Once Upon a Dream

by Liz Braswell

  “Trust me, if we could have come to your rescue,” the one in red said, “I would have come with my sword drawn and a thirst for Maleficent’s blood.”

  Phillip looked at her with something like affection.

  “Here in this room, you are in the only part of your memory completely free from Maleficent’s reach,” the woman in green said. She spread her hands and smiled. “These are your deepest, oldest, most untouched memories. You guard them very carefully—as do we all.”

  “But that horrible girl thing attacked us not too far from here,” Phillip said accusingly. “Just a little ways that way.”

  “Ah,” the woman in green said sadly. “The manifestation spoke truly: mostly, she was a piece of Aurora Rose herself. A monster from her own mind. Maleficent may have given her a nudge, or awoken her fully, but she has always been close to the princess’s heart.”

  “I don’t get it, myself,” the woman in red said frankly. “If it were up to me, I would have slain that nasty thing years ago. In the real world.”

  “Focus, please,” the one in blue said to the red one. “Aurora, this all comes back to the fact that you are the dreamer. You, in the end, are responsible for this world. Inadvertently the beginning and deliberately—hopefully—the end. Only you can end the curse and wake everyone.

  “What we are experiencing now are the final effects of a magical promise made sixteen years ago, sort of a balancing out of a magical equation. To wit, Maleficent publicly cursed you to die on your sixteenth birthday. Then Merryweather fixed it a bit with the amendment about you falling asleep. But unbeknownst to all of us, Maleficent tied her soul up in the curse. Had you actually died, your life force—and that of everyone else in the kingdom, to a lesser effect—would have been transferred to her. Instead, when Phillip killed her, Maleficent’s soul was still bound to you and followed you into your sleep. And, of course, we can all see what the result of that was.”

  “Her controlling me and the world of my dreams,” Aurora Rose murmured.

  “And, unfortunately, the lives of everyone else asleep with you,” the one in green added sadly. “An unintended consequence of a little bit of good the fairies thought they were doing by tying the fate of the kingdom to yours so that even if it took a hundred or a thousand years for the curse to be broken by true love, you wouldn’t wake up in a world you didn’t know, surrounded by the great-great-grandchildren of people you knew.”

  “All of which is neither here nor there,” the blue one continued. “What is important is that a curse of this magnitude and complication can only be broken by spilling royal blood.”

  “Queen Maleficent,” Aurora Rose murmured.

  The one in red smiled at her appreciatively. “You must return to the castle and defeat her,” she said, hand on her sword. “You must kill her once and for all. The moment she is finally dead and royal blood is shed, all will from their slumber rise and return to their waking lives.

  “We will aid you, of course,” she added with a bow.

  The princess let out an audible sigh of relief; she hadn’t even realized she was holding her breath. Just the thought of the one in red battling by her side was encouraging. And having the other two around…well, they might at least be good for moral support.

  “But as the dreamer, you already have incredible powers at your disposal,” the one in green said, “as you have discovered yourself. In the end, this is your world. You control it.”

  “All right,” Phillip said, tapping his own sword. “We have our own sorcerous Rose, two good hand-to-hand fighters, two, uh, whatever you green and blue ladies can do…against dream Maleficent. That sounds good. But what can Maleficent do, really? I defeated her with help before.”

  The green one looked uneasily at the princess. “She has been growing stronger of late. I believe you can feel it—because we can.”

  The red one lowered her eyes and kneeled for just a moment before rising again. “I’m sorry, Your Majesty, but the death of your parents has only made her more powerful. She has now fed upon royal blood and is much stronger.”

  Your Majesty.

  Aurora Rose shivered.

  It was like the nightmare she had had in the haystack…what they had called her…because her parents were dead. And they were now. She was queen. Queen.

  She looked at Phillip, who gave her a sad smile and the straight-backed bow royalty gave those of higher rank.

  She swallowed hard.

  Forget the word, she told herself. She had to act like a queen.

  “Maleficent killed them and is more powerful. Like she did Lady Astrid. Does she…She then takes something from them. Their blood. In her staff? I saw but didn’t quite understand….”

  The blue one nodded.

  “She took my parents’ blood…and used it…” the princess repeated, feeling the first stirrings of anger.

  “You shall have your vengeance,” the red one said grimly.

  The green one shook her head sadly. “Vengeance will not bring them back. Aurora Rose was on the cusp of meeting her mother and father, from whom she was separated for sixteen years. It is a miracle that even this memory of them still exists. She will never be able to talk to them, blame them, learn from them, hate them, or love them for themselves now. She can only deal with the results of their actions.”

  The red one shrugged. “Vengeance might make her feel better.”

  “Also, it would wake everyone up,” the blue one pointed out brightly. “A win all around.”

  “Show a little compassion!” the green one hissed.

  Now the blue one shrugged. “Not my thing. That’s all you. I’m here to strategize.”

  Aurora Rose looked back and forth among the three women, gladly distracted from the sad events by the puzzle before her. The fairies in real life had their own personalities, of course, despite their superficial similarities as ageless, chatty, loving aunt figures. Flora tended to try to lead and made decisions for them. Merryweather seemed to understand the basic workings of the world better, although she rarely acted on this knowledge and instead chose to comment snarkily on it. Sometimes she got sneaky and went behind Flora’s back. Fauna was the one who hugged the princess the most and often acted as an intermediary between the other two.

  The green one, “Fauna,” seemed more concerned with how Aurora Rose was feeling—how everyone was feeling. She was the one who had been waiting outside the cottage for the prince and princess. Like she was the one who cared.

  And the blue one—“Merryweather”—seemed incredibly quick-minded and brilliant. And even snarkier.

  “Flora” was brave and powerful and ready to plunge into any physical combat. And not for nothing, she was built like a gladiator.

  They were all acting like extreme versions of their real selves.

  What did it mean?

  She found herself drifting to the window. As she suspected, it did not look out on the lands beyond the outer wall. It was the view from her room in the cottage in the forest: apple trees where birds nested and squirrels scampered, birch trees whose golden leaves lit up the meadow in fall, a corner of the tiny kitchen garden the aunts tended. A peaceful scene that combined wild and tamed nature in a way that was so familiar it hurt.

  “I’m…never coming back here in real life, am I?”

  The three women looked at her sadly.

  “Probably not, child,” the green one said. “Or not for a long time.”

  “With your parents dead and no male heir, there will be a terrible mess when you all wake up, assuming we defeat Maleficent,” the blue one said. “You will either take over the throne and defend it from the spurious claims of distant cousins, or marry Phillip and combine your kingdoms, or some variation of those situations, none of which will leave you much time to visit childhood haunts.”

  Aurora Rose sucked in a deep and sudden painful breath.

  It was the word childhood that stung. Before the dreamworld, she would have rejected the term: she was sixteen and a
woman, for heaven’s sake! She had chosen the love of her life and had planned to run away with him.

  But now the looming permanent closing of a door on her past life seemed a little too inevitable and sad.

  “I wake up and I’m grown-up,” she said dryly. “That’s some subtlety there.”

  Phillip, who had been silent through the whole exchange, looked at her with concern.

  “Rose…you didn’t used to be so…cynical…” he said, scraping for words. “Sarcastic? I know the death of your parents has been a grievous blow, but you’re becoming—no, changing into—something…I don’t know….”

  She just looked at him.

  “Not that I don’t like it!” Phillip added quickly. “You’re just different. That’s all.”

  “Oh, he’s a regular genius, that one,” the blue one said.

  The green one whacked her on the arm.

  Aurora Rose smiled faintly. “Maybe I’m becoming myself.”

  She took Phillip’s hand and pointed out the window.

  “Come here, let me show you something. I used to climb that tree there—the biggest apple tree. I always thought the best apples were the highest up. I pretended the lower branches were a horse. You can just see the pea trellises there. I loved making them with Aunt Fauna, out of dried vines and twigs. It was like weaving with plants. And I loved the little curlicue ends of the peas….”

  “I would love you to show me around where you grew up,” Phillip said gently, squeezing her hand. “Whatever you feel for me now…I would enjoy it. Someday.”

  She gave the prince a quick, sad smile, then took his other hand and clasped them both for a moment.

  “I know. I know. But…we have other things to do.”

  The three women looked at her approvingly. They moved to the other side of the room and stood by a door Aurora Rose was sure hadn’t been there before. She squared her shoulders and walked forward, head held high, imagining she had on robes of state, swirling behind her. Phillip followed.

  “First thing is to properly suit you two up,” the blue fairy said matter-of-factly.

  They entered a long, broad hall lined with suits of armor and closets and chests of clothing stuffed to overflowing. Dresses, doublets, capes, and underskirts were all crammed so tightly that it looked like the furniture was choking to death on ripples of bright colors. Helmets, snoods, caps, gloves, tippets, girdles, and other accessories were piled haphazardly on shelves.

  At one time Aurora Rose would have been thrilled to try on all the new and different gowns. But now she strode forward, looking for a nice pair of gauntlets that would fit instead.

  Phillip was like a child in front of a table strewn with candy and sweets. He picked up helmets, held them out and regarded them with a serious eye, then put them down…only to skip over to the greaves and cuirasses, practically bubbling with delight.

  “Can’t Rose just magic us up protection? Like an invisible shield or something?” he asked, trying on a breastplate for size.

  The green one gave him an indulgent smile. “The less she has to think about, to concentrate on, when the battle is joined, the better. Having these already on may buy you a few extra moments.”

  At first the princess went for the ugliest, most clumsy-looking pieces, in defiance of…of…

  Of, well, being a princess.

  But when she went to the tarnished silver oval that served as a mirror and observed her slit-mouthed metal mask, the grotesque gray gauntlets, and the huge-shouldered, spiked breastplate, all she saw was a monster.

  She cocked her head and so did the monster. What was it thinking?

  Slowly, she turned away from the mirror and went back to the racks and cupboards.

  “You want something to inspire your subjects,” the green fairy said gently, helping her take the mask off, “not frighten them.”

  “I know,” Aurora Rose said glumly.

  The green fairy squeezed her hands through the gauntlets.

  “It’s not fair that you don’t have time. To try on all the different possibilities.”

  The princess gave her a wry look. “My subconscious isn’t all that subtle, either, is it?”

  “In our defense, your world experience and reading habits haven’t led you to being the most sophisticated person on the planet,” the blue fairy said, blowing the dust off what looked very much like a child’s shield, complete with big shiny gems set in it. She raised a knowing eyebrow.

  “I didn’t know I had it in me to be so snarky, either,” the princess said, putting her hands on her hips.

  The blue fairy shrugged.

  “Just calling it like I see it.”

  The red fairy disentangled herself from Phillip, with whom she was having a broad laugh about the comparative weight and density of different kinds of steel.

  “Try these,” she suggested. She held out a pair of simple long gauntlets that were almost as fine as gloves, chain underneath and plate on top. Aurora Rose carefully took off the ones she wore and slipped the others on.

  They fit perfectly.

  “This is a bit more your style,” the blue one said, approaching her with a breastplate that was almost as big as she was. It was curved femininely to fit Aurora Rose’s body, but not ridiculously so. A staid design of roses and thorns was inlaid along the sides.

  It was sturdy, and heavy.

  The princess had to readjust the way she stood to support it while everyone helped buckle it on the back.

  “And for the top…” the red one said, looking around.

  “Let her choose,” the green one suggested gently.

  Aurora Rose walked down the aisle slowly, getting used to the weight of the armor. She passed each of the women and then Phillip—dashing in his shining cuirass and silver-white greaves, like a soldier from ancient Rome. Her eyes swept over everything, everywhere, pausing nowhere. Golden helms, intricate onyx headpieces, spiked and dangerous-looking crowns, plated metal turbans.

  Finally, she saw what she wanted.

  She strode forward and lifted a helmet—one she knew would fit—off the top shelf. A point came down the middle of the forehead to protect her nose—and was also vaguely reminiscent of Maleficent’s headpiece. But instead of horns, silver wings swept back over the ears.

  With slow, sure movements she put it on.

  It did fit.

  Perfectly.

  She turned around to show the others.

  Phillip sucked in his breath.

  “You look magnificent, Rose. Like—like an ancient goddess of war.”

  “Like victory,” the green one said softly.

  The edges of everything around them changed—quietly and unobtrusively. The five found themselves in a large, silent room that was a strange mixture of what a child might imagine a throne room looked like and the cottage in which Aurora Rose had grown up. The stones that made up the walls were all far too big and simple-looking, the throne giant and garish and gold. There were several fireplaces around the sides instead of the one grand one the Thorn Castle had, and they all looked cozier, each with a little pot and broom by it. The floor was packed dirt with no rugs, and the tables were ridiculously fancy, with huge carved feet and yellow-and-blue runners down the middle—but set with crude wood and clay bowls and tureens of porridge.

  “Damn acorns again,” Phillip swore humorously, lifting a steaming lid.

  “We’re not quite as skilled as Maleficent at manipulating your dreamworld,” the blue one apologized. “This is what your mind came up with when we asked it for a practice room.”

  “Let’s get to work,” the green one said politely but firmly. “We haven’t much time.”

  “We need to work on summoning first,” the blue one said. “But do not turn to it immediately in battle. There are rules, even in this world. The creation of something from nothing will exhaust you unduly—as you may have already noticed. Better to make do with the things already around you. Keep this as a last resort.”

  “You made a
sword before,” the red one said, tilting her chin at the empty space on Aurora Rose’s girdle where it had hung previously. “Can you make a dagger?”

  Aurora Rose twitched her nose. Had she ever seen a dagger? In the Thorn Castle, some men and boys affected them. She had never seen the blades used for anything more than cleaning fingernails (the uncouth) or stabbing food (the slightly more couth). She was pretty sure she had never held one.

  “What about a knife, then? Just…a knife? A sharp knife?” the red one asked impatiently.

  Aurora Rose could manage that. Her aunts had never seemed to care when she handled the one very sharp little bronze paring knife. They had let her hold it even as a toddler.

  She closed her eyes and held out her hands. She remembered the bone handle. She remembered the dull golden gleam. She remembered the sharp, slightly curved tip, perfect for starting to peel the thick rind of a fruit or vegetable.

  She felt its weight in her hand even before she opened her eyes.

  “Well done!” cheered the green one.

  “Good, good,” the red fairy said impatiently. “Now summon two more. Quickly.”

  Aurora Rose bit her lip.

  The additional daggers appeared in her palm, which was now sweaty.

  “Great job!” Phillip said excitedly.

  “Now throw them at the throne,” the red one urged.

  Aurora Rose blinked, then did what she was told. She was good at that.

  She was not so good at throwing three daggers one-handed. They flew not very far and went every which way, clattering on tables and dirt floor.

  Everyone stared at her.

  The princess reddened.

  “With your mind, you ninny!” the blue one snapped.

  The green one did not hit the blue one, though it looked like she was sorely tempted.

  “You won’t win against Maleficent in a fair hand-to-hand combat,” the red one said politely. “In this protected part of your mind, she can’t see in; she won’t know how strong your control over your own demesne has become. So. Um. Try again. With magic.”

  Aurora Rose chewed her lip, feeling embarrassed and hot. She closed her eyes—

  “Not a good idea in a fight,” Phillip said gently. “Keep your peepers open.”