Another Way Round

The morning quiet was broken by a distant chorus of pipes and bells.  The rooks in the ancient oak on the hill wondered what could be going on.  Concurring that whatever it was sounded interesting, they decided to find out, alighting from the tree in a flurry of cawing and feathers, soaring across the sky towards the city.

 

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     In the city, church bells rang, musicians played in the streets and everywhere positively vibrated with joy. Not too long ago, the King and Queen, who had long wanted a child, had been blessed with the birth of a baby girl. So, to celebrate, they had declared her christening a public holiday, inviting everyone who was able to attend, from the great and the good to the ordinary citizen. That morning, the castle throne room – bedecked with banners and tapestries– was full of people, hoping for either a glimpse of the christening gifts or the baby, whose

crib sat between her parents. Shafts of sunlight shone through the mullioned windows, dust motes dancing in the beams. The rooks clustered outside, peering in to watch the proceedings.  As well as the people, they’d also invited the fairies who lived in the kingdom, not only to attend the ceremony but also to be godmothers to their daughter. After those among the nobility who had been invited to do so had given their gifts, the fairies clustered around the crib in preparation to give theirs, smiling and cooing at its occupant. But as they

began to bless their goddaughter with gifts – beauty, courage, wisdom, virtue and the like – the rooks eyed one another knowingly, for there was another fairy who lived within the kingdom’s borders. There was no way she would have been invited – after all, who invites an evil fairy to any kind of occasion much less the christening of your first and only child? –  but the rooks knew that she wouldn’t take kindly to being ignored.

     Sure enough, as the last fairy finished bestowing her blessing, the previously sunny sky began to darken, clouds pregnant with thunder and lightning making the air crackle and fizz. The doors blew open in a sudden violent burst of wind, scattering the people standing there, and in stormed the evil fairy, a furie of cheekbones and angles in black and violet, accompanied by a faint whiff of brimstone. 

     The room froze. Everyone’s breath hitched; the rooks outside puffed their feathers; the princess, sensing the change, began to cry.

     “A grand occasion indeed,” the evil fairy intoned, seemingly oblivious to the effect she had, “and why was I not also invited?” Nobody dared say a word.  She smiled but it was about as reassuring as a grinning panther.  “No matter. Now that I’m here, I too shall bestow a gift upon the little princess.”  She advanced on the crib. The guards tried unsuccessfully to halt her. The good fairies rallied, but they too were easily swept aside. And so, the King and Queen stood powerless as the evil fairy summoned her power and proceeded to curse their daughter.  “Before sun rises on her sixteenth birthday, the princess will prick her finger on the spindle of a spinning wheel, and fall into an endless death-like sleep.” And with a

triumphant cackle, a rumble of thunder and flash of green light, she vanished, and all was as it had been before.

     Except for the bitter aftershock, lingering in the air with the sulphuric odour left behind.

     The magic was too powerful for the good fairies to undo, so the King later decreed that all the spinning wheels in the kingdom were to be destroyed.  Then it was just a case of hoping for the best.

     The rooks remained unconvinced; they knew it would take more than a rather large bonfire to counter the evil fairy’s curse.  Still, they couldn’t deny that things were getting interesting; it might just to be worth sticking around to see how this story would pan out.

 

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And so, the years passed.  The princess grew into a girl beautiful both on the inside and out, liked by the people, adored by those closest to her. A princess is given many names, but, as she grew, the one she preferred to be addressed by was Laurel. Gradually, the evil fairy’s curse began to recede from people’s minds, for how could anything really have the power to harm someone so good? And besides, there were no more spindles or spinning wheels left in the kingdom anymore.

It was decided, of course, that Laurel shouldn’t know.

     Then, in what seemed like the blink of an eye, her sixteenth birthday approached. Preparations for the festivities turned the castle into even more of a hive of activity than usual, to the point where, the day before, everyone was rushing around like proverbial headless chickens. Hoping for a moment’s respite, Laurel used the opportunity of a break from last minute dress fittings and alterations to escape into the gardens. She made for her favourite place: the rose arbour in the centre of the maze, a profusion of red, white and pink after endless leafy green tunnels. She wasn’t alone however. Two years her senior, William

was the son of her father’s most loyal knight and his oldest friend; he was also her fiancé, betrothed to her from a young age. Happily, what had started out as polite and tentative progressed into a tender and genuine friendship, which was now beginning to blossom into the possibility of something deeper. Fleeing from the menaces of pins and bolts of cloth, Laurel came across him on a break from an errand of his own and convinced him to come with her. It wasn’t difficult. A brief respite from all the nervous excitement wasn’t their only reason for wanting some time alone together: that evening, he would be leaving on a trip with his father, and so this would be the last they saw of each other for a while. They burst into the arbour in a fit of breathless laughter, shattering the quiet.

      “I’m so sorry I won’t be there for your birthday tomorrow,” he said, once their

amusement at doing something essentially harmless yet, at the same time, vaguely illicit, wore off, and they sat, holding hands, staring out into the serene seclusion of the garden around them.

     “I know,” she squeezed his hand, trying to reassure him, “it’s alright.”

     “It’s not.”  He shook his head and gave her a lopsided smile.  “You’re just letting me off the hook because you’re too kind for your own good.”

     She laughed, leaning in to kiss him on the cheek.  “Of course I want you to be there tomorrow,” she said when she pulled away, “but it’s not as if it’s your fault, so there’s little point in me being angry with you about it.”

     He sighed.

     “What?”

     “I’m just wondering how I got so lucky as to be betrothed to you.”

     Her lips curved into a mischievous smile.  “Yes, for surely you don’t deserve to be?”

     They burst into laughter again.  For a while, they were content to just sit and watch the sky gradate from blue, to pink, to apricot, listening to the sounds of distant activity.

     “I should go; father will be looking for me by now.”

     “I know.”

     He stood.  “Do you want me to take you back inside?”

     “No, I think I’ll stay a bit longer.  There’s only so much fussing about dresses one can take.

     Take care Will,” she said softly.

     He smiled, gave her a reciprocal kiss and was off.  She smiled as she watched his retreating back.  As the onset of evening caused the sky to darken and the air to chill, Laurel conceded that it was probably time to head back inside. That and, by now, she would almost certainly be being looked for. Leaving the maze, a loud caw from overhead made her look up.  It was a large black bird. A raven?  Crow? She followed its graceful arc across the sky.  But as it rounded a tower, something caught her eye.  Was that a…?  Could it be…?  A face in the tower window?  Ghost-like, it vanished almost as soon as she saw it.  Who on earth would be up there?  Knowing she should probably alert someone, but, at same time, not entirely sure what she’d seen or that she’d seen anything at all, she decided to go and have a look for herself. Curiosity won out.

     The tower was dark, steps coated with dust – in which she couldn’t see any fresh footprints – walls hung with cobwebs. It was looking increasingly likely that she was walking all the way up there for nothing, only to then face the wrath of Annie and the other maids for making herself dusty. At the top, the door creaked open to reveal… well, nothing much at all. Aside from a strange wooden contraption in the centre, the room was empty.  Both disappointed and relieved, she went to take a closer look.  It was like nothing she’d seen before, with a wheel and wickedly sharp needle.  So sharp in fact that looking at it made her uneasy.

     “Fascinated by my spinning wheel are you dearie?” said a voice like unoiled hinges from behind her.

Laurel jumped and spun around.  Behind her, where she was sure there had been no-one before, was an old lady. Gap-toothed, dressed in grey with grey hair and grey parchment skin, she appeared to be harmless.  But her eyes betrayed this appearance. Dark, feral and darting, they didn’t fit the picture.

“Spinning wheel?”  Laurel tried to look anywhere apart from into those eyes, bracing herself to try and edge around this stranger and make for the door.

     The old woman scuttled closer.

     “Yes, don’t s’pose you’ve ever seen one before, have you dearie?”

     “N-no.”  She was backed up against a wall now, her escape route blocked.

     “It’s used for spinning cloth.”

     “Oh, really?” She’d thought the kingdom imported all its cloth.

     “Yes.  Wicked looking little thing isn’t it,” she said, nodding at the spindle.

     “It certainly is.”

     “Sharp as a sword.”

     “I’m sure.”

     “Try it.”

     “What?”

     “Go on, give it a try, just a little prick, see how sharp it is.”

     This woman was mad.  She had to leave.  Now!  She looked to the door. The old woman’s eyes narrowed, seeing this, and, before Laurel could move, seized her hand, forcing the pad of her outstretched forefinger down onto the spindle.

     A sudden, sharp pain gave way to a sensation akin to lead filling her veins, and mad, cackling laughter, was the last thing she heard before she fell to the floor, unconscious.

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     The world was warm and dark.  She was… floating.  Like a baby in amniotic fluid.  It was slightly unsettling; she felt heavy and insubstantial at the same time…

Then…  What was that?  A single blot detached itself from the surrounding blackness. Gradually, it began to gain definition, becoming something recognisable.  A bird, like the one she glimpsed before.  Raven?  Crow?  No, a rook…  The thought came unbidden.  It began to fly away into the distance.

     “Wait, come back!”

     She tried to run after it.  It felt like she was wading through heavy treacle at first, but her movement seemed to give her surroundings solidity, and so, after a while, it became easier.  Up ahead was a mirror. The rook flew through the glass, turning from midnight black to dove white as it did so.  But when she came to it, the glass was as solid as a wall, her own reflection staring back at her.  She turned around, only to find herself encircled in a glass prison. Her reflection began to morph, the colour draining, becoming her negative image. She stepped back.  The woman in the mirror grinned maliciously, then began to laugh, a sound like nails on glass, exposing a mouth full of sharpened teeth.

     “I have you now,” she crowed.  “I have you now you pathetic little thing.  I’ve won, and there’s nothing you can do about it.  You’re trapped here, forever!” That laugh. That godawful laugh. Multiplied, it ricocheted off the walls in her head, thumping along in time with the blood pumping around her body – blood, red, red mist. Fists clenched, she hurled them at the glass, each hit an extension of that ‘thump-thump’ rhythm. Shut up. Shut up. Shut up! At first, this did little, merely making the woman in the mirror laugh even harder.  But, slowly, cracks began to appear.

     “Wait, what are you doing?”

     The cracks joined.  Her hands were both on fire and numb, blood staining the glass.

     “Stop!”

     One last swing, and the mirror shattered.

     “NO!”

     The cry became a roaring in her ears, and the world shrank to a pinprick, as she faded into oblivion once more…

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Laurel awoke, not on the floor of the tower room, but in her bed.  She was vaguely aware of a room full of people, but one face hovered over her that she would know anywhere, eyes wet and lined with worry.

     “William? I thought you’d left already.”

 

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It turned out that, instead of what, to Laurel, felt like a few hours, she’d been asleep for several days. William and his father had barely left the castle when the news reached them. Any remedy that could be thought of was tried. Nothing worked. Everyone had begun to despair. William, increasingly afraid that Laurel would remain asleep forever, had then given her what he was almost certain was to be their last kiss. And, miracle of miracles, she awoke.

     It wasn’t until some time later that Laurel noticed her torn-up knuckles. And, in all the ensuing commotion, no one noticed the rook leave through the Princess’s bedroom window.

     And so, the evil fairy’s curse had been thwarted. (Curiously, following this, the evil fairy herself was never seen or heard from again.) Everyone claimed that it was true love’s kiss that had saved her. William remained humble and, honestly, rather baffled by it, just glad that Laurel was awake and well. Laurel herself knew better, of course, but did nothing to disabuse anyone of the idea, just smiling secretly whenever it was mentioned.

     And so, they went on to live a long and, predominately, happy life together.

     And when any of the young ones questioned, as young ones will tend to do, whether the story was true, all the rook telling the story had to do, was triumphantly produce a small shard of blood-stained glass.

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