The Twisted Prince [10-24-09]

Just behind the next grassy knoll is a road that leads right up to an enchanted kingdom not so far from here. Like all enchanted things, it's easy to find if you know where to look. In this kingdom lived a prince who was a kind and fair ruler, well beloved of his people. He was the kind of prince to rule with his ears and with his mind, always taking the time to hear out every facet of a trouble before ruling an edict. His only flaw was his face was as hideous as a beast's, and his body was twisted and broken from a childhood disease. Because of this, he deigned to wear a mask and long, flowing robes in the presence of visiting dignitaries and princesses from far away kingdoms, who visited from all over the world on many a bank holiday. But, even with this precaution, no princess ever asked for his hand, for his realm, as happy as it was, was meager in size, and all the wit, kindness, and charm in the world could not make up for his unsightly countenance and mangled body. Though he fought hard to avoid it, the prince would often fall into a deep despair that would begin late in the night and persist sometimes for months. Instead of confronting it, he would bury himself in his civil duties as best he could, but even in the difficult business of running a country, there were lulls where he could not avoid being alone with himself. Overworked and drowning in despair, he fell very ill, and in his weakness could not even raise his voice above a whisper.

His kingdom fell into darkness, and a decree was sent out by the magistrate to any doctor, alchemist, or sorceror in the land: Whoever could cure the prince would be awarded half of the gold in the castle's coffers. Many talented physicians and renowned magicians came to the prince's aid, and many more came for the coveted prize money, but all who tried their techniques and tricks to cure the prince failed, from master physician to clever con man. Many years passed, and the prince's health steadily declined. With their prince on his deathbed, the entire kingdom went into mourning, and deep silence fell over the land which no one had the heart to break, even with a whisper.

One fateful morning, a cloaked traveler rode into town. Perplexed by the absolute silence, the stranger went to ask a young peasant girl what happened, but the look on her face silenced the question on the traveler's lips. Determined, the traveler rode up to the castle and requested an audience with the prince. The magistrate was puzzled, as no one had heeded the challenge for many years, but allowed this new stranger to visit the dying prince.
The stranger went immediately to his side and pulled the hood of her cloak off to reveal her beautiful face. The fair maiden leaned over the frail prince's thin, twisted body and kissed his sallow face. Taking his hand, she spoke the first words that echoed in those silent halls for years:
"Arise, fair prince, for I love thee."
The prince opened his eyes and looked upon her beautiful face, but found her deep blue eyes to be dark and cold. Though they frightened him, his desire to live and be loved overcame his fear, and for the first time in years he sat up in his bed. She leaned forward and kissed his dry, twisted lips. He stared into her pale face with surprise, but found there no expression of revulsion. With her by his side, his health improved tremendously, and in a matter of days he returned to his people with her on his arm. His subjects rejoiced and threw a tremendous festival in his honor that lasted many days. A week after the festival, the twisted prince married the cold-eyed maiden, resulting in a much longer celebration for the King and Queen of the enchanted kingdom.

In the following months, however, it became apparent that, though the queen's words and actions were that of a woman madly in love, her affection never reached her voice, and her eyes retained their deep, cold stare. You see, many years ago, the maiden was afflicted by an evil witch, whose curses tortured her day and night. Wracked with pain, she cut her heart from her chest, that she would never feel again. The prince realized what remained of her soul was as empty and cold as the windy castle towers. Still, he loved her very deeply, though her attempts to love him back became weaker with each passing day until she sat like a doll on the throne. The twisted prince recognized in her the same disease that had consumed his body and mind and almost killed him, and he was determined not to let that happen to the woman he loved.

And so, leaving the kingdom's affairs to his queen, he donned his mask and coat and set out on a journey to retrieve her heart. He rode for many miles before coming to a frightful bog where the trees were like tortured humans, gnarled and contorted into horrible shapes. The ground soon proved unreliable, and the crippled king was forced to dismount and continue on foot to save his horse.

Night fell quickly, and the king set up camp. Suddenly, the wind began to whistle and howl through the trees. The wild wind was tamed by the trees to form words that forced their way to the king's ear.
"Traveler, we were once like you," The trees wailed. "Strangers and foreigners, peasants and nobles-- all have fallen victim to the evil witch who rules this wretched bog. She demands we strangle you, but with your body as twisted as ours, we cannot but love you as our brother. Heed our warnings and flee, lest you suffer our fate!"
The king replied simply, "Poor spirits! I will help you if I can, but I cannot turn back now, for it is in the name of love that you find me here."
"A fool's errand!" They cried, and bent their branches around him, twisting the wind to batter his crippled body. For the length of the night they assaulted him to drive him away, but the king clung to the cold eyes of his beloved and held on until dawn. Their power broken by sunlight, the wind ceased, and exhausted, the king took his horse and continued on his journey.
Though he walked until dusk, he found no end to the oppressive bog. Drained of his strength and eyes heavy with sleep, he set up camp, this time a fair distance from the trees. As he drifted to sleep, he was disturbed by a deep groan that came from the very earth beneath him. As the rotting vegetation shifted, the rustle of leaves formed words that wormed their way to the king's ear.
"Stranger, we were once like you," The leaves whispered. "Heroes and kings, warriors and magicians-- all have fallen victim to the witch who rules this wicked bog. She demands we smother you, but with your body as frail as ours, we cannot but love you as our brother. Heed our warnings and flee, lest you suffer our fate!"
The king replied simply, "Wretched souls! I will help you if I can, but I cannot turn back now, for love spurs me on."
"Then you are truly doomed!" They hissed, and opened up to swallow him. From every side, skeletal hands clawed at his flesh like talons, and the earth closed over him, hiding him from the moon and stars. For the eternity of the night, they held him down to dissuade him, but the king could only feel the cool touch of his beloved and fought his way to the surface. Their power broken by sunlight, the earth settled, and exhausted, he took his horse and continued on his journey.

With ginger steps, the crippled king walked for miles, determined to find the witch, but found nought but stretches of twisted boughs and shuffling leaves until night fell. This time, he found a flattened boulder to rest upon, but as his eyes closed he was startled by the howling of a huge silver wolf with vibrant blue eyes. His voice was joined by the chatters and shrieks of other beasts, who gathered round the rock. Their eyes shining in the moonlight, their growls took the form of words that clawed their way to the king's ear.
"Wanderer, we were once like you," the wolves wailed. "Lovers and conquerors, soldiers and children of fate--all have fallen victim to the witch who rules this horrid bog. She demands we devour you, but with your countenance as fearful as ours, we cannot but love you as our brother. Heed our warnings and flee, lest you suffer our fate!"
The king replied simply, "Misfortunate wraiths! I will help you if I can, but I cannot turn back now, for love drives me on."
"Pitiful fool!" They roared, and would have torn him to shreds had he not alighted on his horse and fled. The beasts pursued him all through the night, snapping at his heels to drive him away, but he could only hear the echo of his beloved's footsteps through the castle halls and stayed ahead of their jaws until dawn. Their power broken by sunlight, the beasts retreated, and drained of energy, the king slowed his horse and continued on his journey.

The crippled king was very weak, and if not for the strength of his horse would not have lasted the final distance. As he approached the center of the bog, a thick mist grew over the land which obscured all light and all darkness, bathing the world in silver fog.
Through the haze, he reached a clearing where a great ship stood moored by vegetation. From every branch hung a glass lantern that glowed with light; inside sat hunting knives and wedding rings, crowns and handkerchiefs. From higher branches dangled brighter lanterns, holding unhatched eggs and eyes wrenched from their sockets. Strung between the sails, lanterns hung bearing precious gems and broken flutes, burnt letters and faded roses, shining bright as stars. At the prow of the ship hung a lantern whose light rivaled the sun, and the king knew that it could only hold the heart of his cold-eyed queen. He left his horse at the outskirts of the clearing and approached the ship, one hand clutching his hunting knife.

Suddenly, the witch stepped from within the fog, her eyes dull and hard like a snake's. "Normally, I'd rip your life from you where you stand, but there's so little left it's hardly worth the effort," she said, her voice as polished as knives. "Look at you. You can barely stand. Come, have a seat, my friend."
As she spoke, a chair rose from the ground before him, shaking off the soil to reveal the most luxurious seat you've ever seen, cushions and padded arms and all.
The crippled king's knees and feet cried out for relief, but he knew that if he were to sink into that chair he would never get up again; besides, it was likely rife with enchantments. "I thank you, good woman, but I prefer to stand," he gasped.

"Let me offer you vittles, then. You have traveled very far, and surely have not had a good meal in a long time," the witch of the bog said, and waved her hand. Before him rose a table overladen with victuals of all kinds, filling his senses with wonderful smells. His hollow gut ached horribly, but he knew if he sat down to eat, he would not stop until his stomach exploded; besides, it was probably poisoned. "Again, thank you kindly, but I am not hungry," he murmured.

"Your joints must ache terribly, and you shiver like a leaf in the wind. Have a drink, friend," the witch of the bog said, and beside her rose a table holding the finest wine the crippled king had ever seen. She poured a glass and held it out to him. "To take the edge off, as my father used to say."
The king's body anticipated the warmth of alcohol in his veins, but he knew if he started drinking, he would not stop until his body was wasted and his purpose forgotten, for alcohol in itself is a kind of wild magic, and is not to be treated carelessly. "I thank you, kind woman, but I have no thirst."

The witch gazed at him a moment, then drank the glass of wine herself. "Come inside, then. I won't kill you as you are, there's no sport in it." The ship's gangplank lowered itself beside her, and as she turned to board she said, "Come in and rest a spell, get your strength back. Then we can talk about your death wish." The table, chair, and wine all disappeared into the fog as she entered the cabin, leaving the door open for him.
For a long moment, the king hesitated. His instincts fought his fear of witches, for he sensed no hate in this woman---just a feeling of bitter frustration. He hobbled up the gangplank and into the cabin, where the witch of the bog served him coffee heated on the boiler. They sat and talked for many hours; of what, to this day, is a secret held between the king and the witch, and it is likely we will never know.

Within even as short a respite as a few hours, the crippled king's strength returned. "I must confess," he said. "I am not here on my own behalf, but for the sake of my beloved. She has captured my heart; I am here to capture hers." When he spoke of his cold-eyed queen, it was as if a great weight had been lifted from his shoulders.
The witch smiled. "There!" she said. "That sparkle in your eyes. That's precisely what I was waiting for. That's what I want!" Her face twisted into a greedy grimace and she leapt at him, her nails as long and sharp as claws. As they struggled, she screamed, "Another lantern for my collection! Another bright star for my sky!"

As the crippled king wrestled with the witch of the bog, her head cracked against the boiler's edge. She howled with pain and gripped her scalded scalp. Momentarily freed, the king drew his hunting knife and plunged it straight into her heart. As she gasped her last dying breaths, the king felt a deep rumble in the earth, and heard the snapping of vines and the groaning of wood. He rushed outside and watched the soil around the ship churn and roll like seafoam. Realizing he had little time, the crippled king hurried to the bow of the ship and took the lantern that held his beloved's heart. The smell of burning flesh wafted through the air, and as he turned around he realized the cabin had caught fire. The ropes and branches holding the lanterns snapped in the heat and dropped their burdens. The leaves swirled up and caught the lowest lanterns as they fell; the beasts caught the higher lanterns in their jaws; and the highest lanterns were taken by a great gust of wind.

Quickly, the king hurried down the gangplank and mounted his horse, but the ground had already begun to give way to a flood of water. They would surely have drowned, but found a multitude of beasts bearing them up out of the rushing waters. The fog thickened with the smoke of the burning ship, and were it not for the lights hanging from the trees overhead, they would have lost their way. Sparks flew everywhere, but the king's cloak was protected by wet leaves, and no floating ember bore him harm. He rode like the wind itself, the bog crumbling into a storming sea behind him, until he reached the edge of the bog at dawn. As the sun broke, the bog was gone, and in its place was a serene lake. In the center of the lake, the burning prow of the ship sank below the surface and disappeared forever.

On the edge of the lake stood a multitude of people who glowed in the early morning light. A tall man with silver hair and vibrant blue eyes stepped forward, holding a crown in his hands.
"We thank you, good king," He said. "We were once a proud nation, but we warred too often with our neighbors, and became weak. The witch found us when we were at our lowest, and we suffered under her curse for many years. I am the prince of this land, and you hold in your hands the heart of my sister."
"Then please," the king replied, "accompany me to my kingdom to see her! I am very weak besides, and would be grateful for the company."

And so, the wolf prince went with the crippled king to his kingdom, where the king replaced his beloved's heart within her chest. The moment she saw her brother she burst into tears and flung her arms around him. Once her brother let her go, she turned to the crippled king and kissed him very deeply. "Ah, beloved!" She cried. "Would that I had never torn out my heart! I would have sung you love songs day and night!"
The king only smiled. Through her tears he saw in her dark blue eyes only bottomless wells of affection. "Ah, love," He kissed her again. "Your actions sang your love sweeter than any ballad ever could."

And so, the crippled king and the deep-eyed queen reigned over their happy kingdom for many years, and raised children who were as wise as their father and as beautiful as their mother. If we leave soon, we can visit them in time for the holiday festivals.

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Pnelma's Pen