Chapter 5: Fear, Fear for Love
She threw me out. Oh my! Oh woe! Oh grief! Oh grave despair! I cannot bear this life;
Take me, oh Death, with gentle hands, and from this set me free, this sadness and soul-strife!
-Olaf, if it you please, calm down, and quiet for a while. I understand your grief,
And I would grieve in the same style; but your shouts ache my nerves, now that I am so weak.
They have their course reversed, now that the queen has them expelled back to the icy world.
No soft escort nor warm farewell: pushed out by giant arms, without a single word.
Then sat the monstrous guard before the tall forbidding doors, such that they could not pass
Around him even just to knock on the sickly red gate. Thus did the four depart.
They searched for somewhere safe. Sven bore the princess on his back as Kristoff led the way.
And Olaf back and forward ran, or sorrowfully writhed upon the frozen wastes.
Now they rest for the night, in a hollow in the sheer cliffs, as the wind howls and hies.
Their meagre fire chokes and dims. Shadowy trees obscure the milky gibbous light.
Upon the snowy floor, Kristoff has lain a warm blanket, saved from the wolves before.
On this she lies, wrapped in more yet. She shivers as she sleeps, struggling to preserve warmth.
Kristoff scrambles to keep the embers from extinguishing. The wind seems to have teeth.
It cuts and claws through his clothing. But 'tis not for himself that he struggles for heat.
For she is in ill health: her face is pale, as though her blood no longer therein dwells.
Each shiver at his heartstrings tugs – how was she laid this low, once spirited and well?
And these symptoms she shows – he has seen them before, he thinks, a long, long time ago.
The whitening hair and pale skin – her hair? Olaf, tell me everything that you know
Of how it came to be that Anna's hair, red as a flame, has one lone snowy streak.
-When Elsa struck her as they gamed, that single streak appeared. Wait! What is this I see?
Her skin is coldly smeared in deathly white, as is her hair behind her chilly ear.
So pale and cold, once red and fair…But how can we cure this? How do we rescue her?
Kristoff silently sits. His mind is far, far to a vale – a vale few know exists.
Do you know, then, upon which trail they sought for Anna help, right after she was hit?
-Mmm…no, I cannot tell. I felt such pain from Elsa's soul, and then I was dispelled.
But Elsa cried out…ah! I know! – for Mama and Papa. I heard that, then I fell.
So she, then, was Anna.
In a forgotten summer's night, haunted by aurora,
A boy and reindeer by that light trudged on, seeking a cove 'twixt the shifting umbra.
Through stone and undergrowth, the lost boy and the calf did tread. Voices they heard. What hope!
Ahead the exhausted youths sped, but they came now upon a rocky, mossy grove.
In the centre were four – a man, a woman, two children. Surrounding them were rocks
Who moved and spoke, rolled and rumbled, but they grew quiet as one now came to the fore.
Into his stony hands, a cradled, sleeping child was passed, thickly in blankets wrapped.
The trolls around him did incant a strange, enchanting song. The youths listened, enrapt.
Then in a voice so strong, as like the toll of mighty bells, spoke he words, not too long,
That seemed undying as the fells. The magic seemed to ease. The mystic singing stopped.
So awed, they could not breathe during the saying of the spell; now, panting silently,
The two spied on from where they knelt. And that was when he saw, the flame-red hair white-streaked.
And spoke on, folk and rock, till the four humans did depart, one young and old per horse.
And so to leave, the two did start, but there before them stood the caster, old and short.
At these lost two he looked; and then, with kindly, serene face, offered the grove's sweet goods.
Of rich fruit he bade them partake, the wizened living stone. Now they were found. They took.
I know where we must go. Kristoff searches his memory. East, to my childhood home.
A last look at her as she sleeps. If we can save her life, only the trolls will know.
-x-
Two columns, each three deep. Shakos as upright as the men attending by their steeds.
The dragoons still their sabres clench, but they bear no more arms – they seek their queen in peace.
Enters now the Prince Hans. A simple cloak he drapes on him, light purple; and in black
The crocus is woven on it. They shall heed his commands; he is their riding flag.
They mount as dawn now cracks, as dimly bleeds the waking sun – long perhaps is their track.
But toward them some men now come: the southern haven's Duke, and two men at his back.
And with a wily look at the young prince, the Herzog asks that his bodyguards, too,
Share in the merit of the tasks: the young princess to find, and winter to remove.
Says Hans: I do not mind, but verily, we remove naught; we are not gone to fight.
The queen, if found, shall here be brought, with all her rights by birth. I shall not say this twice.
The Herzog shall defer to the prince, and thus his footmen are to Prince Hans transferred.
Valets fetch new horses for them. Behind their thick fur coats, their pistols stay hidden.
-x-
They come to a warm road. Vents in the ground exhale warm clouds that exile outside cold.
Here roar no more the knife-winds loud. Strange and enchanting plants out the glist'ning rocks grow.
By a vent stands Olaf, feeling the airborne water drops. So this is heat. At last!
Wonderful! Quick question, Kristoff: why are my outsides wet? Is this 'having a bath'?
-Um…no, that's just your sweat. You'll do that sometimes when it's warm. Or the steam has condensed
On your cold body. He tells not, as Anna a day past, that warm ice will liquesce.
Then she wakes, here, at last. For hours she has drowsed on Sven, trembling in nightmares dark.
But the air seems to soothe her fret. From half-stirred eyes she sees the damp stones slowly pass.
Kristoff? Now where are we? -We have come to my childhood home, to the north mountains' east.
Here you can be healed, this I know – they're very…skilled, my…friends. Well, more like, family.
I was a young boy then – somehow I was lost in the woods, then I encountered Sven,
And then they…found me— us; they took us under their wing, so, they're family, I guess.
Ah— most of them are old, but very loud, and can be rough – just, thought you'd like to know.
Like, they guffaw, and shout and shove – but in good cheer! mostly – and then sometimes they roll—
-Kristoff. She speaks softly, but a sweet smile crosses her face. They sound great, already.
And I know not why, but this place soothes me with an unknown…familiarity.
Onward the party roams, between the mesmerising leaves and scenic calent stones.
The darkening sky to the east wears ephemeral light in varicoloured glow.
She takes in the warm sight, foreign to her yet near her heart. He too beholds the night –
It has been long since he departed – and his red-flushed face, from her sweet gaze to hide.
And Olaf meanwhile plays in the lazily curling steams and verdant rocky lanes.
The vale fills with jubilant screams until he falls over a stony carapace.
A boulder, quasi-sphere – its back like the base of an egg, perhaps faintly smoother.
Be careful! Watch out for your legs! shouts Kristoff, with a smile, And see now: we are here!
They have been for a while going along fair valley paths; but narrow are those aisles
That they have walked to come this far: a wide and empty plain, stretching for miles and miles.
But only steaming veins and wondrous leaves in this unearthly vacuum do remain.
But Kristoff and Sven seem to burst with joyous energy. His calls into the space:
~Hoya, hoya, hoya, hoo-ooh-ah…~
Spellbound am I, spellbound am I…
Sorcery, sorcery enthralled by…
What a long time it's been! Welcome back, both. Behind the four, a voice says cheerily.
It is the stone Olaf tripped on: And welcome back, princess. Grand Pabbi comes shortly.
Earth threatens to upend, as boulders roll toward the field, from north, south, east and west.
Hundreds and hundreds now reveal their true forms, stout and strong: the trolls of ancient ken.
They swamp Sven and Kristoff, enthusiastic, active, loud – as family so warm.
And around Anna, too, they crowd, and gossip starts to spread about their bring-along:
For she has grown so fair! Bright eyes, working nose, and strong teeth! Absolutely perfect
For our young lad – how did they meet? And how thinks she of him? Is she already wed?
But something seems amiss: her hair is as pale as the moon. And so cold is her skin!
Her breath is short. Comes Pabbi soon? And as they speak, she drops. They catch her, faint and limp.
They rest her on the floor, near unconscious; but then a touch, and her shuddering stops.
The ancient hands settle her much, with both familiar feel, and deep magical force.
Lightly the hands repeal the heavy dark cold in her veins. Warm magic do they wield,
Warm as when she was five in age. These are the hands that kissed her once, her curse to heal.
Far hast thou faredest,
Fair child,
Still brave, though slightly bowed.
Let us help thee battle
This icy bane:
Banished be from body,
Banished be from blood,
Bide no longer by her!
Then with their hands all linked, the trolls incant, the magic swells, the sky is fiercer lit:
~Hoya, hoya, hoya, hoo-ooh-ah…~
Spellbound am I, spellbound am I
Sorcery, sorcery enthralled by
Spellbound am I, deep in my soul
In my heart a burning flame rolls
Spellbound am I, to my heart's root
Fixed are mine eyes to where the sorcerer once stood
The others watch as the trolls' spell inflames the northern lights, that stars and moon eclipse.
Kristoff his knuckles bites. Somehow he fears that they will fail; that they came not in time.
But of course not; so wherefore quail? And what is he to her? Does he possess that right?
The chants turn to murmurs. The aurorae abate their shine. Night resumes her slumber.
Kristoff rushes forth to her side, Olaf and Sven anon. A faint moan, as she stirs.
He takes her hand. Kristoff? She softly speaks, but not so weak as she hours before.
My mind no longer feels so bleak – my head no longer floats, and inside I feel warm.
Each other's hands they hold, and grin and chuckle in relief; until at once they note
The trolls' expectant scrutiny. Sharply they pull apart. But comes the wise old troll:
We have but delayed
The lethal ice –
Inside thy heart it hides still.
Naught can save thee
Except an act
Of true love truly done.
He listens in alarm. Preserve her this night, Kristoff prays, maintain her fading heart,
So her betrothed at home can save her with an act of love. Come morning, we'll depart.
Race, race, across the earth inundated in snow and ice – with each step she is worse.
You bear the weight of slipping life; race, race, and nothing fear, save that you give her hurt.
-x-
But let us leave them here, and see what half a day ago elsewhere did transpire.
The troop upon the summit rode, and till their peak they climbed with heaven's fiery sphere.
Be on guard at all times! The prince commands as they dismount, but deal by peace, not might.
We bring the royals safe to ground. No harm comes to the queen; we are not here to fight.
But then ahead they see the rising figure of a man, no, giant, of white sheen.
Bathed in noon light, the guardian stands, attentive and severe. They approach, warily.
Good day to you, good sir! We seek the queen. We come in peace! Perhaps it registers,
Perhaps not, for it does not speak – but it yelps! in pained rage, pistolled in the shoulder!
HOLD! But it is too late. The guardian lunges at the threats, all to eliminate.
Peace or thy life: which to protect? It shall give no more peace. Flashes his sabre blade.
Now the prince takes the lead. He hacks at the monster, distracting it from the scared steeds.
Two dragoons herd the horses back. The others join the fray. Bullets fly and swords cleave.
Behind the palace gates, a figure watches as they clash, with consternation great.
The Duke's men see her, and they dash away from the skirmish toward their actual prey.
HALT! STOP THEM! roars the prince, but the dragoons are occupied, beside a steep drop pinned.
The prince gnashes his teeth, and flies to the aid of his men. The Duke's men cross the bridge.
They charge the door, and enter the candescent amber hall, their pistols firmly clenched.
The walls echo with pistol-shots. Ruptured shards pelt the queen as she runs up the stairs.
They chase her as she flees. A golden glow engulfs the walls. She can taste her heartbeat.
She tries to seal the second floor. They kick, till her ice breaks. Nowhere to run. No. Please.
The assassins take aim. Two shots. The crunch of fractured ice. Her hands flew to her face,
And from the floor a wall did rise. Mere hair-widths from her head, hot lead by ice is stayed.
Awake not primal dread. They retreat to reload their guns, as the walls turn blood-red.
Then magic flies. They dive and run. The storm is unleashed now.
Leave – on your legs; or dead!
Upon the snowy ground, the furious battle continues, cold steel on colder mounds.
Prince Hans and his brave retinue have gained the upper hand. The monster has been cowed.
Before the bridge it stands, unwilling to be lured away. Though the soldiers attack,
It bears the stinging of their blades, daring them to approach. Wisely the men hang back.
But Prince Hans' worry grows. Gunshots are ringing, loud and clear. There is but little time.
He charges, as if without fear, and with a mighty blow hews through the monster's thigh!
It lurches to the side, and in that moment, the young prince slips through to the foe's hind.
But as he runs onto the bridge, the monster gives its last, and at the prince it swipes!
And its warcry fades fast, as it now plummets from the cliff. A good strike, but alas,
The prince was not knocked off the bridge. Grabbing onto the base is fortunate Prince Hans.
The men repay his aid. They rush to haul him from the brink, and bring him back up, safe.
He sheathes his sword, and runs off quickly for the blood-red doors. The queen! The queen! Make haste!
The pistols punch no more. The squad flies up the crimson stairs onto the second floor.
Then in grim terror halt they there, behind the doorway to the chandeliered hall.
For they all see the two: utterly crushed by Elsa's craft; whom guns cannot rescue.
Upon the wall, one, as though grafted onto it by ice. By cold his face has blued.
The other killer lies upon his face at Elsa's heels. His own heels have been tied
To the ground by ice cold as steel; but not as cold as her. The walls bleed, bleed with light.
Her magic makes hover a cold and sharpened stalactite above the saboteur.
Her dress, once blue, with grey is blighted; malevolence fills her erewhile soft features.
Know'st thou? That by my will – and will alone – this spike shall move. Be thou completely still:
For Thought even the gods do prove tardy, let alone thee. Move, and thou shalt be killed.
But I command thee speak: who art thou, and why cam'st thou here? He merely grits his teeth.
Her eyes water, in rage, and fear. The spike sharply descends. In fury: ANSWER ME!
Your Majesty! Hans steps forward, his hands held out aloft, into her frigid glare.
These men, he pleads, have done you wrong. But I pray: do not harm; these men I pray you spare.
For they have been disarmed; they are no threat now, and justice has snared them in her arms.
But I fear, if you them forfeit, you become the monster that they all fear you are.
He has now struck a nerve. Her hands falter at these, his pleading and defenceless words.
For she has once defenceless seen, and been. Her hands now fall. She gasps for breath, speechless.
The floating spike dissolves. The ankle-shackles start to melt, and the graft on the wall.
The dragoons come, Prince Hans to help seize the conspirators. The red fades from the hall.
Then his last revolver – the one prostrated on the ground. He is hasty – a miss.
Hans wrestles him. A wayward round shoots down the chandelier. She flees its crash. She trips.
The sun has nearly slipped completely out of sight as they reach the town's outer rim.
The hunters are bound; while their prey is still insensible. Her dragoons hold her, limp.
They come to the castle, and they restore her to her room. No one dares to settle
How she is to be washed and groomed. Outside, the northern lights burn the firmamentum.
MMXX SkyInk