Ow!” Sparks flashing before his eyes, he crumpled on the top step, one hand clapped over his nose, blood trickling between his fingers. The whir-whir-whir of a spinning wheel filled his ears. His vision cleared, and he saw the squirrel at the treadle in the middle of the room, pumping for all she was worth.
A chicken and a lizard stood just beyond the doorway, wands gripped in beak and claws. Magic brimmed up in those wands . . . but magic of only two colors.
The lizard twisted her little head around. “Alicia!” she cried. “We need you too! We can’t open the barrier without you!”
The squirrel stared desperately at the silver wand lying on the floor between her and the doorway. “Someone’s got to turn the wheel!” she squeaked.
Darkness filled the stairwell, rising up like a rushing tide. Franz staggered to his feet, his whole face throbbing. He turned, looked down, and saw the roiling smoke of evil. Flashes of red enchantment tore through the darkness like lightning. Lady Mara had entered the tower.
“Bwok-bwok-bwok!” scolded Lolly around her wand. And Viola lashed her spotted tail. “Hurry, Alicia! We’ve got to try!”
The squirrel pushed at the treadle, her tail flicking. Her snapping black eyes fixed on the hero standing just outside—the skinny, stoop-shouldered, utterly unheroic hero. Was he worth all of this?
Did she have a choice but to hope?
She gave the treadle one last vigorous push. Then she sprang for her wand, snatching it up in her tiny claws.
The wheel spun . . . it slowed . . .
Alicia took her place between her sisters. “Barrier BREAK!” the squirrel cried.
Orange, purple, and silver light flashed from the wands. Then orange, purple, and silver cracks appeared in mid-air, like shards of glass. Something shattered.
The darkness billowed up, ready to choke Franz. He staggered forward, bursting through the last remnants of the barrier and into the tower room.
. . . the wheel slowed . . . slowed . . .
Casting about, he saw the stone girl on the floor, her face partially covered with stone curls. With complete disregard for his knees, Franz flung himself to the floor beside her, almost falling atop her.
. . . slowed . . .sloooooowed . . .
No time for thought. No time for doubt. No time to worry over the fact that he wasn’t really a hero.
Franz kissed the princess right on her stone mouth.
. . . the wheel stopped . . . .
Chapter 12
THE WHEEL STOPPED . . . and nothing happened.
No crack of doom. No crumbling to dust. No final, tragic death wails of souls lost.
Alicia, Lolly, and Viola exchanged glances. Then Viola exclaimed, “Your . . . your faces!”
But Franz did not see or notice this. He still knelt beside the beautiful stone princess, his mouth slightly puckered from the kiss he’d just given, staring hard. “Please . . . please, Roselee . . .” he whispered.
Was that a flush of pink staining those gray cheeks? No question about it! And the flush spread and spread, and then the stone folds of the gown were lavender, and the parted lips were rosy, and long eyelashes fluttered over sparkling green eyes, and a dainty hand reached up to brush away curls of . . . bright blue.
Blue?
The most beautiful young woman in all the world frowned, wrinkled her nose, and groaned. “I seem to have hit my head on something! Bother that.” She blinked those amazing eyes again, her gaze focusing on Franz. “Who are you?”
Franz gaped at her. “Your . . . your hair is blue.”
The princess sat up, pushing blue locks from her eyes, which she narrowed upon Franz. “Did you just kiss me?”
“Uh, yes, I—” Franz gave a yelp and pulled back as her sharp slap stung his cheek.
“Ugh!” The princess shuddered and wiped her lips with the back of her hand. “Filthy, disgusting . . . and you’re human too, aren’t you? Ooooooh!” She shook her head, stuck her tongue out, and gagged. “How did a human boy get in here? Auntie Alicia will turn you into a rabbit, you know. She really will!”
“No, she really won’t,” said a voice of pure silver.
Franz turned then and saw three glorious women—not quite as beautiful as the princess, of course, but otherworldly and amazing in their own right. One wore a purple fur coat, and her eyes were like two enormous violets. One wore a peaked orange cap trailing veils of saffron hue, and her hair was the color of fresh-squeezed citrus juice.
The third had white hair pulled back severely from her startlingly young and lovely face. She carried herself like a queen in her silver gown, though when she spoke, one might glimpse the faintest trace of rather overlarge front teeth.
“Well, boy,” said Guardian Alicia, moving to stand over Franz and the princess. “It seems you are a True Hero after all.”
“Me?” Franz gazed wide-eyed up at the stern fairy, realizing that she must be right since his kiss had worked to break the curses on Briardale. “B-but how?” he stammered, trying to get to his feet and finding his legs too rubbery for the effort. “I’ve never moved a mountain or slain a dragon or . . .”
Guardian Alicia’s wand tapped on Franz’s hand, and it turned and opened to reveal the bright jeweled pin lying in his palm.
“You have saved a kingdom,” said Alicia, smiling despite herself. “The whole Kingdom of Homunculi owes you its undying gratitude for preventing it from being crushed by the Slavering Swamp Beast. No mean feat for any True Hero!”
Franz blinked at the pin. A kingdom! And he, a bank clerk . . . he’d saved it!
The princess crossed her arms and shrugged her dainty white shoulders up to her ears. “What are you going on about, Auntie?” she demanded.
Guardian Alicia addressed herself to her charge. “Princess Maralyn, allow me to introduce you to your hero and rescuer—Franz Happernickle.”
“My hero?” repeated the princess, giving Franz a look of mingled disbelief and disapproval. She sniffed. “A human hero?”
“As it turns out, True Heroes come in all shapes and sizes,” Guardian Alicia replied, nodding sagely. “That silly girl Roselee may have more sense in her head than I gave her credit for.”
Franz, hearing this, turned suddenly back to the princess. Though she was overwhelmingly gorgeous and gazing at him with an expression not quite as disgusted as it had been, he found his heart sinking with sudden realization. “You aren’t Roselee,” he said.
She raised a pretty eyebrow. “Who’s Roselee?”
Guardian Alicia gasped in astonishment, her eyes flashing down at Franz. “You thought Roselee was the princess? Whatever gave you that idea?”
Franz blushed almost as bright as his hair and couldn’t meet the fairy’s eye. “It’s just . . . I thought maybe . . .”
“Gracious, boy, Roselee is the furthest thing from a royal elf princess you’ll ever find!” Alicia continued with a toss of her silvery head. “Why, she’s nothing but a—”
“Bwok—ahem! I mean to say, Alicia!” came Lolly’s voice. Everyone turned to the orange-hatted fairy at the tower window. She pushed open the casement, stepped out onto the balcony, then turned and beckoned to the others. “Come and see this!”
Everyone crowded onto the balcony, except for Franz. Even the princess picked herself up, dusted herself off, and hurried to squeeze herself between fairies for a foremost view. “Look!” Franz heard her say. “Father’s come to visit. Why are that donkey and that stumpy little cow in the courtyard though? And . . . is that Aunt Mara? Oooooh, Father does not look happy with her!”
Alicia drew back into the room, pulling the princess by the hand along with her. “We’d best go down and explain the situation to King Pintamore,” she said, speaking to her two sisters. Then she gave a sigh, shaking her head at the princess. “Though how I’m going to explain this”—she plucked up a blue curl and rubbed it sadly between finger and thumb—“I really don’t know. Why did you have to enspell it such a horrendous color?”
The princess huffed and threw up her hands, turning to Franz. “Do you see what I put up with? They don’t let me do anything I like! This is why I ran up here to hide from them; they put up such a fuss over nothing!”
Franz had no answer to offer. When the three fairies and the princess started down the stairs, he trailed after, still carrying Crete’s kingdom in his hand. His heart sank further with every step he took.
Where was Roselee? Everyone else seemed to be waking and freed from the evil enchantments . . . but what about her? Was she still a ghost? Was she really dead?
Did she sacrifice herself when she plunged down Lady Mara’s throat?
This thought made him sick. Granted, he’d not known the green girl for long, and she’d caused him far more trouble than he’d ever hoped to experience in the whole of his life. Because of her, he’d been straight-jacketed, sent to a lunatic asylum, thrown into a dungeon, almost devoured by a Slavering Swamp Beast or hacked to pieces by henchmen’s swords . . . but . . .
But she’d also believed in him. She’d seen a hero in him when no one else did.
What if she was gone for good?
As Franz followed the others through the tower doorway, he heard a high-pitched yelp and felt a worrying at his foot. He looked down to discover the Slavering Swamp Beast savaging the lace of his shoe. He gave it a gentle nudge that did nothing to discourage it, then shrugged and ignored it.
“Father!” exclaimed Princess Maralyn in delight, rushing across the courtyard—a courtyard suddenly crowded with many gloriously clad and radiantly beautiful elf courtiers and steeds. Standing in the center of that throng was the most glorious and radiant of them all, a noble king fully seven feet tall and wearing a crown (which Franz remembered having held onto rather tightly, and blushed again).
Maralyn flew through the gathering and flung herself into her father’s arms. “Oh, it’s so good to see you!” she said brightly. “Have you come to celebrate my birthday?”
Only then did Franz see the hunched figure kneeling before the king—a figure in ratty black robes, unglamorous without enchantments. Her veils were gone too, revealing a face no longer beautiful. Indeed, all of the elfin glory Lady Mara once possessed had faded away over the last five hundred years, leaving her face scarred by her own bitterness and evil. She was little more than a shriveled hag huddled in a heap at the feet of h
er mighty brother.
King Pintamore, his expression stern and severe, softened visibly at his daughter’s embrace, no doubt relieved to find her healthy and whole. “Are you well, my dear?” he asked her earnestly.
“Perfectly so!” the princess replied.
The king looked unconvinced. “What happened to . . . your hair?” he asked, lifting a lock from her face. “It looks appalling.”
Maralyn’s smiles vanished into disdainful frowns. She sniffed and pulled away from her father, crossing her arms and rolling her eyes. “You’re just as bad as Auntie Alicia,” she declared. “Everyone wants me to be perfect all the time! But maybe I don’t want to be perfect. Maybe I want to be me now and then!”
King Pintamore, well accustomed to his daughter’s dramatics, offered no argument to this, saying only, “We’ll discuss it later. For now . . . Guardians Alicia, Lolly, and Viola? Where are you?”
The crowd of elf courtiers parted, and the three beautiful fairies passed through, wands glinting, translucent wings wafting in the morning breeze. They curtsied to the king, who acknowledged them with a gracious nod. “What has happened here?” he asked. “I’m guessing we did not avoid my sister’s sleeping curse after all.”
“No, indeed, Your Majesty,” Guardian Alicia replied. “In fact, the situation became much worse than any of us might have guessed!”
She, Lolly, and Viola went on to explain what had transpired over the last five hundred years. It amazed Franz how easily King Pintamore accepted and even disregarded the fact that half a millennium had flown past while he slept in stone. Elves live according to very different streams of time, Franz guessed.
As the story unfolded, Franz looked around, feeling uncomfortable and out of place in this gathering. Off to one side of the crowd he saw a donkey and a stubby-legged bull. Something about them seemed familiar, particularly the bull’s incongruous bristling beard. Deciding that since he was a True Hero himself now—officially speaking—he might as well be with the other True Heroes, Franz shuffled over to stand between them, dragging the Slavering Swamp Beast with him (for it had clamped its jaws on his trouser leg and refused to let go). He offered his friends awkward smiles. The bull glared, but the donkey gave him a friendly ear-twitch.
Five Magic Spindles: A Collection of Sleeping Beauty Stories Page 22