Lies of Golden Straw

by E. L. Tenenbaum

  “If that’ll be all,” he said cheerily when the lists were finished, “I will be going.”

  He waited for me to force my head to nod once before disappearing. I stared at the empty spot where he’d been just seconds before. For such a little man, he certainly knew how to fill a room, how to suck up all good the moment he entered.

  I turned to Merlin with what I’m sure was a very lost and desperate look on my face, because he didn’t bother to say anything. Rather, he gathered me in his arms, holding me tightly as I cried without tears. It was as if all the years had washed away and it was my first night at the palace again, the night my father’s lie had grown too big, locked me in a room with spindle and straw, and demanded I do the impossible. When the king said he’d marry me, I thought that was all over and done. Clearly, it was not.

  “What now?” I whispered into Merlin’s shirt.

  “Now,” Merlin said, his voice a deep rumble in his chest beneath my ear, “Now, we try again.”

  I nodded against him. It was really the only thing left to do. I prayed to Heaven that Kirkin was on his way home with something, anything that would make a difference.

  Another day passed, and though it fit our original meetings, it felt too much like the little man was toying with us. As if a day here or there didn’t matter to him because he knew we would fail in the end

  It was only on the eve of the fourth day that Kirkin stampeded into the courtyard, riding the wind with magic and a fury that could only come from desperation and an urgent need to beat a ticking clock.

  He was immediately shown to the library where Merlin and I were perusing lists from censuses, family trees, novels, holy books, anything to give a hint as to the little man’s name and true identity. The irony of this sort of search was not lost on me at all.

  I was just stepping down from a ladder, having climbed it myself to reach the seventh shelf of a row of books I was beginning to suspect we had already checked. Kirkin was waiting for me at the bottom, dusty and road worn, startling me as I came down the last step and nearly turned into him. A strange mix of horror and determination were scribbled across his face.

  “Kirkin!”

  “Your Majesty,” he said with a quick bow. “If we could talk somewhere…private?”

  “Yes, of course,” I said, leading the way out of the library. “Merlin, we’re going to my study!” I called, not bothering to check if he’d heard me, not bothering to see if he was following. Kirkin obviously had something to share and I didn’t want to wait.

  We reached the door of the study just as a small puff of purple cloud signaled Merlin’s arrival. Once inside, we waited for Kirkin to begin, which he did, but not before carefully checking the hallway and locking the door twice. Whatever good that would do.

  “Please speak freely,” I commanded.

  He nodded and spoke in a low voice. “My queen, Mage Merlin, I made haste to the Dark Forest as instructed,” here he couldn’t help but shudder, “and I cast the spells as instructed. I was mainly invisible to the dark magic around me, but I could see and hear as if I weren’t.

  “I roamed the forest, eating and drinking nothing but what I’d brought with me, sleeping little, keeping my eyes and ears alert at all times.” His eyes took on a faraway look that he tried to shake off. “There is much to see in the Dark Forest to threaten a man’s soul, but there are parts that may redeem it.

  “Last evening, I came across a distant corner of the woods. Just past was a clearing, a quaint little cottage therein, suspiciously endearing in so wretched a place. It really was almost quite darling.”

  “I crept forward quietly,” Kirkin continued, “and waited and watched. Toward dusk, a strange little man, who was neither old nor young, dwarf nor imp, with eyes that seemed not quite a pair, appeared and started building a fire in a pit before his home.”

  My breath caught on the guard’s description, but I struggled to keep my face expressionless. Many words tumbled out of my father’s mouth at any given moment. That they were the same as Kirkin’s proved nothing, yet.

  “When the fire was strong, he cooked his food and it must have been very good, because afterward he started to dance, hopping from foot to foot in a way that would really be quite comical if the whole house hadn’t stunk of evil. As he did his strange little dance, he started to sing.”

  Merlin and I exchanged a quick glance. My aching heart slowed in my chest. Had Kirkin really done what no mage had been able to do? Had he found the little man and the truth of his identity?

  “Do you remember the song?” I asked, hearing how my voice scratched against my throat.

  Kirkin nodded solemnly. His voice wobbled slightly as he went on, “‘Today I’ll bake, tomorrow I’ll brew; then I’ll have the baby, too. I say this once, the secret therein; my name is Rumplestilt—’”

  “Rumplestilt?” Merlin questioned.

  Kirkin shook his head, then hung it. “He didn’t say the rest. I didn’t think I’d moved, but something startled him. I’m not sure what.”

  He dared look over at me then, and I could see the genuine remorse written across his face. Even if he didn’t know the extent of it, he knew enough to realize the type of predicament we were in. The type of predicament he was supposed to have brought us the key to solving.

  “It’s all right,” I told him kindly. “You did very well.”

  Kirkin nodded but didn’t look convinced. “Please, Your Majesty, let me go back, I can—” he started to plead.

  I silenced him with a shake of my head. “It’s too late,” I said, “and the little man surely wouldn’t make the same mistake of saying his name out loud again, and so soon. No, you wash up then return with my entire guard. We’ll take care of the rest.”

  Kirkin bowed and left the room, my heart tightening as he closed the door behind him. I looked at Merlin, who was allowing a faint smile to play at the corner of his lips.

  “It’s not everything,” he said, “but it’s something. Much more than we had before.”

  I nodded. “There must be one thousand possible endings to that name.”

  “True,” Merlin agreed. “But we can assume it had to rhyme with another line to fit the cadence of the song.”

  Only then did I allow myself to feel a slight glimmer of hope, a thin ray of sunshine poking through a storm-clouded sky.

  “Let’s get to it then.”

  That night, I faced the little man’s coming with less apprehension than before. Well, relatively less. I didn’t feel like my stomach was eating itself from anxiety, but rather like a horse had lost its footing somewhere inside me and was now bucking head and heels, kicking and jerking as it tried to right itself in far too narrow a space.

  Merlin disappeared and reappeared about the room, his anxiety combined with a nervous anticipation that barely allowed him to stay in one place for long.

  While we weren’t entirely sure that we had the little man’s exact name, we were fairly certain that we had most of it. What we were highly uncertain of was what would happen if we’d guess correctly. Sure, the little man would have to let me keep my baby, but that didn’t mean he would disappear quietly. Which is why Kirkin had positioned himself right outside the door with the rest of the Queen’s Guard, strategically positioned in the surrounding hallways and rooms. Merlin was to have the Excalibur sword at the ready, and it was up to me to pray that no one was seriously hurt.

  The little man appeared the moment the stars began to brighten the night sky. He strutted pompously about the room, as if he knew it was only a matter of time before he’d be done with us and leave with his prize. I clutched my baby tightly to me, but that didn’t stop him from touching everything that was the baby’s; his blankets, his rattles, his bassinet, taking inventory of his loot, so I had to clench my teeth to keep from lashing out against him. My heart thudded like a brick against my chest.

  “Madame Queen,” he bowed mockingly, making a show of obliging what he considered the fruitless antics of a dying
fly, “if you please, pray tell, what is my name?”

  I wanted to simply spit out the names we were almost sure of, but, wary and unsure of what the little man would do, I mimicked my behaviors from the previous nights, unfurling a long list of names that I read with the same tone, and to the same response, as before.

  An hour later, the little man cut me off with an impatient tap of his foot. “Enough of this, Madame Queen, I can tell you my name is not on your paper.”

  “But I’m not yet finished,” I protested.

  The little man waved his hand and the paper rustled with a green glow. “Admit you are no closer now to guessing my name than you were when I first came,” he said. “Give me the child and I’ll be on my way.”

  “I’m not yet finished,” I repeated firmly.

  The little imp circled his hand impatiently, a green light trickled in its wake. “Finish then, I’ve had enough of this.”

  I glanced at Merlin who nodded that I should go for it.

  I again gave my attention to the little man. “Is your name Kunz? Is it Heinz? Is it Bixbollingby?”

  “No, no, and no,” the little man replied.

  “Is it,” I paused, “Rumpletazer?”

  The little man stiffened and shook his head no. I wasn’t about to wait any longer.

  “Is it,” I searched my mind frantically for one of the names we’d come up with. Something that rhymed, something that rhymed. “Is it, perhaps, could it be, Rumpelstiltlin? Rumplestiltsmin? Rumpelstiltskin?”

  Silence.

  Complete and utter silence met my guess.

  Even the ever-present rush of water running throughout the palace stilled in the wake of my pronouncement.

  Then the little man’s face contorted in the ugliest way and all at once time caught up to him. It wasn’t just that he suddenly looked old, but as if all the wear and all the beatings of age came down upon him at once along with all the years he’d stolen, stooping his back, shriveling his skin, sinking his eyes, yellowing his teeth. There was nothing young or gleeful about him now.

  Green smoke hissed around him, and he cast his mismatched eyes upon me. “The devilwitch told you! That devil told you!” he screamed maniacally, flaying erratically as his body continued to betray him.

  As he was thus stomping about, caught up in whatever was eating him from the inside and out, Merlin swiped his hand in the air before him, and in the next instant he was holding Excalibur. He waited, waited, for his opening, then with a careful magical poof he stood above Rumpelstiltskin and promptly brought his magical sword down upon his head, splitting the impish little man in two with an earsplitting BOOM!

  The halves hissed as they fell away from each other, and Merlin watched impassively as they seemed to devour themselves, shrinking, shrinking, until there was nothing left of the magical little creature aside from the glowing veins of light rising from the remnants of his felled form. They rose together, tendrils of glowing green and purple magic interlacing each other as they sought out a magical host. They found Merlin and seeped into him, snaking and spinning, glowing and burning, the combined powers from years of stolen and horded magic seeking refuge in a steady stream that seemed to have no end.

  As for Merlin, his teeth clenched, his body braced, as he tried to absorb the impact of magic far greater than any one man should carry. His skin paled from the effort, yet beneath the pallor, he glowed purple and green as a new life force took over his blood. His eyes burned with a lavender blaze so intense I could not look at them for fear of being blinded. His fists opened and closed, opened and closed, and each time they opened a purple orb of magic appeared within their grasp.

  I feared he would combust. I feared he would lose control. And yet, I couldn’t move.

  Finally, finally the tendrils slowed to a wisp, and Merlin fell to the floor panting. I rushed over to him, still clutching my baby, reaching out to get a hand under his arm to help him up. I recoiled instantly when I tried. His skin, even his clothing, was scalding hot. I glanced at my palm and found it had been seared red from the heat.

  Merlin waved me away. “Let me. I’m all right.” His voice was husky, thick from smoke.

  He pushed himself back and stood on shaking legs. He grabbed a chair for balance and the wood smoldered beneath his touch. He quickly yanked his hands away, and let them fall to his knees. He took a deep breath and righted himself, and it was only then that I noticed something had changed about him. It wasn’t just that he’d absorbed enough magic to make him the greatest mage of all—and it wouldn’t surprise me to find out he was now immortal, or that he might have the power to actually move mountains, or something.

  Something had changed in his eyes, as if absorbing those long tendrils of electric magic had been a journey I’d only seen from the outside. The crease of his brow was thousands of years old, the look in his wonderful purple eyes even older. My best friend stood before me but he’d lived lifetimes in the moments it took to regain himself. It was him, but it wasn’t. He was unchanged, and he wasn’t.

  “The baby is safe?” he asked, his voice still raspy.

  I peeked down at the baby snuggled in my arms, brow furrowed as if he knew that something had passed. Otherwise, he was at peace. He was safe. We all were.

  A throat cleared behind us, and we turned to see Kirkin standing in the doorway, eyes wide, sword uselessly raised for a fight he wouldn’t have. I don’t know how much he’d seen, but it was evident from the look in his eyes that he’d seen enough.

  “Your Majesty?” he asked carefully, his question loaded with more than he was willing to say.

  “Yes, Kirkin?” I asked, finally finding my voice.

  “Is everyone all right?” he inquired with the same care, a flickering glance at Merlin.

  I looked about the room, everything was just off center enough to testify that something had happened here tonight. Otherwise, everything was all right.

  “That depends,” I answered slowly, “how do you feel about being called the devil?”

  “Well, Majesty,” Kirkin replied, a mischievous grin tugging at his lips. “I had a governess when I was eight who would swear it to be true.”

  I laughed then, a short, hearty laugh that felt good to release. My breathing was back to normal, my heart felt fine, though more full from the support and fight of the people beside me.

  “Tell the guards to resume their usual posts,” I ordered. “And you should get some sleep.”

  Kirkin mustered a sharp, slick bow. “Thank you, Your Majesty.”

  I watched him go, waited for the door to close behind him, before turning back to Merlin. There was a pensive look on his face, a look I didn’t quite like.

  “Well?” I demanded.

  “Well what?” Merlin asked.

  “What are you thinking?”

  Merlin started to answer then bit back the words before they could leave his mouth. He shook his head.

  “Tell me.”

  He shook his head again. “I will need to report this to the other mages,” he said, though I knew that wasn’t the reason behind his expression.

  “Of course,” I replied.

  “Of course,” he repeated.

  “Merlin,” I warned, though I doubted at this point there was anything I could threaten him with. Merlin was taller than me, even if he’d never been particularly big. And now, even his body seemed stronger, though from accepting the magic or because of it was anyone’s guess.

  “I’m leaving here,” he finally stated, with an almost cold deliberation.

  “Yes, to tell the other—”

  Merlin was already shaking his head and I stopped speaking. He gestured around him, indicating not just the room, but the entire palace, the kingdom at large. “I’m leaving here,” he said in time to his wide sweeps. “Farthington. I do not wish to be here any longer.”

  “But Merlin!” I protested.

  “No, Millie, now you must listen to me,” he said. “There may have once been something that would
have kept me here, but you…and then…since things changed there is nothing to keep me any longer. I fulfilled my promise to you, and now I can leave knowing you will not be in danger from the likes of Rumpelstiltskin ever again.”

  “Are you now the prophet of the future?” I cried. “How can you know I won’t ever need you?”

  Merlin shook his head, a sad smile on his lips. “I know, because you chose otherwise,” was all he said. He paused then as he contemplated what else to tell me. “I can’t stay any longer. The king is a good man, and he tries his best, but I cannot tolerate the lies, the games, the facades anymore. I’m setting out to find a new king and a new kingdom, one who believes in something he’s ready to dedicate his life to. Things like truth, and justice, even chivalry,” he added with a self-deprecating smirk.

  “Why can’t you find them here? Why must it be a king and not a man, or a village, or a part of the kingdom?” I countered. I tried but failed to keep my voice from cracking. “Why must you leave?”

  “Millie,” Merlin replied, reaching out a hand to cup my face. He brushed aside a trickling tear with his thumb. “My Millie,” he repeated softly.

  No matter how much magic he now had, his thumb would never be fast enough to catch the tears spilling from my eyes. Because, as always, I heard everything he didn’t dare say. The most honorable man I ever knew, the one I could always trust to never lie to me, spoke most honestly when he hardly spoke at all.

  He leaned forward and planted a kiss on my forehead, allowing his lips to linger an extra moment to let me know this wasn’t an easy decision for him. He caressed my baby’s face and took a step away from us. His purple eyes glowed with an inner light, his fists lit up with purple fire, and then he was gone. Forever.

  I took the baby back with me to my chambers that night, not caring that he would probably wake me before my exhausted body had time to rest. When I stepped back into my rooms, something felt different about them. I walked their length and I walked their breadth with an uneasy feeling, not sure what I should be looking for, or if there was anything to find at all.