Over the Hills and Far Away

by Susan Skylark

  ~John Keats, ‘Ode to a Nightingale’~

  Forbidden Draught

  There once was a pretty and prosperous village, whose residents prided themselves on their thrift and frugality to such a point that the local craftsmen had a very difficult time making a living, for only on rare occasions would someone actually purchase something new. So it was with the local shoemaker and his daughter, for their neighbors literally wore their shoes until they fell apart and then had them mended time and again until there was nothing left to mend. Thankfully the village was as lovely as its residents were parsimonious, which proved the salvation of the local economy, for many were the tourists who came to enjoy the bucolic beauty of the place. One such visitor, who came year after year and was undoubtedly well to do, was the means by which the cobbler and his daughter escaped starvation, for he always bought a new pair of boots on each visit and such was his taste that no ordinary, sensible, and economical pair of boots would do; he demanded the best, paid well for it, and was quite grateful to the supplier thereof. So it was that one young man’s generosity supplied the wants and needs of the little family for an entire year. But he had not yet made his yearly pilgrimage when tragedy struck.

  The cobbler took ill and succumbed very quickly to the disease, leaving his daughter alone in the world, save for the irate landlord who demanded payment of the yearly rent the moment the funeral was over. The grief-stricken girl was silent in despair, for there was no money to buy food for the morrow, let alone for the year’s rent. What was she to do? The landlord, the most stingy man in a village of renowned misers, said gruffly, “you can’t pay the rent?” She stared up at him bleakly and he saw his answer in her tear-filled, terrified eyes. “Very well,” said he, “get you gone. And don’t bother going back to the house for anything as I’ll have to sell everything and hope to make back even a little of what you owe.” Her whole body convulsed in a sob, she covered her face with her hands, and dashed blindly from the graveyard. The man stared after, wondering if all women were so flighty and was grateful he had never married, which was probably the greatest service he had ever done for womankind.

  She knew not where she ran, until strong arms embraced her and a warm voice said, “Erin! Whatever is the matter?” She flung herself into the arms of her friend and wept bitterly, finally exhausted, she looked up meekly into the eyes of her comforter. Diana’s eyes held nothing but concern and compassion as she asked again, “I know your father has just died, but what new grief has added to your misery?” The girl wept out her interview with the landlord and that good lady smiled grimly, “he would do such a thing and at such a time! Alas that I cannot be of aid, my poor, pitiful darling!”

  The girl looked at her with haunted eyes, “but I had hoped to come to you in my plight! I would not stay long or be any bother, but I have nowhere else to go!”

  The woman shook her head sadly, “alas, but I am summoned to the royal palace and there to take my place as lady’s maid to the new Princess! I dare not disobey such an order nor can I take you with me.”

  Erin frowned, “how is it they have sought you out above all women in the country?”

  The lady shook her head in wonder, “that I do not know, but it is rumored the Prince shall wed within the week and his lady’s affairs must be put in order with all speed. I only received word this very morning! This great coach pulled up and the servants and guardsmen were adamant that I accompany them immediately, but I would not miss your father’s funeral nor could I abandon you in your plight.”

  The girl finally noticed the great carriage waiting for her friend to ascend, with the proud, liveried figures upon it, waiting impatiently for the woman to finish her business that they might finally be on their way. The girl fell again upon her friend’s shoulder and wept at this bitter parting, for she had no one else in the village to whom she could go and no other friends beside this dear woman. Diana held her close and wept her own tears of farewell, wishing with all her heart that she might do something to help her beleaguered companion, but she must soon away and she had nothing to give the poor stricken girl, but her compassion.

  Erin finally gained a tenuous grip on her sensibilities as she said, “I wish you well, dear friend.” She smiled weakly, “and I know you would give your own life for mine were you able, but such cannot be.” Diana smiled wretchedly, her heart near to breaking, but allowed the servant to hand her into the waiting vehicle, which immediately left with a thunder of hooves and a clatter of wheels once the long delayed lady was within. Erin watched it drive off and wondered if she had aught else to lose this day. She knew her friend had to go, her father would insist upon it if those in power within the Kingdom had not. The poor girl’s father was almost as stingy as Erin’s former landlord and allowed his daughter nothing to call her own, she did not even have a penny to give her impoverished friend upon their parting and he certainly would not help her desperate friend. He had never liked their friendship, but since it cost him nothing, he turned a blind eye to the matter, but he would not burden himself with his daughter’s castoff friend now that the girl had found herself so agreeable a position. Erin sighed heavily and turned her back on the home that was no longer hers; head and shoulders bowed in misery and grief, she trudged into the surrounding forest as the sun vanished behind the distant hills.

  The next morning found a certain young man in the village but it was not boots that had brought him thence this year, but rather the gentle and comely daughter of his annual footwear supplier. The young prince was aghast to hear that the cobbler had died of late, his shop and house had been repossessed, and his daughter had hied herself into the woods as none of the villagefolk felt it their duty to aid the poor girl. It was his dearest wish to have the girl to wife that he might raise her and her estimable father out of poverty and ignominy, but alas, he had come too late! It was his order that had sent the carriage to fetch away her only friend, that they might soon be reunited in far greater joy, but what wretched timing that he had carried away her only comfort in her hour of greatest need! He sighed deeply, checked that his sword and dagger were firm in their places, and flung himself into the saddle, intent on pursuing the woman he had so inadvertently and grievously wounded. He smiled, it was just like something in one of the old stories. He sobered and hoped that the worst he would face in those grim woods was merely a weary and grief-stricken young lady.

  There was but one path through the woods and the prince was a good tracker, so did not despair of finding the wandering maid until night found him unsuccessful in his quest. He sat down upon a great stone beside a rushing stream while his horse greedily slacked its thirst, his head in his hands, racking his mind for any clue as to whither the maid might have fled, but he had seen no clue that she had turned off the main road.

  “You’ll never find her,” came a knowing voice above him. He looked up in astonishment into the too knowing eyes of a magpie. The bird blinked slowly, as if a talking bird were nothing out of the ordinary, and then continued, “the elfin folk came upon her in her distress and much did they pity her. She went off with them and never more shall mortal man look upon her.”

  He stared at the bird in dread, “but can nothing be done?”

  The bird shrugged, “why not just go back to your castle and live happily ever after? Why all this trouble? Are there not other ladies who might please you just as well?”

  The prince said grimly, “if she is happy with her fate, I must leave her to it, but I will not rest until I have spoken with her, and rescued her if need be. I will not be content to go home and abandon her thus. I have inadvertently made her plight worse and I will not leave her in misery if it is within my power to prevent it.”

  The magpie ruffled up his feathers and said, “then you must go to the Elf Queen and beg your lady’s release, but know that no mortal man has looked upon her and lived. You may buy her freedom, but only with your life.”

  The prince was silent for a
moment in thought, but nodded firmly and said, “it will be as it must.” The bird told him what he must do, took wing, and vanished into the darkness. The prince mounted his horse and rode off, deep in thought.

  As the moon sank, the stars grew bright overhead and the Prince did as the bird had bidden him, standing beside a certain pool in the starlight and waiting patiently. All the expanse of heaven seemed mirrored in the pool before him and at a certain hour, the water parted, like two ebony curtains studded with diamonds suddenly drawn aside. A descending staircase of white marble shone before him like the noon sun on new fallen snow; he swallowed hard and vanished down the stairway. The way he had come was swallowed up anew by the night dark water and there was no way to go but forward. He wandered through endless shining corridors of white marble, cold and austere, until at last he came upon a creature of one of the elfin races. The elf was clad as a servant or page, resplendent in white and silver, he started when he saw a mortal boy wandering their sacred halls unattended. Said the boy without preamble, as the bird had advised, “I would see your Queen.” The page flinched again in astonishment, but said nothing and motioned for the lad to follow. The Prince smiled wryly to himself but wasted no time in hastening after.

  They wandered again down more colorless and brilliant passages of cold stone until they came to ornately carved doors of white wood that opened of themselves. The page bowed the man into the room and hastened away. The boy entered as confidently as he could and the door closed behind him. He found himself in a great chamber of the same cold marble and looked upon what might have been the Queen of Winter, for a frigidly beautiful woman of elfkind sat upon a white marble throne, draped all in white and silver raiment. Her eyes were a pale icy blue and her lips the barest hint of pink, as predawn on a midwinter’s morn; her hair was so light it was almost white. Said she without question or surprise, “welcome child of men, what great boon would you ask of me that it is worth your very life?”

  The boy bowed politely and said, “I have come in search of a certain young woman of mortal stock and was told she was taken in by your people.”

  A slight smile, though containing neither joy nor mirth, touched her pallid lips, “and what would you have of me or of this girl, oh bold one?”

  Said he, “I would know that she is well, that she is happy with her fate, and if not, what may be done to rectify the matter.”

  Asked she, at last a little curious, “you do not seek her freedom that you might have her for yourself?”

  Said the lad quietly, “in knowing the price I must pay to even inquire of her, lady, I knew such could never be. I set out in search of the lady for that very reason, but find that at the last it can never be. I suffice myself in knowing that she is content and perhaps one day may know joy again after all her great grief.”

  The lady raised an eyebrow, “does she know of your pursuit?”

  The boy shook his head, “nay lady, and I would not have her so, she has suffered grief enough, let not my plight add to her sorrow.”

  “Well spoken,” said the frigid Queen, “you may know that she is well, at least she has a place, a duty, and that which she needs for daily life, but as to such things as joy, happiness, contentment, and the like, that I doubt she shall ever know or find amongst us. For we know not such things ourselves.” A small rueful smile touched her lips, “in this I envy you mortals, that your grief and sorrow are but for a season and then you pass beyond memory and knowledge into whatever lies beyond. We however, must linger on as long as time lasts with our regrets and sorrows and griefs. We have no hope of brighter days ahead, for all our glory lies in the distant mists of the past. Thus do we linger on without hope, joy, or even laughter to break the monotony, and only looking upon our past joys brings us any pleasure, but in so doing we also must remember too the years of pain and sorrow therein. All our songs are laments and dirges, our tales of faded glories, and our future as cold and featureless as our halls. Your lady will not find joy here, but she can find a numb acceptance of her grief, a duty to fill her days, and food and shelter as she has need.”

  Said the boy quietly, “such is a fate worse than death lady, at least to my fickle mind. For it seems you do not live, but rather exist in the shadow of grief, death, and sorrow, looking wistfully to the drab grey light of the past for what comfort you may, but such an existence cannot be called life! Can I somehow free the lady, even living with her grief and sorrow must be better than this, for someday the pain will be less acute and other joys shall come to brighten her days. To live in such numbness of heart until death is no life for my kind! My fate is far kinder by comparison.”

  “What would you have me do?” asked the Queen haughtily, for she did not like this mortal imp saying things of her people that she knew all too well to be the truth, “she is not a prisoner but rather a refugee, one whom my people found wandering in the wood and took pity upon. She spends her days scrubbing our brilliant halls and seems content therein, but she may go if it is her wish. But where would she go? What comfort is there in her grief? What future in a world that cast her out?”

  Said the Prince, “I will write a letter to my father, a King among men, and let it be given into her keeping. He will see that she finds a place again among men and there is a dear friend awaiting her there who can do much to comfort her in her grief. My horse waits beside a starry pool by which I entered your realm, let her take him and ride whither she would.”

  The lady said, “very well, it will not burden us over much to do as you ask. She has not looked upon me, so she might yet walk freely under the mortal sun.” Her smile turned grim, “but you shall not.” At her words, a guard entered the hall by a means unseen, and she said to him, “allow this boy to write his letter, tell the girl that she is free to go if she would, and then escort our guest to his fate.” The guard bowed deeply and escorted the boy from the Queen’s presence.

  The Prince was given paper and silver ink and quickly wrote to his father, asking that he treat the lady as he might the Princess she might have been. He then mentioned his own dire fate and that it was of his own choosing, but that the lady should never know nor any rescue be attempted. The guard took the missive, but left the boy in a narrow corridor that had openings looking down upon a lower level where the girl was busy polishing the shining halls. She looked up in surprise to be so approached by one of her usually distant hosts and listened in astonishment to his words. Tears of joy and grief mingled in her eyes and for the first time in remembrance, for mortals easily forget the outer world in that place, she felt her heart stirring within her. She gladly accepted the offer and the letter, fully intent on leaving the tomb in which she had unwittingly interred herself and her grief. The guard told her how to find the waiting horse and gave her directions as to delivering her letter into the hands of the mortal King. She smiled joyously at him, he shook his head in perplexity, and then she dashed off upon her adventure. The boy watched from the alcove above and was heartened by the girl’s response. The guard motioned for the boy to come down once the girl was gone. He descended and the guard led him away.

  The Queen sat on her throne, a cup brimful of red liquid in her hand, the only color that had entered those white halls in living memory; she stared at the fluid curiously, as if not quite sure what to do with it. A magpie suddenly perched upon the back of the throne above her shoulder, but she did not seem surprised, said he, “are you really going to go through with this?”

  She shrugged and a look of annoyance crossed her beautiful face, “my people have lost all sense of joy, love, hope, and contentment. All we have is bitter memory and dull monotony. This at least might prove a source of momentary relief.”

  The bird shook his head, “you cannot drown your sorrows thus.”

  She smiled grimly, “no, but perhaps I can forget them for a moment. As the blood of grapes can remind one of lost summers, if only for a few moments, why can I not do the same with this? He cam
e willing, his sacrifice was not in vain, at least as he saw it, why let it go to waste?” She laughed bitterly, “so much for happily ever after!” mocked she, raising the cup to her lips.

  The bird ruffled his feathers in agitation, but said, “but there is a happily ever after and he has found it! It does not lie in the dust of the past nor in the sordid glories of the present nor even in dreams of the future, but rather beyond it. Your people have shunned that starry path and all joy with it; he has dared to tread it and will not be disappointed.” He cocked his head, “it is not too late.”

  She set the cup down with a remorseful sigh and wiped her lips, as if she hoped the moment could last longer. She looked upon her avian interlocutor with annoyance, “be gone, I know what it is we have lost and also what we have gained. We will not be slaves again. Our freedom came at a cost and we are willing to pay it.”

  The bird shook his head, “so too was the boy, but he has truly attained that which you only think you have.” And then he vanished.

  ‘How many miles to Babylon?’

  ‘Three score miles and ten.’

  ‘Can I get there by candlelight?’

  ‘Yes, and back again.

  If your heels are nimble and light,

  You may get there by candlelight.’