Mary-Cade Mandus - The Spell Bound

Nod
playground of the moon
and all nightly things
that go bump or flit or slither.
Where shadows revel…flirt
under star sequined sky
while their counterparts
lie snug as bugs in a rug
in their beds.

In hidey holes
bogeys and bugbears…
with competitive eagerness…
chest thumping boasts…
compare numbers
of children scared…
of bedsheets soaked by liquid fright.

In glowing pastures of midnight blue
herds of nightmares graze
upon tansy root and sleepwort
to the tune
of a wind whistled lullaby
and the Sandman
in phosphorescent silk
gathers sand from the banks
of the Beddy-Bye.

The crackle of the lantern flame resounded in the surreal hush of the wood. Torin squinted up at the signpost, then consulted the directions the somnolent toll guard had scribbled two days back in Shut-Eye Towne.

According to the guard they were to stay on the Forty Winks Road until they came to Dream a Little Dream Lane, which would take them to the Pond of the White Maidens. Well, here was the end of Forty Winks but according to the marker, it split into two different roads - Catnap and Snooze. Torin ran a hand irritably through his hair and gave an exasperated sigh. What now? Which was the proper route? Fortenbrass and the cat offered no suggestions, just waited patiently for him to show them which path to take.

He was heartily sick of Nod with its oppressive never-ending night, no towns or communities, and the “daily” struggle to wake every “morning”, but it was a small price to pay, for he’d gladly spend the rest of his life there if it would bring Solace back to him.

It wasn’t going to do any good just standing around. Perhaps a quick exploration might provide a clue as to which road was the right one. Telling the animals to stay put, he ventured down Catnap. He’d only gone a hundred paces when he caught what sounded like the muffled drone of voices. Shielding the light he narrowed his eyes trying to separate the darkness and discern any movement. In the distance, a pinpoint of light bobbed steadily, inflating with approach and separating into four glowing orbs. After several minutes, lanterns, hands, arms, upper torsos and faces took shape.

Four men, heavyset with beefy forearms and beetled brows, fishing nets draped unceremoniously over their shoulders, stopped in their tracks before him, seemingly as surprised to see him as he was them.

Warily he greeted the group but any misgivings harbored were soon put to rest by the good-natured grins and cheerful hellos that met his salute. Relaxing, he explained his dilemma and asked if they were familiar enough with Nod to point him towards his destination.

Hearty guffaws and belly shaking met his question. They were dream poachers, on their way to the landlocked Sea of Sweet Dreams to cast their nets for fantasies to sell to the Pipe Dream merchants and Dream Weaver boutiques in KissingTown. Having been plying their “trade” since childhood they could traverse the region blindfolded and would most happily set him on a straight course.

Torin thanked them graciously and led the way back to his companions. More laughter erupted when the poachers caught sight of the signpost. It would seem, he was informed, that nightfear bogeys had been playing tricks with the signposts. When bored, they were often inclined to twist the signs’ around to lead unwary travelers off course.

The poachers were much taken with Fortenbrass, admiring his great size and obvious strength. Torin and the horse exchanged glances when the men withdrew into a huddle. After much whispering they returned and offered Torin the very handsome sum of two hundred golden wendells for the animal, explaining that the horse’s power and endurance would enable them to net and haul more dreams than they could ever accomplish by themselves.

Seeing the glimmer of greed beginning to flicker, Torin put his hand to his chin and pretended to think the proposition over. Finally he sighed and shook his head, saying he would be taking advantage of them if he accepted such a generous amount for an animal that was only worth about ten copper fourths [this garnered confused stares from the poachers, and an offended snort from Fortenbrass].

Assuming a solemn expression Torin explained that several times he’d attempted to sell the creature but every time it was returned amid curses and demands for money back. He’d finally given up and had been stuck with it ever since. Looking furtively over his shoulder, Torin leaned towards the men and in a stage whisper voiced his suspicion that the wretched thing might be mad…or even worse…cursed. Fortenbrass, joining in the charade, wildly rolled his eyes and gnashed his teeth.

Edging away to what they considered to be a safe enough distance, the poachers nervously furnished Torin with new directions, then wishing him a safe journey and giving the grandstanding Fortenbrass a wide berth, they hastily continued on their way. Choking with laughter, Torin waited until the light of their lantern finally winked out, then collapsed on the road, Fortenbrass joining in with donkey-like brays of mirth. Mortified by such an undignified display, the cat sat hunched by the roadside waiting for them to regain their senses.

The White Maiden

White Maidens…
daughters of Fairy Godmothers…
Knitters of mists…
that hover over ponds
and damp meadows.

Blind…
but capable of seeing
mortals
who are willing to meet
their eyes.

Beautiful…by moonlight
with ropes of silver hair that roils like fog…
complexions of mother of pearl…
eyes of moonstone.

Hags…in sunlight
causing saddlesores…
sweat stung eyes
to those who cross their path.

The clack of knitting needles revealed that the faery was near. Stepping from the absolute blackness of the forest into a landscape ablaze in moonlight, Torin shrank back into the shadows, his eyes smarting and tearing. After days of navigating in the dark, the unanticipated light seared like the sun. Even the animals, unencumbered by the lack of illumination, were affected. Fortenbrass ducked his head, squeezing his eyes tight, and the cat yowled in protest, burrowing its face into Torin’s hair.

Once accustomed to the glare they found themselves on the fringe of a tiny glade. Spotlighted upon an ancient rock on the bank of a shimmering quicksilver pool, a White Maiden sat knitting blankets of low-lying mist, skeins of gossamer moonbeams spilling from tortoise shells by her side. Needles of petrified dragon tears flashed in the moonlight as the faery’s fingers flew, barely pausing to bind off one project before beginning a new one. Each completed piece was borne away by hosts of lunar and dryad moths to be spread atop every pool, lake, pond, stream, moor, pasture and meadow across the Nine Kingdoms.

As the trio skirted the pool, the being gave no indication that she was aware of their presence; her fingers neither faltered nor dropped a stitch. In the lead, the cat sprang upon the rock and plunged into the closest mound of moonbeams, leaping and playing like a dolphin among the skeins. The Maiden gave no notice of its antics. Torin clambered up and knelt before her. From lessons learned long ago in school, he knew that she would be unable to perceive him unless he positioned himself in her direct line of sight. Gazing intently into her eyes, he was relieved to see their opaline luster begin to brighten and clarify. As though waking, she blinked several times then returned his gaze. Head canted, she regarded him quizzically, her fingers never pausing.

He was at a loss. The lessons had not covered this part. What was the protocol - should he state his purpose or wait for her to pose the question? For what seemed like hours but was only a matter of minutes, he faced the Maiden, fighting to keep his gaze from wavering while she never blinked or spoke. Finally, tossing decorum to the wind he began his tale. Starting at the beginning, he left nothing out and ended on a plea - begging the faery to divulge where his love was and what he must do to save her.

She continued knitting, giving no indication that she had heard him, yet never taking her eyes from his. Torin fought to keep his expression passive for he could feel his impatience rising and it wouldn’t do to antagonize her. Binding the last stitch, she relinquished the finished blanket to her couriers and folded her hands in her lap. A slight smile twitched the corners of her mouth. He could not tell if it was one of kindness or cunning.

In a voice as brittle as glass
she whispered that only one wish
could be granted - the latter.
For the former…
he already knew the answer.

Torin rocked back on his heels, bewildered. Again, the smile curved and the Maiden pointed to her right. Breaking contact, he followed her direction and gazed in stupefaction at her mark - the cat - lying entangled in celestial yarn. Disbelief flooded through him and he locked eyes with the faery again. At his expression her laugh pinged around him like chipped ice.

She has been with you
from the beginning
but you saw
only what you thought to see.

As though aware it was the topic of conversation, the cat stopped playing and extricated itself from the glimmering thread. Jumping onto the rock it walked to Torin, sat down and placed a paw upon his knee. Dazedly he picked the animal up, holding it so they were eye to eye. His arms trembled. Could it be true?

Nothing in the cat’s gaze revealed that a woman’s soul was trapped within. It simply stared gravely back. Torin turned his head and threw a silent question to Fortenbrass. The horse slowly nodded, yes.

Cupping the cat’s head, he stroked its cheek. A pink tongue licked a wet trail across his palm, a tear glistening in its wake. Torin swallowed hard. It was she.

Cradling Solace, he turned once more to the Maiden. Solemnly he asked what needed to be done to free her.

Only the most profound strength…
unceasing resolve…
unquestioning faith…
unconditional love…
can breach the curse.

Two in one body.
The façade…a cat
The soul…a woman.
Which face shall you see
as you kill…to liberate her?

She has lived…
eaten…
hunted…
slept…
as a cat
and now must die as one.
Nine lives…
must be extinguished
in nine dissimilar ways.

Only true love’s hand
can ply the sword…
set the flame…
smother the breath…
hold beneath the surface…
subdue the struggles
commit the deeds
that will set her free.

But…
heed these words…
ponder them…carefully…
for if you
falter…hesitate…stay your hand
but once
she will be dead in truth.

His heart stumbled and cold rushed through his veins. Lurching to his feet, the cat gripped against his chest, he leapt to the ground and…stopped. His first inclination was to take Solace and run, but where. She needed his help and he had sworn to do whatever was required. But, this…never had he imagined…it would be something like this.

He’d never killed except to eat and even then found no pleasure in the hunt. Now he was supposed to butcher something he loved and not with just one quick clean stroke but in nine different ways, each more horrific than the last. How could he, and live with the deed?

The cat wiggled free of his grasp and stretching up placed her muzzle against his chin. Looking down, he saw her…Solace…gazing back at him, her eyes filled with love and trust. In that moment his fate was sealed.

Holding her close he kissed the soft fur of her head as his hand unsheathed the knife in his belt.

Fortenbrass was torn between the desire to aid the man before him and the knowledge that he must not, under any circumstance, interfere. Reluctantly he turned away, instantly recoiling upon finding that the White Maiden stood beside him. Uncertain he glanced toward Torin, only to discover that a cloud of mist now screened him from the glade and mitigated the dreadful measures being carried out.

The Maiden glided closer. He fancied he could see infinitesimal windstorms gusting within her chalky eyes. He could neither retreat nor advance. A shiver skipped along his spine as an elegant fingertip traced a line from his forehead to muzzle. With arms spread she skimmed his body with splayed fingers leaving the skin itching, tightening, constricting in their wake.

Finished, her fingers lingered on his neck then drifted away. Smiling benevolently she raised high on her toes and kissed his trembling lips then, before his stunned gaze she dissolved into particles of moonlight. A breath of wind puffed around his ear, a voice whispered reassuringly…“All will be well.”