by Anna Mendell
“What are you saying, Edmund? How is this going to help my father?”
“It’s not.” He shrugged. “But who knows how much longer you will be able to speak to the faerie. You should make the most of the time you have with them.”
Rosa became upset. “But I already told you that the faerie do not teach me magic. In fact, this sort of magic does not belong to them at all. I don’t think I can help you.”
“You mean you won’t.” Edmund’s eyes flashed as he stood up. “How can you stand it? You find out that you are cursed and you won’t even try to break it! Our parents take the faerie for granted. They are so used to them acting a certain way that they forget that the faerie are sources of great power. But you and I know better. Both of our lives have been touched by the darkness of faerie kind, and we should seek to protect ourselves!”
Rosa gazed into Edmund’s burning, black eyes. Her heart fell as she suddenly understood. He did not wish to help her, but instead wanted to access Faerie through her. He wanted to learn more about magic and about the curse, and that was why he was acting like her friend. Her face must have shown what she was feeling, for Edmund looked down at the ground.
Rosa whispered, “I am sorry Edmund. I cannot help you. I have to look for a way to save my father from turning to stone.”
She turned and left the library, and also the books of dreams and spells, behind her.
ROSA went to the cliff side to clear her head and found Neirin sitting by the rocks, his lute slung against his back.
She sat down beside him. “I was looking for you earlier. Play me a song.”
The minstrel did not sing, but instead plucked clear notes that echoed the wind.
“All the songs you play since you came to the summer palace are sad,” Rosa said.
“That is because I am searching for something I cannot find,” the minstrel responded, gazing out into the distance to where the sky met the sea.
They both watched the waves crash against the shore, and she leaned her head against his shoulder.
Neirin gave her his sad smile. “You, my princess, are the only thing that calls my soul back from wandering forever.”
THAT night, after kissing Alice goodnight, Rosa lay awake in her room fearing to dream again and brooding over Edmund, wondering if they would ever be friends. The hours passed slowly by, and she left her bed to sit by her window, realizing that she was not going to fall asleep. She grew aware of another presence in the room, and the Grey Lady emerged from the shadows.
Rosa stepped toward her and took her hand. “Are you going to tell me about my dream?” she asked.
Ignoring the question, or perhaps indirectly responding to it, the Grey Lady said, “Put on your shoes and something warm. I wish you to follow me tonight.”
Rosa wrapped herself up in her soft, blue cloak, and the Grey Lady led her out of her room, out of the palace, and down the winding path to the coast. They walked silently along the shoreline, and Rosa gazed up at the brilliant stars overhead and the moon just past its fullness. The air around her shimmered, causing the moon to twinkle along with the stars. Now she knew she was in Faerie. The air tasted sweeter, she could see more subtle colors in the moonlight, and the wind that caressed her was gentle and warm.
After what could have been a few hours or a few moments, they approached a tall mound in the earth in which were carved two gates, one of polished ivory and the other mother-of-pearl. They entered through the gate of mother-of-pearl down a long and narrow passageway, until they emerged into a high vaulted chamber deep in the earth. There, by low lamplight, Rosa saw the Grey Lady, sitting in the center of the room, surrounded by three wrinkled crones, spinning thread with something she was holding in her lap.
Rosa’s eyes darted to her side in surprise. The Grey Lady had been just beside her, but now she was spinning in the center of the room. She wondered if the Grey Lady had been spinning the entire time.
“What is that you are holding in your hand?” Rosa asked.
“This is my spindle. It is sister to Time’s turning wheel.”
“Oh.”
The shaft and hook of the giant spindle was made of lead, and the whorl was made of eight consecutive rings of many colors. Two crones whirled the spindle, while the crone on the Grey Lady’s right fed in strands of fiber that turned into thread in the spinning. The crone in the middle spun the inner bands of the whorl, and the crone on the left spun the outer, and the three crones sang as they spun, their voices young and beautiful. Rosa observed the crone on the right feed a shining strand to the spindle and then saw the crone on the left pick up a large pair of iron scissors, which she used to snip at a lone strand that she mysteriously pulled from the thread. The Grey Lady held the thread with the spinning spindle in her lap, while the crones snipped, spun, and added shining strands.
Rosa felt a sudden, inexplicable impulse to grab the spindle and clutch it to her breast. “May I touch the spindle?” she whispered.
For an instant, it seemed as if the spinning stopped, and the princess and the Grey Lady were alone. Rosa was transfixed by the Grey Lady’s piercing gaze. Then there was the sound of the crones singing, and the Grey Lady was working at her spindle and thread, spinning away.
“It is not right that you should desire to touch the spindle. No one may touch it but me and my three daughters. If I ever stopped spinning, then disorder would unwind our two realms.”
The princess felt shame rise hot in her cheeks, but the Grey Lady motioned her forward. “Come to me, my child, and have a closer look at my thread. Tell me what you see.”
Rosa approached with hesitation and saw that the thread was made up of a multitude of thin strands of silver and gold. Pooled around the bottom of the Grey Lady’s feet lay coils of the thread that were made up of pure gold, but further up along and closer to the spinning, strands of silver and gold were intermingled, and the thread being spun now was mostly made up of silver strands.
Snap went the crone’s iron scissors, and more silver strands were added to the thread.
“What do the silver and gold strands mean, godmother?”
“The thread with strands of pure gold shows the mortal lives that lived during the time when Faerie and the mortal realm were one. The silver thread shows mortal lives divided from the faerie realms. When the two threads are mixed, the golden thread belongs to those mortals still touched by Faerie. Now, there are very few of you left.”
“These are mortal lives?” Rosa gasped and then stared fearfully at the iron scissors. “And you choose when someone is born and when someone dies?”
“I merely spin what has been given me,” the Grey Lady answered.
Rosa continued to stare at the iron scissors in the crone’s right hand. Rosa thought she heard one of the crones chuckle.
“My child,” the Grey Lady spoke, “this spinning keeps the world in harmony, so that every life interweaves with the next as it should. All the different strands mingle into one beautiful and strong thread. There are those, however, who seek to destroy this balance. That is why you are here.”
The fear that Rosa was fighting to keep down surged up. “So I am one of those strands? Is my strand going to be cut on the eve of the sixteenth year of my christening?”
The Grey Lady continued spinning. “Your future can go many ways. Your strand may be cut when you say. And if that is so, then there will be no more golden strands in my thread.”
Rosa felt the blood drain from her face. “Then can’t you stop it? If you see what is happening, can’t you change it? You don’t have to cut my strand, you can change the spinning.”
The Grey Lady looked surprised. “Then you would not be free. Life and death may be given to you, but the shape your life takes is your own choice to make. I can see, but I cannot change. And when I spin, I spin betwixt joy and sadness over the choices made by the mortal race.”
They fell into silence, and then the Grey lady spoke again gently. “But little one, was there something else yo
u wanted to ask me, something from which my spindle has distracted you?”
Rosa remembered her dream. How could she ever have forgotten? “Will my nightmare come true? Can I do something to save my father?”
“Ah, my princess, your nightmare has the chance of coming true, for every day your father’s heart is becoming a little bit harder and is turning to stone.”
“How can I help him?” Rosa pleaded. “Please tell me.”
“It is in your power to help him, for I have gifted you with an understanding spirit. Your father has forgotten that to be a king means that he must serve his people. The kingdom has grown old and weary under his care. You, my child, must look into his heart and remind him of that.”
“How do I remind him?” Rosa asked.
“It will be made clear to you when it is time. But now we must bid one another farewell. We may not see each other again, though I will think of you often when I am spinning.”
Rosa bowed to the Grey Lady and then heard the rustle of the wind behind her. She spun around, and joy flooded her heart as she caught sight of the Green Lady shining bright as an emerald flame in the darkness of the cavern.
“Godmother!” she cried and threw herself into the lady’s arms.
The Green Lady held the princess close and whispered in her ear, “You have endured an ordeal, but I will take you back to the palace, so that you can rest. You will be going home soon.”
“Oh, thank you,” Rosa whispered.
The Green Lady lifted the princess into her arms as she did on that day when she had first taken her from the castle and carried her away. Behind in the cavern, the Grey Lady continued spinning. But, instead of three crones, there were three beautiful maidens who lifted their voices in joyous song, and each strand of thread that was spun shone brightly in all the colors of the rainbow.
THE NEXT MORNING, a herald arrived at the palace bearing a message that summoned Rosa back to the castle. They would leave in three days’ time. That evening Rosa waited by the cliff side at the spot where she first had met the Golden Piper. She had brought along her harp, but the notes she played while she waited were lost in the wind. The second day she did the same, but still the faery did not appear. She awoke before the sun on the morning of the third day and again waited at the cliff side with her faerie harp.
The Golden Piper was there with the sunrise and held out his hand to Rosa. They strolled on the cliff path until they came upon a horse as pure and white as the first snowfall. The faery took the harp from the princess and lifted her up behind him onto the horse’s back.
Away they flew, galloping along the coast towards the east and into the rising sun. The horse’s hoofs thundered against the earth with such speed that Rosa knew the white horse was a faerie steed. They finally came to a tall mountain, but the horse did not stop. He clambered straight up the mountain, while Rosa clutched at his mane. Looking behind her, she thought she could glimpse wings out of the corner of her eye.
They climbed higher and higher through the clouds and the sky, until they reached the mountain peak. The arching sky was as dark as night. Both the sun and the moon and all the brilliant stars shone in the firmament. The Golden Piper also shone like the sun, and Rosa had to shield her eyes, but, when he lifted the hands that covered her face, she saw that he had dimmed and that she could look at him now without being blinded. He helped her down from the horse and led her to the center of the top of the mountain peak.
“Listen,” he spoke. “What do you hear?”
Rosa gazed up at the moon, the sun, and the stars and strained her ears, but all she could hear was an unfilled silence.
“Nothing,” she said.
Then the Golden Piper took the princess’ harp and began to play, softly at first, but then the music swelled as she heard one new voice and then another join in the melody. She looked up at the sky and realized that the stars were singing and one by one she heard them join in the song, each voice singing its own part, yet in harmony with the others, blending into one song. Rosa realized that the stars had always been singing; it was she who only now had begun to listen. Then she saw seven bright lights, all of different colors, spinning and wheeling around the dome of the sky. She was looking up into Time’s turning wheel, and it was beautiful. The princess continued to gaze and knew nothing but the song. Tears fell unheeded from her eyes as the heavens sang above her.
A new voice joined in the song and called the princess back to herself. The Golden Piper had stopped playing the harp and was singing with the stars. His eyes were closed, his face upturned, and he was shining brilliantly, but this time Rosa could look upon him. His voice was a white, hot light, thrilling with life. Rosa closed her eyes and joined her voice with his, and her heart sang its own song, and she was part of the great melody of the stars.
Rosa did not know how long they sang, or perhaps, since they stood at the center of Time’s wheel, time had stopped. But there came a moment when she was finished and fell into a rich silence. The Golden Piper then took her hand and helped her onto the white horse, and they went back down the mountainside. Rosa saw that they had only been gone as long as the sunrise and that it was still early morning.
Neirin was at the cliff side, watching the rising sun’s rays reflect against the morning waters. He seemed about to return to the palace, but froze when he saw the white horse and its riders. His face showed his wonder as the white horse trotted over to him, breathing into his face and allowing the minstrel to caress him. Rosa slid off the horse, while the Golden Piper fixed his gaze upon the minstrel.
“It’s you,” Neirin whispered.
The Golden Piper smiled and then rode away with his white horse into the sun. The minstrel and the princess watched him go until he was no more and then returned to the palace in silence.
WHEN Rosa and her company were ready to depart for the castle, she bade farewell to her uncle and cousin. Edmund couldn’t meet her gaze, and Rosa realized with a pang that he was ashamed. She took his hand and pressed it, and his eyes fluttered to hers in surprise, but then he snatched his hand away. Rosa climbed into the carriage, sad that she and Edmund were still as distant as they ever had been.
They journeyed for days and sent a herald ahead of them to announce their arrival. When they reached the castle, Rosa was greeted by blaring trumpets, and her parents and Edwina were at the castle gate to meet her. For a moment, Rosa allowed herself to feel the simple joy of feeling her parents’ arms around her and being reunited with her best friend, but all her happiness was quickly eclipsed by her desperation to speak with her father, to warn him in some way about her nightmare. But there was no time that day. She was rushed to a great feast in her honor and then ushered to bed.
A week went by, but the king was preoccupied with his cares, and the queen complained of headaches, refusing to receive anyone. Rosa sighed. This was more than mere busyness—they were avoiding her.
Late one afternoon she sat in the cloistered garden, her worry about the nightmare weighing down on her heart. She closed her eyes and softly hummed under her breath. She had not raised her voice in song since her journey up the mountain, when she had sung with the stars. She lifted up her voice, and it swelled with her memory of the beauty of the heavens, so that her music filled the farthest reaches and depths of the castle, flooding the vast halls and beckoning from twisting corridors. The daily castle hubbub fell silent, as slowly, one by one, courtiers and servants alike were drawn in by her song and filed under the arches and boughs of the cloistered gardens. Finally, the king and queen joined the crowd surrounding the princess. Tears glistened in the king’s eyes, and the queen’s face was a mystery.
Her song ended, Rosa lingered on the silence of the last note when she was startled by the thunder of exuberant applause. Her eyes fluttered wide open in surprise to see the entire castle cheering before her, and she battled the impulse to duck under the hedges and disappear. The crowd parted as the king and queen pressed forward.
“Beautiful, Ros
a, beautiful.” The king beamed. “I do not remember ever being so moved. I did not know that you could sing so exquisitely. Ask for a gift, any gift, and I will reward you, if it is within my power.”
“Oh no, father,” Rosa replied. “I do not need a reward for my song. It was a joy to sing it.”
“Do not be falsely modest, Rosa,” her father said. “What is the use of all my power and wealth, if I cannot shower those I favor with gifts? I miss your old, unreasonable demands. Do not tell me that your father has outlived his usefulness?”
Rosa shook her head and fell silent. The king’s face darkened, and the queen’s eyes darted toward the crowd surrounding them. She spoke sharply to the princess, “Do not be stubborn, Rosa. Do you not see that it makes your father happy to give you gifts?”
The princess felt chastened. “Very well,” she said, “may I have some time to think about it?”
“Certainly, my dear.” The king laughed, good humor returning to his features. “Take all the time you need. But do not devise a task too impossible to perform. I know how mischievous your mind can be.”
“I know better now than to ask for the moon.” Rosa smiled at the memory which had brought her into the Green Lady’s care. It had the opposite effect on her parents. Their faces clouded, and they left without a further word. The crowd quickly followed.
Rosa lay in her bed that night with the burden of the unnamed gift in her mind. Her thoughts were interrupted by a low, muffled sound echoing from the hallway. It was the sound of a lady’s weeping, and the weeping was so sad that it brought tears to Rosa’s eyes.
She slid out of bed, put on her slippers¸ and followed the weeping sound through the long hall, down the spiral staircase, and into the throne room. There she saw a lady robed in the royal sapphire sitting on the golden throne. Her head was bowed, and she wore a crown of silver stars on her head. For a moment Rosa thought the lady was her mother, but there was a strangeness about her that whispered of Faerie, and, on a second glance, Rosa saw that the lady was too tall and her hair too dark.
