The Husband and His Bride

Hello my sweet dears who are kind enough to follow this blog. I'm ready to write another build-a-story, but this time I'm going to post the request for story elements here.

So I'll take the first three thrown at me in comments on this post. Then I will edit this post to put the story in when it is done.

I take it as a very good sign for my mental state that I able to write so much, I may be getting back to my books soon... which is good... and bad. Good because I need to finish them, my few select readers really want to read them, and I miss my characters, but bad because I don't usually write build-a-story stories when I'm working on a book.

Anyhoo, next story is up to you!
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Okay here it is! I was so excited I wrote the whole thing already. I'll have to get started on character out lines for a new book now, bwahahaha!

Build-a-story 10, 11/23 through 11/25/11
Blog Follower submitted elements:
A unique wedding ring
An enchanted building
A bird of paradise flower

The Husband and His Bride

The first time he saw it he thought it was some trick of the light or a butterfly flitting among the bird of paradise flowers. What he saw was no butterfly, but Nathan Roe wouldn’t know that for weeks. He would never have suspected what he saw the night he had to go back for his notes was nothing of this world. No, guys like Nathan Roe didn’t even read about magic; much less allow themselves to believe in it.

That is where a lot of people go wrong these days.

Thus it was that the second time he caught the plants watching him he thought it was the first time he had ever seen a plant move so quickly, with the exception of a Venus fly trap, everyone knows they move quickly. Petunias though, petunias aren’t supposed to move hardly at all and yet he could have sworn he saw one shudder as he turned away.

Odd, so very odd, he thought, as there was no wind here in University Greenhouse 7; no wind, hardly any insects, certainly no rodents, just soil, plants, fertilizer, equipment and the occasional person. Perhaps the bloom had been caught and suddenly became unstuck as it moved to follow the fading summer light. Yes that had to be it, he decided, without allowing himself to see that nothing was close enough to the bloom for it to have been stuck upon.

Sometimes people are just too reasonable. Perhaps if Nathan Roe had been a bit less reasonable he would not have become entangled in such a sad situation as he found himself in. Perhaps if he had been an art major, or less analytical of mind, certain unpleasantness could have been avoided. However, he being who he is, anyone can see how his own nature was the real root of his soon to be problem.

He left University Greenhouse 7 that evening and walked towards the main campus, intent on a light supper and a few hours with his notes. There was hardly anyone about, as it was summer session and those who did remain at school for the summer usually found other things to do with their Friday evenings. Nathan Roe was just not that kind of guy though, and so he was alone on the path, all except a pretty young blonde who was coming the opposite direction with some urgency in her step.

“Oh I am so glad I caught you,” she said, doing just that to Nathan Roe’s arm. He looked up in surprise, not having noticed her presence among so many pressing horticultural thoughts.

“Can I help you?” he asked automatically as he tried to place the somewhat familiar face. Classes had just resumed for the summer, and Nathan Roe, graduate student and favorite of the department, had three classes of names and faces to match up before he graded finals. She must be one of my students, he decided.

In truth she was, she had been in class with him just today, and she revealed the matter that was so pressing as to bring her to this remote section of campus on such a beautiful summer evening. “I think I left my notebook in 7 today,” she said. “I simply can’t do my assignment without it, can I bother you to let me back in for a moment?”

“Certainly I can, eh…” he paused in his reply as his hand searched his pocket for the keys.

“Ann, Ann Wilson,” she supplied with a relieved look on her face. Ann Wilson was under the impression that such an important person would have plans for his evening, and that she was possibly delaying him from meeting a girlfriend, though of course she was entirely wrong on that count. Nathan Roe didn’t have girlfriends, he hardly had friends, and all of the friends he did have had other titles attached to their names, like Dean, and Professor, and such. He had a few acquaintances with whom he got along well, but unlike Nathan Roe, they had things they did with people on Friday evening.

Being exactly the kind of person he was Nathan Roe didn’t offer up much conversation as they walked the short distance back to University Greenhouse 7, and this left poor Ann Wilson feeling a bit censured for being so forgetful. Contrary to her own self-incriminations, her mind had been quite worthily engaged at the moment she forgot her notebook. It wasn’t focused on the notebook, but it had been engaged in other things, like wondering why the sunflower seemed to be tilted a little bit in towards the class instead of fully facing the sun, and why the bird of paradise flowers were twisted so on their stalk when it would be more natural for them to face another way. You see, Ann Wilson, though a sophomore, was a bit more observant than the much lauded graduate student who taught the class she attended on Friday afternoons. She just wasn’t the most observant when it came to the location of her things.

“I’m terribly sorry to have bothered you,” she said timidly as they approached the bit of sidewalk that led off the main walk and to the door of University Greenhouse 7.

“No bother,” he said, and though his voice was genuine it was also a little surprised to have been apologized to. After all, leaving a notebook was something that happened often to busy University students, and certainly nothing that needed to be apologized for. After all he had done the same thing about two weeks before. “It happens all the time,” he added, noticing the tenseness around the eyes behind those heavy rimmed glasses.

She smiled, and for the first time Nathan Roe really looked at Ann Wilson. He wasn’t sure if it was the beauty of her smile or the startling hue of her green eyes, but something about her caused an unfamiliar excitement to squeeze his chest. He forgot himself for a moment, standing motionless and smiling back at her when he should have been inserting the key in the lock. He could feel his heart beating in his chest, thumping like he was facing a final he wasn’t prepared for.

Ann Wilson was more cognizant of the passing of the seconds, but unlike Nathan Roe she had just enough fantasy in her soul to enjoy them instead of being confused by them. She enjoyed the lingering gaze of his eyes, which were as dark a brown as rich loam. She liked the hesitancy in his smile, guessing correctly that it wasn’t often shared, and therefore she found it all the more worthy of earning.

Thus favorably employed Ann Wilson let the moments tick by, not breaking the gaze and letting her own heart count out the value of the moment. It was a fifty heartbeat moment. In the more evenly measured human seconds Nathan Roe could not tear his eyes from her face for a full thirty seconds.

When Nathan Roe did finally manage to think well enough to realize he was staring, and smiling, he blushed deeply and turned his attention to sliding the key into the lock. He opened the door silently and they proceeded across the threshold and through the hanging plastic barrier that protected the carefully controlled climate of University Greenhouse 7. As the plastic fell behind them all trace of the color drained from Nathan Roe’s face.

The flurry of motion could not be ignored or excused this time. The branches of the trees snapped upward, when they had been nearly touching the flowers below. The flowers quickly arranged themselves, like children caught playing after the bell. The needles on the cactus quivered as it twisted back into place. The ivy rustled as it climbed back up the wall with alarming speed.

Ann Wilson, as the more imaginative of the two, recovered the use of her joints before Nathan Roe did and turned to him with a gaping mouth. “Did you…” she began slowly.
“… see that?” Nathan finished for her with a bit of a quaver in his voice. He took a step backwards, shock and, indeed, fright growing on his face. “We have to get out of here,” he said taking another step backwards.

“No,” shouted the pine, and the ivy responded to the implied order with lightening speed. It launched off the wall, twisting and twining itself around the two startled humans, lashing them together until they could do not but squirm in an effort to remain upright. “They have seen too much,” the pine said, his needles at attention and moving threateningly as he turned his dark lined face towards the intruding humans.

“Time to make fertilizer out of both of them,” the cactus said, who was known to the entire greenhouse to have a very prickly personality.

“No!” both humans protested in their pronounced distress.

“No,” echoed the birch as she turned gracefully away from the west window. The soft rustling of her leaves drew every eye in the room. “How can we inflict such violence? It is not our way.”

“Besides,” tweeted a bird of paradise flower, “the small one with fair colors is kind.”

“Yes,” the sunflower agreed with his rasping voice. “She turned my pot and pruned that dead leaf that had been itching me all week.”

“I say we prune them both,” the Rosebush said, bitter after years of having her prize flowers hacked away by insensitive lovers.

“No,” whispered the tulips, more forgiving of the frequent cuttings. “The humans have cultivated us, we cannot repay them this way.”

“Sssstill, they have ssseen too much,” the ivy hissed its leave rattling menacingly around the terrified humans.

“We won’t tell!” Nathan Roe managed to squeak out through his pale lips. “No one would believe us anyway.” In truth, that no one would believe them was the thought foremost on Nathan Roe’s mind, he wasn’t sure he even believed it, even while he was living it. If he had possessed the use of his hand he would have pinched himself, or even slapped himself to get out of what he strongly suspected was a terrible dream. Instead his hands were behind Ann Wilson’s back where he had put them in an instinctive effort to protect her as the ivy attacked. Had the situation been less dire he might have been able to enjoy holding her in this way.

“Yes, we will keep your secret,” Ann Wilson agreed. “We mean you no harm.” This also was a thought very much meant, on Ann Wilson’s part. Confronted with a place of such wonder Ann Wilson’s heart felt joy mingled with the fear. Her long love of flora had often made her wish she could understand the needs of plants better, and here, here was an opportunity to learn what no Graduate Student or Professor could ever teach her. This excitement coupled with the warm presence of Nathan Roe’s tall strong body pressed to her and his long arms wrapped around her made this experience significantly less traumatic for her than him.

“They can’t be trusssted,” hissed the vine, and it squeezed its captives all the tighter, snaking tendrils up around the human’s necks. At this point Ann Wilson began to share some of Nathan Roe’s trepidation.

“That’s right,” the pine said. “They could come back and spray us all, like they do to the dandelions outside.” The pine tapped the window to remind them all of the horrors they had seen.

“But if we didn’t spray the dandelions they would kill the lawn,” Nathan Roe said out loud, though he had not meant to.

“It is not for humans to interfere in the war between the grass and the dandelions,” the oak said turning her lovely head of leaves toward the humans. “How will the grass become stronger if it is not left to its struggle?”

“You humans,” the cactus bristled. “You are destroying species after species in your quest to make us serve you better.”

“You would be better served,” the bird of paradise flower squawked, “to leave nature as it is.”

“Oh I agree,” Ann Wilson said quickly. “It is appalling the way we humans have shifted the balance of nature. You may not know this, but many of us are trying to change that.”

The birch’s leaves shivered with pleasure and she and the oak exchanged pleased looks. The pine’s eyes were squinted in distrust, but the cactus was raising one cautiously hopeful bottle-brush brow. Some of the flowers rallied to support her. “You see, we told you she was nice! Set them free, set them free!”

“Them free?” The rosebush said her branches stiffening. “Set her free perhaps, but that tall one is not to be trusted. We must protect ourselves.”

“No!” Ann Wilson begged, rather to Nathan Roe’s surprise. “The birch is right, this is not your way. You are plants, you believe in growth and reaching for the light. So does he, he is a teacher. If you spare him, and teach the teacher he can in turn influence the minds of others to respect nature. This is a great opportunity for you!”

The pine and the cactus exchanged long glances, communicating in silence the way plants had done since the dawn of time. In truth, though both had been built to survive harsh conditions and came across quite briskly, they each nursed a soft spot for a particular human, the one whom had enchanted University Greenhouse 7 long ago. While they still held such a regard for a human they could never despise all humans, and therefore Ann Wilson’s pleas did not fall on hardwood hearts, but indeed on souls that longed for light.

“She has spoken wisdom,” the oak said after a stretch of silence in which the humans hardly dared to breathe.

“Such wisdom is familiar,” the cactus said. All the enchanted plants nodded their heads, each thinking with fondness and respect the enchantress from a time long past. Many of them were too young to have known her, but her magic and tale lived on as part of their roots.

“Such wisdom is welcome,” the pine said, and not even the rosebush disagreed.


The following spring, when University Greenhouse 7 was in full bloom a large group of humans crowded in amongst the flora in residence, special guests for a special day. The last to enter was Ann Wilson, dressed in white and carrying a bouquet of roses willingly given by a dear friend.

The guests in attendance thought a breeze must have followed her in, for as soon as she entered the air was filled with petals, showered from the trees. She walked on her father’s arm, making her way slowly up the aisle to where Nathan Roe stood between the oak and the pine. Their favorite Professors filled the official capacity of witnesses, but the bride and groom knew that the most important witnesses were those silently watching, rooted to the spot with anticipation.

Ann Wilson and Nathan Roe had prepared their own vows, and after the Justice of the Peace had welcomed the assembled he allowed them to speak the words upon their hearts.

“Ann Wilson,” Nathan Roe began, his voice thick with emotion. “Since the day we met you have helped me to grow in ways I would never have imagined. You have blessed me with your intrinsic wisdom and I shall never be able to repay you. From this day forward I swear to practice the art of husbandry. To give you all the nourishment and support you need as you grow and change and fill the world with your unique gifts.” A tear rolled down his cheek, and Ann Wilson reached up to wipe it away with a tender smile.

“Nathan Roe,” she said. “I have watched you grow and change, and have loved you through every moment of it. You are sure and constant in your growth and your deep roots are a source of strength to me when the winds blow and the seasons change. Today I swear to always be near you, to cling to you and aid you as you relentlessly reach for the light.”

“The bride and groom will now exchange rings,” the Justice of the Peace said. Each of them turned away and reached into the branches of their favorite tree to remove the rings they had placed there to be blessed by the magic of this place. A jeweler had worked many long hours creating the rings, laying leaf after leaf onto the gold. He had created a set of rings as unique as the couple who had commissioned them, never understanding as he did the special meaning behind the golden leaves of ivy.

“With this vine I bind myself to you,” each said as they exchanged the metal representations of how their souls and lives had become entwined, never to be separated. Nathan Wilson-Roe pulled Ann Wilson-Roe into his arms for a lingering kiss and as the humans assembled clapped and cheered they didn’t even notice the quivering of the leaves.

Ideal

Build a story 11/10/11
I asked my friends to pick a house for me to set the story in. They chose Ideal Palace in France. I’ll let you enjoy a google image tour instead of linking you, it is a real treat for the eyes. It has a fascinating history which I tried to incorporate here. Enjoy!

Ideal

As I walked the familiar path towards my regular afternoon destination I heard a friendly honk and raised my hand in greeting before the car could even pass me by. It passed me in a moment and I could see the back of Monsieur LaRoche’s hand waving at the center of the car as the vehicle went on ahead of me down the lane. I knew most of the cars that passed this way, knew the drivers, knew where they turned off, and could usually guess where they had come from too. This was my road.
Of course I owned it no more than any other citizen of France. I didn’t even live on this road, well… not really. I lived here, but I didn’t sleep here, or get my mail here, or have any relatives with any claim to any of the houses here.
My mother, father, and I lived above my father’s bakery, in the town. Every morning we rose well before dawn to heat the ovens, form the loaves, bake the bread, open the shop, greet the patrons. It was a predictable kind of life, not the kind you ever got rich in, but the kind that kept your belly full.
When I said I lived on this road, I meant that this is where I did the thing that made my life worth waking up to every day. This was the path to my special place, my dream land. This was the road to Ideal Palace.
It’s a very well-known landmark, and anyone who lives around here can tell you how to get here. Some of them have even played tourist in their own town and come for a tour of the Ideal Palace. That was how I first came here, with my primary school class.
I’ll never forget how amazed I was with the nearly overwhelming feast of art that twisted and twined its way around Ideal Palace. There wasn’t a lonely spot or a centimeter that lacked meaning. There wasn’t a corner that was neglected or a curve that didn’t have a story to tell.
Some people who come to Ideal Palace think it is garish, too busy, or overboard, but I love every inch of it. I love the way the themes overlap and the eye has no place to settle. I love that you could look every day for a year and still not really see it all.
I passed the gates of my home-away-from-home and waved to Jacqueline who was just greeting some visitors. The visitors would pay for a tour, and they wouldn’t be disappointed. Jacqueline would be sure they got an eye full of, and an ear full about, Ideal Palace. They would leave with their minds stuffed with information… and they still wouldn’t fully understand.
I dropped a loaf of bread off in the office, then walked around the Palace until I came to the place where I had started sketching yesterday. I resumed my place, under the tree, and took out the pad of paper and pencils I brought every day it wasn’t raining. I carefully studied my work in progress, then sat staring at my subject for several minutes before I put the pencil to the paper. Slowly, carefully, I formed the curves and lines, shading and smudging to convey the layers of dimension, the depth of imagination that my hero, Ferdinand Chavel, had possessed.
I was absorbed in my work until a voice sounded out from just behind me. “You must be Gabrielle,” the young male voice said.
I jumped a little, and then worried over the damage to my drawing before worrying about who was addressing me. The smudge removed, I turned to look up at the person who had interrupted me. It was indeed a young man, perhaps a little older than me. He was handsome enough, if one went for guys with looks, but I didn’t like the way he was leaning against the tree, like he owned it, like he owned everything around him.
“I’m Neil,” he said extending a hand for me to shake.
It was then I noticed his accent, American. No wonder he acted like he owned the place. I debated on not shaking his hand, then decided against being rude and shook it as quickly as possible. Unfortunately he took it as an invitation to join me and sat down on the grass next to me and looked unabashedly at my drawing.
I quickly closed the pad and started gathering my things. If he was going to stay, I was going to leave. I hated to loose hours of good light and cut into my daily visit to paradise, but it wasn’t like I would get any work done with this strange American bothering me.
“You are really good. They told me you were, but I didn’t really believe them. Is it true you haven’t gone to art school or anything?” He asked me, though in truth it was a little hard to make out with his thick accent. It was like nails on a chalkboard to hear French spoken that way.
“I have not been to art school,” I answered in my secondary school English, which I was sure was better than his French, at least less painful to listen to. I saw him looking at the pad of paper I clutched to my chest and I clutched it all the tighter. Who was this nosey stranger and what did he want?
“Jacqueline said you come every day, that’s an admirable dedication to your art,” he said, again in French.
I’m sure I looked like I had seen him sprout two heads, as absurd as his statement was. MY art? Were we not standing on the grounds of Ideal Palace? How on earth could he talk about MY art? It was… it was sacrilege.
“Excuse me,” I said in English and then hurried away, leaving him there by the tree. I’m sure he looked confused, but in truth I don’t know for sure because I didn’t spare a glance for the bold, blonde American.
I came upon Jacqueline and her tour group. I waited for the break where she lets them approach to see the detail on the Hindu shrine and then I walked up close to her. “Pardon me, Madame,” I said to the woman who was like another mother to me, “but who is that rude American, and why does he know my name?”
“Oh that’s Neil Jacobson. He is taking his summer holiday to study Ideal Palace. He studies art in San Francisco. I told him he should watch for you to come.”
“But why?” I asked her, stunned that she would invite him to interrupt my daily pilgrimage.
She blinked in surprise at the emotion in my voice and I ducked my head, ashamed to have spoken so forcefully. “Because, Gabrielle,” she said, “if anyone knows and understands the art of Ideal Palace, it is you.” She slanted her head to the side and her expression was confused. “Did I do wrong? I didn’t think you would mind, you are always so helpful when the children’s classes come and when we have large groups…
“No, no,” I hastened to assure her, though I didn’t mean it. “You did no wrong, I was just unprepared. I wasn’t sure what he wanted… it is difficult to make out what he is saying.”
She grinned at that, “He does insist on speaking French, though my English is excellent,” she said, and without exaggeration, her English really was superb. “He says he has studied French for years and hopes to improve this summer.”
The group was ready to move on now so she directed their attention to the next section and left me to wonder what to do. I certainly couldn’t return to my work, not with that American over there to bother people. There weren’t enough visitors that Jacqueline would need any help. I stood there by the Hindu shine for a few minutes debating, and then my mind was made up for me. Neil Jacobson appeared, walking around the side of the Palace, so I turned and headed for the road.
I was halfway home before I regretted the decision. It was a fine afternoon, and I had just left the only real way to enjoy it. What was I going to do now? If I returned home early there would be questions. I didn’t want to explain to my parents why I had left early. They wouldn’t understand. They were always talking about sending me to Paris to study art, as if there was enough money in the till to cover such a wild dream. It wasn’t even my dream, it was theirs, and I wasn’t going to give them an excuse for bringing it up again.
I turned then, and pointed my feet towards the cemetery. If I couldn’t sketch the palace I would spend some time by the artist’s mausoleum. I had finished drawing it years ago, but I thought that being near his resting place might calm me. If anyone could have understood me, it was the late Monsieur Cheval.
The groundskeeper had been neglecting the mausoleum again. Grass was sprouting in the cracks. Why he found it so hard to keep the destructive plants away from the work of art I will never know, it did not take long. I got into my bag and found my scissors and then proceeded to trim the fringe of tall grass. I cut it extra short, perhaps if it took a while to grow back up again the groundskeeper would find the time to apply some herbicide.
My work done I looked at my watch and found I had passed the time quite well. If I left in ten minutes and walked slowly I would be home exactly on time. I cleaned my scissors on my jeans and then sat with my back against the twisting and curving stone I knew so well. I closed my eyes and in my heart begged Monsieur Cheval to make the rude American go away.
“Oh, hello Gabrielle,” that young male voice said.
My eyes flew open. What on earth was he doing here? Had he followed me? I stumbled to my feet and quickly crossed to my bag. I shoved the scissors inside the bag and started walking away quickly.
“Wait!” he called, “No, don’t run away again, please,” he said running after me. At least he was speaking English now. I stopped, though I did not turn to face him. Instead he circled me, placing himself between me and the cemetery exit. “Whatever I have done to offend you, I am terribly sorry,” he said.
His face looked so earnest that I felt a little sorry for him. It wasn’t really his fault, I supposed, that he had been born who he was. It wasn’t really his fault that I was who I was either. I just didn’t really want anything else in my life. Americans were supposed to be tourists, not… not people you had to really communicate with and let get to know you. I could feel my cheeks starting to burn.
“It is nothing,” I told him. “I must go home now, they are expecting me.” I went to step around him but his face was so distressed I felt like I had to add, “I will see you another time, Neil.”
“Okay,” he said a little too brightly. “I’ll see you tomorrow, Gabrielle.”
I didn’t look back until I had left the cemetery and when I did he was kneeling by the tomb, examining it closely. He was writing notes and taking photos. I shook my head, how could he hope to understand art if he didn’t try to draw it?
I was a little relieved when I woke the next morning to a drizzling gray sky. I never went to Ideal Palace when it rained, so no one would think it odd that I did not go, no one but the American perhaps. I wondered if it could rain all week. Perhaps if it rained two weeks together Neil Jacobson would go home to sunny San Francisco and leave me alone.

The next day it shone bright and clear, and I lingered at my chores, setting off for Ideal Palace much later than usual. Madame LaRoche even stopped to see if I was all right. I made up a story about being extra busy today, which I hoped would satisfy her curiosity and not pique it, and told her I really preferred to walk, but thanks for the offer of a ride.
I snuck along the side of the grounds, trying to blend in with the trees and bushes until I got to the right place to resume my sketching. I had not seen a soul when I settled in at the base of the tree. I dove into my work, praying I would be un-interrupted.
It was nearly an hour before I heard footsteps and knew my solitude was over. I resolutely ignored Neil as he came over and sat next to me by the tree. It irritated me to have him looking back and forth between my drawing and the Palace, comparing, and no doubt seeing every tiny error I had made. The gall of him, coming to my home with his college art degree to critique me, Americans were so irritating.
Before long the light had shifted enough that it was time to halt my work. I closed the pad of paper and reached for my bag. It was not where my fingers grasped and I looked up to find that Neil had it slung over his shoulder, like he expected to walk with me somewhere.
“May I have my bag please?” I asked him in an overly patient voice.
“I thought I would carry it for you,” he said stepping in the direction of the office. “It’s is the gentlemanly thing to do.”
I closed my eyes for a moment, so he wouldn’t see me roll them, and then walked briskly ahead of him towards the office. I pushed the door open with a little more force than was strictly needed and then held my hand out for the return of my bag.
“Ah, Gabrielle!” Jacqueline’s husband Francis said with a smile. “I was about to send out the search party.”
“I am sorry, Monsieur Gascon,” I told him. “I came late and did not wish the miss the light.”
“It is nothing,” Jacqueline said accepting the bread from me, “as long as you are safe. Neil, you could have told us you found her.”
“I am sorry, Madame,” he said. “I was so excited to watch her work. She is almost finished with another page.”
This of course led to requests to see my still unfinished work, and as they were such close friends I felt I had to show the Gascons the latest page.
“What is this, I never noticed this,” Francis was saying, as he usually did when looking at my work. I had long ago started to wonder if he really missed so many details of the place he worked every day, or if he just did it to make me feel observant. My money was on the latter, I knew him to be a devoted curator.
“Well, I had better be going,” I told them. “I’ll be late getting back.”
“Oh we were hoping you would come to dinner,” Jacqueline said. “Neil is coming, and a few people from the historical society. You know how much it helps to have you there when there are potential patrons at the table. I meant to call you yesterday when it rained, but then a bus came and I completely forgot.”
“But,” I said looking down at my dirty jeans and tired blouse, “I am not dressed for a dinner party, Madame, I would only embarrass you. There simply isn’t time…”
“I can drive you home,” Neil said, oh-so-helpfully. “Then you can help me find my way to the Gascon’s house after you change.”
“Oh no,” I said, “My father would never approve…”
“Non-sense,” Jacqueline said waving her hand. “You are not a child any longer, you can ride a few miles with a friend. Oh please come Gabrielle,” she begged, and who can say no to Jacqueline when she begged. How else could we have gotten the donation for the replacement carpet last year? I sighed and relented.

“Pull over here,” I told him, a block from my home.
“Here?” he said, obviously scanning the shop signs for the bakery.
“Yes right here,” I told him. “I would rather not have to explain you to my parents. They read too much into everything anyway.”
He didn’t seem too happy about it but didn’t argue. “Okay, I will just run to the room I rented and I’ll meet you back here in an hour?” he asked looking at his watch.
I nodded and got out of the car, hoping none of the shopkeepers that were so chummy with my father were looking out their windows right now. I quickly crossed the side street and stepped into the bakery. The bell alerted my parents to my presence, but my mother had not risen from the back table by the time I had walked through.
“No time to talk,” I told her as I headed for the stairs. “I’ve been invited to the Gascon’s for dinner tonight with some people from the historical society.”
This was not a regular occurrence, but happened often enough that my parents did not question me about it. Jacqueline always arranged a ride for me with one of the little old ladies from the society, and I always made sure that my late night did not affect my work performance the next morning. Sometimes my parents even went out in my absence, though why they didn’t do this when I was home I will never know, I certainly could sit alone with control of the television for an evening.
I hurried through my preparations, wearing the same black dress I always wore, just selecting a different wrap and painting my nails to match it. I threw my hair up in a twist and jammed in a bunch of pins to secure it. A few wisps escaped, but I rather liked the effect so I didn’t bother to use my mother’s hairspray to try to keep them in place.
I shoved my identification and lipstick in my mother’s old clutch purse and then made my way down the stairs. I called a hasty goodbye to my parents, and yanked the door open, so they wouldn’t bother coming to see me off. I walked quickly down the block and stepped around the corner of the side street to watch for Neil’s car.
He was five minutes late, and smelled strongly of aftershave and cologne when he came around the car to let me in. I wished he hadn’t bothered with the gesture, someone was sure to notice. I ducked quickly in the car and then scanned the windows of the nearby shops as he took his time walking back around to his door. I didn’t see anyone… but that didn’t mean much.
He really didn’t know the way to the Gascon’s and I wondered how he would have fared if I hadn’t been there to direct him at every turn. He parked the car along with the others on the street, and then hurried around to open my door. I decided not to let him do it this time, and then pretended not to see the perturbed look on his face when all that was left for him to do was close the door of the rental car.
He offered me an arm, but I again pretended not to notice. I didn’t know why he was treating this like some kind of date, because it certainly wasn’t. As far as I was concerned if he wanted a French summer love story to take home with him he needed to start looking somewhere else immediately.
Jacqueline looked stunning as she greeted us at the door. By now she had figured out my alternating wrap trick and complimented me on how this one brought out my eyes. I didn’t know how a red wrap was supposed to make my plain old brown eyes look better, but I smiled and accepted the compliment anyway.
Neil, of course, had to be introduced to everyone, and for some reason Francis thought the job was best given to me. I tried to keep a respectable distance between the American art student and myself, but I still was subjected to numerous appraising looks from old ladies who should have known me better. How could anyone think I would be an item with someone in just a few days? I had never even had a boyfriend.
I sipped carefully at the glass of wine Jacqueline had pressed in my hand, knowing I would need my wits sharp if we were going to get the donation we needed to repair the roof. Neil hadn’t seemed to get the message though, and he drank freely of each glass supplied to him. Thankfully he seemed to be acclimated to alcohol, as I had heard all American students were, and his behavior did not become embarrassing, though there was no helping his accent.
By the time it was time to leave, however, I was a little worried about how well he was going to drive, so I begged a ride from the first of the old ladies to leave. Several people raised an eyebrow at that, but I really didn’t care. The rest of the evening had gone well and it wasn’t like I was making a scene.

The grounds were empty when I got to the palace the next day, so I headed straight for the office and found the three of them pouring over the architectural diagrams Francis kept in the back office. They were so engrossed I hoped to leave the bread and escape unseen but at the last moment Jacqueline looked up and called me over. She asked about a specific section on the top level, but even as I answered I knew that she had known the answer already. I wished she would stop trying to make me look good in front of Neil. Wasn’t anyone on my side anymore?
I finally got away and headed for my spot, but Neil followed me a few minutes later and perched at my shoulder to watch me work. I decided to ignore him again, as much as possible, in interest of getting my work done while the light was right. Thankfully he was quiet, and it was just his proximity that distracted me. I hoped he would get bored and go away soon, this was getting old fast.
I finished the page and flipped to the next, carefully taking visual measurements and blocking out the shape of the column and each of the decorative bands. Neil’s eyes traveled back and forth with mine, and I pressed my lips closed against the displeasure I felt at the intrusion. I was quite relieved when my watch said it was time to go and I gathered up my things quietly.
“Are you leaving already?” he asked in surprise. “You don’t need the light to be right for blocking, do you?”
“My parents will worry if I am late,” I said simply.
“Do you want a ride?” he offered.
“I prefer to walk, thank you,” I told him.
“Oh,” he said. “Then I’ll walk with you.”
“I wish you wouldn’t,” I said. “People will talk.”
“So let them talk,” he said with a shrug.
“No, Neil,” I said firmly. “You are going home at the end of the summer, this IS my home, and you are the intruder. I don’t want people thinking things about me that are not true.”
He looked at me sadly, “So that’s what I am to you, an intruder?”
“Well…” I said, regretting my choice of words. I hadn’t meant to sound so mean. “Perhaps intruder isn’t the right word, but this is my life, Neil, not some summer holiday halfway around the world with no consequences. I have to live here after you go, and I don’t want the people I have daily contact with mislead about… about… what we are to each other.”
“Well… what are we to each other then?” he asked.
“I don’t know… acquaintances, fellow art… students?” I had been about to say art lovers, but managed to change my choice of words at the last moment.
“Not friends?” he said looking a little hurt.
I sighed, “No Neil,” I said. “I know nothing about you, and you certainly don’t know me.”
“I’d like to know you,” he said.
I shook my head, “Why waste your time? You came to study Cheval’s Masterpiece, not me.” I said and I walked away. I didn’t look back at the gate, just kept my eyes and my feet pointed home, hoping all the way that he had gotten the message. Maybe he would let me draw in peace now.

The next day I reached my tree only to find the spot already occupied. He looked up as I approached and then looked down at the ground. He scooted over just far enough for me to sit in my spot and then continued to hold up his pencil at arm’s length. He squinted at it and moved the tip of his thumb, bringing the pencil back several times to compare it to the paper and then make minute marks. I tried to peer over his shoulder at the page, but he made a big show out of not allowing me to see his work, and I gave up immediately. It wasn’t like I really cared how he was coming with his drawing.
A week passed like that, sitting and drawing the same object, from the same perspective, but not speaking a word. I may not have liked his little game, but I had become accustomed to it. I wondered how long he was going to make it, how long he could stand the silence. Then, as we sat and sketched, a young art student from Paris came and interrupted our silent war.
“I didn’t know there was a group that met here,” she said, swinging her long, impossibly straight hair over her shoulder. Neil had let his work tilt forward as he gawked at her and she looked at it with that studied, Art Student eye.
“Interesting composition,” she said turning to narrow down which column we were both drawing. I took the opportunity to take a rare peek at Neil’s drawing, and he took the opportunity to close his slack jaw. He looked to see if I had noticed the lapse, and I pretended to have been ignoring them all along.
“Well,” he said putting his work aside and getting up to approach her. “You can’t really go wrong when you are selecting a section of such a great work. Ideal Palace is one of the best examples of Naïve Art in Architecture in the world.”
I sniffed at the word “naïve,” never having approved of that particular term, and Neil seemed to take it as a challenge. He started spouting all kinds of things he must have memorized from some art textbook. It just showed what an art lemming he was, all about balance and proportion and never about what was in the artist’s heart.
I decided I couldn’t listen to him anymore and started to pack my things away. “Oh, are you leaving?” The Parisian Student asked in false innocence. “I hope I have not disturbed you.”
“It is not you I find disturbing,” I assured her with a sickly sweet smile and then I marched away. I was halfway across the lawn by the time he caught up with me.
“What is your problem?” he asked me, all of his suave pretenses and stumbling French gone.
“YOU! You are my problem,” I said angrily and I tried to march around him.
“Why?” He practically shouted moving to block me. “What have I done wrong?”
“It isn’t what you have DONE,” I said back. “It is who you are! You, you, smooth, cocky American with your Art degree and narrow minded terms, you make me sick. I wish you would just go away and leave Ideal Palace to the people who truly love it.”
“I do love Ideal Palace, and how is having a little knowledge of art terminology a bad thing? At least I have words to describe what I see, at least I speak the language of Art.”
“Describe it? You are so caught up in your pre-designed labels for art you don’t even see through them!” I said angrily.
“What? Because I called it Naïve Art? It IS Naïve Art! Everyone knows that! The simplicity…” he began, getting out his hand to tick of points he had memorized from some book.
“Simple?!” I shouted. “How can any sane person call THAT simple?!” I asked waving my hand at the enormity of the most complex work of art in all of France and therefore the world.
I stomped off around him, and he hurried after me, “Gabrielle, if you would just listen. You don’t understand, there is so much you don’t know!”
“Who says I want to know?!” I asked wheeling around to face him. “Have I ever ONCE asked you to burden me with your… your photocopied knowledge?”
“But… Gabrielle, Art builds upon the discoveries of others. You don’t have to learn it all on your own, you can learn from others,” he said in a voice just as soft as mine had been harsh.
“Well what if I don’t WANT to?” I asked pointedly.
“I can’t believe that the girl who spent her life studying someone else’s work can possibly NOT believe in learning from other artists.”
I wanted to retort, wanted to throw it all back in his face, he made me so ANGRY! The part that made me the angriest was… was that he was right, and I didn’t want him to be right. Being proven wrong like this hurt me, stung me deep in my soul, and the tears came bursting from my eyes before I could get far enough away from him to hide them. Then they were followed by tears of shame that he had seen the tears of pain, that I had not been strong enough to hide them.
I managed to stay away for a week, in spite of the many calls I refused, in spite of the confusion of my parents, in spite of my longing for the lead and the paper and the peace that came with them. After a week though I knew I had to return. I knew I was only hurting myself by staying away.
I snuck onto the grounds again, and was relieved to find the base of the tree empty, my solitude returned. Perhaps he had gone away, perhaps my life could return to normal now. I put the pencil to the paper, and with a sigh released the pent up creativity that had been bursting to get out of me.
The light was almost gone when he rounded the Palace, leading a bus load of Americans in garish visors and ill-fitting shorts. I pretended not to see him, and he me, but an old lady in the group was having none of that. “Who is that girl?” she asked pointing at me.
I let the curtain of my hair hide my blushing face and wondered how he would answer.
“That…” he said, “Is Cheval’s most dedicated student, and she values her solitude. If I can direct your attention to the columns at the top…” he began spouting more of that book knowledge, but I didn’t hate him for it so much today. Maybe his books knew something I didn’t… or at least knew how to put it in a way that others would understand it. I couldn’t say the same for myself, I didn’t think I could ever make anyone really understand Cheval.

The summer was nearly over, and Neil was sitting at my side under a different tree, watching me draw with no pretense of drawing on his own. “Why do you only draw the Palace?” he asked me.
“Because it is beautiful,” I said, stopping my pursuit of details to look at and adore the whole sight. I loved this Palace.
He reached over into the flower bed at his side and picked a red flower. He held it up to me, “This is beautiful. Why don’t you draw this?”
“I am a bigger fan of the Palace,” I said with a little laugh.
He grinned and reached up to tuck the flower behind my ear. He looked at me, apparently enjoying the way the red blossom looked next to my eyes. “Do you ever draw your own stuff, things you make up?” he asked.
“No,” I said simply, not breaking his gaze as he studied my eyes.
“Why not?” he asked me, his eyes full of the question.
“Because nothing in me compares with this,” I said with a laugh as I waved my hand to indicate all of Ideal Palace.
“That’s not true, look at what you can do,” he said gesturing at my pad of paper.
“I am just a sketcher,” I said dropping my eyes now.
“No,” he said placing a finger under my chin to raise my eyes again. “You are good, and your skill is yours. Cheval did not give you that skill, I bet he couldn’t have done with a simple pencil and a finger what you do every day, the dimension, the perspective, the depth all comes from you. You are an artist Gabrielle.”
“So what if I am?” I said closing my pad and slipping it into my bag. The light wasn’t gone yet, but I was done.
“So?” he repeated after me in an exasperated tone. “Gabrielle, Cheval, a baker’s apprentice turned postman, took a simple rock and turned it into a palace. What if he had just thrown it aside? What if he had just said, ‘So I can see something beautiful in the shape of a rock, what does that matter?’ What if he had never built Ideal Palace? What would the world be without it? What would YOUR world be without it?” Neil reached for my hand, stroking the dark stain on the finger I used to smudge my drawings, “What is the world going to be missing if you don’t take that pencil, your eye, your talent and learn to use them?”
I let him hold my hand and turned my eyes to the Palace. It had been my Ideal for so long. Not the hodge-podge collection of representations of Ideologies that others saw when they looked at it. No, Ideal Palace represented MY ideal, the belief down deep inside of me that even a no-one had art inside. I believed that the baker’s apprentice, the postman, the school girl, the man on the street had something unique inside that no-one else had.
I had something that no-one else had, and I needed to let it out of me. Even if it meant memorizing some book so I could learn from other artists who came before me, like Cheval; even if it meant swallowing my pride, going to Art School, exposing my art to criticism, and myself to shame; even if it meant admitting to Neil that perhaps he was right about something; I had to do this. I had to do this so that when the day came for me to create my masterpiece, it would be a real contribution. I had to share my Ideal with the world. Just like Cheval did and still does, every day.

The Pigkeeper's Daughter

Build-a-story 10/22/11
Story Elements:
Some kind of orphan “monster”
A pet pig, that can talk!
A red-haired, magic producing female (a good one)

The flames crawled up the stack toward me, licking closer every moment with their hot tongues, the expression of the thirst for my blood that had been building in this tiny hamlet over the last week.
The screams that ravaged my throat reverberated in my head as they bounced off the wad of cloth that had been tied into my mouth and escaped through my nose. The higher the flames climbed the harder I screamed. My throat was burning long before my skirt lit up. My legs were hot, my head was light, the sight of my sobbing family wavered before me like a reflection in the river.
There was a searing pain along my calf, and all went black.
The first thing I was sensible of was the cold, it chilled me to the bone and as I shivered I suddenly realized I wasn’t dead. My eyes flew open and I sat up with a splash. The sliver of moon danced upon the river and by it I could make out the outlines of my surroundings.
I was in the shallows, where we watered the herd, not far at all from the home I had been ripped from this morning. How had I gotten here? How had I escaped the flames?
I shivered again and crept towards the bank, keeping low to remain out of sight of the house. My family had been through enough the last week. If they thought I was dead it was better to leave it that way. My return would only cause them more trouble.
I crawled into my secret place, a hollow under a bramble where I had often hidden from my chores as a child. It offered some small shelter from the night wind, and a slight sense of security against the suddenly cruel world. This place alone was unchanged, I just wished… I wished I was the same.
I didn’t even know why I was different all of the sudden. Everything I thought I had known had changed. Now all that I knew for sure was that wild imaginations of my heart had started coming true, and that I had never imagined things would get this bad.
There was a rustling in the bushes behind me and my heart froze in my chest. Surely no one would look for me here, but who would be out here this time of night if they weren’t looking for me? I tried to make myself smaller, praying that my violent shivering wouldn’t shake the bush too much and draw attention to my hiding place.
“Mistress! Mistress Ivy are you here?” a familiar whining voice called softly but urgently. “Please don’t tell me the river swept you away,” my favorite pig added in a despairing one. We had become very close, the pig Chloe and I, in the week since I suddenly started understanding everything my herd was saying.
“I am here, Chloe,” I whispered through my chattering teeth.
There was a rustling of the branches as she rooted her way into my hiding place. “Oh Mistress Ivy,” she said. “I am so happy to see you awake. We have kept them away from here ever since you appeared, but your family will eventually come to the water. We must get out of here before morning dawns.”
“But where can I go?” I asked in despair.
“Where?” she asked me, the surprise apparent in her eyes as well as her voice, “Mistress, we can go anywhere.”
“We?” I asked.
“Of course,” she said. “You did not think I would turn on you like the humans did, did you?”
“Of course not,” I assured her. “But I cannot care for you when I cannot even care for myself. Besides, how can you leave when your herd is here?”
“We discussed it from one end of the pen to the other, and it was agreed that I should go with you, you will need a companion,” she said plopping down next to me and lending me some of her warmth.
Having been raised with pigs I was not at all against curling up against her and soaking her warmth through my damp clothes. I had slept by her many times anyway, and she was a better bedmate than my sister any day of the week. Chloe never hogged the blanket.
“Mistress Ivy, you will never get warm in those wet rags,” she told me.
“I know, but they are all I have,” I told her. “I can’t go about without clothes.”
“Then wish them dry,” she said simply.
I screwed up my face in the dark. I hadn’t even thought of that, though I had certainly wished for less important things in the last week. The wishing had gotten me in a lot of trouble though, and part of me was afraid that if I wished for anything else I would just be proving I hadn’t learned my lesson and I’d end up in even more trouble.
“Couldn’t you just go and pull a blanket off of the line for me?” I asked Chloe.
“They took in all of the washing already,” she said. “Besides, you will need more than a blanket to survive, better start using that gift of yours.”
I supposed she was right, and I really didn’t have much of a choice. I closed my eyes and imagined myself in warm dry clothes, my red curls dry and bouncing, my feet well shod. As the image formed in my mind I felt the changes against my skin. When I opened my eyes I found the charred and soaking rags had indeed changed into warm wool of a lovely deep blue.
Chloe looked me over and nodded her approval. She got up on her hooves and pushed her way out of the bushes. I took one last look around my little hiding place and then followed her out into the wide and frightening world.
When we reached the road I stopped and looked down it in the moonlight, uncertain of which way I should go in search of a different fate. To the north lay the forbidding Black Mountains, the setting place of every frightening tale I had ever heard. To the south lay the rolling fields and distant cities that the children of my village had grown up dreaming about escaping to one day.
I was tempted to chase that dream now, go to the city and somehow build the kind of life that would make everyone I had ever known green with envy. Then I realized that if I ever again met anyone I had ever known then any life I built would be in danger. A new life needed new dreams, and a new world to craft them out of.
With that thought I resolutely pointed my toes to the north, and Chloe pattered along behind me without a question or a complaint. Well… almost without a complaint. About dawn she started to babble on about how she wished it was easier going, and how she didn’t understand why the road had to be so steep in places.
I let out a frustrated sigh and she quieted down. Honestly, did she expect me to just wish the whole world to change to suit me? I didn’t know much about my strange new power, how it worked or where it came from, but I was sure there was such a thing as an abuse of magical powers, and that was a journey I DIDN’T want to take.
We stopped at mid-day and went off the path in search of food. Her excellent sniffing skills found lots of things for me to dig up, and a cold mountain stream in which to wash them. Looking down over the valley I was divided in my emotions. I was sad to leave everything behind, but also a little frightened of what I may find along this rocky path.
I had never known whether I should believe half the tales I heard about the things that resided in these mountains. If even a quarter of them were true I was going to have to sharpen my wishing skills in order to make it to the other side alive. I had heard of trolls, and ogres, and fanged deer with wings. Any of these things would love a girl for lunch and a pig for desert.
Still, the only way past it was through it, and my determination strengthened the weaker the light became. I wasn’t going to fail Chloe. We were going to make it, if only because it would be a waste of magical ability for us not to.
As night fell we came upon a rocky overhang that seemed just the right place to spend the night. We ate the food I had tied up in my petticoat. We watched the sun sink behind the trees and fields, then curled together against the cold night air.
I remembered groggily wishing for a blanket in the middle of the night, but wasn’t prepared for what I found with the morning light. Chloe’s nose peeked out from under a fine wool blanket, a steaming bowl of porridge sat on a rock nearby, and a spade and pack sat next to them. It seemed that now even my dreams were being fulfilled in the twinkling of an eye.
Truth be told it frightened me a bit, though I didn’t tell Chloe as we divided the large bowl and gobbled up the porridge. I licked the bowl clean and then stuffed it in the pack along with the blanket and shovel. The weight of it was a constant reminder that I had to control my thoughts, and I spent the day deliberately avoiding any kind of imagination at all.
That night, as we snuggled into a bed of pine needles under a grand evergreen tree I thought over and over about how blessed I was, and how I had everything I needed right there. The sound of Chloe’s snores eased the tension of the day. I drifted off to sleep.
I felt, rather than heard the presence, and my eyes flew wide open. I scanned the trees around me, searching for the source of the disturbance. Then I saw it, peering around from behind a boulder uphill from me. It was covered in fur, standing erect, and moving slightly as it studied the shape of our forms under the blanket.
I wished for a sword. I felt it blossom from my hand. I wished I knew how to use it.
As the confidence flooded into my body I rose slowly from the ground, my blade extended. I let the blanket fall, glad to see that Chloe’s sleeping form was lost beneath it. I wished for her to remain still and asleep until it was safe.
I stepped out into the moonlight and tossed my mess of curls over my shoulder confidently. My blade glistened in the moonlight. In answer a slim sliver line glinted from over by the boulder.
As the misshapen form came out into the open I tried to figure out exactly what I was up against here. I supposed it was possible that a troll or an ogre could carry a sword. I really didn’t know anything about either though, so even with a close look I wouldn’t know one. It was also possible this was a highway robber or other human ruffian, in which case I had much more to guard against, especially as I had no gold to satisfy him.
I flicked my blade around swiftly, inviting us both to discover the extent of my skills. The blade felt right in my hand, the tip an extension of my finger, ready to poke his eye out with lightening speed. A smile spread across my face, some crazy part of me thought this was going to be fun.
The form was clear of the boulder, and we carefully approached one another across the clearing I studied it for clues as to a weakness. It seemed to favor its right leg and the lump on its left shoulder seemed to pain it as well. I still wasn’t entirely sure what kind of face was hidden under that hood, but human or not, I felt I had the upper hand.
Suddenly there was a crashing from the forest down below us. Several forms came loping up from the shadows. There were no blades present, but the beasts were toothy, heavily muscled, and carried stout tree limbs like they knew how to use them.
I repositioned myself, trying to think of a way to defeat this many opponents, and even my newly wished skills were coming up lacking. The largest of the beasts lifted its cudgel and bellowed in the most frightening way. It launched itself up the hill with a snarl.
I braced myself for the attack and swung my blade menacingly around as the beasts followed their leader in the charge. The leader turned off to attack my other would-be opponent. Two of the followers were soon looming over me, barely kept at bay by the slices I was administering to any limb that got within my reach.
As I fought I spared a glance for the other bladed fighter, who was somehow holding off the rest of the beasts with its sword in one hand and a dagger in the other. It looked more like a dance than a fight. I grudgingly respected the level of skill it displayed, whatever it was.
I had gone from trying to deflect and discourage my opponents to attempting fatal blows when a strange sound echoed through the woods around me. It was long and low, and was followed by a mighty roar and the pounding of feet. The trees above us erupted with motion and all of the sudden a dozen armed figures rushed in to attack our opponents from behind. The large beasts could not withstand so many opponents, and with angry bellows retreated back down the slope.
The other fighters pursued them, leaving me alone with my blade in the well trampled clearing. I squinted off through the trees, watching for any sign that I was to come under another attack. Then I heard the soft snorts of the waking Chloe and knew the danger was past.
All the same I urged her silence and we gathered our few things and hurried up the road. I didn’t know what war we had inadvertently gotten in the middle of, but I wanted out of it right away. I thought if we hurried we could be well behind the battle lines before the break of day.
We had gone nearly half a mile up the road when a sudden rustling in the trees alarmed me. I raised my sword, only to have it snatched from my hand and my body lifted swiftly into the branches. Chloe squealed loudly as she was also swept up off of her feet and buried among the branches. I tried to call her name but a foul smelling hand was clamped over my mouth. My struggles against it were in vain.
My captor held me like that until after daybreak, my back pressed against a rock like chest, a hairy arm the only part of it that was visible. My muscles ached, my neck creaked at the slightest movement and the branch below me pressed painfully into my behind. What bothered me the most was that I neither heard nor saw Chloe in all that time. I despaired that I had led her to her death.
As the sun rose up above the tips of the pine trees there came the sound of many feet from the road below. Just as a crowd of hooded figures rounded the bend I was unseated and swiftly lowered to the road, the smelly hand still clamped over my mouth.
I breathed a sigh of relief to see Chloe also returned to the road, though the sight of the hairy beast that held her was unsettling. Its cloak had slipped from around it, revealing a hairy body and strange face. Whatever our captors were, they were not human.
The party coming up the road halted, and a solitary figure approached from in their midst. It favored its right leg and had a large lump behind its left shoulder. It stopped and studied Chloe first, but then soon dismissed her and approached me. As it approached the face within the hood was revealed to me, and I stared in shock at the human face topped with the gold band of a crown.
He spoke not a word as he studied me, then turned and grunted to the beast that held me. The rank hand was loosened on my face and I wrenched my head away to demand of the leader, “What do you want with me?”
He grunted again, but this time kept his eyes on me, as if he expected me to understand his grunts like they were language. I stared at him in confusion until the whining voice of my pig rang out, “What does he say Mistress Ivy?” she asked.
Suddenly, I remembered the wish that had started all of this trouble for me. I closed my eyes and wished I could communicate with these monsters and their human leader. Not a moment too soon his grunts changed to words and I heard his repeated demand.
“Why have you come to Troll Mountain?” he said in irritation.
“I am merely passing through,” I explained boldly. “How dare you detain me and remove my pig from my possession? Return her at once!”
“I will return your animal when I see fit,” he said in a growl. “And you will address me with more respect, human.”
“Respect is earned,” I said to him angrily. “To me you are nothing but a ruffian who has waylaid me on my journey.”
“Ruffian? I? I am Ronfer, Leader of the Trolls, King of Troll Mountain. Who are you to address me with such disdain?”
“I?” I said with mock pride as I cast around in my mind for a name to impress even a king. “I am Ivy, Witch of the Valley, Speaker of Tongues and Blade of the South. I have been patient enough with you Trolls, and if you do not unhand me immediately I will be forced to use my great power against you.”
“Great power?” he scoffed at me. “I’ll grant that you are good with a blade, but if you had such great power why did you not use it last night to defend yourself against the Orges?”
“That was your battle, not mine,” I said. “Why should I fight it for you?”
“It wouldn’t have been a battle if you hadn’t gotten in the way,” he said angrily. “That was supposed to be a peaceful meeting.”
“If you hadn’t interrupted my slumber I wouldn’t have been in the way,” I retorted. “Besides, who brings an army to a peace talk?”
He looked a little abashed at that. I took the opportunity to yank my arm free of the smelly Troll that held me captive. It tried to regain the grip but Ronfer shook his head slightly and I was completely released.
“I am bored with you, human,” he said turning away. “Take your animal and go.”
I called to Chloe, and she came running over to me. I stroked her head comfortingly and told her not to worry, but when I straightened up Ronfer was blocking my way.
“What language is this?” he asked his face a cloud of confusion. “Do you really speak the tongue of swine?”
I glared at him, “Are you hard of hearing? I told you I am Ivy, Witch of the Valley…”
“Speaker of Tongues, Blade of the South,” he finished with me. “But you speak more than Human and Troll?” he asked.
“I do what I wish, understand what I wish, destroy what I wish,” I said giving him a glare with that last part. Just for emphasis I concentrated hard and imagined the branch of a nearby tree splintering into a million pieces and falling to the forest floor. My wish was granted in the next breath and the trolls watched in shock as I destroyed the limb. They moved away from me a little, all except Ronfer.
“Forgive me Great Lady,” he said falling to a knee. “I beg you to forgive me. You have been sent in answer to my prayer and I did not recognize it.” He grabbed my hand and pressed his forehead to it, and all around me the Trolls fell to their knees.
I looked around in shock for a moment and then recovered my senses. “Rise, Ronfer, King of the Trolls,” I said. “I will forgive you this once.”
He rose to his feet, but kept bowing his head as he begged to be allowed to bring me to his castle and receive me properly. I debated it a moment and then decided it was as safe a course as any other, and allowed them to lead me to the castle on a nearby peak.
A week later I stood alone in the moonlight on the road down the mountain. The Ogre King came out of the trees and I glowered at the ten Ogre warriors that slunk out behind him. He seemed surprised to see me, and even more surprised to see me alone and without a sword.
“Where is the human who calls himself the Troll King?” the Ogre demanded of me.
I, of course prepared to hear and speak in Ogre, glared at him and corrected him, “The orphan the Trolls have chosen as their King did not trust you to honor the agreement. I, Ivy, Witch of the Valley, Speaker of Tongues, Blade of the South, have come instead.” I looked pointedly at the club in his hand and then at the Ogres behind him.
“I make no agreements with commoners,” the Ogre King said, “Especially humans pretending to have authority on the slopes of the Magic Mountains.”
“His authority is given to him by the Trolls,” I said in a clear, crisp tone. “Mine however is given to me by a more direct source,” I added. I didn’t even have to concentrate as I caused a boulder to erupt from the ground under his toes.
He stumbled back, looking at me in astonishment. I smiled at him serenely, flipping my freshly washed and perfumed red ringlets over my shoulder and wishing the boulder back into place. The boulder’s retreat seemed to have more effect upon him than its appearance and he sunk to his knees in the freshly disturbed ground.
“This war will cease,” I told him. “Troll Mountain has stood as an independent kingdom for a thousand years. The Ogre King has no claim up on it and continued aggression will be dealt with swiftly, by me. Go back to your Mountain in peace, or face the consequences.”
With that I turned and marched up the hill, not even looking back to see how my words had been received. I didn’t need to, the squirrels were already gossiping about it and the crickets were singing my praises.

The Prince and the Thief

Build-a-story Started 10/13/11 finished 10/17/11
Written so I could ignore my personal crisis for a few hours.

Reader submitted story elements:
Asian Empress
Wedding gone horribly wrong in a humorous way
Something lurking in the shadows.

I'm not so sure I can do humorous right now, but I'll give it a try.

The Prince and the Thief

Part 1 The Thief

He looked so smug, riding on his horse through the forest, as if he had any right to these roads. I sat high in my shadowy perch watching them pass, counting the gilded boxes that soon would change hands. The High Prince of Kaya had come to take the daughter of the Empress as his bride, and I had come to take his wedding gifts before he reached the palace.

I felt the slightest bit of worry as I counted the blades, but we had never expected so much treasure to be wholly unguarded. It wasn’t as bad as it could have been, the long standing good relations between China and Kaya had worked on our side. Had the prince come from Paekche or Silla the battle would have been a bit more intimidating.

I heard my mother’s birdlike cry echoing through the bamboo, and readied myself for the next signal. Around me I heard the slight rustling as the others shifted in their seats and caused the trees to sway. A solitary guard looked up at the sound, but then like the others dismissed his only warning as a touch of wind.

The call of the monkey rang out loud and clear and I reacted to it before the cry had faded on my mother’s lips. I leapt from my seat and slid down the length of the tree. As I slid down the leaves flew in every direction and we hit the ground like so much rain.

The rustling and thuds had barely registered in the guard’s ears before the first of them was down, the victim of my brother’s club. I streaked past the confused guards and headed straight for the black hatted prince. Any load carried personally by the groom had to be worth the most, and I was going to be the one counting it by the fire tonight!

He looked at me in bewilderment and fear as I approached him. A laugh escaped my lips as I drew near, and swung up on the horse behind him and batted the ceremonial hat that was slipping down around his ears. It flew off his head and while his eyes followed it in shock I snatched the lidded basket out of his hands.

I had run several steps between the tightly spaced trees before I realized how unexpectedly light my load was. Another two steps though and I discovered I didn’t have time to worry about it, for the prince had recovered from his shock and was following me on foot into the forest.
I hadn’t known they bothered teaching those pampered pretties HOW to run. The noblemen had always just sat and squawked before.

I quickened my pace and soon reached the part of the forest we liked to call the maze. I wove in and out of the bamboo stands with years of expertise while he yelled in his strange tongue and fell further and further behind. Soon I could no longer hear him and pulled my prize into a tight stand of trees to wait and watch.

I could hear a lot of shouting in the distance, but none of it was a voice I knew, or even a language I understood, so I was hopeful that my friends and family had gotten away as neatly as I had. This would show that old hag of an Empress. You can’t keep a good band down by killing their leader, it only makes them strike a little closer to home.

I smiled and turned the basket so that I could undo the latch on the lid. I lifted the lid expectantly, trusting the prize would be a delight to my eyes.

There was a flurry of motion and my loot erupted from the basket in a storm of feathers and honks. I pressed myself against the bamboo to avoid the wild pecking and flapping wings as the gander struggled to escape its surprised captor. Feathers and bamboo leaves rained down around me as the gander found its way out of the tight copse.

I took a moment to recover from my shock and then threw the basket to the side as I climbed out of the copse. Stupid foreigners, having princes carry geese in baskets! Who brought a live goose to a wedding?

I was going to be the laughing stock of the thieves’ camp tonight. I was tempted to not even go home for a few days, but I knew my mother would worry, and then would be angry when I showed up late, whole, and empty handed. I hadn’t even the stupid bird to show for my trouble.
I was picking my way through the forest, keeping an eye out for stray guards when I heard a strange sobbing nearby. I crept towards the sound, alert for a trap, but was unprepared for what I saw. The prince knelt on the ground, tears running down his face, as he held a knife point to his chest. His hands trembled as he tried to summon the courage to plunge the blade into his heart.
I was across the grove to him before I had even thought of my reasons for doing it. The thief in me wanted nothing to do with the death of a nobleman, but it was the woman in me that snatched the blade from his hands.

He fell backward in surprise and then cringed under the tongue lashing that flowed past my lips unbidden. What a fool he was. “Get up and go,” I told him. “Don’t lay your death at my door. Be a man!”

The only word he seemed to catch was death and he nodded crawling towards me, motioning towards the blade and his throat repeating “kill” as he groveled at my feet.

I placed my foot on his shoulder and kicked hard sending him sprawling on the ground. He just lay there, waiting with his eyes closed and his chest heaving with silent sobs.

I was wasting my time, the guards would find him soon enough, if there were any left. I shoved his jeweled knife in my belt and slipped silently back amongst the trees. How on earth did someone that stupid get to be a nobleman anyway? The world was completely backward.
I got to camp later than the others, but the knife distracted my mother from her lecture. It was soon hanging from her belt and I pretended to be proud of my conquest while the others divided the spoil all around me. Taker always got first pick, leader got second, and the rest was divided evenly amongst the band, that was the way my father had always done it, and it was the way we carried on now that he was gone.

“Is the dagger really all you got, Mei?” my friend Jun asked me later as he sat down beside me. Jun was one of the few foreigners in the band, and he spoke with a thick accent, though his vocabulary was improving.

“Yeah, the goose got away,” I admitted with an embarrassed smile.

“Goose?” he asked, then seemed to know the answer. “Oh, the gander! Ha, I’d forgotten about
that.”

“Forgotten about what?” I asked him, not happy he was laughing at me.

“Well… you know we just attacked the prince of my homeland, don’t you?” he asked.

I pretended I had, though of course I hadn’t had a clue.

“In my homeland the groom brings a wild gander to the mother of the bride,” he said looking thoughtful. He stared at the embers of the fire for a while, lost in thought, and then shook himself and asked, “I didn’t see you grab the dagger though, your hands must be getting faster.”
I tried to lie at first, but I could tell I wasn’t convincing him so I gave up and told him the truth. He wouldn’t tell on me anyway, he liked me more than the others.

“Almost makes you feel sorry for him,” Jun said turning a coin over and over in his hands as I finished my tale.

“Why would he kill himself over losing a goose?” I asked.

“Gander,” Jun corrected me. “It’s the symbol of the groom’s devotion. Ganders mate for life.”
“Still doesn’t sound like a reason to kill yourself,” I said picking up some dirt and throwing it in the fire. It snapped and crackled angrily.

“It wasn’t just the goose, Mei,” Jun said glowering at the fire.

“You really are feeling sorry for him,” I said looking at him severely.

Jun chuckled and shook his head. I had never seen him like this in the five years I had known him. Watchful, yes, he was smart, he was always thinking, but this odd mood was strange, even for my favorite foreigner.

“You aren’t going soft on me are you?” I asked him jokingly.

He smiled, “As soft as my blade,” he began.

“And twice as sharp,” I finished for him. He was back to normal now, or at least I thought he was in that moment.

Later that night I found I couldn’t sleep and went for a walk in the forest. The gentle swaying of the bamboo had always calmed me, but tonight it did little for my mind. The strange prince was in my thoughts, the tears on his face, the knife in his hand. Why would a person who had everything be so upset over the loss of a goose and a few gifts? Kings were rich, he could just explain to the Empress, and go home and get more.

I hadn’t realized where my feet were taking me until I saw the form laying on the forest floor, just the way I had left him. I watched him sleep through the trees, his face still streaked from the dust and his tears. He looked as though he wouldn’t move if a horse was galloping his way. The man was broken.

A single step behind me had me spinning and reaching for my knife, but Jun’s hand was over mine at my belt before I could draw it. He placed a finger to his lips and drew me back into the forest, away from the broken prince.

“Do you want to help him?” Jun asked in a whisper at my ear.

The hairs on my neck stood up to have him so close to me, but I pretended as always that he was just another brother to me. I nodded while I fought the tightness in my throat.

“Good, because I can’t do this alone,” Jun said. “Go and find the basket and meet me here.”

“Where are you going?” I whispered after him, but he was already slipping through the trees.

I went and found the basket and returned to our meeting place. Jun was not there, so I left the basket and went to peek at the prone prince. He had rolled over in his sleep, and something about the change in position comforted me, though I didn’t know why.

I went back to the meeting place and waited. I waited half the night before a wild flapping sounded through the trees. It was a few moments before Jun entered the clearing, a gander caught in his capable hands.

It made a lot of noise as we shoved it in the basket. The thief in me jumped at every honk, but it went quiet once the basket was closed. Jun latched it shut and then handed the basket to me.

“What are you giving this to me for?” I asked. “This is your plan.”

“You are the one who stole it, you must return it,” he said giving me a little shove in the right direction.

I crept through the forest and then sat on an old stump near the prince, waiting for him to wake up. I may have dozed off once or twice, but I was watching as the first rays of dawn struck his face and his eyes fluttered open. It wasn’t until that moment that I realized why this man’s sorrow tugged at my heart so.

He looked just like Jun.

The prince saw me within moments, and blinked in surprise. He sat up, but his expression wasn’t one of fear, or even of hatred. Instead he looked at me as if he thought I was a spirit. I stood and carried the basket towards him, placing it within his reach and then backing away. “Go marry your princess,” I told him, pointing the way towards the road. He reached for the basket with an expression of unbelief and picking it up looked the way I had pointed. He looked back at me and I shooed him away in irritation. Some people just couldn’t understand plain Chinese.

He turned and looked again at the way to the road and I took that moment to slip away through the trees. From our vantage point Jun and I saw him look back, surprised to find me missing, and then carry the bird basket towards the road. It wasn’t long before he stumbled upon one of his guards and was conveyed safely to the summer palace.

Two days later Jun and I slipped into the crowd of celebrating peasants that thronged the gates of the palace hoping to get a glimpse of the royal wedding taking place in the garden. The mounted prince was crossing the large pond on a footbridge that ended on a small island in the middle. He dismounted, leaving the horse with a groom as he carried his bird basket to the Empress. He placed it in her hands with a formal bow and she passed it off quickly to a servant.
Jun was shaking his head at the lack of regard for the Kaya tradition, but my eyes were on the basket. The servant didn’t seem to know that the basket should remain closed and set it on the ground to open it for his Lady.

Laughter erupted from the crowd as the gander burst from the basket and flew at the Empress. She wheeled around in her efforts to get away, tripped over the still kneeling servant, and toppled into the pond. The entire party on the island rushed to help her, dredging their finery in the mucky water, and slipping and sliding themselves as they struggled to right the Empress.

The Empress was enraged, the princess was weeping behind her veil, and Jun and I were swept away with the rest of hastily ejected crowd. We giggled the whole way home.

A week later we were sitting in our shadowy perches over the road when the prince left the summer palace, accompanied only by his guards. When they reached the place on the road where we had attacked them on their first passing the prince reigned in his horse and looked around him. For a rejected groom he appeared quite content, even thankful.

Within my heart I wished my victim well.

Part 2 The Prince

The bamboo grew thick in this section of the forest, crowding in around the road to the summer palace as if it longed to reach out and touch the noblemen that passed this way. Over the sound of my horse’s hooves I heard a bird call out, somewhere close by but unseen in the treetops. The forest was restful, with its rustling in the wind and peaceful creatures, but I was not comforted by it.

I clutched the basket that sat in front of me on the horse’s back. Within it lay the gander we had caught with some effort this morning. It was a present for my future mother-in-law, the symbol of my commitment to a life of devotion to her daughter, a union that would bind out families and lands together.

This union was a long time coming. Diplomatic relations with China had been a bit tense since my brother had disappeared on the journey to this self-same palace four years ago. It had not come to war, but my father was most anxious to pacify the Empire and protect our people. The price of continued peace was the hand of a son, and so I had come to this place, this time, and this unavoidable task.

Judging by the beauty of the Empress I had some hope that my bride would be pretty at least, but that was the end of my hopes for a pleasant marriage. I wasn’t looking forward to the months that it would take us to cross the language barrier, much less the cultural barriers, the religious barriers, and the barriers of the heart. However, I was a prince, and therefore crossing barriers was my duty, if not my joy.

A monkey cried out most painfully in the trees and I thought perhaps it was being chased through the treetops because the trees swayed vigorously and leaves rained down upon us. Then in the blink of an eye a black specter had streaked up next to my horse and brought us to a halt. It laughed at me and swung with lightening movements up behind me upon the horse. I twisted in my seat and felt a light tug at my hair as the specter knocked the ceremonial hat off of my head. I had barely registered the fall of my father’s wedding hat before my basket was wrenched from my grip and the specter was whisking away with it in its grasp.

I more or less fell off my horse in my instant instinct to reclaim the gift that was meant to purchase peace for my people. My soft silk shoes were not much protection against the ravages of the forest floor, but I kept up my pursuit with singular determination. I had to get that gander back.

The pursuit of a specter is a fruitless endeavor though, even for a prince, and soon I was hopelessly lost without even a glimpse of specter or road to guide me. I called and called, begging the black spirit to return my gift, calling and calling for my guards to come to my aid, but I heard no response, saw no path out of my predicament.

Strange sounds came from all around me, and they echoed through the woods. The sunlight slanted down on me, its sideways direction casting all around me in strange shadows and harsh contrast. The walls of bamboo twisted and turned, like a maze of bars hemming me in.
I followed one sharp turn after another until my bruised and throbbing feet protested with each step. I sank down in a clearing, overcome with confusion, the old and broken bamboo jabbing into my legs. It was hopeless.

I thought about the black specter that had stolen my gift and lead me away from the safety of the road I was on. What was it? What did it want? Why had it chosen me as its victim? What had I ever done to anger the spirits of this forest? Was this the same spirit that has caused the disappearance of my brother? Was this spirit going to hold me captive forever? Was I ever going to see my family and homeland again? Was I doomed to wander this forest until I died?
What would happen to my kingdom? Would this lead to war? Would my people die because I had failed them as my brother had? Would our home and our culture be absorbed into the Empire like so many others? Would all that made Kaya great be lost forever?

Tears for my homeland, for my family coursed down my face, and the dam I had built to hold back my emotions burst from this little breech. The hopelessness of my situation, the anger of the Empire, the enormity of the number of people I had let down pressed down on me until I could bear it no more. I was lost, with nothing to do but rot here day by day until death claimed me at last.

I curled into a ball but a sharp jab in my side gave focus to my grief. The Dagger of Kaya, the gift of my father upon my departure pressed its jeweled head into my side. “Use me,” it seemed to whisper, “Death before dishonor, do not die like a helpless animal in the forest.”

I sat up and drew it from its sheath. The silver length glimmered gold in the dying sun, the last sun I would see. I pressed the point to my chest. The point pierced my tunic easily, it would slide into my heart easily, the pain would be over soon, and with me would die the last hopes of my kingdom.

I raised my arms and gathered the strength to make my final act. My hands shook, my heart ached, and then like a vapor the hilt was gone from my hands!

I opened my eyes, not knowing what to expect, the spirit world or the forest, instead I saw the pale angry face of the black specter. It spoke to me in a strange tongue that only held a small resemblance to the Chinese I had been taught. I caught two words only, death and door. Yes death was the door, death was the only course left to me. I knew it and the specter knew it, but it did not seem to wish me an easy death. It wanted me to die slowly and painfully, as my people and culture would.

“Please kill me,” I begged it, and I repeated the words in my halting Chinese. I begged it, kneeling before it, touching my head to the ground at its feet.

With a shove of some unknown power it repelled me back and I hit the ground hard, waiting for the end to come, waiting for the power to strike again and finish me. The blow never came. I lay there waiting, empty, broken, praying for the end, but the end stretched further and further away from me.

I was a disgrace, I couldn’t even die right.

I woke to the sound of whispers in the trees and opened my eyes to see the moon’s eye looking down on me. The silver light was a balm to my soul, and I let it wash over me. The moon was like me, surrounded by darkness on every side.

No, the moon was better than I, for though it battled the darkness every night and was over come again and again, it always came back, growing until its strength could light the path for all. I wished I was more like the moon. I rolled over on my side and curved my body like the crescent moon as I thought and thought. My people, my country, my family needed me. Without my brother and without me the kingdom would fall into civil war, and that would leave us exposed to attack from the outside.

I had to fight the darkness, I had to come back from this dark moment like the moon did. I knew not how, or where I would get the strength, but only I could do it.

When I opened my eyes again the sun was falling on me. A new day had dawned for me and for the world. My eyes immediately fell upon the black specter. It sat just out of reach, and in its lap lay my gift. It had not been lost at all, and now that I had learned my lesson the spirits of this forest were returning my life to me, so that I could make it better.

The specter came towards me without a noise and placed the basket near my side. It moved away, then pointed opposite the rising sun and spoke again. “Marry” and “Princess” it said and then seemed to be angry at my lack of immediate response. The basket in my hand I looked away in the direction the spirit was sending me. I looked back to thank it, but it was gone, and I was left alone to make my way.

I had not traveled far when my guard found me, and I was welcomed most warmly at the palace. The guards and Empress were all convinced that we had been beset by a band of thieves, and I kept silent about the spiritual message that had been the real intent behind the experience. I did not think I could explain it in a way they would ever understand. I wasn’t sure I would ever fully understand it either, but I respected it enough to keep quiet.

In spite of the lack of treasures the Empress agreed to allow the wedding to proceed and after two days I mounted my horse again in order to take my bride. I moved forward with singular determination, and only realized something was amiss in my pursuit of my course when I heard the flapping of wings and screams behind me.

I turned in time to see the Empress falling, the gander flying away above her. I rushed to the Empress’ side like all the others, but she refused the hand I offered.

Each day for a week I appealed to the Empress and her daughter, and each day for a week they again rejected my hand. This situation was hopeless, but each night as I looked up at the moon, waxing stronger it its victory over the darkness, I found hope in the end of this situation. I found hope that Kaya could be strong without the Chinese Empire, that we could stand without a people so unlike ourselves. I dreamed of a Kaya that chose peace instead of trying to buy it.

I left the Summer Palace and rode into the forest once again. My guards were anxious and kept their weapons ready, but I knew I had nothing to fear from the spirits of this wood. I stopped, in the place I will never forget, and lifted my face to the wind. I whispered a prayer of thanks to the black specter that had stolen my old self from me, and given me back so much more.

Part 3 The Prince of Thieves

I wondered, as I did every time we did this, exactly what she was thinking as Mei watched our victims go by below us. Her face was bright in the shadows, pale like the moon, but sculpted like a gemstone. That face had been a source of fascination to me since I had first seen it, back when I was her victim not her comrade.

I heard the birdcall from her mother’s lips and readied myself at the signal. My bamboo tree swung slightly with my movement. My clumsiness in the tree tops had been a source of amusement for some in our band of thieves, but Mei had never mocked me, only helped me. Now I was better than most of those that had mocked me.

Mei’s stayed perfectly still, as if the tree was part of her, another leg from which she would spring into action. She had been born to this life, born to the freedom and also the prison of the life of a thief. She moved like the wind, climbed like a monkey, and had the fingers of a musician.
Of course these were things I could never say to her, or reveal that I felt. Not to her, not to her family, not to any of my new friends, could I speak the thoughts of my heart. For with the skills and profession came a strange mixture of pride and humility that refused compliment, and demanded respect.

The sound of the monkey called us to action. I followed Mei down to the forest floor. I would follow her anywhere, truth be told; into death, into fire, and today, into battle against my own blood.

No one would recognize me. When I had joined the band not even Mei had recognized me for the pampered Prince Jun of Kaya she had robbed on this very road four years ago. In her company, with her training, and in a thief’s clothes, not even my brother would know me, much less the guards.

I watched her fly past the guards like a bird on the wind and confront my younger brother with that fearless laugh. I knocked out the closest guard and rushed the cart, trying to stay alive, earn my keep, and keep an eye on Mei at the same time. I saw her up on his horse, then sprinting through the trees, headed straight for the maze she had taught me turn by turn.

I would have worried about his pursuit of her, if I hadn’t known exactly how hard it would be for him. All the military training that had been pounded into me had failed me four years ago, and his would too. Even if he had vastly improved his fighting skills since my departure, my brother’s studious and spiritual nature would not have prepared him for a force like Mei.

I grabbed a share of the loot and faded back into the tree line with the others. The few guards who were still conscious were struggling to their feet far too late to take action. We had executed the plan perfectly, and our leader would be pleased. With my secret intention to marry Mei, I liked to keep our leader happy.

As we lit the campfires the stragglers wandered into camp, their loads of treasure heavy in their arms and their hearts light within their chests. Mei was one of the last to return. When I saw her face I let out a silent sigh of relief. She was whole, not happy, but whole and home.

Her mother was quite pleased with the gift of the dagger. I recognized it of course, had coveted it in another life, but somehow the fact that it was with Mei’s family just felt right to me. Mei had taken it as deftly has she had taken my heart. Perhaps the dagger would be strengthened and sharpened by them too.

I sat beside her, trying as always to act like she was a sister to me, and not both the captor and liberator of my heart. Her hands were empty and her face downcast. “Is the dagger really all you got, Mei?” I asked her in surprise. She had a knack for picking the parcel with the best loot. I had never figured out how she did it either.

“Yeah, the goose got away,” she said, her head ducked down and her cheeks coloring.

“Goose?” I asked in confusion, then of course I knew the answer to my own question. “Oh, the gander! Ha, I’d forgotten about that.”

“Forgotten about what?” she asked grumpily. She didn’t like to be laughed at, none of them did, not when it was something as serious as loot.

“Well… you know we just attacked the prince of my homeland, don’t you?” I asked her. I wondered if any of them had made the connection between my accent and the target of our latest excursion.

She nodded, but by the lost look in her eyes I knew she was faking it. I tried very hard not to laugh. I didn’t want to hurt her thieves’ pride any more than I already had.

“In my homeland the groom brings a wild gander to the mother of the bride,” I told her. I had rarely spoken of my homeland with her, with anyone, since the day that had changed my life.

The moment she had dropped from that tree and laughed at me my whole life had faded from my mind. I thought of it sometimes, but it was like trying to remember a dream, a strange night fancy with no substance or meaning. I had thought I was such a good Prince, would be such a good king, but if I could forget it all at the sight of Mei’s face, then it was better the kingdom rested in my brother’s thoughtful hands.

Father had always preferred me, as the eldest, as the stronger son, but my mother had been the right one to prefer the younger son. She, and he, saw things I didn’t see, thought in ways I could never think. The world was changing. Leaders didn’t need action, they needed words, words that could cut and intimidate better than any dagger.

I laughed inside again. She had taken the Dagger of Kaya. She had taken the dagger from Kaya, just as she had taken the Crown Prince of Kaya from Kaya, and Kaya would be the better for it.

“I didn’t see you grab the dagger though,” I said to her. Then I veiled the compliment in an insult so that she would accept it, “Your hands must be getting faster.”

Something in the set of her mouth told me she was lying, and as she told me about grabbing it and the basket at the same time I had to hold back a smile. She could see it in my eyes though, and rolled her own as she suddenly decided to tell me the truth.

I would have preferred the lie. The truth made me sick inside. For the first time since I had wandered away from my unconscious guards I regretted leaving the country to my brother. When I flipped the coin of my life upside down I hadn’t thought, hadn’t realized I would be flipping his too. His advice had always been so good… I hadn’t thought about if he hadn’t wanted to be more than an advisor.

“Almost makes you feel sorry for him,” I said, wishing I could share even a small part of what I was feeling with her.

“Why would he kill himself over losing a goose?” she asked, and her lack of understanding clearly defined for me all the things I needed her to know, but couldn’t tell her. Now was not the time. I couldn’t have her thinking my loyalty was with him, not when I had worked this long to earn her regard. How could I fix this without giving myself away?

“Gander,” I corrected her as gently as I could in my raw emotional state. “It’s the symbol of the groom’s devotion. Ganders mate for life.”

“Still doesn’t sound like a reason to kill yourself,” she said picking up some dirt and throwing it in the fire. It snapped and crackled angrily at me, like the voices of my people, censuring me for deserting them and then failing my brother.

“It wasn’t just the goose, Mei,” I said angry with myself.

“You really are feeling sorry for him,” she said looking at me with furrowed brows.

Oh if she knew, if she knew how sorry I felt. I laughed at the twisted way my fate had brought me back four years, to the same place, the same circumstance, and the other side.

“You aren’t going soft on me are you?” she asked me in a tone that told me she wanted to believe the opposite.

I smiled at the sign that she cared, that my state of mind meant something to her. “As soft as my blade,” I said, beginning the old thieves saying she had taught me.

“And twice as sharp,” she finished for me comforted by the show of strength.

I hoped she would always think of me as that strong, that sharp, because for her I was trying to be. I never wanted to lose that faith. I didn’t want to fail her like I had failed others when I reached for her.

My conscience would not let me sleep that night, every lump in the mat beneath me was a sharp reminder of the things I couldn’t ignore anymore. I got up and went into the forest. I searched in and around the maze until at last I saw him.

He lay so still in the moonlight that at first I thought he might be dead. Then he twitched in his sleep, a look of fear clouding his expression, and I felt both joy and pain. I wanted to wash his face, wipe away the mark of all I had done to him.

Instead I watched, watched from a distance, not knowing what I should do.

I could go to him, wake him, lead him to the road. He would know me at that distance though, without the others to distract him. Then I would have to explain, and I wasn’t sure I understood it all myself.

I could walk away, leave him to find his own way as I had done, let his encounter with Mei change him as it would, like it had changed me. What would that do to him though? What would that do to my people? I had failed them, and if I failed him then he would fail them too and all would be lost.

Off to the east I saw a movement and watched in awe as Mei moved like a dark fog through the trees. She had come to him too. Though she was a thief born of thieves, she was a woman of great compassion for those unable to help themselves. I should have known she would not leave him helpless.

I crept up behind her, trying to be silent as not to alarm her, and not wake my brother at the same time. A testament to the training she had given me herself, she did not hear me until I was right behind her. I barely caught her hand before she drew her blade. Her eyes flashed in anger and fear, until she saw my face, and then something flashed within them that once again threatened to knock all else from my mind.

As her arm relaxed in my grip I forced myself to release her, fighting instead the urge to hold her that was nearly overwhelming me. Pressing my finger to my lips, I drew her back so that we could speak without waking my brother from his fitful slumber. I leaned in close to her, breathing in her earthy scent as I whispered in her ear, “Do you want to help him?”

She nodded once, her jaw set in determination. Her determination flowed into me, and suddenly I knew what I we must do.

“Good, because I can’t do this alone,” I said. “Go and find the basket and meet me here.”

“Where are you going?” she whispered to me, but I continued through the trees. I had no time to explain, I needed a lifetime for that.

It took hours to find the gander, and I counted myself lucky when I captured it on the first try. Fate was back on my side it seemed. I carried it back through the forest, only attempting to walk silently when I was close to where I knew she would be waiting. The goose was not so concerned about stealth, but my own thieves’ pride could not abide my own false steps.

She took in the gander and its meaning in a moment, and we hurried to put it in its basket. It protested to the very last, then went silent as the lid closet over it. Once the latch was secured I held it out to her and she took it with reluctant hands.

“What are you giving this to me for?” she asked. “This is your plan.”

“You are the one who stole it, you must return it,” I said, hoping someday she would understand, understand the request and also my every thought.

She cast a nervous glance at my brother, and then walked with her characteristic certainly and silence down the pathless way.

I waited, she waited, and the sun crept over the hills. The light landed on my brother’s face and I watched as he looked at her with the kind of wonder I knew all too well. I watched her give him the basket, the symbol of his future, and then shoo him on his way in her tough and loving way.

Then she returned to me and I was back where I belonged. It was not long before I captured a wild gander of my own and became a different kind of Prince.

People fear us thieves because they do not want to lose their things, but it is only after we come that they know what they have really lost, their security. Mei took that from me, she took that from my brother, and we will both love her for it endlessly.

For in loosing what we thought we had, we found our devotions; we found what was worth living for, we found ourselves.