Myth and Magic

by Radclyffe

  We talked it out. We’d have to kill the imp. We didn’t know exactly how to do it, but we figured not many things could live through fire. We decided that the next night I’d mix up another sleeping potion for my master’s supper, but this time I’d cast the little beast into the hearth before leaving. The woodsman clipped off a lock of his hair and gave it to me for good luck. He said he’d be waiting for me at gloaming outside the sprite’s den.

  I returned home and found my master still tipped over in his chair. I thought my fortune had already taken a good turn. Then I heard his drowsy breathing. I brought him up to his bed, hoping he’d chalk up the night to the effects of being overworked. I slept with the woodsman’s lock of hair pressed against my cheek.

  My master was up before me in the morning. He was down in his workshop and didn’t mention anything when I brought him his tea and porridge. It was a hell of a jittery day. I broke three vials of attar straightening up the apothecary and knocked over two urns sweeping out the antechamber. My master cursed and pelted my head with an onion. It made the task ahead of me a little easier. Plus it gave me an idea.

  I told the sprite I’d prepare his favorite meal for supper to make up for the damage I’d done. Slugs with creamed onions. The idea seemed to settle his mood. He went into his workshop to look over some correspondence.

  I took to the kitchen, got the teacup, and mixed together the sleeping draught. I started supper on the cauldron and went up to the bedroom to change out of my shirt. I’d sweated through the armpits. Fighting to pull a fresh shirt over my head, it hit me. Sometime in my nervous daze, I’d lost track of the woodsman’s snippet of hair.

  I rifled through the bedroom for it, but there wasn’t much time. The stench from the kitchen told me that my master’s supper was simmering and ready. I hurried back to serve it. I decanted the teacup into my master’s bowl.

  He was at his chair when I brought it over to the dining table. Sitting in the middle of his place setting was the lock of hair.

  I stumbled and dropped the bowl on the floor. The sprite looked at me with a cruel grin.

  “Been keeping company you have,” he said. “This looks to be a trinket from a lover. I’ve enough here to fix up a curse to make his thumbs drop off or twist his intestines into a knot.”

  I pleaded with him not to do it. I begged him to punish me instead. I promised that I’d never see the woodsman again, my most painful oath, but I was desperate to save my love from harm.

  The sprite scratched his tiny chin. “I’ve a better idea that’ll teach you a lesson. Let us see just how strong this woodsman cares for you. I’ve a charm that’ll make you a sight of horror in your true love’s eyes. But when he sees you, if he’s game for giving you a kiss, the charm will break.” He grinned and threw his head back with a cackle. “I wouldn’t get my hopes up, duckie. This charm’s never been broken before.”

  He reached up his wand, and I saw a flash of light.

  The stranger choked on a cough. Adalbert sat up on his haunches. He listened to his companion recover from the fit. But the stranger didn’t speak. Adalbert gazed through the pitch air.

  “You can’t stop there. What happened next?”

  The stranger cleared his throat. “I’ve had enough storytelling for today. I told you, I’m not well.”

  “But there can’t be much left. What did the woodsman do when he saw you? How’d you get away from the mage? You haven’t said anything about how you ended up in the dungeon.”

  The stranger’s reply came back faintly. “There’s more. For another day. Or night, I should say.”

  Adalbert poked a finger into his bowl. He’d been so rapt in the story, he hadn’t eaten all of his gruel. His stomach lurched hungrily. He licked his finger. Then Adalbert climbed down from his cot, took a few steps, and slid his bowl along the floor toward the other side of the cell.

  *

  The stranger didn’t speak for a long time. Adalbert tried to coax him at intervals.

  “Talking makes the time go by faster, don’t you think?” he said.

  No answer.

  “I’ve thought a lot about it. The woodsman breaks the charm, doesn’t he?”

  Dead silence.

  “I’ve a story too. It’s about porpoises. You want to hear it?”

  Nothing worked. Adalbert gave up and fell back on bleak thoughts. He wondered how long it was possible to survive on one bowl of gruel a day. He worried whether he could catch whatever was afflicting his cellmate. Adalbert thought about his father and mother. They could’ve been killed trying to escape to Furthermore. Or maybe they had made it there and forgotten all about him.

  Adalbert went over again and again how he had ended up in the dungeon. Thoughts twisted and turned in his head. It wasn’t fair for the Troll to place a curse on him. But none of the bad things in his life would’ve happened if he hadn’t made fun of the Troll. Adalbert remembered his bluebonnet and felt around his bed to find it. He reclined on his back and clutched it to his chest as though he was laid out for funeral.

  His cellmate broke out with a hacking cough. When the dungeon keeper brought the daily ration, Adalbert took a sip from the water cup, wet his hand with some gruel, licked it off, and brought everything over to the other cot.

  He sat back in his bed and waited for sounds. There was nothing for a long while. Then Adalbert heard the scrape of the bowl coming off the floor, a swallow of food, and a gurgle of water.

  Adalbert repeated the routine the next few times the dungeon keeper came by. When he collected the bowls to return, he saw that his companion was eating less and less. He could feel the man’s fever when he stepped near to his cot. Adalbert stared from his bed, trying to measure the space of the stranger’s breaths or a change of temperature in the room. He jolted when he heard the man speak.

  “Have you time to hear the rest of the story?”

  Adalbert nodded his head.

  “Then settle in for the end.”

  I couldn’t truly say what happened when the sprite struck me with his wand. I felt different, but when I touched my face and looked down at my hands, nothing seemed different. I checked myself in a mirror. I scrutinized every side. It was the same young man’s face I’d always seen. I could only hope that my master had been trying to trick my mind.

  My love was waiting outside the lair. For the first time, I dallied before going to meet him. I washed and rewashed my face. I changed my shirt again, and then I put on musk in case my master’s curse involved foul smells, though there were none I could detect. I paced the room considering the possibilities and wondering if I was better off hiding forever. All the while, the sprite taunted me.

  “Stop being a coward and go see your lover.”

  I looked to the door. I drew a breath and strode toward it.

  It was a mild spring night. I remember how peaceful it was. Crickets chirped. There was a soft breeze. It made me think of summer and the nights I’d snuck out of the den to forage a lunch for the woodsman. I could sense him there. He was under a shadowy tree, and I was veiled beneath the lip of the cave. There was a moonlit glade between us.

  “Is it you?” the woodsman spoke. He stepped into the clearing. He stared curiously at the entrance to the cave. I wanted to rush out and embrace him, but I couldn’t move. The woodsman crept toward me tentatively. I decided to save us both some time. I stepped under the moonlight.

  “My love,” I said. “It’s me.”

  The woodsman doubled back. He grasped his axe and held it at the level of his shoulder.

  “What have you done with him?” he demanded. “Where is my love?”

  “It’s me,” I said again.

  “What trickery is this?” he said. “You’ve his voice but nothing else. Have you eaten him? Is it by some vile act he speaks from inside you?”

  His face was wildly frightened. I inched toward him, hands drawn up in front of my chest. Then his eyes flashed murderously.

  “I’ll kill you and I’ll cut him out!
”

  He lurched toward me with his axe. I ran into the forest as fast as I could. He was on my heels, and I knew if I slowed down a jot, he’d have time to swing his weapon down on me. He chased after me for a long stretch. Then I heard him panting with fatigue.

  He stopped. I hid myself in the brush some yards away. I watched him drop down to his knees. He was breathless, and his face was screwed up in a way that made me shiver. He cried. He screamed. He looked up to the sky, and then he buried his face in his hands.

  A calm passed over him. He took the blade of his axe and slit his throat.

  I ran out and held him as he bled. The woodsman sputtered out his last breath. He had no parting words for me. I stared into his glassy eyes and searched for some glimmer of the terror he had seen. What disgusting sight could have driven him to such desperation? I only saw the reflection of myself I had always known.

  I howled for my love. The chattering crickets turned silent. The woods were still. The only thing left was my grief. I carried the woodsman to the chestnut grove, dug out a plot, and buried him.

  There was a long silence. Adalbert held himself quietly. The sight of the dying woodsman was fixed in his head, as real as if he had witnessed it himself. Adalbert wondered if the stranger was crying. But the room was dead still.

  Finally, a hollow voice traveled from the stranger’s cot.

  “Some days later, my heartbreak turned to bitterness, and I overturned a scalding bowl of soup on my master’s head. I seized the moment of surprise to pluck off his wings.

  “There is a way to kill a sprite.”

  He cleared his throat with some effort.

  “I left his cavern and set off on my own. I was free, but there wasn’t any joy in it. I’d lost my love. Even on the brightest morning, when my heart thawed for a moment and I considered I might fall in love again, there were facts to face. I’d never know if the sprite’s curse was broken. I’d killed one lover, and I didn’t know if I could bear it happening again. I hid myself in the thickest part of the wood and scurried away from the sound of travelers. Sometimes I’d watch them from the cover of brush and listen to the news they’d bring. But I never showed myself. My fear kept me bound to living in the shadows and believing I would always be an unspeakable thing. I’d never experience another kind look or a fond touch. I’d be a monster for the rest of my years.”

  The stranger stopped there. Adalbert listened keenly. He scooted to the edge of his cot, and then he stood. Adalbert reasoned if the man was crying, maybe it was too faint to hear. He wanted to reassure him. He stepped through the dark space toward the stranger’s cot.

  A desperate shout halted Adalbert. “Come no farther. I told you: I crave privacy.”

  The stranger sputtered and coughed to regain his breath.

  Adalbert turned around and got back in his bed.

  *

  Two meals passed, and the stranger wouldn’t eat. Adalbert stayed up waiting for the sound of his cellmate taking up his bowl of gruel, but it never came. He heard the man’s wheezy breaths every now and then. Adalbert fought off his drowsiness for fear of waking up to a silent room. The man had to eat. Adalbert got up and walked through the darkness to the other side of the room.

  He wished the man’s grumpy voice would tell him to go away, but there was no protest. Adalbert judged his steps and stooped to the floor to move about on his hands and knees so he wouldn’t overturn the gruel bowls. He found one, took it, and then reached his hand and felt the cot. It was still warm. Adalbert carefully hoisted himself up while balancing the bowl in one hand. He took a seat beside the man.

  The stranger fussed a bit. Adalbert found his arm covered up in the blanket, and he held it still. That seemed to calm him.

  Adalbert felt around for the man’s lips. They were sweaty and hot. He brought the bowl near and angled it so the man could take a drink.

  The man sputtered on the gruel. Adalbert reached around to lift the man’s head so the meal would go down easier. Adalbert felt him swallowing. He tipped the bowl against the man’s lips again. Adalbert did it a few more times, always lifting the man’s head to help him swallow, and then he did the same with the water cup.

  When everything was finished, Adalbert looked back to his side of the cell. He lay down next to the man instead. There was more fussing, but Adalbert reached his arm over the man’s chest, and he didn’t fight it after a while. It was warmer this way, Adalbert thought. Cozy like snuggling up on a winter’s night. The man coughed. Adalbert pretended to cough, a little mischievous. He could feel the man shaking his head, weary of his humor.

  For the next meal, it was a struggle to get the man to eat. Adalbert used a corner of his sleeve to dab up the spit-up gruel from the man’s face. Then he hit on an idea. He ripped off part of the sheet from his cot, wet it with some of the water, and washed the man’s face.

  Adalbert whispered in the man’s ear, “Beautiful.”

  Then the stranger just wouldn’t eat at all. Adalbert tried until he became worried that the man didn’t have the strength to spit up the gruel before choking. Adalbert set down the bowl and clung to the man. He imagined that by holding the stranger tight he could transmit his own warmth and vitality into the man’s faltering body. It was hard not falling asleep, but Adalbert pinched himself awake every time he felt light and dizzy.

  The man’s breathing became so shallow, Adalbert could barely feel it against his cheek. Adalbert poked the man in the ribs. He didn’t budge.

  Adalbert climbed over him. He turned the man on his side, draped his arm over the man’s shoulder, and looked out into the darkness. He imagined the two of them gazing out at a forest blanketed with snow.

  At the next meal time, Adalbert was still curled up with the stranger. He didn’t notice the dungeon keeper’s torch until it was just outside the cell’s gate. Adalbert squinted toward the light. The guard stopped and angled his torch. He chuckled thickly at the sight of the two men on the cot.

  “Am I disturbing you lovebirds?” the guard said. He looked at Adalbert. “Never thought you’d take a fancy to the man you put away for your twenty-first birthday.”

  Adalbert froze over. The dungeon keeper slid the gruel and water beneath the grating and walked away. Adalbert followed the trail of light all the way down the corridor until it disappeared. He could have looked earlier, but only then did his eyes turn to the stranger. He couldn’t see the man an inch away from his face.

  Adalbert sat up. His mind raced. He should have figured out sooner that all this time he’d been keeping company with the Troll. Adalbert took inventory of his emotions. He wasn’t revolted. He was surprised that he didn’t feel deceived. In fact, the only bitterness in his heart was toward himself. The man was dying.

  But he wouldn’t die alone. Adalbert knew what he had to do.

  The problem was how to do it now that the cell was devoid of light. Adalbert hunched over his cellmate. He could feel the man’s cheeks against his face, but he could not see him. Adalbert remembered the mage’s curse: He needed to behold his love in order to break the spell. He wondered how long he’d have to wait until the dungeon keeper came back with his torch.

  Adalbert got up, stumbled through the darkness, and banged against the gates. He shouted until his throat burned. No one answered. Then Adalbert worried about the man. He couldn’t hear a stir coming from the cot. He needed to check on him. But first, Adalbert made his way to his side of the cell and retrieved the bluebonnet.

  Adalbert settled back in the bed, found the man’s hand, and pressed the flower stalk into his grip. The man’s hold was loose but the stalk stayed put. Adalbert linked his arms around the man’s shoulders and embraced him.

  Sometime later, the man began to tremble. Adalbert tried to hold him still, but whatever had possessed him was strong and defiant. Eventually, the man settled into a calm. That was even scarier. Adalbert hovered over him to feel or hear the sound of breathing. Over many hours, Adalbert couldn’t sort out the man’s breaths fro
m his own. Adalbert’s pounding heartbeat blunted any sound. He stared toward the gates and visualized the glow of the dungeon keeper’s torch.

  A flicker pierced the darkness.

  Adalbert sat up. He watched the light stretch down the corridor, lapping at the gates of the cell. It entered the cell a foot. Then another. Then another. Then it reached the edge of the cot. Adalbert put his arm behind the man’s shoulder to prop him up.

  The torchlight shone into the room. Adalbert looked at his bedmate. He saw the Troll, gory-faced and pale. Adalbert’s mouth pinched into a smile. He bent down and kissed the Troll on the lips.

  *

  Adalbert broke two curses that day. With his kiss, he dispelled the magic that had doomed the mage’s apprentice to forever be a sight of horror in his lover’s eyes. Adalbert saw the kind, young man he’d pictured so vividly combing through the forest with his sack.

  But another transformation happened that took longer for Adalbert to reconcile. The cot, the cell, and the entire dungeon disappeared, and Adalbert found himself in the bright ballroom of the palace, surrounded by a crowd of his countrymen and court attendants. On the platform throne, Adalbert saw Heinrich and Lutecia, back in their regal costumes, just like before the storm, the drought, and the raiders had come to Evermore.

  Heinrich stepped down from his throne and threw his arms around his son. Adalbert stared at him queerly. Heinrich winked.

  “I needed to do something so that you wouldn’t be alone for the rest of your life,” Heinrich explained. “It was a bit of Troll magic that sent you to the dungeon where you could find your true love. We’ve all been waiting for you.”

  Adalbert’s head spun. It had all been a trick to teach him a lesson. He scowled at his father, but it was hard to keep a sour face. The room was filled with laughter and cheers.

  The mage’s apprentice stood beside Adalbert. He was holding the stalk of bluebonnet, and it was fully restored in bright, shiny colors. Adalbert smiled. His love reached out and took his hand. They both leaned forward so that their foreheads touched, and then they kissed, long and deeply. Heinrich led a rousing cheer.