In Stone: A Grotesque Faerie Tale

by Jeremy Jordan King

  “No, not your body,” replied the Queen, frightening her friends before she broke into laughter at her own joke. “Unless, of course, you bring down the wrong tree and turn into a rabbit or a goat. Then, it might be fitting.”

  Besides a few variations on the trees’ widths and markings, they all looked fairly identical. Hundreds grew in different formations in a forest that stretched for miles along the marshes. Some thrived in long rows, some grew in haphazard clusters, and some stood in solitude. Was their placement in the grove a clue as to which soul was held in which tree? Was their particular shade of white a sign? Maybe the bands on their trunks matched scars on the soul’s one-time body?

  “It will take forever to assess every tree. Let’s split up. If you find yours, call out and we’ll all help with bringing it down,” suggested the Queen.

  Garth strolled through, unsure what he was looking for. Since their journey began, they’d been half in the dark about everything. This venture was no different. He didn’t think any of the trees particularly looked like him or stood like him. He studied each one for significance but quickly grew frustrated. He was beginning to forget what he’d looked like as a man, so finding the tree version of himself seemed next to impossible. He meandered, trusting fate to bring him and his soul together. He closed his eyes and stumbled through like a child on new legs, his hands grazing bark as he passed.

  A cool sensation numbed his fingertips. Garth hadn’t felt hot or cold or wet or dry or any other sensation since he was turned to stone. If he had any doubts that souls were in those trees, they were vanquished by those feelings. He touched each tree, trying to decode their significance. They played with his senses; some used temperature, others scent. Others used his emotions. One tree made him anxious, another angry. Whose soul was trapped in each tree to prompt such feelings?

  After experiencing a vast range of feelings, something deep inside him began to flutter. The place where his soul would have been began to ache, like it was near something long forgotten. He drifted between the trees, aiming for the locale where he felt it most. He brushed a certain tree that caused an explosion inside of him, forcing him to fall upon it and cry. For years, if he cried, his tearless sobs felt inadequate. As he embraced that tree, hot, salty, real tears poured from his eyes. His stone face was frigid from the cold night air, freezing the tears into crystal shards as they flooded down his rough cheeks.

  “I found it!” he cried. “It’s here!”

  The women came running in his direction with an excitement matching his own. Helena pranced about, unable to contain herself. “It’s real, Garth! The witch was right! Soon we’ll all be free!” She twirled around, stumbling on roots and slipping on leaves. As she began to fall, she caught hold of a nearby tree and pulled herself up again “This is him,” she gasped. “This is Francis!”

  Garth and Francis’ trees stood next to one another, just as they’d been perched atop the castle.

  “Helena, which tree will you have?” asked the Queen.

  Helena frantically looked around for one to connect with. She felt pressured to grab one before someone else claimed it, even though there was nobody else to compete against. Her eyes set themselves on a sapling, not far from her friends’ trees. It was a young birch with a young soul inside. She tore at it with her bare hands. Her stone fists beat the white bark, sending it to the ground like early snow. Garth used the same technique on his tree. He called for the Queen to get started on Francis’s. Slowly the birches gave in to this primitive method, letting out great cracks as they gave in to gravity.

  But the one under the Queen’s hand stood strong, like an impenetrable wall. If Helena and Garth could make progress, there was no reason she shouldn’t have been able to. Garth went to her side and executed the same tactics he’d used on his tree, but didn’t make a scratch. They began using other branches and rocks from the ground. The tree showed no sign of weakness. Its bark was as smooth and as white as it had been when they’d first arrived.

  “I’m going to find something larger,” said Garth, but as he went to forage, he fell over the giant bag he’d been burdened by for so many days. Pieces of his friend spilled across the ground. He winced at the gruesome sight, as if he were seeing lacerated flesh. Francis’ arm lay before him. It had broken at the shoulder and bore a razor sharp edge. Garth furrowed his brow.

  Then he picked it up and struck the tree. Sounds of cracking wood wailed into the night. With Francis’ arm on Francis’ tree, they were able to conquer the mighty birch.

  As the last tree fell, the sun began to rise. Before they took their scheduled naps, they grinned at one another. They’d done it.

  Garth didn’t dream that day. His body was working on something else. There was no room for silly dreams.

  *

  I ran out of Bryant’s apartment in a haze of euphoria, disappointment, and dread.

  I awoke in Asher’s apartment screaming at the most harassing light I’d ever seen.

  My eyes were unable to adjust, thanks to a steady burn in my retina. My breath tightened from the heat. My skin itched from quickly developing hives. The curtains weren’t thick enough so I spent the majority of the day in the bathroom with a “sour stomach” because it was the only room without a window. The sun poisoning and a craving for the rarest burger on Earth lead me to believe that I was, indeed, infected.

  As expected, a detective called me in for a blood sample. “You see, we’ve found some DNA in your apartment that matches DNA from a crime scene a couple months back. We can’t be too careful.”

  “And you think it might be mine? Am I a suspect?” I asked, playing dumber than ever.

  “I can’t say. But it’d be a good idea for you to come in and cooperate. If it’s a match then we’ll have a conversation. If not, we’ll try and get you back in your apartment as quickly as possible.”

  I had to wait until sundown to go in, for fear of bursting into flames or melting into a puddle on the sidewalk. Even though spring had warmed the air, I dressed in too many layers to appear normal. I looked like a fanatical follower of an undetermined Orthodox faith. Or a Jedi. Yes, let’s say that I looked like a Jedi.

  The lab’s fluorescent lighting further confused my eyes and I threatened to pass out. My sunglasses would have to remain on. Upon removal of my burka, the lab technician gasped. I was as pale as plaster and the whites of my eyes were a medicine pink. The poor guy was really thrown through a loop when my blood slid through the needle like half-dry nail polish. “Would you like me to send this over to our medical unit? Frankly, I’m a little concerned,” he whispered.

  “Really? Looks fine to me.” I said.

  He grimaced and walked away.

  *

  Garth awoke with a gasp, unable to tell if he was choking or screaming. He felt his lungs; the crisp evening air filled them so quickly they almost bust. Their natural rhythms were forgotten and needed to be relearned.

  In. Out. In. Out.

  He emerged from his gray, dark shell and was born again with skin untouched by sunlight. It was as soft and white as the birch he’d brought down. Discovering his human body was painful…and beautiful. Water ran from his eyes and nose, tickling his cheeks and neck. Every movement cracked a new joint and stretched a tender muscle. In his sobbing, Garth felt his tears wiped away by what he thought was a cool breeze.

  It was Francis’ cold, foggy fingers. They were no longer stone. They were not flesh, either. He was made of some element from the spirit world. He embraced Garth, who shivered under his friend’s chilly embrace.

  *

  Garth’s newborn skin was more sensitive than ever and required Francis’s bag to keep him warm. Garth clumsily wrapped his naked body in the dusty burlap. Then he quickly wished it wasn’t burlap.

  Rubble littered the ground. Francis picked up an unidentifiable piece of his former self. “I can’t believe we were this for so long. We’re free.”

  Garth looked at Francis and through him at the same time. Sp
irits are funny like that. “I hate to bring this up, but we should get you on your way,” he said.

  “Would it be terrible if I didn’t go forward? I can stay with you and Helena.”

  “Soon you’ll be with everyone from our past. You won’t even notice that we’re not with you.”

  “I doubt that,” Francis said. His head fell sadly,like a settling mist. “What will you do, Garth? You’re still alive and young. You’ll see many more years, I’m sure. Where will you go?”

  “I don’t know, Francis.” Garth hadn’t put much thought into it yet, but when he looked at his hands he saw the youth that Francis had mentioned. His façade was that of a young man with the world ahead of him. Inside he felt like an old crone. A whole lifetime had passed but his body was unscathed. The family and friends he’d left in the village were not so lucky. They’d probably lived long lives

  and died natural deaths. He hoped they were able to look down on him. Surely they’d recognize him without the grotesque costume he’d been wearing for years. If not, Francis could point him out when he became reunited.

  A seed of fear began to sprout inside of Garth as he thought of starting over as a human. There wasn’t much left for him on Earth. He’d be a stranger in a new, sun-filled land. What would he do? Where would he go? “I guess we’ll see.”

  The Queen was consoling Helena near her young tree, or what she thought was her tree. She was still stone. The spell hadn’t worked.

  “After we see him off, I’ll return here with you. We’ll find your tree. I promise,” Garth said. That comforted her some but not enough to bring back the brightness she had once possessed. She tried to pull herself together for Francis’s sake.

  “Don’t leave so quickly,” said a voice. A crooked black cat strolled out from behind a birch. “You don’t know where you’re going next. Fools.”

  The Queen recognized the cat’s crackling voice and general crookedness. “You’re the hag,” she said.

  The cat arched its back in repulsion. “Is that what you call me?” it screeched.

  “We don’t know your name.”

  It spat out a sound more gruesome than Garth’s former face. “That is my name. I told you that you wouldn’t be able to say it.” The hag-cat slithered towards Francis, the only spirit of the lot. “What do you consider to be your home, soul?”

  Francis thought about the places he’d been. Home had been atop the King’s palace for so long, he’d almost forgotten to consider the tiny village in which their story began. That was home, even though the roads that would bring him there were probably long dusted over by time’s passing.

  “Go to your home,” purred the cat. “That is where you will find the door to the other side. Spirits must always go home to say goodbye before they move on.”

  “Will we be able to accompany him? Is that where we must part ways?” asked Garth.

  “Can you walk through a door?”

  Garth nodded

  “Then you can go with him.” With that, she hopped up a tree and out of their sight.

  They didn’t waste any time, for Helena and the Queen were still victims of the sun’s curse. Garth knew where home was. He’d meditated on its surroundings all those years high above the world. It lay far beyond the plains of battle, past the hills of his forefathers’ graves and along the river where life began (according to the old beliefs).

  They kept a steady pace, but Helena and Francis often fell behind. Their time together was short and their love unexplored. The Queen walked beside Garth. “You are a true friend,” she said. “You don’t have to stay with us.”

  “We’re in this together. Who else do we have besides each other?” he asked.

  She laughed to herself. “I’ve always thought that the events in our lives happen for a reason. What we experience teaches us things, both good and bad. Sometimes terrible things happen to spark change.” She looked up at the velvety sky. They were in the middle of night’s stay. The blackness and openness of the world at that moment was deafening. “I also think that people don’t meet by chance.”

  “We were all destined to be together?”

  “Yes. If the Prince hadn’t been killed, you wouldn’t have met me. If you hadn’t met me, Francis wouldn’t have fallen. If Francis hadn’t fallen, you’d still be stone and the King would still be alive. These happenings have not been ideal but they’re contributing to a greater good.

  He supposed she was right but thinking too much about it made his head hurt. “What will you do when this is over?” he asked.

  She shrugged her shoulders. “I guess we will see.”

  11. The Past Haunts

  The forests around the sacred river had been burned. The skeleton of their town met the horizon like a nightmare city. All was black. All was dry. All was dead.

  Garth’s eyes welled at the sight of his unrecognizable village. Any hopes of stumbling upon an elderly Evie were snuffed out by the still lingering stench of decades-old fires. He wondered if she had lived to see the flames, left before them or perished in their fury. Nature tried to reclaim the remnants but the earth had nothing left to help it thrive. Only boorish, ugly plant species were able to grow on the cursed land.

  But a new smoke billowed from the old town center. The prospect of finding answers sent Garth there before the others could even notice the cloud. Soot, dust and dead things swirled in the air as he ran towards the square.

  It was nothing more than a simple campfire, part of a crude kitchen. Garth kicked a pot filled with murky water and extinguished the pitiful flame.

  An old woman ran out from a pile of rubble screaming and yielding a singed stick. “Back, ye! Back!” she cried. “That took me’all day to kindle, sir!” She swung her stick at Garth but his hand broke it before it could find his face. Her eyes filled with terror when she looked upon his face.

  “Who did this?” he demanded.

  The old woman balled up and rocked to a tune in her head. “Should’ve stayed home, should’ve stayed home,” she sang.

  “What are you singing?” Garth yelled. “Speak up, you old loon!”

  “Garth, leave her alone. It’s no use,” the Queen barked as she ran to meet them.

  “Tell me!” he screamed, grabbing the woman. “Tell me!”

  She continued her singing:

  “Ring-a-ding-ding, here come-a-King.

  Ra-ta-dum-dum-lis’nen for the drum.

  Men for the crown make a happy town.

  Boys outta bed, girls end up dead.”

  Garth wobbled away and gasped for fresher air. “I was just a little one,” the woman continued. She looked at him with knowing eyes and murmured, “Evie.” Her tone was long and taunting, a creaking door in the middle of the night.

  He lunged for her throat and demanded that she tell her secrets. The Queen wrestled him away before he’d caused any damage, but the woman was left shaken. She panted and grunted on the ground like a spooked animal. Helena attempted to ease her fears, forgetting that she and the Queen were probably just as scary to the woman as Garth’s anger.

  “Please, tell us what happened here,” said Francis, joining Helena in her efforts. He patted to old woman’s back in apology for his wild friend.

  She stood and brushed the ash from her hair and face. “You boys. We know you. You were our brothers. Our fathers. All us little ones remembers you even though we never saw you come back,” she gasped. Her glazed eyes darted back and forth, incapable of finding focus. “Evie was a good girl. When she was livin’. All good girls. Good friends. I’m all that’s left. I’m a good hider, you see.” She walked to Garth and touched his soft face and began to sob. “I’m so old. Why are you so young?”

  Disturbed, he brushed her off. “Francis, we need to leave. Go find your home,” he coughed through tears. The old lady sang to herself as they walked away from the square. It was a song Garth remembered but immediately tried to forget.

  They found the remains of landmarks to guide them to what used to be
their houses. Garth’s was located behind the water well, which had been reduced to nothing more than a dry ditch. He had many memories of lugging water from it to his garden, where his father taught him how to grow their supper. Garth hoped Evie had paid attention to the routine. He was delighted to find that she had. Shadows of her work remained. Even under years of neglect and layers of soot, a few tiny buds still showed their heads. Garth rubbed the herbs between his fingers and inhaled their pale perfumes. Afternoons spent harvesting with his father came to mind. He could almost taste the rich soil on a hastily picked carrot.

  As Garth lost himself in the past, Francis rummaged under rotting timber for something that might resemble his home. It had once been three houses to the left of Garth’s, but there were no property lines or fences left to tell where one pile of junk ended and another began. Finally, under many charred beams and bricks and shingles, Francis saw something familiar.

  The front door of his family’s home was still intact. It even had remnants of blue pigment stained to its surface. When Francis went to move it, damp air blew out from underneath. Long ago, the door had led to a cozy room with a fire. In their journey to the other side it had become a passageway to the end of the world. The smell of salty surf cut through their town’s stench of death.

  The doorway took them beyond any chart, to a land deader than the town behind them. The ground was pale and rocky with crags scattering the landscape like old fingers pointing towards the heavens. Garth looked back at his home for the last time before the passageway closed. Although saddened, he found solace in the answers his visit had unearthed. His old home and his old life were finally put to rest the moment the door sealed and disappeared behind him. The light in the new world was dim and the air misty from the briny water ahead. Surely the bridge was nearby.

  It was the first truly cold night of their journey and Garth finally had the skin to feel it. He tried his best to cover the violent shivers but his haphazard garment proved inadequate. The Queen clutched him under a heavy arm with hopes of warming him. The simple sensation of being held made her cool touch bearable. Helena gripped the basket of fruits, which shined brightly through the night and served as a beacon in the thick fog. They carefully maneuvered over the rocky shore but their concentration was interrupted by an alarming grumble.