Following one of these cascades, as Clementine nursed her behind, the sound of a beat of wings sounded nearby. Quick to stand up, Clementine simultaneously took a step and slipped, only to tumble over a bush and crashing onto the mossy ground. After sliding downwards about ten yards, and losing one of her slippers along the way, she came to a stop in front of a large hairy boar.
The sudden arrival of a guest stunned the forest pig just as much as the pig’s presence surprised the guest. Clementine gave off a low yelp, the boar grunted. A large blotch of spittle and slime flew out of its nose, splashing Clementine on the face. Terrified, she stood up. The boar gave off a war squeal and, showing off its long, curved tusks, reared before charging.
Just as things seemed bleakest, Clementine took a step back only to again slip and fall sideways. Already in full sprint, the boar charged past her, its tusks gently grazing her pants. With a grunt, the pig circled around and readied itself for another charge.
“I’m done for,” Clementine thought. The hog snorted and charged. Clementine’s muscles tensed as she readied herself for an impact that never arrived.
Flying out from beyond a bush, a white canary landed in front of Clementine. The boar, though in full sprint, dug its hooves into the ground and, after sliding a dozen yards, stopped inches away from the canary. Blinking thrice, the hog gave off a pig noise, offered Clementine a curious look then happily trotted off into the woods.
With a hop, the canary spun around and faced Clementine who, slightly shaken, said the only thing she could, “Thank you.”
“No need to thank me,” the canary said.
Clementine’s eyes grew wide. “Did it just speak?” she thought. “I must be living in a fairytale.”
“Surprised, I see,” the canary tweeted. “A wise man once said that it is absurd to be surprised at a fig tree bearing figs.”
Clementine’s eyes grew wider yet. “And it reads Marcus Aurelius!” she thought. “What sort of bird reads?”
“You should be more surprised by your lack of practical reasoning,” the canary said with a nod at her feet. “To wear a single slipper in the woods, who are you, the modern Jane of the Jungle?”
Flustered, Clementine quickly stood up. “I had two slippers, thank you very much,” she heard herself say. “I lost one while falling down the hill.”
“Be it one or two slippers, they are slippers nonetheless,” the bird said. “Do you bathe with your clothing on?”
“Of course not,” Clementine said, taken aback by the bird’s brashness.
“Then why would you wear slippers on a hike?” the canary said. “Very unreasonable on your end, young lady. You’re like a slothful salmon. Instead of swimming upstream, you’d quicker jump into a fisherman’s net, and while at it, salt and pepper yourself before leaping head first onto the skillet. Think before you act! A cliché yet wise saying.”
“How rude,” Clementine said. “You don’t even know me and you’ve already scolded me thrice. Are all talking birds this vulgar?”
“All the wise ones are,” the canary said.
“Well, isn’t it a shame that I didn’t meet a dumb one,” Clementine begun, “instead of wasting my time chasing after a pretentious squawk.”
“Me?” the canary said, its tone changing. “You’ve been chasing after me? Do we know one another? Perhaps, I owe you money. Well, I can’t pay you now, I have…”
“You don’t owe me money,” Clementine spoke.
The canary sighed with relief.
“And we don’t know each other,” Clementine continued. “Well, at least I don’t know you, but we have seen one another.”
“How could you have seen me and not know me?” the bird chirped.
“I don’t know,” she said, pausing momentarily. “What I mean is that I know that I don’t know…”
“Well isn’t that just odd: to know that you don’t know? Where did you learn that you knew not to know?”
“In school,” Clementine said.
“What an odd school,” the canary said. “They teach you unknowing? Interesting. How do you teach that?”
“By giving exams on things that aren’t, for the most part, very useful,” Clementine said.
“Is that so?”
“We are taught all this math, history, science, geography and grammar. And I know all of it is useful in its own unique way, but we don’t learn anything of substance. We learn in what year something happened but not of what it means for us today, not what it can teach us.”
The canary tilted its head.
“In anatomy, we learn how the eye works but no one tells us how to react when we see someone sobbing. In geography, they teach us where things are on the map, but forget to awake us to the empathy and patience necessary when giving directions to someone who is lost. We learn how to read, write and pronounce words, but are rarely willing to listen to those who need to speak their heart. We learn of the great achievements and insights of historical figures like Buddha, Nikola Tesla or Saint Francis, but we rarely act like them.”
The canary frowned and began, “It sounds as if your innocence has been stolen away. You act more like an adult than a child, yet your idealism is aglow with childishness.”
Clementine looked down at her feet.
“Either way,” the bird continued, “No more chasing after me without reason. You need to go back to where you came from, know when to give up and go home.”
“I don’t have a home,” Clementine relented.
“Is that so? What are you, a runaway cliché?”
“No,” Clementine said. “It’s not that I don’t have a home, it’s that home doesn’t feel like home anymore, so I thought…”
The canary observed damp melancholy in Clementine’s eyes and spoke, “Perhaps, I was a bit harsh. How about I accompany you home?”
“That would be fine,” she said, her tone slightly more upbeat.
The canary flew up and onto Clementine’s shoulder.
“Go over that way,” it said nodding east. “We can circle back and up the hill. Do you remember how you got here? Where your home is?”
“I crawled here through a tunnel from my home in Dusty Ripple,” she said. “It’s where I saw you, in the entrance hall.”
“Saw me?” the canary said. “I think not. I told you, I don’t know you. You have me mistaken for another bird.”
Clementine stayed mute while marching through the forest as the canary sat silently on her shoulder, constantly scanning the surroundings, searching for something or someone. Eventually, the ground gently sloped upwards and they came upon a lightly worn path. They stood at it for a moment before the canary reluctantly told her she could follow it. “It leads up the hill,” it said.
“How is it that you’re able to talk,” Clementine asked, stepping over a fallen branch that lay across the path.
“Everything talks, all you need to do is listen,” the canary explained.
“I wish I could stay here in these woods,” she said, eyeing an ancient sap drenched evergreen.
“No, I don’t think it wise,” said the canary. “Strange and dangerous men have begun to roam near and far.”
“Is that why you were in my house?” she asked.
“This again?” the canary said.
“I saw you flying through the halls. I heard men shouting and horses naying. I saw you stuck inside the mirror—
“That’s curious,” the canary interrupted. “Earlier today, I saw strange men and a rider dressed in white chasing after a pair of foxes. An aura of vileness hung about these men, a malevolence I’ve not sensed since Longfingers—cruelty embodied, you could say—roamed these lands ages ago. Curiosity got the best of me so I flew down to look at them. The man in white saw me, he knew me. I didn’t recognize him, but I know that I knew him too. I just don’t know from where.”
A silence hung in the air for a moment before the canary concluded, “Times are changing; shadows are coming out in the daytime.”
“So that wasn’t you in the house?” she asked.
The canary glanced at her with annoyance and spoke, “I’m getting you back home and out of these woods.”
“But—
“Have you ever seen a fish living in a tree?” the canary said. “No, you haven’t. You don’t belong here, barefoot and all, the sooner you’re out of here, the better.”
“Where is here?” Clementine asked.
“What do you mean?” the bird said, the tone of his voice revealing concern. “We’re at the border between the Kingdom of Vivéret and the Gray Lands of Mundialis, where the Other lives. Wait, are you not from here?”
Clementine stopped walking. “In my dad’s office…there were notes about the Other, pictures and maps of the places you just mentioned,” she said. “He was studying them, I think.”
“Office? Your father is an Earth-dweller,” the canary said to itself. “That means you’re an Earth-dweller. How did you get here?”
“I crawled through this tunnel in the fireplace,” she said.
“What is your father’s name?” the canary asked, its eye grew large with excitement.
“His name was—
“Was?”
Clementine looked down at her feet. “It’s a long story,” she said. The canary studied her face. Clementine cleared her throat and said, “His name was Bell Aurelius.”
The canary flew up and in front of Clementine, bobbing up and down with excitement. “Are you telling me that you’re the daughter of Bellamy and Alice Aurelius?” it asked.
“Yes,” she said, awestruck. “How do you know—
Before Clementine could finish and the canary answer, a sound of hooves against dirt thundered behind them. They turned to see a line of a dozen men on horseback heading towards them. As they neared the pair, the men slowed down. Out of their ranks emerged the Pale Rider, his face cold, his eyes, like pits of night, glanced from Clementine to the canary.
“You,” the canary said, his voice trembling. “I do know you.”
The scarlet pin on the Rider’s breastplate glimmered. From ten yards away, the Pale Rider’s shadow stretched along the ground until it reached Clementine’s feet. A gaunt ember covered arm emerged from within it, the fingers resembling tentacles. The arm swayed for a moment before wrapping itself around Clementine’s satchel and grabbing a handful of the girl’s hair. The canary reacted swiftly, singing a springy tune that took physical form in the shape of colorful notes. The music struck the hand shattering it into a pile of coal, which rained down upon Clementine. The shadow quickly withdrew.
“Run,” the canary said. Without another thought, Clementine turned and ran; the canary flew the other way.
“Bring them to me,” the Pale Rider said, adding, in a whisper, “Alive.”
Clementine ran as fast as she could. Somewhere along the way, she lost her remaining slipper and ran barefoot. The sound of hooves against dirt thundered behind her and drew closer. Just as a rider was about to grab her, she rolled between his horse’s legs, cut sideways, and ran in the opposite direction.
The brush grew thick and as she ran, thin branches struck her in the face. Numb with fear and fueled by adrenalin, Clementine cut past the riders several times. Catching her breath, she hid behind some of the larger cedars before sprinting on. After passing a stream, she tripped over her own feet, and fell behind a fallen evergreen. She pulled herself up alongside the fallen tree trunk. “I need to get home,” she told herself.
A horse leapt over the fallen tree, reared and the horseman steered it sideways.
“There you are you little mouse,” the rider said.
Clementine stood up, her feet were frozen from fear. Suddenly the satchel puffed up like a balloon and gave off a hollow sound, frightening the horse. Taking this opportunity, she ran off and emerged on a stone covered shore of a raging rapid. Without hesitation, she headed toward the water. A rider burst from the woods, galloping after her.
Right in front of her, a dripping wet fox wearily crawled out from the water. She collided with it, sending both of them tumbling back into the river. Before the current pulled her under, she thought she heard the fox say, “Not again.”
Chapter Six
Reluctant Allies
Somewhere in the near distance, a river raged, hiding under its shimmering skirt fugitive stones from the gaze of their mother, the mountain. Primeval woods watched silently, without judgment, as thin clouds sluggishly stretched across the sky. The sun sparkled; its heat pressed down on all existence below it.
She felt misplaced: her body numb, her mind muddled. A swirling blur of colors and shapes shrouded everything. Her blinks were lethargic. As the river’s current bid her farewell, the outline of her bare feet came into view. She felt a tug on the collar of her jacket, and realized that someone was dragging her along a pebble covered shore.
The fox pulled at Clementine once more, unclasped its jaw from her jacket and, after a few steps, collapsed. Clementine lay on her back for a moment, listening to the whistle of the breeze between the reeds, as her vision cleared. The numbness that held her close loosened its grip. Clementine struggled to sit up and her world spun. She tried to stand up only to fall, turn on her side and, after several coughs, vomited river water. Exhausted, she rolled over onto her back and stared at the sky. A lone cloud slowly drifted by. Clementine lay unaware of how much time passed; her only point of reference was the lone cloud, a solitary adventurer in the sapphire firmament.
“Meditations!” Clementine’s mind screamed. She sat up and pulled the book out of her jacket pocket. It was drenched. Clementine felt immense shame and anger for letting the only keepsake given to her by her father go to ruin.
Faintly hopeful, she opened the book to where the handkerchief lay. The lines, which were idly spiraling along at the hankie’s edges, sprang to life, swarmed towards and formed a circle in the middle. The circle spun faster and faster until, like sunrays, curly lines sprang forth from within it. The book grew warm in Clementine’s hands. She watched as water soaked into the handkerchief and rose as steam. She grew warm and soon her wet clothes began to steam. In a few moments everything was dry and the lines separated from the circle and floated about like cobwebs in a draft. Clementine observed them briefly before closing Meditations and shoving it back in her jacket pocket.
With her mind less muddled, she stood up and noticing the fox, cautiously walked up to it. She examined it, observing the creature’s beautiful tail, slick figure and an almost symmetrical color arrangement. Spotting a large gash running along its cheek, she knelt to inspect it. “It looks worse than it really is,” she said, then gazed at its right front paw. “But this joint here seems out of place, must have popped out.”
Clementine looked up and saw that they were at an outer edge of a grassy riverbank. Gently lifting the fox, she carried it into the high reeds, where, after placing it onto a large mossy stone, she picked some tall grass. While chewing the grass, she broke off a couple of reeds and split them in half using a jagged stone she found near the water.
She turned her attention toward the fox. “Let’s hope you don’t wake,” she thought while putting her hands on the creature’s injured leg. “Here we go.” With her experience in the art of mending injuries, she popped the bone back into its place. The fox lay silent, still unconscious. Using the jagged stone, Clementine tore a piece of her pant leg, spit up the chewed grass onto the torn piece of fabric and after wrapping it around the joint, she fastened and straightened the leg with reeds.
Stepping back, she appraised her work until a loud splashing sound boomed behind her. Instinctively, she ducked down and scanned the trees on the ridge overlooking the river. Sensing danger, Clementine lifted the fox and ventured deeper into the tall grass. She did so just in time, as out from behind the tree line emerged—sitting atop a chestnut horse—a rider garbed in what seemed like feathers, which sprouted from his back and ran down across his chest and arms. Unlike the riders Clementine saw earlier, this
one was not human. While its form resembled that of a man, it did not have a face, but instead, hidden under a feathered hood, sat a cluster of eyes that grew one on top of the other, like a tumor.
Clementine observed the feathery equestrian, who slowly scanned the outskirts of the river and woods. When its gaze passed over the reeds, Clementine felt an ill-born dizziness and a hollow male voice echoed in her head, “Not them.” When its gazed moved on, the dizziness faded. The horseman gave a loud caw and out from the river emerged a fist sized eye with a tail that floated up and joined the cluster under the creature’s hood. The rider tugged at the horse’s reins, the animal took a few steps back and they both vanished into the woods.
The fox stirred, its eyes flew open and, upon seeing Clementine, it growled. Frightened, the girl dropped the fox and jumped back only to fall on her behind. The auburn bundle gently landed on a soft, mossy patch of dirt, flashing its sharp teeth. Angry, it readied itself for an attack, but not before taking a step back. Starting at its right front leg and running across its back, pain surged through it. The fox grimaced and looked down at its leg.
Hoping to escape, Clementine stood up, but upon taking a step back, she slipped and fell onto the wet moss. Meditations fell out of her pocket, bounced twice to land in front of the fox, and opened itself up on the page bookmarked by the handkerchief. The fox’s stance changed from attack mode to a defensive posture to calmness. Dumbfounded, it looked from its wound to the handkerchief to this strange girl.
“Treat all things with decency,” Clementine said hoping the fox understood her just as much as the canary did, “Marcus Aurelius wrote that.” She pointed at the text.
The fox ignored her and, mesmerized, took a step toward and focused on the handkerchief. The lines spiraled uncontrollably, changing colors from black to rainbow. Clementine noticed. Grabbing Meditations with the handkerchief inside, she closed it and stuffed the book back into her jacket pocket.
The Auburn Prince Page 6