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Only four more days to enter the Form Poetry Contest! More info after the chapter.
Many thanks to this fic's beta, KaitlynFall, for her dedicated and thorough advice!
Enjoy!
Return to Aysel: Another Grimm Tale
Alicia Blade
Chapter 4: The Underground Castle
They went on and came to a great lake whereon stood twelve
little boats, and in every boat sat a handsome prince.
from The Twelve Dancing Princesses
Serena hovered at Mina's bedside, her brow drawn with worry. She had hardly stopped trembling from her encounter with the man—the evil sorcerer, as she was calling him in her head—though the day was ending quickly. She needed to retrieve her courage. She needed to focus. Mina needed her. Her mom needed her.
She sucked in a deep breath and took Mina's hand. "How are you feeling?"
Mina turned her head to peer up at Serena through her dark, lidded eyes. "Tired."
Malachite, in his nightshirt once again, hovered in the doorway that separated their bedroom from their daughter's, who he had just finished tucking in.
"Where will you be?" asked the prince, casting his eyes around the room.
"Right where you are now," said Serena.
Malachite nodded. "I'll be sleeping with my sword. If I see anyone, I'm going to kill them."
"Just make sure it isn't me you're about to kill first, all right?" She'd meant it to be a joke, but found there wasn't much humor in her voice after all.
"Serena," said Mina, "what do you think is going to happen?"
"I'm not sure. I think . . . I think someone is going to try and abduct you."
"But from my own bedroom? With my husband at my side, with guards posted just outside the door, with a three-story drop from the window?"
"I can't explain it yet, Mina. I'm hoping to have a better idea of what's happening after tonight."
"They won't succeed, will they, Serena? You won't let Mina get taken like—" Malachite's voice broke.
"I'm going to try my best. But without knowing exactly what we're up against . . ." She shuddered, remembering the man's cruel smile, and fingered the hunting knife that hung at her waist. She hadn't told anyone that she had seen him, that he had been in this very castle, that he had the power to be wherever he liked, when he liked. She needed to know what she was up against before she put everyone on guard.
Besides, he could have killed her, and he hadn't. He could have killed Nephlite or Artemis or Malachite, and he hadn't. Serena needed to know what he was after, then she would sound the alarm.
"It's late. You should try to sleep," she said.
"Gladly," Mina murmured, grateful to close her eyes again.
"You too, Malachite."
"I will not be able to."
"Then you should pretend. Whatever's going to happen, we want it to happen. We need to know what happened to Luna and Lita."
Malachite inhaled a slow breath and approached the bed. He kissed his wife's forhead. She smiled a bit, but it seemed that she had already fallen fast asleep.
Serena waited for the prince to slip beneath the covers and make himself comfortable with one arm draped around Mina's waist—his sword snuggled between them. She could tell that he didn't fall asleep—there was an unnatural rigidity to his body—but that was good enough for her. Slipping into the smaller bedroom, she crowded in close to the wall, able to peer out just enough to see the motionless couple. She looked back into the nursery and could make out Cytherea's sleeping form, although she was partially hidden by a sheer pink curtain that surrounded her bed.
Then Serena waited.
The night dragged on impossibly slow. It didn't take long for Serena's body to start aching from her immobility. Her feet, unfamiliar to the suede boots, felt cramped through the toes and tired in the soles. Her legs swooned from time to time and she had to shift her weight every few minutes to gain relief. She realized that she was tired. The excitement of her return to Aysel had already dwindled and the adrenaline had deserted her, leaving her with a foggy, sleep-deprived brain and heavy eyelids.
And still the night crept by. The moon rose slowly outside the window, drenching the bedrooms in a hazy silver light. The day's stormy weather had left the town below wet and glistening, but the late summer heat made the air in the castle uncomfortably humid. Serena began to wonder if she wouldn't have been more comfortable in a lightweight dress after all. The castle was silent, though she could imagine Amy and Zoicite only a couple rooms down, equally unable to sleep, and Artemis, worried and fretting, down the hallway in the other direction. Occasional footsteps thudded beyond the library room and Serena pictured the guards making their rounds through the castle.
She could not tell if Malachite was still awake or not.
She was just beginning to doze on her feet, head propped against the wall, when she heard something stirring. She cast her eyes out into the master bedroom again but saw nothing. But the sound repeated and she spun to see—surprisingly—little Cytherea sitting up. The girl rubbed at her sleepy eyes and looked around. Serena held still, plastering herself to the wall, but Cytherea did not seem to see her. It was not a moment more before Mina also began to stir. Serena turned her head just as Mina grasped her husband's wrist and moved his arm off of her.
He was sleeping after all.
Cytherea stood up and tottered awkwardly into the master bedroom, passing mere inches from Serena, but blind to her presence.
Seeing her daughter appear, Mina placed a finger to her lips for silence, although it seemed Cytherea needed no prompting. The child went straight to the armoire and produced two pairs of dancing shoes—one for herself and one for her mother. New ones, not those that had been ruined the night before.
The two princesses changed out of their nightgowns. Mina laced herself into a gorgeous white ball gown—layers of satin and tulle shuffled together when she moved. She put Cytherea in a pale pink lace dress with a yellow satin bow about the waist.
Holding hands, the two princesses neared the vanity—to admire themselves, Serena suspected at first, but instead of pausing to preen before the mirror, Mina reached out to touch the glass—and her hand disappeared into it. Serena gaped, watching as the liquid glass rippled from the touch and accepted Mina's arm, elbow, shoulder. She held onto her daughter's hand the whole time and when Mina had climbed up onto the top of her vanity and stepped through, Cytherea followed close behind and was swallowed up just the same.
Serena forced herself to desert the safety of the small bedroom and follow them. She gripped the knife at her belt and climbed onto the vanity. Her terrified reflection looked back at her. She held out her hand and the reflection followed. She pushed her way through the surface.
It felt like touching the surface of a lake. The glass was cool and refreshing from the room's uncomfortable heat and Serena felt her hand dry on the other side as she flexed her fingers.
Taking a deep breath, she closed her eyes, and plunged on through.
She found herself standing at the top of a dark, winding staircase. Flickering candle sconces lined the walls, their shadows casting eerie shadows along the stone. In the distance, Serena could see Mina and Cytherea disappearing around a bend. She followed, as silently as she could, though her footsteps seemed obnoxiously loud to her own ears as she descended.
The stairs continued for what seemed like miles. Though it felt good to have movement in her legs again, Serena could think only of what awaited her—and the princesses—at the bottom. She held close to the jagged stone wall and proceeded slowly, no longer able to see Mina but afraid of drawing attention to herself if she went any faster.
Serena paused suddenly, thinking she heard the sound of waves below. Her hesitation was short-lived. Both glad and fearful to be reaching the base of the stairs, she quickened her pace. It was not much longer before she could see the base of the stairs disappearing into a mound of fine white sand, cast orange in the candlelight.
She crept slowly, slowly to the base, noting the two footprints in the sand of mother and daughter, and listening to the serene crashing of waves which soon came into view through the stairway's arched opening. Her eyes caught on movement, and Serena lingered on the stairs, holding her breath.
There was a small rowboat tied to a single tiny pier on the edge of the lake that swayed and rocked in the water. There was a girl sitting in the boat, but Serena could not make out any features other than long pale hair.
And standing beside the boat, silently watching the approach of the two princesses, stood the strange man. Serena reeled back at the sight of him—pale face, haughty smile, silver eyes. But Mina and Cytherea did not hesitate in their approach toward him. He held out a hand to Mina when she was close enough. His smile was pure evil, yet Mina placed her tiny, white hand into his and allowed him to assist her into the gently rocking boat. The man then stooped and lifted the toddler princess around the waist—the small, precious girl did not bat an eye. In fact, from her vantage point, Serena thought she even heard the child giggle when he lifted her.
With both princesses at the bow, the man climbed in after them. The third girl was still as stone, staring out over the water, ignoring Mina and Cytherea and their kidnapper as he picked up two oars and began to row them across the lake.
Serena crept down the last steps and reached the powdery sand below.
Her heart nearly stopped when she looked out toward the lake from the base of the stairs and saw the castle for the first time.
The massive, looming structure looked to Serena like it was made from gold and rhinestones, or perhaps it was a sand castle made of the glistening white sand and glowing orange from the hundreds of thousands of flickering torches that lined the enormous lake. The castle's reflection in the water was like an illusion, an oasis, shimmering and flickering before one's eyes. It was pure elegance, pure magic—as striking and as inconsistent as a sunset.
Serena lingered by the opening of the cave, watching the small boat as it glided across the crystalline waters. When it was little more than half way between the shore and the castle, the man paused in his rowing and stood. The boat rocked beneath his feet as he peered over the edge, waiting. Serena hugged the wall of her protective cave, wondering what the man could possibly be doing, when she saw a series of small ripples in the water just off the side of the boat.
A moment later, the man reached one hand into the lake. When he pulled it out, he was gripping the arm of a woman. He pulled her fully out of the water in one fluid, easy movement.
Petite, frail form; skin that shifted from snowy white to sage green to coral pink, depending on how the light caught her; dripping hair that flowed past her waist, as black as a raven's wing; and . . .
Serena sucked in a breath as a silver, scale-covered tail emerged from the water.
The man held the mermaid in both arms and lowered her fin toward the boat. The moment it touched the wooden floor, it separated into two perfectly formed human legs. The girl was naked, her entire body glittering in the candlelight as if she was faceted from head to toe with mother-of-pearl. The man set her down on the boat's floor, at Mina's feet, as if the girl's human legs were too weak to allow her to stand. Then he reseated himself and picked up his oars and finished the journey to the castle at the center of the lake.
Once the small boat had docked, the man led his captives inside—carrying the mermaid in both arms while Mina and Cytherea, still holding hands, followed behind them. Only then did Serena find the courage to approach the water's edge. The rope that had previously tied the boat to the shore floated in the surf, edges frayed. The small wooden pole that had served as an anchor in the sand was growing moss on one side.
Serena wondered how long this castle, and this boat, and its owner, had existed down here, far beneath the earth.
She paced along the shore, uncertain what to do. There were clearly no other boats, and she could see that the castle was surrounded by the water on all sides. To swim, she thought, would be suicide. Not only did she run the risk of unknown sea creatures (giant serpents and underwater dragons not only seemed possible, but even likely, in an enchanted, underground, fairy-tale lake), but she also would have nothing to do once she got to the castle but sneak inside.
And then what? Confront the sorcerer with her silly hunter's knife and sharp tongue? Or try and find Mina and Cytherea alone and convince them to follow her home? This hardly seemed plausible, given their willingness to be taken by the man. Serena could not fault Mina for this behavior. She was certain it was some sort of magic spell, some sort of brainwashing, and believed that Mina didn't have any control over her actions. But regardless of Mina's true state of mind, Serena did not think she could seek assistance from her in their mutual escape.
With an infuriated sigh, Serena collapsed onto the sand and folded her arms over her knees and glared at nothing. Had the sun come up yet? Was daylight breaking? Had Malachite awoken to find his wife and daughter—and Guardian—missing, possibly gone for good? And which of Aysel's princesses would be next?
Serena hated this feeling of helplessness. She tried to concoct a plan for when the man returned with his prisoners, but could think of nothing.
With a groan, she rubbed vigorously at her eyes, then steepled her fingers before her lips and tried again to think of a solution—any solution—but instead, her gaze caught on something small and shining at the edge of the water. She stood and went to it, her heart leaping into her throat when she saw what it was.
With trembling fingers, she stooped to pick up her mother's small golden locket. She fingered the clasp, opening the shell to reveal the unharmed picture of Serena smiling out from the small right frame—the one worn closest to the heart—and, on the left, the tiny picture of her, Darien, and Melvin. Her arms were around the two boys. Melvin looked uncomfortable. Darien looked as though his cheeks may have been pinker than usual. But they were all smiling. So joyful. So carefree. So young. Though the picture had been taken just over a year ago, it felt like ages ago. It seemed like it had been a simpler, sweeter time; a time for adolescence, a time when she was still trying to live a normal life and believed it may still be possible.
Her mother, she recalled, had taken the picture herself.
Her heart throbbed as she closed the locket. The clasp on the thin chain was broken, so she slipped it instead into the pocket of her pants.
A sound brought her attention back toward the castle—still swaying and shimmering in the golden halo of light—and she saw the sorcerer emerging. Two girls walked at his side. At first she saw blonde hair and thought Mina was one, but quickly realized that it was actually the other girl that had already been in the boat. And the other was the mermaid, walking with agonizing slowness. Even from the far distance, Serena could see the grimace of pain on the girl's face with every step she took, as if knives were piercing her legs.
Pity overcame Serena as she hurried back toward the stairway and hid within its shadows, and then fear and worry filled her as well. For, as the man helped the girls into the boat and climbed in himself, Serena realized that Mina and Cytherea would not be returning with him. They were trapped in that castle, and Serena had no doubt that the other princesses—and her mother—were trapped within as well.
Possibly dead.
When the sorcerer had rowed them halfway toward the land, he again stopped and cradled the mermaid against his chest. She hung limply against him, half-unconscious. But as soon as the man held her out over the water and dipped her toes into its cool depths, her legs reattached themselves and became the metallic silver tail once more. Rejuvenated, the mermaid slipped nimbly from his arms and dove down into the shimmering depths.
The man sat down in the boat and continued rowing. Serena braced herself in the shadows of the cave, staring hard at the girl, wondering if she knew her, but she did not seem familiar. She could tell that the girl was petite, but not a child. She seemed pretty, but Serena could make out no distinct features of her face. She could tell, though, that the girl did not make eye-contact with the sorcerer. Not once.
When she dared not linger any longer, fearful of discovery, Serena turned and took to the long climb up the stairway.
Only six princesses had been taken so far, which still left six more for her to track and rescue. For her to follow. For her to use in order to reach that castle and save . . . everyone.
She did not know this blonde girl or where to find her.
But how hard could it be to track down a mermaid?
When Serena emerged from the mirror atop Mina's vanity, she became instantly aware of the obnoxious pounding on the door beyond the parlor rooms. Malachite was still sleeping soundly in the large, solitary bed, and Serena did not waste her time bothering to wake him, knowing that the undisturbed sleep must be a part of the sorcerer's spell and was bound to wear off soon enough.
"I'm coming!" she yelled, climbing down off the vanity. The ruckus stopped long enough for Serena to make her way through the prince and princess's quarters and open the door. On the other side stood the rest of the royal family, the worry and panic on their faces falling into relief when they saw Serena before them.
"Serena, thank goodness!" said Amy, clasping a hand to her heart. "The door was locked again, and the sun has been up for over an hour. We didn't know what had become of you."
"Malachite is still sleeping, though I suspect he'll be waking soon."
"And Mina?"
Serena cast her eyes to the tiled corridor floor. "Both Mina and Cytherea are gone." Unable to stand the shocked silence that followed, Serena turned to Amy. "When I was here before, I was told that there are no longer any merpeople. That they had . . . had turned to foam upon the water, when the storytellers' power began to fade. Do you remember that?"
Amy shrugged half-heartedly. "I don't remember that conversation, I must admit, but it is the truth."
"Are you sure? You're sure there aren't any merpeople in Aysel, or any of the other kingdoms?"
"The merfolk have not been seen or heard from in hundreds of years," said Nephlite. "It is said that there was a time that they were very social, when they frequently came to the surface and talked with fishermen and sailors. But then, one day, a school of fish came to the surface instead and said that the merfolk had, as you said, turned to foam upon the water. And they've not been seen since."
"But it's possible they still exist, right? Maybe . . . maybe they're just hiding in the water? Perhaps they could tell that the world was changing and they thought it best to retreat away from humanity?"
"I cannot say it is impossible, Lady Serena, but I think it unlikely."
"Why?" asked Amy. "What does it matter?"
"Because it seems that the man who has been kidnapping the princesses has found himself a mermaid princess as well. I must go to them, if it isn't too late. . . . Where did they use to live?"
"Cerulean Lake, less than a day's ride to the southwest," said Zoicite. "But, Lady Serena, you cannot mean to leave us so soon? And in the midst of such danger?"
Serena shut the door to Malachite's chambers and began heading for her own guestroom. "I have to. I am the Guardian of all of this land, not just Aysel."
"But what if—what about Amy?"
Forced to pause at the heart-wrenching tone in Zoicite's voice, Serena looked at the prince and then his pregnant wife.
"Are you able to ride a horse in your condition?"
Amy's eyes widened as she looked down at her belly. "I think I could."
Zoicite had gone pale, but he slowly nodded. "We will choose the gentlest horse, and we will have to ride slowly. The terrain is not difficult."
"Good," said Serena. "I don't want to let any more princesses out of my sight if I don't have to."
"Do you think we should split up? Maybe we should split up. I can take the kitchen?"
Darien nodded, his eyes glued to the top of the staircase. "Fine, Melvin, you take the kitchen."
"And then maybe the backyard? If I were her, I would probably be in the backyard."
"All right. You check the backyard, too."
Leaving Melvin behind, Darien took the stairs two at a time. The door to Serena's bedroom stood open, but there was no answer when he called her name.
The overhead light had been left on, something Serena was usually conscientious about. The bed was unmade, which was not rare in itself, but Darien couldn't help feeling that her pink and yellow comforter was even more disheveled than usual. Everything was in boxes, except for some clothes laid out on the chair of her vanity.
"Serena, where are you?" he said, fingering the worn cotton of one of her favorite T-shirts. Neither he nor Melvin had heard from her all the day before. They'd stopped by and knocked on the door—Melvin always insisted on politeness though Darien didn't really see the point—but she hadn't answered, so they figured she was out. He had called her multiple times. It was unlike her to just disappear like that, but he'd thought maybe she was upset about her mom, and nervous about starting classes, and just wanted some time to herself.
A day alone, fine. He could handle that.
But they'd decided to meet them at Melvin's house, right next door, over two hours ago. They were going to drive over to their new apartment together and spend the day unpacking. While it was normal for the girl to be tardy to any appointment, it was certainly not normal for her to not show up at all.
And Darien couldn't shake the feeling that something was wrong. In fact, since he'd woken up yesterday morning he'd felt like something was . . . missing.
His eye caught on something that glittered on the floor. Stooping, he lifted a corner of the blanket that cascaded to the carpet and spotted a beaten antique mirror beneath the bed. He pulled it out and scanned the splintering wood of the frame and the discolored, warping glass, and wondered why it wasn't in a box like everything else.
And then he wondered why he couldn't remember ever seeing it before. Was it something Serena had had hidden away in a closet? But then, why was it here, now?
He shook his head. It was just a dingy old mirror. It didn't mean anything.
He heard footsteps pounding on the stairs and turned to the doorway to greet Melvin—perhaps he had found some sign of Serena, or maybe it was the girl herself?—when an old man burst into the bedroom.
He spotted Darien and yelped, drawing back and bracing himself against the frame of the doorway. Darien guessed he was in his seventies, if not older, with wild gray hair that was in need of a comb and a cut, and deep wrinkles between his eyebrows that told of many worries in his long life. He wore brown slacks that were too short on him, held up with green suspenders, a plain white shirt that had five small buttons by the neck, and a single monocle dangling from his ear.
The man's small dark eyes darted down to the mirror and he held out a trembling finger. "Put that down."
Darien clutched the mirror tighter. "Who are you?"
"That is none of your concern. Put that down—it does not belong to you."
"It is too my concern. This is not your home and I demand to know what you're doing here."
"It is not your home either, young man."
"It's the home of my best friend."
The old man furrowed his brow and slowly drew the monocle up to one eye. Surprise registered on his face and he once again fell back against the doorframe. "A-ah, yes. You must be Darien."
"I am."
The man nodded, slowly. "She told me you looked like Endymion, but I didn't think . . ."
"How do you know my name? And who's Endymion?"
"No, never mind. Please, give me the mirror. I am only here for the mirror."
"Not until you tell me who you are and what you're doing in Serena's house. And . . . and do you know where she is?" The man's gaze shifted uncomfortably to the stack of boxes behind Darien. "You do know! Tell me!"
"No, no. I cannot. You do not understand. . . . It would be impossible."
With a growl, Darien tossed the mirror onto the bed and lunged for the man, grabbing him by his suspenders and hoisting him against the door jam. "Tell me where she is."
"Oh, oh please." The man squeezed his eyes shut. "I can't say . . . I can't . . ."
"You can, and you will."
"But . . . but she isn't here!"
"I can see that she isn't here." He shook the man, more from frustration than anger. "That's why I'm asking you where she is."
"Aysel. She is in Aysel."
"Where the hell is Aysel?"
"You will not believe me. She wouldn't have told you . . ."
"Stop babbling nonsense and tell me where this . . . this Aysel is. Is it a city? A street? A . . . a store?"
The man shook his head, eyes squeezed tight and lips squeezed even tighter.
"Tell me where she is!"
A low meow interrupted Darien's tirade. Without releasing the man, he turned to see Serena's cat come meandering out from underneath the bed. The cat paused when he saw the two men and sat back on his haunches and began cleaning one of his pure white paws.
"Oh, Puss in Boots!" the man said. Darien directed a sideways, suspicious glance at him and wondered if it was possible for this man to be dangerous, an enemy to Serena, and still know her cat's name.
He released the man's suspenders and stepped back. "Take me to her."
"I can't . . . I really can't!" The man looked up at Darien pleadingly and soothed the suspenders with both hands.
"Yes you can," Darien said, picking the mirror up from the bed and waving it in the air with one hand. The old man started, watching the glass flicker before him with an equal mixture of terror and desire. "And when you do, I will give this back to you."
"She's not in the backyard! I even checked the treeho . . ." Melvin trailed off, staring at the stranger openmouthed. He had a fiendish sense for confrontation and disliked drama more than he disliked tomato juice.
Darien tucked the mirror under one arm and cocked his head toward Melvin. "And he's coming too."
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Ends Thursday: The Form Poetry Writing Contest
In honor of April being National Poetry Month, I'm encouraging my readers to try their hand at writing form poetry. You can write any type of form poetry (haiku, sonnet, villanelle, limerick... pretty much anything but free verse). They can be on any theme or subject (they do not have to be about Sailor Moon, but they can be if you want). They can be funny, sad, romantic, or angsty—it's up to you.
I will post all entries on my blog and maybe a future newsletter, and we'll hold a vote for the best poem(s) of the bunch.
Deadline: Thursday, April 30
Prizes: The winner(s) will receive a signed copy of my book of poetry Every Day Will Come (ironically all free verse) and… maybe a banner or an icon or something. I haven't given it all that much thought yet—but I will.
Submit your poems through my email or web site (both available on my profile page). Be sure to mention poetry in the subject line, and include your name and the poetry form you chose.
Have fun and good luck!