“But how did this happen?”
“It grew,” Tilly said, nodding toward the vine.
He looked at the vine and his eyes followed it. Sure enough, the pumpkin was firmly rooted in the garden.
“Yes, I know that it grew, but how? I mean, how is this possible?”
She leaned in, so close that he thought she might kiss him. She didn't though. Instead, she whispered, so no one would hear,
“Elves.”
◆◆◆
It was well known that elves are purveyors of good. At least, it is well known in this kingdom. Long ago, the elves were tired of seeing everyone suffer. They determined that they would do something about it and so they did.
“Food. That's the root of it, no pun intended,” one said to another.
There had been a stifled giggle, before the reply,
“What about food? What's your plan?”
“My plan,” the elf had said, “Is to grow the biggest fruits and vegetables that we can. We're bound to be able to so close to the arctic sun.”
Chapter Five
The Creation of Slippers
Deep inside the wooden mold, magic sparked to life. The old elves had been right. There was power in the man's mistake. Where previously only a town would have been fed, now anything might happen. And, with benefit of that most-valued shoe mold, real magic spread across and anything did happen. In fact, something quite remarkable took place!
Those gems, mistaken for seeds, were not made of years of combustion, of hard pressed earth churning minerals into stone. No, they were jewels of love. What the man had gathered from under the pillow was not a vegetable at all, but the tears of Aurora and of Midnight, shed for each other and their separation. In them, was the truest heart, the bond of sisters, but more than that – true friendship. There was a levity in those tears that would bring magic to any situation. Now, they stretched their tiny multi-colored dimensions out over the wood. Perfect clarity shattered into the prism of the rainbow as the surface area filled with the colors pent-up in the potential of those drops of love.
In the hands of anyone else, or rather on the feet, they'd turn to glass. They'd shatter in a moment. But, on the feet of one with the truest heart, oh what wonders! Diamond. That's precisely what they'd become.
Chapter Six
Invitation to the Kingdom
A ball, grander than any that the kingdom had ever known, was to be held. That in itself seemed an impossible feat. For Aurora's birthday ball had fit that order just two months ago. And the year before, Midnight's birthday ball had been called for with the same aplomb. A ball, always better than the last, always grander, more elaborate, with farther reaching effects. Aha! Therein lay the secret. It wasn't ostentatious, even if the servants did whisper it among themselves, to throw a ball at such a time, with the youngest princess still in bed, still asleep.
On the contrary, the king and queen knew precisely what they were doing. In calling for a ball, all matters of people would stream in from the kingdom's farthest reaching corners. There lived the merchants with new medicines and, even more important, there lived the healers. The court physician's utility had been exhausted. There was nothing further that he could do. Indeed, Midnight wondered what at all he had done. She was polite enough not to say it, at least not in his presence.
Now, though, there was a need for something more. Aurora still lay asleep, unmoving. The physicians, more had been called in, assured the king and queen that their daughter was in no immediate danger. As she slept, all was well. But their assertion was only true for now. Seemingly, she could not go on sleeping forever. And even if she were perfectly fine, surrounded by slumber, such a life was not what Aurora deserved – what any of them did. And day-by-day, though Aurora was fine, her family was not. Midnight was taut and drawn, the luminosity dimmed in her eyes.
“Those girls are closer than twins.”
How many times had the queen heard it?
“Are you certain that they are not twins?”
She'd shake her head, with a knowing smile.
“I am certain. Trust me, I was there.”
At this, they would laugh. The queen was witty, when she chose to be.
Now they'd see her wrap her arm protectively around Midnight. There were those who wondered at the queen's reaction. Some even suggested that now she had the daughter she wanted, the one who looked like her, who was as dark as the raven's feathers. They whispered that Aurora had always been trouble, that she was light and fair and not at all what the queen wanted in an heir. She looked too much like her father, the man whose ancestors had trespassed on her land.
But such words were lies, malicious, malevolent, maleficent with no substance to them. For anyone who truly knew the queen understood that she knew the old ways. She did not fear for her daughter, not because she did not love her, but because she loved the land. She understood that though Aurora looked nothing like her, she breathed the same spirit that her ancestors had. There was a connection to her, a rooting that allowed her to exist unhindered by the limitations of the settlers. They would not be able to survive, their bodies and spirits separated for so long. But Aurora had benefit of strength of body and of spirit. Her ancestors had walked the land, looked to the sky and sung to the earth. Aurora had that within her and her mother understood that.
The king, for his part, was concerned but his kingdom was also under threat. To the north, there was a drought. Those people were starving. And he'd sworn that such a fate would not come to his people, that hunger would not cross the border into his land. The queen did not worry. She remembered the old ways. She knew where secret stashes of seeds were, how to speak to the spirits in the forest and find the hidden fruits. The king worried though, for his people came from the starving lands. It was why they had come to this land, to settle. They had known the pangs of hunger. Their bones for years afterward had been smaller. Entire generations had shrunk, shorter in stature than their fathers’ had been. The king had that within his body's memory, just as the queen had the hidden knowledge of the forest in her own. And so, each of them, in their own way, knew that there were threats to both the land and their daughter. They each had ways of dealing with it. Starvation seemed the more pressing need to the king, especially as the physicians assured him again and again that Aurora was fine. Asleep, but fine.
There were stories from the king's ancestors of giants that had fallen asleep for hundreds of years. Aurora was smaller, a giant by no means. But, if a giant could live for thousands of years, throw down handfuls of rocks that built land bridges and then fall asleep for centuries, perhaps Aurora's sleep was less dangerous than it seemed.
If both parents were satisfied in their own way that Aurora was fine, though they missed her, Midnight did not have benefit of years of wisdom to quiet her soul. Moreover, Aurora was hers. Her parents had each other. Midnight's only match was Aurora. That was the way it had always been, the way she presumed would continue until they both were wed. On more than one occasion, Midnight had even turned down a suitor, unwilling to allow Aurora to be alone. She knew that she would be, if Midnight were married. Now, as Aurora became older, Midnight might perhaps have relaxed her strict standards for herself. Aurora would soon be old enough for suitors of her own. Then, Midnight would be able to wed. But not yet. No. Aurora needed her. It was Midnight who felt the ache of her missing sister the strongest.
The queen thus set in motion a ball. Yes, if an answer was to be found, it was the most expedient way. But, also, in the queen's wisdom, she knew that Midnight needed to be a part of this, to feel as if she were doing something to bring back her sister. Especially, that is, because the queen knew Midnight's dark secret: she blamed herself.
Chapter Seven
Philip
Philip looked at the stranger in the mirror. His face, which he supposed was normal enough looking, was devoid of the smeared charcoal and soot that so often clung to the edges from sweeping the chimneys. There was more to his work than me
rely tending to the horses. Taking care of them as a farrier meant learning the arts of the blacksmith. How many times had hot air puffed out at him through the bellows? How often had he wished for some cooling reprieve? Not often. For Philip was content in his work, even if he was largely overlooked. But tonight, tonight there was no denying that anyone would look at him.
“Well, look at you!” his father said, with a ribbing jibe. Or so Philip thought, until he turned and saw his father standing there, looking prouder than – well, Philip couldn't remember a time when his father had looked that proud. It was as if Philip had turned into the prized stallion that had just managed to win all the races.
“I look – ” Philip wanted to say ridiculous, out of place, something... But, the words would not come.
“You look as if you'd been touched by some fairy godmother,” Tilly said, with a wink. Philip tossed her a look that said, “Fairy? Oh, do be reasonable!”
He didn't say it aloud though, partly because Tilly was his friend and partly because he'd kissed her once long ago – or rather she'd kissed him – and it seemed impolite to utter any word against her. They'd been ten then. He'd been dreaming of Midnight, as usual, when Tilly had walked straight up to him and said,
“You ever kiss anyone?”
He'd not known what to say to that. Was he supposed to have by now? He certainly would gladly have melted his lips against Midnight. Such a thought was ludicrous though. She was a princess and he was far from a prince. Tilly, though, standing there, with a mop in one hand and her hair falling out of her mop-hat was much closer to the likes of him.
He shook his head.
“Why, have you?”
“ 'Course I have. I've been kissin' boys since I was five. There's nothin' to it.”
He'd never thought much of Tilly, but in that moment, he'd admired her spunk. There was something so utterly foreign in the way that she conducted herself. Midnight would never say such a thing. She'd not even think to do it.
Tilly still stood there.
“You want me to kiss you?”
He'd not answered. He hadn't had time. She'd assumed that yes, of course, he'd want her to and she'd bent in, pecked him on the lips and then said,
“There. See. Ain’t nothin' to it.”
Now, an older Tilly, one that he'd seen once or twice dressing in the dawn, said to him,
“You look right handsome you do, Philip.”
He wondered if she'd come right up to him then and plunk a kiss down onto his lips. He half-wished she would, to boost his confidence before going into this foreign land of balls. That was all that it was though, for when he'd seen her dressing by dawn once or twice he'd felt nothing other than curiosity. He'd found himself immediately comparing her to Midnight. Did Midnight's back curve in that same way? Did her skin look so pale under her clothes? Did her chest rise when she breathed? Exactly how much? Then, he'd felt like an absolute dunderhead. What kind of guy went around wanting to measure how much a woman's chest moved? He sounded like a blithering idiot. He knew it, knew it with every bit of him and let that thought permeate deep inside of him. He was convinced it was what had caused his face to go scarlet for two whole days. The doctor claimed he had an allergy to a pollen that had appeared in the air.
Philip had chortled to himself. Pollen in the air, sure, it's called stupidity.
Suffice it to say, Philip had only thoughts of friendship for Tilly and only thoughts of everything else for Midnight. No, wait, that sounded bad.
Ugh Philip! Honestly!
That made him sound unscrupulous and if there were one thing that Philip was, it was certainly not unscrupulous. He pressed his thoughts out, trying to untangle them, removing the excess from them the way that the hot irons would steam away the wrinkles of his clothing.
He loved Midnight. He always had. He wanted to be her friend. But, he wanted so much more. Not just for him, but for both of them. He wanted to give her things that no one else could. And yet, he knew that it was utterly ridiculous, because honestly, what could he possibly give her that she couldn't have from someone else, someone better, someone who didn't look like a stranger standing here now in front of the mirror?
Breathe, Philip. For goodness sakes, breathe.
“Tell me again, Father, why am I doing this?”
“Tell you again? I've not told you yet, truthfully. You've been a good lad to follow me blindly this far.”
“I'd follow you anywhere, Father.” Philip said it without thinking. He didn't have to. It was true. There. Two things he knew for sure: he loved Midnight and he'd follow his father anywhere. Did that make him noble? A man on a mission, with a damsel in – There he stopped, for Midnight was anything but a damsel in distress. A princess in peril? No, that didn't suit her either. She was a girl who loved her sister, more than she'd ever love him, if she were even capable of loving him. Ugh! That sounded so defeatist!
“Forget it, Philip.” He told himself, half forgetting that his father was still there and that he'd asked aloud why he was going.
“I will tell you why, Philip and soon, but not yet. Can you trust me just awhile longer?” His father looked at him, beseechingly. It unnerved Philip, how steadily he stared at him now.
“Y—yes, Father. Of course.”
“Good. Now, you have a ball to go to. Oh, and Philip?”
“Yes, Father?”
“Do try to have fun.”
Chapter Eight
Midnight
I dressed in a new gown. I hadn't wanted to. I'd wanted to wear the dress that I'd worn on Aurora's birthday, but Mother had forbid it. It wasn't like her to do so. She was the one who was practical usually, who would see no need to have a new dress made when there was a perfectly good old one. It could hardly even be called old. It was the newest dress hanging in my closest. Correction, second newest. For the newest was the one that I was to wear tonight. It had perfectly-stitched trailing roses down the bodice, fastened of the finest silk. I had insisted on that detail. If Aurora, dear sweet Briar Rose, could not be at the ball tonight, then at least her roses would be. I'd nearly asked if my dress might be gold, but the seamstress long ago had said how perfect Aurora's hair complemented gold and how I should always wear silver. I might have, I supposed. Only not on this night, though. For if I were silver and Aurora were gold and the gold was not there, then the silver would be left looking as though it was lacking. And the truth was that of course it would be that way, regardless of what I wore, for I needed Aurora there at my side. That was the only way to go on living, to know that everything was in place as it was supposed to be. But, Aurora wasn't at my side. Silver and gold were left in the dreamcatcher for tonight. Yes, tonight I would wear blue.
I took the hanger from the closet now. Tilly burst in through the door.
“Oh pardon me, Your Highness, I really ought to have set that out for you already. I ain’t – I mean, I'm not thinking clearly.”
I waved away her worry with the brush of a hand.
“Don't worry, Tilly. You've done nothing wrong.” This relaxed the servant.
“Shall I brush your hair for you?”
“No, I can – ” But here I paused. For yes, I did so desperately want Tillly to brush my hair. How I missed Aurora doing so!
“Thank you, yes, that'd be fine,” I said now instead.
As she brushed, Tillly spoke to me. There was something in the rhythm that erased the lines of worry from my face. I had seen it happen to Aurora so many times herself. A tear caught in the corner of my eye, tumbling down over my cheek.
“Oh! I am sorry. Have I pulled your hair?” Tilly said, taking note and stopping in the brushing.
“No, no, it's not you. I only was thinking of – of something else,” I said quickly.
◆◆◆
Tilly nodded. She knew that something else was a someone else and that the someone else was Aurora. Tilly had envied the princesses when young, not for their finery or their status, but for the love they had for each other, for
the confidences that they shared. She supposed she had that of sorts with Philip, only not really. She'd not always told him the truth, like that time when they were ten and she'd said she'd kissed lots of boys since she was five and it had all been a lie so that she could kiss him. She knew that he watched Midnight, that he probably was in love with her or thought he was or something too, but still she hoped that the practicalities of life might one day join her to him. For what horse groom could have a princess for a bride?
As she resumed brushing now, she didn't envy Midnight. She never felt a streak of jealousy that Philip fancied the princess instead of her. She concluded that if she were him, she'd probably be in love with Midnight as well.
“There will be many handsome men tonight,” Tilly said now, to cheer the princess. A handsome face certainly always cheered Tilly and perhaps, the two were not so unalike. Even princesses needed to smile.
Now, as she looked at Tilly in the mirror of her bedroom, Midnight did smile. It was not whole-hearted, but she'd made an effort nonetheless. Yes, the princess was remembering that tonight she had a duty, a duty at the ball.
Chapter Nine
Aurora
Spreading his golden feathers, the hawk smiled on the lands below. Like his grandfathers before him, he'd watched over this kingdom. Long before the ancestors of the king had come, he'd guarded the ancestors of the queen. Her people were quieter than his, assured in their standing, blending like the sunset into the land. They whispered along the edges, their pastel hues and gentle hearts defined by the dark outline of their hair and eyes. It was courage that the hawk saw more acutely though. Courage when the deer, injured in the forest, had her leg bound in the sinews of the hunt. Courage when the women sung to the crops to help them grow, despite the harsh rains, the winds blowing away the heaped earthen banks, or the plains swept clear when no waters came. But mostly, the hawk saw the courage of the queen's ancestors when they watched him and his ancestors before him. He watched them as they admired the hawk, as they waited for him to turn his wings in slow, honorable circles. Circles held power, the ability to capture or to release. They were all the more powerful when spun in silver and gold and most powerful of all when that silver and gold came from the spinning wheel of Rumpelstiltskin.
While Aurora Slept- The Complete Trilogy Page 5