The Castle in the Mist

by Amy Ephron

  Barnaby lifted his face mask up. “House rules, William. No skipping turns and you have to hit your own ball, even if there’s no way to make a real shot.”

  Max felt encouraged. Maybe there was a chance after all. William had to hit his ball so it would probably bounce off the wall and, odds were, land somewhere more hittable, so to speak. William had to practically turn himself into a pretzel to get his mallet close enough to the ball and tap it. And sure enough, it bounced off the wall and rolled onto the miniature antique carpet, leaving a potential clear shot for Max out the back door to the miniature backyard, or, as they referred to it in this game, the green.

  Max was up. Carefully, he set his red ball on the tee on the miniature carpet in exactly the place where William’s had been. He had a chance to at least score. It was a straight shot out the back door. How hard could that be?

  No problem, except he over-estimated his strength and went right off the green and onto the lawn of the backyard. He looked over at the umpeer to see what that meant . . .

  “You’re not out, M’boy. Y’get one shot to hit it back on the green.”

  But just as Barnaby said it, the sky started to darken above them. It was the most curious thing. And all of them looked up and stared at the moon. It was that rarest of events. An eclipse, when the earth passes between the sun and the moon and over the course of an hour or so, the moon will darken and appear red, blood-red, a red moon, but even rarer still, on the occasion of a blue moon, the second full moon in a month. Was there a prophecy to it? If there was, no one had told them. But the night sky darkened as the eclipse was starting . . .

  Max was mesmerized by it. He took a step back on the lawn and then another and then a few more to get a better view. Tess looked over and screamed as Max stepped into the hawthorn trees and . . . simply disappeared.

  ~ CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE ~

  the other side of the hawthorn trees

  What struck Max first was the silence, the absolute, total, and complete silence. There were no night sounds, no crickets, not even a lone bird chirping, no voices. He’d never heard true silence before. It was all-encompassing. It was very lonely. Max wondered—because he was Max and he wondered things like this—if this was what infinity was. There was no sign of anyone, no movement. He realized he’d never been so alone before.

  The moon was red now, the eclipse in full swing, and it shined on the ground—he noticed the ground, the absolute desolate ground—making the dirt appear, also, almost orange, red, then a darker red. It wasn’t even ground. It was rocks or something like that. There were no stars visible in the sky. It was just the perfect circle of the blood-red moon. At first.

  He must’ve hit his head. It was the only thing he could think of.

  He must’ve hit his head and he hoped he’d come to soon. He’d never knocked himself out before. That must be what it was.

  “Help me,” Max cried out. His words seem to echo across the rocks in the otherwise silent landscape. He wondered if anyone could hear him.

  ~ CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO ~

  if only there was one last wish...

  Tess held her breath. Any moment now, Max would reappear. He’d pop out of the hawthorn trees, a scratch on his face, that funny grin, holding the miniature golf ball up like a trophy. But there wasn’t even a trace of where he’d disappeared, as if the hedge had simply closed up behind him. She counted to ten. Not true, she only got to three, and then began running toward the hawthorn trees herself.

  She felt two arms around her, like a vise, holding her. “No, no, no, Tess. Y’can’t go into the hawthorn.”

  She looked up at Barnaby. “But—” she was sobbing now, “but I have to go after him. I can’t—I can’t lose Max!”

  As she said it, out of the corner of her eye she saw William run, faster almost than she’d seen anyone ever run before, straight into the hawthorn. And he, too, simply disappeared.

  Marie turned pale. Barnaby gasped, emitting a sigh so loud it seemed to echo. The sky was dark now. Not even stars. Just the spectre of the red moon as the eclipse neared its peak.

  Tess held her breath again and waited. Surely, William would come back through the hawthorn any moment, pushing Max in front of him. But instead there was nothing. Not even a sound from the other side of the hedge. A strange quiet had settled over the garden and it was as if the hawthorn trees had knitted up and closed behind William, as well, as if no one had gone through them at all.

  Something else was happening, too. A strange mist was settling over the castle and the gardens. Tess couldn’t tell if it was coming from the air or the ground.

  Everything seemed to be fading. The roses, the pond, the frogs themselves seemed to be losing their color. It happened so quickly, and then it seemed to be happening in slow motion, or slow-motion capture, staggered, as if time itself were slowing down, as the colors faded. The grass was paler. The castle itself seemed to be losing its corners, its edges, as if it were being swallowed by the mist.

  Marie had fallen to the ground, her head resting on the pale grass, appearing as if she was so weak she couldn’t lift herself.

  “I have to try to save them,” Tess said to Barnaby. “I have to at least try. There isn’t any choice. I have to. I have to find them.” She was shaking now but with a kind of strength not fear. “I have to try to save all of us. If I can . . .” Somehow she knew that the things were connected, or she hoped they were anyway, Max and William disappearing through the hedgerow, the spectre of the moon, the castle that seemed to be disappearing in the mist.

  She wrenched herself out of Barnaby’s arms and began running across the lawn, the stalks of which were almost white. She barely heard the sound of her own feet as they hit the ground, as if sound were fading, too. She could hear the sound of her own heartbeat though, as if it were keeping time, as if it were urging her to hurry.

  She ran toward the sculpture garden. Once there, she was struck by how gray it was, as if the shining white marble had faded to stone, as if they were ruins, built hundreds of years ago, shattered by time, the marble structures crumbling, the faces of the statues partly worn away. She barely stopped to touch the cool white marble of Athena as she passed and almost cut herself on what was now rough stone . . . She looked up at Athena and empty eyes stared back at her, vacant where the sapphires had been only an hour before. Poseidon’s crown was cracked and his trident was missing prongs, as if it could no longer find its way or lead a traveller on theirs. She wondered if she should stop and kneel. But there was no time to pray.

  She ran on, up the hill, and to the carousel. But where the merry-go-round had been, there was just a bare patch of ground. It wasn’t making any sense to Tess. She thought she must’ve run the wrong direction. But then she saw a square concrete slab on the ground that seemed to be exactly where the turnstile had been and another larger round concrete slab where the merry-go-round might have been. Had she run in the wrong direction? But no, the canopy was there, as if it had once housed a carousel.

  She said it out loud, not that there was anyone who could hear it.

  “I have to have another wish. I have to,” she said.

  She shut her eyes and reached her hand down into her boot and touched the skeleton key and made a wish. Silently, so she was sure that no one could hear it. It had to be particularly worded. It had to be a wish, just one, but a wish for all of them.

  She opened her eyes. And then she heard something above her on the hill, the faintest sound, as if a door was slamming in the wind, and a strange grating sound, like wheels grinding on dirt. She looked and saw a wood shack that seemed as if it might be a stable. She ran towards it.

  There was an old wood-framed barn, white-washed, or maybe just the color had faded from it, too. The stable door was almost falling off its top hinge so that it scraped across the ground and almost fell as she pulled it open. She entered cautiously. The wood planks were practically
rotten, littered with wet straw. There were four stalls. There was a tin bucket, rusted, empty except for one apple that was more than a week old. She took the apple, hoping it, too, wouldn’t crumble in her hand, and started to walk through the barn, testing out each step tentatively, in case the wood was rotted straight through. The first stall was empty, the stall directly across from it was missing its back wall so it looked right out onto the pale gray landscape. In the next stall there was just a bale of hay so dry it looked like a bamboo box. The stall across from it was empty. Tess heard the sound of hooves in a back stall pounding madly at the dirt. She ran to it. There was a large black stallion saddled as if he were waiting for her to arrive. He seemed so angry, as if his eyes were, also, flashing sparks or else something was spooking him. She heard the wheels of a carriage pulling in at the back. She didn’t wait to see who that was. There was no time. The ground beneath her feet was almost white like sand.

  She opened the stall and the stallion went to kick her. Right hoof to her jaw. She ducked. She stood again and tried to stare him down. She put her hand on the horse’s nose to try to calm him, but he shook her off. She held the apple up. He shook his head as he bit it from her hand, but it seemed to quiet him. She shut her eyes again and made the wish.

  She put her foot in the stirrup and hoisted herself onto the saddle, but he was almost too big for her, she lost her footing, and then she felt hands around her waist lifting her up . . .

  She looked behind her. There was an elegant gentleman in old-fashioned riding clothes, with high cheekbones and the darkest hair, a black cape around his shoulders, and eyes that somehow reminded her of William’s. “Please, dear,” he said, “bring M’boy back to me.” The gentleman nodded and Tess nodded back.

  Before she could even properly grip the reins or lead him out of the stable, the stallion took off, almost crushing Tess’s leg as he careened into the stall on the other side of the stable. He was nearly impossible to control. Her right index finger was barely holding the rough leather reins, her left hand was gripping the back of the saddle to try to hold her seat. She hugged him tightly with her legs, mostly to keep her mount, but also to remind him that she was there. She leaned in and whispered, “I am your Lady and you are my Knight. And we can only do this together.” The horse didn’t respond at all. He continued to race with no regard for the fact that she was on his back. The horse raced so quickly, he left a cloud of his own dust behind him.

  She held the reins tightly now in her right hand, trying to guide him, without too much success. As they tore at record speed through the sculpture garden, they almost crashed into the fountain and Poseidon’s spear. She heard the sound of rocks breaking as if the sculptures were crumbling into ruins around them. She wondered what would happen if Poseidon were to drop his spear—would all travellers lose their way?

  She wished she was imagining things. Whatever was going on was real, stark, dangerous, and she and the horse seemed to be the only ones with two whits of sense about them and any semblance of strength and direction.

  The black stallion raced on to the garden with no concern that she was seated on his back, heading at breakneck speed toward the hedge of hawthorn, like a foxhound who had hold of a scent. No, that wasn’t the way it could happen. She knew that. And then she realized what wasn’t right; she hadn’t stated it correctly. She leaned in again, gripping him tightly with her thighs, her face up next to his, her mouth right by his ear. “I am your Knight and you are my Steed,” she whispered in a much stronger tone of voice, “and together we will succeed.”

  Tess pulled back on the reins. She pulled again. She whispered in his ear again. “Halt! You have to let me be the guide. But first I’m going to name you. I call you Midnight and you will follow my command.” She pulled back on the reins again. Then, did it one more time. “Whoa! Midnight! You are my horse and you will do as I say.”

  Midnight seemed to understand each word she said and came to a complete stop less than three inches away from the hedge of hawthorn trees, so abruptly that Tess was almost thrown head first from the saddle. Her back hurt as if her spine had been twisted and she had whiplash already from the ride. She kept her shoulders up, her head erect, her right hand firmly on the reins, as she gently and firmly turned Midnight around. “Good boy. That’s good. We can do this if we do it together.” He was obeying her commands now. “We have to do this together,” she whispered again in his ear.

  Marie and Barnaby were both standing now on the lawn, Marie so pale, she looked as if she might be fading, too. The landscape around them in the garden seemed to have changed from a watercolor to an almost black-and-white photo with a sepia tone.

  As Tess led Midnight directly back towards the castle, she noticed his gait was almost that of a military horse, each hoofbeat as if it were marching to a silent drum. The castle itself was almost completely hidden by the mist. She wondered if it was hidden or if it was disappearing, too? The moon was still red in the sky above her, a red circle against an almost black sky.

  She turned Midnight around again with a firm hand on the reins, pushing his neck ever so slightly with her other hand, stroking his mane as she did it, until both of their backs were to the castle and she had a clear view looking out over the lawn, directly facing the thick hedge of hawthorn trees like an ominous wall at the edge of the garden . . .

  She tried to calculate the distance. There was no time to start slowly and gather speed. They had to start at racetrack speed. She leaned in and whispered again in his ear. She hit his sides softly but firmly with her heels. He knew. He sensed it. As if he were a racehorse trained for winning and the gates had just come up, Midnight broke into a gallop and then performed the most extraordinary jump, almost like an arc in the sky, blue medal for sure.

  But as they started to land on the other side, Tess turned her head to see if she could catch sight of Max or William—nothing, just red desolate rock. She turned her head again and lost her balance as if she were going in a different trajectory than the straight and steady course of the black stallion Midnight . . . and she was thrown from his back.

  She landed on the harsh, desolate ground. She felt the rocks slice into her left side almost like razors or the sharp edges of swords. As the side of her head hit the jagged ground, as if a curtain fell, all she saw was blackness.

  ~ CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE ~

  the terrible morphons and the strange sky

  Tess . . . Tess . . . !”

  She could hear Max’s voice in the distance, oddly amplified, as if it were coming through a wind tunnel.

  She opened her eyes. Blurry, at first, and then the sky came into sharp focus. It wasn’t like any night sky she’d ever seen before.

  Was she seeing double, were there two moons? No, just a large red sphere that looked like Jupiter and, just below it, a bright light sphere with rings that looked like Saturn. Directly at eye level, quite low as she was still lying down, the full blood moon, its bottom almost at the line of the horizon. The sky itself was so peculiar—not at all like the night sky we are accustomed to. Mars, the red planet, just above. But there were no stars. It seemed to have no view of anything but our own solar system.

  Tess felt a sharp pain in her upper arm and another in her back and in her right ankle. She felt a throbbing pain in her temple or was it in the back of her head, she couldn’t tell. She did not know how long she’d lain there. She felt cold, then hot, as if the rocks were the temperature of dry ice.

  She heard Max’s voice again, almost as if it were an echo, “Tess, Tess, Tess, are you all right?” She saw him leaning over her.

  Max . . . she went to speak, but no words came out.

  She felt his hand on her forehead. Everything was spinning a bit until it came into a red-hazed focus, as if someone had laid a filter the color of blazing ash across the air.

  “Where do you think we are?” asked Max, hardly hiding the fear in his voice.

&n
bsp; “On the other side of the hawthorn,” she answered. “See,” she said, “now I’m the one who’s being logical.” Her dad had taught them: “If you’re really terrified, try to make a joke and put the other person at ease. Calm minds have a better chance of solving things.”

  But then Tess looked up at the unfamiliar sky. “What do you think of the sky, Max?” she asked, sounding more terrified than he had.

  “It’s not like any sky I’ve ever seen,” he answered. “If I didn’t know better, I’d say we were in space, having a closed view of our own solar system.”

  “That’s what I thought, too. But I don’t know what that means.” In a way she was relieved that Max saw it, too. Although, it occurred to her that maybe she shouldn’t have been . . .

  And then William had his hands gently on her shoulders, as well. Tess wondered if she was having trouble seeing. He looked so pale, so faint, as if he, too, was covered in mist. His voice was almost a whisper. “I thought I was never going to see you again,” he said. She felt his hand gently stroke her forehead.

  Her eyes started to close, as if she was going to pass out again. She forced herself to open her eyes. She flexed her legs. She made a fist with her free left hand and gripped William’s tighter with the other. There was something about the way the moon was dropping in the sky that frightened her. She worried that there wasn’t any time.

  She heard the black stallion, Midnight, and turned to see him standing at attention. His coat was matted with sweat and his eyes were fierce, but he was upright. She had been so frightened he had fallen, too.

  Max could sense her thought. “He only stumbled. It was you that fell. Tess, are you all right?”

  There wasn’t any choice but to be all right. The moon was still dropping toward the horizon, as if it would soon set the way that the sun does. “Pull me up, Max. William, keep holding my other hand.”