by Alex Flinn
She seemed not to understand me for a moment, which made me wonder if I had mispronounced something, or if she was merely being unfriendly. But finally, she said, “No. There is no castle.”
“I am looking for a castle, east of the sun, west of the moon. My husband was on a . . .” I didn’t know the French word for ship. “A boat. Under the water.” I mimed a sinking ship.
“Ah!” she said, “navire de transport! British.” She pointed to a house by the sea and said, “She is the one who takes in all the soldiers’ bodies. Maybe if you help her, she will help you.”
“Help her?” I asked.
“With the memorial,” she said.
I remembered what the old lady at the War Office had said about paying my respects. Perhaps that was what she meant.
“Have you lost someone in this war?” I asked.
The woman nodded. “Yes. My son.” She began to cry.
“I am sorry about your son,” I said, but she kept sobbing and I took her in my arms, dried her tears, thinking of my own mother, distracted with grief over George.
After a long time, her shaking shoulders went still. She sniffled. “I must get back to my work.”
I understood that she was embarrassed to have been so emotional. “Merci,” I told the woman and started toward the house.
“Attendez!” the woman said. She handed me the carding comb, meeting my gaze. I noticed that her eyes were blue as the ocean on a cloudless day, and the comb, which I had thought a dull metal, was pure gold. “For your kindness in comforting me. I hope you find your husband. I hope this will help you.”
I took it from her with another “Merci” and went on.
The house was up a small hill, on a bluff. I climbed it. It was difficult, for it was rocky and blustery. From the top, I could see the cold, gray ocean, and I wondered if the house’s occupants had seen the ship sinking, heard the men screaming on that fateful night.
I wondered if they still heard them, in their dreams, on dark nights when my family heard sirens and dropping bombs, or in their nightmares, as Phillip did.
When I reached the house, there was an old woman on the porch. This surprised me because it was quite cold, and she wore no coat. She held a spindle in her hand and was simply twirling it.
I spoke to her in French. “Hello. I’m looking for a castle.”
She ignored me, still fiddling with the spindle.
“My husband was on the ship that sank. He has been tormented by nightmares of it, and now he has disappeared. I’m here to find him.”
When I said “the ship,” I saw her eyes look up to me. She kept looking at me as I said I was there to find him. Then she spoke to me in English.
“The ship, it sank in June. I did not see it, for it was too far away, but I heard the bombs that hit it. For weeks, even months after, the bodies, the bodies, they washed ashore, bloated, ripped apart by crabs and fish. The people of this town gave them Christian burials, sometimes under cover of darkness to avoid the soldiers. Would you like to see?”
I shuddered, imagining it, but said, “Yes. Please.”
She stood, still holding the spindle, and beckoned to me to follow her. I did, though my feet were hurting now from all the walking and climbing. We trudged down the hill to a small road. It was late afternoon, and the sun was in my eyes as we waded through the snow. At the end of it was a gate, and we pushed through it.
Before us, in every direction, as far I could see, were graves. Some were regular graves with headstones like I’d seen at home, but many, too many, were marked with simple homemade crosses. I walked among them. Were these the men who had been on the ship with Phillip that night? Could he have been among them?
The woman said, “I check them every day or so, to make sure the markers don’t get lost in the snow. We plan to put up proper stones someday, when the war is over.”
I nodded. She adjusted a cross that was askew in the snow. I found another and did the same. As I did, I found myself weeping, weeping for George, who was dead, for Jack, who was God knew where, for Phillip, who was ruined and gone.
“What is the matter, my child?”
“Will it never end?” I asked.
She shook her head. “Not for a long, long time, I’m afraid.”
She adjusted another cross, which was already covered in gray-green lichen.
When we had checked all of them, she said, “You needed help with something?”
I remembered myself. “Yes. I’m looking for a castle. It is said to be east of the sun, west of the moon. I’ve already been told there is no castle here.”
“Whoever told you that was lying!”
“But how can it be east of the sun, west of the moon?”
She took my hand and turned me in the direction of the low sun. “The sun, it sets in the west. We are east of it now.” She turned me the other way. “The moon will rise over there, in the east or southeast. It is a full moon tonight. When it rises, if you stand in the exact place in between them and look forward, you will see the castle.”
I looked where she was pointing, to the north. There was nothing but empty land, space for more graves.
“It’s not there now?” I asked, wondering if she was insane.
“No,” she said, “but it will be, at the moonrise. If you stay here, you will see it.”
She handed me the golden spindle she carried. “Take this with you, for your kindness in helping me. You may need it.”
Then she was gone.
6
I stood, waiting, I knew not for what exactly. The air had gone from cold to freezing, and the wind whipped through my body, my hair. I drew my coat around me. The heavy golden objects in my pockets clunked against my legs. I had Kendra’s mirror with me as well! I looked to where the old woman had said the moon would rise. It was not there yet. Behind me, the sun was beginning to set over the ocean. The sky was starting to pinken.
When I stopped being able to feel my feet, I saw the full moon, visible through the leafless trees. I turned, and the sky to the west was red as blood.
Then I looked to the center, to the plot of land the old woman had pointed out. Before me arose a castle, tower by tower, turret by turret, from underground. It was dark and grim, covered with dead vines, and it climbed until it reached the darkening sky.
There was a door that faced east, toward the rising moon. A single lantern shone by the entrance. I walked toward it, as if mesmerized. The snow seeped through my shoes, chilling me. As I came closer, I saw that the door was covered in cobwebs, as if no one had entered or left in a long time.
I knocked anyway, and waited. Finally, I heard heavy footsteps approaching, and the door opened.
I looked down at a woman who was short and squat, with a snub nose and big ears. Her hair was a glistening blue, and her face was covered with hairy warts. On her head, she wore a golden crown. The troll princess!
“Why are you here?” she demanded in a voice filled with blood and venom.
“I’m here to see my h—” I did not want to anger her. “I am here to see Phillip Harding. Is he here?”
She blinked but said, “No. I know of no Phillip Harding.”
Still, I knew the truth by her face. Her mouth had made an O of surprise when I had said Phillip’s name. “Please, I will do anything, give you anything, to see him.”
She looked interested. “What do you have to give?”
I thought about it and realized that the heavy objects in my pockets were currency. “I have a golden apple. I will give it to you, but in exchange, I wish to spend the night with him. Alone,” I added, lest she insist on staying with her husband. I figured out that staying the night would allow us time to plan his escape.
I plucked the apple from my pocket and held it out high, high enough that she could see it but not touch it, for I was far taller than a troll. It gleamed in the light of the full moon.
“Oooh.” She reached for it, but I held it higher.
“You must bring me to m
y husband first,” I said.
The troll princess stomped her foot. “He is not your husband but mine. But I want that apple. I will go to him and ask if he will see you. Sit down.”
She gestured to a dark and gloomy living room. I noticed there were no windows. Were the nights black in France too? Or did she just prefer to have no light, because she was so ugly? In any case, I sat on a dusty gray sofa, and she disappeared down a dark hallway.
It was a long time before she returned, maybe half an hour, maybe more. When she did return, she said, “All right.”
She beckoned for me to follow her. But I hesitated. It was too easy. Still, I followed her down the black hallway on cold floors made of stone.
Finally, she reached the doorway. In the shadows, I could barely see her hold it open.
She reached for the apple.
I looked into the room. Was Phillip there? Yes. Through the strained moonlight from the window, I saw him. He was asleep, looking as beautiful as he had on the night we were together last.
I took the apple from my coat pocket and handed it to the troll. Then I entered the room and shut the door behind me. I ran to Phillip’s side.
“Phillip?” I whispered. “Phillip?”
He did not, would not stir.
I said his name more loudly. “Phillip!”
Nothing. Had this been the troll’s trick, the reason why she had made it so easy for me? Was Phillip sick? Even dead? But I touched his wrist, and I felt there was a pulse.
I shook him. “Phillip! Phillip! Wake up!”
But there was nothing, no reaction. I screamed and cried and shook him from side to side. I slapped him on his face, and around his body. He was like a corpse. Finally, I fell, sobbing, to sleep beside him.
When morning came, he was still asleep, and the troll princess was at the door. It was not quite light.
“You must leave now,” she said, her voice menacing.
“I must stay,” I said.
“You cannot stay during the day, but for the right payment, I will allow you to stay another night.”
What could I do? I must try again. I reached inside my pocket and pulled out the comb.
“I have this carding comb,” I said. Again, I held it high so she could not reach it.
“Very well,” she said. “Come back at moonrise, and I will allow you another night with your beloved.” Her face wore a sneer, and she sniggered a bit when she said your beloved.
“I wish to see him awake,” I said.
“I cannot help if he falls asleep,” the troll said.
I thought she could, but still, I agreed. I walked with her to the doorway. I noticed she stood back from the door when she made me leave, and when I opened it, she cringed at the light.
I tucked the comb into my pocket and went to sit in the cemetery. Since I had nothing else to do, I tended the graves as I had before with the old woman. I tended some of the older graves too. I wished there were flowers with which to decorate them, but it was January, and the ground was bare. I was so hungry, but I had nothing to eat, so I simply tried to forget. But around noon, the old woman returned, and she offered me a loaf of bread. I took it and ate, furiously.
Finally, it was dusk. When the moon rose, the castle returned, and I knocked on the door. We repeated everything the same way, and alas, Phillip was still asleep, never to wake.
I knew what had happened. I remembered when I was little and Esther had had her appendix removed. They gave her a medication that made her sleep for hours, despite the surgery, despite the pain. That’s what Phillip was like, sleeping despite my screaming, my crying, my hitting him. But for his warm flesh and his heartbeat, he might have been dead. Had the troll princess drugged Phillip to make him sleep so soundly?
After hours of begging and imploring him to rise, hours of singing our favorite songs in his ear, hours of pleading with him, I thought of the mirror in my coat pocket. I took it out and said, “Show me Kendra.”
Kendra’s face showed immediately in the mirror.
“My dear Grace,” she said. “You look awful.”
I explained the situation, that I believed the troll princess had tranquilized Phillip. “I don’t know what to do,” I said. “If only I could leave some sort of message for him, tell him not to eat or drink anything the troll gives him.”
She thought about it a moment, and then she said, “Leave the mirror under his pillow. When he wakes, he will feel its hardness, and since he has seen it before, he will know what it is. Hopefully, he will remember and ask to speak to me. If he does, I will give him your message.”
I nodded and bade her goodnight. Then I stashed the mirror under Phillip’s pillow. I slept better that night, in Phillip’s arms.
The following morning, I again begged the troll princess to allow me to stay another night. But, this time, when she asked what I had as payment, I pretended I had nothing.
“Then you cannot stay,” she said.
But just as I reached the door, I said, “Oh, oh, oh, I remember. I do have something.” I opened the door as wide as I could before reaching into my pocket. “Come see it.” I beckoned to her, remembering again how it was said that trolls lived under bridges.
She stood far away from me, cringing at the light but greedily looking anyway. “No. No! What is it?”
I pulled the spindle halfway from my pocket. “Oh, ’tis nothing but a little . . .”
“What? What?” She shrunk farther into the shadows. “Tell me quickly, or I will have to say no!”
I held up the spindle. “A spindle of pure gold! Can I come to lie with my Phillip tonight?”
“Yes.” She slunk back into the darkness. “But he is not your Phillip no matter how many nights you stay. He is mine and mine forever.”
“But I can come back?”
“Yes! Yes! But now, begone and shut the door on that infernal light!”
Infernal light.
The day passed much like the one before, but this time, when I returned at night, Phillip awakened easily. He had merely been pretending to sleep. “My darling, you are here,” he whispered. “Kendra told me, and I didn’t eat or drink anything she gave me, but there is nothing you can do. I am pledged to be with her now, forever.”
“But I haven’t told you my plan, darling.”
Quickly, I told him what I had in mind. Then I summoned Kendra in the mirror, and we repeated it to her.
“Do you think it will work?” I asked when I had finished.
“I think it’s as good a plan as any,” Kendra said. “And I think you are right in your suspicions. I haven’t known any trolls, but I have heard they are rather peculiar about light.”
“I’m not sure, but we can try,” Phillip said. “There is nothing to lose, for I am miserable here. My nightmares have been twice as bad as before, and I love you. I want only to be with you.”
“I do too,” I said. “I want to be with you, and if I cannot . . . there is nothing to lose. I have no life without you.”
It was then that I remembered I was with him, and I hugged and kissed him until he said, “Perhaps we should begin.”
I nodded, and began to yell his name and cry as I had on the previous two nights. This I did for an hour or more before giving up, sobbing, and falling asleep in Phillip’s arms.
But this time, his arms held me tight.
In the morning, I secreted the mirror inside my coat, then had a good cry. It wasn’t difficult. All I had to do was think about the men who lay dead in the cemetery just outside the castle walls or think of George or Jack or the pain Phillip had gone through. But this time, there was hope for him, and hope for me.
As I had the two mornings before, I asked the troll princess if I could come back that night. As before, she asked me what I had as payment.
This time, I walked to the door as I spoke.
“Let . . . me . . . see . . .” I fumbled in my pockets. The troll princess followed me, but when she got close to the door, close to the light, she st
opped. I opened the door wide.
“Oh, look!” I said. “Look what I have! This is so beautiful!”
“What?” she screamed with impatience. “What is it? I can come no closer!”
It was then I knew my suspicions were true—that the light was her downfall. That was why trolls lived under bridges or in castles that sank underground in daylight. Outside, it was a brilliant, clear day with the sun streaming forward into the castle.
“It’s in here somewhere. . . .” I fumbled in my pockets as she craned forward eagerly. Finally, I pulled out the mirror by its handle. Outside, the sun was rising, and as I held the mirror out, I made sure it caught the sun. Then I angled it so it reflected that sun—right back at the troll princess.
“No!” she screamed. And then she was silent.
I looked back. She had turned to a stone statue.
“It worked!” I shrieked to Phillip. Then I ran into Phillip’s room. The door was locked, but I found the key on the wall and let him out.
“It worked!” I threw my arms around him.
I was happy. Not only because I had Phillip back, but also because my own resourcefulness had made it so. I had figured it out myself.
And then we hugged and kissed, and were generally beside ourselves with joy.
We used the mirror to contact Kendra, to share our joy.
“It worked!” we told her. “The troll is turned to stone!”
“Where are you now?” she said.
“Inside the castle. Look!” I angled the mirror so that it showed the stone-made troll. “Your mirror did it! Trolls can’t be in the sunlight!”
“I never knew that,” she said, “but . . . er . . . I would get out of there right now.”
And just as I started to say, “Why?” I felt a rumbling beneath my feet.
I looked at Phillip. A few pebbles fell from the ceiling. He looked at me. “Come on!” I grabbed his hand, and we flew toward the door, the floor rumbling and shifting beneath our feet.
Seconds later, the house slipped beneath the ground.
“Well,” Phillip said, “that was an interesting turn of events. Now how do we get home?”
