While Aurora Slept- The Complete Trilogy

by Megan Easley-Walsh

  And then her hands flickered over the trees and the logs and the floor of the forest and she did see it. There. Crouching behind the logs, looking at the moon, was a deer. No, she realized, leaning closer and inspecting the tapestry more closely, there were two deer. Edora's breath, which she'd been holding, whooshed out and then back in again quickly. For these were no ordinary deer. No, she was looking through a window into the past, but not just any past. No, she was looking into her past. As if confronted by a mirror now, she looked into the face of her mother. How long it'd been seen she'd seen her! Already, the haze of the transformation pushed against her and threatened to believe her heart's assertion that yes, this was her mother. How could it be Edora? How could a deer be your mother? And how could this deer be your mother? Look how frightened she looks. Look how timid. Your mother had a strong and brave heart. Your mother was not this helpless creature.

  The words struck her with such acrimony that she was unable to stand without feeling the floor shift beneath her feet. Instinctively, as if she'd been doing so her whole life and not only for a matter of days, she reached out and grabbed the rail along the wall.

  “You are troubled, Edora, deranged, weak. Nothing is as it seems. This is all a dream. That was all a dream. You have always been human. You are only a deer. Your heart is weak. You are confused. Give up. Give up now.”

  Taunted by the words, she stumbled along in the hallway, needing to break free of the grasp of the tapestry. Unable to trust even herself, Edora struggled to break free of the confabulations.

  The lights flickered against the walls. Tallow from the candles clung to her nose, threatening to overturn her stomach again. Death. That is what this castle smelled of. Everywhere she was confronted by the work of the hunters: on the platters, in the candles, mounted in the terrible room they called the Trophy Hall. That had been worse of all. Still, she had nightmares of the horns and mounted head that she'd seen. How proud the hunter had been!

  “Look Edora, look at my prize!” He'd wanted her to fawn all over him. She could tell by the way that he looked at her, expectation glowing in his eyes. But, how could one who had indeed frolicked as a fawn ever be pleased with such a display?

  A prize. He'd called the loss of life a prize. She wondered what they would have thought if they'd seen heads of their own countrymen displayed in some secret burrow of the forest. But, of course, such a thing would not happen. Even the bears, fierce as they were, did not present their prey. They took what they needed to eat. That was all. Isn't that what the queen's ancestors had done as well?

  “And if you ask me, the queen is behaving far too – ”

  Edora ducked behind a candelabra, pulling the thick velvet curtain around her body. It was the hunter's voice. Though he'd been welcoming to her, still she could not shake the discomfort that his presence brought. Perhaps, the deer was not absent at all. When the voice had died away, she pulled back the curtain.

  “Oh!”

  She nearly tumbled into a man that stood before her, but the exclamation of surprise had not slipped from her own lips but from his.

  “I – I didn't mean – ” she said, trying to summon the correct words that would converge into an appropriate apology.

  “No, it's my fault, do excuse me, Lady Edora,” he said. Her name sounded fragile in his voice, like he treasured it.

  “You know who I am,” she said, “But I am sorry, I do not know who you are.”

  He smiled as she said it, as if amused by her. A little laugh escaped his lips.

  “Know who I am? No, you wouldn't know who I am. But you, Lady Edora, of course I would know you. The entire kingdom has spoken of the beautiful, mysterious lady in our midst.”

  The color rose in his cheeks as he realized what he'd said.

  “I mean, they said you were beautiful. I didn't, but – ”

  Now his words broke off awkwardly. She was trying to keep up with him, not quite at all understanding.

  “I mean, not that you aren't. I do apologize for my offense. I would humbly ask that you not tell of my grievous misdoings.”

  She understood only half of what he said. He spoke with words that she did not know, but she recognized the poetry of his voice. It was like music played on elf harps or the sunlight sparkling across the river in the morning and so she smiled. Her smile was so genuine, so pure of heart, that as he looked at her now, he seemed to be put at ease.

  “I am forgiven?” he said.

  Edora did not quite understand what forgiveness was, for no deer wronged another. There were not hurt feelings or arguments. Forgiveness had no place in a world that did not understand what a mistake was.

  She didn't know what to say, but went on smiling with a little nod.

  “Oh thank you!” he said, breathing out with a happy sigh.

  Still she nodded, smiling, for it seemed to work its charm on him and no longer was he frightened. Inside of her, she felt something fuse within her heart. It was as if she'd stumbled across a lesson in humanity, somehow mastered it, without knowing what she was doing. It was subtle, but unmistakable. Edora was living the acts of beauty that the elf had instructed her that she must follow through with.

  “Please, Lady Edora, you must allow me to repay you,” he said now, as she had turned to walk away.

  “Repay?” she said, with a little shake of her head. There was no money involved. No financial transaction had taken place. To what was he referring?

  He thought for a moment, as though rifling through pages in a file. His eyebrows scrunched together, as his eyes reread whatever information he had stored within his mind.

  “Books,” he said now, with such speed that she took a step back. The word had seemingly erupted from him, as though he were spewing the knowledge onto the castle corridor.

  “Books,” she repeated.

  Books? She was intrigued! For isn't this precisely what she'd imagined doing? Hadn't she looked at the elf, beholding him in a marveling wonder at his ability to conjure meaning from scratchings? And if Edora had learned anything, it was that books were the magical place where these scratchings, these magical means, rested.

  “Do you like books? Have you seen our library? I can show you!” he said now. His face buzzed with animation, as if everything inside of him had gone into higher speed, a stronger gear of being.

  Edora tried to keep up with his questions. Humans asked so many at once at times! How was she supposed to know which to answer? She supposed that all of them were expected to be answered. After all, he had asked them all and humans seemed always to have reasons for doing things. At least, it was the way of the forest. No act was taken without deliberate thought. That is, even a tree knew that it had to shed its leaves in order to survive the winter with minimal energy and the plants and animals below had benefit of downy leaf falling over them.

  She nodded, then shook her head and then smiled. There. That seemed to answer it.

  “Yes, you like books. No, you've not seen the library and yes, you'd like to?” he said to clarify.

  At this she simply smiled and nodded.

  “Wonderful!” They continued walking.

  “By the way, I'm Adam,” he said.

  “I'm Edora,” she said, holding out her hand. She'd seen the hunters shake hands in the forest. Though no one had shaken her hand, she assumed that it was because she'd been in such a helpless state when first they'd met her. Already, her confidence was blooming. Already, she was emerging from her cocoon of former life.

  “Yes, I know, Lady Edora,” he said, smiling at her. She felt rather foolish. Of course he knew. He'd addressed her by her name. Whatever foolishness she felt faded now, though as he took her hand. He didn't shake it though. Rather, he raised it – rather shyly – to his lips and let them brush across her skin. Her eyebrows darted up in surprise. She could feel them. How strange it was to have eyebrows! She hadn't quite figured out what they were for – other than registering surprise, it seemed.

  Thankfully, Adam had not see
n her reaction. The poor man would have jumped from his skin, ashamed at his reaction to so fine a lady. Instead, Edora's eyebrows managed to push themselves back down into their proper places. As he looked up, he saw only this mysterious beauty, the one who shone from inside and who had forgiven a fumbling librarian. As she looked at him, she saw questions. It was all that she had seen since crossing into this mythical realm of humanity. But, inside of Adam, the questions were wrapped in kindness. A smile punctuated each sentence. That, she could understand and that, she could be grateful for.

  ◆◆◆

  Edora gasped as she took in so many books. It was the weirdest sensation. All of the air rushed out of her lungs and in to her mouth, exaggerating its expansion. Such curious creatures and reactions that their bodies made, these humans!

  But, she had little time to marvel over this strange new experience. For her eyes were struggling to see each segment of the room. It was simply impossible. Shelves, miles high, well – perhaps, not that high — but they certainly seemed that high!— stretched ever skyward. And on each delicately carved shelf, bearing the signature monogram of the kingdom, the shield with the dove inside, Edora's eyes scrambled over mountains of books. In every color imaginable, as though gathered from the pigments of the rainbow by elves, their bindings spoke of untold fortunes.

  Never had Edora seen anything like this before. The sunsets had dazzled her. On the scarce occasions when she had been awake at night, she'd seen the moon stretch across the water in dazzling beauty. But, for a girl who had been a deer just days before and had never been inside of anywhere before, it was simply astounding. Each time she turned around in the castle, a whole world opened before her. Though the paintings had been beautiful and the carpets luxuriously plush, this place of books was surely best of all.

  “It's – it's wonderful!” she said, trying to summon words to adequately express the weight of the feeling in her. Is this what it meant to be human? Being dazzled, amazed, and then having to try to capture the perfect words to portray that, the way that a painter would take the right pigment to paint a scene from a palette?

  “I'm glad you like it,” Adam said. He leaned back, surveying the landscape of books, the mountainous expanses of pages, of ink and paper.

  “How wonderful,” Edora said again, “To own so many books. You are wonderfully lucky.”

  She knew that she was overusing the word wonderful, but it was the grandest word that Edora knew, the one that most closely conveyed the tonnage of all that she felt.

  Now Adam laughed. No doubt, he found her simple. She ought to learn more, to be able to communicate with others. She hadn't thought that Adam would laugh at her. He seemed immune to cruelty, but then he was just a person after all. Inside of her, her commitment to leaving life behind as a deer began to fade.

  “They do not belong to me. They're the castle's, the royal family's. I am just the librarian.”

  At this, her heart shifted. Perhaps, she'd been wrong. Maybe, he was not cruel after all. Perhaps, she was just the skittish deer still, unable to trust humans. Or, maybe, she'd been too hasty to judge another and she was becoming more human than she realized.

  “What is a librarian?” she said, when her nerves had settled enough to be able to brave being human again.

  “A librarian,” Adam said, “Do you not have them in your land?”

  She shook her head. Then, feeling especially brave, Edora said,

  “We do not even have books.”

  “You have no books?” He looked at her with pity then, as if she'd said that she'd not had food or shelter or that some terrible calamity were befalling her. And then he said those magical words which changed everything.

  “Then allow me to introduce you. Books, this charming lady is Edora. Edora, these are the books.”

  Chapter Thirteen

  Philip

  Philip walked out of the castle as though he were on fire. He was. Everything inside of him seared in uncontrollable pain, in agony of recognizing truth and yet needing to be free of it.

  I cannot marry Aurora. I cannot marry Aurora.

  It was not that she was a terrible person. On the contrary, she was everything that one would hope to find in a wife. She had only two flaws: hating Philip for one. And the other of course was not being Midnight.

  The conversation with his father replayed in his mind, as he trudged deeper into the forest. The leaves crunched under his feet. Surprisingly, they did not ignite with his fury and erupt into a blaze. In case they suddenly should, though, the rabbits scurried away from the path, quick to desert the would-be-danger zone.

  “You have to leave Midnight at the ball. Yes, it was wonderful, but she's not your destiny.”

  “Who decides fate? Shouldn't it be our hearts?”

  “Philip, be reasonable.”

  Philip had looked at his father, as though he'd turned to stone or sprouted the head of a dragon. Either of which might have been more palatable for Philip's present mood.

  “Be reasonable? Telling you that I want to decide whom I marry is not being reasonable? Being a little disturbed that my entire life to this point has been a lie is just something that you will have to pardon.”

  “Philip, please. You have to put this childishness behind you.”

  If Philip's father's sternness had not yet turned him to stone, he surely would have as Philip looked at him then. His father's voice dissolved into a dissipated cloud, as Philip left the house.

  Childish?

  Was it childish to want some control over his life?

  Was it childish to want to follow his heart?

  Maybe his problem was that he had always gone along with his life, without any concern for his own plans. He'd let himself be led. Maybe that was the problem. He'd gone along with life. Somehow, just doing what he'd been told was so much easier when he was a stable boy, a groom for the horses and not a prince. A prince seemed to have a terrifying list of responsibilities.

  Gold and silver spun from straw

  Hang your hopes upon a star

  Spinning straw into gold

  Here's the tale of new and old

  Rumpelstiltskin. He knew the source of the song. It had danced through his childhood, spinning notes through the background of his life. All rhymes and tunes led back to a time when everything seemed easier.

  ◆◆◆

  “Philip! Wait!” Midnight called to him, “My! You'll never know how I've been searching for you! I'm so glad that you've not returned to your kingdom yet.”

  He should have been more surprised that she said returned to your kingdom or that she'd still not realized that he was the stable boy, the horses' groom who had lived beside her largely unnoticed all of his life. Instead, she was blinded by – dare he believe it – Love? – or at least interest?

  “Searching for me?” he said, swallowing the lump in his throat. It wasn't right. It was too cruel. He'd dreamed of her, some would even say pined for her, for years. And now, she felt for him what he felt for her and he couldn't indulge her. He couldn’t run to her, take her up in his arms, ravish her in a thousand kisses, profess that he'd loved her since first he knew what love was, hold her to him, feel her body rush with pleasure at his touch, smile at her as she lay beside him in the stillness of the morning, kiss her back where he had held her in the carriage, grow more in love with her every day. He could do none of it. For, he was betrothed already. To her sister. He cared nothing for silly traditions, for matrimony that was arranged long before children were old enough to know what marriage was. But, he was no fool and Father had cautioned him – well, it was more than caution – it was warning to the extreme – that he had to follow through with this or they were doomed, all of them. Even beautiful, beloved Midnight. If he did not marry Aurora, then Midnight would be destroyed, for the powerful overseer would allow nothing to stand in the way of his plans for Prince Philip. And Philip had made a vow, one far more important long ago, to let no harm come to Midnight.

  “Yes,�
� she said, continuing now, “I was hoping to see you again. There's so much that I wanted to show you, so much that we could talk about!”

  Philip swallowed hard, suppressing the anger, the frustration and the guilt. How he wanted to run to her! It'd be wonderful to forget all that Father had told him. But, if he went to Midnight now there would be no chance to awaken Aurora, no opportunity to do what was right. That was something that he knew he couldn't live with. Midnight, and even Aurora, didn't need a hero to save them, but Midnight deserved to be with someone with a heroic heart. If he went to her now, without telling her what his father had said, without first trying to speak to Rumpelstiltskin to find out what he could and why Midnight's efforts had not worked yet, then he'd be presenting a traitorous heart to her. And, if there were one thing that Philip did know in all of this confusion, it was that Midnight deserved to be with a man who had a heroic heart.

  “I'm sorry, but I have to go.” He said the words quickly, lest he should lose his courage.

  ◆◆◆

  Rumpelstiltskin. That's whom I am going to find.

  The idea was fixed firmly in Philip's mind.

  With a knapsack thrown over his shoulder, he was at least certain to have lunch, even if all else was sketchy. Rumpelstiltskin was notorious for disappearing, especially exactly when someone needed him.