Fairy Godmothers of The Four Directions

by Jennifer Morse

  Icicles fell with a thud and the tinkling of a crystal chandelier. Cinderella shuddered. The mountains of her childhood had gone from playground to killing fields in the blink of an eye. Her heart hammered. As blood, miraculously for this high altitude, clotted her split lip, hot tears spilled from her eyes.

  Had she taken a wrong turn? She felt so confused. Even the clearest directions would be hard to follow. Part of her wanted to sit down and wait for the aching cold to transform into drowsy warmth.

  Surrounded by miles of snow and ice, she was ravenous for water. She finished her first bottle and packed it with fresh snow. Pulling her hat with the flopping brim firmly down to shade her eyes she continued walking the steep incline, disoriented each step herky-jerky.

  The glacier, a sea of pearlescent whiteness dazzled her in its glare. Sliding in the freshly fallen sugary snow the inevitable happen. Her foot, weakened in the previous day’s fall, slipped. Arms waving, her staff clattered off the mountain’s edge. Eyes following the staff’s trajectory Cinderella’s body followed. Sailing off the mountain into blue sky and white snow, her stomach twisted with instant nausea. Her weakened ankle throwing her onto her flat belly she slid to a stop.

  Thoughts and feelings bypassed Cinderella. She felt the laughter of hysteria bubbling up. She lay on her back looking up at the blue sky while laughter surged from her like a river. Surrounded by water she could smell and taste, without a drop to drink. She laughed until her stomach unclenched, her muscles softened and she could breathe again. Giggles flew out her mouth into the mountain’s echo. It was hard to tell if she was laughing or crying.

  The situation seemed both comical and absurd. In the background the frontal lobe part of her brain told her she was in grave danger. A curtain had come down shielding that part of her mind. Although she heard its faint alarm she was disconnected from its urgency. She could only feel the vast expanse of mountain wilderness pressing against her soul. She was simultaneously awed by the sacred silhouette and permeated with a feeling of doom.

  She did a quick mental scan. She didn’t seem to be leaking any fluids beyond tears. She felt a stark craving to be in Blackie’s presence. She needed his boundless energy. Shifting her pack she took a cleansing breath. She would intentionally rest for ten slow breaths. She would pause for ten inhales and exhales of intentional rest. It didn’t matter if she looked ridiculous. There was no one watching. She was alone, isolated on an endless glacier of blue white snow.

  She had to figure out a way to care for herself in this desperate circumstance. In a wilderness beyond her comprehension no words described the massive desolation pressing on her. And yet the endless blue sky, just beginning to build thunder clouds, the unremitting white glacier were stark with a beauty that seared across the hard wiring of the amygdale transporting her from terror into serenity.

  How was this possible?

  She was irrevocably alone in this moment; dependent completely on her own resources. Was this the lesson of the North? To be an adult is to be thrown onto your personal capacities. To find and carve out a path stamped with a singular identity? But did anyone really have a personal identity? Weren’t people in-part a product of interactions with others?

  Here in the land of adult, at the mercy of her own resources, the terrain was both sacred and menacing. The air was charged with an electrical current. The mountain’s spirit was enormous. Its weight crushed her. The moment required simple acts. Her survival depended on her ability, surrounded by unfathomable amounts of spirit, to take right action.

  She rolled onto her side. Just one more quiet breath and she would get up and find her way out, beyond this glacier. Pushing with her hands she sat up. Her ankle and knee throbbed. Rummaging in her pack she found the whisper thin cashmere scarf. Then she realized. She couldn’t take off her shoe in this cold. She could be bitten by the frost.

  Her staff was not far. Cinderella crawled on her hands and knees to collect the piece of wood her survival now depended on. She took out her second bottle of water and drank. Drinking mechanically knowing it wouldn’t resolve her thirst. Only finding her way off the mountain would take care of her craving for water.

  Hauling herself up to standing by climbing her staff hand over hand, Cinderella stood. She stilled the wobble. What next? She was surrounded in uniform whiteness. Which way was north? Disoriented, now her heart began to thunder. Her lip throbbed. Her ankle ached with injury and cold.

  She was going to have to find the quickest way to safety. Which way was safety? She couldn’t stand here in indecision. Yet her feet were rooted to the spot. She wanted to run in every direction at once. She longed to run in circles yet stood paralyzed. The mountain’s spirit, the unseen force, was holding her still. She wasn’t frozen. She was gripped, owned, by the mountain. A speck within its vast unknown, was this a lover’s embrace or death?

  Standing, caught, in the spell; a great wash of transcendent fire, inscribed this immeasurable, pristine wilderness of whiteness on the bones of her soul. In a roar of jubilation Cinderella’s soul and spirit were one. Soaring in the freedom of this union she had a passing thought. “Didn’t the Fairy Godmother of the West give me a compass?”

  Back in the confines of her body she ached with cold. It was a bone chilling misery. A misery she was never happier to feel. Pulling on her extra mittens and alpaca hat she stamped the snow off her boots. She didn’t notice her ankle and knee no longer hurt.

  Opening the pack pocket she pulled out the compass and began walking north. She was desperately cold. The mountain stole her hunger to feed her soul. She forgot to eat and drink. Walking until she lost a sense of time and space in the unending whiteness.

  Chapter Fifteen

  Wood Burl or Troll?

  Consulting the compass she navigated ice fields, trudged over long patches of snowy shale, hours of unremitting whiteness until finally she saw the tree line in the distance. And noticed the sun was rapidly dropping into the horizon. Shuddering with cold and relief, tears fell softening her wind burned cheeks. Entering the forest, she tripped over twisted gnarled trees, shrunk to shrubs in the wind. Cinderella quickened her pace. She fell over roots, rebounded into brittle trees, her legs wobbling wildly. Momentum took her to a pace bordering the edge of her control. Her feet and legs carried her careening through the brush. She had to find shelter. Afternoon faded into evening as she rushed through the stunted forest. She hobbled, bumbling in her efforts to find safety.

  “Shouldn’t I be seeing the Fairy Godmother’s house soon?” she muttered. Down at least two thousand feet in elevation towering trees blotted out sun. Sound was dampened. Cinderella sensing the forest floor cushioned with dirt and moss, heaven to her tired and sore feet.

  A half-frozen stream gurgling melt water, moving south, encouraged her. She quickened her step. Here was real water, drinkable. In fact, water in its liquid form was everywhere. Dripping from trees, water played a quiet melody in the forest. Berry bushes sprouted leaves. White poppy flowers with drooping petals and yellow centers swayed in the forest undercurrent. The tree canopy reduced the wind off the mountain silencing it to all but the occasional creak and moan.

  Trotting as fast as her injuries would allow Cinderella raced toward her first water in hours when a deep voice shattered the silence, “What do you think you’re doing? You don’t drink or cross this stream, not with out payment!”

  Cinderella shrieked, hugging her arms, tucking her hands deep into her elbows. Scanning the forest she peered deeply into the shadows paying attention to details. Beside the stream was a six foot high burl. Twelve feet of exposed root! The massive wood complex transformed into a deeply grained face, a twisted torso. “Am I losing my mind?” Cinderella slapped her hand over her mouth. “Arghh….Arghhh!”

  “Omumm…..Oooooommuuummm.” The wood was chanting! A burst of glittering gold, so infinitesimal Cinderella question whether it happened at all, ignited the wood. Grains and swirls stood out, carving three dimensions, telescoping into a face, a
long hooked nose, and a massive hulking body. Each muscle defined in its twisting nature formed thick legs, giant biceps, full pectorals and carved abdomen. “Oooomuumm…”

  In a voice hoarse with fear, she said, “Hello. My name is Cinderella, um, Charlotte.”

  How do you describe a tree burl laughing? Deeper than leaf chatter, it was fresh, rich with the fragrance of wood. Could she smell his laughter?

  A deep rumble, “Well, which is it? Is your name Cinderella or Charlotte?” Wood creaked and groaned. “What’s a girl who doesn’t even know her name doing in the forest? Are you begging for water?”

  On a groan of wood creaking he said, “You want, no doubt, to cross my stream.”

  Cinderella was confused. Her throat still layered in glacier dust making it difficult to talk. “My name is Charlotte. I’ve been called Cinderella for years now. I guess I’m not sure what my name is anymore.”

  “You guess?” Wood creaked, “You’d best figure out who you are before you marry the Prince. No one attains the powers of a Queen without knowing her name. One glance at you tells me you are in shambles.”

  Cinderella’s eyes shone with big, unshed tears. “I am a bit of a disaster.”

  Surprising herself, and the troll, she sank to the ground. The white poppies swayed. Rolling out of the contorted root system, the troll shouted, “Hold on! Watch what you’re doing!”

  Small white flowers sprang up encircling Cinderella. The sweet fragrance distracted her. The deepening blues and greens of falling twilight twisted her guts. She needed to find the Fairy Godmother’s house. Echoing vestiges of the Fairy Godmother of the West’s admonition not to find herself in the forest with night falling plucked like the string of an instrument and rolled through her.

  The troll gave a heaving sigh. “I guess you’re alright. You’re sprouting flowers. Too many people come into my forest and leave it with bruises of ugliness taking years to repair.”

  A crack of wood startled Cinderella. The troll’s massive face inches from her own. He said, “Yes, if you’re spouting flowers you’ll be welcome here.”

  Reaching out an arm thicker than a branch, he held out a hand made of dormant buds. Riveted Cinderella could not look away. With infinite care she grasped the troll’s hand. Like an earthquake the buds burst into baby-tree-branch-size fingers.

  Touching him she felt the sentience of the forest flow. The troll laughed a series of creaking grunts. He asked her, “Charlotte? Did you believe the myths?”

  Tucking her hands to her side for warmth, feeling stupid Cinderella echoed, “The myths?”

  A crack and pop of wood, he groaned, “The myth! Trolls are mean and stupid!”

  Twilight, the wind blew off the mountain carrying a blast of freezing air. Chattering with cold Cinderella said, “No. I haven’t heard the myth.”

  Grasping her shivering arm the troll said, “Come with me.” No words could describe his grip of gnarled iron.

  The void in the tree stump….Cinderella took a deep breath. She stepped forward in the shadow of the troll. Inside curling wood was soft gold. Swirls of dark brown varied into pitch black. Deep buds formed alcoves. Cinderella sighed. The alcove was piled high with furs. The troll gestured with his arm, “Go wrap up. Take off your boots first. The trees will tell the Fairy Godmother you’re with me.”

  Cinderella struggled with her shoes. She said, “My fingers burn!”

  “You’re bitten by the cold girl. Your fingers and toes are going to have the hot aches. Restoring circulation is painful.” Hulking over her he asked, “What did today teach you?”

  Hugging her feet, rubbing the ‘hot aches,’ Cinderella wanted to scream. Wrapping up in furs, soft as down, she continued to shake. The troll handed her a black drink, steaming hot. It took two hands for Cinderella to bring the cup to her lips with out spilling. “Hot! Sugary, black tea!”

  Eyes shining with gratitude Cinderella gestured to her pack. “I have cookies in my pack the Fairy Godmother made.”

  Dusty gold sparks flew off the troll, “The Fairy Godmother of the West? Her cookies?”

  Cinderella laughed and moaned with the pains in her feet and fingers. “Ahhhchuuu. Excuse me.” She pulled a towel out of her pack and blew her nose. Dragging the pack onto her lap, digging into the folds, triumphant she held up the canvas bag of cookies. “Yes, the Fairy Godmother of the West cookies. Please, help yourself.”

  Cinderella felt more than saw the rumbling of the troll reaching an outstretched hand. The entire house was lit from within the golden tones of the wood burl. The troll blended in with the house. It was difficult to make out what he was doing. Cinderella could hear him eating. One cookie after another, the troll consumed them with a one-pointed focus that made Cinderella laugh, even while she continued to shiver and shake while sipping tea.

  Emerging out the gold and variations of brown the troll handed her a second container of tea. He grumbled and the bud that created the alcove Cinderella was curled up in shook. A small quake, a frisson of tension, releasing sparks the colors of the wood. The troll growled, “You didn’t take care of yourself today.”

  “Cinderella!” The troll grabbed her staff and pounding the wood floor. Cinderella was horrified when the floor cracked. But the troll was looming over her and when he yelled bits of wood flew out of his mouth. “If you’re not self-sufficient how can you take care of children? How can you help a Prince lead the Kingdom?”

  Frightening in his intensity Cinderella shuddered. She ducked her head and slurped hot tea. Taking her time to carefully finish the tea, she made her assessment. The troll was fierce and maybe even bad tempered. But he brought her into his home and shared hot bracing tea. She didn’t think she was in danger. When she spoke her voice surprised her, clear and melodic. “Yes, I learned today lessons about self-care. You call it self-sufficiency. I was unprepared for the terrain.”

  Biting into a cookie, she added, “I will prepare, organize; build strength and wisdom. I’ll train for endurance to meet the challenges!”

  A fire built in Cinderella. Wrapped in mink fur, shouting at the troll, she added “Today my soul reclaimed my spirit. My wisdom and strength are one. I’ve discovered a path to self-sufficiency.”

  Coughing, Cinderella bent over out breath. She pointed her finger at the troll. “We will always be challenged, thrown into life’s overpowering demands. I need help sometimes. Part of self-sufficiency is knowing when and how to ask for help.”

  She grabbed for her staff. The troll held on. Cinderella tugged. Wood chips flew. The grain popped on the staff creating a grove in the wood. Resin leaked out of the troll. Following the indentation in the grain resin flowed into Cinderella’s staff instantly hardening. While they wrestled over her staff Cinderella yelled, “Me! You! No one is free from needs and vulnerabilities. We all need help. You did not come by your strengths alone. We have help along the way.

  “The lesson- of self-sufficiency: we are alone. And we need each other. Every person and life lesson helps us on our way. Don’t you dare preach to me about self-sufficiency.”

  Wrenching the staff out of the trolls grip Cinderella sank into the warmth of the mink fur. “Needing each other is the other side of the coin of self-sufficiency. The circle of life is the balance between needing each other and independence. You can’t have one without the other.”

  She dropped her head, squeezing the staff and whispered, “Do you understand me!” Intuitively she raised the staff up to her heart. Gritting her teeth, “and my name is Charlotte!”

  The troll laughed until he fell on the floor. His tears of laughter created piles of amber. He shoved them toward Cinderella. “Here, tomorrow wrap these amber pieces in the mink and store them in your pack. Your staff is blessed with amber too.”

  Rolling onto his side the troll pushed himself up to sitting. He said, “Do you know the properties of amber?”

  Washed in shame, embarrassed she’d yelled at the troll, Cinderella shook her head. The troll swung his arm and grippe
d Cinderella’s upper arm. “Never apologize for you passionate spirit Charlotte. Your spirit is the work of the North.”

  Sitting across from each other conversing like old friends they spent the evening exploring the powers of amber. He explained, “A river of amber is embedded in your staff. Call it forth as you have a need. Amber is the way trees heal. Liquid amber covers, like a bandage, to heal wounds. Amber as a substance is incorruptible. These pieces of amber will be exactly the same a million years from now. In this way amber is immortal. Apply a drop of liquid amber under your tongue for healthful longevity.”

  Patting Cinderella’s knee, with his wooden mitt of a hand, was a strange sensation. It brought out Cinderella’s first real smile all day. Slurping tea he expanded. He said, “For these reasons amber will always be a source of great wealth. Should you be in need? Your staff will provide.”

  Weary from her day on the mountain and wrestling with the troll Cinderella laid down pulling the mink robe snugly. She invited the troll to keep teaching. Promising she would remember with her dreaming muscle.

  The troll taught Cinderella as she slept wrapped in mink, insulated by the protection of his burl, throughout the spring night. It was a memory Cinderella would cherish. The gifts and generosity of the troll would change her life. It was a continuation of her understanding of the North, the balance in substance and spirit, self-sufficiency and dependency.

  Cinderella woke in the morning to find Blackie licking her face. Sniffing her top to bottom, nudging her with his nose, she felt his unspoken question. Are you okay?

  Sitting up she put her arms around him. “Blackie! I’ve missed you so much! How are you?” She buried her face in his fur. Tears seeped. Her nose was runny. Blackie nudged her shoulder. “I’m not crying. My eyes are leaking.”