During one of their sparring sessions, Lord Dorian lounged nearby, watching and drinking a cup of wine. Lady Adeline sat next to him, working on some knitting.
“You’re doing very well,” Sir Edgar said when they finished.
“Fine lot of good it will do as long as we’re stuck here,” Aurora grumbled.
“I’ve been giving that some thought,” said Lord Dorian. “I’m a bit of a student of magic, you know.”
“Are you?” said Lady Adeline archly. “You hadn’t mentioned.”
“And I wondered,” said Lord Dorian, ignoring her. “Why don’t we just try asking for a way out?”
They all looked at him, bewildered.
“Asking who?” said Aurora.
“Well, Lilac, of course.”
Sir Edgar snorted.
“And how do you propose she does that?”
Lord Dorian turned to Aurora.
“Didn’t you say Indigo told you the dreaming let you see her? Let you talk to her?”
“Yes,” Aurora said hesitantly.
“Well, make a request,” he said. “Tell the dreaming you want to talk to Lilac. See what happens.”
It seemed a far-fetched idea, but nobody had any better ones, so later, Aurora stepped out onto the path in front of the castle. She closed her eyes and took a deep breath.
I’d like to see the fairy Lilac, she thought. Please.
At first, nothing happened, but then, the light began to fade until all Aurora could see was blackness. Then she felt a sense of movement, a breeze on her face, and slowly, the light returned.
Aurora was now standing before a beautiful house surrounded by lush greenery, with a small waterfall in the distance. It was a simple house, but large, and constructed of fine wood and stone. Cautiously, she climbed the steps outside and went in the front door.
At the end of a long hall, she found a doorway leading to an airy library. Stepping over the threshold, she saw Lilac sitting at a large table, writing in a leather-bound book. When she heard Aurora’s footsteps, Lilac lifted her head, and after a startled moment, smiled.
“Aurora,” she said. “How lovely to see you.”
“And you, my lady,” Aurora said, and, unsure of what else to do, bobbed a curtsy, something she had only done a handful of times in her life.
Lilac closed her book and pushed back from the table.
“It feels an age since we last met,” she said, walking across the room towards Aurora and then around her, looking her up and down. “Don’t you look … jaunty.”
“Thank you, my lady,” said Aurora, feeling increasingly wrong-footed.
“Come, sit down,” Lilac said, gesturing to a sitting area where a tray waited, laden with wine, glasses, and a bowl of fruit. Aurora was fairly certain the tray had not been there the moment before.
Hesitantly, she took a seat and waited for Lilac to pour each of them a cup of wine. This was not going as she had expected. She had thought Lilac would know what she needed, why she was there. But the fairy seemed to have no idea at all.
“Now,” she said, handing Aurora a goblet and settling back into her own seat. “What can I do for you?”
For a moment, Aurora grappled to find any words, but eventually, she took a deep breath and spoke.
“I have questions” she said. “About the spell.”
Lilac’s face darkened ever so slightly.
“Oh?”
“Yes,” Aurora hurried on. “My parents explained it to me, of course, when I was young. They also told me to stay away from spinning wheels, but …”
Lilac nodded. “The call was too strong,” she said, knowingly. “Indigo is old and her magic is formidable.”
“Yes,” said Aurora. “And once it happened, once I’d pricked my finger, I recognized the sleep. I knew where I was and why, but … It’s so strange here in the dreaming, and there are people here with me and I don’t understand. I don’t understand at all.”
Lilac’s face was inscrutable for a moment, but then she took Aurora’s hand in both of hers.
“Of course, you don’t,” she said, her voice soothing. “And I’m afraid that’s my fault. I should have talked to you about it a long time ago. But I will tell you now.
“We fairies can see into the true hearts of things, you know. And as soon as you were born, we could see you had such potential. In you, we saw the beginnings of someone wise and just and kind, all wonderful qualities in a queen.
“But your heart was wild—full of passion and fire. We could see you becoming too loud, too hasty, too much. There was a chance you would prove … disruptive.”
“Disruptive,” Aurora repeated, her insides turning cold.
“There is an order to the world, my dear, but maintaining it is a tricky business,” Lilac went on, seemingly unaware of Aurora’s distress. “The council of fairy elders has managed the balance of power between the kingdoms for centuries, and we have done so by choosing our leaders carefully and planning for every eventuality. We wanted you to succeed, but you needed taming. Only we didn’t know how best to accomplish that; it was a matter of some debate.
“Indigo tried to go around us, the fool,” she said disdainfully. “She said such a constricted life was worse than death; she always was dramatic. So she cast her spell, and our plans seemed for naught, but I quickly realized there was an opportunity. There was a small chance you could defy the magic and resist pricking your finger, in which case we would set about training you, reining you in. But if you didn’t, you could sleep, a good long sleep that would allow you to … mellow.”
Aurora’s mind raced. She remembered being a little girl and Lady Adeline being sent away. The ladies that came to care for her then had been stern and cold, always scolding her.
Sit still, Aurora. Calm down, Aurora. Be quiet, Aurora.
And she had. Under their constant pressure, she had become a meek, untethered thing. Hidden from the world, isolated and lonely. And it was all in service of Lilac’s notions of maintaining order. Of control.
“I knew that it might take a long while, but you would mature into a queen we could be proud of. As for the others, we knew it would be hard for you to wake separated from everyone and everything you knew, so I spelled them as well, so you would have help adjusting to your new life. And I enchanted the wood so no one would disturb you.”
At this, the fog of pain and sadness in Aurora’s head began to clear, sharpening her focus.
“But those people have families,” she stammered. “Homes, loved ones.”
Lilac sighed.
“That is unfortunate, I must say,” she said. “But you have to understand. It’s for the greater good.”
Aurora’s fingers tightened around her cup.
“I can’t let you do this,” she said quietly. “I won’t.”
Lilac’s lip twitched into a hint of a sneer.
“I don’t see that you have much of a choice, my dear,” she said. “You’re bound in magic for the foreseeable future.”
“But it’s not right,” said Aurora. “It’s not fair.”
“Of course it’s not fair!” Lilac snapped. “When it comes to making the big decisions, nothing is fair. There is only what must be done by those strong enough to do it.”
“You said you knew me to be just,” said Aurora. “How can you know that and think I will accept this? The sleep, the ‘order’, any of it?”
Lilac only stared at her, eyes burning.
Slowly, Aurora stood, setting her glass carefully on the table.
“I will discover a way to break the magic,” she said calmly. “And once I am awake, I will find you again.”
Lilac’s face twisted in anger as Aurora made her way across the room.
“You’re just a spoiled child,” she spat. “How exactly do you think this is going to end? If you challenge me, who do you think will win?”
Aurora pushed the door open and spoke without turning back.
“We shall see.”
When she arrived back at the castle, Aurora immediately gathered Sir Edgar, Lord Dorian, and Lady Adeline and told them what Lilac had said. When she finished, they all stared at each other in shock.
“They’ve been manipulating us,” Sir Edgar said gravely. “All this time.”
“I always wondered why they took me away from you,” Lady Adeline said, her voice shaking with anger. “Now I know.”
“There must be some way to break the magic,” Aurora said urgently. “Do you have any ideas, Lord Dorian? Any at all?”
“Perhaps,” said Lord Dorian, and he pursed his lips, gazing into the fire.
“Well,” Lady Adeline said impatiently. “Out with it.”
“I believe,” Lord Dorian said slowly, “That Aurora may be able to go back the way she came.”
“Do you mean by pricking my finger again?” Aurora said.
“Yes,” said Lord Dorian.
They all looked at him skeptically, and he sighed.
“I did say perhaps.”
Aurora sat back in her chair, thinking.
“If that does somehow work,” she said slowly. “Will the rest of you wake up, too?”
“I’m not sure,” Lord Dorian said. “From what you’ve said, it sounds like Lilac used a separate spell on us, so it’s very likely that even if you wake, the rest of us will sleep on.”
“Plus, there is the enchantment around the wood to contend with,” mused Sir Edgar.
Aurora kicked at a footstool irritably.
“I will find a way to get you out of this,” she said.
Lady Adeline took her hand.
“Of course you will,” she said, and her voice wasn’t consoling or patronizing, only confident.
“Has anyone seen a spinning wheel here?” Aurora asked.
Everyone shook their heads.
“If the dreaming let you talk to Lilac,” said Lord Dorian. “It might be on our side; it might want you to get out. Perhaps it will provide.”
It was possible he was right, but that didn’t do much for Aurora’s mood. Feeling peevish and restless, she stepped out into the perpetual twilight to take a walk. She didn’t venture far this time—just a few laps around the castle—but it helped to work off some of her nervous energy.
When she went back inside, she started to return to the great hall, but as she was about to turn the final corner, she stopped. A familiar feeling came over her like a cold gust of air—a pull towards her old bedroom, much like the one she had felt on her birthday that had led to her pricking her finger in the first place. But it did not have the same power over her this time. Slowly, she walked through the cold, stone hallways towards her room, not because she had to, but because she wanted to.
When she reached her door, she gently pushed it open. And there, on the floor next to her bed, shining faintly, was a spinning wheel.
Aurora let one small, relieved laugh and steadied herself on the doorframe.
“Thank you,” she whispered.
Later, Aurora stood at the back of the great hall, listening to the excited buzz as the courtiers rushed around sharing the news. At first, she had wanted to keep her discovery secret, for fear of getting everybody’s hopes up only to have them dashed. But her advisers—for that is what Sir Edgar, Lord Dorian, and Lady Adeline had become—had convinced her to share it, so she had. Now, the time was nearing for her to go, and all of them were counting on her.
Lady Adeline approached with a crowd of children around her, bubbling with excitement.
“Go on,” she said as they reached Aurora, and she gave one of the girls a nudge.
The girl, small and shy, stepped forward and held out a large handful of wildflowers to Aurora.
“There’s one here from each of us,” she blurted, clearly nervous.
“They’re wishes,” one of the boys supplied helpfully. “For you to beat the bad fairy.”
Aurora took the flowers and bent down to kiss each of the children who had spoken on the cheek.
“Thank you,” she said to all the children, tucking the flowers into her tunic. “I promise I’ll do my best.”
Lord Dorian approached then, as Lady Adeline ushered the children away, and pressed a white pawn from the chessboard into Aurora’s hand.
“What is this for?” she asked.
“Luck,” he said. “Courage. Whatever you need.”
“Will it go with me once I … once I’m awake?”
“I believe so,” he said. “But even if it doesn’t …” He reached up and touched Aurora’s temple. “What you need is here.”
Aurora nodded.
“And don’t forget, my dear—the queen is powerful, but she is not alone.”
“I’ll remember,” she said, and he squeezed her shoulder before he stepped away.
She turned towards the door then, but before she got far, Sir Edgar was in her path. He stood still and quiet for a moment, then held out his sword to her. She took a step back.
“I can’t take that,” she told him.
“I insist, Your Highness” he said.
“I told you not to call me that.”
“I will, because it is who you are” he said. “Because you have earned it.”
She looked away, eyes shining with tears, and he hefted the sword again.
“I wish I could go with you, but I can at least send you with this. And you can bring us home.”
She swallowed around the lump in her throat and nodded, wrapping her free hand around the hilt of the sword. And she walked out of the great hall for the last time.
Her hands trembled as she walked into her bedroom, but her back was straight and her chin high. When she reached the spinning wheel, she took a deep breath and raised the hand still clutching the pawn, a single finger extended to touch the spindle. Then darkness descended, and she felt herself falling, down, down, down...
* * *
In the castle behind the enchanted wood, Princess Aurora woke ninety-nine years early, with a sword in one hand, a chess piece in the other, and a bouquet of wishes next to her heart.
And in the waking world, she walked.
* * *
Alison Ching loved books so much growing up that she decided to make them her job. She taught high school English for three years before getting a master’s degree in library science from the University of North Texas; at this point, she has worked as a school librarian at the elementary, middle, and high school levels. Her writing has appeared in professional library publications and the anthology Supernatural Youth: The Rise of the Teen Hero in Literature and Popular Culture. She is a proud Hufflepuff.
As a child, he never did revel in the glories of war. He never understood the appeal of drab uniforms or why someone would want to leave home for battlefields and bullets. So, when war was declared he didn’t join his school mates who flocked to the recruitment office. He didn’t lie about his age for the privilege of being shot at by enemy soldiers or, worse, having to aim his rifle and shoot at one of them. He didn’t regret his decision.
He did, though, get tired of finding goose and chicken feathers piled on his school books, tied to the pail he used to milk the cow, and handed to him by pretty girls he had once admired. He soon learned to ignore his weeping mother and her ceaseless wailing about her “shameful” and “disgraceful” son. When his friends began returning from the war in pine boxes, he avoided the funerals where the bereaved glared at him and all but said they wished it was him being lowered into the ground instead of some beautiful, brave boy who had gone to defend his country.
He could have borne all this—the feathers, the weeping, even the condemnation—with nothing more than a sigh and a shake of his head as he went about his studies and his chores on the farm. It was his father’s mournful eyes, his disappointed air that he could have raised such a coward for a son, that finally drove that son to the recruitment office.
One week later much to his father’s pride and his mother’s open relief, he boarded the train headed to the capital with t
he other able-bodied (and often younger) boys who would soon march for the glory of Empire. In the capital they gave him the drab uniform that made girls swoon. With a grim smile, he tried to pretend that girls swooning and sneaking him kisses made up for the rest of it. It didn’t.
They loaded him down with supplies like canteens and cigarettes. They distributed a rucksack filled with a blanket, edible if unappetizing rations, and ammunition. In a more ominous twist, they strapped a gas mask to his belt. They handed him a riffle which he knew how to use and a handgun which he did not. Then because the war was going badly for the Brotherland, they dispensed with training and loaded him on a train for the Southern Front.
He bore the No Man’s Land of war for one year. A year of terror and boredom huddled in trenches, staring out at a hellscape unimagined by the poets of the past. He survived machine gun fire and shelling and bombs filled with gas dropped from high flying aerial balloons. Each day he stared straight ahead and aimed his riffle and guarded his eyes from the debris that flew from the dirt walls when a bullet struck them.
On his 428th day of the war, he was rotated out of the trenches for some leave in a neighboring town. The town had been decimated by long range shells, and the rotting husks of the buildings weren’t much better than the trenches he had just escaped. After a night spent in a molding canvas tent filled with the cigarette smoke of his mates, he decided to walk in the woods that bordered the town. He needed fresh air he told the sentry at the gate. The man nodded and reminded him to be back before sunset or he would be locked out and perhaps presumed a deserter.
He walked through the trees, surprised by the silence and the distance the forest seemed to place between him and the war. The leaves rustled in the wind and didn’t sound at all like bullets shrieking through the air. He jumped when a squirrel dropped onto the forest floor near him, and then gave a short laugh filled with everything except humor when he realized the thump hadn’t been the warning to duck away from a grenade.
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