Rose and Prince Brendan

001c – The Missing Chapter Part 3 of 3

2010-04-03T07:03:00.000-07:00

This chapter belongs between the current chapters One and Two. Tom & Icy pointed out to me that Sienna mysteriously went from cow to woman. The Missing Chapter, Parts 1, 2 and 3, explains the transition from Chapter 1 to Chapter 2, for Sienna.

This is the final part of 3.

After a couple of extra heart beats, Sienna found her voice.

“Yes, queen, among other things. How do you know that?”

“I saw it in the fire," said Loviatar. “You also wish to be a powerful sorceress.”

“Yes, that too.” Sienna could not get over the transformation in the woman. Only older than Sienna by maybe ten years, the woman was a couple of inches taller than her. Her hair fell over her shoulders and down her back in thick black waves. Her skin was clear and alabaster. Her hands, held in front of her were narrow with long delicate fingers.

“Is this how you really look or is it some sort of magic spell?”

“The other was magic, or I should say, a trick of costume. One does not squander true magic when a bit of foolery will do.” Loviatar motioned with one of her fine hands for Sienna to sit at the table. Loviatar sat opposite her. As they did, the young girl came into the room with a tray holding two ceramic cups and slices of fresh bread already buttered and spread with jam. She placed the tray on the table, eyes downcast as before, and left.

“Are these children I see her yours?”

Loviatar motioned for Sienna to eat.

“In a manner of speaking.” She drank from her cup as she watched Sienna eat and drink. When Sienna had consumed two slices of bread, Loviatar spoke again.

“Tell me what you want.”

“You already know,” said Sienna.

“You must tell me in your own words what you want and then ask me for my help.”

“Are you a sorceress?”

“I am The Witch of Spawn Hallow.”

Sienna choked on the sip of the watered wine she had just put in her mouth. She could not believe her luck. The Witch of Spawn Hallow was rumored to be the most powerful witch in the land, crone and old hag reborn in each new generation. Sienna smiled. She took a deep breath.

“I want to be Queen. I want Prince Brendan to fall madly in love with me and for him to forget all about my sister, Rose. I want to be a witch. Can you help me with these things?”

Continue with Chapter 002 – Specious Species

001b – The Missing Chapter Part 2 of 3

2010-03-27T04:26:00.000-07:00

This is part 2 of 3.

Sienna stood. She held a hand out to the dirty and disheveled old woman at her feet. Loviatar sprang up like a ten year old child. She walked around Sienna, looking at Sienna from head to toe, the tip of a dirty pinky in her mouth. She made sucking noises on the digit as she watched Sienna brush herself off, smooth down her dress and finger comb her hair.

“You agreed to my demand of loyalty rather fast,” said Loviatar.

“You changed me from a heifer and back to myself rather fast.” Sienna tried to reconcile the old woman’s appearance with her spry movements and refined voice. “I thought you could do more for me.”

“Perhaps we can help each other.” Loviatar stopped circling Sienna and walked off into the woods.

Sienna waited for some sort of direction from Loviatar and got nothing but the woman’s back. Sienna trotted after the woman.

They walked many hours without break or food, deep into the forest where Sienna had never been. The trees were ancient, their trunks so wide three grown men could not circle them with their hands clasp together around them.

At one and twenty years, Sienna had a hard time keeping up with Loviatar who Sienna guessed must be at least three score in age. By the time Sienna thought she would need to call out to the old woman that they must stop to rest, they reached a clearing within the trees that sheltered a well kept cottage, a pen with goats and chickens, an outbuilding and a garden.

Sienna saw a young boy of eight tending the animals while a girl who must be slightly younger than her sister, Rose, worked the gardens.

Loviatar walked up to the cottage and entered. The children outside never looked up from their chores.

Sienna followed the old woman into the house to find her being attended by another girl about the same age as the one in the garden. The girl helped Loviatar off with her rabbit pelt cloak and the many layers of cloth that wrapped and draped her body. She placed these items one by one in a pile on a table.

Once all of the clothes were removed, Sienna could see the body of Loviatar, now only covered by a sheath, slim and supple like that of a young woman. Loviatar sat on a stool facing the flames in the fireplace as the girl plucked leaves and small branches from Loviatar’s hair.

Since she received no instructions, Sienna sat on a chair in an opposite corner of the room and rested while the girl groomed Loviatar.

The girl brushed out Loviatar’s hair until it shone and was tangle free. She brought over a basin of water and a cloth and she wiped Loviatar’s face. She slipped a dark green, soft wool dress over Loviatar’s head. It slid down the woman’s body and pooled at her waist. The girl left the room, never once lifting her eyes in Sienna’s direction.

“So, you wish to be a queen,” said Loviatar.

Sienna startled from a light doze when Loviatar spoke. Though low, her voice carried across the room. Loviatar stood and turned towards Sienna. Sienna sat with her mouth hanging open and eyes wide.

Where once a dirty, poor, old woman sat there now stood a beautiful, black haired lady with eyes so blue they glowed, picking up every stray bit of light in the room.

001a - The Missing Chapter - Part 1 of 3

2010-03-17T12:44:00.000-07:00

The Witch of Spawn Hallow stood in the shadows of the ancient larch and yew that made up the forest near the little farm where the sorceress, Ma-Sha, had just changed five red headed women into five fawn-colored cows. A dark haired man had left only minutes before, passing within feet of where The Witch hid, camouflaged by the green and browns of her clothes and the twigs and leaves woven into her hair.

She waited, hunkered down within the underbrush, until Ma-Sha left in the opposite direction. The young girl Ma-Sha had left unchanged went into the thatch-roofed cottage. The cows wandered into a pasture behind the house.

After several hours with no sign of anyone else about, The Witch rose from her crouch, stretching bunched and stiff muscles. She pulled her rabbit pelt shawl securely over her shoulders, and stepped out into the open. Looking around to be sure she was alone, The Witch walked over to the cottage, peeking in at the windows to see what the young girl was doing. The Witch saw the girl working at hanging bunches of herbs from the cottage rafters. She sang a ditty as she worked. The one table in the house was piled high with stalks and leaves.

The Witch moved on. The girl was too homey for her. From what she had seen, The Witch felt the girl would be too much Ma-Sha’s creature to be of use to The Witch. Better try for someone who felt misused. The Witch head for the cows.

As The Witch approached the five cows, all but the largest trotted away from her. That cow walked right up to The Witch. The cow’s head was level with The Witch’s head. The Witch placed a palm just under each of the cow's ears, her rag wrapped fingers spread wide, their tips pressing painfully into the beast’s skull.

The Witch, her eyes closed, placed her forehead to the cow’s brow. They stood together this way, heads touching, for almost an hour. The wind rose and unseasonably cold rain poured down, soaking both and driving the other four cows into a shed beside the cottage. Hail pelted The Witch and the cow, growing to the size of crab apples. The Witch never moved. The cow shook and flinched as each ball of frozen water hit its body. Lightening struck the ground beside them and thunder shook the air.

The smell of burned grass and earth accompanied complete silence. The Witch sank to the ground drawing the auburn haired, beautiful, young woman with her. They both knelt, foreheads touching, The Witch’s eyes still closed. The woman transformed from cow to human took shallow breaths.

“We must move from here,” said the woman. “We can not let Rose see us.” The woman spoke quietly. She took hold of The Witch by the elbows and raised her up. The woman held The Witch around the back, supporting The Witch and guiding her towards the forest. The woman led The Witch to a downed tree trunk, helping her to sit.

Both looked back through the trees to see Rose cautiously peek out of the cottage door, walk out into the yard and call out.

“Sienna, Scarlet, Poppy, Phoenix, Flann.” Rose walked around the cottage as the four cows hiding in the shed trotted out. Rose moved towards them but they skittered away from her and ran for the trees, avoiding the spot where The Witch and the woman waited. The woman laughed and collapsed on the log next to The Witch.

The Witch clamped her left hand onto the woman’s right knee.

“Your name?”

“Sienna,” said the woman. She shivered.

“You will call me Loviatar.” Loviatar’s grip tightened on Sienna’s knee. “Say it.”

“Loviatar.”

“Say, ‘I, Sienna, am Loviatar’s creature. I swear my allegiance to Loviatar.’” Her voice got lower and deeper as she spoke.

“I so swear,” whispered Sienna.

“No! Say it exactly as I spoke it.”

“I, Sienna, am Loviatar’s creature. I swear my allegiance to Loviatar.” The ground shook.

013 - Clean Up

2010-03-02T16:28:00.000-08:00

Pulling a knife from his belt, the knight holding the reins, slit the throat of the horse. When the blood from the wound stopped gushing, the horse lay still.

The two knights stood over the beast, both shaking their heads as they looked at the animal. Cook approached them.

“Sires,” she said. She waited for the men to look up at her.

“You require something from us, Madam Cook?” The knight held his knife point down, the blood drying on the blade. His hand around the hilt shook, his knuckles white.

Cook looked at the knight, the man’s blue eyes almost hidden behind his squint.

“Mayhap, I should send the butchers to carry away the body and prepare it as meat for the poor?”

The second knight spit out a laugh.

“Nay,” said the knight. “Prince Otho will lament the death of his favorite horse once he is in his cups tonight, do you not think, Eoghunn?”

“Peredur has spoken true, Madam Cook,” said Eoghunn. “Come tomorrow, His Highness will cry over the beast’s grave and have it blessed by a priest. He will consider any animal of his to be beyond the bellies of his lowly subjects.”

“Tis a great shame,’ said Cook. She nodded her head to the two knights and waddled back to her own domain.

Eoghunn turned to the water trough as Rose climbed out. He held out a hand to steady her as water dripped from her wet frock onto his leather boots. She lowered her head, gave a slight curtsy and ran towards the barn door.

Peredur joined Eoghunn at the water as Eoghunn washed his knife.

“New lass,” said Peredur. He watched as Rose disappeared into the barn. “Comely from what I could see.”

“Save your wenching thoughts,” said Eoghunn. He wiped his cleaned knife on his breaches to dry it and placed it back into its sheath. “Find some men to take the horse away and start digging a pit. Me thinks it best to begin on the orders we know to be forth coming.”

“Where, pray tell, do we dig?”

“Next to the grave of the last horse Prince Otho killed,” said Eoghunn.

“Do we begin the search for the next war horse he will end up killing?” asked Peredur. He spat on the ground.

“It would be wise for you to keep such comments as thoughts.” Eoghunn looked back at the destrier, flies buzzing around its neck. He shook his head and cleared his throat. “I do not wish to bury you today, too, brother.”

Peredur gave a slight salute to Eoghunn, a corner of his mouth upturned.

“Once you have organized the burial party,” said Eoghunn, “gather a hunting party. We must bring the Prince the carcass of a dog before the day is out.”

012 – Death and Defilement

2010-03-01T12:48:00.001-08:00

Rose left the kitchens, muttering about the ridiculousness of someone refusing her help. She had forgotten the bad weather and that the sun had yet to rise. She plowed out into the rain, splashing mud.

Once in the center of the yard, she stopped and cursed her stupidity. Wet from head to toe and now dirty, too, she felt lost. She needed an occupation to dispel her mood and her feeling of uselessness. She slogged through the slush to the well by the barn. The least she could do was haul buckets of water to fill the trough. The rain would not be enough and she could pay Huard back for the deeds he had done to help her.

She pulled on the rope holding the bucket in the well. The Great Dane, Prince, approached her from around the corner of the building and stood behind her as if guarding her. She had forgotten about the big, black dog, but now thought of his protectiveness fondly.

As Rose brought up the first bucket of water and poured it into the stone basin, most her amarulence over being dismissed by Cook began to fade. When she dropped the bucket back in the well, the rest of her bitterness went with it. She began to hum to herself as she continued to work. She lost herself in her thoughts. The sun began to peek over the bailey walls.

A big, white horse came charging passed the well, taking Rose by surprise. Startled by the closeness of the beast and its wild ride past her, she barely moved quick enough to prevent being trampled. She fell into the trough.

The mud from her dirty feet defedated the water in the basin. The water would be spoiled until the dirt settled. It would be a long while as Rose thrashed in the water from the shock of falling in. By the time she hoisted herself into a sitting position with her head above the water, she heard the yelling of several men, a dog barking and horses neighing.

No one came to her aid.

Rose looked over her shoulder. She saw Prince being chased by a couple of knights, while Prince tried to bite a man sitting on the ground who was trying not to be trampled by the white horse. One of the knights grabbed the reins of the horse and pulled it away from the man on the ground. Complete chaos reigned. It increased as people from the kitchen came out to look.

One knight leveled a cross bow with a nocked arrow at Prince. The dog yelped as the arrow, let loose, grazed Prince’s left hip. The dog ran off as the assectation of another arrow occurred. A third arrow followed the second, glancing off of the barn wall.

The knight with the crossbow bent down to help the man on the ground rise. The knight held out a hand to him.

“Are you hurt, Prince Otho?” asked the knight.

Prince Otho stood. He grabbed the crossbow from the knight. He shot the white horse through the neck. The knight holding the horse’s reins barely had time to move before the animal dropped to the ground and legs kicking in the air.

“I want that dog found and killed,” said Prince Otho. He threw the crossbow and strode from the yard.

The sun breached the bailey walls.

011 - No Light

2010-02-22T11:59:00.001-08:00

Rose woke to the sound of the doors sliding back on Bea and Marg’s room. The room was dark. No lamp or candles were lit and the sun had not yet risen. Bea and Marg worked in the kitchens so they had to rise before everyone else in order to have food prepared for everyone to break their night time fast.

Rose tossed back her quilt and stood.

“There be no call for you to rise,” said Bea from the dark barn hallway.

“The rain be pouring from the sky,” said Marg. “You can not work in the garden in the rain or in the dark.”

“I can help in the kitchens until sun up,” said Rose.

“Cook will not allow it,” said Bea. “Go back to thy bed while yea can. Otherwise, yea will only be in the way.”

Marg and Bea left Rose in their sleeping quarters. Rose sat back on her pallet wondering what she could do. She was not sleepy. She would go in search of a candle or lamp to light the room. Perhaps there was something she could do in the room. Rose pulled her dress over her head and smooth down her hair after combing it briefly with her fingers.

She walked down the barn’s hallway, touching her fingers along the wall to help her in the dark. She moved slowly, peeking into stalls as she passed them but she could not see anything. She made it to the building’s opening. The sky in the East was tinged with a hint of light but the castle’s yard was still very dark.

Rose used her memory of the day before to head in the general direction of the kitchens. She managed to find the door when one of the sculleries came out leaving the kitchen door ajar. Rose entered the kitchen and found organized chaos. All of the workers were bent to their tasks, performing without pause. Rose went over to the pantry, thinking this the most likely place to find candles. A young girl was in the room.

“Excuse me,” said Rose.

The girl turned to face Rose. The girl bore a close resemblance to Huard. She seemed to be the same age, too.

“Are you Huard’s sister, by any chance?” asked Rose.

“Yes, ma’am,” said the girl.

“What’s your name?”

“Hanna.”

“Well, Hanna, Huard has helped me several times. Perhaps you can, too.”

The girl stood still, watching Rose.

“Is there a candle in there that I could have?” asked Rose.

“No, ma’am.”

“There are no candles?” asked Rose, her voice rising. Rose moved a little further into the storage room.

“There are candles,” said Hanna.

“Can I have one?”

“No.”

“Why ever not?” asked Rose.

“Because yea do not need one.”

Rose turned to see Cook standing behind her.

“I need a candle to see in the dark of my room,” said Rose.

“Your job be in the garden,” said Cook. “Not in your room. So no candles. Now off with you. You be in the middle of our making the morning meal. If we are late with the victuals, his lordship will be unhappy.”

010 - Rest for the Weary

2010-02-22T11:58:00.001-08:00

Rose nibbled on the pasty made by Marg and sipped the broth cooked by Bea while the two women talked quietly about people from the castle and surrounding village. Rose let the names wash over her as she did not know anyone other than Bea, Marg, Cook and Huard. After Rose yawned for the third time, Bea took the empty broth cup from Rose. Bea took it into the scullery to be washed.

Rose gave the last of her pasty to Prince, the big, black Great Dane, sitting at her feet and watching her every move.

“Do not let Cook see you give the animals food,” said Marg, “she will take the same portion from ye rations.”

“I thank thee for the help you and Bea have given me,” said Rose. She stood and brushed off her skirts. Prince rose at the same time. “Ye both have been kind to me.”

“Ye are a sweet girl.” Marg linked her arm through Rose’s and guided her to the door where they met Bea coming out of the scullery. She took Rose by the other arm.

Prince walked behind them until they got outside. Once out in the yard, he walked in front of them, looking into the shadows.

“Truth to tell,” said Marg, ” ye have made our lives better in this one day than in many days past.”

“Aye,” said Bea, “Cook were so nice because His Lordship were that happy with his victuals.”

The women entered a barn just across the yard from the kitchens. They walked past several stalls that were occupied. Rose heard snores and rustling movements and the “hawk, hawk” of a bird. The building smelled of fresh hay.

They reached the back of the barn where the space was separated from the rest of the building by sliding doors.

“Our home,” said Marg.

Rose could only tell the room smelled clean and felt spacious yet warm. It was too dark to see much but she was impressed that they had a room all their own.

“The bell be rung early for us to start the morning meal,” said Bea as she led Rose to a spare pallet. “Crawl under the blankets and git ye right to sleeping. We be safe and warm here.”

Rose did as she was bid. Marg and Bea did not waste any time laying themselves to their rest. Prince laid down at Rose’s feet facing the closed doors.

009 - Making New Friends

2010-02-22T11:57:00.002-08:00

Rose woke doubled over and coughing. Her eyes burned. Someone pushed her back and put a pot of ripe urine under her nose. She gaged and retched, her empty belly cramping.

“Git ye away from her,” bellowed Cook, “ye will kill her for sure.”

Cook swatted at Huard who almost spilled the urine out of the shallow bowl he had in his hands. He walked as fast as he could to the door, tossing the foul liquid, then running to the scullery to get the bowl cleaned.

Rose watched him from her reclining position. She could just raise her head enough to see him, but lay back down when she saw the air in front of her shift and move. She felt the scratch of rough woven fabric under her hands. She shifted and felt grain shift with her.

She closed her eyes, too tired and too weak to watch what happened around her.

“Bea,” yelled Cook.

Rose jumped.

“Bring broth.”

Rose wondered if Cook could have a normal conversation.

The thin, black-haired woman Rose had seen put the rosemary Rose had picked in the stew pot earlier, brought over a leather mug full of thick, rich, brown soup. More gently than Rose would have thought possible because of her bulk and her one loud volume, Cook helped Rose sit up so she could sip the soup. It had been left to sit. The temperature of the liquid allowed Rose to drink without burning herself. Cook cradled Rose’s shoulders with one beefy arm and held the cup for her with her other hand, moving the cup away if Rose took too much at one time.

“I let ye sleep during the supper,” said Cook, “We was too busy to look after ye until His Lordship had His fill. He was well pleased with the flavors you brought in from the garden. He sent special compliments down to me.” Cook’s cheeks pinked in pleasure.

Bea and the other women Rose had seen cooking earlier stood around her as Cook fed her soup and prattled on about the meal. Each smiled at Rose when she looked at them.

“When we was done, ye still be sleepin’ so I sent the boy to the laundress for her sheep bleach to wake ye up. Good ye stirred. His Lordship’s doctor bleeds ye dry.” Cook took a deep breath.

“Marg,” yelled Cook.

All of the women around Rose jumped. Rose jumped, knocked the mug in Cook’s hand and spilled some broth on her dress.

A blond woman moved forward half a step.

“That be Marg,” said Cook. “Don’t ye tell her, but she be the best pastry cook in these many counties.” Rose thought that Cook meant to whisper, but she was just as loud as always and therefore, Marg heard Cook’s compliment. She smiled.

“Silly woman,” said Cook, “git the girl a pie. She be too skinny. We need to fatten her up. We need her to work for more spices.”

Marg ran to the stone shelves next to the ovens where she took a pie from under some cloths. She ran back to Rose and handed her a pie the size of her fist.

“Small bites,” yelled Cook, as she stood. “I must git me to my rest. The morning comes early.”

Cook headed towards the door.

“The girls will show ye where ye can sleep,” yelled Cook. “Boy, git that mangy dog out of my kitchens.” Huard was no where to be seen.

A black Great Dane had wandered into the kitchen and sat down next to Rose. The big dog had put its chin on Rose’s lap and watched her, its eyebrows dancing on its forehead as it shifted its gaze.

Once Cook left the kitchens, all of the workers relaxed. Some went about the jobs of cleaning up tables and taking utensils into the sculleries to be washed.

Marg and Bea sat down on the grain filled bags next to Rose. Bea scratched the Great Dane behind the ears.

“We let Prince here stay with us until we take our rest,” said Bea. “He walks with us to our pallets at night and keeps the rogues away.”

“Ye can sleep with us,” said Marg. “We be right grateful to ye. Cook ain’t never been this happy. Ye be right welcome here.”

Prince barked low in his throat, as if in agreement.

008 - Cooking Up a Storm

2010-02-22T11:57:00.000-08:00

Rose’s stomach growled. She was hungry but wouldn’t be getting anything to eat unless she did some work first. She peeked in the kitchen from the doorway. The smells of roasting meats, simmering stews and baking pies nearly knocked her off of her feet. She walked away from the kitchen before she could no longer bring herself to leave, her mouth watering to the point of drooling.

The herb garden to the right of the kitchen was in terrible shape. Weeds choked most of the rows and squares of herb plantings. The herbs themselves, what few she could see, were brown and shriveled from lack of water and care.

A short fence surrounded the plot, more just a row of sticks poking up from the ground than an actual fence. Cross bars of branches lay on the ground where they had fallen from their posts, or had been knocked down by wind or beast, human or animal. A gate of sorts hung from its post by one leather thong nearly ripped through.

Rose decided the fence and gate could wait for their repairs. There wasn’t much in the garden for anyone to eat or steal. The way it currently looked she doubted anyone could tell the difference between what was edible and what was just greenery growing with abandon.

Rose hiked up her skirts and tucked them in the cloth belt around her waist. She would need to get down on her hands and knees to pull weeds and see if any useful plants remained. She began in the back right corner from the gate.

Rose cleared out leaves that had fallen into the gullies that made aisles around the square in this corner. She kept the dead leaves together in a pile. She would use them to mix in the dirt and feed the plants. She pulled one fistful after another of hawkweed and spotted spurge from the square mound of dirt before she could see that there were rosemary plants still growing healthily. She broke off several stems of the herb to take to the cook. Trimming the plants would help them grow.

She stood and looked at her work. The sun had traveled a full mark in the sky. At this rate, she would need a fortnight to weed the entire garden. She hoped Cook wouldn’t need fourteen moons to see Rose’s progress.

Each separate plant section was the same size as the rosemary plot: three lengths of the current Emperor’s boot. The entire garden was five squares wide by eight squares long. Each square was separated by gully paths half a foot wide with one path going around the outside of the squares just inside the fence that was a foot wide.

“Enough rest,” Rose said to herself, “if you plan on eating this day.”

She worked across the back row of squares in the garden. She found another rosemary square in the other corner plot. The next two squares in contained hyssop and the center square held lavender. Rose was able to harvest some of each of these. She had stalks of all three plants along with their flowers laid out in neat piles. By the time she had the back row done, the sun slanted midway in the sky to sunset.

Rose stood, brushing dirt from her hands and knees. She was hot and sweating. She looked around for somewhere to wash herself before going to Cook to present her harvest and hopefully receive something to eat. She was faint with hunger. She didn’t see any well or trough near by.

The boy Cook had given the goose to earlier in the morning to pluck came running past the garden.

“You, boy,” shouted Rose.

The boy stopped and turned to look at her. He pointed at his chest and looked at her questioningly.

Rose waved her hand at him, gesturing for him to come closer. He ran to her and slid in the dirt, pushing up a puff of dust.

“Do you always run everywhere?”

The boy grinned and shrugged a shoulder.

“Huard, isn’t it?”

He nodded.

“Where is the water for washing?”

Huard shrugged and began turning away from Rose.

“Wait,” said Rose, “where is the well?”

Huard waved for Rose to follow him and he took off running across the front of the kitchen.

Rose left the garden and followed as quickly as she could. Huard took her past the cows and to the side of what seemed to be a barn. There she found the well and a stone trough filled with water. Huard had waited for her to come around the corner. When he saw her, he began to run back in the direction of the kitchen.

“Wait,” Rose said.

Huard turned to face her but kept running backwards, smiling at her.

“Can you get me a cloth to carry the herbs in?”

Huard turned around again and took off at full speed.

“Crazy boy.” Rose shook her head. She went to the water trough and washed. She splashed her face and wiped it dry with the hem of her skirt, then smoothed down her dress. She leaned against the edge of the water trough. She would need to eat soon. The world spun in front of her eyes and her head contracted in and expanded out again. She took a deep breath and headed back to the garden to get her herbs.

When she reached the broken gate, she found a piece of fabric handing over a upright branch. Huard had now helped her twice. She would need to do something for him in return.

Rose gathered the rosemary, hyssop and lavender and went to find Cook. She entered the kitchen and was stopped by a wave of intense heat. Three fireplaces, each with their own pot being stirred by a kitchen maid, flanked the left wall. An oven fourteen feet in diameter occupied the back corner along the same wall. Two big men rearranged a sizzling pig and loaves of bread baked on a shelf above the porcine roast. In the scullion, a separate room on the right, maids washed utensils, pots and platters in stone sinks. Large wooden tables occupied the center of the kitchen, where maids rolled out pastry dough, or cut meat or peeled vegetables. The heat and noise was like a living being. Despite the chaos, Cook was easy to find. She stood at the back most table screaming at everyone else. Rose moved through the people to Cook’s side.

“Mind your pot, Bea,” shouted Cook. “If yea let the stew burn, yea ain’t gettin’ your dinner.”

A black haired, thin woman used an iron hook to move her pot away from the flames. She looked over her shoulder at Cook, whose attention moved on to one of the pastry maids.

“Yea dough is too thick, Marg,” yelled Cook. “I have told yea many a time.”

Rose wasn’t sure which woman was Marg, but all of the pastry girls bent closer to their work. Cook did not spare Rose a word or a look as Cook scanned her battlefield for slackers, traitors and deserters.

“I beg your pardon, Cook,” Rose said.

Cook either did not hear her or she ignored her. Rose could not tell which.

Rose laid her bundle on the table in front of Cook and opened it. The fragrances rose in the warm air of the kitchen. Cook looked down. She touched each herb. She rubbed a piece of rosemary between two fingers and brought them to her nose. Rose thought she saw a small smile on the woman’s face but it was gone too quickly to be sure.

“Bea,” yelled Cook. Everyone in the kitchen jumped.

“Put this rosemary in your stew,” bellowed Cook. “His Lordship will be well pleased with his dinner.”

Bea hurried over and took the sprigs Cook handed her.

Cook turned to speak to Rose, but Rose lay on the kitchen floor.

007 - Learning to Live

2010-02-22T11:56:00.000-08:00

Rose stood in the kitchen yard. The sun peeked between buildings. People ran in and out of the kitchen carrying things that were needed for the mid-morning meal. Chickens scurried between the feet of the people. Two cows tied to a post in the middle of a grassy patch to the right of the kitchen grazed in peace. Food waste, mostly fruit and vegetable skins, littered the ground. A neglected garden tucked against the curtain wall marked the back of the bailey.

A large woman with a knife in one hand and a half plucked goose in the other, blocked the kitchen doorway. Her dark hair, covered by a linen cap tied under her ample chins, poked out in all directions. She wore an unbleached woolen dress covered by a sleeveless overdress that was stained by various food juices. She vibrated with tension. She looked beyond Rose, never making eye contact. She searched the yard with purpose.

“Huard!” The woman bellowed out the name like a horn. “Huard! Get ye lazy bones here and finish this bird.” She waved the half plucked bird in the air to emphasize her irritation.

A young boy rounded the corner from the right at a run. He skidded on the peelings on the ground and bumped into Rose, knocking her down. He ignored her and turned to the woman.

The woman reached out with the goose, using it to clout the boy in the head.

“You laze about,” she said, “finish this job proper and well, or ye’ll get no bread this morn.” She thrust the dead bird into Huard’s hands.

“And don’t you lose one feather. His Lordship needs a new mattress.”

The boy ran off, hopping over Rose’s legs. Once Huard was out of her sight, the woman took a moment to look around. She spotted Rose rising from the ground. She planted both fists on her hips, the knife she held coming dangerously close to slicing her big belly.

“No begging before the morning meal,” she said. She stood guard over the kitchen entrance, glaring at Rose as Rose brushed lettuce leaves off of her skirt.

Rose gathered her courage. She took a deep breath and looked the woman in the eyes.

“I am not a beggar,” said Rose, “I am here for work. I wish to speak to the cook.”

“That be me,” said Cook, “and I have enough workers.”

Rose looked around the yard.

“I can tend the chickens.”

“The chickens tend themselves.”

“I can tend the cows.”

“The milkmaids tend the cows.”

Cook backed her bulk into the kitchen, while Rose thought in desperation of some work the tough woman would consider of value to her. Rose’s glance fell upon the garden with its brown, whithered plants.

“I can tend the garden,” said Rose. “I can grow and harvest herbs and brew tinctures and tonics.”

Cook stopped moving. She looked more closely at Rose.

“Can you make teas and salves?”

“The garden will need much work,” said Rose, “but once the plants have come back, I can begin stocking your pantry.”

Servants stood behind the cook waiting to exit the kitchen and other servants stood behind Rose waiting to enter the kitchen. They looked between Cook and Rose.

“Ye can stay for the span of a moon’s cycle as a test.” Cook turned back into the kitchen. She brandished her knife at the servants behind her.

“Get to work, ye worthless folk.”

“I haven’t eaten in three days,” said Rose to Cook’s retreating back. “Can I have a crust of bread?”

“Ye’ll eat after you work.” Cook threw her words over her shoulder as she left Rose to her own devices.

006 - Better late Than Never

2010-02-22T11:55:00.001-08:00

Boredom set in and with it a feeling of rebellion new to Rose. Sitting by a dirty, still pool of water for three days without decent food or drink or the company of her animals, she thought about how she wasted her time here on some fool’s errand. She tried to be the good girl she had always been, but a few strawberries and morning dew sipped from leaves did not sustain a happy mood.

Rose took one last glance at the smooth surface of the pond.

“No more.” She stood and turned to leave. After taking one step, she heard a light splash behind her and a liquid voice spoke.

“No patience.”

Rose turned back to the pond and saw a fish head breaking the surface.

“I watched your home with great assiduity,” said Rose, “and you did not acknowledge me until I decided to leave. You must be a male fish.”

“I watched you, too,” said the fish, “and you were quite boring.”

“I was bored.”

Rose and the fish stared at each other while flies buzzed along the grassy edges of the water.

“I’m hungry,” said the fish.

“I have no food for you,” said Rose. “I have not eaten for three days.”

“Why would you go three days without food? Are your brains addled?”

Rose bent down and picked up a handful of pebbles laying at her feet. She threw them at the fish. He ducked under the water before the stones reached him.

He peeked one eye out at Rose when the ripples settled. Seeing she wasn’t armed with more missiles, he came out more fully.

“Totally uncalled for behavior on your part,” said the fish.

“You hurt my feelings.”

“You behavior makes no sense.”

“Ma-sha told me to wait here for you,” said Rose, “so I did.”

“Do you always do what you are told, even when it makes no sense?”

Rose hesitated. She did not want to answer.

“Well,” said the fish.

‘Well, yes,” said Rose. She stamped her foot, then plopped down on the ground. She covered her face with her hands and cried.

“Oh, quit your wailing,” said the fish, “and tell me why this Ma-sha sent you here.”

Rose lifted her head. She glared at the fish. She wiped her nose on her dress sleeve.

He looked back without blinking (mainly because fish can’t blink.) A fly flew over his head just out of reach.

Rose sighed and shrugged a shoulder.

“Ma-sha told me to take you to the river.”

“I don’t want to go to the river.”

“This pool is dirty and lifeless.”

“It’s my home,” said the fish, “besides, I would die before we reached the river. You have no bucket.”

“Ma-sha said I must take you to the river to find my path in life.”

“I don’t know who Ma-sha is but I know your destiny is not to kill me,” said the fish. “How about this once you do not do what you are told?”

Rose leaned forward and reached out to snatch the fish. She lost her balance when it dove under. She fell into the fetid water head first. Brackish liquid went up her nose and down her throat. Green putrid slime threaded through her titian hair like ribbons bought at a witches faire. Her long dress, soaked and heavy, pulled her down, dragging her away from the surface. She lamented how she had never really lived just before she passed out.

The fish breathed a puff of air into Rose’s mouth. She revived and with the fish’s help, she reached the surface and the grassy bank. She lay half in and out of the water, gasping.

“Your blind obedience almost got you killed,” said the fish.

“I will leave you in peace.” Rose climbed out of the water. She wrung out her skirts.

“You won’t be back?”

“No, I will discover my destiny in another way.”

“Then I will grant you one wish. Prepare yourself for your new life.”

Rose turned back to the fish.

“I wish to break my isolation and ignorance by living and learning at the palace.”

Rose found herself looking at the kitchen door of the bailey.

005 - Water Watch

2010-02-22T11:54:00.001-08:00

Rose sat by the pond. Ma-sha sent her a message three days ago with the tinker who passed by her tiny farm once every six months. The tinker thought the message risible but relayed it word for word.

“Each day, sit by the pond at high noon and invigilate. You will eventually see an iridescent fish stagnicolous. You must rescue the fish. Carry it safely to the clean river and you will find your proper path in life.”

So, Rose sat and watched the stagnant water for the fish living there.

004 - Cursed Cur

2010-02-22T11:52:00.002-08:00

“I curse you, Prince Brendan,” shouted Sienna. Not a niddering, simpering maid or a tyro in the world of magic, she locked eyes with Prince Brendan and spat at him. She struggled against her captors to free her hands, but the men held on tight. Her anger allowed her to complete her bane without gestures. Her auburn hair spilled across her face as she bent her head forward to take a deep breath.

“You faithless dog.” Sienna spat at Brendan’s bare feet.

His black hair in disarray, he still looked enticing to Sienna, especially in his nakedness. She would teach him to spurn her.

“Down on the ground with you and spend the rest of your life sniffing for the love you crave the way you sniffed after me.” Sienna cackled, her eyes rolling into the back of her head. She collapsed in the arms of the soldiers. A roan colored bitch lay in their grasp. The guards fled when a black dog sniffed at her tail. The man, Prince Brendan, no longer occupied the room.

This incident faithfully recorded by Brogan, amanuensis to Emperor Emyr.

003 - Older Than Dirt

2010-02-22T11:52:00.000-08:00

Sienna drugged Prince Brendan. She had no problem doing whatever it took to get what she wanted and she wanted him. Actually, what she really wanted was to be queen of a rich land and Prince Brendan seemed the best way to get her crown. Sienna knew he had antediluvian beliefs. He was, after all, older than dirt after being under Ma-sha’s magic spell for so many years. He thought of himself as a paladin. He wanted to be Rose’s hero but Sienna knew he would be better matched with herself rather than Rose. Prince Brendan tried to follow his chivalric oaths but the fact that he was with Sienna proved he only wanted to fulfill his own needs.

While Prince Brendan slept in his drugged stupor, Sienna prepared her spell. She took his pale kid leather boots off of his feet. She removed his red and gold brocade overcoat and deep purple velvet breeches. She sliced off his linen undershirt and braies and pulled off his silk stockings leaving him laid out on his bed naked.

Sienna brushed his hair from his face and ran her hands over his body. A crown would not be the only benefit to her machinations this evening. She began her chant while she marked Prince Brendan’s forehead, lips, throat, chest, stomach, groin and feet with the consecrated oil she received from the Witch of Spawn Hollow. The old crone had given her the words for the spell, too. Sienna had it memorized which was not easy as it seemed excessively prolix and tedious and it had taken her almost an entire moon’s cycle to commit it to memory.

This sorcery cost Sienna a great deal. She promised the hag her first born for the woman’s dark religion once Sienna had her way. The ineluctable results would come from Sienna’s intransigent plans and preparation. Prince Brendan would not escape her this time and Ma-sha would not be around to foil her plans.

The words roiled and boiled from her lips as she threw incense on the fire. The flames shot up, momentarily brightening the room. She didn’t understand the words she said but she could feel their invidious and evil nature. When the flames died down, Sienna looked at Prince Brendan laying on his satin bed quilt. Sweat poured from his body and his muscles contracted and released in angry spasms. She continued to sing her binding song but the closer she got to the end the more violent became Prince Brendan’s convulsions.

Before the last word left her mouth, Prince Brendan’s eyes snapped open. He jumped from the bed and covered Sienna’s mouth with his hands, preventing her from completing her spell. They struggled as he called for his guards. By now, the spell was broken and could not be completed without starting from the beginning again.

Sienna tried to lay the blame for the evening’s happenings at Prince Brendan’s feet but the evidence of her plan littered the room.

002 - Specious Species

2010-02-22T11:51:00.000-08:00

Prince Brendan sat on the balcony outside of his bedroom in the palace. He felt a sublunary thrill being back in his old home and that scared him. It amazed him how easily he fit right back into his old life even after five generations had passed. He found he enjoyed as much as ever the servants that responded to a look and a nod. He relished the attentions of the vacuous maidens littering the ballrooms and conservatories. He savored the seven course meals, fine wines and opulent gaming rooms. He delighted in once again owning a destrier; raven-wing black, ornery as a wasp and named Despair. Prince Brendan liked these things so much, he feared he would revert to the person he once was, to the person who deserved to be cursed.

The hereditary line for the throne passed onto cousins when he had become ensorcelled by the witch, Ma-sha, but his story had become legend. They believed the broken spell when he returned. He could tell some of his relatives worried about what he planned to do. If things had not been altered by magic, he would have been Emperor and his offspring would be the current ruling line. Many among his relatives heard the stories of how headstrong and controlling he had been and expected him to form an uprising. Oddly enough, he had no interest in reigning, so he lived with a certain amount of comity between himself and the current Emperor.

Weeks passed since his return home and he still did not know what he should do with himself. His thoughts drifted repeatedly to Rose, the little herbalist and farmer. He pulled his mind forcefully from images of her. She was too young for him. She was too naive for him. She was too pure, too good, too sweet. He did pledge his life to her for eternity, but that was for her best interests not for his pleasure, so she was off limits.

He knew he did not want to rule. He wanted Rose, but promised himself he would stay away from her. He leaned his chin on his arms crossed on the balcony’s railing and looked down into the gardens below, hoping the moonlight dancing on the flowers would inspire him. His attention latched onto an auburn haired wench flitting from bush to bush, coming ever closer to the lawn just beneath him. When she reached the space, she looked up at him. He recognized Sienna, Rose’s oldest sister. The last time he had seen her, she had been turned from a chicken into a girl and then into a milk cow by Ma-Sha. His curiosity tweaked and not a little bit worried about Rose, Prince Brendan went down to see what Sienna was about.

A specious lass, Sienna sidled up to Prince Brendan when he arrived in the garden. Her perfume wafted through his senses, making him dizzy with desire. Sienna led him to his rooms like a docile puppy. She poured and offered him a goblet of wine. He drank all of its contents. His mind went blank.

001 - Birds of a Feather

2010-02-22T11:49:00.000-08:00

Rose grew up on a small farm, on a small planet, in a small part of the universe. Her herb garden and her small flock of barnyard fowl made up her world. Her entire memory consisted of this small place. Some vague shadow in the recesses of her mind of a sweet old woman named Ma-sha intruded from time to time but she could not really say if it was a dream or a blip from a past reality.

Small herself, standing at just under five lengths of the current Emperor’s boot, her lack of stature and her nescience of a world beyond her own, did nothing to hinder her happiness. Rose was perfectly content (most times, anyway.) Some nights around the full moon, she felt a restlessness. The tingling on her skin at night when the silver rays of the moon touched her went away fast enough in the bright light of the sun, replaced by the sweat of hard work.

Rose passed her days plucking weeds from between the delicate stems of ruffled parsley, fragrant mint, sharp lavender and intoxicating rosemary. Her herbs grew throughout the year, either in her open garden during Spring, Summer and Autumn or on the sills of her kitchen windows during Winter.

The five copper chickens in her yard provided her with plump brown eggs, each of which always contained two yolks. She assumed magic floated in the air to give her such bounty.

The girls followed her around the close, clucked at her when she washed in the morning and roosted on her bedposts at night while she slept. Each had a name which they answered to when she called them.

The big auburn one, whom Rose always thought of as the oldest, she called Sienna. The reddest one, she named Scarlet. Poppy, slightly orange in color, preened when shining objects reflected her image. The one with the fiery temper, Phoenix, made the most noise. The smallest and youngest one, Flann, always followed last in line. The propinquity between them and her should seem odd to her but she knew it existed just the same.

A little old lady from Wooded Glen came to Rose’s garden once each new moon to collect a basket of herbs Rose gathered for her. In exchange, Rose received a silver sickle coin, cheese, tree sugar and grain flour. The crone would deposit her payment on Rose’s table, pick up the basket, touch her finger tips to Rose’s cheek and then leave without a word spoken.

No one else visited Rose.

It was almost time for her to come again. Rose took her time choosing only the best stems and leaves from her plants. Some were in flower, so she nipped a few heads off to add as a special treat for the woman. Kneeling in the afternoon sun, Rose noticed a susurrus over her left shoulder. When she looked, she saw nothing. She bent back to her work. This time, a whisper in her right ear disturbed her. A light breeze blew threw her hair. She rose to her feet. She looked into the woods, the direction from which the sounds had come.

The beldam tottered her way through the fields to Rose’s garden fence. She hunched her shoulders. She watched her feet shuffle the dirt into small clouds of dust. She looked older than ever before, with gnarled knuckles, spotted skin and a dingy dress.

Rose’s clutch of chickens pecked at the gray dam’s skirt hem. She did not kick at them as usual. Rose shooed them away. She took the hag by the elbow, led her to the stool under the eaves and sat her in the shade. Rose fetched her a ladle of cool, fresh, well water. The woman barely lifted her head as she sipped the liquid. A sob escaped her lips between sips. Her shoulders shook. The hens clacked at the enfeebled biddy.

Rose lifted the woman’s chin and saw the tears pooling on her lashes. Rose saw something she might be missing reflected in those sad eyes. Pity and compassion overcame her. She kissed the old woman on the mouth. A clap of thunder rang out. Rose fell on her ass in the dirt. Her head hit the ground.

When she looked up, a handsome young man sat in the place of the ancient. He cried into his hands.

“Forgive me,” he said, “forgive me.”

Five, red-headed sisters stood around the man. They poked and prodded him.

Rose looked behind her. There stood Ma-sha. She helped Rose up.

“Be still,” said Ma-sha. The quintet cowered at a look from her.

“I see the arrogant, young, Prince Brendan, is arrogant no more,” said Ma-sha.

“No, mother,” he said, “These many years in your shoes have taught me many lessons I will always value.”

“Then, you may leave to start your life anew.”

He stood. He kissed Ma-sha on each cheek. He bent down on one knee in front of Rose and took her hand.

“Your kindness broke the spell,” he said, “I pledge my life to you for eternity.” He brushed his lips on her fingertips, stood and walked into the woods.

The fivesome followed him.

“I see they have not changed,” said Ma-sha. She shook her head. “They need a few more years with a new perspective.” She flicked her wrist. Rose had five, fine, fawn-colored cows in the pasture.