While Aurora Slept- The Complete Trilogy

by Megan Easley-Walsh

  She screamed and Mother had turned. She'd hidden him behind her skirts, but he'd managed to peek above her crinoline. It was odd to see her wear one. He more often thought of her wrapped in the woolen blankets of her kinsmen, a bright array of autumn's foliage colors around her shoulders as she rocked him, singing songs of the past, telling stories of creation and of the future. Flashes of color is what he'd seen then too. Flashes because long twines of silver and gold flickered over the floor. Wooden beams, calloused by time, sparkled with a pool of gemstones on that night. The dreamcatcher had broken. Aurora knelt on the floor. Desperation painted her face. Midnight lay splayed on the floor. And his heart was pierced. Philip's knees sank. He was drawn to her, unable to explain his fascination. It was as if one of those strands had hung above their heads as children, joining their hearts on a string of an unbreakable bond.

  He wondered now if Midnight ever felt as he did. It was foolish. Wasn't it foolish? If she felt as he did, then she would have said something to him. She would, except that Aurora hated him. Midnight would not cross her sister, not betray her, no matter how she felt for a man. A man is who Philip saw now, as Rumpelstiltskin drew back the door. Philip stayed his steps, resisting the urge to step forward, to enter the door with Midnight. He wouldn't do such a thing. He couldn't give away his position.

  She disappeared inside the house now. He waited. Waiting for her to emerge. Waited to see how the gold of his heart would need his help. If only that dreamcatcher hadn't broken on her all those years ago. If only, if only his intuition had crept in sooner...

  Chapter Eleven

  Aurora

  I made a wish. On my sixteenth birthday, which now feels months or even years away, I made a wish and now I'm asleep. I've been asleep for centuries. Maybe. It certainly feels like it. Of course that's silly. No one sleeps for centuries. Certainly not me, Aurora. Despite not knowing how long I have slept or when I will awaken, I do know that my wish is why I'm asleep.

  And it provides me with more than a little relief. If I'm asleep in this dreamworld, because of my wish, then it means that Midnight is free.

  Wish upon a star

  On behalf of sister's part

  Free her from despair

  Give her dreams of heart

  Those were the words that my heart wished. When a heart wishes, there is certain to be more than a little magic. Couple that with my sixteenth birthday and I knew that my wish would have to come true. For, after all, Midnight and I had sprinkled our shoes with the dust of the elves so that our footsteps would be perfect in the myriad of dances and numerous waltzes that we were required to take part in. We've both loved to dance since we were tiny, but our feet seem always to have a mind of their own. We were dancing, our hands clasped around each other's waists and playing boats, standing at the stern, when I tripped all those years ago. I tripped, straight into the window and down crashed Midnight's dreamcatcher.

  The beautiful silver and gold threads ripped free of the frame and unleashed all the nightmares that the sun had not yet burnt away. It had been days since it had beamed so bright. Rain had fallen unrelentingly, until I tripped, the dreamcatcher fell and Midnight landed in a heap all at once. All fell over her. Down came the dreams. Down came the gold. Down came the silver. Down came the magic that had transferred from Midas into his son Rumpelstiltskin and its powers to transform. And it had, only not in all the wonderful ways that gold and silver ought to. There was no servant girl wrapped into rags transformed to riches. There was merely the young girl who was scared by what was so powerful that the sun itself was required to destroy it: nightmares.

  But then, fear rips through me. I look around me. I am in no nightmare. Perhaps, none of it has worked. Maybe I am stuck here in this world and – well, what if Midnight is as well? What if she is also in some realm, drifting between pain and frozen solidity? That is what this world has become. If only there might be a tree, something to –

  I freeze. There, directly in front of me, is a tree. It's reaching high into this dream-scape, pushing up the white barrier of this world. Surely, it was not there before. But it is ludicrous to think that I have somehow summoned it. Isn't it?

  Now, I think of a chair, the one that is carved with the high-topped red leather back with the spindle feet and the –

  It materializes before me. I fall back in awe. This is magnificent! I smell the scent of cinnamon strongly now and find a platter of delicious cookies laid out on a silver tray before me. A cup of steaming tea accompanies it with a perfectly-painted teapot beside me. It looks very much like the one that my paternal grandmother had, the one that she used to serve tea to me and –

  Stop!

  A warning as strong as a ship's foghorn pierces the thought. I jam my hands to my ears to block it all out. I cannot think of her, for fear of summoning my sister. I cannot – already, I can see her face sparkle before me. I put my hands in front of me now and push her away. I have no way of knowing if these things are real or figments. I am real, but I am the dreamer. Does that mean all else is merely shadow? I take a sip of tea now. It certainly tastes real, feels real, is piping hot and even scalds my tongue slightly. No. That's settled. No one can be brought here. But, now that I've realized this, it is impossible not to start thinking of her, not to – something to occupy my mind, that's what I need!

  I summon the books from the library, the largest in Father's collection. I begin on page one and read. It works for five pages, exactly five pages, until I realize that there is someone else who would love to read this, someone with dark hair and – stop!

  This is proving far too dangerous. A mountain. A mountain with goats on top and pine trees dotting the summit. A glacier, reflective of the sky above, shimmers at the top. Right. I'll climb it. I'll have to concentrate. I won't be able to think about it. I won't even be able to remember –

  Lightning!

  A bright white fizzle streaks the sky. There, just enough to make me focus without causing too much harm. Who knows how real this is? Who knows if I am able to be injured? I certainly do not aim to find out.

  I duck low to the ground as the rain begins to fall. I have not thought of rain and am puzzled. Then I realize that dreams are always associations. Whatever I think of will bring with it the associations that it shares. It can rain in dreams after all. A house, looking hauntingly ominous, jumps to life on the horizon. Of course, the storm. I swallow back the rising panic. Now a storm is raging below me as well, as I am carried on a tide of swelling waves. I brace myself against the air, but it is no longer static. It swirls devilishly higher. I am trapped.

  Chapter Twelve

  Midnight

  “Long ago, my dreamcatcher fell on me,” I say to Rumpelstiltskin.

  He nods, looking serious.

  “Was it day or night?” He asks, though the concern in his eyes alerts me that he already knows the answer, or at least deeply suspects it.

  “Night,” I say.

  “Dreams have plagued you all your life. They've worsened with age.”

  He diagnoses me, as readily as any doctor would have.

  I nod.

  “And now, your sister, you suspect... what exactly?”

  “Her sixteenth birthday was two weeks ago.”

  “She knew you suffered from these dreams?” He eyes my arm as he says suffer, seeing there the last traces of the burns and scrapes of thorns from the nightmarish torments.

  Again, I nod.

  “It's not your fault,” he says it so softly that I barely hear him.

  “Pardon?”

  “What happened to her. It's not your fault. Loving someone, it doesn't mean you caused what happened to them...” His eyes mist over, as he looks through the past into the young boy whose mother and sister turned to golden statues, whose father was banished, who lost his home and all he knew.

  I want to protest, to tell him that I know it is my fault. I am certain that she wished away my fate, that not understanding the power of the wish, she somehow excha
nged her freedom for my captivity. It isn't worth it though. I know it isn't. She is now trapped, truly. I could always awaken. There was always a way out. Aurora. She'd promised me, that things would be different. Against my insistence not to worry about me, she'd made a wish on her sixteenth birthday, that most magical of days.

  Now she is trapped, trapped and unable to be freed from it. Suppose that – I close my eyes to my worries. At least there has been no sign that nightmares torment her, as they did me. She has remained peaceful. Her skin is flawless. There are no visible indications of the nightmares' power. Perhaps, she is merely trapped in restful slumber. Is she even aware? Does she know that she has slept for weeks? Does she think that it has been merely a moment since she closed her eyes? Is she even thinking at all? Will I ever speak to my sister again?

  I stand, to try to escape the whirling tide of tormenting thoughts that pool around me, gathering in deep currents threatening to tow me under. All that I succeed in doing is spilling the tea, deep and golden in appearance, that Rumpelstiltskin has fixed for us over my skirts.

  “I have caused you distress. My apologies, Your Highness,” he says, looking as though he has been stricken. His words stick on the word “highness”, as though I am not the only royal that he is thinking of.

  “No,” I say a bit too sharply. He cowers. Kidgloves, I remind myself.

  “No, thank you, Rumpelstiltskin. It is not you. I miss my sister. I am worried for her. That is all. I need your help in getting her back. I have come for thread. I hope it is not too much to ask.”

  I had intended to wait, not to spill my request so suddenly. But, I am struggling just to stand, unable to hold myself together for much longer as my sister lies in unspeakable danger.

  “Thread, yes, of course,” he says, his eyes flitting over my words as he adjusts to keep pace with the conversation. Then his eyes flicker with recognition of the truth. Hope kindles there.

  “You intend to repair the dreamcatcher. You want to reverse the damage.”

  He says it so simply that even I wonder if it's too easy, if such a thing has any possibility of truly working.

  I nod and then, ever so softly, barely hearing my own thought, I ask the question that has plagued me since Mother first spoke the plan to me.

  “Do you think it will work?”

  He studies me intently. Rather than answer me, he simply says,

  “You love your sister greatly.”

  I nod, trying not to let a tear race down my cheek.

  ◆◆◆

  In front of Rumpelstiltskin, I was able to hold in my tears. But now, as I stand next to Aurora’s bed, I cannot contain my tears any longer. I try to wipe them away, not wanting them to fall on my sister’s perfect sleeping face.

  “I’m trying, Aurora. Don’t worry. I went to Rumpelstiltskin. I asked him for thread. He’ll bring it to us and everything will be all right again.”

  I hope that the words will come true. If Aurora’s wish got her into this, maybe mine can get her out.

  Chapter Thirteen

  Aurora

  The waves are rising around me, but I too am rising as if the land itself is pushing me up. Is there a risk that I could drown if I step off of this wave? Has anyone ever drown in a dream? I hold on to the life-ring that has materialized before me, vowing not to find out. Wait, a dream. Of course, I'm dreaming! I have power, some sort of ability anyway. I think of sun shining, its heat scorching me, a desert of interminably long stretches. But, strangely, nothing happens.

  Desperation. I'm too desperate. Nothing can grow when you grasp it too tightly. Isn't that what Mother had said so many times before? I shut my eyes to block her memory out. But my mother's wisdom remains, even as I don't think about her, and I take up the colors of the sea and begin to braid them. If there is no fear and no desperation, then I can divide the terror from the waves. The water flows through my hands, no longer wet, but only vibrant in color now.

  The water's wrung free of the waves. I have only a coil of braided rope left in my hand, which winds down to the floor like some multicolored snake.

  Draining away from the waves, the water pools in my eyes and then over the pillows. Each drop trickles down, falling like a cascade of jewels. I know that I'm still asleep and I cannot see the waking world, but somehow, deep within me I feel the tears mark my crisp pillow and a slight pressure as though I am not alone and for just a moment, water infuses the waves with color that is not my own. Even though I am asleep and know that I cannot think of Midnight, I sense her in that moment. And for just a second, it is enough. I'm safe from the waves and a spark of something has begun in the mixing of our tears.

  Chapter Fourteen

  An Errand for Elves

  “Gather the peas of the princess.” Those words were spoken in golden shimmer. He could literally see them spill out of the lips and make a magical spell. Enchanted, that's what would happen to these precious pearls.

  “I don't understand.” He'd shook his head, unable to comprehend those words.

  “The princess sleeps on peas each night to guard them. They're magical. There's enough in those tiny sprouts to unleash whole gardens.”

  At that, his eyes had lit. Lenora, his young daughter, had pleaded only last night for another crust of bread. How it had pained him to deny her! He had to, though, or there would be nothing for later in the week. Going to bed with a little hunger was tolerable. But, going for days without food was impossible.

  “You want me to steal them?” he said to the elf. He bent low to speak to the man that was half his height. The elf shook his head with a little sparkle of dust falling from behind his hat and over his ears as he did.

  “Don't think of it as stealing, my friend. The princess has a good heart. She would want the people to be fed.”

  “Then, why does she not...”

  Here the man trailed off, then glanced uncertainly over his shoulders. His head pivoted, surveying the land around him lest a guard should sweep in and arrest him for treason.

  “She is merely a child, no older than your own daughter.”

  At this the man blinked. How did the elf know about Lenora?

  “Gather the peas and Lenora will not know hunger again.”

  With those magical words, the man nodded and sealed a vow between them.

  ◆◆◆

  “Almost there, go on.” The man stumbled forward. Lenora had been restless this evening and she'd begged him for several more songs before he had been able to lay her sleeping body in her bed. Covering her with a woolen blanket, he tucked in her tiny chin and whispered,

  “Don't worry, Lenora, tonight I change our fate.”

  ◆◆◆

  Now he found himself whirling in a forest of looming dark and ghastly tree figures. They stretched their arms skyward, as though they were pressing against the clouds, intent to break them and unleash the sunlight that lived beyond the cover of darkness. The trees did not awaken though. They remained stoic with their roots entrenched deeply into the coffee-toned dirt. They would not release their secrets to him. Mystified by the darkness and the looming clouds darting through the branches, he found himself lost now.

  He sat down heavily on the forest floor, a carpet of leaves ankle-deep around him. Their edges crinkled under him, cacophonous but welcoming in his ears. He shut his eyes, whispered a little prayer, thought of Lenora and opened his eyes. A trail of moonlight stretched from his fingertips and widened as his eyes moved through the trees. At the top of the treeline, he saw it. Perfectly framed by a beautiful lunar spotlight rose a castle. It was grander than any that he had seen. But, that was saying, well nothing, for he had never seen a castle. He'd been close once, when he was a young boy.

  “Just around the bend,” his brother had said. But then, a dog, one of the king's hunting pack, had bayed from the distance. They'd run off, before the hound could descend on them.

  The castle was bigger than anything that he had imagined that he'd see. It was bright and shining, like al
abaster. Certainly, it had not been carved of alabaster, but it looked convincingly as if it had been. He stood there, awestruck, unable to move for a moment. And then, practicality set in. How would he ever breach the walls? There were insurmountable numbers of guards. He could see their helmets gleaming by moonlight, as they stood at every turret. When his heart relaxed, he realized that they were only battlements on the castle. There were no guards standing there. With Lenora fixed firmly in his mind, he scaled the castle wall with a rope and dropped swiftly into the window that the elf had instructed him to find.

  He bent at the princess's side, his heart racing uncontrollably. Now he lifted his eyes, to watch her breath. She was notorious for waking from the peas under her mattress. Tonight she seemed to sleep with a stillness that no person, let alone a vegetable, would ever be able to disturb. As the moonlight spread over her face, he caught sight of her for the first time. The elf had said that she was no older than Lenora. This girl, though, she looked to be at least ten years older than the innocent six-year-old that he had tucked into bed, after numerous songs, at home. Perhaps, the elf did not know how old Lenora was. Or, maybe, maybe elves were unable to tell the difference in ages of girls. Elves were far older than mortal men after all. Her hair was golden, like beams of the sun. She lay perfectly still and he was tempted to lift his hand to her neck, to check her pulse, to ensure that the life had not gone out of her. There was a peacefulness that consumed her, though, in a way that assured him that all was well.

  And then, he saw it. He had expected to have to reach beneath her piles of mattresses to fetch the magical peas with their legendary growing status. But, here they were, looking luminescent in the moonlight. Like shining balls of crystal clearness, they stood as reflecting pools. He had never seen clear peas, only the deep green earthiness that the garden offered for sustenance. But then, ordinary peas could not grow into entire gardens. Ordinary peas could not guarantee that Lenora would never be hungry again. But, the elf had said that these would. Perhaps, they were supposed to be clear after all.