Once upon a time there was a prince. He was a happy, carefree spirit that would like nothing more than to never grow up. He lived in a magnificent castle surrounded by a tiny, tidy village, surrounded by a great, majestic forest.
One day this Prince, astride his favorite horse, Wilson, set out in search of an adventure. He rode through the village and found nothing but happy and content villagers. From shop to shop he searched, inquiring of all, "Are you in need of any princely services?" to which they would all reply, "NO your highness you and your family are so kind and great, we need for nothing." To which he would ask, "No dragons? No thieves? No rabbits in the gardens?" To which they answered, "No, no, no," with big smiles and hearts full of pride for their thoughtful prince.
He rode, atop Wilson, into the forest. Praying with all his might for an adventure of some sort, any sort. But, on the edge of the forest, instead of an adventure, he found a small, wild cottage. Leaving Wilson a suitable, safe distance from the hidden house, he warily approached it. He looked in the small windows bordered by flowers and vines and called out for some occupant. There was no answer. Softly then louder he knocked on the small wooden door bordered by flowers and vines and called for some presence. There was no answer. Carefully and tentatively he turned the small brass doorknob. The door opened with not a squeak and he entered. Sunlight flooded through the tiny windows and open door onto a quaint and cozy home. The walls were a soft comfortable white and the furniture a well-worn wood with nicks and dents here and there. Bright tasseled blankets of reds, oranges and blues hung carelessly over the backs of chairs. The Prince was instantly charmed by it. There was a small fireplace, a kitchen table, and one single door besides the front door. Leading to the bedroom thought the prince. Curious as to whether the other room was as charming as this one, the prince stepped into its doorway. But he got no further.
"You are trespassing. Who are you to just walk into someone else's house! Please leave."
Slowly turning to face the owner of the cottage he thought that he might of inadvertently stumbled upon a small adventure. And when he saw her, for a she it was indeed, he knew that he had.
She was a gypsy. Her long dark hair hung loosely in curls around her shoulders and down her back. Her dark eyes flashed in warning to the stranger in her home, and strong defiant form was clothed in flowing skirts of vibrant blues and greens. A soft gold scarf was wound like a headband over her hair. He had thought that there were no more gypsies in these parts, that they had settled down or moved on centuries ago. They had always been the things of fairytales. And now here in front of him had to be… to be… to be a gypsy princess! The prince was spellbound. He could do nothing but stare.
"Are you mute? Or just dumb?" asked the fiery tempered gypsy, bringing the prince out of his stupor.
"I… I'm sorry. I didn't know this place belonged to anybody. The door was open and… I'm sorry. I'll just leave." But he wanted nothing more than to stay. He knew she had put some spell over him, but he didn't care. Here is an adventure more enjoyable than any I could of thought of before he thought, gazing into her dark eyes.
His constant stare unnerved her. Why did he look at her that way? Who was he? She had never seen anyone so handsome. His skin was dark and his eyes like the night. His black hair curled tightly around his neck and loosely over his forehead. His clothes were finer than any she had ever seen and she knew by the way he stood that he could not be a simple thief, and by his eyes that he was not as she had falsely accused him, mute or dumb. She stopped him as he walked past her, mumbling his apologies. "Wait, no. May I ask who it is who has entered my house?"
"Prince Jon," said he, a little bewildered that she didn't know him.
"Prince Jon!? Do you think that just because you are the prince, that entitles you to enter anybody and everybody's house while they are away?"
"No. Of course not."
"Well then why just mine?"
"Listen, I've apologized. I didn't know this cottage was inhabited. Just let me leave." He was growing angry with the impertinent little gypsy girl. He stalked out the door and over to Wilson, who had been patiently waiting the whole time. "Hey there boy," he whispered to the horse, "how come all the beautiful ones are impossibly horribly mannered?" But he was soon to realize, he had spoke too soon.
"Wait!" It was the gypsy girl. She was running out the cottage door toward him, colorful skirts flowing past her legs, hair trailing behind her in dark waves. Stopping right in front of him, almost close enough to lean over and steal a kiss, thought the prince, she spoke. "I'm sorry for yelling at you. But you must realize what a shock it was to come home and find a strange man in my house. I… I would like to be friends." Her confident gaze faltered and dropped to the forest floor. The prince stood looking at the curls that fell over her shoulders and in front of her face. He wanted to touch one, but didn't, for how princely would that be? Instead, he stuck out his hand.
"Truce?" he asked, a genuine grin spreading over his face. "I've always wanted a gypsy for a friend now that I think about it."
Looking up and finding the prince smiling, the gypsy smiled back. "Truce." Then, unexpectedly, her eyebrows knit together and a cloud passed over her features. "wait a minute… gypsy?"
II
Disguised in his dirtiest clothes, the prince sat amongst his subjects. Just like them, he was a prisoner. He could not move a muscle. He was caught in a trance that he had no desire to break, a spell that he fully wished to be kept under forever. He sat still as the story teller weaved her magic into the very souls of her listeners. He was with Alli Baba as he came upon the forty thieves and whispered, "open sesame!", he made friends with Aladdin's genie, he kissed awake the sleeping beauty, and watched an enchanted beast turn back to man by loves kiss. The storyteller's voice, smooth and uninterrupted cast them all under a deep and wonderful enchantment, and they were content.
Then the voice gave way to silence. No, to the busy sounds of a small village at noontime, the hustle and bustle of everyday life, the creak of wagon carts, the wail of babies. The prince shook the dreamy mist from his mind as the others stood and left, leaving the silent story teller to sit in an exhausted heap, eyes closed, heart beating wildly, small smile on her tired lips. He stood and took the few steps that it took to get to her side. He sat quietly at her feet and stared at her closed eyelids till they slowly drifted open, revealing sparkling dark pools that told him not to speak, not to break the moment. And he knew this before she told him with her eyes. He knew the moment she had created was a magical one, not to be broken by ordinary words. Standing, they walked side by side into the forest. Sunlight spilled through the rich green canopy overhead and created an atmosphere purely golden, wonderfully pure. Coming to the end of the forest, they entered a small cottage that was situated perfectly, nestled really, into the thickening trees. Both took a seat inside, flopping down onto the wooden chairs and colorful blankets the prince had observed on his first entry into the cozy abode.
"So?" asked the storyteller, finally breaking the comfortable silence between them, "How was I?"
"Gypsy, you are the most wonderfully magical person I know. I thought all magic had left this world till I watched… listened to you today." She smiled shyly at this compliment, blushing so hard she covered her face to hide it.
She was not actually a gypsy. She was nothing more special than a peasant girl who told stories to young and old alike for whatever little money they might give her. But the prince did not see it this way. Elaine the storyteller had been his joy in life ever since he had trespassed in her cottage many months ago looking for adventure. She was full of magic and hope and faith and all manner of things that he had given up as dead when he realized as a young boy that fairy tales were just lies.
He never called her Elaine. No, it was always gypsy.
"But Prince Jon, you looked bored stiff all day long."
"Then you definitely were not looking at me! I assure you, you had me completely mesmerized the whole time. I swear I was the hero of every story! I felt the sand of Arabia across my skin and the tingling of magic upon sleeping beauty's lips. You, my dear gypsy friend, are a magnificent storyteller. And I never lie. So you must believe it."
"Ha! I'm sure you've lied in your life time you rogue of a prince!"
"Ah, but not to you." His voice softened and so did hers with her reply.
"No, never to me." They sat in thoughtful silence, neither able to muster up enough courage to look at the other. They were always companionable and friendly, and their banter and conversations were natural and easy, but there were often unexplainable moments of discomfort between them. There were moments when the one could not look the other in the eye, when tension between them was so strong as to electrocute one or both of them if they so much as glanced at the other. And so they bore these moments out. Often when this happened, Elaine would stand up and busy herself tidying up the cottage, or the prince would stride purposefully out the door. Eventually, she would follow him, finding him petting Wilson, gazing up at the cloud or star strewn sky. "Leaving?" she would ask. To which he would reply with another question, "Do you want me to?" and then yet another question from her, "Do you want to?" And then they would break out into sincere jovial laughter, one dark sparkling eye meeting another, and all would be back to as it was before.
But this time was different. Something of the magic from Elaine's stories had settled into the prince's heart and he could keep silent no longer. "Gypsy?" she made no answer, but looked up at the prince, locking her own gaze into his. There was something in her eyes, on the set of her lips and brows; something fierce and pleading all at once. "Would you like to learn to ride a horse?" he said, abruptly changing the question that had settled on his lips and on his mind. Now he pushed it back, afraid of what her look had meant. Had she known what he was about to say? Of course she had. She and he were like one, knowing even before the other what they were about to do or say. She had known and hadn't wanted him to say it. He pushed his disappointment back, convincing himself that he was content with the taut unspoken tension. He may not be good at lying to the peasant girl, but he was amazing at lying to himself.
III
Elaine frowned. He was so effortless up there, so graceful. Bringing Wilson to a smooth halt the Prince suavely dismounted the horse and stood standing, grinning proudly at his student… who was wearing quite a frightening glare upon her usually happy features. "How do you make it look so easy?" she asked.
"Because I've been riding since before I could walk. You've only been at it a month. You'll get better. Now, here, let me put you up on Wilson." He held his hand out to her and she took it. Knitting her brows together in fierce determination she mounted the horse, taking tight hold of the reins. "Relax Elaine. He can feel it when a rider is tense. It discomforts him."
"Well he discomforts me!" she snapped back at him fiercely. Making a visible attempt to relax, for the horses sake, Elaine took off at a soft trot out into the riding fields by the castle. As she grew more confident in the skill of the horse, she let her mind drift away from beast, field, and time. Instead she settled her thoughts on the words of her trainer. 'relax Elaine' he had said. Elaine. It still sounded strange coming from his lips, hearing her name in his voice. Even when she had introduced herself as Elaine Bennet, he had not said her name. No, to him she had always been Gypsy.
But he hadn't called her that since the day he had come to listen to her stories in the village. She remembered the day. There had been silence, that sparking tension so common between the friends, and then he had said her name. Gypsy. One word, but from it she could hear all that he had not yet said. And she knew she could not let it be said. They were too good of friends, he was a prince, she a peasant; oh there were many reasons she could give for stopping the words that were about to come from him that day. Fear. That was the real reason… fear. And ever since she showed him her fear in her gaze, ever since she pleaded him with her eyes to remain silent, he had called her Elaine. Nothing had changed but that, but that had changed everything.
She was broke from her reverie by the wind whipping her hair across her face and the jarring shocks that the running horse sent through her body. She became alert, attempted to settle down the obviously startled animal, and bring the ever increasing run to a halt. But she could not. Wilson ran ever faster and faster, farther and farther, ever more wild and out of control. Elaine could not understand just what had affected him so. But she obviously could not think of what had started it at the moment for all of her powers of thought were on how to get the animal to stop! She dug her heels into its flanks, pulled back on it's reins, it's mane, just plain pulled back! Only to thwarted in all her attempts.
The fence. The fact that there was a stone barrier looming ahead, comforted Elaine. Wilson would stop, obviously. He could not, would not jump that fence. There was nothing to worry about. But Wilson did not slow down and the stone fence grew larger and larger on the horizon. She realized that she had not reached the point in her lessons when the prince was going to teach her to jump. For jump was exactly what the horse was going to do. The Prince! Where was he! What was he doing while she was being carried away by his wayward horse.
But all ponderings on the prince were lost as the stone wall disappeared underneath her and she clung to Wilson's mane for dear life. Only when she felt the jarring landing did she open her eyes to see now the forest coming into view. Her stomach dropped as she spied low hanging branches. She was going to die; beheaded by a tree! All because of a stupid, wretched horse!
The stupid, wretched horse stopped. With only a few feet between itself and a low hanging branch. It's stop was so sudden that it was almost as shocking as it's start. Elaine heaved a great sigh of relief, slightly loosening her grip on the reins that had turned her fingers stiff and white.
But it was all too soon, for within an instant of his stop, he had turned himself around and was charging once more, just as fiercely toward that horrid stone wall! Closing her eyes, once more, and tightly gripping the reins, once more, she screamed a scream of frustration that disturbed animals for miles yet did not even phase Wilson. That siren scream lasted till Wilson landed his second jump over the low stone wall, and losing her hold, Elaine toppled off the possessed animal and crashed into the hard earth.
This is the scene that prince Jon was witness to as he came charging hurriedly after his friend. Having had only Wilson with him in the riding fields, he had had to go back to the stables to get another horse to chase after his wayward animal friend and its rider. The horse and rider had been doing excellent, the prince enjoying the picture they created , until for no seeable reason Wilson had started to gallop. The prince thought that maybe Elaine was being brave, bringing the horse to more than a gentle trot. But he soon realized that this was not the case when she started wrestling with the out of control animal to stop. And the horse ran faster and faster heedless of its panicked rider.
Now the prince was panicked. Stooping beside the fallen peasant girl, he called her name. "Elaine, Elaine! Are you all right?" Elaine heard him but did not reply. It was a stupid question, of course she was not all right! She had just fallen from a lunatic horse!
"Yes, I'm fine," she mumbled.
"Don't move. Your back could be broke or… or something else. Don't move. Just… just lay there ok."
"Would you stop ranting! Besides having the breath knocked out of me, I'm absolutely fine. Now help me sit up." She hadn't wanted to ask him even this small favor, but she wasn't exactly feeling as fine as she protested she was. Putting one hand behind her head and the other on the small of her back, he brought her to a sitting position. It had been painful, to move, but she assumed pain was better than no feeling at all after falling off a horse. Opening her eyes, which she had closed at the outset of her up rightening, she found herself incredibly close to the worried expression on the prince's face.
The prince had no desire to gaze deeply into the peasant girl's eyes, instead he moved around behind her, sat down, and leaned her against his chest. Though this position was hardly any better, he knew that she needed something to lean against, and he was scared to move her to the stone wall. So there they sat. The peasant girl would of liked to move, but wasn't sure she could stand just yet, and besides, it was quite nice. When she realized that she was tempting herself with things that could never be she moved to stand. But couldn't. She had moved so quickly that the prince had not the time to stop her. But she was stopped so abruptly that the prince had not the time to move out of the way, and Elaine, with a sharp cry of pain, came from a full standing position to a fallen heap on top of the prince.
"Oof! What do you think your doing woman?!" he cried in aggravation, as much at his being squashed as at the prospect of her being horribly injured. He lay the peasant girl gently in the grass beside him and looked down at her dark eyes brimming with tears.
"My leg." She whispered. Cautiously and respectfully, Prince Jon grabbed the hem of Elaine's dark skirt. A skirt that he now realized was heavy and darker with blood. He touched the slowly spreading wet stain and pulled back fingertips dyed a deep red and his heart died in his chest. He pulled the skirt up just enough to expose broken skin and jagged bone pushing forth. His face went pale and he wanted to throw up, but pushed it down and looked toward Elaine's own paling face.
"Elaine, keep your eyes closed for the moment. Don't worry. But, Elaine, you definitely are not fine." She had obeyed him at first, keeping her eyes firmly shut as the newly realized pain shot through her body. But his last comment was just too taunting. Opening her eyes just a bit, she saw what she was never meant to see, her own bone and blood. Understandably, she fainted.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
The prince could not take her to the palace, could not bring her to the finest physicians available as he yearned to do. She was but a peasant and he knew his parents would never approve of their friendship, believing that it might turn into something deeper. What did they know? They did not know her, that was for sure. If they did, they would know that there was no fear of her falling in love with him.
But what did it matter. She might be dying. No, he could not let himself think that. He was certain that Damian would help him. If no one else would, Damian would. The prince thought this last thought as he approached a small house in the middle of the village. Standing outside the front door, heedless of all the morbid watchers whose curiosity had led them to follow and watch their prince and his wounded cargo, Prince Jon bellowed at the top of his lungs, "DAMIAN!!! DAMIAN I NEED YOU!!!"
The door opened in an instant, revealing a man of middle age, with graying brown hair and mischievous eyes. "Boy! What is the matter, don't you know it's only polite to knock. Oh. I see, bring her in, bring her in," and then to all the curious bystanders, "go away! There's nothin' to see here!" and with a certain glazed look in his eye, he struck his words deep into the minds and hearts of every one of the men, women, and children who had seen the prince carrying Elaine down the street, "absolutely nothing was seen." Then old Damian slammed shut his door on all.
"Now then," he said, turning to face the distraught prince and the unconscious form he held in his arms, "What's happened?"
"It's her." Said prince jon, looking down at Elaine. "something happened to Wilson, I don't know, and she was on him, and she fell and…" he looked toward her leg, the darkened skirt. But old Damian had already seen it and was taking the young girl in his arms and laying her on his cleared kitchen table. Respectfully lifting the skirt to expose the wound he motioned the prince to a a cabinet under the table.
"Open it. Inside there's a red cloth. Unfold it and lay it across her eyes lad. She may be unconscious now but she won't be for long if we don't do something about it."
"And the cloth, it will keep her asleep while you… while you…" he asked, while unfolding the faded red cloth and laying it across her closed lids.
"Yes dear boy, it will keep her asleep." With those words, Damian stuck his hands into a bowl liquid with a blue tint. The blue mystery salve dripping from his rough weathered, but steady hands, the stately man firmly grabbed hold of Elaine's leg. Elaine was a tall and muscled girl, not at all a petite weak little creature, yet Damian's large hands completely covered the wound, pressing it tightly together. The blue and red mingled together, blackening Damian's hands. "Boy, turn around now. You won't want to see what happens next," he said, his voice gentle yet commanding. Obeying, Prince Jon turned around, focusing on a particularly interesting crack in the wall. Damian sighed loudly, knowing what would come next, dreading it, knowing that though he might be able to save the prince from the sight of it, he'd never be able to save him from the sound of it. Then, without another thought, he grabbed the bone, pushing it below skin and flesh, back into place, pushing all his energy into it, fusing the two broken pieces together again.
From the moment Damian pushed the bone back into place, an earth shattering scream pierced the air. Damian barely heard it, so intense was he in mending the poor injured girl. But Prince Jon, Prince Jon heard it, and when he did, he could no longer face the wall. "My God! Damian! Elaine!" he exclaimed as he turned around. He was amazed at what he saw. There seemed to be a blue light emanating from the old man, surrounding him. But that was not what had arrested the prince's attention. Damian's hand was inside Elaine's leg. No, her leg was invisible, almost gone, and his hands were glowing blue veins all over.
But the prince did not spend much time debating over the strange spectacle. The intense scream that shattered all quickly brought him to the side of the shrieking peasant girl. Her back was arched, her head thrown back, her mouth open and contorted with the long held sound of agony. The red cloth still covered her eyes but Prince Jon knew they were wide open; bright with fear and pain, wet with tears. Running to the table, he stooped beside her, gently placing his hands on either side of her head and placing his lips close to her ears. "Close your eyes. Breath. Ok. Just breath and close your eyes. It'll be alright. I promise." And with those words, the scream that had shattered silence for so many minutes dulled and ended. A calm pain lingered on the peasant girls face as Damian came out of his trance and removed the red cloth from the girl's eyes. Damian laid a hand on the still form of the prince who was knelt beside his still friend, face buried in her damp dark hair, hands still placed lightly on the sides of her face.
"She'll be fine. Just fine." Said the strong voice of Damian. "But we should move her to a more comfortable place." With that, he picked up the peasant girl as if she were a small child and placed her gently on a small bed in a small dark room in the back of his house. The prince did not follow but quietly, with bowed head and clear mind, opened the front door to a day that he had forgotten. A day that was bright, a day that was not part of the darkness of the house from which he stepped.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
The room was dark and unfamiliar shadows crept across the walls. Her half open eyes and still confused mind knew they were in unfamiliar territory. She pushed aside the throbbing ache in her head and opened her eyes all the way.
Her leg. Quickly, she threw back the heavy quilt that covered her and found that her clothes had been changed some time that night. Or was it yesterday. The room was dark and she couldn't tell what time of day or night it was. But the one thing she was sure of as she threw back the crisp white skirt that she had been dressed in while she was unconscious, was that her leg was better. Swiftly, she sat up, putting her cold bare feet on the wooden floor and standing. With a sharp intake of breath she fell back to the bed. The piercing pain that had shot through her leg made standing impossible. She would not cry.
"It's ok to cry little one." Came a voice from behind the shadows in the vacant doorway. The voice was quickly followed by the tall form of a smiling man. Elaine had seen this man before. Several times. He was often a visitor of her dreams, an imaginary mentor of sorts. But it seemed as if he was real.
"You." Well that was an incredibly stupid thing to say, thought Elaine.
But he only chuckled. "Yes my little wandering one. You didn't think I existed did you. Well here I am. Your leg will still hurt for a while I'm afraid, but it will be better soon enough." He sat beside the girl and made her feel as a small child with his sheer stature and presence. She wanted to curl up and sleep on his lap as if she were again a little girl but did not, instead apting to ask the questions that plagued her mind.
"How did I get here? Where did you come from? How did you fix my leg?" She almost asked where the prince was, but then remembered that it shouldn't matter to her where he was. "Who are you?"
"Oh, my dear girl, you know me don't you. I've been with you since you were a little girl. When you lost your parents. When you had to leave your grandmamma. When you left the kingdom of Darwin and Libyana. When you came here."
"Yes, I do know you. But… what is your name? What is it I can call you?" She asked, eager for any real clue to the identity of this dream man.
"Well your friend, the prince, and the others here call me Damian. So you may too."
"Damian." She said lightly. "And, Damian, how did I come to be here? Was it by your magic?" for she knew he had magic, if he could heal her leg and appear in her dreams, he was surely a wizard of some sort or another.
"No. Not by my magic. But by magic of a different sort." She gave him a confused look and he answered her questioning gaze, "friendship."
"Friendship?" she asked. Indeed, thought Damian, all this stress must have shut down her brain. "The young prince, young wanderer, the young prince. He brought you here. He left after he was sure you were going to be alright. Distraught the boy was, distraught. Don't know where the boy went. But he sure didn't leave me any time to ask questions. So maybe you can help where he wouldn't. Just how did you get that nasty injury yesterday? And why did Prince Jon run off so quick."
"As to your last question I do not know. Perhaps to tend to Wilson, his horse. There was something very bad about that whole thing yesterday. I do wonder what happened to that devil of a horse. And as for my leg, well that has to do with that devil of a horse also." And with that she told him all that had happened yesterday. "I have to go now Damian. I have to. I… I'm dying of curiosity, and… and"
She was interrupted by a hand on her shoulder. "And you want to get home. And see what the young prince is up to I suppose. But you must move slowly. Your leg is not yet fully healed. And I ask one thing of you."
"Yes?"
"Wait till daylight?" He opened the window to show that surely it was deep into the dark night. He looked upon the peasant girls face to see that even nightfall could not deter her curious nature.
"But I'm sure even the prince does not sleep Damian. Not with a mystery, an adventure afoot. You can not ask it of me." Her eyes pleaded with his and he found he could deny her nothing now that he knew her outside of the realm of dreams.
"Alright. But you'll be slow getting anywhere. You'll remember when you stood just a while ago." And she did indeed remember. For the pain, the ache, was still there. She lifted up her skirt, to inspect the wound for the first time and found no mark, no betrayal of the injury that had happened just hours before. She looked to the old comforter for an answer but found only a smile. A small comforting smile.
"But how shall I walk if my leg is hurt so?" At her question he stood up, took two steps to a corner of the room and from there took up a tall heavy, polished wooden staff.
"With this." He answered easily, putting the staff over her lap and into her hands. Putting all her weight on the object, she stood. She found that while she held the stick, the pain subsided almost to the point of total dissipation. Finding this, she smiled at her healer and old friend, and took her first step.
"It's a bit stiff, and sore, and does pain me a bit." She said with a hint of a frown in her brow, "but I think I'll manage." She finished, wiping away all signs of any discomfort from her face with a large glittering smile. "Thank you Damian."
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
It was a night filled with the soft glow of moonlight. All for miles around was crisp and clear to all who strove to see far enough, and on instinct Elaine traveled toward the palace and the training fields where she had last ridden the runaway horse. From a distance, she could hear the frantic hoof beats of the running beast. It still ran. As she came closer, she recognized the tall form of the prince at the gatepost. Slowly she approached him, trying to hide from the bright light of the stars and moon overhead. But she tripped and let loose a small sound of irritation.
And he heard her. He turned and saw there the peasant girl, leaning on a smooth polished staff and looking like a beam of moonlight in the simple white shift that Damian had dressed her in after her healing. She wore a mischievous smile. "Elaine! What are you doing out of bed? Are you ok?"
"Like you care. Running off so quick." She teased him as he rushed to her side. As he took both of her hands in his own she let loose a tiny shriek and fell toward him. "The staff your highness, the staff," she gasped in pain as he righted her and handed her the wayward staff, hands strongly griping her shoulders.
"You are not well. What are you doing out here? Why did Damian let you go. I should of warned him about you."
Quickly gaining her composure and her breath back, she started a slow and careful walk to the pasture gate with the prince by her side. "Warned him about me? And what is it you would warn him about dear prince?"
"Your stubbornness. And your stupidity."
"Stupidity!"
"Yes, it was stupid of you to come back after not being fully healed."
"I'm not going to let you have all of the adventure prince. Oh no. Not about to let you have all the fun."
"Who says this is an adventure? Who says there's anything at all special about anything that has happened?" asked the prince as they reached the gate. The peasant girl kept one hand firmly on her walking staff as she placed the other on the prince's arm and directed his attention to the galloping mad beast and the worn path of trodden mud.
"Has he been running the whole time?" asked Elaine.
"Yes," said the prince.
"And how long has that been?"
"Oh, thirteen hours I think. You've been asleep, ten to twelve hours. I'm not sure. I left. I can't get him to stop. I've tried everything. It's like he's possessed. He runs from one end of the field to the other, always stopping at the edge of the forest, never going in. I don't see how he's lasted so long. He'll surely die of exhaustion before he stops." Elaine felt sorry for her friend. He had always been absurdly proud of his horse. It was a constant companion to him. She knew the horses demise would greatly hurt the Prince. "Do you remember what happened to start him running so?"
"No. I saw, felt, nothing. One minute he was fine, the next he was running wildly. I'm sorry prince Jon."
"It's not your fault. But we have to figure out what happened. Why. Maybe I could mount him somehow. Maybe he'll settle down with me."
"Maybe, maybe not. We don't know. And how would you get on him? You might end up worse than me."
"What? No faith?" He raised an amused eyebrow at the peasant girl and she drew both her's together in worry.
"No Prince. It's just that I know I can't carry you all the way to Damian's like you did me." Her free hand was now on her hip in a defensive stance and she stared him down, challenging him.
"You can't? Well then I guess that's just something I can do that you can't."
"I'm not joking with you my liege. Don't do anything stupid." She pleaded, laying her hand once again upon his arm. But he put her hand back on the staff and jumped the fence. From the other side, he gave her one last glance before running off at full speed toward his maddened horse.
Of course she could do naught else but follow after him, as best she could that is. Watching him, only for an exasperating second, streak across the field toward Wilson, Elaine acted quickly. Only briefly did she suspiciously eye the royal horse before her. The one that the prince had been using in Wilson's absence. Still gripping tightly old Damian's staff, she mounted the horse as best she could and nudged it toward the prince and the running Wilson. As she got closer she noticed the tired straggling steps of the possessed beast, the white foam flying from his mouth. The horse was running too fast. There was no way the Prince could catch and keep up with it long enough to mount it. So she set her sights on the prince, and digging her heels into her horse more urgently, spurred him forward faster than she had ever willingly rode a horse before.
Catching up with the prince was easy. Soon she had passed him and stopping directly in his path, was screaming her name with all her might.
Of course the prince saw the peasant girl, right in his path, blocking him from the running form of Wilson, atop a horse not less than a day after breaking her leg from a fall off a horse. And he stopped his mad dash. "What do you think you're doing! You'll hurt yourself again!"
"Ha! Me! Prince Jon, you'll never catch up with Wilson running. Jump up here with me."
"What?"
"Jump up here with me. I'm supposing this horse can run as fast as Wilson. We can catch up with him and you can jump from this horse to the other. It's just as dangerous, but will actually work. As opposed to your fool plan of running after the horse yourself!" And he saw that she was right. Without a word he jumped up onto the horse, behind Elaine and let her keep the reins. As she took off at a break neck pace he roared in her ear above the wind,
"What would I do without you." And it was a statement, not a question.
"Either die a horrible death or become extremely tired and frustrated from running yourself into exhaustion." Was her equally loud reply. And he smiled a quick smile before eyeing the closely approaching runaway horse.
When they were near enough to see the dull glaze of exhaustion over the horse's eye, Prince Jon jumped. And much to the peasant girl's relief, made the jump, landing safely, straddled across Wilson's wide back.
She sped after him, realizing quite quickly that if she was going to follow after the prince, which she most certainly was, then she was going to have to jump the same self fence that she had broken her leg over that very day. Groaning and sending a quick prayer toward God, she held on tight, closed her eyes, and willed her horse to jump safely. Only when all four galloping hooves were back on the ground did she breath again, sending up another quick prayer, this time of thanks. As both prince and peasant girl approached the thick forest, they prepared to stop, turn, and begin the never ending path over again. But as Elaine pulled back for a quick stop, she watched Wilson carry Prince Jon in the dense dark leaves of the wood. Surprised, she followed him. What else could she do? Something was clearly wrong. And although she felt this in the pit of her stomach, at the center of her heart and with every inch of her intuition, all the solid facts pointed toward treachery. The Prince's horse runs wildly for no apparent reason in circles, never entering the forest on either side of the practice fields until the prince himself mounts the horse. Then, calmly, Wilson bears his brave and stupid rider hence. It seemed as if someone was trying to get the prince's attention, or… the prince.
Elaine picked her way carefully toward the Wilson and Prince Jon, matching her horse's pace with his once she caught up with them. "Something's wrong," she told him. And for a reply, she received a grim look. Then the Prince seemed to reconsider their seemingly grim situation and flashed his friend a look of pure confidence.
"Well, I've been seeking an adventure, have I not. Who knew that if I just gave up looking, one would come find me." But Elaine could not quite share his cheerful demeanor. She was worried. She had had plenty of adventures in her life, and wasn't so sure she liked them. But, she told herself as she was always one to look on the bright side of things, I haven't yet had an adventure with the Prince. Perhaps his adventures shall prove enjoyable. Perhaps.
Prince Jon on the other hand was enjoying every step that the horses took them deeper into the forest. Of course the shadows grew thicker and the noises grew more unfamiliar. They rode their horses in silence, Elaine following the prince, or rather, Wilson, for Prince Jon was not leading at all, Wilson was in total control. Prince Jon began to notice that the thick, unruly tangle of trees was beginning to thin out, to become patterned, almost orderly. He slowed his horse, or rather, Wilson slowed down, and the peasant girl followed suit. Then, as Elaine was about to break the silence, to suggest they go back, the horses stopped.
They stood, mounted on two stone still steeds, gazes locked straight ahead into an alleyway of trees taller and more ancient than any they had ever seen. After a brief pause at the entrance to the massive oak tree hallway, with lush green boughs overhead for a gilded ceiling, the beasts again started their mechanical, controlled movement forward, never once pushed along by prince or peasant girl. The hallway seemed never ending. They passed tree after tree of gigantic proportions, tree after tree that was had surely been standing at the dawn of time.
Elaine began to discern a glittering, flickering light at the end of the seemingly endless tunnel. Then the light grew more constant, more sure and bright. And it grew nearer. As surely as Wilson walked slowly, hoofs breaking and creaking over the blanket of golden fallen leaves that was the floor to this ephemeral hallway, so the light grew closer and more intense. Then the golden light began to take form. Slowly it contorted itself into the distorted, vague, and distant shape of a throne. And as they drew nearer, the invisible shape of a woman appeared perched on the ever sharpening image of the golden throne.
Then they were standing right in front of it. Right in front of her. And she was beautiful. Both prince and peasant girl could see, even as her outline remained dim, that she was the most beautiful woman in this or any other world. As her image sharpened and came into clear view, they both held their breath, afraid to disturb one hair on her golden red head. Her soft features ended in delicate points at her chin and nose tip. Her lips were full and red and her sharp emerald eyes danced with mischief and sadness at once. She was dressed simply but elegantly in deep green folds of silk tied with rope weaved of gold from the very heart of the earth. The peasant girl became aware of her simple white shift, and her mass of uncombed, uncurled dark locks. The Prince was aware of nothing but the beautiful angelic form in front of him and thanked the gods for every step that brought him closer to her.
Then Wilson stopped, and so did Elaine's horse, and the woman's perfect lips parted, and she spoke. "Wilson," she said, standing. Her green robes trailed through the leaves without once disturbing or rustling even one as she walked lightly toward the now calm horse. Reaching out and laying a white delicate hand lovingly on Wilson's neck, she lifted her gaze toward the prince and smiled. "You have brought my love Wilson, you have brought my love."
The prince, who had been smiling dumbly, enchanted, down at the woman heard her words and awoke, as if from a dream, his brow furrowing together, the curve of his smile undoing and straightening. Breaking his gaze with the creature of perfection, he looked down at his horse. There was something that he wasn't understanding, but he couldn't bring himself to speak in this place, to this woman.
But the peasant girl understood. The storyteller knew. There was deep, ancient magic about this perfect woman. It was so interwoven into time, place, and person that Elaine could barely keep her body from exploding in all directions at once. Hearing the woman's words, seeing the confusion writ on the prince's face, seeing the tethered questions behind his eyes, Elaine strove to break the silence. Risking what felt like being pulled apart by her very soul, she parted her lips and uttered one single word. "What?" And with that sole word, her bonds were broken, the pressure on her being released, and she could once again speak, and the words came quickly. "Who are you? Why have you brought us here? And what do you mean by 'my love'?"
For the first time, the enchanting woman saw the peasant girl, for the first time, a look of something other than utter loveliness come over her face. It was… disgust. And the look did not become her. It twisted her features and made them almost ugly. But it only lasted for an instant, and only for the peasant girl. For a second after that revealing instant, the enchantress once again turned her brilliant, captivating smile toward the prince. "You do not wish to know the answers to these questions," she said more than asked him. And he felt that he didn't. But on some instinct, he turned his adoring gaze to his friend on horseback and found that indeed, he really truly did want to know the answers, and when he turned back to the woman he found that he still wanted them.
"I… I find I do want to know why you have brought my horse here." And both women saw that the prince still did not understand.
The enchantress's sparkling laughter filled the oaken hallway echoed from green bower ceiling to golden leafed floor. "It is not the horse I want dear lovely boy. Your horse was merely a tool. It is you I have sought to bring here. You my dear lovely boy that I love dearly." Elaine rolled her eyes at the woman's sweetly dripping speech and turned her dark steady gaze to the prince, whom she hoped wouldn't fall for the saccharine words. And much to her relief, he seemed more disturbed than anything else.
And indeed he was feeling a bit disturbed. "I am very honored," he began, "that it is I you have chosen to love but-" but he was interrupted by his long haired companion.
"But who are you? You are not a wood spirit. They all have golden hair. You cannot be an evil spirit, for they cannot manipulate earth and nature as you obviously have here. What are you?"
Her face turned somber and turning around, she gracefully walked back to her golden throne and sat down. None in the clearing spoke for what seemed an eternity filled with bone crushing silence. But the peasant girl grew impatient, and as one woman senses another in that strange inexplicable way, the enchantress sensed the peasant girl's ire and spoke. "I am a woman, nothing more. I am probably less by now, after centuries of waiting. I was once a princess, the most beautiful over twelve kingdoms." A small smile spread across her lips at the memory. "