Over the Hills and Far Away

by Susan Skylark

A Sleeping Beauty: The Rest of the Story

  “Wake up, you sluggard!” rang a strident voice at an hour at which even the earliest bird in the entire history of avian things had never considered waking. Prince Bryant blinked blearily awake and flinched to see a slight, spritely woman with a very impatient and quite determined look upon her face crouching beside his bed, washbasin in hand, but as she saw him stir, she relaxed significantly and sighed in relief, “ah, that’s better then.” She set the basin aside, still full of water, and addressed his groggy Highness, “do you want to rescue a Princess, Sire?” He blinked noncommittally at her, more out of bafflement than out of any reluctance on his part; that’s what Princes did, in those days at least. Seeing his perplexity, she plunged onward, “I am sure you have heard of the tragedy that has befallen the only child of the King of the neighboring realm?”

  The boy nodded, coming more awake by the moment, who had not heard the tale? Had not every noble hearted lad who had heard the girl’s plight plotted how he might rescue the ensorcelled Princess? There was only the rather insignificant matter of the Hedge, as it had come to be called, the great thorny expanse of black roses, stinking of death, that had grown up around the palace wherein slept the enchanted maiden; it bore thorns long and sharp as daggers, the merest scratch of which would render the unfortunate hero as insensate as the Princess he intended to rescue, already a half dozen Princes, heroes, and noble sons of Bryant’s acquaintance slept ignominiously beneath the world’s unruliest hedgerow. There was no way to break through the Hedge and disenchant the Princess, along with all the castle’s inhabitants and her would be rescuers. Only the King and Queen had escaped, now bereft of their Kingdom and daughter, they were forced to wander the world as royal refugees, telling their grievous tale in any and every land that offered them succor, hoping someone, somewhere might break the spell.

  It had begun, once upon a time, as all the great tales must, but not so long ago at that. The Queen had given up hope of ever having a child, but amidst her deepest grief, the unthinkable happened and a little girl was born. In an ecstasy of joy, the Kingdom celebrated as never before, even inviting the local fairies to partake in the festivities, a thing unheard of in the histories of mortal men, for who dared meddle in things so far beyond our ken? But meddle they did and at first, it seemed the blessings far surpassed the risks, for each merry lass of fairykind gifted the child with some wondrous trait or charm in her turn, but alas, came the Bane. Either out of oversight or intentionally, for none knew of a certain, this particular fairy had not received an invitation to the party of the century, and as her name suggests, she was neither of a genial nor forgiving nature.

  The doors at the far end of the ballroom flew open of themselves, the candles guttered in the ensuing wind, and the enraged fairy burst upon the unwitting assemblage like a sudden storm on a fair summer’s day. She pushed aside one of her goody-goody cousins, the last waiting to bequeath her gift to the child, and stared down at the infant in her cradle and then glared at the King and Queen on their thrones, said she in tones dark and cruel, “and here then is my gift upon this auspicious day. This child will grow into the fairest and sweetest of maidens, but at the peak of her beauty and charm, she will prick her finger upon a spindle and die.” The assembled company drew a collective gasp of horror as the wind gusted anew as the Bane vanished, extinguishing every candle in the cavernous room and plunging them all into impenetrable darkness, but a faint light flickered forth, a wan hope on the verge of utter night.

  The sole remaining fairy, from whence the radiance came, took the hands of the distraught parents and said gently, “I cannot entirely undo that which my cousin has wrought, her magicks are far too strong, but perhaps I can mitigate the grief which she intends. Let death not have its due, but rather, let the maid sleep until a Prince worthy of her hand comes forth to break the spell, but woe to those who unworthily attempt to break the spell, in search of renown alone.” The King was about to speak his thanks and relief, but she vanished in a flash of light, momentarily staying his tongue, and as the light receded, the candles again flickered happily in their sconces as if the dreadful interlude had never happened.

  The girl grew and blossomed, as the Bane had foretold, her parents taking solace in the last fairy’s gift, but hoping to forestall fate, an exercise in futility to be sure, but the King felt he must do something or go mad, thus did he summarily outlaw the use or ownership of spinning wheels in his Kingdom, upon pain of death. But one cannot thwart destiny, no matter how hard one tries, at least such is impossible among mortal men. So it was that such a device was found by the curious girl as she explored some forgotten tower of the castle whilst her parents were away, whether an innocent accident or some machination of the Bane’s, this history does not record, but she fell immediately into a wakeless sleep. A little wren, perched upon the windowsill of the room, high atop one of the towers, in which the tragic scene unfolded, cocked its head and fluttered to the side of the prone figure.

  It was no wren, but the diminutive little fairy that had spared the Princess’ life while she was yet in her cradle. She bore the girl to her room, saw that she was comfortably interred, and then betook herself out of the castle, leaving its occupants none the wiser that anything untoward had happened. As she exited the gates, all the folk within fell immediately asleep at their posts, senselessly awaiting the day of their mistress’ waking, even as a great and terrible hedge suddenly grew up around the walls and towers to ward the sleepers against ill-intentioned intruders. Just then, the King and Queen returned, only to find that the dire prophecy had found fulfillment at last, utterly grieved but hopeful that there would be a day when their daughter would again laugh and sing under sun and star, the royal couple turned their weary steps towards the nearest neighboring realm, in hopes of finding a hero therein who could restore all their joy.

  They had found heroes aplenty, but none who had ventured into the Hedge ever returned, only those who went thither but never attempted to discover its secrets came back to tell the tale. Thus did the matter stand when the same audacious fairy stood in Prince Bryant’s bedchamber at that outrageous hour, threatening to douse him if he did not waken as promptly as she thought he ought. Said he with a great yawn, but with eagerness strong in his voice, “what then must I do, madam?”

  “Do?” said she, cocking her head quizzically as if she were a bird eyeing something rather curious indeed, giggling like a little girl, she continued, “you can do nothing, sir!”

  He frowned at her, “then why invade my chambers and wake me up at such an hour?”

  “But it was quite necessary if we are to disenchant the Princess,” said she in sudden agitation. The boy sighed in perplexity and frustration as she suddenly smiled in comprehension, “ah, you mean what is to be done! For this matter is quite beyond your skill to manage, but if you will trust me, you are vital to its success.”

  He gaped at her, “I cannot do anything on my own to rectify this matter, but can have a part in its success if I will but do as you ask?”

  “Exactly!” said she.

  The boy shook his head, “but we Princes like to accomplish things with our own might and valor.”

  “Yes, yes,” said the fairy impatiently, “you want all the glory and renown, etc., but that cannot be so in this case. In fact, your sole responsibility and task is to die.”

  “What?!” squawked the flabbergasted Prince.

  “Hush,” said the fairy, “do you want to alert someone to our plot?”

  Said the Prince stonily, “I do not mind risking death for some valiant cause, say fighting a dragon or slaying a troll, but just to lie down and die without struggle or fuss?”

  “Precisely,” said the fairy eagerly, “it is the only way to break this particular curse. It requires someone willing to lose everything, including life itself, for the sake of another.”

  “That’s ridiculous!” said the Prince.

  “No,” said the fa
iry, “it is Love and that is what it will take to save the Princess. Can you do it?”

  He sat thoughtfully for a few moments, and then said sadly to the fairy, “it must be so? There is no other way?” She shook her head gravely and he sighed heavily, then asked hopefully, “but this will waken the lady?”

  Said she quietly, “there are no guarantees that you will succeed, but it is the only way to break the spell and must be attempted if there is to be any hope of waking the Princess. You cannot defeat a dragon if you never face him, but even in fighting him, you are not guaranteed the victory.”

  The boy smiled ruefully, “and what you ask, I suppose, is no less valiant than facing a dragon, save that none will know what it is I have attempted.”

  She smiled wistfully, “oh, someone will know, and yes, you must abandon your pride along with all else.”

  He laughed wryly, “some would rather let the dragon eat them, madam.”

  Her smile became hope itself, “but you are not one such?” He shook his head and she handed him a small flask, “drink this, it contains a potion that will make you appear dead to all and sundry. Once all your kith and kin think you dead, and have sent you to your final repose with all the necessary pomp, we can set out on our adventure.”

  He frowned in perplexity, “I thought you said I needed to die in truth for this endeavor to succeed?”

  Her voice was grim, “that is yet to come, this little ruse is just so no one wonders what you are up to. My cousin will do all in her power to see that this quest fails, should she hear of it.”

  The boy smiled eagerly, hefting the flask, “and she won’t be watching a dead man.” He swallowed the concoction, grimaced at the sour taste, and then all was darkness. There was quite an uproar in the Kingdom when the Crown Prince was found inexplicably dead in his bed, with no sign of poison, illness, or injury; it was a veritable scandal that so valiant a youth could pass from the earth with so little fuss or furor. After the requisite mourning and ceremonies were observed, the boy was interred in the family tombs and left to his eternal repose, or so they thought, but it was not to be, for that impertinent fairy was there to meddle in affairs not her own once more.

  She roused the boy from his deathlike slumber and chivied him off the stone bier upon which he lay, resplendent in his funeral attire. He glanced around curiously, not that he could see much in the pitch dark besides the slightly luminescent fairy, wondering how they were to escape the tomb, which was no doubt sealed against grave robbers and the unlikely occurrence of a zombie apocalypse. She simply smiled knowingly at him and held out her hand. He took it and they vanished in a flash of light.

  When he could again see, they stood upon a broad expanse of rolling hills, emerald in the spring twilight, stretching endlessly to the horizon in almost every direct, but immediately before him stood a bank of glowing fog, seemingly radiant from within. He looked at the smugly grinning fairy in wonder, “this cannot be what I think it is?!”

  She smiled like a knowing cat and asked, “undoubtedly it is. Of all people, I would think you would believe in legends!”

  He scuffed his toe in the dirt and said uneasily, “enchanted princesses and dragons are one thing,” he looked at the wall of luminescent mist in dismay, “this is something else entirely.”

  She laughed merrily at his dismay, “what is so disconcerting about this particular legend that you did not find in the least daunting whilst dealing with fairies, enchanted princesses, magic potions, and my offer of imminent and inglorious doom?”

  He sighed heavily as he met her dancing eyes, “there is just something uncanny about this particular legend. The ‘Far, Distant Hills,’ as my grandmother used to call them: the very stuff of legend and something comprehensible to a mortal mind,” he glanced uneasily at the glowing brume, “beyond them however, the Mists on the Edge of the World, are something altogether different. No man has ever gone in and come out, or if he has, he was so utterly changed that his former companions knew him not.” He shivered, “I am not sure I can do this.”

  She smiled slightly at him, in that irritating fashion he was starting to know all too well, “you are already dead to all your kith and kin. What yet holds you back? I said this adventure would destroy you utterly, why balk now?”

  He smiled wryly, “I suppose I do not mind being destroyed.” He shivered as an unconscious chill ran up his spine, “perhaps it is that I do not wish to be changed.” He glanced uneasily into that fog, “but whatever comes of me in there, it is not for my own sake that I go. I have already vowed to do what I must to free the maiden, even be it death. But at least I would die as myself. But this?! Who knows what comes of a mortal man within the confines of this otherworldly fog?”

  The fairy said quietly, “thence you must go, if you are to free the maid. To succeed, I do not doubt that you will have to give up everything, even your ideas of who you are.”

  He gaped at her, “my ideas of who I am?” A thoughtful smile grew on his face, “indeed, perhaps that is what stays my feet! I do not so much fear death but rather giving up those cherished dreams of who I think I am, when this fog will no doubt show me who I truly am.” He shivered, “and what mortal can think that a pleasant experience? But to know, even as I am known? Wonder of wonders indeed! It may not be pleasant, at least at the first, but it is no terrible thing to know the truth. This will be death indeed, at least for my pride. Fare you well, madam. I go forth in trepidation, but eagerly!” He plunged into the Mists, leaving the fairy alone in the deepening night, whereupon she too vanished upon her own business, leaving that uncanny brume and the hills to their long and silent vigil.

  He knew he was in a place where anything might happen, where anything could be; time and space did not exist herein, at least as once he had known them; the physical realities in this place were a law unto themselves. To look at, his surroundings seemed no different than many a misty wood he had explored upon a cool, damp spring morning, but here there would be no warming sun to drive away the veiling mists that swirled about him in their own strange dance to a music he could not hear. A path lay at his feet and he knew he must not stray from it, lest disaster ensue. He did not know exactly what he was looking for, but he knew it lay at the end of the uncanny trail, thus did he set forth.

  Occasionally he glimpsed distant shadows in the mist, some moving, some stationary, but he knew they had no part in his particular adventure so traveled onward without paying them any further heed, focused entirely on what lay immediately before him. Suddenly the little fairy was beside him, urging him down a side path, saying, “this way lies the answer! Take this path and free your lady, Sire. Ahead lies only your doom, but this way is easy and the path broad. Come, quickly!”

  He frowned at the intrepid creature, but shook his head, somehow knowing the vision was simply an apparition wrought of mist out of his own hopes and fears, said he firmly, “nay madam, I will tread the path that was set me and none other.”

  The phantasm laughed mockingly and vanished with a cruelly whispered, “it is your doom then, Highness! And she will sleep forever, with no chance of waking, because of your selfishness!”

  He shivered, but pressed on as quickly as his feet would carry him, ever watchful for more such traps. He saw his parents, begging and ordering him by turns to come home. His tearful sister pled with him to return to her. Friends coaxed, enemies scoffed, old men told him to be sensible, beautiful girls offered him their eternal companionship and vast riches if he would but forego this senseless quest, but he ignored them all and pressed ever onwards.

  It seemed he had been walking for decades, if not centuries, seeing and speaking to no one but the varied phantoms that tempted, taunted, and coaxed him to turn aside from the path, when at last an individual stood before him that was no figment of the mist. Said the Bane rather impatiently, “it is about time you got here, boy! I thought my pathetic little cousin was up to some mischief, but I am rather disappoi
nted that this is the best she could contrive. You?!” She barked a contemptuous laugh, “had she let the wretched girl die as I had originally intended, this whole affair would be utterly forgotten by now, just one more tragedy in the long annals of a world already overflowing with sorrow, but she had to interfere and has made such a muddle of things that many shall suffer for it, far more than I had ever thought to inflict such misery upon. It is quite delicious really and far more satisfying than my original little curse. Now what of you?”

  “What of me, madam,” said the boy politely, “I am at an utter loss in this place, as to what I must or should be doing.”

  “Yes,” said she in grim satisfaction, “this is not a place you mortals would feel at home, so I’ll tell you what will come of the matter. You can turn around and go home, that would be the wisest and best thing to do, just go home and forget this ever happened, but if you insist on being the hero, I’ll give you that chance. The reason my cousin sent you hence is that herein grows a certain flower that is said to drive away even death itself; it is the only way to waken the maiden. But what she probably didn’t tell you was that the price to pick that particular flower is willing blood. If you want to pick the pretty flowers to waken your sweetheart, you’ll need to spill out your lifeblood on her behalf. I’ve got a dagger right here, lad, if that’s your wish?”

  He frowned in consternation at the grim fairy, “how are the flowers to reach the girl if I die here?”

  The Bane chuckled darkly, “that is not my problem, boy. Now what of your decision?”

  He went to his knees before her and bared his chest, “strike true madam, and I will trust that once the price is paid, somehow all will be well.”

  She raised her knife with a vile cackle, but suddenly squawked in dismay as a terrible light drove her too to her knees, hiding her face in her hands against the horrid brilliance. As the light subsided, a voice spoke from out of the radiance, “not his blood, but mine!”

  “Yours!?” squawked she in dismay and wonder, as she gained her feet, dagger still clutched in her hand.

  Bryant blinked in astonishment to see a unicorn standing in the mist, now alight with the stallion’s radiance. Said the creature quietly, but firmly as the foundations of the earth, “yes, mine.”

  “Very well,” gasped she in growing eagerness, “what care I? The boy’s life is nothing to yours! What a fool bargain, but one I’ll happily enact. I’ll be famous, a veritable hero amongst villains!” She raised her dagger anew as Bryant lunged to his feet and cried out in protest, but it was too late. There came a great flash of light and then utter darkness. The Bane squawked once more, this time in horror and vexation before fleeing into the darkling mist as all the world seemed to shake and heave in protest at the tragedy she had wrought. Bryant lay where he had fallen, sobbing as one bereft of all hope, for truly he felt that something dreadful had happened though he could not say exactly what.

  The mist gradually began to brighten around him, to the somber grey of a rainy morning, though he had long since cried himself into quiescence. He crept forward on hands and knees, not knowing whither he went or why, only that he could no longer lie still. He recoiled in horror as his hands came away wet with silver blood. He could just make out an unmoving form ahead of him in the mist, and knew the unicorn lay in his own blood an arm’s length from where he sat. But suddenly, the form was inert no longer, it lunged to its feet and the mists were again gleaming with the creature’s reflected brilliance. He reared and screamed in triumph, pawing the air in very joy.

  The unicorn approached the stricken boy and nudged him gently with his great muzzle, “easy lad,” said he softly, “I have paid the price, now you must do your part.” The boy glanced significantly at the still dripping wound over the creature’s heart, said the unicorn quietly, “that is proof the price has been paid. Now what of you?”

  The boy shivered, knowing at last the moment he had so long dreaded and yet also somehow yearned for above all else had come, said he quietly as he knelt before the glorious creature, “what would you have of me?”

  Said the unicorn solemnly, but with such joy and hope behind his words that the boy wondered that the very stars did not dance in their courses thereat, “I have given everything for your sake, child, and I ask the same of you. Your life and being, your skills and foibles, your triumphs and failures, your hopes and dreams, everything, that I may use them as I must to accomplish what I will.”

  The boy shivered in dread and wonder, knowing he could give no other answer, but a wholehearted, “yes.”

  “Very well,” said the unicorn, touching the boy first on one shoulder and then on the other with his great horn, intoning joyously, “I knight thee into the Mists. Rise and ride forth upon your first quest, Sir Knight.”

  The boy stood in utmost wonder, but glancing about, he saw nothing but the swirling mist, save a clump of flowers where once the unicorn’s blood had pooled. He knelt and studied the blooms, smiling wryly that they seemed nothing more astonishing or exotic than the lilies-of-the-valley that grew wild in the shady corners of the palace garden, his mother’s favorite amongst a host of showy and wondrous flowers therein. He plucked the flowers and knew they would break the curse that yet hung heavy upon the sleeping princess, somewhere, somewhen, faraway beyond this place where time and geography meant nothing. As he stood, he heard a gentle whisper, as of a distant wind, “bring your lady hence within a year of your marriage that I might bless it and your reign. Ware the wicked fairy, for though stricken of her powers and immortality, she is no less dangerous or cunning and will blame you for her ruin. Fare thee well, child!” With an eager shiver, the boy felt himself fading into the whelming mist and suddenly reappearing somewhere else altogether.

  He stood on the verge of the Mists, the stars in their silent courses above were as bright and unchanged as they had been the day he vanished therein, but the latter could not be said of himself. Though the world about him, the hills in their endless ranks and the whole expanse of heaven above, were the same and like to be until Time itself ceased, the fairy had spoken truly when she said he must die, perhaps not in a physical sense, but die he had: to himself, to his past shortcomings, to his hopes of the future. What and who he now was, only time would tell, but he was who he had always been meant to be, rather than some shallow vision of who he assumed himself to be. He was not perfect, he would yet fail at times, but his vision of what life was, and was not, of what it should and could be, had changed utterly, and it excited him more than words can say.

  A wren, perched in a bush growing precipitously close to the Mists, caught his gaze with one of its bright eyes. Suddenly it was not a bird at all, but the initiator of this whole strange adventure. He smiled keenly at that infuriating smile, which broadened the more at his amusement therewith. She glanced hopefully at the flowers in his hand, piping as brightly as any warbler to his lady in the spring, “you were successful then?”

  “Define success?” said the boy with a wry grin.

  She laughed merrily, “you have learned something then, my lad! That in itself is a success, for it seems you have at least discovered the frustrating vagueness with which mortal conversation is fraught. And, as you imply with your question, there are many forms of success you might have attained within the Mists, specifically I was speaking of the languishing Princess and the mission attendant thereunto.”

  The boy proffered the flowers, “I assume these are that which you sent me after.” He frowned, “how did you intend to get them to the Princess if I had had to pay the Price myself? Did you know there would be an intercessor?”

  She smiled mysteriously at him, “what I did or did not know is no concern of yours my lad, rather let us to the lady that she languish in darkness no longer.”

  He nodded, but his brow furrowed, “how long has it been?”

  “A century,” said she, watching him carefully to gauge his reaction, “at least by mortal reckoning.�
�

  He smiled wryly, “good thing I was dead to all my folk already. And the Princess’ Kingdom?”

  The fairy shrugged, “some of the greater lords have happily ruled over their independent little fiefdoms in the absence of a true King while some of the villages have ruled themselves and other little bits have either been abandoned completely or were claimed by the surrounding nations. They’ll need a bold and wise King to cobble the nation back together peaceably, but a proper fairytale beginning will go a long way towards reestablishing the Kingdom.”

  The boy offered her his hand, “shall we be about it then?”

  She smiled infuriatingly at him and said, “I thought I was the pushy one?” But she took his hand and the by now familiar brilliance surrounded them, as suddenly they were somewhere else. She gazed upon her handiwork proudly, for the Hedge had grown and thickened over the years until little could be seen of the castle beneath and behind the monstrosity.

  Bryant’s nose wrinkled as the smell of carrion was brought to him on a vagrant breeze; he eyed the fairy dryly, “could you have picked a less morbid way of protecting the castle and its occupants?”

  She laughed like a thousand tinkling bells, taking his hand she led him on a path directly towards the looming Hedge, said she, “could you think of a more effective way to keep people out or warn them away?” She glanced disdainfully at a snoring fellow collapsed beneath the Hedge, “though some apparently wouldn’t take the hint. The flowers!” She motioned towards the monstrous shrubbery and Bryant did as she bade him, flourishing the bouquet as if it were a magic wand with which he hoped to banish the very shades of death. And astoundingly, that is exactly what happened.

  For a moment, the entire Hedge, every leaf and petal, stood stock-still before each fluttered excitedly in a different direction, as if suddenly assaulted by a thousand vagrant breezes all at once. The stench of death was quickly borne away while the stygian petals assumed the vibrant blue of an autumnal sky. Bryant eyed the fairy in wonder, “blue roses?”

  She shook her head in astonishment, “it is none of my doing lad, could I make roses of that color, do you think I’d spend my time helping rescue imperiled princesses? This is a miracle indeed! But come, there’s more to this adventure than herblore.” She hurried into the palace, the indigo speckled curtains of foliage drawing obligingly aside that they might pass unhindered. She led him to the chamber wherein the Princess lay, for now ignoring all the sleepers that lay in various awkward positions throughout the castle. He thrust the flowers into the fairy’s hands as she stopped just inside the door, watching in anticipation as he continued to approach the sleeping maiden.

  Glancing significantly over his shoulder at his spry little companion, he said, “this is how you properly waken someone.” He drank in the vision of the blissfully sleeping maiden for a moment, and then kissed her fully and deeply. She woke without a start, slowly opening her eyes, smiling brightly, as carefree as a little girl on a sunny morning.

  She looked up into the eyes of the Prince as an impish smile lit her face and danced in her eyes, “you’ll have some explaining to do sir, and my father is not a patient man when it comes to matters of propriety.”

  He straightened with a laugh, offering the Princess his hand, said he, “I will take that into account, madam, but first I think we should rouse the rest of the slug-a-beds that call this place home.”

  “Leave that to me!” beamed the fairy, hefting the flowers as if they were a sword and she a warrior of great renown.

  Laughed the Prince as she hastened off, “at least she isn’t armed with a washbasin on this occasion.” The Princess gave him a questioning look and he told her all the strange tale.

  The fairy soon returned and reported that all the castle’s inhabitants were up and about once more, immediately resuming their interrupted chores, as if a century had not passed in the interim, however those asleep under the Hedge were not so fortunate, most having been buried in a century’s worth of dead leaves and new growth. The gardeners assured her that they’d rescue the beleaguered heroes soon enough, but it might be a day or three before they could all be freed. The Prince laughed merrily, “what an ending to an already inglorious tale! Not only to be so trapped in a feat of valor but then to need rescue at the last by a troop of gardeners!” He glanced at the fairy, “what is to come of these would-be heroes? I doubt they have a home any longer to return to, at least one that would recognize them or easily accept them back into their former positions.”

  “You’ll be needing armsmen, knights, and noble companions, milord,” said the fairy with a grin, “they’ll likely beg you for such a boon, thus their gratitude and faithfulness is assuredly yours.”

  He then looked to the Princess, “and how long will it take to plan a wedding, my Lady?”

  She glanced eagerly at the wondrous blue roses, a spray of which had climbed up the tower and was peeking in at the window, “with such exquisite flowers, what is there to plan? The roses alone will make every Princess on the continent so extremely jealous that it will be the wedding of the century even were I attired as a goose girl, fresh from the fields.”

  Invitations were sent to all the nobles and villages that had once comprised the kingdom and to all the neighboring realms; the date was set for the soonest day that the guests could be reasonably expected to arrive in fashionably good time. A quiet ceremony would have well suited the new King, but as the realm had been all but dead for the last century, it was vital that all the Kingdom’s former inhabitants and allies see that there was truly a King upon the throne, intent on reviving the forgotten nation. But he need not have worried, for so excited was everyone to hear the full story, and to have their part in a veritable fairy tale, that there was astonishingly little conflict as the nascent Kingdom reestablished itself and reasserted its ancient borders.

  One day, after a very positive report on the status of the Kingdom from his various generals, advisors, nobles, and councilors, the King approached his lady and said, “the time has come, milady, for the Kingdom is now stable enough to bear our absence for a time. We must journey into the Mists, ere the year is out.”

  She sighed heavily, bowed her head sadly, then gazed up into his keen eyes, “it will be as it must, milord, but this journey weighs heavy upon me, for I fear a great tragedy shall yet befall us, and we still so new to our joy.”

  “We are duty bound to venture thither, my love,” said he quietly, “and I do believe it will be an adventure indeed, but perhaps not so grievous as you fear. Come lady, this should be a journey made in hope and joy, not fear and dread. For there is naught to fear in the Mists for those who are bidden thence by the master thereof.”

  Her countenance brightened and she laughed gaily, “an adventure you say? Very well, let us be about it, for I have done naught but sleep these last hundred years! At last I shall have my own part in this tale.”

  Preparations were very quickly made and the King and his company set forth with joy in the morning; the entire Kingdom turned out to line the road and wave their farewells and best wishes for their beloved King and Queen upon whatever their strange quest. It was a merry journey, for the weather held fair and the roads were well kept, and joyous was the King to see again those swirling Mists and show them to his darling wife. She had brought along the flowers that had wakened her to live once more in the merry world, for never did they wilt or fade, and dearer were they to her than any heirloom or treasure of great age or value. One morning, as they were just climbing into their saddles, one of the scouts returned at the gallop and informed his Majesty that there was an old woman, haggard and bent, begging along the wayside.

  The King swung himself into his saddle and motioned for the scout to lead on, for he meant to see this wretched creature for himself, that he might do what he could to aid her in her plight. The Queen would not be left behind, nor would an ample number of guardsmen, whose captain was quite strict and proper upon such matters.
The King drew rein well away from where the woman sat, hunched and miserable beside the road, that he not disturb her with his horse or retinue. He smiled wryly, wondering how it was he had ever managed to walk from one end of the garden to the other without such an entourage to guard his person and see to his every whim. He approached the old woman and knelt beside her, asking what he could do to be of service.

  She mumbled something incomprehensible and he leant closer that he might better hear, as he did so, she cackled triumphantly and said loud enough for all to hear, “die as you should have done at the first, Sire!”

  He groaned as she plunged a dagger into his heart, the Queen was off her horse and at his side in a moment, cradling his head in her lap while the guardsmen took charge of the enigmatical murderess. He smiled wanly up at his beloved, and said quietly, “ride on to the Mists, my darling and do not waste your tears in vain grief...” He trailed off and lay still, his body fading away like mist in the morning sun.

  She gasped in wonder and horror and then glanced up into the questioning eyes of the captain of the guard, said she, “we will continue our journey, captain, but first we will see what the villainess has to say for herself.”

  The woman was brought forth and hissed at the Queen, “this is all your fault! Had your father not forgotten to invite me to his wretched party or had you never been born, none of this would have happened!”

  The Queen gasped, “you are the legendary Bane? You cannot blame me for the consequences of your own actions, madam!”

  Scoffed the former fairy, “at least now your pain will equal my own, as I have bereft you of that which you love most, as was done to me for the sake of your thrice cursed husband!”

  The Queen shook her head sadly and said stonily to the captain, “see that justice is done, captain, and then catch up with the rest of the party.” The man bowed and bore his shrieking captive away as the balance of the Queen’s company regained their saddles and took to the road.

  As they rode along, one of her ladies said quietly to the Queen, “I beg your pardon Highness, I know it is not my place to question you, but why do we continue this vain journey in light of such a tragedy and why do you seem oblivious to the pain of your loss?”

  The young Queen wore an enigmatical smile and a strange joy danced in her eyes, “I do not know Maggie, but it must be done. I should be devastated but I cannot rid myself of this terrible, irrepressible hope, even my husband’s last words seemed replete with it. Thus do we ride on, perhaps I’ll find my answer at journey’s end.”

  The journey was no longer so overtly merry, but neither was it so solemn or grievous as it otherwise might have been. The Queen’s odd mood seemed to afflict them all to some extent, though a few thought that perhaps it was her courage alone that bore them thence. At last, they stood upon the brink of the world, where waited the ever-swirling Mists. She bade her companions wait, and taking her flowers in hand, she stepped into the brume. It was a short and uneventful journey, for she had been bidden thither and so did she arrive without incident. She gasped, dropping her flowers in astonishment, for her husband lay upon a stone bier, his sword clutched upon his breast, like a Knight interred.

  She wanted to run to his unmoving side, but rather fell to her knees, tears in her eyes, as a great unicorn interposed himself between them. Said the radiant creature quietly, “he is mine, child.”

  “Yes,” said she, head bowed and tears falling freely from her eyes, “but for a little while you loaned him to me, and for that I will be grateful.” She lifted her gaze and looked upon the wound in his side, still dripping silver blood. She bowed her head once more, “and for the price you paid on my behalf.” She looked up again, this time into his fathomless eyes, “I offer you my service, such as it is.”

  He shook his great head and smiled in amusement, “nay child, I do not want your service. I want all of you, everything, or nothing at all.”

  A slight, eager smile graced her lips, “then let it be unto me as you have spoken.”

  He glanced over his great shoulder at the inert form of the Knight and asked, “even if I do not restore him to you?”

  She bowed her head, “even so, do with me as you will.”

  He nuzzled her gently, saying, “very well, take up your flowers and rise, oh Lady of the Mists, and waken your Lord.” She stood, flowers in hand, and slowly approached the bier, as if fearful it might vanish like dew in the sun. “There is no need of hesitancy or fear, my Lady, go forth boldly and do as I bid thee.” She smiled deeply and approached without trepidation, kissing her husband as once he had wakened her.

  He smiled up at her and said, “now this is an awakening indeed! Well met, my Lady!”

  The Knight swung his legs down from the bier and stood beside his lady for a moment, but as the unicorn approached, they both knelt before him. He touched each with his horn, causing a little thrill of joy to course through their entire beings, before saying solemnly, but with much joy, “I hereby bless your reign, rule long and joyously, as befits true servants of the Mist.” When they raised their heads, he was gone. They exchanged a joyous look before they too vanished into the swirling veils of luminous vapor. They appeared on the edge of the Mists, just outside the encampment wherein their company waited, and happily it had not been more than a few hours since the Queen had ventured therein, though twilight had fallen.

  Great was the astonishment and joy of all those in the camp to not only see their Queen again, but more so the King at her side, returned from death. They said little of their adventures within the Mists, and their companions knew better than to ask too much or press them too hard, but greatly did they rejoice in the miracle that had been wrought out of so grievous a tragedy, both for the Queen in particular and the Kingdom as a whole. The next morning, they saddled their horses and began the long journey home.

  And long and joyously did they reign; their Kingdom was renowned as a bastion of peace, justice, and wisdom for an entire age to come. The years touched them little, for they had ventured outside the bounds of Time, but that did not mean they were content to dwell forever therein. Their grandchildren were of an age to be parents when at last the crown was to pass to another. Taking their chosen heir to the crown, the King and Queen mounted their horses, refusing any other escort, and vanished that day from recorded history. The boy, no older than his grandmother when first she had fallen asleep, accompanied them to the verge of the Mists and all three vanished therein, but only the boy emerged, as utterly changed as his grandfather, so many long years ago. Clutching his grandmother’s flowers in his hands, he found his horse, and began the long journey home. A little wren, perched in a bush, watched him ride off with eyes far too keen for any avian thing; with a happy little trill, which might have been a fairy’s laugh, it flitted off into the gathering dusk.

  Eventually man discovered that the world was round and rather smaller and less interesting than he had once thought; history became more important than legend and only poets and children knew the truth of the matter, but the wren knows the full tale and will gladly tell it to any who have ears to hear. Rule of the Kingdom eventually passed to those who did not believe in fairytales and it became indistinguishable from any other Kingdom of men, eventually passing out of history like all mortal things. The legend was reduced to a mere fairytale and one thought fit only for children, but then they are far wiser in these things than their elders, for they can yet speak the language of violets and swallows and still believe in fairies.

  There was an old woman tossed up in a basket,

  Seventeen times as high as the moon;

  Where she was going I couldn’t but ask it,

  For in her hand she carried a broom.

  ‘Old woman, old woman, old woman,’ quoth I,

  ‘Where are you going to up so high?’

  ‘To brush the cobwebs off the sky!’

  ‘May I go with you?’

  ‘Aye, by and by.’