Shards of Shallot part II
By Orel Duano
There she weaves by night and day
A magic web with colours gay.
She has heard a whisper say,
A curse is on her if she stay
To look down to Camelot.
She knows not what the curse may be,
And so she weaveth steadily,
And little other care hath she,
The Lady of Shallot."What were you saying Quatre?" Trowa asked. He was sure he had just heard poetry recited.
"Oh, this room just reminded me of an infamous poem by Alfred Lord Tennyson," was the reply from around a thumb.
Wufei was the closest to Quatre and raised an eyebrow before asking "And what did you do?"
"This?" Quatre pulled out the no longer bleeding digit. Just nicked it on a piece of glass. Nothing serious."
"Uh huh. Nothing serious about getting an open wound from a shard of glass that has been collecting dust for the past couple centuries. We should get some antiseptic on it just in case."
"You're probably right, I think I have some down in Sandrock."
"I'm coming with," Wufei added.
"Me too," said Trowa. "This room gives me the creeps."
The trio moved towards the door, which suddenly closed shut much like it opened. "Yep, defiantly gives out those wonderful wiggins," Quatre said softly.
Wufei approached the door rigidly, and a simple test showed that they were locked in there. And that wasn't all. The door started to melt into solid brickwork, leaving them with only a small window to look out of. "This would be a bad time to admit claustrophobia," he stated.
A small voice from near the loom caused them all to start. "It's been so long since I've had any visitors. In fact, you're the first ones to come to my sewing room, even when I was alive.
"It's been quite lonely here since I broke my mirror. That's why you can't leave, I won't permit it."
It was the ghost of the Lady of Shallot, the one Quatre had seen in the mirror fragment. "What the hell," was all Trowa could get out at the moment, while Wufei and Quatre were unable to speak at all.
"Tennyson had help with his ballad of me," the ghost started. "I wanted to be remembered, to have my story told. He stayed not too far from here so I sent him dreams of how things were. He was the closest thing to a companion I had, but he left. Something you will never do.
"But, I have to do something first. You see, when blood got on my mirror and weaving, you gained my curse. Well, one of you did. So now I will send you on your way; your blood will freeze and forever you will remain my companion. The other two will just rot and die."
Quatre blanched at the news, but the floor below him opened up before he could say anything. The floor closed up after he was swallowed, leaving no chance of rescue. The fall was short, as bricks flew up to create a sort of slide, directing where he landed.
Eventually he landed in the dungeon area, where two wooden doors once stood. One led to stairs covered in moss and slime caused by river water seeping through cracks. The other led more to the center of the castle. Knowing that he was supposed to follow in the crazy ghost's footsteps he did just the opposite and went back into the castle to find help there.
It was a crazy idea, but this was a crazy predicament. Quatre ran down the causeways and took the occasional corner. Twice he ended up back up where he had landed, and both times he turned around and followed his path back into the castle. The third time he walked and studied the walls for a secret passageway.
But the curse was working its way through his body anyways. Each step he got a little bit colder, and a little slower as his blood slowly began to freeze. He stopped to rest against a rusted sconce that had been placed sporadically down the causeway. His weight caused it to shift down and open a secret stairway that led back up to the ground floor of the castle.
Back in the tower the ghost of Shallot was watching Quatre's progress through the pieces of the mirror still in the frame. Wufei and Trowa were watching over her shoulder, grinning every time Quatre did something to cause her to scowl; like opening up a secret passageway and returning back into the castle. But even they could see that the curse had taken hold anyways.
Wufei wondered if Tennyson's poem had a clue in how to get the upper hand. "I hate to interrupt your watching game m'Lady," he nearly spat out in disgust, "but what did Tennyson write about you?"
"Flattery will get you no where."
"Every condemned person gets a last request, this is mine."
"And here I thought you'd go out kicking and screaming . . . I don't see what the harm will be. Except to put you to sleep, it's pretty long."
"We're not going anywhere."
"Too true."
On either side the river lie
Long fields of barely and of rye,
That clothe the wold and meet the sky;
And thro' the field the road runs by
To many tower'd Camelot;
And up and down the people go,
Gazing where the lilies blow
Round an island there below,
The island of Shallot.
Willows whiten, aspens quiver,
Little breezes dusk and shiver
Thro' the wave that runs for ever
By the island in the river
Floating down to Camelot.
Four grey walls, and four grey towers,
Overlook a space of flowers,
And the silent isle embowers
The Lady of Shallot.
By the margin, willow-veil'd,
Slide the heavy barges trail'd
By the slow horses; and unhail'd
The shallop flitteth silken-sail'd
Skimming down to Camelot;
But who hath seem her wave her hand?
Or at the casement seen her stand?
Or is she known in all the land,
The Lady of Shallot?
Only reapers, reaping early
In among the bearded barley,
Hear a song that echoes cheerly,
From a river winding clearly,
Down to tower'd Camelot;
And by the moon the reapers weary
Piling sheaves in upland airy,
Listening, whispers 'Tis the fairy
Lady of Shallot.'
There she weaves by night and day
A magic web with colours gay.
She has heard a whisper say,
A curse is on her if she stays
To look down to Camelot.
She knows not what that curse may be,
And so she weaveth steadily,
And little other care hath she,
The Lady of Shallot.
And moving thro' a mirror clear
That hangs before her all the year,
Shadows of the world appear.
There she sees a highway near
Winding down to Camelot:
There the river eddy whirls,
And there the surly village-churls,
And the red cloaks of market girls,
Pass onward from Shallot.
The poem was only about halfway finished but Wufei had already stopped listening. Trowa was looking in the mirror confusedly, since Quatre was no longer in sight. Something had stuck in both their minds from the poem and previous conversation; the loom was an important part in the curse.
The ghost had noticed that she no longer had an audience and went back to the mirror herself. She cussed most unladylike when she realized she had lost track of her prey. Trowa and Wufei were discussing possible tactics when she cried in triumph. "Frozen solid! Though not quite dead yet.
"Have you ever been told how horrid it feels to freeze to death from the inside? It's a nasty way to go, and nothing can warm you up again. Except for maybe a funeral pyre, but that comes a bit too late, don't you think?"
They had the same idea when she mentioned the pyre. Trowa had a book of matches and Wufei had a dragon Zippo in his pocket, and they moved unpretentiously to the loom. Hopefully torching the cursed loom would have some effect.