by Diana Flame
After they’d grown, she exiled her stepsisters and recently threw Isolde out of house when she tried to sell her to a merchant as a slave. She also knew that the woman had something to do with her father’s death, but had no proof.
Standing in the middle of the yard, Cinderella flashed back to the incident. “How dareth she?”
Shaking her head, she came back to the task at hand. She needed to make jam, which she usually sold at the market. Her father left enough for her to live on, but her stepmother Isolde squandered most of it.
Now the money was dwindling and she needed to make a living. There were the horses and a few cattle, but that wasn’t enough to run a household. The staff needed feeding and payment. She was determined not to let them go. It would be hard for them to find jobs in the kingdom if she had to let them go. They would have to travel to the neighboring Padian Kingdom to find work.
Standing in the open yard, she looked around. To her right was north of Izadel, the Black Thorn Forest and on the south the Maple Ridge. She would have gone to Black Thorn if the oferacs weren’t so far away. Just about a half mile into the ridge was a patch of wild oferacs she used to make her famous jam. The ones in Black Thorn had a special flavor that made the jam sell faster, but being that it was getting late, she headed to the safer option of Maple Ridge.
A quarter of a mile in, she heard shouts and hoof beats as though a posse was passing through. Curious, she headed towards the sound. Through a band of trees, she saw a clearing where some men seemed to be looking for something. A lone horse was in the center of about a dozen men. Upon closer inspection, she saw that they were wearing the royal crest on the left breast of their riding jackets.
So they were from the palace, she mused. Snickering, she turned and almost collided with something hard… or rather, someone. She was about to let out a scream when a hand clamped over her mouth. Taken aback, Cinderella’s eyes gorged, staring into pale grey ones.
“Shhhh, I wanteth those folk to depart hence, to leaveth me alone,” the man whispered.
Coming to her senses, Cinderella realized just how close the man was to her. Her body was pressed up against his. She could feel his warm breath fan her face. Without thinking, she raised her knee, connecting it with whatever it met. When she felt it hit something soft, she smiled, shoving the hand away. The man gripped his crotch, sinking to his knees.
“Thy Highness!” A few shouts filtered through the trees. “Prince Tobyn!”
The man on the ground, though clearly in pain, placed a finger to his lips, begging her to be quiet. She puckered her forehead as realization dawned on her. The prince?
“Oh, the horror,” she softly moaned.
She’d always imagined a fat, pimply faced, short, nerdy looking fellow. As he slowly rose to his feet, still holding his crotch, Cinderella sized him up. By her estimation, he was a head taller than she was. A lock of his sandy blond hair fell softly across his forehead.
He was sure much better looking than she’d imagined. It then dawned on her that she had kneed him in the gonads. Cinderella turned to the path from which she came. If the soldiers caught up with the prince, he would certainly report her for assault and that meant she would lose her head! Hastening her steps, she started running, but footsteps followed close.
“Wait!” came from not far behind. “What is thy name?”
There was no way she was telling him her name so he could have her arrested. Though she had a defense, she doubted they would believe her. She had no idea when she whacked him in the balls that he was the prince. The king was known for being brutal and she didn’t want to be the next one they beheaded in the town square.
She was almost back to the edge of the woods when she realized she’d lost her basket and completely forgotten the oferacs. If she headed back now, they’d get her. She would just have to forgo picking the fruit. In addition, it was getting dark out.
Back inside her living space, she paced while fretting that the palace guards would come searching for a honey skinned girl with long brown hair and brown eyes. She was easy to find, as she was rare species in these parts. Not many of her kind lived in the Izadel Kingdom. Her father had married one of the queen’s young advisors from the Padian Kingdom.
The two kingdoms were enemies in the past, but now had a peace treaty. Should she run away there? Where would she go? As far as she knew, there were no living relatives in Padian and neither in Izadel.
Worry lines etched her usually firm forehead. Her eyes gleamed as her mind worked to solve her current dilemma. Not long before, her Godmother was encouraging her to go to the ball, which would be held two nights from then. According to Lenora, she was destined to marry the prince.
“Right,” she sneered. “I has't to stayeth inside at all cost. I shall sendeth one of the young lads to pick the fruit f’r the jam. They at each moment consume half of those oferacs ere they returneth, but t’is better than getting myself hath caught.”
That night, Cinderella went to bed scared. The memory of kneeing the prince in his crotch seared her brain. All night she tossed in her sleep, dreaming of being beheaded in the town square. In her dream, her stepmother Isolde was there watching her and laughing her head off.
“Off with thy head!” Isolde chanted.
She awoke in the middle of the night, her sleepwear soaked with sweat. What should she do? Would the king pardon her if she pled for her life? Would the prince tell the truth that he startled her?
Chapter 3
Prince Tobyn skulked around his study while his artists sketched images of a woman. They worked fast, trying to make approximately a dozen of the drawings. He’d given the senior artist an idea of what she looked like and now the others were completing all the sketches.
Tobyn closed his eyes as he recalled the incident. Her soft brown eyes wide with fright stared into his soul. Her scrumptious lips forever imprinted in his brain. He must find her before the ball.
Recalling her feistiness made him chuckle. That moment she turned and bumped into him was a defining moment for him. He’d seen her enter the band of trees while he hid from his men. Her resplendent beauty had promptly appealed to him. Inching closer to get a better look, he was intrigued with her refined honey tone, her slender neckline and shimmering tresses.
Unwittingly, he’d gotten too close and when she turned, they collided. Her high firm breasts crushed into his chest and his breath caught. Unable to move, he’d stared into her eyes. When Markus shouted his name, he could do nothing but clamp his hand over her mouth while listening to the deafening sound of his own heartbeat.
Finding her was not just his desire, it was his mission. Presenting her to his parents now would save a lot of embarrassment later. No one could know his secret flaws or he would become the laughing stock of Izadel. If he could avoid the ball, then the royal name would be saved.
Meanwhile…
Far west, a figure stumbled through the dark. The sound of howling drowned out the musical tunes of the chirping of crickets and other small night creatures. Isolde paused, listening to the sounds around her. She’d had to feel her way through most of the forest. It was impossible to see with her eyes swollen shut. Her lips were so swollen they could barely move. When she spoke her voice came out as s squeak.
Isolde was unable to see. While her eyes were shut, she moved about the dense growth with caution, trying not to trip and fall. She was proud of her skill at going through the forestland without incident. However, after some distance she lost her sense of direction and needed something to guide her.
“Alas, the wind.”
Sticking her index finger in her mouth, though quiet painfully, she held it up to test from which direction the wind came.
“East, is’t not?”
It took time before she felt the cool on her finger as there wasn’t much wind. It was no use. Mumbling under her breath, she threw both hands up in the air in frustration and moved off again, uncertain where she was heading. With a wild guess she figured she
was heading in the right direction.
Isolde knew she was getting nowhere. Her feet ached and she was famished. Therefore, she elected on settling down for the night. Huddling at the base of a tree, she wrapped her coat around her to keep the bugs away and to offer some warmth.
In her mind, she knew that when it was light out, she’d have to smell her way around to find those precious oferacs for breakfast. Thinking about food reminded her of Cinderella and the jam she made. If there was one good thing about that wench, it was her tasty concoction. Isolde’s mouth watered as her stomach growled. She fell asleep dreaming about jam and bread, and Cinderella taunting her with the food.
Something crawling under her coat awakened her. With a shriek, Isolde jumped to her feet. She was surprised that she was able to see through the dimness of the predawn. Her eyes were opened, just a slit, but she was able to make out a black furry animal scurrying away from her.
“EEEEK!” She screamed when she realized she’d been the bed of a dragon rat.
It was all Cinderella’s fault. If she hadn’t thrown her out of the house, she wouldn’t be roaming about this jungle of a forest. Isolde’s hatred smoldered as she thought of the trouble her stepdaughter had caused her.
With new determination to get back at Cinderella, she ignored getting breakfast and made her way towards the east, where Olga’s cave was. She was close to her destination when she heard a deep rumbling sound in the distance. Hastening her steps, she almost ran the rest of the way. It would not be in her best interest to be mauled by a bear now, would it?
As soon as she saw the mouth of the cave, she trotted to close the gap. Olga’s assistant met her at the entrance to the cave and tried to block her entry. The old man could only see from one eye, as the other was a grey mass of dead flesh.
“Alloweth me passage, ye nincompoop!” she yelled at the man.
With his back severely hunched, he held his arms wide, refusing to give her pass. She could see he was trying to focus the one eye on her, but even that seemed as though he could barely see from it.
“What mayest thy biz’niz be?”
A wave of hot rotten breath slaughtered her face. She fanned her nose from the stench and waited until the odor wore off before she responded.
“Ye clotpole, I be Olga’s sister. Hast thou not seen me before?” Her sharp voice made him recoil. “Now step ye aside, thou lump of coal.”
The man dropped his arms and retreated, affording her entry. She brushed passed him and hurried into the interior where her sister was huddled over a boiling cauldron near one corner. Isolde turned her nose up at the rancid odor that emitted from the pot.
Through the slit of her still swollen eyes, Isolde scanned the dark walls as the light from the fire reflected ominously off them. The shadows from the cave bore down terrifyingly, that she shuddered as she drew closer. The eeriness that greeted her gave her chills.
On a few stone shelves jutting from the blackened rock, bottles sat with whatever potions the witch made. In the center of the room, stood a stone bowl balancing on a large pointy rock. The bowl was filled with water. Isolde edged close to the witch who hadn’t looked up when she entered.
“Good greetings Olga, it is I, thy sister.”
The figure stirred the pot with a long wooden spoon, ignoring her. Olga’s long white hair a raggedy mass, flowed down her deformed back. Long bony fingers with blackened nails, gripped the spoon and continued to stir. Purple steam rose from the pot like fog and disappeared upwards. Isolde inched closer, curious about what her sister was making.
“What on earth art thee cooking?”
“What doth thee wanteth?” Olga screeched, slightly turning. “What de hell hath happened to thy face?
Isolde’s eyes widened. “Is yond the way to greet thy sister?”
“Thou only cometh hither at which hour thee wanteth somethin’,” Olga replied. “Thee nev'r cometh to see me only.”
“Yond is not ….”
Olga interrupted, “Spill it. What doth thee wanteth?”
“Yond brat Cinderella, the lady did throweth me out of the house! Behold at mine own visage,” she replied, touching her cheek. “The lady did cause this.”
Olga chortled, picking a small jar from off one of her shelves. “Rubbeth it with this. Bid me, what is thy request?”
Isolde opened the jar and sniffed. The smell wasn’t bad. She began plastering the dark paste on her face. It tingled, but she welcomed the sensation since it would make her better.
“Thou toldeth me this coat shall keepeth me thither always,” she complained.
“I toldeth thee not to wash yond coat, but thee didst not harken unto me. Anon it is mine own fault?”
“Thou toldeth me not to wash it?” Isolde asked in a quiet tone. “Concluded, be it, I needeth revenge.”
“How much doth thou has't?” Olga asked, her black beady eyes settling on her sister.
“How much what?”
“Doth not playeth dumb. Moneee… how much?”
Isolde seemed nonplussed at Olga’s request. “What doth thou mean? I am thy sister, how can thee asketh me f’r wage?”
“I needeth me moneee to survive too, thou knowest.”
“I doth not has't money. I toldeth thee, the lady did throw me out of the house,” Isolde replied. “I bid thee, holp me rid of that lady and I shall did split the money the lady hast stashed hence with thee.”
“How much moneee is’t?”
“I doth not knoweth, but that lady’s father wast rich. Yond is wherefore I did marry him, and the fact he wast very well endow'd,” Isolde grinned.
“Thou disgusts me, talking about…,” Olga paused. “How big wast it?” she leaned towards her sister, her eyes sparkling.
“Very, very big,” Isolde whispered, widening her hands to emphasize her point. “A pity I hadst to killeth him.”
“Thee worthless cunt. Thee hath killed the sir f’r his wealth and anon behold at thee … tsk, tsk, tsk.” Olga shook her head pitifully.
“Art thee going to holp me or not? I has't me a plan.”
“What plan?” Olga narrowed her eyes.
“Thither is a bear in the green. I wanteth thee to maketh him gobble Cinderella.”
Olga threw her head back, a crisp cackle erupting from her. Her three coffee colored teeth stuck out from her gum like tiny fingers. She laughed for a full five minutes while Isolde looked at her in confusion.
“What is so comical?”
“Bears doth not consume people, thee blinking idiot.”
Isolde recoiled at her sister’s insult, but continued nevertheless, “Can’t thee maketh this one consume that lady?”
“Thither art nay bears in this forest anyways… wait. Hast thou seen it?”
Isolde shook her head. “Nay, I did see its shit and I hath heard it.”
Olga fingered her chin and walked towards the stone bowl filled with water. “Nay, it couldn’t be, couldst it?”
“What’s the matter?” Isolde inquired, now curious about her sister’s behavior.
Isolde waved her hand over the bowl. A light breeze rippled the water’s surface. As the top of the water flattened, the figure of someone materialized. Long dark waves of a woman appeared on the water. The figure was Cinderella as she looked frantically from left to right. She then turned, stopped and looked straight ahead.
Isolde stepped back, it was as though the girl could see her. Cinderella stepped forward and then stumbled back.
“Who is't art thee? What art thee?” Cinderella asked.
“Yond’s impossible,” Olga breathed, the figure on the water disappearing.
“What’s happening?”
“The lady hath seen me,” Olga replied, shaking her head. “The lady hast seen me shadow.”
“I doth not understand,” Isolde stated.
“Thee shall nev'r understandeth magic,” Olga scoffed. “Me shadow is did connect to the charm water, that’s how I am able to see things.”
“And the
lady did see thy shadow, big deal.”
“Big deal? Not a human shouldst be able to see it, it s’poss'd t’be invisible.”
Isolde opened her mouth to respond, then snapped it shut. How did Cinderella see the invisible shadow? Was she a witch? That would explain many things, why the poison Isolde gave her didn’t kill her. It also explained every trap she set for Cinderella always missed, and ended up trapping someone else.
“She’s a beldams (witch) isn’t the lady?” she asked Olga.
“Nay, but the lady might be did protect by the fairies,” Olga replied. “Doest the lady has't a godmother?”
“Aye, an fusty mistress name Lenora.”
Olga shook her head and widened her eyes. “And thee doth not knoweth yond Lenora is a fairy? Thou are a clotpole (idiot).”
“Lenora not be a fairy. The lady liveth near the edge of the forest and everybody knoweth that lady.”
Olga’s attention focused on the water. Ignoring Isolde, she remarked, “What has't we hither?”
Slowly the images on the surface shimmered into view…
* * *
Cinderella made her way through the dense brush of the Black Thorn forest. The predawn light was enough to make her way clear on the path leading to the oferacs. Early morning creatures peeped from beneath their hiding places. Pulling her coat about her, she continued forward, taking care not to mash the tiny creatures or flowers.
At the last minute she’d made up her mind that she would collect the wild fruit herself. No need to take the young lads from their chores when she was capable of fetching them herself.
A squirrel sprinted up the nearest tree as early birds chirped high in the branches. A white fluffy rabbit peaked from beneath a bush. It then made its way into a nearby burrow.
