the
primal mantle devoured the cottage,
erasing
the fleeting distinctions of form.
the
chorus of insects wavered in waves,
like
patterns of rain in the currents of a storm.
the
penitent clock told the ticking tale
of
the untended moments of unheeded time.
and
a discarded heart lay soundly sleeping,
her
garments in tatters, her face smudged with grime.
faint
embers popped up in a muted succession,
scattering
glimmer on emerald leaves;
spilling
luminescence in delicate streams,
filtered
through windows beneath the dusky eaves.
the
princess abruptly flashed open her eyes
and
frantically scoured the star-glistened gloom;
for
it dawned on her that those whispers were real,
and
surely rustling in that very room.
"sleeping!"
hissed a voice. "of all the brazen
cheek!
and
what in blazes has happened to the place?
how
could the watchrug and battlerack vanish?
it's
not in their nature to not leave a trace."
"keep
your voice down!" urged a lilting undertone.
"she's
most likely some relation of the king's.
that
frock she's wearin' cost more than you can count!
i
fancy her bleedin' 'orse has gilded wings!"
"easy
now, Mock!" said a dulcet companion.
"that
wretched dress is coming apart in strands.
imagine
what the poor dear must have gone through
before
the fates placed her safely in our hands!"
"oh,
stuff a sock in it!" the first voice snarled.
"she's
one of them, Sappy. why else would she
glow?
no
doubt the king's soldiers are combing the forest.
when
they find us, you'll be the first to go!"
soft
sounds of sobbing emerged from the shadows.
"there's
subtlety for you." said the one called Mock.
"our
Rashful's in a class on 'is ownsome.
'e dices apples with an anvil and a rock."
"watch
it, brother Mock, you're treading on thin ice!"
Rashful
retorted with a tongue edged in steel
bloating
the air with menacing tension,
a
blustering infection bubbling on a heel.
a
stifled gasp cut the conflict in its tracks
and
seven hooded heads turned with one accord.
Sludge
White was riveted by attention
their
focus combining to forge an optic sword.
she
breathed in slowly, while gathering her wits
trusting
that the deer would somehow keep her calm.
for
the well of empathy bided with her
providing
unspoken, reassuring balm.
Sappy
was the first to sever the silence.
"since
she's awake we may as well have some light."
then
orange flames flickered and danced on the walls
and
the contents of the room loomed into sight.
Pasty's
eerie day spent inside the cottage
had
depleted her supply of startled cries.
so
when it turned out the candles were self-starting,
she
didn't even register surprise.
"what are you doing here?" Rashful bludgeoned the point,
shedding
more luster on his blunted charm.
"i'm
fleeing from the queen's wrath" was her answer.
"by
my oath i didn't mean you any harm."
"and
why would 'er precious self not fancy you?
'as
'er Majesty been blinded by your glare?"
Mock
was not disposed to cut her any slack,
and
he hardened his brow with an ice-bound stare.
she
swallowed back her timid trepidation.
"i've
no clue why a price was placed on my head.
yet the wind and these woods interceded.
were
it not for their shelter i'd likely be dead."
there
was something compelling in this statement,
earnestly
exposing her perilous case.
Sappy's
heart was opened immediately,
and
a thaw trickled down Mock's cold flinty face.
"but
how did our cottage come to look like this?"
Rashful proceeded with his obdurate air.
behind
him two others gradually emerged.
there
was something not quite right about the pair.
the
hands of the first one never stopped probing
the
personal space of whoever was near.
the
other had oil oozing from his pores,
and
suggested something naughty with his leer.
"sit
down my dear, and tell us all about it"
said
Sappy politely, pointing at the couch.
"please
don't mind Rashful, or let him offend you.
he
can't help himself, he's a natural grouch."
at
this Rashful bridled and folded his arms,
scrunching his face in a glowering scowl.
as the others took seats in the candlelight,
rueful reproaches were broached by an owl.
versed
in her father's political parlance
of
splintered nuance and manifold meanings
the
princess designed a diplomatic pitch
to
provoke the most lenient of leanings.
the
scent of her mother seeping recollection
spilled from a quiver, deep within the well,
underpinning
her pressing entreaty
with
the loving embrace of a lingering spell.
"bewildered
by your savvy appliances,
and
dismayed by their animated defense;
we
sought to diminish the presence of threats,
thereby
committing unintended offense.
when
we first encountered your charming cottage,
we
overlooked the potential of tenants.
thus
my friends and i humbly beseech you, kind sirs,
to
accept our regrets and our penance."
at
the close of her speech she lowered her head,
somberly
waiting for her hosts to respond.
the
one who'd been crying had never let up,
and
now he was sopped in a slough of despond.
Sappy
squeezed tears from his dripping handkerchief,
and
winking at the princess, passed him a pail.
"but
my dear you haven't introduced yourself!
what
is your name, child, and from whence do you hail?"
"i'm
called Sludge White. i was sired by the
king,
and
kept in the keep of his castle since birth.
my
mother, his first wife, long since departed
the
veil of illusion that fetters the earth."
this
news gave the room an electrical jolt,
wiring
its currents with overwrought thought.
seven
pairs of eyes swapped eloquent glances,
fraught
with furtive drifts, surreptitiously caught.
Mock
rose to his feet and doffed his yellow hood,
a
crimson blush suggesting he was bashful.
"this
chatty chappie's Sappy. i go by Mock.
and
i dare say you're acquainted with Rashful."
Sappy
presented a splendid courtly bow,
while
Rashful let slip a perfunctory nod.
"this
one wailin' in 'is pail we call Weepy,
a
sodden and soggy, saturated sod.
that's
Sleazy in the corner next to Gropey,
who'd
better watch out, or 'e'll wind up stumpy.
the
bloke what's leanin' on the back of the couch
is
the shapeless wonder our lot calls Lumpy."
"i'm
pleased to meet you" said Weepy with a smile,
as
he wistfully wiped his blubbering eyes.
how
he managed a supply of fresh hankies,
or
kept his clothes dry, one can only surmise.
Sleazy's
wrinkles crinkled in a wanton wink.
Gropey
hid his hands with indelicate haste.
a
form-challenged fellow quite covered in bumps
did
his best to bend an improbable waist.
Pasty
curtsied to each one in succession,
deftly
evading Gropey's dexterous hands;
then
attempted an armistice with Rashful,
by
plucking on a string from overheard strands.
"not
meaning to eavesdrop i happened to note
your
concern for your watchrug and battlerack.
i
believe my friends could help you retrieve them
from
the cleft of a cliff, ensconced in a sack."
Rashful's
jaw dropped and he might have been nasty,
but
happily Sappy said something instead.
"there'll
be time enough for all that in the morning.
it's
awfully late, we ought to be abed.
we'll
push two or three of ours together, love.
this
couch has an off-putting reputation.
on
the morrow we'll build you a four-poster,
and
assemble a cliff-bound deputation."
so
with stretches and yawns they mounted the stairs,
and
the flickering candles promptly went out.
and
the skulking rat in the pay of the queen
stealthily
slinked up the slanted gutter spout.
then
the crickets lost interest in their love songs.
and
the glitter faded from the starlight's beams.
and
the deepest dark that comes just before dawn
descended
on the sleepers, dimming their dreams.
far
away in a dank, forsaken cellar
a
rapacious monarch reposed on her throne;
absently
probing the reticent distance,
her
reflection glaring back with eyes of stone.
to
her oft-repeated ravenous queries,
the
mirror conjured a brooding, opaque mist;
rendering
naught but inscrutable silence
to appease the rampant menace of her fist.
- Evan Hawthorn, the 4th of October, 2015
