Helena stopped walking and tried to cry. “I’m so selfish. I shouldn’t have come!”
“You came for Francis. That’s not selfish at all,” said Garth.
“Yes, but the Queen is right. I’m leaving all those people alone. They came to my fountain to be inspired. I’ve abandoned them.”
Garth went to her and rested his heavy hand on her shoulder. “Let people seek out their dreams instead of being distracted by idols and love stories. Humans spend too much time doing that. You’ve freed them.”
“He says, as if there is something wrong with being a dreamer,” the Queen scolded. “The Prince came to me for that reason. He dreamed by me, he could escape with me. That’s why I’m here. That’s why we’re all here. When he looked at me he saw a beautiful, strong leader who wasn’t ashamed of being who she was. He saw things in me that he wished he could see in himself. That’s why statues exist. We encourage dreams. We are distractions. The world is full of terror but we provide refuge. We are reminders of better, different things.”
She turned to Helena, “I’m sure there will be many who are disappointed with your disappearance, there’s no doubt. And it’s nice to know that when the Prince came to you, you were listening.” She quickly glanced to Garth with sorrowful eyes that silently apologized for her tone. “But I’m also sure that if the Prince knew you were alive, he wouldn’t want you stuck on a pedestal, listening to pathetic love poems all day. You’ve never experienced life, just overheard it. You’ve freed yourself.”
The Queen kept a quick pace that left them in her wake. As she bounded ahead, they could see why the Prince enjoyed her company: she was beautiful, strong, and unashamed of whom she was.
*
I avoided a helicopter-searchlight-S.W.A.T.-situation by calling Robbie before we set out for Rita.
“I was worried,” he said.
“Don’t be. I’m fine.” I tried to sound reassuring.
“That’s the dumbest thing I’ve ever heard you say.”
“What?”
“Telling me not to worry”
“Well, you shouldn’t. I’m fine. I just got to the audition.”
“Jerm, someone tried to…” He avoided saying what I knew he wanted to say, like the words would trigger an episode. “I thought you’d at least text me when you got there.”
I felt like a tenth grade version of myself, checking in with mom upon my arrival to the movie theatre. “I’m going to be a while. They’re running behind.”
“Should I come?”
“Now that’s the dumbest thing I’ve ever heard. I can’t bring friends to an audition,” I snapped.
Quiet.
Garth was giving me the “get on with it” glare. “Listen, I’ll call you when I’m done.”
“Are you okay? If you don’t want me around, say it,” I could tell the question was more to push my buttons that illicit sympathy.
“At this moment, no I don’t. I’ve been under constant surveillance and I’d like a few minutes to myself, thank you very much.” That shouldn’t have come as a surprise to him. I really, truly needed everyone, especially him, to get off my back. My text message inbox was full of questions about how I was doing and whom I was with and when I’d be around. Was he concerned about me or concerned about me doing to him what he did to Nick? Without thinking, I blurted it out. “And before your mind even wanders there, I’m not off hooking up with some theatre district dancing queen.”
Quiet again. I was right.
“That’s what you thought,” I said. “You thought I was out with someone else.”
“No.”
“Yes, you did.” My mind almost reverted to making embarrassing Sex and the City references about cheater’s paranoia. I quickly moved on before I made one out aloud. “Are you serious? You of all people should not be the one pointing fingers.”
“That’s not fair. I told you that I’m done with Nick. I want to be with you,” he whined.
I couldn’t help but wonder if he’d been saying the exact same thing to Nick about me.
Then again, our relationship wasn’t that serious. The whole “boyfriend” term, complete with all of its baggage, hadn’t been used to describe anyone, Nick or myself. We were all floating in gay limbo. It was hard to get especially angry about the situation because I didn’t know what the situation was. If he was fake-seeing me and fake-seeing Nick, there technically wasn’t a problem. Even if I did have the opportunity to be a true-blue “other man,” I didn’t have time for it. I was focused on more pressing matters, like witches, ghosts, and not being continually gay bashed as I went about my day.
I couldn’t process the many facets of my life’s dilemmas. I didn’t have the time or the mental capacity. So I just got generally angry, spitting venom in whatever direction would alleviate pressure. Since he was my immediate irritation, he would be the first recipient. “Pick one, Robbie. Him or me.”
“I care about you! I can’t stand being around him anymore. He makes me feel bad about myself,” he whimpered. Something in his voice was sincere. Maybe he was stuck, like smoking a cigarette to satiate an oral fixation when all that’s really needed is a piece of gum. Cancer sticks can get you kind of buzzed for a minute, but they ultimately make you feel like shit. And they kill you. Gum cleans your teeth, freshens your breath, and sometimes even whitens your teeth. That man needed some gum!
Unfortunately I didn’t have the time to commit to a healthy exploration of our feelings. Robbie was great and all…but not being accused of murder was greater. When your ass is on the line, the relationship bullshit we create is just that: bullshit. I had to keep pushing and get rid of him.
“Good. You should feel bad about yourself because you’re doing bad things. You don’t have any business keeping tabs on me. After months of leading me on, you can’t decide we’re exclusive just because you almost lost me. Maybe you should pretend we never happened. You can’t have us both, you selfish dick.”
I hung up and immediately regretted the last twenty seconds. I gagged out a few sobs. It felt fantastic. Having an emotion unattached to a crime scene was welcome no matter how terrible the emotion was. I reveled in my sorrow like a college freshman listening to Dashboard Confessional in an illegally candle-lit dorm room.
Garth gave me a minute before pulling me from my sad haze. “Rita’s this way.”
*
When she wasn’t being an avid student, Helena helped pass the time by entertaining her fellow travelers with stories from the fountain. She had a tendency to hold onto each encounter as a precious, beautiful memory. But most of them were relatively humorous.
“This one woman, she would come almost every day and float violets in the water. They were so pretty,” Helena sighed. “But she didn’t leave them there for very long because she’d eventually gather them up…and eat them!” The Queen and Garth erupted in laughter. “She thought they’d give her luck in love! Of course, violets don’t grow year round so she’d have to find alternatives, like—”
The laughing stopped when they heard a clacking. The Horse appeared on the top of a rocky slope.
Their eyes fixed to it without catching its glance. Garth had seen warhorses tower over men but the one before him was more enormous, more dazzling than any he could recall. Its metallic color changed from silver, to grey, to blue depending on the angle it caught the moonlight. With every move of its bulging muscles, the three became more unnerved. Eventually its two beady eyes landed on their corner of the forest.
Helena shook as its eyes grazed her. “Don’t worry,” Garth said. “We have no souls to be judged. It’s just curious.”
After inspecting Helena, its eyes moved onto her companions. As the Horse sniffed and snorted, the Queen grabbed for Garth’s hand. “I’m scared,” she whispered.
The mighty stead surged forward, leaping from the rock and onto the ground in front of them. With one toss of its mammoth head, it threw Garth and Helena to the side. The Queen was left to face the beast
alone. Its eyes narrowed and seemed to peer beneath her stone skin.
“No!” she hollered.
The Horse reared and let out a neigh that shook autumn’s leaves from the surrounding branches. Its body rushed toward her, forcing Helena and Garth to shield their eyes from watching their new friend get pummeled by its heavy hooves.
“We just want passage to the witch. You and I both know that no judgment needs to be made here,” asserted the Queen.
Helena and Garth opened their eyes and saw her standing defiantly as the Horse knelt down and invited her aboard.
8. Old Ladies and their Gifts
It definitely wasn’t an ordinary horse. An ordinary horse would have buckled under the weight of a solid marble Queen. Even if it were an extraordinary horse, there was no way that Garth, Helena, and a sack full of Francis could fit on its back. Garth panicked while thinking about the possible scenarios. Would it invite him aboard? Would each of them go alone? How far was the journey? Would it really take them to the witch or would it plunge them into a fiery pit like Joseph said? His fretting was interrupted by Helena’s giggles. He gave her a stern look for not taking the situation seriously.
Soon the Queen was just as amused. “It’s amazing!” she laughed.
Garth looked at the Horse beneath her. Its four legs clicked the earth and with every stomp, it doubled in size to receive more passengers. When it was appropriately large, it bowed its head and allowed the rest of them to board.
Its trot through the forest eventually turned into a gallop that morphed into an impossibly fast sprint. As they accelerated, the trees, ground, and sky became mere blurs. A soft pink began to infiltrate the muted colors around them as the sun’s cursed light flirted with touching the Horse’s hind legs.
In the distance, Garth saw a clearing. The surrounding growth abruptly stopped at its edge, which was enclosed by a circle of smooth pebbles. The Horse and the sun simultaneously jumped into the ring and onto a patch of manicured grass.
Light washed over their stone bodies, forcing them to reside themselves to hibernation. They would have to wait another day. Garth closed his eyes and waited for the sudden onset of sleep. He hoped for happy dreams that would quickly escort him into the following night. But the blackness that he usually saw inside his eyelids ignited into a blazing red. The sun was overhead and he was still awake.
Unsure of the brightness above, Helena shielded her grinning face. “More magic!” she exclaimed. She jumped from the Horse and awkwardly wandered around the clearing, disoriented by the new colors and shapes. She stumbled towards the pebbled perimeter.
The Horse let out a roar-like neigh and galloped in front of her.
“I wouldn’t pass over the stones if I were you” said a voice. “They’re keeping you from your curse.” The Horse led the Queen and Garth onto the ground where they met a very old, very crooked woman. Despite what appeared to be the wear and tear of hundreds of years, she was ornately adorned with beautiful robes and a meticulously painted face. After staring at her for a bit too long, they noticed she had lost all of her hair. In its place was a wig made of yarn, powdered and quaffed to perfection. “My name is older than this world, impossible for you to pronounce, so I won’t bother telling you,” she huffed. “I have been expecting you.”
“You have?” asked Garth.
“These eyes saw you coming, yes. Usually I only meet with souls but I think I can make an exception for Immortals. It has been a long time since I’ve seen your kind, it has. You’re a dying breed, they say.”
The woman led them to the center of the clearing where she let out a piercing whistle from between her crinkled lips. The statues waited patiently for something fantastic to happen but their high hopes were left dangling in midair. The old crone became angry and whistled again, even louder than before.
The ground rumbled and the trees outside the magic barrier parted. A peculiar looking cottage peaked out from the foliage and walked toward them on four legs. The chelonia-resido entered the circle and began to dig. When it found a reasonable depth, it placed itself inside the hole and sat like a nesting bird.
While the exterior was certainly out of the ordinary, the interior was exactly what was expected of a witch. Dust and oddities filled the home to its brim, poking out of windows and chimney shoots. They followed closely behind the hag as she searched her shelves. “I’ve noticed you’re missing souls, you are. I’ll say you can’t get to your final destination without them,” she said as she picked up a jar and took a sniff. Her face contorted. She threw it on the ground and continued her hunt. “You must retrieve them. You must.” Garth tried to interrupt with a question but he was met with an angry shushing.
“Patience. I’m telling you,” she continued. “They are trapped in the birch grove, not far from here. You and only you will know which tree holds your soul. Chop down the tree and your spirit will be free. Simple.” The directions rang from her lungs like a song she’d always known and expected them to know, too.
“Will we return to our former selves?” asked Garth.
She looked around and cocked her head at Francis. “The one in the bag, his soul’s body is dead. Dead, dead. It will exist on its own. Just a soul, he’ll be.” She walked toward a locked door and paused. “Your body looks intact, Guardian. Your human soul will finally return your body to its mortal form.” With that conversation ended, she unlocked the door and went in.
Before Garth had time to relish in the idea of becoming human again, the witch beckoned them to follow her. They descended a long staircase into a damp basement lit by an unusual light. The statues searched the room for a flickering candle, but one was nowhere to be seen. Instead, the clean glow of the night sky illuminated the sublevel room. Balls of light floated in the air like moons. When their eyes adjusted to the foreign sources, it became clear that the orbs were actually luminescent fruit hanging from vines. Their transparent skin allowed their pulps to be seen, which glistened with the colors of a lightning storm.
The crone plucked one from its home and inspected it for impurities. “These are a favorite of the Bridge Keeper. You will eventually cross paths and these will help you on your way. I will give you a basket, enough for all of you to pay him.”
“Thank you,” said the Queen. “But we have one more concern. There are others who have or will be seeking your counsel on their way to the other side. They are the reason we—” She stopped herself and reorganized her thoughts. “They have murdered innocent people. How can we be sure they will set out on this journey and eventually meet their true fates?”
The crone stared deeply at the Queen, scanning her motives for impurities like she had examined the glowing fruit for worms. “Yes. I understand,” she said. “No need to worry about the twins. They were dragged down to the Underworld the moment my steed laid eyes on them. I heard their screams. Pitiful.”
The Queen’s face was contented.
The witch continued, “But the King, he revels in his wickedness. He waits to visit me. I’d throw him down to Hell myself if he walked through my door. Don’t worry, though. There are agents at work. They gather the evil ones.”
The Queen’s face tensed and she yelled at the small woman, “But how long will that take? Is there any guarantee that he will be brought down?”
The witch blotted her forehead, sweaty and irritated from the makeshift wig. “Don’t worry, my dear. These are not matters of ours. The Way of Things will sort it out. A new world awaits you now. The troubles of your life are soon to be gone.” She carried on with the picking of fruits.
The unsatisfied Queen grabbed the old woman and pushed her against the wall. “What lies beyond this shack is of no interest to me. I want that man to get what he deserves. Even in death, he continues to pollute the earth with his wickedness. This is not the time for secrets, witch.”
“You are a strong one,” whispered the hag. “Hold up your hand.” The Queen obliged. Her fingers were still stained with royal blood. The witch grabbed a
finger and licked it.
“What did you do that for?” the Queen asked with distaste.
“I cannot pull answers out of thin air, child.” She closed her eyes, smacked her lips, and let the blood search for the King. “He is familiar with the forbidden magic and will not leave this world without a fight. It is not likely he will ever rest.” After her forecast, the hag’s eyes flew open and pierced the Queen’s like a spear. “Now kindly back away. We will speak civilized on these matters.”
The Queen obeyed. The witch turned to Garth and Helena, “Out! Both of you! I’ll deal with this one then I want you all on your way.”
They scurried up the stairs and waited amongst the witch’s strange collections. Helena perused moldy books and artifacts. Garth promptly scolded her, not wanting to further frustrate the old woman.
“You’d better be going. It’s been longer than you think. The sun’s been set for hours,” bellowed the hag. The Queen solemnly walked up the stairs and made for the front door. The witch fiendishly searched for the key to the staircase in her bosom, purse and finally her hair. “I need my rest. I’m old as sin and know all the secrets of the world, but am very much mortal. I’m just gifted, employed by the Way to do its bidding. This body dies around me, as you can see. I will eventually meet you all on the other side.”
As she locked the door, she began to lose balance. The witch staggered around and clutched a table to stay upright. Papers fell to the floor and kicked up a cloud of dust. When it settled, the statues saw her on her knees with her eyes rolled backwards. “Except one of you,” she bellowed. “One of you will be lost to us forever.”
When the vision seemed to have passed, her eyes went back to their proper spot as if nothing odd had happened at all. Her breath was slower to return. She wheezed and coughed on the residual dust and eventually had to motion to Garth for help getting back to her feet.
Helena broke into frenzy. “It won’t be me, it can’t be me!” she cried. “I will not be left to wander this earth in stone. Make me real! Give me a soul! I want to live life instead of hearing about it from ungrateful peasants or soldiers who’ve been stone for so long they can’t remember what it feels like to feel.” She tearlessly wept around the hag’s feet and grabbed desperately at her ragged gown.
In Stone: A Grotesque Faerie Tale Page 13