“Rapunzel,” I called up, “let down your hair to me.”
A few seconds later, I saw Rapunzel’s pale face gazing down at me over the railing. “How are you going to climb up with all those books?” she asked, staring at me curiously. I looked down at the books in my arms, realizing that I would not be able to climb Rapunzel’s hair carrying the heavy volumes in my arms.
“Could you tie your hair to a basket and lower it down for the books?” I asked.
Rapunzel nodded and disappeared for a moment. I waited, ignoring the soreness beginning to creep down my arms as I held the stack of books. Finally, she dropped her hair down with a basket knotted to the end. I dumped the books in it and waited while Rapunzel hauled the books up onto the balcony and lowered her hair again for me.
“At least I don’t have to pull you up,” she said, unwinding her hair from the hook as I swung my leg over the balcony railing. “Those books were heavy.”
“When you’re free, I’ll carry everything for you,” I promised.
“Oh, Ailynn, you brought my favorite book,” Rapunzel said as she scanned the contents of the basket. “I love the illustrations.” She rushed into my arms for a hug and I kissed her forehead.
“I thought you would enjoy having it,” I said, feeling my heart lighten a little. Then, I remembered the Wormwort in my pocket. “I brought something else for you, too. Did mother bring you anything to drink?”
“There’s a pool of fresh water inside and a dipper,” Rapunzel said, leading me inside the tower for the first time. I had not left the balcony the day before, fearing that I would grow upset seeing the prison that Rapunzel was confined to, but the room was what I expected. There was a beautiful vanity set, a large, canopied bed, and a large number of my mother’s beautiful treasures.
“She thought I would like them,” Rapunzel said, following my gaze. I could hear the distaste in her voice and I put my hand on her shoulder. She led me to a corner of the room where there was a pool of clean water and a dipper. I took the dipper and scooped up some of the enchanted water, pouring some of the powdered Wormwort root in it and passing it to Rapunzel.
“Here, drink this. It will stop mother from drugging you.”
“She left food for me, but I didn’t eat it,” Rapunzel said, pointing to a plate at the foot of her bed.
“It’s probably drugged,” I said, not bothering to go over and examine it. “You should be able to eat now. The Wormwort will keep your mind clear.”
“Good. I’m ravenous.”
…
Chapter Seven:
Time passes differently in the forest. Weeks become months before you realize that the days have slipped away. I was no closer to finding a way to release Rapunzel from her prison, but the two of us had settled into a bearable, if not happy, routine. Every day, I would bring books to Rapunzel’s tower and spend as much time as I could with her. We enjoyed reading together. Rapunzel preferred stories of adventure in the outside world, while I usually kept my nose buried in some ancient spell book, always looking for a way to break the enchantment that surrounded the tower.
I could sense the magic my mother had used whenever I approached Rapunzel’s prison. It trickled over my skin like warm rivulets of water falling from my hair, trailing over my arms and belly and giving me gooseflesh. Before I knew it, Rapunzel’s thirteenth birthday had passed and I was no closer to freeing her.
One day, frustrated by my lack of progress, I decided to abandon my books and examine the framework of the magic itself – the woven aura of power that surrounded the tower like a net. This was called shape-magic: using the senses to ‘see’ the energy that made up a spell.
Relying on the knowledge that I had gained from my advanced reading, I could almost see white tendrils of magical energy forming a chain from Rapunzel to… where? After hours of pacing and examining, which my treasure bore willingly because of the hope that she might be freed by my efforts, I was no closer to discovering the root of the enchantment. I was severely disheartened, but Rapunzel, ever the bright candle flame that illuminated my dark thoughts, reassured me.
“I know you will find a way to free me, Ailynn. I believe in you.”
My mother, however, was less than pleased with me. Ever since she had imprisoned Rapunzel in the tower, a great rift had grown between us. No longer did she call me her beautiful princess, and whenever she gave her approval for a successfully brewed potion or newly acquired skill, the praise rang hollow in my ears. Perhaps that was more my fault than hers, but it hurt to have one of the only two connections nurtured during my life begin to unravel
“You will thank me someday, Ailynn,” she told me one afternoon while I was cleaning the dishes. I did not turn to look at her, continuing to stare at the pot that I was scouring with a carefully blank expression on my face. I was grateful that the heavier cleaning work, washing the cauldrons, was already done. “I am only keeping your bride safe for you until she is old enough…”
My temper flared and I slammed the copper pot back into the washbasin with a loud bang that startled the birds outside the window. “Mother, she is a person, not a pet,” I snarled, too angry to address her respectfully. I still cared for her despite what she had done to Rapunzel, but I no longer worshipped her and wanted to become just like her. Besides, my mother had been acting strange lately. She often left our cottage in the middle of the night, coming back at dawn the next morning looking very tired, but refusing to offer any explanation. I knew better than to ask. I also knew that she was not visiting Rapunzel, because sometimes I slept at the tower with her to keep her company
“Of course she is not a pet. She is becoming a woman. She will be very beautiful in a few more years.”
I shuddered, partly from pleasure and partly from disgust. Having feelings for such a young girl frightened me, although I was comforted by the fact that I was not drawn to her present body, but to the future image of her I secretly carried in my mind. I had imagined it often – what she would look like at eighteen or twenty, even at forty or sixty. I was sure that she would age beautifully, but I would love her no matter what she looked like.
“If she is becoming a woman, why do you keep her in a cage like a dog or a bird?”
My mother sighed, shaking her head and taking the pot from my limp hands. I allowed her to set it aside and draw me into an embrace, although I remained somewhat stiff in her arms. “For all your intellectual knowledge of the world, girl, you are disappointingly naïve. Have you ever killed someone?”
The thought made my stomach tie itself in knots. She knew I had never killed before, although I had injured the man who attempted to hurt Rapunzel. I probably would have killed him if I had to, I thought. Part of me wanted to blame him for our misfortune instead of my mother, whom I still loved, but I was too logical to lie to myself.
“You have no concept of the depth of human cruelty. The world is a terrible place, Ailynn,” she cooed, stroking my hair. I bore the touch, disliking the physical link between us, but unwilling to brush her aside. “There are so few trustworthy, honest people. But you can always trust me, Ailynn. I want what is best for you.” But I knew that she was lying. Perhaps she was not even aware of the lie, so skewed was her perception of the situation. Mogra Gothel, Witch of the forest, only wanted what was best for one person: her.
At that moment, I realized that my mother would never let Rapunzel go. She was the jewel in her crown, the prize of her collection, and my mother wanted me to have her. Perhaps it was because she loved me in her own way. Perhaps it was because being able to provide me with what I wanted most of all gave her a feeling of power over me. Maybe it was both. But I needed to free Rapunzel, even if it meant alienating my mother. My heart, not to mention my conscience, would not let me do anything less.
…
“Where were you?”
My mother, who had been trying to sneak in quietly through the back door, set her sack down on the floor and looked up at me. I was waiting in one of the wood
en kitchen chairs, a book open on my lap. Mother rolled her eyes when she saw the title. “I told you not to look for a way to break the enchantment,” she said, half-scolding and half-annoyed. “I expected better of you.”
“I expect nothing of you,” I muttered, setting the book on the table and standing up to face my mother head-on. “Where were you last night?”
To her credit, my mother did not try to fabricate one of her usual lies. She knew that I was far too old to believe them. Instead, she bent down and reached for the large, lumpy sack that she had discarded moments before. Picking it up, she showed it to me. There were several books inside, and I studied the titles curiously. The Art of Transmogrification, Lir: A Biography, and A History of Magical Creatures and Their Creators.
“More books for the library,” my mother offered by way of an explanation. I knew that there was more to tell, but did not push her. My mother had stopped telling me the truth a long time ago. “Ailynn, I have been thinking about you recently. You are almost a grown woman now, nearly eighteen. It is time for you take on more responsibilities here.”
Although I still helped my mother whenever she prepared magical cures for the men and women that came to our house, I had been neglecting my duties lately. I felt slightly guilty, but brewing potions and making charms did not hold my interest like it used to. I wanted to spend all of my time with Rapunzel.
“What kind of responsibilities?” I asked.
“I have decided to leave my practice to you. You are knowledgeable enough and skilled enough to take over for me. I have other magical projects that I want to pursue.” Again, I resisted the temptation to ask her exactly what these were. Perhaps they were part of the reason that she had been disappearing lately.
Although I knew it would take up more of my time, part of me was flattered that my mother thought I was skilled enough and responsible enough to continue her work. For the first time in several months, I felt a surge of genuine affection for her, and gave her a tight hug. “I will, mother,” I said, giving her a genuine smile. She smiled back, pleased that I was pleased.
“I have thought deeply about this,” she told me. “I know that you do not want to go out into the world on your own yet, even though I would encourage you to do so. You are as stubborn as an ox when it comes to Rapunzel and nothing I say will convince you to leave her.” My mother was right. I was relieved that she had not suggested this option. Although I was interested in the outside world, I did not want to be apart from Rapunzel. “I am not sure whether such devotion is admirable or foolish.”
“Probably both,” I admitted.
And so I took over my mother’s business, which kept me occupied during most mornings and evenings, but allowed me to spend the afternoons and some nights with Rapunzel. Despite the new workload, I did not give up my search for the binding spell that imprisoned Rapunzel. I often sacrificed hours of sleep to pour through books in the library, always with the same result – pages referencing the spell were torn out and destroyed.
Rapunzel, who was quickly changing from a shy girl into a beautiful and brave woman, did not take out her frustrations on me. She knew that I was trying to help her as best I could. I admired her grace and strength as she stayed in that tower month after month. She refused to allow her mind or body to become weak, and although being a prisoner often made her depressed, she fought her feelings of helplessness and frustration so that they would not overwhelm her. I did not know if I would have been able to bear her troubles half as well.
Before I knew it, Rapunzel was fifteen years old and I found myself admiring her body as well as her kindness and perseverance. These feelings made me extremely uncomfortable. I was an academic and a loner, both by circumstance and by choice, and knew next to nothing about romantic entanglements. Although I had started puberty at twelve, my sexual development was delayed, to put it kindly.
I was aware that other girls my age were already taking lovers, sometimes several, or even marrying and starting families in a vague sort of way, but did not pay much attention. At twenty, I was almost an old maid by the standards of some. I researched the subject – my mother had books on non-magical topics – and was surprised to discover that most other girls felt these strange stirrings much, much earlier than me. Perhaps it was because I was not interested in being with anyone but Rapunzel and she had still been a child during my teenage years
Although I had been in love with Rapunzel for years, my daydreams were mostly ambiguous, innocent ones about marrying her, starting a family, and living happily ever after: my own personal fairy-tale. Sexuality was not a major factor, even though I often imagined how beautiful she would be when she grew up.
Now, things were beginning to change and I was not sure if I liked it. I began to have dreams, waking and sleeping ones, about what it would be like to kiss her. These dreams made me very frustrated. The more her body matured, the more involved these dreams became to the point where they embarrassed me. Just kissing no longer seemed like enough. I wanted more. I wanted everything.
The blossoming feelings of love and desire that I was experiencing came with a price: frustration and guilt. I was certain that some fifteen year olds took lovers or married older men, but I still considered Rapunzel far too young to be exposed to such things. It was difficult for me to stop seeing her as a child that I needed to protect and start seeing her as a woman, although my body had certainly noticed and responded to the change.
I could be patient, I told myself. I could wait for her to finish growing up. But when I woke in the middle of the night with a hand trapped between my legs and my body covered in sweat, it was difficult to push down the desire I felt.
…
Chapter Eight:
In addition to my frustrating desires, my mother’s deterioration worried me constantly. There was no other word to describe it. It was as though locking Rapunzel away was only the first step, and once that step had been taken, continuing down the wrong path became easier and easier with every stride.
She hardly stayed in the house anymore, and when I did see her, she looked exhausted. Dark bruises hung in half-circles under her eyes and lines covered her once-beautiful face. Her body was also deteriorating.
I tried not to think about it, tried not to notice, because despite everything that had happened, a small part of me still loved my mother and the relationship we had once shared. I could not help it, although I also felt guilty for holding on to a small piece of that love. Rapunzel was a balm to my soul and eased some of the guilt, but it always resurfaced.
Once, I followed her on one of her late-night journeys, determined to discover where she went and talk some sense into her. I wrapped my green cloak around my shoulders, bolting all of the doors and windows and making sure that the enchantments of protection were secure around the house. My mother was too distracted to pay attention to that sort of thing.
My mother started off into the forest, not following any of the usual paths, but I knew this place like the palm of my hand and it was easy to follow her. I could sense that she was concentrating on her progress through the trees and undergrowth, not really paying attention to her surroundings, and so it was easy to follow her. Perhaps it was because she was so confident in her abilities, or maybe it was another sign of her mental instability. The mother that raised me never would have put herself in such a vulnerable position.
As I followed a good distance behind her, I began to notice a change in her. Her steps did not slow, but her gait became more shuffling and less forceful. Her back began to bend, and once I thought I saw white hair whipping around a tree instead of her glossy brown curls. Had she cast an illusion over herself to change her appearance? Why? But this was only one more question to add to the long list already in my mind.
Even though she was not watching behind her for followers, I muttered a spell of disguise and protection around myself, feeling the magic spark on my tongue like mint. The taste was familiar, and a comfort to me. Although some people were fright
ened of magic, I greeted it like an old friend. I felt some of my energy leave me as it wove itself into the spell, fading my outline against the shapes of the trees and stones. If my mother looked back, she would not see me, although she might be able to sense the spell I had just cast.
After she had walked a good distance, we were in a part of the forest that I had not often explored, although I knew in a vague sort of way where we were. It was a place that few visited, and I suspected that was why Mother had chosen it. She valued her privacy. As I crept closer, I confirmed the presence of an illusion surrounding her. Instead of standing straight and tall, she was curled over like a dying fall leaf, and her skin was wrinkled and thin like old yellow paper. Her hair was white as snowdrop petals. She looked like a harmless old woman, but I knew better.
Quickly checking over her shoulder, mostly out of habit, I suspected, she hurried past a curtain of leaves and disappeared. Worried that I would lose her, I followed as fast as I could without drawing attention to myself, carefully picking my way over stones and twigs and crackling leaves. When I reached the place where she had vanished, I could not see where she had gone at first. After a few moments of careful inspection, I realized that she had not gone forward, but down. Below me, covered by a carefully woven mat of greenery, was the entrance to a cave. As I peeled the mat backwards, the smell of damp limestone rose from below. My mother was spending her time in a hidden cave? Why?
A high, keening howl jerked me from my thoughts, sending a shiver shooting up my spine like an arrow from a bow. I was not afraid of wolves. They were not aggressive unless you invaded their territory or tried to take their kills. But something about the voice of that wolf – the voice of the forest – warned me of danger.
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