Arabesque

by Hayden Thorne

  Ulrike stood in the middle of the dining room and encouraged the fire to spread rapidly, not at all worried about her son in the bedroom being burned alive, for she was now destroying remnants of old magic with hers.

  She closed her eyes, spreading her arms up at her sides as she chanted. Flames grew, bits of burning wood popped, and some tumbled down. She barely felt the heat, the brilliant light behind her eyelids making her feel strangely more alive than she’d ever been.

  Was this redemption? Emancipation? She opened her eyes and saw nothing but thick flames around her, the cottage nowhere to be seen. There was a shadow in the fire, however, that slowly grew, and Amara emerged. She looked at Ulrike with an expression of calm and compassion, hesitating for a moment before raising a hand, which Ulrike took in hers.

  “He’ll be fine,” Amara said. “He’ll live and love for us.”

  “I know.” Feeling the warmth of Amara’s hand, Ulrike smiled at her younger sister even as the fire roared.

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Roald didn’t know how long it took him to reach the edge of the woods where he last saw the goddess. He dismounted, stroking Warlock’s neck for a few moments, whispering his thanks to the horse. Warlock merely bowed his magnificent head as though in humble acknowledgment, before wandering off to find something to eat. Roald watched him with a rueful little smile before turning and walking into the trees and in the direction of his beloved glade, deep in thought.

  He wasn’t even aware that he was back in the glade until he realized that he was standing before the marble statue, gazing at it sorrowfully. His chest ached. The sharp pain that assailed him throughout his eye-opening ordeal in that enchanted palace had now receded to an insistent, dull throbbing that kept one of his hands pressed against his heart.

  “The gods won’t come for you, will they?” he whispered, and then he shook his head. “That was silly. No, of course the gods won’t come for you. I think you’re nothing more than a random statue that’s been left behind.” He thought about his recent adventures again. “No, I’ve been so stupid—so incredibly stupid.”

  “Is this where you’ve been hiding?”

  Roald turned around and found his mistress standing at the other side of the glade, glancing around with vague curiosity. She looked back at him, her eyes pale but registering a light of anticipation.

  “You look dreadful, but it’s good to see you back in one piece,” she said, dismissing Roald’s bruised state without hesitation. “I assume that you’ve been successful.”

  “It depends on what you mean by successful,” Roald replied without much enthusiasm.

  “How would success be defined, generally, in cases such as that?” Kummerene asked, looking bemused. “Surely you’d know, considering all those silly stories they used to tell you as a child. A noble youth rides off in search of true love? He should be tested first, shouldn’t he? How else would anyone know if he’s the right one who deserves that—oh, how do mortals call it—that happily-ever-after?”

  Roald regarded her for a moment before turning his attention back at the statue. Spotting some dirt on one of its arms, he proceeded to brush it off. “I failed,” he said at length.

  “Failed. You failed a simple test.” The goddess’s voice was sharp and biting. “The heavens help you for being an idiot, though I know that you aren’t.”

  Roald sighed and looked back at her. “My path doesn’t lie in that direction or follow a path that runs along similar lines, if you’d like me to be more specific about this. You wanted me to save a princess from herself and fall in love with her, didn’t you?”

  The goddess raised a brow. “What else did you expect, seeing as how I’ve been grooming you to be my consort?”

  “I fell in love with another prince—or at least believed that I was in love with him,” Roald snapped. “But don’t get your hopes up yet, Mistress, because what I tried to do was run away from a situation that I thought I had no control over. I know now why I was brought to you, and I know why you chose me.”

  She looked at him in amazement. “Send a fool off to an adventure, and he returns an arrogant little bastard.”

  Roald walked closer to her, and she narrowed her eyes at him. “You thought that I’d be easy to manipulate because of grief—not yours, but mine. You—and my father, I know now—thought that despair would make me pliable and an easy mark for change. You tried to teach me your reality and his. You isolated me from everyone I knew because you believed that stripping me of everything, even my dignity, would make me see the light as only you and my father could define it.”

  “A very arrogant little bastard,” the goddess broke in, her voice now low and angry.

  Roald moved closer, and she moved away, so that both of them inched their way around the glade, eyeing each other in fury. “And what of that? I’d rather look at it as self-discovery, frankly, and I don’t care what you think or what you say or better yet, what you’ll do to me, but I’ll never bow to your blind selfishness or my father’s ambitions.” He paused, laughing bitterly. “What, did you really think that you could send me out on a fool’s errand, absorbing misery because that’s all you know and all you want to know, and then return a changed man? That sending me out to that palace in the west would prove that I’m now happily favoring bedding women and not men? Is this what grief does to you—cloud your judgment?”

  “And seeing the way you fondled that statue, it’s safe to guess that you’d sooner fuck it than a woman.” Kummerene seethed. She’d been too lax with this insufferable dolt. She should have stayed with him, kept an eye on him, rather than allow him too much freedom. Even with the effects of a momentary loss of memory, he still retained too many of his old qualities to be so easily molded.

  “For a goddess, you’re rather crude.”

  She stared at the statue in mute amazement for a brief moment, her features registering an attempt at understanding. Then she locked gazes with her protégé. “It’s nothing but a pile of stone carved to look like a boy no one knows. Judging from the way the feet aren’t even done, the sculptor must have abandoned his work—given up on it.”

  Roald blushed deeply as he continued to fight his temper, but he felt reckless in his anger and desperation, and it was far too difficult trying to watch his tongue. “Then perhaps you should take over and finish what’s been started. This should be an easy enough task for you. When you’re done, just turn him into an immortal who’ll share your self-absorption for the rest of eternity.”

  “He is an it, you idiot, and nothing more. Just an insignificant piece of stone with no life and no future save for time spent standing in this glade till it crumbles to dust.”

  “I can easily claim to be that statue, considering what you’ve done to me. I only feel foolish enough for taking so long to remember who—and what—I am. Oddly, it was through some of the things you wanted me to absorb that this realization happened.”

  Her face brightened, and the light in her eyes almost looked manic. The sight unnerved Roald, who now began to wonder about this goddess’s true state of mind. “You’ve felt it all then,” Kummerene murmured. “Everything—every black thought, every destructive tendency, every ounce of despair that the human heart can contain. You’ve felt it all—you’ve achieved perfection—just as I’d hoped. Come now. I don’t care what had happened in your quest. In fact, I’m rather gratified by your failure, as I’m sure that you did something quite extraordinary and was dealt a pretty terrible blow.” She paused, narrowing her eyes and cocking her head. “Yes, I can sense that you somehow expressed this—misguided infatuation you had with this prince—and suffered from it. Violence, rejection, and inhumanity…”

  Roald shook his head, alternately shocked and repulsed. “By the gods, you really are mad. I’m not going anywhere, let alone with you. If you want a consort, find someone who already fancies women and make things easier for both of you.”

  Kummerene raised an eyebrow. “That’s for me to decide.”
>
  “I have a choice. You’ve never taken that away from me—even my father failed.” Roald smiled grimly. “Go ahead. Punish me the way gods punish mortals. Turn me into something—a plant. A rock. A body of water. A statue. It doesn’t matter because you both failed, and nothing will ever change that fact—even my death.”

  “Oh? And what makes you think that?”

  She slowly walked up to Roald, circling him, inspecting him critically. Her eyes flashed in anger, her complexion losing even more of its color.

  Roald watched her calmly. “Because it’s true, and you know it’s true.”

  She stopped before him. Her eyes darted from him to the statue and then back. “Are you telling me that you’d rather fall in love with this useless piece of marble?” she asked incredulously.

  Roald held his ground, convinced that the end—his end—was now near. Best to face it with whatever courage he had. “Your judgment’s clouded again,” he replied, and Kummerene flushed deeply. “But if you want to know if I’d rather fall in love with another man then yes. Warm-blooded and mortal, preferably.”

  “You feel only what I command you to feel.” Kummerene shook, confusion now warring for a foothold in her mind. She was an immortal, for goodness’s sake! Why did this fool remain defiant? Did he not understand what forces he was now up against? “How dare you question me! We’ve made a bargain—”

  “A bargain with my father, you mean. As for me, you took advantage of a state of confusion and weakness. Not a very godly thing to do, don’t you agree? Or do immortals normally stoop this low?”

  What have you done? a quiet, familiar, and beloved voice asked, the words of a dead general carried to Kummerene by the winds.

  She shivered at the sound and its reproach. Just as unexpectedly as it came, however, it was gone in a breath, and she recovered once the charm was lifted, sudden rage surging through her.

  “There’s nothing in you but what you’re meant to have! You’re nothing but a shell!” she repeated, her manner now dangerously manic. She looked as though she were about to lunge forward and tear Roald to pieces with her hands. “Fool! Do you want me to prove it?”

  “You’ve nothing more to prove, Mistress,” Roald said calmly. “I’ve already seen through you and through my father. Do what you will to me, but you can never change the truth by hiding it behind spells and immortality. Time will be our judge.” With that, he inclined his head in farewell and turned around to walk back to the statue.

  “Very well then—I promised you a reward. Let your—heart—dictate your gift, and I’ll be content. Just spare me your embarrassing theatrics.”

  He ignored her half-whispered words that followed. He ignored the derision that formed them.

  “What will you look like, I wonder? Perhaps a little bird—or a fish. Maybe even a butterfly. Anything small, weak, and silly would suit you.”

  Roald suddenly stumbled with a cry and fell to the ground. His legs had ceased to function. He looked around for a moment in stunned amazement, his body struggling to move muscles that seemed to have locked themselves completely. And when his eyes rested on the marble figure standing just a couple of feet away, he gathered all his strength and dragged himself across the grass, his legs trailing uselessly behind him, Alarick’s name on his lips.

  Sweat broke out on his brow, but he persisted, and he was soon at the base of the statue, reaching out to grab hold of something for sufficient purchase. Fingers clawing desperately, he strained and pulled himself up, clinging to the statue as he felt the locking down of joints and muscles moving its way up his body.

  His feet froze on the ground, and small appendages sprouted from them and buried themselves in the soil, digging deeply and branching off in several different directions under the surface.

  “You’ll never have me,” he grunted as he pulled himself up.

  “What’s this? What are you doing to yourself?” Kummerene demanded, her voice rising to near-hysterical levels. What was happening? She hadn’t even lifted a finger in punishment or reward!

  Roald felt the pull of her power as she fought to re-establish her control over him, but her efforts were thwarted. He felt invisible fingers attempt to wrap themselves around him and then relinquish their hold, sliding off before struggling to take him again.

  Small green branches sprouted all over his body, but he ignored them, his eyes firmly fixed on the marble boy’s face as he clawed his way up. Dark green, glossy leaves appeared in thick clusters on these branches, pushing their way out as though eager to touch the sunlight.

  “Alarick…”

  He’d managed to pull himself to a near-standing position, leaning heavily against the figure on which he continued to cling tightly. Thick canes broke out of his body, shooting languidly up, with more young green branches and leaves appearing throughout.

  Thorns—long, sharp, tapering gracefully to red points—broke out of the branches and the canes. Roald felt an odd warmth suffuse him as he transformed. Life—of a different kind—seemed to promise calm and silence. The dull pain that had tormented his mind for some time was gently washed off with every new cluster of leaves, with every thorn, with every new branch that broke out of his body and pushed its way out into the breeze.

  His eyes dimmed as he felt his arms stiffen around the statue’s shoulders, solidifying into young wood and fresh stems. He turned his face and pressed his mouth against the cold marble cheek.

  “Alarick,” he said, his words slurred as his tongue slowly lost its function. “I’m so sorry.” Roald’s tongue was stilled, and, resting his face against the marble neck, the final moment of transformation came. Where his head used to be, long, graceful branches appeared, wrapping themselves around the statue’s shoulder and groping steadily up the back of the marble boy’s head as though gently cradling it in green fingers. Rosebuds of a deep, blue hue sprouted in clusters all over the plant.

  The glade fell silent as Kummerene stood and watched Roald’s heart make itself known to her—rooted by its independence, armored in thorns by its pain, lush in its hope, and vibrant in its passion and yearning for the impossible. Only she was in the secluded little sanctuary now, the marble statue protectively embraced by rose-covered vines that tempered the air with its fragrance.

  Balling her hands into tight fists, she threw her head back and screamed, again and again, till her voice cracked.

  What have you done?

  “It’s time, Sister,” a quiet voice spoke, and she turned to find Weisheitta and Liebella standing behind her, looking grave. “The war’s been over, and we’ve grieved long enough. The world can’t wait for us.”

  “Did you see what he did?” Kummerene spluttered in a hoarse voice, pointing at the marble statue and its cloak of blue roses. “How could he do this to me?”

  Weisheitta regarded her in pity. “He was never yours to begin with, and we warned you. As always, you were too blinded by your own needs to see.”

  “His father gave him to me!”

  “An unholy contract made, yes, but you both underestimated his will. Now let him go and let him carry on.”

  Kummerene shook her head, blinking away the tears that had begun to fall. “Why? Don’t I deserve happiness like everyone else? Is it too much for me to hope for companionship that won’t die?”

  Liebella sighed, again feeling a surge of impatience, though she took care to suppress it as she’d promised to Weisheitta before they appeared to their despairing sister. “No one’s denying you that,” she replied, nearly appending “you fool” to what she’d just said. “But if you insist on fairness and justice for you and everyone else, court a mortal who’d be willing to be your consort.”

  “Oh, how easy it is for you to say that,” Kummerene retorted. “I’m sure there are countless mortals out there who’ll trip all over themselves to offer their souls to me.”

  Liebella raised a brow. “There are,” she said. “Believe me, there are.”

  “And how would you know this?” Kum
merene paused immediately after she spoke, and she blushed deeply at realizing how ridiculous the question was. Of course, Liebella, of all immortals, would know the passion in men’s hearts! “Never mind.” She dashed tears away with the back of her hand and sniffled, turning to look at the marble statue and the blue roses again.

  “What about him?” she asked brokenly.

  “Release him and then leave him,” Weisheitta replied. “Sometimes the best course is to let things be.”

  “Though sometimes a little merciful intervention doesn’t hurt,” Liebella broke in, an edge of bitter rebuke in her words as she glared at her sister. “I’ll make sure that he finds his way back to where he truly belongs.”

  Kummerene turned to Liebella, now feeling resentful. “What, are you going to be his protector now?”

  “No,” Weisheitta said before Liebella could answer in a negative. “No, I will.”

  Kummerene regarded her sisters in silence, her heart doing its utmost in struggling against what was obviously the best path for her to take. But the fragrance that filled the glade was potent, and she felt her spirits slowly succumb to its soothing power.

  She nodded at length, drawing the back of her hand against her eyes as she stepped forward and was gladly received by her sisters. As they vanished to take their rightful place in the realm of immortals, she turned to cast one final glance at the silent lovers in the glade. And grief, once all-consuming and blinding, finally surrendered to the gentler, quieter force of pity.

  “Have faith,” she whispered. “You deserve your independence.”

  Her voice trailed off into silence, and calm once again fell on the glade.

  * * *

  The cursed cottage had vanished, leaving nothing in its wake but a forest clearing edged with the remains of charred trees. It was a miracle, many wanderers would say, that the fire didn’t spread through the forest and cause a horrible disaster. It only consumed the cottage and some surrounding trees, the latter fact making it look as though the fire had a mind of its own, deliberately clearing the way for a lot of sunshine to enter that area. It was a haunting view for those who wandered through the forest, for the sun’s light flooded that small area, like a golden arm reaching down to cradle a glass coffin that sat on what once was a bed.