While Aurora Slept- The Complete Trilogy

by Megan Easley-Walsh

  From the hallway, he heard the scuffle of feet. Mere moments is all that he had left, or he risked being caught, a fate that would land him in the dungeon. And then what would become of Lenora? No. That could not be allowed.

  He reached into his pocket and scooped up the tiny gems of crystal food that lay beside the princess on her pillow. Into the silken purse, which the elf had entrusted to his care, he tucked them all for safe-keeping. There. It was finished. Now Lenora's future was safe.

  ◆◆◆

  The elves poured the tiny precious pearls from the silken pouch that the man had delivered. A collective gasp pulsed through their halls. Mirrored prisms of brilliant light scattered confetti-like arrays of color. Here was where they had schemed, planning this perfect freedom for the kingdom. No one need ever go hungry again! How many times had they heard the young folks crying themselves to sleep? For everyone knew that elves' ears were the best adept at hearing the longings of the heart. And it was the heart that cried out, even as the stomach rumbled, for the heart had felt lost, abandoned, unable to quench its hunger. It believed that no one loved it. That was the worst kind of sickness, the deepest shade of shame. But, no more. The elves had decided. It would not be tolerated any longer. They were small, but their hearts were mighty. There was no one that could contend with the good intentions of the elves. Besides, they needed to atone for that darkness from long ago, that they never spoke of anymore.

  Now, though, they gasped, at the sheer beauty of the perfectly polished clear gem-like peas before them. This is not at all what they had expected. There was nothing that resembled a vegetable here.

  From the door, an old elf cleared his throat. Those gathered in the hall turned and looked.

  “Where did these come from?”

  “From the man in the village, the father of Lenora.”

  They had picked him specially, knowing the motivation of a father's heart. It was not so unlike elf-like motivation to soothe the sorrow of the glen.

  “And where did he find them?” the older elf said.

  “From the castle, of course, where the princess with the peas sleeps.”

  “These are not from that castle,” he said. They turned and looked at him, shaking their heads in wonder.

  A murmur snaked its way through the halls.

  “Then, where are they from?”

  The old elf stepped nearer.

  “These are precious, even more valuable than your vegetables.” Now, they understood that he had never been curious about any of the questions that he asked. He knew all the answers already.

  “What are they?”

  “These are diamonds, the jewels of a princess and her tears. They have transformative powers, particularly if any love is imbedded in them.”

  The elves blinked. This was not their plan, but, if the old elf could be believed, and assuredly he could be, this was beyond their most treasured dreams. It was amazing, of immense proportions! Who knew what wondrous things could happen?

  Part Two: Glass Slippers

  Chapter One

  Midnight

  “The invitations must be sent at once.”

  “Invitations?”

  “Of course! Haven't you been listening?”

  “Invitations for what?”

  “Honestly, Midnight, where is your mind today? The invitations for the ball.”

  I replayed the words in my mind, remembering the conversation with Aurora. When had it been? A month now? Maybe two? No, it was at least three months ago that I'd spoken to my sister. It was when I'd still been able to conceal the pain from my sister, before it had drug its ugliness over my arms and my dreams. It was before Aurora's sixteenth birthday ball, before she'd made the wish and before she'd fallen asleep. Asleep. Still. A month later. Who could sleep for a month?

  The doctors had monitored her carefully, watching her for signs of weakness. How could anyone survive so long without food? Without even a sip of water? Somehow, though, Aurora had.

  “She's fine.”

  “Of course she isn't fine!” Father had snapped. “My daughter has been asleep for a month. Do you think that's normal? Do you?” He'd roared at them, the lion skin that hung above his throne peering menacingly down. Mother hated the skin. She said it was a sin to take the spirit out of a beast so grand, but Father was not the one who had done it. No, that was work of his ancestors. Of our ancestors. I think more of Mother's family as being my own. That doesn't make much sense, except that it's harder to reconcile that I am of a conquering people as well as one who knows the secrets buried in the land.

  Mother's been thoughtful, speaking little. It's her way, one that has always brought me comfort. Only now, without the constant cheerful chirping of Aurora, I long to hear her talk to me, to reassure me, to speak a bit of happiness into the moment.

  She does speak now, laying a reassuring hand on Father's arm,

  “The doctor did not say that this was normal, only that she is fine.”

  “Thank you, Your Majesty,” the doctor says nodding at her.

  She nods and her soothing of my father has allowed the doctor to continue in his explanation.

  “I know that is unusual for her to be sleeping so long, but there is no damage. It is as if she has been asleep only a matter of hours. Her breathing is steady, her heart beats clear, and her body has not suffered from lack of sustenance.”

  “How can you know that there is no damage?”

  This time it is my mother, in her calm manner that speaks, not Father with his belligerence.

  “Pardon?” The doctor says.

  “Her body is not all that there is to her. Can you assure me that her spirit is not disturbed?”

  He blinks, looks to my father, briefly at me as I stand staring at him needing to know the answer as strongly as my mother does, and then clears his throat awkwardly. I know what that means. So too does Mother.

  She nods slightly, though he has said nothing.

  “Midnight, come, there's something we must do.”

  ◆◆◆

  My mother has summoned me rarely, very rarely. That she has done so now means one thing: she is growing desperate.

  “We must have a ball. Rumpelstiltskin will bring his threads at that appointed hour, but just in case...well, this will provide us with insurance. ”

  I stare at her, not at all understanding. A ball? Mother wants to have a ball? Now? How can that possibly –

  “Midnight, now is not the time for questions.”

  She says it, though I have said nothing aloud. She's clairvoyant sometimes. It's spooky. I fear she already knows that all of this is my fault. As though to prove me wrong now, she says,

  “And Midnight, stop blaming yourself. Blame is doing nothing to help Aurora.”

  Her voice is sharper than usual, like the cook has dropped too much bitter chocolate into the cake. Mother is sweetness and intelligence, not bitter. She's worried. And perhaps strangest of all, it comforts me. I'm not alone anymore.

  Chapter Two

  Phillip

  “There is to be a ball and you are to go.”

  He'd blinked at those words.

  Philip, a stable boy, what business did he have at balls? The answer, of course, was that he had quite a good deal of business there. Countless carriages would promenade along the driveway, lined with thousand year oaks, in front of the palace. He'd be expected to unhitch the horses, after they'd dropped off the perfectly-costumed guests, water them, feed them hay and then have them ready for their illustrious owners again. It would be as if none of it had happened, as if it were all by magic. But, naturally, there was no magic to tend to the horses, to grease the wheels of the fine carriages. There was none, unless you called the magic Philip.

  And as for Philip, light of hair and even fairer of heart, he was more magical than he had even dared to dream. It was the princesses, the sisters, one whom he adored and the other who thought so poorly of him but now lay frozen in sleep, that were meant for finery and palaces an
d balls. Such things were not for him. Only now, yes, now they were exactly for him.

  For Philip blinked not at the announcement of a ball, but at the words that followed.

  “You are to attend.”

  “I am to...attend?”

  He repeated the words, not at all understanding, as if they'd taken on new meanings in the mere moments since he'd heard them. Philip did not attend balls. He tended to horses. There was a difference, a massive difference and –

  “Yes. You are to attend.”

  The words were repeated by his father, as if nothing were out of the ordinary. But, Philip knew better, for none of this was at all usual.

  “Father, you're hiding something.” It was obvious, most especially to Philip, but to anyone who had bothered to look on this day.

  “Now is not the time.”

  He didn't even bother trying to deny that he was hiding something. Phillip's brow cinched in thought.

  “But, you will tell me?”

  He said the words, as though he were trying on new shoes and not quite sure yet if the leather were to his measurements.

  His father opened his mouth, as though to say something, shut it quickly again, then nodded and said,

  “Yes, I will tell you.”

  ◆◆◆

  Philip's hands refused to cooperate as he brushed the coats of the horses. Gleaming, that's the way they were supposed to look. The king was going riding today, not for pleasure for all such things had been banished while Aurora lay ill, but on business of the kingdom. It was secret, the most protected of knowledge, as to what his mission was but the fact that his horses were to be brushed to their finest was no secret. It was no secret, that is, except to Philip's hands. He fumbled with the brushes, dropping them repeatedly. The horse neighed, stamping his foot a little in impatience, as though to ask what was wrong with his groom.

  “Yes, I know, I'm sorry,” Philip mumbled. Only, he didn't know. That was the problem. Father was acting strange. Philip was to attend a ball. It was all rather absurd.

  He supposed that he ought to have been delighted. How many times had he shyly caught glimpses of Midnight tucked in among the guests, her beauty more radiant by moonlight? He'd be out in the open, not hidden among Aurora's briar roses, thorns intent to prick him and expose his troublesome ways. But that in itself was a problem, Aurora, that is. Not that Aurora was a problem. He fumbled the brush again. To think such things must be treasonous! Just that, Midnight would not be radiant, vivacious or happy at a ball, not when Aurora lay asleep. And just why were they having a ball? Why now, when she –

  He wouldn't allow himself to finish the thought. It was too dismal to presume what had happened to Aurora. It inevitably left him winding down a road of thoughts he did not wish to have, ones where Aurora did not wake up, where Midnight was heartbroken, where he was devastated because she was. Was that the meaning of love? Did he love Midnight, for suffering at the thought of her suffering? It didn't seem right. Or, at least, it didn't match the definitions in the stories that his mother had told him as a child. But, maybe, maybe that was love. The parents of the villagers cried when their children went to bed hungry. Oh, not in this kingdom, no. The royals were kind here, benevolent, strong of heart, stout of spirit; they took care of their kingdom and the people within it. Perhaps, that was why he loved Midnight all the more. Yes. He did love her. He truly did. He realized it now. Rather than fumble the brush again, though, it made him grip it all the more tightly and he smiled. Yes. He had his truth. He had his love. And his rhythm had returned. The horse neighed in appreciative understanding.

  “I am going to a ball.” He said it this time with the smile still plastered to his face and an inkling of importance quickening in his heart.

  Chapter Three

  The Elves

  The elf named Fedderlin took the crystals, gathered by the man, and poured them carefully from the pouch. There was magic here, intrinsic value. Like waters tumbling over rocky falls, there was pent-up potential in each tiny jewel.

  His eyes watered at the thought of it. Here was the ability not just to feed the kingdom, but to feed souls. Hope. That's what this would be. He took the treasure, held it fast and planned what he would do.

  ◆◆◆

  The youngest elf took the bag down, opened it and gasped. Here was a beauty more astounding than the lights that gathered in the sky at night, painting it in a thousand colors. Here was something altogether different.

  “Toby! Toby!”

  Someone was calling. He froze.

  “Look at anything you want, but not that bag. No it's far too dangerous.” Those had been Moira's exact words. How then could he not be tempted to look? Just a tiny peek. What could it possibly hurt? Only now, now a great deal of harm had come for Toby, startled, knocked the pouch to the floor. He held his breath, waiting for the explosion that was bound to come. Moira said that it was dangerous. What could be more dangerous that toxic fumes, vapid fire and an onslaught of pain and torture that was bound to befall them all? Only, nothing happened. He breathed, barely, just in case he'd saved it off by holding his breath before. He looked down, hesitantly now, afraid to see any damage that may have escaped his notice before. All looked all right, but oh no –

  He froze. The crystal beans were pooling in the bottom of the most highly-prized shoe mold, for the elves were renown shoemakers. A deep stain, of indescribable color, soaked into the wood. Toby's heart seized up. The most highly valued! The most beloved of all!

  In haste, he pushed the mold under the table. Hidden, it could do no harm.

  Chapter Four

  Phillip

  “Wait. Stop! Where are you going?” Father said the words to Philip as he prepared to step from the house.

  “You told me to practice my dancing, because I am going to a ball,” Philip said slowly, “Or did I dream the whole thing?”

  “Of course I told you to prepare for the ball. For the ball, Philip, not for work.”

  “I don't understand,” Philip said, shaking his head.

  “You need a carriage.”

  “A carriage,” Philip repeated.

  “Of course you need a carriage. Princes do not walk to balls. And they certainly don't walk from their own kingdoms into this one.”

  “I'm supposed to be a prince?” He was glad that he was not drinking anything. Surely, he would have sputtered and it would have landed all over his shirt. He hardly thought that was princely behavior!

  His father started to say something, then changed his mind and said instead,

  “You'll find all you need for your carriage in the garden.”

  “In the garden?”

  “Yes, just follow Tilly. She's outside already and she told me that she found the perfect thing for it.”

  “Tilly has found something for my – ”

  But here Philip trailed off, for his father had already turned and left the room. He had other things on his mind. He seemed preoccupied lately. Philip wondered what the cause might be and tried to convince himself that his father was fine. He was simply not accustomed to going to balls, to being mistaken for a prince, to having to create a carriage in the garden. In short, he was not acquainted with any of that. But now was the time for learning.

  “Well, come on then. What took you so long?” Tilly, the chambermaid, said as way of greeting when he stepped from his house and found her there on the path to the garden.

  “I had things to attend to, my father – ”

  “Things to attend to? We all have things to attend to, Philip. I've got to be getting back to the castle soon enough, but first, I hear you need a carriage.”

  He wondered how Tilly could hear that he needed a carriage when he'd only just been informed of it himself.

  “You know where I can find a carriage?”

  He decided on that question. It seemed safer. Though he questioned whether that was true when she shook her head.

  “Of course I don't know where you can find a carriage.”
/>
  “But, my father – ”

  “Your father told you that I know what you can use for a carriage, because I do know. But you're going to have to make it.”

  “Where did you find so much wood?”

  Here, she paused, grinning widely and said,

  “Who said your carriage would be made of wood?”

  ◆◆◆

  “A pumpkin? You want me to ride in a carriage made out of a pumpkin?”

  He stared at her, incredulously. Firstly, I'm much too large to fit in a pumpkin.”

  “Not this one,” she said, with a nod.

  His brow wrinkled as she said this, but his “secondly” was in the process of tumbling out and so it did so before seeking any clarification.

  “And secondly, it's a ridiculous idea.”

  “Are those your only objections?” she said.

  He looked at his friend as though she'd been out in the sun far too long and had quite forgotten how to make any sense at all.

  “I should think that those two objections are plenty.”

  “Well,” she said, “you're wrong. They're not plenty at all. They're not even any kind of answer.”

  “But, how am I going to fit into a pumpkin?”

  “Because you've never seen a pumpkin this big before. It's amazing!”

  “Tilly, a pumpkin can't possibly be...”

  But here he stopped, for they'd rounded the bend and turned into the garden and he saw something amazing. Utterly and completely amazing. It was the only way to say what he saw. Nothing else could begin to compare to it.

  “That's a – that's a pumpkin?” he sputtered. It was larger than any that he had seen. And sure enough, it looked just about carriage-size.