“Hello!” The man seemed ecstatic to see her. “How lucky I am that you've happened upon me. For, as you can see, I have a problem.”
“I suppose you need me to help you out of that trap.” She said.
His hair was dark and neat, his face, pale and clean, and yet his clothes looked like they had been thrown together using twigs and leaves from the forest floor. But she didn't want to be unkind, so she pretended not to notice as she crouched down beside him and inspected the trap.
He told her that he would, indeed, be forever grateful for her assistance. He also said that she would be rewarded greatly for her efforts, which was obviously not true. He was clearly very poor. But she didn't care. The poor fellow seemed mad, and she didn't like to see anybody in such a pickle. So, she took hold of one side of the trap, while he grasped the other, and together they freed his poor ankle.
“Do you need help getting somewhere?” she asked him. As she stood and brushed a patch of dirt from her dress. His leg was rather mangled, and she didn't think it likely he'd be able to walk very far.
“Oh, no.” He said, cheerfully. “You've done more than enough, already. And I've wasted too much of your time.”
There was a flurry of sound, and she quickly turned back. But the man had vanished. In his place, a cloud of black feathers settled neatly upon the ground. She peered through the surrounding trees, but could not glimpse him anywhere.
Of course, she hadn't expected a reward, but he could have at least pretend to give her something, like a twig, or a leaf.
She sighed, and spent the rest of her homeward journey wondering how such a terribly injured person could have run away so quickly.
Her father was annoyed when she showed him the basket full of withered apples, and sent her to her room with threats of no dinner. But she knew that her sister would be allowed to bring her some cheese and a couple of slices of bread after everyone else had eaten, so she went to her room without protest.
That night, after having shared her meal with a small group of field mice, while her sister lay snoring softly at the opposite end of the room, the apple farmers daughter blew out her candle and for a time, watched the stars twinkle in the branches of the willow tree at the bottom of her garden, which sat at the top of a cliff beside the sea. As she drifted off to sleep, a funny thought occurred to her, that if stars grew in trees, she'd probably be able to pick them. And then she'd be rich, and the prince would notice her, and her father would be sorry for calling her an unimportant peasant.
When the hour reached midnight, a distant church bell tolled, and the apple farmer's daughter found herself suddenly awake, watching the strange and wondrous scene of a mouse climbing through the willow tree, plucking stars from its branches. It was grey and black, and masked like a thief.
Thinking it to be the same mouse she had met beside the forest stream that afternoon, she lit her candle, climbed from her bed, crept silently though the house, out the back door where she made her way to the bottom of the garden.
As she stood beneath the willow tree, she saw that, yes, it was indeed the very same mouse she had met in the forest. He had an arm load of stars, and still picked more. Some of them he nibbled, while the others he appeared to be saving for later.
“What are you doing?” She called up to him. It was all so strange, that she couldn't see any reason for him not to talk back.
“I'm collecting stars.” He called down to her.
“Why?”
“Because I need to go home.” He told her.
“I don't understand.” And she really didn't.
“If you climb up here I can show you how it works.” He told her.
She put her candle down beneath the tree and climbed.
And as she climbed, the world below fell rapidly away. Either the ground was shrinking, or she was, for, when she reached the mouse, she found that he was exactly the same height as herself, although twice as wide, which she thought, was probably due to all the stars he had eaten.
When she reached him, she demanded to know how exactly an armload of stars would help him get home.
But instead of telling her, he threw the stars into the air and out across the ocean, where they settled high above the waves into bridge.
“Where does it lead to?” she asked him.
“Would you like to come with me and see for yourself?” He stepped out of the willow tree, onto the bridge and held out his paw for her to take.
The apple farmer's daughter looked back to her house, which now seemed much too far away. It would take her all night just to get back there. So, she took the mouse's paw and stepped onto the bridge of stars. And why not? Her father thought she was a nobody, and her mother tended to agree with him. Why shouldn't she become an adventurer?
As they walked, the mouse pointed out constellations, and told her that sailors used them to steer their boats by.
“But what do they do if the sky is cloudy, and they can't see the stars? And what about during the day, when the stars aren't out? And what about all these stars that you stole to make the bridge?”
The mouse simply shrugged. “I don't know,” he said. “Does it matter?”
No. If she really thought about it, she didn't suppose that it did. At least not to her.
As they continued across the bridge, morning light brightened the sky, and the stars beneath their feet began to fade. The apple farmer's daughter looked down at the deep, dark ocean, and wondered if she would be able to swim home if she had to.
“It's alright.” The mouse pointed ahead. “We're nearly there.”
And sure enough, in the distance, a vast mountain range came into view, in the middle of which the highest one boasted a glorious kingdom, seemingly made of sunlight and snow.
“Who lives there?” she asked.
“The Goose Prince, of course.” The mouse seemed shocked that she didn't know.
“I see,” she said, not seeing at all.
The last star of the bridge disappeared and they stepped onto the mountain, walked a short way up a path filled with wildflowers and bees, till they reached the glittering gates of the kingdom.
The mouse knocked and the gates swung opened, and suddenly, they were surrounded by a flock of chattering ladies, who were covered from head to toes in expensive silks and a small fortune in precious gemstones. The apple farmer's daughter felt so positively like a speck of dirt among them that she hung her head in shame.
“She's finally here, then,” whispered one of the ladies, loud enough for the entire courtyard to hear.
“Not much to look at, is she?” whispered another.
“I didn't know the prince was into peasants,” yet another, and suddenly, the apple farmer's daughter realized they were talking about her. They were trying to make her cry, so she lifted her chin and carried on towards the castle, determined not to be upset. Obviously, they were jealous, although she couldn't imagine why.
They reached the steps of the castle, and she was surprised to see that the man whose ankle she had helped free from the hunter's snare was waiting to greet them. His shabby clothes had been removed, and he now wore a finely tailored suit.
“How wonderful it is to see you again, my dear.” He embraced the apple farmer's daughter and kissed both her cheeks. “I told you there would be a great reward for your assistance? You must be so happy to be here.”
She had no idea what he meant and didn't really know what to say, so simply smiled and waited for him to continue. Whatever it was that was happening was terribly exciting, and she couldn't wait to find out more.
“So, I brought her, then,” said the mouse to the prince. “Now will you let my family go?”
“I'm afraid not,” said the prince. He waved a hand, and two palace guards rushed forward, took hold of the mouse, and hauled him away.
She wanted to know what the mouse and his family had done, but it was the least of her questions, so she instead began with the most important one. “Why am I here?”
&nb
sp; The prince took her hand and lead her through a grand entrance into the palace foyer. “I have a wonderful news.” He stopped, adjusted his hair in a mirror, then turned back to her with a winning smile. “The reward that I promised, it's an offer of marriage. What do you say?”
The apple father's daughter agreed immediately, thrilled that she would finally be able to show her father how wrong he had been. Princes were interested in her, and not just any old plain, boring one, either.
The prince told her that if she wanted to stay and be his wife, she would never again be able to go back to the apple farm. The kingdom of snow and sunlight would be her home forever.
“Good,” she said, and was whisked instantly away by a large group of palace servants, who presented her with a new bedchamber, a large, grand room with a wardrobe as big as her old home, filled with hundreds of fine, silk dresses and shoes in every conceivable colour. She had a dressing table, upon which several large boxes overflowed with glittering jewels, and a giant mirror of her vey own.
They offered her a replacement for the plain nightgown that she wore, which they took away and burnt, because, they told her, she would never need to dress so poorly again.
“Those who are truly beautiful, should always be able to look upon themselves,” said the prince when he came to visit her that night. And indeed, in the candle light, she noticed that all the walls of her bedroom were so shiny that she could see herself in them.
By the window, there was a big, comfortable chair, which was, he informed her, where she could sit and see anything that she wished to see in the world. And indeed, when she sat there, the vast and impossible landscape of the entire earth was spread out beneath her.
Truly, she thought she must be the luckiest girl in existence. And for a time, as she followed her new husband about his royal gardens, learning to pick at the bread thrown by palace servants onto the lawn beside the royal pond, she thought she had all the happiness that she could ever want.
The ladies of the royal court, however, refused to speak to her. Night after night, in the royal banquet hall, they whispered insults behind dainty, cupped hands, loud enough, of course, for her to hear. Eventually, she began to notice that her husband never came to her defence. In fact, on several occasions, and much to her humiliation, he giggled at the horrible things they said.
One evening, she asked him why he had done it, but he laughed in her face and told her not to be so sensitive.
She demanded that he send her home, but again he laughed.
“You can never go home.” He said. “You brought nothing with you from your old life, so the stars that grow in the willow tree in the royal courtyard wouldn't know in which direction to build a bridge.”
And it was true. The only thing she had brought with her was the night dress she'd worn, and they'd burnt it the day she arrived.
She ran to her room, and threw herself into the big, comfortable chair, where she cried into a plush silk pillow, and looked out upon the rest of the world, which she suddenly wished she had never left. The kingdom made of snow and sunlight was a horrible, stupid place, full of horrible, stupid people, who, now that she thought about it, spent most of their time contemplating their own reflections in the mirrors that lined all the palace walls or in the surface of the royal pond. She was, she realized, frightfully and utterly bored. Surely there was more to life than gazing at one's own reflection and making nasty comments behinds people's backs.
She searched her view of the world till she found the apple farm, and was devastated to see that the willow tree had been burnt by the candle she had left beneath it, the night she'd followed the mouse across the star bridge. And beneath it's dead, blackened limbs, her father sat at the top of the cliff, crying.
Is he crying because he misses me? She wondered.
That night, while the rest of the kingdom slept, she crept from her room, and stole past the sleeping guards, down into the dungeons beneath the palace.
“Why did they put you and your family in here?” She asked the mouse, when she found the locked door of his prison cell.
“We stole a slice of the royal bread. You know, the bread that they eat beside the royal pond.”
“Why?” She wanted to know.
“Because we were hungry.” Said the mouse. “In the Goose Prince's kingdom, if you're not in favour, you starve. So, we stole some bread, and unfortunately got caught.”
“Why didn't you just leave the kingdom?”
“We couldn't.” The mouse gazed at her sorrowfully. “No one can.”
He proceeded to tell her that his daughter had once caught the eye of the prince, and that was how he and his family came to be there. A butterfly had lead them there across a bridge of stars. Everyone in the kingdom had been lured there in such a way and for a similar reason. But then his daughter had fallen out of favour, and they'd been turned from the palace into the streets, which meant they would eventually starve to death.
“I want to go home. But the prince won't let me. I brought nothing with me from my old life, so I'm stuck,” the apple farmer's daughter said. She knew there was nothing anyone could do about it, but she really just wanted to have a whinge about it.
“That's not true.” The mouse untied something from his wrist and held it out to her. It was the green ribbon she had thrown into the stream in the forest.
She cried with joy and took the ribbon, then thanked him and promised that she wouldn't leave until she had found a way to free them all from the dungeon.
“It's alright.” The mouse said optimistically. “The prince is too stupid, and too busy looking at himself all the time to realize that it's better for us in here than out in the streets. It's horrible and cramped in here, but they feed us the leftover bread that's gone stale, so, all in all, can't complain.”
The apple farmer's daughter disagreed. She knew what it was like to be mostly poor, but this kind of poverty seemed shockingly inhumane, and she didn't think anyone should just have to accept it. “I'll find a way,” she promised. Then she thanked him again and left the royal dungeon.
For hours, she sat in her chair and wondered what to do.
From what the mouse had said, she gathered that he didn't really care if he and his family spent the rest of their days locked up, aside from which, she imagined they had nothing from their old lives that would help them get home.
She wanted desperately to help them, but nothing came to mind, so eventually, as dawn blushed the sky, she decided that she had no other choice than to save herself.
But she would have to be quick.
Clutching her green ribbon, she raced through the mirrored corridors and out into the royal courtyard. Early sunlight speckled the turrets and spires as she climbed into the willow tree.
“What are you doing?”
With an armload of stars, she lost her balance and almost fell. “I'm leaving,” she told the prince, who stood beneath her with a look of puzzlement upon his face. “I have something from my old life. See.” She waved the ribbon at him.
“Oh.” He said and turned back to the palace. “Alright, then. Goodbye.”
The apple farmer's daughter was aghast. She'd expected at least an argument, and she almost called him back, but he stopped in front of a wall and began to preen himself, so she decided not to bother. He didn't care about her. He didn't care about anyone but himself.
So, she threw her armful of stars into the air and stepped onto the bridge. She had, however, forgotten one very important thing.
The prince laughed without turning away from his reflection as the bridge vanished beneath her and she fell to the ground.
Of course, the bridge would vanish when the sun came up. She cursed herself for being so stupid.
“You're too pretty to spend the rest of your days in the royal dungeon.” Said the prince. He walked back to her and took her hand “So, instead, I think I'll make you a permanent feature in the courtyard. A warning to anyone else who might wish to escape. A lesson for those w
ho think I'm stupid.”
The apple farmer's daughter realized too late, that her hand, the one he held, was turning to stone. Her feet felt heavy, and when she tried to lift them, she knew that they, too, had turned to stone.
The Goose Prince took the ribbon from her fingers and tied it about her wrist. “So that you can spent eternity remembering why you're a statue.”
The apple farmer's daughter looked at the ribbon and tried to scream, but her voice felt like stone in her throat, and suddenly, she couldn't breathe, blink or turn away from the green ribbon.
Princes were not all they were cracked up to be, and talking animals only got you into trouble. At least, that's how it was in the kingdom of snow and sunlight. And yet, she liked to think that somewhere out there, things were different. Perhaps one day someone would come to rescue her, or, at the very least, put her out of her misery.
The End.
About the Author: Amber Gulley
Amber Gulley moved from Australia where she was a qualified massage therapist, to the south of Spain, where she now writes books, teaches English, indulges in photography, and lives with her husband and two cats beside the sea.
Books by Amber Gulley:
The Carnival Keepers
Links:
Facebook: https://www.facebook.com/ambergulleyauthor/
Twitter: https://twitter.com/AmberGulley1
Website: http://amber0080.wixsite.com/amber-gulley-author
Texting at the Gate
By Eve Gaal
“Where am I? And who are all these people?” Al mumbled to no one in particular.
The angels held hands, dancing around what appeared to be a glowing Christmas tree with glittering lights. He looked at their smiles, their elegant wings, robes and halos and thought maybe next time he'd cut back on the hard stuff. Al rubbed his eyes and listened to the upbeat strains of music. “Crappy New Age shit,” he muttered to himself, when hearing choral voices accompanied by bells and harps. Minutes later, he heard trumpets but he wasn't sure. Last time he heard trumpets was at a high school football game when Anna Marie kissed him behind the bleachers. The marching band trumpets played out of tune marches that were typically drowned out by the tuba and the bass drum. That was years ago. He patted his breast pocket looking for his cell phone and when he couldn't find it, he angrily spewed curse words into the damp air. High school sucked. Why was he thinking about ancient and bizarre things he had tried to forget?
Once Upon A Broken Dream: A Creativia Anthology Page 10
