Fairy Godmothers of The Four Directions

by Jennifer Morse

  Throat constricted with fears and questions Cinderella could only nod.

  The Fairy Godmother patted her arm, “As you climb you’ll find shelter. I hope the Fairy Godmother of the North has cleaned up those cabins.” Tapping her finger to her lips she added, “Don’t get caught on the mountain at night.”

  Stacking their breakfast bowls the Fairy Godmother hummed softly. Cinderella turned toward her bed folding the blankets of soft wool. She found clothes set out for her. Wiggling into tights, she pulled on a silk t-shirt, and zipped up a wool skirt with pockets. With her hiking boots she spun in a circle, “How do you like my North chic outfit?” Turning, facing the Fairy Godmother, she added, “I’m ready.”

  “I see. I’m ready too. I’ve prepared a pack for you. Blackie and I will walk you. Your safety depends on staying on the trail….”

  Sadness and fear chased across the Fairy Godmother’s face, like an incomplete dream. She shook her head. “Let’s go. In your pack are layers of clothing. Hiking the mountains you dress like an onion. Wrap the wool sweater around your waist. A waterproof poncho is in your pack along with hat, gloves, and an extra pair of dry socks.”

  She shrugged, “You’ll find supplies and clothing at the cabins. What, exactly, I can’t say for sure. It was a long time ago I climbed North Mountain. There’s a compass in your skirt pocket. Lost? Consult the compass. What direction will guide your way?”

  Laughing, Cinderella echoed, “north!”

  The Fairy Godmother stashed a canvas bag in Cinderella’s pack. She handed her a water bottle wrapped in another pair of socks. Holding up the container up for Cinderella’s inspection she said, “I’ve added berries to keep the water from freezing. Water is important in the mountains. Before sleep, drink water. Wear your hat and dry socks to bed.”

  Holding up the canvas bag she added, “These cookies mixed with nuts, butter, flour and sugar will help keep your body temperature up. Eating, burning calories, keeps you warm. Don’t forget. Eat and drink.”

  Cinderella smiled her appreciation, “Mexican wedding cookies! A favorite! Thank you Fairy Godmother.”

  No answering smile lit the Fairy Godmother’s face. Her profile etched, her gaze lost in middle distance. With a great effort of will she pulled her attention back to Cinderella. She said, “Do you know how many people have accidents each year on the mountain? Last year a young girl filled with light and spirit fell and broke her neck. For the injured rescues don’t always succeed….”

  Cinderella swallowed. Fear lodged in her throat. Following in the Fairy Godmother’s footsteps she left the cave. Struggling to keep pace with the Fairy Godmother’s long strides the day was stark. Too soon she’d leave her best friend to climb North Mountain.

  Blackie didn’t search for squirrels or hunt the forest’s scents. He walked by her side. The wrenching pain of being parted from her friend made Cinderella’s eyes burn and her nose stuffy.

  Noticing Cinderella lagging the Fairy Godmother said, “I hope when you’ve accomplished the tasks of the North you’ll be stronger.”

  “I have no idea what you’re talking about,” Cinderella huffed. “Are you saying I’m not physically strong? Do you think I don’t have what it takes to climb a mountain? Holy Cow! I’m climbing a mountain. Alone!”

  The Fairy Godmother shook her head.

  Even from a distance Cinderella’s eye was drawn to the ancient trees standing sentinel on either side of a tributary trail. Arriving at the two pine trees, Cinderella knew it was time to make her goodbyes. Crouching down to Blackie’s side she threw her arms around her friend. Blinking back tears, her throat swelled. She choked out, “I’ll be back in a few days. While I’m gone keeping dreaming with the Fairy Godmother.”

  Facing the Fairy Godmother she reached out. But the woman of the West was deeply absorbed in introspection. Cinderella’s hand fell to her side.

  The Fairy Godmother released from her trance gave Cinderella a container, “Drink this before you go.”

  Cinderella chugged down the combination of chocolate and coffee, thick with sediment. Energy radiated into her limbs and warmed her stomach, filling the hollow emptiness of her separation from Blackie.

  The Fairy Godmother put her hands on Cinderella’s shoulders. “I have one more teaching for you; Intentional Rest. Missing Blackie? Intentionally rest. Do you feel Blackie is missing you? Intentionally rest for Blackie’s feeling. Caught in a frustration? Take a moment and rest for the frustration. Do you understand?”

  Wordlessly Cinderella nodded. The Fairy Godmother handed her two deep purple plums. “Energy for your beginning, it’s so important to eat while climbing mountains…”

  Blackie sat tall on the dirt path. Cinderella felt a sob catch in the back of her throat. She blew him a kiss imprinted with all her love. Saluting them, turning, she took the first steps on her journey north.

  Within the hour the wide trail was narrow. Dismayed Cinderella assessed the steep incline. Wind blew down a ravine so stark it made her shiver. Loneliness squeezed her heart. Thoughts and feelings tumbled through her like chaos. What if I get lost? I could have an accident or fall. No one will find me.

  Yesterday’s enjoyment of the forest was gone. She walked through towering gorges. Jagged rocks and sparse trees enhanced her feelings of isolation. She thought she heard crying. Shadows stretched and shrank. The wind blew a foul smell, coming and going so quickly, she shrugged, “Maybe I imagined it.”

  Coyotes hooted with laughter in the distance. Cinderella looked over her shoulder, “Are there wolves out here? Did I see something moving?”

  Shale tumbled down the steep ravine a singular melody. Shivering equal parts, cold and fear, she said, “I could be lost already.”

  “No. It cannot be true,” she whispered. Alone for the first time in her life she felt the weight of solitude settle around her like a burden.

  Cinderella slid her pack off her shoulders and wrestled her way into the wool sweater. Maybe the sweater’s warmth would soften her feelings of loneliness. The incline steepened. She slowed her pace grunting with the effort required. A burn deep in her thigh muscles searing out to her skin warned her she was tiring.

  Boulders lodged in the trail like god’s marbles became obstacles to navigate. In the quiet of her surroundings her constant critical chatter was booming. Why had she never noticed this voice before? Small shifts of weight required to avoid rocks embedded in the trail caught her off-balance, stumbling. Where had she heard the North direction embodied spirit?

  “I don’t feel spirited,” she grumbled. Already the challenging terrain intimidated her. Hours into the climb she was starting to shake. Her legs felt like wet noodles. Even her ankles wobbled. Breathing the biting air made her chest raw. She missed Blackie. Life was better, felt safer, and more manageable with Blackie at her side.

  She’d heard hikers climbing North Mountain required mental toughness. She wondered, “Do I have the mental toughness to succeed?”

  A fast moving stream bisected the path, “No, no, no! I have no provisions to cross water!” Reaching the water’s edge her hand went to her heart. “This isn’t a stream. It’s a river! I’ll have to cross it.”

  The Fairy Godmother’s directions rumbled. A toxic swirl combined with her negativity, jarring her concentration. Self-pity built a lump in her throat. Pulling the compass out of her pocket she checked the direction. “This is the path north. I wonder if the river is swelled with spring’s melt.” Squeezing her elbows into her sides, shivering, “It doesn’t feel like spring.”

  Flummoxed, she climbed a boulder for a different view of the river. From this angle sun sparkled on water creating prisms alive with spirits of light. Jarred by the unexpected beauty she sat down to enjoy the view, pulling out of her pocket one of the plums the Fairy Godmother of the West had given her. The plum was juicy and sweet. She took a second look at the fruit. “Wow! Altitude must give food a special taste.”

  Pulling her knees into her chin she looked out across
the sparkling river. From this angle, boulders the size of chairs populated the river. “Could I design a rock pathway?”

  She ate the second plum planning her route. She whispered, “What if I fall? The Fairy Godmother of the West was right. In the mountains I have to think of every step, and concentrate. Blackie could have been injured leaping rocks. I could be injured!”

  Wiping her mouth on her sleeve, putting the plum seeds in her pocket Cinderella gathered her courage. Securing her back pack she leaped from one man sized boulder to another. Airborne, hair flying, she tasted a split second of fierce joy. Every landing jarring, she didn’t dare stop. The day was flying by. She had to find her way to shelter before nightfall.

  Standing on the last boulder she realized the final jump was too far. She couldn’t clear the river swollen with spring’s thaw. Aside from the boulder parallel to her there were no more rocks to jump.

  Chapter Ten

  Life on Life’s Terms

  Cinderella bit her lip. What had the Fairy Godmother said? About intentional rest; was it a mini dream? She sat on the rock, facing the current, her future rushing toward her. Closing her eyes was a relief. Inhaling she said, “I intentionally rest to cross the stream safely.”

  Deep in her belly she felt a tug. Relaxing, softening into the moment, “for these few breaths I don’t need to solve anything.” Time slowed. The concerns of the day fell away. She was rewarded with a spontaneous burst of freedom and her eyes popped open.

  She saw her plan outlined in front of her like a map. If she jumped to the rock parallel maybe she could reach the oak tree.

  At least two hundred years old, the tree’s roots traveled from the stream bank into the river. A branch extended just beyond Cinderella’s reach. Twisting her fingers together and then shaking them out, she moaned, “It’s silly. Leaping from rock to rock has used up my composure.”

  Faced with another challenge on the heels of free-form-rock-jumping, she was beginning to wonder, “Are the lessons of the North challenges piled high?”

  Cinderella’s world under her stepmother’s control had been small. These open skies, jutting mountains created anxiety curling, deep in her belly. “Panic, panic and more panic.” She bowed her head, defeated.

  “Honestly. I don’t think I can make this leap. It’s too far. If I fall the stream, the river,” she corrected, “treacherously fast moving. If I fall into water, this high in the mountains, the cold will lead to hypothermia. And hypothermia is a death sentence.”

  Opening her pack she found cookies and water. She drank remembering the Fairy Godmother’s warning to avoid dehydration. “Is there anything in my pack I could use to reach the tree branch? Would my jacket be long enough?”

  Digging past the extra clothes, she exclaimed, “Oh, the Fairy Godmother sent along my dreaming shawl.”

  At the bottom of the pack her fingers brushed rough metal. Pushing her hand deep into the pack and pinching her fingers together she pulled out a glistening rope. The handle was no wider than a belt buckle. It fit easily in the palm of her hand. Just a little rough, she recognized it immediately, “Druze!”

  When she looked more closely she could see the handle and chain were made of the same material, “Druze. Is it melded and coated with metal vapors?”

  It shined with millions of glittering lights imbued with magic. Mysticism powered preternaturally. The tip unfolded, whispering until it lay open on the boulder. It didn’t slither like a snake. “No, the cut through the air was crisp,” she whispered, “It must be eight feet long.”

  The chain thrilled and intimidated her. She sensed its unforgiving nature. Her hand reached out, hesitating she pulled it back into her chest. “Deep breath, deep breath,” she whispered.

  Was it like the magical chain the Prince used to subdue her stepmother? “No. It couldn’t be.”

  “Yes! Yes, it is!” She lifted and wrapped the thin chain around her hand. Supple and familiar, it was delicate. “Its strength is immense.” The potency and magic spilled into Cinderella. “Maybe, I can use the chain to jump to the bank.”

  It didn’t take long to realize her choice was try the jump and risk exposure or turn around and go back. Closing the pack she gave a mighty heave and sent it sailing to the other side of the steep creek bank. It slide half way down. Images of falling into the stream and being pulled under in the current tested her resolve.

  She thought of the Prince. His adventurous spirit was tempered with strategy. He confronted fears by making plans and searching out solutions. She remembered their play as children. When they had ideas for their next adventure Charlotte was ready to jump in. Her favorite expression, “how hard can it be?”

  Too often they found out just how hard it could be. The Prince doubled over in laughter. Confronted with a challenge he liked to plan. He researched options. He explored and discussed strategies. There had been times when Charlotte literally fell asleep while he planned.

  Setting aside her fears she threw one end of the chain over the nearest branch. It flew with a singular will, catching sunlight in micro bursts. Anchored in her left hand the druze handle dug deep into her palm.

  The opposite end flew back to Cinderella, the lash fluffing the air with its edge. Cinderella giggled, than slapped her free hand over her mouth stifling the sound.

  Gathering the swinging end on the second swish, she pulled the two ends together testing the sturdiness of the branch. The rope glittering, Cinderella closed her eyes against the glare.

  Squeezing both ends of the chain in her hands, holding the lash and handle, inhaling Cinderella leaped.

  A crow cawed in the distance. Branches rustling, bird song, she had a glimpse of the tree’s canopy before she crashed into the muddy, slippery bank hitting her solar plexus on a jutting root.

  “Woooooffff,” unable to breath she was paralyzed. Gravity pulled her down the river bank slick toward frigid water. Picking up speed she reached frantically for roots as they slipped past her hands. Lurching to her feet, trying to gain traction in the hillside, to forestall the inevitable outcome of momentum, breath whooshed back into to her lungs. Screaming, she grabbed roots. The drag of gravity so great her hands and wrists were scraped raw sprained by the weight of her body. But she stopped short of the water.

  The bank was steep and slippery. “Why didn’t I anticipate slippery? The Prince would have factored slippery into the landing of his jump.”

  One end of the metal rope fell out of her hand, flew back to her, the tip slapping her cheek. “Ow!” She reached up and wiped a trace of blood. It was deep red. Not the pale red it used to be when she lived with her stepmother.

  She tugged the chain free, and the metal wrapped itself around her waist. The rope miraculously tightened, snuggled next to her body, aloof but familiar.

  Climbing the roots she collected her pack and hauled herself over the embankment. Only then did she look over the edge of the creek bank. Generations of leaves had slid down the hillside with Cinderella’s slide. Debris wrapped around the roots of the tree. Her inhale was raw. Her exhale was shaky. Wheezing she straightened. Swiping at her clothes she managed to smear the mud. She growled. “Surely I could have done better than this awkward landing.”

  The sparkling links squeezed her middle. Scolding or acknowledgement? Ally or adversary? Inanimate or sentient?

  Still grumbling Cinderella shouldered her pack. But first she collected the canvas bag of cookies. Untying the bag powdered sugar flew into her nose. The smell was intoxicating; sweet, nutty, and rich. She reached into the bag withdrawing a handful of cookies shaped into round balls. Popping the first in her mouth the flour melted into a paste thick with nuts and butter. She swallowed. Powdered sugar fell from her lips. With a small groan of appreciation she ate another and began walking.

  Minutes melted into hours. One foot in front of the other Cinderella paused to put on alpaca mittens and hat. In the shadow of the mountain frigid air was biting. Immersed in warmth she slapped her palms together with sa
tisfaction. The sun, parallel to tree tops, no longer provided warmth. A shadow of concern fell across her face. Her realization stark, “I need to find shelter.”

  The trail now slick with mud and moisture gathered oak leaves and pine needles which stuck to her boots making her feet heavy and cumbersome. Exhaustion laced her muscles. Each step became a wrenching effort. Small torque movements required to free her feet of sucking mud radiated lines of fire through her hips. She had reached the limit of her strength. What had the Queen asked before she left the palace?

  Her questions came at the breakfast table on her last morning. Sunlight brightened the room fashioned of windows. It was the Queen’s favorite place to break her morning fast. Buttering a piece of toast she said, “Charlotte, how will you make the Kingdom stronger? Your marriage to the Prince is not just the love you share. Truthfully, love is not enough. Your lives must work in harmony for a greater good. Perhaps the most difficult truth you must come to terms with is to answer to the question, ‘what does Charlotte offer to the Prince and the Kingdom that will make life better for all of us?”

  Remembering the Queen’s words Charlotte felt herself shrinking. She was not a math wizard or financial genius. She knew how to clean. She knew how to make a house beautiful. She had the beginning understanding of healing herbs. Frowning she added, “I work hard.”

  Each sucking step more difficult than the last, lines of sweat trickled down the sides of her face. Perspiration made her clothing damp, stiffening, frozen against her skin. “A deadly combination,” she muttered.

  Anger gave her a burst of strength but quickly faded. Complaints rolled through her like thunder. She wanted to marry the Prince and dwell in the land of their love forever. “How am I going to turn ordinary Cinderella into extraordinary Charlotte, Queen of the Kingdom?”

  The more answers eluded her, the angrier she became. Shivering, teeth chattering, she was losing heat faster than her body could produce it. Pinching the skin of her wrist it was rubbery.