The Scribe’s Lament
Here I sit, once more, before a blank page with my quill in hand, and my mind empty. Not a single thought will come to the forefront. As if it fears the public eye, which would scrutinize and judge it harshly. I attempted to plead with my thoughts, to coax them out, but every attempt in vain.
Why has my mind forsaken me? What reason does it have for abandoning me in my hour of need? Surely, it realizes that if I fail to present the king with an epic tale of sorts, that I shall not live to write another word? A coward! That is what I shall call it, if I should fail to produce anything remotely of value during what is certainly my last night alive.
Shall I try again? Let us see what I can manage in these last hours of night.
No, it is useless! There is nothing there. No well in which to draw from. I am dry. It is painful that I must sit here, with that ghostly white page staring back. Empty. Not a single drop of ink, or mark upon the page!
There to my left, lies a kitten, a small fragile thing of grey fur, and golden eyes, my only companion in this dark and dank cell in which I was thrown until I could write a suitable story. There it stares at me, a challenge in its eyes, and laughter in its gestures; each twitch of tail, every flick of ear, a sign that it knows my fate, and yet, it refuses to lend me any assistance. Why must it taunt me so? What did I do to it that it should ignore my pleas for help? I stretch my hand outward, close to its head, my fingers brush gently across its silken fur, and it purrs contentedly. Ah, if only I could join in, and be as merry, but alas I am doomed to despair.
Oh, muse, why have thy not come to me? Where are thy seeds of encouragement and that creative spark that thy have lent me before? Why must thou condemn me to such a cruel fate as this? Would thou throw me to the wolves in exchange for what? Thou need nothing, want nothing, and care for no one. Thou are truly the worst! Yet, muse, my muse, my beloved creative beauty, save me from this fate! Do not leave me to wander through the darkness of my mind without some sort of guidance. I need thee to cast some light upon the unseen answers that surely must lie within.
Even now, as I scribble upon the page, I gain nothing, but meaningless words; lined up, ready to march off the page again.
That damn cat still there, it merely sits and cleans its fur. Not a single care in the world, not one worry, but oh, how the fates do jest. I can hear its softened laughter, a purr, merely nothing more, they would say, but I know better. It sits there, feigning innocence, but it knows its own evil, how truly horrid it is. It knows that I can think of nothing and that my life hangs precariously in the hands of the King; a man not known for his mercy or kindness. So, there it sits, mere inches from me, its head against my hand, and it laughs. Does it not know that with one firm and just squeeze about its flimsy neck that I could end its life? Of course it does, but it fears me not, for it knows that I am in a worse way, and that it is my only companion; the only company that I keep, for even now, my mind plots to offer me up to death.
The beast’s callous golden eyes turn toward the window, and its ears stand straight. What has alerted the creature? I turn to the window, and my heart sinks. It has seen the golden ray of untainted light that streams in, and dances with the dust mites across the floor. I fly to the window, and there to my dismay, is the sun at the horizon!
No, what have I done? No longer is the blessed moon high above and no longer do I have the time to sit and pine for my long lost muse. I have failed to keep an eye on the time. Too quickly has morning come, too soon will my death arrive, and all too late will my muse be found! What can I do now, but seek my death quickly. I shall go to the King, and to my knees fall. I shall ask him to judge me not, but to just swing the heavy axe upon my neck in one fell blow. Not a moment would he waste in obliging me and not a tear would he shed.
Wait, fool, have thy forgotten thy reason for coming to the castle in the first place? Has thy fear addled thy brain so much that thy fails to recall the fair princess who’s hand thou seeks in marriage? Art thou so content with death that thou would fling the love of such a prestigious a woman as she so casually? Would thou rather have death at thy side for all eternity?
Curse thee, brain! Curse thee to the ends of the earth! Thee must react now, when before thee failed to do anything but cower in the corner of my skull? Why bring forth images and memories of fair Lady Adeline when thou know that I can do naught to stave off my inevitable end? What have thee to offer me in way of compensation for thy lack of presence earlier? Thee come to me now with such foolhardiness? Of what good is it to me now that the sun has broken the dawn? Thy torments me so!
Look! Look there, just beyond the indifferent sun! Look there, at the edge of the world! Look, fool, there is thy answer! There is thy savior!
I looked, not with certainty that I would find anything of use, but out of sheer desperation. Any distraction from the madness brewing here within this room would be preferable. I gasped. Could it be? Could it be possible that I had over looked it all this time? Nay, there was nothing there, save for
For some reason, that I cannot describe, this vague oasis of hope cradled my heart, and I took quill to paper. My thoughts raced over the pages of parchment like a man possessed. In the final hours, I had filled hundreds of pages, and yet, I had naught an idea as to what I had written. The entire time I had been in a fog, a haze… a trance that stole my memory of the words that I wrote. Yet, it mattered naught what I wrote down, but that I had written anything at all. My muse had come at last, and I would be saved from the King’s wrath.
I flew to the door of my cell, the many pages caged in my protective arms, and I yelled for the guard. He came, unlocked the door so that he might better see me, and I barreled past him, thankful that the guard had underestimated my thin stature. I quickly set myself upon my task, and raced through the labyrinth of corridors and rooms, until I found myself before the throne room. There, and only then, did I stop; yet, all was not well with me. My heart rang so loudly in my ears that I thought I would become deaf from it. My hands sweated and smeared the ink on the page. My eyes blurred with tears. Would my hopes be dashed by streaks of fearful sweat? My fears had overwhelmed me. I had no courage, no strength in which to open the door before me. I was frozen in place.
Move! Again, my consciousness tore through to the foreground, and I heard it plead with me. Step up and claim thy freedom. Thy art victor! Thy have thee tale in hand; thy heart pure, so why cower at the foot of conquest? Art thou not confident in thyself? Art thou so uncertain of thy yarns? Thy rather die from terror instead of claiming thy reward? Go, idiot, go inside, and deliver to the King your epic. Save thy wretched hide and take the Princess as thy betrothed!
It wasn’t as if I’d found any semblance of courage, it was more that my hands had taken it upon themselves to betray me, and open the door. My feet were the next to mutiny, and all too soon, I found myself knelt before the King.
“It would seem that in thy haste to die, thy have forgotten thy manners.” Bellowed the King, “What reason have thee, Scribe, that thou hast set thyself, so freely, before me?”
“As… per thy request… Your Majesty…” I stuttered, my words again inadequate, “I have…I have written thee an epic yarn.”
“Have thy now?” The King leaned forward, his long white beard unraveled from his lap, and landed with a thud at his feet. “I hope for thy sake, Scribe, that what thou have said is true, or else thee hath committed a grave offence against thy King! As thy assuredly knows, the punishment for treason is death!”
“Aye, My Lord,” I swallowed hard, and hoped that my voice wasn’t shaking as badly as my hands, “I know this all too well.”
“Also, I believe, my King that our young Scribe here has sought the gentle beauty, Princess Adeline’s hand in matrimony,” recalled the Queen.
My eyes flicked guiltily away, “No words truer spoken then those, Thy Majesty.”
“Pray, I beg of thee, narrate for us,” The King gestured between them, “the Queen and I, thy tale.” The King straightened, and his crown titled slightly against his brow. With a casual flick of his wrist, the crown was proper.
“Wait, my love,” said the Queen, in her eyes some spark of mischief, “Let us send for our beloved daughter, and let her also hear this work of fiction. Is it not the least we could do to honor their exclusive desires?”
“As you wish, My Queen,” The king’s voice held a bit of resentment, and I frowned.
A war between the King and Queen on such a matter would not bode well for the Princess and me. If one should give way to the other, and that side be of thorns and nettles, then what of our hopes to wed? I prayed that the Queen would win, for in the past she had shown signs of sympathy toward our love.
“Guards,” Howled the King, “Fetch me my daughter! Find her quickly or else thy heads shall adorn my mantelpiece!”
A quickened scurry of armor and legs as the guards all but flew out the door on their mission to find the Princess.
“Now, then as we wait,” began the King, “What say thee to a game?”
“I am not much for games, Sire, but as you are King, and as it is not proper to refuse a request, what game shall we play?” I carefully placed my story down at the foot of the King, an offering of sorts.
“How about a game of questions,” Suggested the Queen before the King could interject. “We shall each get a turn to ask a question in an effort to stump the others, and the one who stumps their challengers equally shall be proclaimed the victor.”
Not one to seek death a second time, I chose to not puzzle either and to allow the victor to be one of Royalty. However, I did decide to allow my questions to sway against the King, and to stand with the Queen. Again, if the Queen should be winner, then I stood a better chance at winning my fair Princess’ hand.
“Who shall go first?” Inquired the King, as he glanced from the Queen to me, and dared each of us in turn to suggest that we should be the ones to lead the game, but neither of us accepted the bait.
“Of course, the King shall go first, lest we have beheadings by the mile.” Laughed the Queen, but I failed to see the humor in her words. I rather enjoyed my neck atop my shoulders.
“Then, I ask this to thee, my beauty,” The King shifted his stare to the throne beside him, his eyes gently hiding his frustration. “Whom do you love more than me?”
“Oh, that is an easy one,” Smiled the Queen, “Our daughter, of course. For she may have come after you, but she stands ahead of you in grace, kindness and generosity.”
“She’s a bit too generous in her picks of love, I’d say,” remarked the King with a sideways glance at me, “far too generous, indeed.”
“Now, as it is my turn,” The Queen gestured softly as a sign for the King to be silent. “My question I pose to thee, young and dutiful Scribe, whose Kingdom do thee swear thy allegiance to?”
“I swore an oath to His Majesty upon the day of my arrival here in this fair city, that I would be loyal to no man but save the King, and in doing such, I vowed my allegiance to the Kingdom of Amidatelion, My Queen.” I bowed slightly toward the King to emphasize my words. “A question I pose to thee, My King, who’s heart do thee hold closer to thy own, that of thy Royal Army or that of thy wife?”
“What position does thy purpose to put me in with such a question?” Howled the King, “I’ll tell thee where, thy seats me in the middle of a war! If I would choose my wife, my men would surely think me soft, and unfit to rule. Yet, if I were to say my vast and dauntless army, my wife would never allow me to enjoy the comforts of my own bed!”
“Does thy then admit defeat?” Pondered the Queen highly amused. Her eyes twinkled with mirth and her fingers were unable to remain still as they curled themselves through her flaxen hair. It was obvious that she was enjoying the game.
“I admit nothing! I will not be bested by such a question!” The King wailed, annoyed. “I shall choose neither, as is my right as King. It is our daughter who holds my heart dearest and hers is closest to the center! While I enjoy my wife and our army much alike, I find that our daughter has gained a greater hold!”
“A cheat, thou art!” The Queen accused, smirking, “Thy failed to come up with thy own suitable answer, so thy merely twists my own?”
“Nothing of the sort,” The King waved his hand dismissively, “I merely chose the same answer, as it was the most fitting and the truest that I could give.”
“A bend in the rules is what that is!” The Queen remarked, laughing. Her eyes danced over her husband, a mixture of mirth and curiosity within. “Go on, ask your Question, you dotty old fool!”
I heard and the King spied the guards cowering at the throne room door, and motioned them forward. I stepped clear of the large solid door, and was glad that the attention was taken from me for a moment. “Enter!”
A pudgy guard methodically bowed from the doorway, and remained bent. His hair hung down around his face, and his eyes never rose higher than the floor as he spoke. “The Princess has heard thy beckon, but refuses to come, as she was not given enough time to prepare.”
“Enough time to prepare!” Screeched the king as he rose from his chair, and tossed his scepter at the door. It missed the guard by centimeters, and landed near my feet. “What insolence is this? Tell her that she will come immediately despite her current condition and that if she so elects to defy me a second time, she will get no third! I will have her thrown to the wolves in her nightdress, and then see how she prepares herself!”
“He shall do nothing of the sort, and he knows it.” The Queen swiftly corrected her husband, “Please, tell our daughter that she has once more been summoned, and if she should refuse again, remind her, kindly, that trouble waits with her mother should she make her father displeased.”
The guard nodded his understanding, and without straightening, backed out the opened door.
“Shall we continue our game now?” The Queen inquired impatiently.
“Whose turn is it? I fear that my anger at my daughter’s stubbornness has made me forget.” The King complained and returned his attention to me. I flinched.
“A trait inherited from her father, I am certain.” The Queen remarked, leering.
I quickly seized the opportunity to confuse the king for a second time. If I could I claimed the turn as mine, than I would lose to him, for undoubtedly I was his mark. I spoke up, and said that the turn was mine, and then I waited with bated breath as the King muddled this over. I saw the Queen nod, and she smiled at me.
“Come now; ask thy Question, before the doddering old King decides it’s more fun to play with the guillotine.”
“My question is in the form of a riddle and I shall ask it of both of thee at once… with thy permission, of course.” My confidence was riding high, “Whoever guesses the answer to my riddle shall be victor.”
“I grant thee permission, Scribe, but make it a good one for it shall be thy last if thy fails to befuddle us.” The King grinned from ear to ear.
I cleared my throat, and glanced at the doorway. No guard, no princess, it was all or nothing, no one to save me now. I thought for a moment, and pulled from a story I’d heard told the previous night before I was so abruptly tossed into the dungeon. “What walks on four legs in the morning, two legs in the afternoon, and three legs in the evening?”
The King’s confident smile faded as his eyes fogged with uncertainty. The Queen scratched her head thoughtfully, while she twisted her hair around her fingers. I remained quiet allowing them time to think it over, and silently prayed that the Queen would be the first to answer. My eyes darted from one to the other, while my nerves prickled with anticipation. Who would be first? Oh, Fates who so jest be not as harsh as to make the King triumphant!
“Man,” The answer came from a startling source. It came from behind, a familiar voice, and I smiled. “Good eve, Mother…Father… Oh! Sir Scribe, thy art today’s jester? It is not an easy matter to amuse my Father. Has he given thy any trouble?”
Quickly, I found my wits, and I gave Princess Adeline a graceful bow. Though not proper in the least, I thanked the Gods that my back was towards the King, for my cheeks were rather red. “No worries, Princess, for aren’t I not a storyteller? Actually, we were in the midst of game proposed by the Queen, one where victory is gained by puzzling queries.”
“Indeed?” Princess Adeline shot me a wink, and then gracefully walked toward her parents. “Might I join the merriment?”
“Of course, my dearest,” Chimed in the King with a large toothy grin, “Always a welcomed treat.”
“If I win, release Sir Scribe from the binds that chain him, and allow me to wed with thy blessing?” Adeline inquired sharply before she took her seat beside her mother. “Art thou agreed? Father…mother? Or wouldst thou prefer to see me forever miserable?”
“Hast thou gone mad?” The King thundered violently as he turned to face his daughter. His ire made him savagely smile; one that would have separated any man from his wits, but his daughter never flinched. “To think that I would approve of such insanity is intolerable! This truncated commoner dares pursue the hand of my only daughter with naught to his name, but a scrabbling of stories. Of which he has yet to tell for my wife, and daughter conspire against me in aims to addle my wits enough that I might forget. Have thou lost what little sense thy mother gave to thee that thee would ask such a thing of me?”
“Nay, father, I have not senseless, but merely, it is that, that I perceive more thy. Sir Scribe is as smart a man as any, if not more so, for he can paint the heavens in words as colorful as the morning sunrise. Have not our strongest men come to him with questions? Questions that neither you nor I can answer for we cannot think such as he?” She turned her tender gaze upon me and my heart was alight, until I noted the King. Dauntless, she stood slowly, and sauntered toward me without a care to the proper etiquettes. “Would thy have me wed instead an imbecile?”
“I would have thee wed a man of standing, a prince or a knight!” Bellowed the King, although, a bit quieter now. “What has this man to offer thee but fantastical anecdotes, and to fill thy head with impractical daydreams? I’d rather thy wed a fisherman than be a scribe’s woolgatherer, for at least the fisherman could feed thee. The scribe would have thee live on falsehood and keep thee penniless.”
“I’d enjoy being penniless for his stories are priceless, and I would not have him sell a single one, for I am greedy, and would have them all myself.” The princess stood before me now, inches from my face her nose hovered, and I wanted so much to lean closer for a kiss, but the King had eyes for me as well, and I knew if I did anything more than stand, the axe would follow his gaze. I held my breath, not daring to breathe on the delicate silken skin of my fair lady, and I prayed that she would swiftly best her father in this game of wills, so that I would not pass from lack of air. “My dear Scribe has taught me the value of words, and with such skill I shall best thee. Answer my riddle, for if I be denied this, I shall climb the highest tower and fling myself from it. The ground would not be as kind to me as the wind that slows my decent. I dare thee to defy me.”
“Very well, my obstinate daughter, speak thy riddle.” Grumbled the King who had looked to his wife for assistance but found no willing participant.
“Very well,” She beamed and then turned to face her father. She gathered her skirts, curtseyed and then returned to sit by her mother. She folded her hands in her lap demurely, and quietly cleared her throat. Eloquently, she recited, “Two knights, each to gain access to an enemy's fortress. The correct countersign the needed to give at the gate for after the guard gave them the sign. Smartly, they hid nearby, to overhear the countersign from another. After a time, a warrior came, and the guard gave the sign: "six". The warrior answered in return "three". The guard let him pass. A little later, another came, and the guard said “twelve". The warrior gave the answer of "six". The guard let him pass, as well. So, the first knight confident in his answer, approached the gate, and the guardsmen said "ten". The knight replied in turn, "five". Immediately after, the guard stabbed him dead. The remaining knight, with the true answer in hand, walked to the gate and the guard said "eight". The knight gave the correct answer and the guard let him in. What was the answer that the knight gave?”
The King laughed, his hand pounded into the palm of the other, “Why that is so easy even a babe would know it. Really, daughter, have thee nothing tougher?”
“Pray, tell us, o’ wise King, what is thy answer?” The Queen nudged her husband, her eyes again twinkling with mischievousness, as she watched her daughter wiggle excitedly beside her ready to burst at the seams.
“The answer is “four”.” Proclaimed the King smugly, “Now, that that matter is settled, guards take the Scribe away! We shall have no more of this nonsense!”
The guards grabbed me by the arms, and made ready to haul me away. I bowed my head, certain of my doom, and felt a pang in my heart. Would our love never be? I wondered as the guards turned with me and marched me toward the door. My feet dragged behind me, my resolve squashed, and I dared not look at the Princess less she see me weeping. I did however manage enough sense to bow on the way out.
However, just before the door slammed shut behind me, I heard the Princess laugh. Curiosity must have nipped at the heels of the guards as well, for they turned to see what was so humorous. The Princess was out of her seat, and headed swiftly towards me. Her eyes were alight with happiness, and my heart shattered. Was she so pleased to see me beheaded? I dropped my eyes from her smiling face, and tried hard to keep from openly sobbing. Oh, cruel fates, who jest so! How could I think that such an ideal woman could love a peddler like me? Cast down that unavoidable axe so that I may not suffer the pains of knowing her betrayal!
It was when she flung her arms around me, and yanked me free of the guards that I questioned what madness had possessed her so, that she might act so forwardly in front of her father and with a condemned man, no less. Her brilliant face beamed with such delight that I was struck dumb. Her hands gathered me to her, my face smashed against her bosom, and my breath stolen away. She hugged me all the while laughing. It was only when her mother called a halt to her childishness that she released me and acted appropriately. Though, I must admit that I longed for the return of her embrace.
“What has come over thee, child?” Her mother asked as she drew her daughter to her, and held her palm to the princess’ forehead. “Art thy suddenly ill? Thy betrothed is destined to forever rest beneath the guillotine, and you merely prance around, as if yearning for his demise.”
“Mother, Father,” The princess sang, turning to each in turn, “I am overwhelmed with happiness, not because I desire my beloved Scribe executed, but for father has granted my wish! See thy not that the King has finally been defeated? The knight spoke not “four”, but “five”; not half the number given, it was that eight has but five letters!”
A collective gasp reverberated around the room. The King had indeed been bested, and by his own daughter no less! My excitement dwarfed my restraint, and I hastened to the Princess. I gathered her to me, kissed her fully, and sashayed about the room. Together! Together at last! Screamed my thoughts, finally, thy fool hearty scribe, finally hath thy earned thy prize!
“Enough! What trickery is this that falls upon the King, and by his own flesh and blood?” Exclaimed the irate King as he rose to his full height. “Do thou expect me to award my daughter so modestly? Thy failed to honor thy promise of a story, and in such, thy lied to me! A sin greater than any before it! Guards! Take him from here at once, or share in his fate!”
“Honorable King, I beseech you!” I cried, desperate to stay alive, “It ‘twas not I that elected to play a game whilst we waited for Princess Adeline. It was supposed to be, but a momentary distraction. Hark, Prince Adeline is here. Lest thy thirst for blood be stronger than thy love of Princess Adeline, pray, permit me to convey my tale!”
I swallowed hard. It was a risky gamble to blame the King, despite the truth. I hoped that he would go against his nature and be a reasonable man. I chanced a glance at the Queen, and she at me. Her eyes told me that she could lend me no assistance, and the Princess was inattentive, a dreamy smile fixed upon her lips. I frowned. I wrung my hands nervously together, and chewed my lower lip. I heard my heart begin to flutter, and felt my palms begin to sweat.
Easy now, don’t get spooked, as if some startled horse. Breathe, and thyself be steady. I scolded myself. If thy bolts now, thy might as well run to the axe and remove thy own head in shame. Thy cowardice ways shall do not but dig thy grave a might deeper.
“It is a courageous rat that proclaims a cat has no will to use his claws.” Mumbled the King thoughtfully, “Thy came brashly into the hall with parchments, did thy not? Bring forth this tale, and recite it for us.”
“Aye,” I bowed deeply, and in the same moment picked up my story. I took a seat before them and wished I had placed a pillow beneath me. I lifted the first page, my eyes skimmed it, and I sighed. What had I written in my despair? Surely, the King would not tolerate such a tale from me, but I had to try. I smiled weakly as I began to read.
“Early morning sunrise; deep set purples and reds wash into the sky, an inkiness of color, amber rays slice through, leaving behind a wake of subtle blues; a hint of the coming day. A gentle wind swayed the flowers in the meadow nestled inside the ravine. Petals that started as a vibrant pink and faded into a deep rich purple at the tips, a tall slender stalk, and wide deep green leaves made this flower distinctive. The ravine made the perfect home for them to grow, and protected them from being trampled upon whenever the animals migrated westward. It also made them impossibly hard to find.
It was only by chance, that the knight had stumbled across them. Thirsty, he had paused by the river just long enough to drink from the cool crisp water, and had smelt the flower’s fragrant aroma. He searched the area and soon came across their hiding spot. The ravine was much too deep for him to reach the flowers, and the sides were to smooth for him to climb. He would have normally paid no regard to the flowers, their beauty wasted on him, but recently he’d come to appreciate such things.”
I kept a slow and steady pace, emphasizing the words where needed, and glanced up now and then to see the King’s reaction; so far so good.
“A commoner, a flower peddler, a woman at that, had caught his eye, and his attention. He stood listening to her explain to a ragged child that flowers were more than just pretty things to decorate the home. Some could heal, and others could kill. It was a delicate balance in the cycle of life, and you had to be careful which you used for which. As she spoke kindly to the child, he found himself enthralled and wanted to know more. The knight spent every day, thereafter, speaking with her, and learning as much as he could.
One day, the knight went to seek the flower girl’s name, but learned instead that she had fallen ill. Locals, thinking that she was a pest, had tricked her into drinking tea made with nightshade. However, the poison dosage wasn’t strong enough to kill her, but it had made her quite ill. Furious at the news, the knight sought out all of the townspeople that were involved, and brought them to the King. The King exacted swift justice, and their heads went a rolling.
However, this had done nothing for the knight’s flower girl; she remained ill. Curious to know what he could do to help, the Knight went to see the flower girl. The girl told him that the only cure was a flower called the ‘Morning’s Sunrise”, and that it was extremely rare. It only grew in dark places, and needed lots of water. The knight swore to her that he would fetch her, the flower, and that he would cure her. Before he set off on his quest, he learned her name, Aurora.”
The King’s eyes widened subtly, and he inched forward slightly. Was he interested or was he preparing to call for the guards and end me here? My eyes dropped to the page again, and I slowed my stride slightly.
“And there they sat now before him. The very flowers that would save his love, but they were far beyond his reach. He sat at the edge of the ravine, his feet dangling, and his mind searching for the solution. It’s, maybe, a hundred feet to the bottom of the ravine, and with walls as smooth as glass, there is nothing for me to grip. My rope is only thirty feet, which leaves a seventy foot drop that would surely break my neck. If I could fly, then I would have no concern, but alas, I lack the means. Or do I? What is it that birds possess that I do not? Wings, feathers, and the inert ability to fly, that is what. Surely, there must be something that will give me the same advantage as those wretched birds.”
I began to motion with my hands as I spoke which seemed to catch the princess’ eye, and I blushed. I must have looked oddly, but I knew that my actions served to enhance the story. If I could keep them on me, keep their attention focused, then it didn’t matter what I did. I smiled and waved my hand through the air, palm down, hand flat.
“A hawk flew over, gliding on the back of the wind, and a spark of an idea lit up inside the knight’s mind. He gathered together long light weight branches, and then set out to hunt deer. He slew enough deer to feed the kingdom, and the next over. He divided the meat from bone, the hide from the meat, and stored as much meat as he could to bring back with him. He took all but one of the skins, scrapped them clean, and then stretched them between posts made of thicker branches. He allowed them to dry in the sun. He turned his attention then to the branches. These he strapped together with strips torn from the remaining hide, and formed them into an expanded triangle. After some time, he returned to the skins, and found them to be perfect for the task at hand. Skillfully, he stitched together the skins, and then tied them carefully to the long slender branches. After much hard work, he was done.”
The Queen tilted her head, and the Princess smiled brightly. The King seemed to be imagining the absurd apparatus. His eyes would flick toward the window every now and then. I chewed on my lower lip forgetfully as I worried over whether or not my tale was too extravagant, too wild for them. Certainly, such a device would not work in real life, but it did sound plausible. Maybe, that was enough…
“The contraption before him was risky and dangerous. Yet, if it got him down to the bottom of the ravine, it would have been worth it. There was even enough space on the other side for him to fly up out of. With the device ready, his nerves steeled, and his mind set, he closed his eyes, clung to the ‘wings’ and jumped off the cliff. At first, he was just falling, the ground rushing up to greet him, but in seconds, he was straightening out, and riding the air current. He braved it, and opened his eyes. A vast sea of variegated morning’s sunrise’s spread out beneath him, their aromatic scent happily cradling him, and he smiled. How free he felt! How wonderful it was, indeed!
As the wind carried him through the ravine, he let go of his invention with one hand, and picked several of the flowers. Up close, they were breathtaking, their sweet smell was dreamy. He felt his eyes flutter as the perfume over took him. Something was wrong. His mind was beginning to haze over, his eyes were losing focus, and fatigue weighed heavily on him. What was the matter with his head? Why was he so very sleepy? It became harder and harder to keep his eyes open, and his body felt solid, a weight dragging him downwards. Where had the wind gone? Was he simply going to fall to his death now?
The image of Aurora came to him now. Pure white silk adrift in a sea of crimson that was how she appeared in the early morning sunlight, her radiant milk white skin, a beautiful contrast to the dark red of the roses, and bright sapphire eyes that stared at him from the flower bed, as she stirred and raised her head. She smiled with ruby lips and lifted a delicate hand toward the flowers. She was the reason he was there. She was ill and needed those flowers. He couldn’t sleep now.
Stubbornly, he kept his eyes open, and with great effort he maneuvered the strange bird into the air current, and soared upward, higher and higher, until he was clear over the ravine, and soon the ground faded beneath him; the ravine a tiny black oasis beneath him. He learned quickly to move with the currents, as if a ship at sea, and after a time, it became easier to steer. He glided over an expanse of trees, past the great Cryton River, and onward toward the tiny town at the base of the castle, where he discovered a new problem. How was he going to land?”
I was now standing, my body drawing out the story as I told it. The King and Queen were holding hands, their eyes glued to me, and the Princess was now at my side. She danced gracefully behind me, her emotions refusing to be contained. I grinned at her, and worked my motions in with her dancing.
“He returned his thoughts to the original source. How did birds land? They slowed their decent and catch the branch with their talons. I have no talons. What can I use to stop myself?
Slowly, carefully, he drew his free hand back to his hip, where he kept his loop of rope tied, and he unhooked it from his belt. He held one end in his teeth, and the other he made into a lasso. Now, he just needed to find something to hook it on to. Wait, the force from him flying past the object, would rip him from his ‘wings’, and he’d tumble to his death. There had to be another way. He sighed, quickly replaced the rope, and held fast to his ‘wings’.
There! Just past the town, the earth rose up, and if he could fly over that, then maybe he could lower his feet, and touch the earth. It was worth a try. He angled himself, caught a passing current, and gently floated toward the hill. Soon, he was at it, his feet lowered, and there, yes, he touched earth. The toes of his boots dragged into the earth, and brought him down hard. He crashed into the ground, the glider splintered, and his mouth filled with earth.
It took a moment to clear his mouth enough for him to breath, and slightly longer for him to recover from the crash. He lay sprawled out near his damaged glider, and stared up at the sky. His mind was beginning to clear now, but there was still something pulling at him. He shrugged it off until he had the time to consider it later, and dragged himself to his feet. Unsteadily, he stood, his knees weak, and his eyes searched the debris for any sign of the flower. He found it some distance from the wreckage, and thankfully, it was still intact, if not a little worse for wear.
Slowly, and painfully, he made his way down the hill, and into the small town. He located Aurora’s house, and showed her the flower. She informed him that it was indeed the correct flower, and that if he were to make a tea from it, it would cure her of the poison running rampant in her system. He did as instructed, and after a time his love was better. Their marriage was a happy one, and they lived happily ever after.”
When I had finished the story, the King quietly straightened, his lips pursed, and his icy eyes stared at me. The Queen was frowning, her eyes lowered towards the floor, and the Princess still failed to glance in my direction, her smile never wavered. I habitually chewed my lower lip, my eyes nervously glanced back and forth between them, and my heart thundered in my chest. Had the story been unsuitable after all? I looked at the guards that stood at my sides and they shook their heads uncertainly. No one seemed willing to break the god-awful silence, so I did.
“Thy Royal Highness, if I have failed to please you, then I shall seek the executioner willingly.” My voice cracked, and my fear leaked out.
“The story was marginally satisfactory, at best, Sir Scribe.” Replied the King, coldly, “However, thy touched on something dear to me. How didst thou know of the Mornings’ Sunrise flower?”
“Whispers in the dark, Thy Grace,” I replied honestly. “The grapevine is rich with such fruit.”
The King narrowed his eyes at me, “Tis true enough, but how didst thy come to pick such a fruit for me?”
“Mere chance, Thy Majesty,” my heart thumped louder now, “Many a fruit to choose from, but this seemed the less bitter of the many.”
“Indeed? What other fruit would thy have chosen if not this one?” He was testing me now. “Would thy have plucked a sweet fruit or one spoiled by the morning sun?”
“Had I not the option of the Mornings’ Sunrise, then none other would have sufficed. The grapevine is poisonous to those who linger within its brambles too long. The wine made from such dangerous fruit can serve no purpose other than intoxicating the mind, and spoiling reason. To unwisely choose the fruit for the wine, can bring only death.”
“A truth in that which thy spoke,” The Queen smirked, “I have sampled many of the grapes upon the vine, and none were as ripe as the one thy chose for us. Servants enjoy enriching the vine as do our enemies. ”
“Enough of this pettiness,” Bellowed the King suddenly, “Guards take the Scribe to baths! Bathe him, and have him prepared. The wedding shall be held in the morrow.”
“Wedding,” Pondered the Princess absentmindedly, “Certainly took long enough for thy to decide on the time, dear Father.”
“OUT, Out now, or I shall change my mind posthaste!” Screeched the King as he folded his arms across his chest and pouted. “My daughter thinks she’s grown, but she’s naught but a babe. A babe…”
“Now, now, dearest,” Comforted the Queen, “It’ll be alright.”
I laughed openly as I was dragged from the chamber, and brought to the baths. A wedding!
Here I sit, once more, before a blank page with my quill in hand, and my mind empty. Not a single thought will come to the forefront. As if it fears the public eye, which would scrutinize and judge it harshly. I attempted to plead with my thoughts, to coax them out, but every attempt in vain.
Why has my mind forsaken me? What reason does it have for abandoning me in my hour of need? Surely, it realizes that if I fail to present the king with an epic tale of sorts, that I shall not live to write another word? A coward! That is what I shall call it, if I should fail to produce anything remotely of value during what is certainly my last night alive.
Shall I try again? Let us see what I can manage in these last hours of night.
No, it is useless! There is nothing there. No well in which to draw from. I am dry. It is painful that I must sit here, with that ghostly white page staring back. Empty. Not a single drop of ink, or mark upon the page!
There to my left, lies a kitten, a small fragile thing of grey fur, and golden eyes, my only companion in this dark and dank cell in which I was thrown until I could write a suitable story. There it stares at me, a challenge in its eyes, and laughter in its gestures; each twitch of tail, every flick of ear, a sign that it knows my fate, and yet, it refuses to lend me any assistance. Why must it taunt me so? What did I do to it that it should ignore my pleas for help? I stretch my hand outward, close to its head, my fingers brush gently across its silken fur, and it purrs contentedly. Ah, if only I could join in, and be as merry, but alas I am doomed to despair.
Oh, muse, why have thy not come to me? Where are thy seeds of encouragement and that creative spark that thy have lent me before? Why must thou condemn me to such a cruel fate as this? Would thou throw me to the wolves in exchange for what? Thou need nothing, want nothing, and care for no one. Thou are truly the worst! Yet, muse, my muse, my beloved creative beauty, save me from this fate! Do not leave me to wander through the darkness of my mind without some sort of guidance. I need thee to cast some light upon the unseen answers that surely must lie within.
Even now, as I scribble upon the page, I gain nothing, but meaningless words; lined up, ready to march off the page again.
That damn cat still there, it merely sits and cleans its fur. Not a single care in the world, not one worry, but oh, how the fates do jest. I can hear its softened laughter, a purr, merely nothing more, they would say, but I know better. It sits there, feigning innocence, but it knows its own evil, how truly horrid it is. It knows that I can think of nothing and that my life hangs precariously in the hands of the King; a man not known for his mercy or kindness. So, there it sits, mere inches from me, its head against my hand, and it laughs. Does it not know that with one firm and just squeeze about its flimsy neck that I could end its life? Of course it does, but it fears me not, for it knows that I am in a worse way, and that it is my only companion; the only company that I keep, for even now, my mind plots to offer me up to death.
The beast’s callous golden eyes turn toward the window, and its ears stand straight. What has alerted the creature? I turn to the window, and my heart sinks. It has seen the golden ray of untainted light that streams in, and dances with the dust mites across the floor. I fly to the window, and there to my dismay, is the sun at the horizon!
No, what have I done? No longer is the blessed moon high above and no longer do I have the time to sit and pine for my long lost muse. I have failed to keep an eye on the time. Too quickly has morning come, too soon will my death arrive, and all too late will my muse be found! What can I do now, but seek my death quickly. I shall go to the King, and to my knees fall. I shall ask him to judge me not, but to just swing the heavy axe upon my neck in one fell blow. Not a moment would he waste in obliging me and not a tear would he shed.
Wait, fool, have thy forgotten thy reason for coming to the castle in the first place? Has thy fear addled thy brain so much that thy fails to recall the fair princess who’s hand thou seeks in marriage? Art thou so content with death that thou would fling the love of such a prestigious a woman as she so casually? Would thou rather have death at thy side for all eternity?
Curse thee, brain! Curse thee to the ends of the earth! Thee must react now, when before thee failed to do anything but cower in the corner of my skull? Why bring forth images and memories of fair Lady Adeline when thou know that I can do naught to stave off my inevitable end? What have thee to offer me in way of compensation for thy lack of presence earlier? Thee come to me now with such foolhardiness? Of what good is it to me now that the sun has broken the dawn? Thy torments me so!
Look! Look there, just beyond the indifferent sun! Look there, at the edge of the world! Look, fool, there is thy answer! There is thy savior!
I looked, not with certainty that I would find anything of use, but out of sheer desperation. Any distraction from the madness brewing here within this room would be preferable. I gasped. Could it be? Could it be possible that I had over looked it all this time? Nay, there was nothing there, save for
For some reason, that I cannot describe, this vague oasis of hope cradled my heart, and I took quill to paper. My thoughts raced over the pages of parchment like a man possessed. In the final hours, I had filled hundreds of pages, and yet, I had naught an idea as to what I had written. The entire time I had been in a fog, a haze… a trance that stole my memory of the words that I wrote. Yet, it mattered naught what I wrote down, but that I had written anything at all. My muse had come at last, and I would be saved from the King’s wrath.
I flew to the door of my cell, the many pages caged in my protective arms, and I yelled for the guard. He came, unlocked the door so that he might better see me, and I barreled past him, thankful that the guard had underestimated my thin stature. I quickly set myself upon my task, and raced through the labyrinth of corridors and rooms, until I found myself before the throne room. There, and only then, did I stop; yet, all was not well with me. My heart rang so loudly in my ears that I thought I would become deaf from it. My hands sweated and smeared the ink on the page. My eyes blurred with tears. Would my hopes be dashed by streaks of fearful sweat? My fears had overwhelmed me. I had no courage, no strength in which to open the door before me. I was frozen in place.
Move! Again, my consciousness tore through to the foreground, and I heard it plead with me. Step up and claim thy freedom. Thy art victor! Thy have thee tale in hand; thy heart pure, so why cower at the foot of conquest? Art thou not confident in thyself? Art thou so uncertain of thy yarns? Thy rather die from terror instead of claiming thy reward? Go, idiot, go inside, and deliver to the King your epic. Save thy wretched hide and take the Princess as thy betrothed!
It wasn’t as if I’d found any semblance of courage, it was more that my hands had taken it upon themselves to betray me, and open the door. My feet were the next to mutiny, and all too soon, I found myself knelt before the King.
“It would seem that in thy haste to die, thy have forgotten thy manners.” Bellowed the King, “What reason have thee, Scribe, that thou hast set thyself, so freely, before me?”
“As… per thy request… Your Majesty…” I stuttered, my words again inadequate, “I have…I have written thee an epic yarn.”
“Have thy now?” The King leaned forward, his long white beard unraveled from his lap, and landed with a thud at his feet. “I hope for thy sake, Scribe, that what thou have said is true, or else thee hath committed a grave offence against thy King! As thy assuredly knows, the punishment for treason is death!”
“Aye, My Lord,” I swallowed hard, and hoped that my voice wasn’t shaking as badly as my hands, “I know this all too well.”
“Also, I believe, my King that our young Scribe here has sought the gentle beauty, Princess Adeline’s hand in matrimony,” recalled the Queen.
My eyes flicked guiltily away, “No words truer spoken then those, Thy Majesty.”
“Pray, I beg of thee, narrate for us,” The King gestured between them, “the Queen and I, thy tale.” The King straightened, and his crown titled slightly against his brow. With a casual flick of his wrist, the crown was proper.
“Wait, my love,” said the Queen, in her eyes some spark of mischief, “Let us send for our beloved daughter, and let her also hear this work of fiction. Is it not the least we could do to honor their exclusive desires?”
“As you wish, My Queen,” The king’s voice held a bit of resentment, and I frowned.
A war between the King and Queen on such a matter would not bode well for the Princess and me. If one should give way to the other, and that side be of thorns and nettles, then what of our hopes to wed? I prayed that the Queen would win, for in the past she had shown signs of sympathy toward our love.
“Guards,” Howled the King, “Fetch me my daughter! Find her quickly or else thy heads shall adorn my mantelpiece!”
A quickened scurry of armor and legs as the guards all but flew out the door on their mission to find the Princess.
“Now, then as we wait,” began the King, “What say thee to a game?”
“I am not much for games, Sire, but as you are King, and as it is not proper to refuse a request, what game shall we play?” I carefully placed my story down at the foot of the King, an offering of sorts.
“How about a game of questions,” Suggested the Queen before the King could interject. “We shall each get a turn to ask a question in an effort to stump the others, and the one who stumps their challengers equally shall be proclaimed the victor.”
Not one to seek death a second time, I chose to not puzzle either and to allow the victor to be one of Royalty. However, I did decide to allow my questions to sway against the King, and to stand with the Queen. Again, if the Queen should be winner, then I stood a better chance at winning my fair Princess’ hand.
“Who shall go first?” Inquired the King, as he glanced from the Queen to me, and dared each of us in turn to suggest that we should be the ones to lead the game, but neither of us accepted the bait.
“Of course, the King shall go first, lest we have beheadings by the mile.” Laughed the Queen, but I failed to see the humor in her words. I rather enjoyed my neck atop my shoulders.
“Then, I ask this to thee, my beauty,” The King shifted his stare to the throne beside him, his eyes gently hiding his frustration. “Whom do you love more than me?”
“Oh, that is an easy one,” Smiled the Queen, “Our daughter, of course. For she may have come after you, but she stands ahead of you in grace, kindness and generosity.”
“She’s a bit too generous in her picks of love, I’d say,” remarked the King with a sideways glance at me, “far too generous, indeed.”
“Now, as it is my turn,” The Queen gestured softly as a sign for the King to be silent. “My question I pose to thee, young and dutiful Scribe, whose Kingdom do thee swear thy allegiance to?”
“I swore an oath to His Majesty upon the day of my arrival here in this fair city, that I would be loyal to no man but save the King, and in doing such, I vowed my allegiance to the Kingdom of Amidatelion, My Queen.” I bowed slightly toward the King to emphasize my words. “A question I pose to thee, My King, who’s heart do thee hold closer to thy own, that of thy Royal Army or that of thy wife?”
“What position does thy purpose to put me in with such a question?” Howled the King, “I’ll tell thee where, thy seats me in the middle of a war! If I would choose my wife, my men would surely think me soft, and unfit to rule. Yet, if I were to say my vast and dauntless army, my wife would never allow me to enjoy the comforts of my own bed!”
“Does thy then admit defeat?” Pondered the Queen highly amused. Her eyes twinkled with mirth and her fingers were unable to remain still as they curled themselves through her flaxen hair. It was obvious that she was enjoying the game.
“I admit nothing! I will not be bested by such a question!” The King wailed, annoyed. “I shall choose neither, as is my right as King. It is our daughter who holds my heart dearest and hers is closest to the center! While I enjoy my wife and our army much alike, I find that our daughter has gained a greater hold!”
“A cheat, thou art!” The Queen accused, smirking, “Thy failed to come up with thy own suitable answer, so thy merely twists my own?”
“Nothing of the sort,” The King waved his hand dismissively, “I merely chose the same answer, as it was the most fitting and the truest that I could give.”
“A bend in the rules is what that is!” The Queen remarked, laughing. Her eyes danced over her husband, a mixture of mirth and curiosity within. “Go on, ask your Question, you dotty old fool!”
I heard and the King spied the guards cowering at the throne room door, and motioned them forward. I stepped clear of the large solid door, and was glad that the attention was taken from me for a moment. “Enter!”
A pudgy guard methodically bowed from the doorway, and remained bent. His hair hung down around his face, and his eyes never rose higher than the floor as he spoke. “The Princess has heard thy beckon, but refuses to come, as she was not given enough time to prepare.”
“Enough time to prepare!” Screeched the king as he rose from his chair, and tossed his scepter at the door. It missed the guard by centimeters, and landed near my feet. “What insolence is this? Tell her that she will come immediately despite her current condition and that if she so elects to defy me a second time, she will get no third! I will have her thrown to the wolves in her nightdress, and then see how she prepares herself!”
“He shall do nothing of the sort, and he knows it.” The Queen swiftly corrected her husband, “Please, tell our daughter that she has once more been summoned, and if she should refuse again, remind her, kindly, that trouble waits with her mother should she make her father displeased.”
The guard nodded his understanding, and without straightening, backed out the opened door.
“Shall we continue our game now?” The Queen inquired impatiently.
“Whose turn is it? I fear that my anger at my daughter’s stubbornness has made me forget.” The King complained and returned his attention to me. I flinched.
“A trait inherited from her father, I am certain.” The Queen remarked, leering.
I quickly seized the opportunity to confuse the king for a second time. If I could I claimed the turn as mine, than I would lose to him, for undoubtedly I was his mark. I spoke up, and said that the turn was mine, and then I waited with bated breath as the King muddled this over. I saw the Queen nod, and she smiled at me.
“Come now; ask thy Question, before the doddering old King decides it’s more fun to play with the guillotine.”
“My question is in the form of a riddle and I shall ask it of both of thee at once… with thy permission, of course.” My confidence was riding high, “Whoever guesses the answer to my riddle shall be victor.”
“I grant thee permission, Scribe, but make it a good one for it shall be thy last if thy fails to befuddle us.” The King grinned from ear to ear.
I cleared my throat, and glanced at the doorway. No guard, no princess, it was all or nothing, no one to save me now. I thought for a moment, and pulled from a story I’d heard told the previous night before I was so abruptly tossed into the dungeon. “What walks on four legs in the morning, two legs in the afternoon, and three legs in the evening?”
The King’s confident smile faded as his eyes fogged with uncertainty. The Queen scratched her head thoughtfully, while she twisted her hair around her fingers. I remained quiet allowing them time to think it over, and silently prayed that the Queen would be the first to answer. My eyes darted from one to the other, while my nerves prickled with anticipation. Who would be first? Oh, Fates who so jest be not as harsh as to make the King triumphant!
“Man,” The answer came from a startling source. It came from behind, a familiar voice, and I smiled. “Good eve, Mother…Father… Oh! Sir Scribe, thy art today’s jester? It is not an easy matter to amuse my Father. Has he given thy any trouble?”
Quickly, I found my wits, and I gave Princess Adeline a graceful bow. Though not proper in the least, I thanked the Gods that my back was towards the King, for my cheeks were rather red. “No worries, Princess, for aren’t I not a storyteller? Actually, we were in the midst of game proposed by the Queen, one where victory is gained by puzzling queries.”
“Indeed?” Princess Adeline shot me a wink, and then gracefully walked toward her parents. “Might I join the merriment?”
“Of course, my dearest,” Chimed in the King with a large toothy grin, “Always a welcomed treat.”
“If I win, release Sir Scribe from the binds that chain him, and allow me to wed with thy blessing?” Adeline inquired sharply before she took her seat beside her mother. “Art thou agreed? Father…mother? Or wouldst thou prefer to see me forever miserable?”
“Hast thou gone mad?” The King thundered violently as he turned to face his daughter. His ire made him savagely smile; one that would have separated any man from his wits, but his daughter never flinched. “To think that I would approve of such insanity is intolerable! This truncated commoner dares pursue the hand of my only daughter with naught to his name, but a scrabbling of stories. Of which he has yet to tell for my wife, and daughter conspire against me in aims to addle my wits enough that I might forget. Have thou lost what little sense thy mother gave to thee that thee would ask such a thing of me?”
“Nay, father, I have not senseless, but merely, it is that, that I perceive more thy. Sir Scribe is as smart a man as any, if not more so, for he can paint the heavens in words as colorful as the morning sunrise. Have not our strongest men come to him with questions? Questions that neither you nor I can answer for we cannot think such as he?” She turned her tender gaze upon me and my heart was alight, until I noted the King. Dauntless, she stood slowly, and sauntered toward me without a care to the proper etiquettes. “Would thy have me wed instead an imbecile?”
“I would have thee wed a man of standing, a prince or a knight!” Bellowed the King, although, a bit quieter now. “What has this man to offer thee but fantastical anecdotes, and to fill thy head with impractical daydreams? I’d rather thy wed a fisherman than be a scribe’s woolgatherer, for at least the fisherman could feed thee. The scribe would have thee live on falsehood and keep thee penniless.”
“I’d enjoy being penniless for his stories are priceless, and I would not have him sell a single one, for I am greedy, and would have them all myself.” The princess stood before me now, inches from my face her nose hovered, and I wanted so much to lean closer for a kiss, but the King had eyes for me as well, and I knew if I did anything more than stand, the axe would follow his gaze. I held my breath, not daring to breathe on the delicate silken skin of my fair lady, and I prayed that she would swiftly best her father in this game of wills, so that I would not pass from lack of air. “My dear Scribe has taught me the value of words, and with such skill I shall best thee. Answer my riddle, for if I be denied this, I shall climb the highest tower and fling myself from it. The ground would not be as kind to me as the wind that slows my decent. I dare thee to defy me.”
“Very well, my obstinate daughter, speak thy riddle.” Grumbled the King who had looked to his wife for assistance but found no willing participant.
“Very well,” She beamed and then turned to face her father. She gathered her skirts, curtseyed and then returned to sit by her mother. She folded her hands in her lap demurely, and quietly cleared her throat. Eloquently, she recited, “Two knights, each to gain access to an enemy's fortress. The correct countersign the needed to give at the gate for after the guard gave them the sign. Smartly, they hid nearby, to overhear the countersign from another. After a time, a warrior came, and the guard gave the sign: "six". The warrior answered in return "three". The guard let him pass. A little later, another came, and the guard said “twelve". The warrior gave the answer of "six". The guard let him pass, as well. So, the first knight confident in his answer, approached the gate, and the guardsmen said "ten". The knight replied in turn, "five". Immediately after, the guard stabbed him dead. The remaining knight, with the true answer in hand, walked to the gate and the guard said "eight". The knight gave the correct answer and the guard let him in. What was the answer that the knight gave?”
The King laughed, his hand pounded into the palm of the other, “Why that is so easy even a babe would know it. Really, daughter, have thee nothing tougher?”
“Pray, tell us, o’ wise King, what is thy answer?” The Queen nudged her husband, her eyes again twinkling with mischievousness, as she watched her daughter wiggle excitedly beside her ready to burst at the seams.
“The answer is “four”.” Proclaimed the King smugly, “Now, that that matter is settled, guards take the Scribe away! We shall have no more of this nonsense!”
The guards grabbed me by the arms, and made ready to haul me away. I bowed my head, certain of my doom, and felt a pang in my heart. Would our love never be? I wondered as the guards turned with me and marched me toward the door. My feet dragged behind me, my resolve squashed, and I dared not look at the Princess less she see me weeping. I did however manage enough sense to bow on the way out.
However, just before the door slammed shut behind me, I heard the Princess laugh. Curiosity must have nipped at the heels of the guards as well, for they turned to see what was so humorous. The Princess was out of her seat, and headed swiftly towards me. Her eyes were alight with happiness, and my heart shattered. Was she so pleased to see me beheaded? I dropped my eyes from her smiling face, and tried hard to keep from openly sobbing. Oh, cruel fates, who jest so! How could I think that such an ideal woman could love a peddler like me? Cast down that unavoidable axe so that I may not suffer the pains of knowing her betrayal!
It was when she flung her arms around me, and yanked me free of the guards that I questioned what madness had possessed her so, that she might act so forwardly in front of her father and with a condemned man, no less. Her brilliant face beamed with such delight that I was struck dumb. Her hands gathered me to her, my face smashed against her bosom, and my breath stolen away. She hugged me all the while laughing. It was only when her mother called a halt to her childishness that she released me and acted appropriately. Though, I must admit that I longed for the return of her embrace.
“What has come over thee, child?” Her mother asked as she drew her daughter to her, and held her palm to the princess’ forehead. “Art thy suddenly ill? Thy betrothed is destined to forever rest beneath the guillotine, and you merely prance around, as if yearning for his demise.”
“Mother, Father,” The princess sang, turning to each in turn, “I am overwhelmed with happiness, not because I desire my beloved Scribe executed, but for father has granted my wish! See thy not that the King has finally been defeated? The knight spoke not “four”, but “five”; not half the number given, it was that eight has but five letters!”
A collective gasp reverberated around the room. The King had indeed been bested, and by his own daughter no less! My excitement dwarfed my restraint, and I hastened to the Princess. I gathered her to me, kissed her fully, and sashayed about the room. Together! Together at last! Screamed my thoughts, finally, thy fool hearty scribe, finally hath thy earned thy prize!
“Enough! What trickery is this that falls upon the King, and by his own flesh and blood?” Exclaimed the irate King as he rose to his full height. “Do thou expect me to award my daughter so modestly? Thy failed to honor thy promise of a story, and in such, thy lied to me! A sin greater than any before it! Guards! Take him from here at once, or share in his fate!”
“Honorable King, I beseech you!” I cried, desperate to stay alive, “It ‘twas not I that elected to play a game whilst we waited for Princess Adeline. It was supposed to be, but a momentary distraction. Hark, Prince Adeline is here. Lest thy thirst for blood be stronger than thy love of Princess Adeline, pray, permit me to convey my tale!”
I swallowed hard. It was a risky gamble to blame the King, despite the truth. I hoped that he would go against his nature and be a reasonable man. I chanced a glance at the Queen, and she at me. Her eyes told me that she could lend me no assistance, and the Princess was inattentive, a dreamy smile fixed upon her lips. I frowned. I wrung my hands nervously together, and chewed my lower lip. I heard my heart begin to flutter, and felt my palms begin to sweat.
Easy now, don’t get spooked, as if some startled horse. Breathe, and thyself be steady. I scolded myself. If thy bolts now, thy might as well run to the axe and remove thy own head in shame. Thy cowardice ways shall do not but dig thy grave a might deeper.
“It is a courageous rat that proclaims a cat has no will to use his claws.” Mumbled the King thoughtfully, “Thy came brashly into the hall with parchments, did thy not? Bring forth this tale, and recite it for us.”
“Aye,” I bowed deeply, and in the same moment picked up my story. I took a seat before them and wished I had placed a pillow beneath me. I lifted the first page, my eyes skimmed it, and I sighed. What had I written in my despair? Surely, the King would not tolerate such a tale from me, but I had to try. I smiled weakly as I began to read.
“Early morning sunrise; deep set purples and reds wash into the sky, an inkiness of color, amber rays slice through, leaving behind a wake of subtle blues; a hint of the coming day. A gentle wind swayed the flowers in the meadow nestled inside the ravine. Petals that started as a vibrant pink and faded into a deep rich purple at the tips, a tall slender stalk, and wide deep green leaves made this flower distinctive. The ravine made the perfect home for them to grow, and protected them from being trampled upon whenever the animals migrated westward. It also made them impossibly hard to find.
It was only by chance, that the knight had stumbled across them. Thirsty, he had paused by the river just long enough to drink from the cool crisp water, and had smelt the flower’s fragrant aroma. He searched the area and soon came across their hiding spot. The ravine was much too deep for him to reach the flowers, and the sides were to smooth for him to climb. He would have normally paid no regard to the flowers, their beauty wasted on him, but recently he’d come to appreciate such things.”
I kept a slow and steady pace, emphasizing the words where needed, and glanced up now and then to see the King’s reaction; so far so good.
“A commoner, a flower peddler, a woman at that, had caught his eye, and his attention. He stood listening to her explain to a ragged child that flowers were more than just pretty things to decorate the home. Some could heal, and others could kill. It was a delicate balance in the cycle of life, and you had to be careful which you used for which. As she spoke kindly to the child, he found himself enthralled and wanted to know more. The knight spent every day, thereafter, speaking with her, and learning as much as he could.
One day, the knight went to seek the flower girl’s name, but learned instead that she had fallen ill. Locals, thinking that she was a pest, had tricked her into drinking tea made with nightshade. However, the poison dosage wasn’t strong enough to kill her, but it had made her quite ill. Furious at the news, the knight sought out all of the townspeople that were involved, and brought them to the King. The King exacted swift justice, and their heads went a rolling.
However, this had done nothing for the knight’s flower girl; she remained ill. Curious to know what he could do to help, the Knight went to see the flower girl. The girl told him that the only cure was a flower called the ‘Morning’s Sunrise”, and that it was extremely rare. It only grew in dark places, and needed lots of water. The knight swore to her that he would fetch her, the flower, and that he would cure her. Before he set off on his quest, he learned her name, Aurora.”
The King’s eyes widened subtly, and he inched forward slightly. Was he interested or was he preparing to call for the guards and end me here? My eyes dropped to the page again, and I slowed my stride slightly.
“And there they sat now before him. The very flowers that would save his love, but they were far beyond his reach. He sat at the edge of the ravine, his feet dangling, and his mind searching for the solution. It’s, maybe, a hundred feet to the bottom of the ravine, and with walls as smooth as glass, there is nothing for me to grip. My rope is only thirty feet, which leaves a seventy foot drop that would surely break my neck. If I could fly, then I would have no concern, but alas, I lack the means. Or do I? What is it that birds possess that I do not? Wings, feathers, and the inert ability to fly, that is what. Surely, there must be something that will give me the same advantage as those wretched birds.”
I began to motion with my hands as I spoke which seemed to catch the princess’ eye, and I blushed. I must have looked oddly, but I knew that my actions served to enhance the story. If I could keep them on me, keep their attention focused, then it didn’t matter what I did. I smiled and waved my hand through the air, palm down, hand flat.
“A hawk flew over, gliding on the back of the wind, and a spark of an idea lit up inside the knight’s mind. He gathered together long light weight branches, and then set out to hunt deer. He slew enough deer to feed the kingdom, and the next over. He divided the meat from bone, the hide from the meat, and stored as much meat as he could to bring back with him. He took all but one of the skins, scrapped them clean, and then stretched them between posts made of thicker branches. He allowed them to dry in the sun. He turned his attention then to the branches. These he strapped together with strips torn from the remaining hide, and formed them into an expanded triangle. After some time, he returned to the skins, and found them to be perfect for the task at hand. Skillfully, he stitched together the skins, and then tied them carefully to the long slender branches. After much hard work, he was done.”
The Queen tilted her head, and the Princess smiled brightly. The King seemed to be imagining the absurd apparatus. His eyes would flick toward the window every now and then. I chewed on my lower lip forgetfully as I worried over whether or not my tale was too extravagant, too wild for them. Certainly, such a device would not work in real life, but it did sound plausible. Maybe, that was enough…
“The contraption before him was risky and dangerous. Yet, if it got him down to the bottom of the ravine, it would have been worth it. There was even enough space on the other side for him to fly up out of. With the device ready, his nerves steeled, and his mind set, he closed his eyes, clung to the ‘wings’ and jumped off the cliff. At first, he was just falling, the ground rushing up to greet him, but in seconds, he was straightening out, and riding the air current. He braved it, and opened his eyes. A vast sea of variegated morning’s sunrise’s spread out beneath him, their aromatic scent happily cradling him, and he smiled. How free he felt! How wonderful it was, indeed!
As the wind carried him through the ravine, he let go of his invention with one hand, and picked several of the flowers. Up close, they were breathtaking, their sweet smell was dreamy. He felt his eyes flutter as the perfume over took him. Something was wrong. His mind was beginning to haze over, his eyes were losing focus, and fatigue weighed heavily on him. What was the matter with his head? Why was he so very sleepy? It became harder and harder to keep his eyes open, and his body felt solid, a weight dragging him downwards. Where had the wind gone? Was he simply going to fall to his death now?
The image of Aurora came to him now. Pure white silk adrift in a sea of crimson that was how she appeared in the early morning sunlight, her radiant milk white skin, a beautiful contrast to the dark red of the roses, and bright sapphire eyes that stared at him from the flower bed, as she stirred and raised her head. She smiled with ruby lips and lifted a delicate hand toward the flowers. She was the reason he was there. She was ill and needed those flowers. He couldn’t sleep now.
Stubbornly, he kept his eyes open, and with great effort he maneuvered the strange bird into the air current, and soared upward, higher and higher, until he was clear over the ravine, and soon the ground faded beneath him; the ravine a tiny black oasis beneath him. He learned quickly to move with the currents, as if a ship at sea, and after a time, it became easier to steer. He glided over an expanse of trees, past the great Cryton River, and onward toward the tiny town at the base of the castle, where he discovered a new problem. How was he going to land?”
I was now standing, my body drawing out the story as I told it. The King and Queen were holding hands, their eyes glued to me, and the Princess was now at my side. She danced gracefully behind me, her emotions refusing to be contained. I grinned at her, and worked my motions in with her dancing.
“He returned his thoughts to the original source. How did birds land? They slowed their decent and catch the branch with their talons. I have no talons. What can I use to stop myself?
Slowly, carefully, he drew his free hand back to his hip, where he kept his loop of rope tied, and he unhooked it from his belt. He held one end in his teeth, and the other he made into a lasso. Now, he just needed to find something to hook it on to. Wait, the force from him flying past the object, would rip him from his ‘wings’, and he’d tumble to his death. There had to be another way. He sighed, quickly replaced the rope, and held fast to his ‘wings’.
There! Just past the town, the earth rose up, and if he could fly over that, then maybe he could lower his feet, and touch the earth. It was worth a try. He angled himself, caught a passing current, and gently floated toward the hill. Soon, he was at it, his feet lowered, and there, yes, he touched earth. The toes of his boots dragged into the earth, and brought him down hard. He crashed into the ground, the glider splintered, and his mouth filled with earth.
It took a moment to clear his mouth enough for him to breath, and slightly longer for him to recover from the crash. He lay sprawled out near his damaged glider, and stared up at the sky. His mind was beginning to clear now, but there was still something pulling at him. He shrugged it off until he had the time to consider it later, and dragged himself to his feet. Unsteadily, he stood, his knees weak, and his eyes searched the debris for any sign of the flower. He found it some distance from the wreckage, and thankfully, it was still intact, if not a little worse for wear.
Slowly, and painfully, he made his way down the hill, and into the small town. He located Aurora’s house, and showed her the flower. She informed him that it was indeed the correct flower, and that if he were to make a tea from it, it would cure her of the poison running rampant in her system. He did as instructed, and after a time his love was better. Their marriage was a happy one, and they lived happily ever after.”
When I had finished the story, the King quietly straightened, his lips pursed, and his icy eyes stared at me. The Queen was frowning, her eyes lowered towards the floor, and the Princess still failed to glance in my direction, her smile never wavered. I habitually chewed my lower lip, my eyes nervously glanced back and forth between them, and my heart thundered in my chest. Had the story been unsuitable after all? I looked at the guards that stood at my sides and they shook their heads uncertainly. No one seemed willing to break the god-awful silence, so I did.
“Thy Royal Highness, if I have failed to please you, then I shall seek the executioner willingly.” My voice cracked, and my fear leaked out.
“The story was marginally satisfactory, at best, Sir Scribe.” Replied the King, coldly, “However, thy touched on something dear to me. How didst thou know of the Mornings’ Sunrise flower?”
“Whispers in the dark, Thy Grace,” I replied honestly. “The grapevine is rich with such fruit.”
The King narrowed his eyes at me, “Tis true enough, but how didst thy come to pick such a fruit for me?”
“Mere chance, Thy Majesty,” my heart thumped louder now, “Many a fruit to choose from, but this seemed the less bitter of the many.”
“Indeed? What other fruit would thy have chosen if not this one?” He was testing me now. “Would thy have plucked a sweet fruit or one spoiled by the morning sun?”
“Had I not the option of the Mornings’ Sunrise, then none other would have sufficed. The grapevine is poisonous to those who linger within its brambles too long. The wine made from such dangerous fruit can serve no purpose other than intoxicating the mind, and spoiling reason. To unwisely choose the fruit for the wine, can bring only death.”
“A truth in that which thy spoke,” The Queen smirked, “I have sampled many of the grapes upon the vine, and none were as ripe as the one thy chose for us. Servants enjoy enriching the vine as do our enemies. ”
“Enough of this pettiness,” Bellowed the King suddenly, “Guards take the Scribe to baths! Bathe him, and have him prepared. The wedding shall be held in the morrow.”
“Wedding,” Pondered the Princess absentmindedly, “Certainly took long enough for thy to decide on the time, dear Father.”
“OUT, Out now, or I shall change my mind posthaste!” Screeched the King as he folded his arms across his chest and pouted. “My daughter thinks she’s grown, but she’s naught but a babe. A babe…”
“Now, now, dearest,” Comforted the Queen, “It’ll be alright.”
I laughed openly as I was dragged from the chamber, and brought to the baths. A wedding!
