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The Witch and the Sunflower Girl: A Halloween and a Christmas fairy tale
By Erik
2011
Copyright © 2011 by Erik Corradino
All rights reserved. No party of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system or transmitted, in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording or otherwise, without prior permission of the author.
Library of Congress Cataloging-in-publication Data
Corradino, Erik. The Witch and the Sunflower girl: A Christmas and Halloween story.
ISBN-10 0615478514
ISBN-13 9780615478517
Holiday story-Christmas
Halloween
Fairy tale
This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events or locates or persons, living or dead is coincidental.
This book is dedicated to my parents
Acknowledgements
I would like to thank the staff at the Editorial department; Peter Gelfan, Teresa Kennedy, Jane Ryder, Christopher Fisher and Doug Wagner.
The Witch and the Sunflower Girl: A Halloween and a Christmas story
By Erik Corradino
2011
Once upon a time a cursed old woman waited as she did every day at the town square. Mud splashed onto the bottom of her skirt as a cart filled with corpses passed by. The sky was gray. It was cold. The townsfolk walked in the town square around the dried-up stone fountain. No one made eye contact with anyone or smiled; they were expressionless, as if they had nowhere to go. The church across the street was empty and the toy store next to it was long abandoned and in ruin. An air of hopelessness hung over the town like a cloud.
The old woman sat at a rotting wooden table with an opaque crystal ball, hoping for someone to come by so she could read their fortune. She was the only fortuneteller in all the land. It was both her gift and her curse. A great knight dressed all in red on a dark brown stallion rode by and nodded at her as he headed to the king’s foreboding fortress on the hill. An old soldier on crutches lurched by just behind him.
“I’ll tell your fortune,” the fortuneteller said.
“I have nothing to hope for but good news.” He paused. She uncovered her large crystal ball and looked in. It glowed faintly and changed colors: green, yellow, orange and then deep blue. She began; “I see a winter with snow white as sugar covering the lands. I see you with gold in your hands, and I feel you shall have love, for it is our deeds that create reality.”
“Thank you.” He gave her some worthless paper currency with the king’s image on it, for that was all he had.
The captain of the king’s guards and a few of his men came upon the square just as they did every day. Their rusty chain-and-scale mail armor clinked and clanked, and their ill-gotten silver rings and necklaces were dull with dirt and food. They barged into the crowd and pushed people aside without regard. The captain wore more silver than all his men put together. He stooped from the weight of all the tarnished silver around his neck.
“Hello,” said the old woman. The captain stopped, turned and walked toward her.
“Fortuneteller!” The captain put his hands on the table and leaned forward, staring at her with his wolf-gray eyes.
“Yes, my lord.” She looked away from his gaze.
“I would like my fortune read.” She could smell his rotten breath.
She uncovered her crystal ball and gazed at it thoughtfully. She saw her own future by seeing her past, when she was a beautiful young princess living under a terrible curse. Her own image whispered to her: “We make our own fortunes with our hands. Your tide of fortune has come.”
The old woman covered the ball and glanced up at the captain of the guards.
“You have riches and power. There’s no need.”
“Fortuneteller!” He stood toe-to-toe with her.
“Yes, my lord?” She met his fierce gaze squarely.
“I didn’t ask your opinion but for your service, old woman.” He touched his pointy beard with his devilish fingers.
“I cannot give you your fortune. You already have it.”
“Why?”
“Are you asking out of your own free will?” she asked. He paused and took a small step back.
“Yes,” he said.
“Then I refuse.”
“You refuse?” The captain let out a wicked laugh.
“I’m refusing to tell you your fortune!” Her eyes darted at him in a sharp glance.
“Old woman!” The captain grabbed the handle of his broadsword. His jaw clenched; his eyes glittered. “Old woman, I want my fortune read!”
She bowed her head and looked away. She put her ball into her rucksack as if she were about to walk away.
“If you refuse …” he threatened.
She looked him right in the eye, waiting for him to look away. He stared back at her, just as all bullies do. She turned her back on him.
“If I refuse? What then? It cannot change your fate! I have to refuse! I must! In fact, I want to see the king!” She waited for him to react.
“Arrest her!” He slammed his fists on her table. They looked at each other for a half a second; the captain’s face went crimson.
“But, sir, what are the charges?” one of the men asked.
“Do it!”
They grabbed her and kicked over her table. Her crystal ball hit the ground like a black iron cannon ball. She smiled, defying the tyrant as they hauled her away.
* * * *
She found herself in a cold stone cell, both her arms chained to the wall. The rusty shackles hurt, cutting into her flesh. The air was dank. She coughed and could see her breath smoking in the cold air. The orange flame of a torch flickered across the dungeon floor, the only light in the prison. She couldn’t see the other cells or prisoners. All the cells faced the same direction and were separated by thick stone walls.
A voice called out to her, echoing in the chamber. “What are you in here for?”
“Who’s that?” the fortuneteller asked. She got up and took a few steps away from the wall, as far as her chains allowed.
“I’m a hunter. My family was starving. I’m here because I hunted on the king’s lands.”
“I’m a miner,” came another voice.
“I’m poor. I mined silver from the king’s mines,” the voice said.
“I’m a black cat. I’m here because of bad luck.”
“I’m here because I refused an order of the king’s captain of the guards,” the fortuneteller said.
“What order did he give?” asked the miner.
“He wanted me to read his fortune.” Her voice echoed in the stone tombs.
“Can you give it?” Asked the curious cat.
“Why should I?” The dungeon echoed with her anger.
“So you’re guilty?” the cat insisted.
“Yes.”
“All three of us are innocent,” the black cat assured her.
“Why did you do refuse?” The hunter asked.
“I needed to see the king. It’s my fate. I haven’t seen him in so long.”
“Why would you want to see him? Is he a relative of yours?” the cat put in.
“Maybe.”
The doors opened from above and a few sets of feet clinged and clanged as they headed down the stone spiral staircase to the dungeon.
“Old woman.”
She didn’t respond to the captain’s voice.
“I have a name.”
“Old woman, you’re going to see the king.”
“I shall damn you!”
“The damned shall damn the blessed? You’re a bigger fool than I thought.”
A guard came into the room and uncuffed her from the wall and put on a new set of rusty shackles. He dragged her past the other cells. Holding an untold number of forgotten souls, the dungeon was a massive underground maze of blackened stone, far larger than she’d thought. When she passed by the prisoners, she saw that their faces were pale with fear.
The guards brought her to the king’s throne room, where the vaulted ceilings were so high they could barely be seen through the gloom. A massive stone golem blew a horn to signal the king’s entrance. Perched above the throne was a pair of wicked gargoyles laughing and smiling at her below. The floor of the hall was an enchanted black mirror; she could see dancing reflections and shadows on the surface. The distraught king sat on his throne, his beard dirty and his armor rusty. He didn’t make eye contact, seeming to be in another world. As she stood before him, he didn’t recognize her. Strange, horrible voices echoed in the distance.
“I wish you’d listened.” the fortuneteller said. “You chose the wrong fate. Can’t you see? We’re all cursed!”
His gaze was empty. The guards took her back to the dungeon.
* * * *
The captain came down the stairs soon after and walked to her cell.
“I have spoken to the king. You’ll be fined and released. Do you have any money?”
“Yes, I have some paper marks with the king’s image on them.” She handed him a fistful.
“No, I mean real money.”
“I have gold coin in my pocket.”
“Open the gate,” the captain said to the guard. The guard took out a large rusty skeleton key and opened the cell. He then took out a dagger-shaped key and uncuffed one of her hands.
“Let me see the coin.”
She dug deep into her pocket and struggled to take out a brilliant sun-colored gold coin she had hidden.
The captain’s eyes glowed with greed. He smiled a cruel smile. She glared at him.
The guard uncuffed her other hand.
The captain snatched the coin from her hand and tested it with his teeth. He examined the image of the dragon on the coin and the strange writings on it. She looked away as he escorted her out of the dungeon and set her free near the fortress’s kitchen. The guard said nothing and walked away. He threw her backpack at her feet, and it sank into the mud from the weight of the crystal ball.
A pair of eyes studied her from behind the cobblestone wall and then disappeared. She waited until they peered at her again and disappeared once more. Behind the wall, a voice came from around the corner of the king’s kitchen.
“Why do you hide?” She glanced around, looking to find where the voice was coming from.
“I hide since I don’t know you.” The voice squeaked.
“Well I don’t know you, either.”
“Then that makes two of us.”
“You sound like a goblin.”
“You sound like a goblin!”
The eyes peeked around the stone wall again.
“I’m Wilfred, the cook.” He was small, dark green and hunched, with long ears and bulging eyes.
“I am fortuneteller,” she said. He stretched out his hand and she shook it. She noticed that his fingernails were like the claws of a gargoyle.
“I’ve heard of you. Are you a witch?” He turned and motioned for her to follow him into the open area of the kitchen.
“I can be.”
“Can you tell fortunes, too?”
“Sometimes. Fortunes are the tides of time.”
“So you’ve seen the king’s dungeon and lived?”
“He was more accursed than I suspected.” She shook her head.
“So you wanted to see him?”
“I had to. It was of my free will.” He eyed her closely. She knew she couldn’t hide her anger. Indeed, it was clear that he had seen it. She contained herself and let it simmer, hoping it would not destroy her.
“Do you want to eat?”
“I’m very much hungry.”
He gave her a plate of roasted pig and a sharp silver knife and fork, along with a goblet filled with the king’s fruity wine. Other goblins hovered around the great stone ovens. Some shoved black coals into the glowing orange ovens; others turned massive pigs with apples in their mouths on black iron rods. Fat dripped into the flames and sizzled. The goblins paid her no mind.
“You know you’re stealing the king’s food,” Wilfred said.
“So you say, yet you steal it for me.” She cut a piece of pork and chewed and drank from the king’s golden goblet. The fat ran down her chin. She wiped it with a fine linen napkin.
“You eat fast.” He put more food on the table.
“I was hungry.” She ate again, as fast as a hungry wolf.
“So, how many were down there?”
“Three that I spoke to but many others.”
“So they let you go. I guess you were innocent,” he said.
“I’m guilty,” she said. She clenched her jaw and frowned.
“Strange, very strange. The world is upside down!” The goblin shrugged his shoulders and shook his head. “I hate to see the good as guilty and the evil as innocent. Did you know you were going to be arrested?”
“Yes!” The fortuneteller jumped up and clenched her fists. “I hate injustice!” Tears of rage came out of her eyes; her face was bright apple red. She wiped her tears, took a sip of wine and sat down again.
“But you did nothing to avoid it? Injustice, I mean?”
“Yes, I had to do it. I confronted it!” She looked at him to hide the meaning of her words.
“So this is a riddle.”
“Our choices are trade-offs. They must be understood for curses to unravel. I must be going now.”
“Must you? Why do you evade?” She looked away from him as he asked.
“I have too much to hide. There are too many riddles to solve. And yes, I must go.”
“Where are you to go now?” he asked.
“I have a home. I must tend to it or it will fall further into ruin.”
“I see. Why are you so sad?” the goblin asked. He took a piece of pork off her plate and ate it, licking the fat from his fingers. She looked at him and shook her head.
“This kingdom is cursed! I’m cursed! You’re cursed! It must be undone!” she said.
“We’re all cursed,” the goblin said. “Nothing is right. But how can you change anything?”
“There are tests I must pass. We all make our own fortunes by watching the tide in our own affairs,” she said.
“So the future isn’t always set? Yet you tell fortunes.” The goblin poured himself a cold glass of ale and took a long sip.
“I sometimes see the consequences of the paths we choose. Our fate is the outcome of our choices. It was I who set the wheels of history in motion, and now I must steer my destiny,” she said.
“When the time comes, you shall make choices that shall be enchanting or your bane. You have the greatest currency of all: time,” the goblin said. “But before you go, take this.” He gave her a charred wooden stick with a strange tip.
“What is it?”
“A goblin’s candlestick. Some call it a wand.”
“For?” As she asked, she looked at the stick. It was black, but the tip was white, like opaque glass, yet strong and flexible.
Wilfred nodded. “For you to light your way out of the darkness. This wand will one day make the land bloom, a gift from a goblin that loves the dark. All that I want in return is for you to undo the blight of these lands and help me clean the ashes out of the ovens.”
“Yes, I will. Thank you.” She then picked up a broom and swept the ashes away.
* * * *
The cobblestone road gave way to gravel a mile or two outside the town. It was too dark to see, and she stumbled as she walked. One couldn’t even see one’s one own hand. She shivered and took out the goblin’s wand. She closed her eyes and touched the tip and it glowed with a bright, colorful flame. She touched the flame again; it warmed her but could do her no harm. The light carved a trail out of the blackness and she started walking home. A great knight dressed in black armor rode toward her on the path and nodded as he passed. A few minutes later, she saw a man and a woman holding a child, walking toward her tower, the witch’s home.
“Which way do you go at this time of night?”
“We come to find a great medicine man to heal our cursed child.”
The fortuneteller lifted her glowing wand above the child. The child smiled. She was small, a tot. Her hair was curly like coiled springs and her skin smooth as marble, but pale, as if life was slowly leaving her. She looked haggard. She coughed a raspy cough. The child reminded the fortuneteller of herself when she was younger.
“Did anyone follow you?” The fortuneteller asked.
“No,” the mother said. Her smile held hope, but her eyes were sunken with fatigue.
“A medicine man?” the fortuneteller repeated. Her face changed. She touched her face to hide her emotions.
“Yes,” the father said.
“You come to the right place but not at the right time,” the fortune teller told them.
“We don’t understand,” the mother said.
“The man that you look for was put away by the king a long time ago.” She looked up to the sky and closed her eyes for a full second.
“Why?” The father asked.
“He failed in a task.”
“But he was the best,” the mother said.
“The best cannot always reverse fate.” She smiled at the father.
“How do you know this?”
“I was his wife in another lifetime. A long time ago.”
“We’re sorry.”
“Don’t be.”
“Can you help us?”
The fortuneteller paused and thought for a moment.
“I am a witch and I am a fortuneteller. If people fail in their fortunes, they become cursed. Fortunes and fates are the consequences of the choices we make. But let’s see if I can heal the wounds of time,” she said.
“We have faith in you.”
“With faith we may be able to spin the gold of fortune,” the fortuneteller said.
They walked to the tower and she whistled a loud whistle. A large black wolf ran up to them. It had fangs like daggers. He wagged his tail and howled. The couple was startled and took three steps back.
“This is Lokam. He’s my pet. He will do you no harm.”
The dog walked up to the couple and wagged its tail and licked them and jumped up and down in happiness. On the doorstep was a jack-o’-lantern with a wicked, toothy smile. The fortuneteller opened the front door. The iron squealed, and there was a rush of ice-cold air.
“Come in. Welcome to my home.”
She instinctively touched the wand to the torches on the walls, and each one lighted up as she brought them to the main room. She touched a broom with her hands and it awakened from its slumber and started to sweep. The couple looked around. Dozens of suits of armor from different lands and kingdoms lined the walls, along with swords, halberds, spears, maces and battle-axes of wars from long ago. They seemed to be frozen in time yet alive, watching them.
All three sat at a large round oak table in the kitchen.
“What ails your child?”
“She was hurt by a spear as we fled a battle,” the father said. “Our town was besieged. She is now slowly dying. The king in a distant land wanted some child to prevent a prophecy some wizard told him. He cursed our child, and so we fled rather than be arrested.”
“She is losing weight and getting smaller and smaller,” the mother said.
“For how long?”
“A few days.” The fortuneteller saw that the child was skin and bones. Her father covered his eyes with his hand and then turned his head away.
“Does the child eat?” the fortuneteller asked as she touched her hand.
“Yes.”
“A village doctor said she will soon die.” The mother took a sip of water from her sheepskin pouch.
“I’ll see what I can do.” The fortuneteller held back tears and bit the inside of her mouth.
“We understand.” The parents looked around and saw a staircase that led to some sort of basement, at the top of which something looked back at them.
“What was that?” The father jumped up.
“What?”
“A face, a skull!” The mother rose and looked around her.
“Where?”
“At the top of the basement stairs! A rotting skull!”
“That’s just Margret, a lich. She lives down there.” The fortuneteller turned but saw nothing.
“A what?”
“She’s a lich. She’s dead. She’s a zombie but has a mind. True zombies have no minds.”
“A ghost?
“Kind of. She’s harmless. She just scares people.” The fortuneteller smiled.
“Margret, stay downstairs! You’re scaring my guests!”
“OK!” Margret said.
“Now, let’s see.” The fortuneteller went to her bookshelves and studied the old yellowed pages of many leather bound-books: The Book of Tombs, The Book of Necromancy, The Book of Enchantments and Cures, The Shaman’s Totems, The Druid’s Book of Forests and Animals, The Bard’s Book of Songs, The Blacksmith’s Guide to Majestic Weapons, The Secrets of the Magi, The Manual of Curses and Spites for Witches and Warlocks, and The Book of Alchemy and Potions. Page by page, she read various potions, spells and ancient incantations.
“Humm.” The fortuneteller took a large black cauldron from her kitchen and put it near the stone fireplace. She lit the stove next to the fireplace with the snap of her long fingers and pulled a few wiggling, squirming golden eels out of a jar on the shelf. From another jar she took a few Cyclops eyeballs, and from another a few dragon’s teeth. Finally, from a cabinet, she grabbed a few crushed dwarven rubies from a mine in the ice mountains.
She placed these things in the cauldron and put it over the fire. She paused and thought for a moment and went to her bookshelf for another book. Then she went to the cellar and got a small vial of the king’s blood and added it to the simmering ingredients in the cauldron.
“What do you think she has?” the father asked.
“That’s the wrong question to ask. If this works, the medicine will discover what she has.”
After a few minutes, the fortuneteller dipped a large ladle into the cauldron and smelled the potion. She poured it into a small wooden goblet. The parents gently awakened their child from her nap. She smiled and coughed. The fortuneteller noticed that the child’s eyes were green as summer leaves. She handed her the cup and the girl took a cautious sip.
“That’s all she needs if this works.”
“At least you have given us hope.”
“Hope, you say? Hope is perhaps a curse, for it’s a dream that may never come to pass.”
The parents looked at each other and said nothing. The fortuneteller noticed but pretended not to.
“I’m feeling OK.” The child looked at the fortuneteller. Her face was no longer as pale, and she seemed to be filling with sunlight.
“I would like you to tell me a story,” the child said.
“I can’t say no to an angel.” The fortuneteller gave her a kiss on the forehead. She pulled up a chair and sat down.
“Once upon a time, there was a man, a dreamer who dreamed a dangerous dream. He didn’t dream like other men but dreamed when he was awake. He dreamed of fame and fortune at a time when the world was in endless war, village against village, kingdom against kingdom and brother against brother. The people hated these wars and dreamed of peace and justice. His brothers and sisters died, soldiers were killed and the lands were red with blood. But he decided to end all that. The warrior went on a quest to faraway lands and into a cave that led to the underworld. The great warrior stole a sword of fire from one who had failed in his quest. When the denizens of the underworld saw the warrior attempt to leave, they closed the mouth of the cave, but he escaped with the sword.
“He then made friends with one village and had alliances with another and warred against the rest. He saw war as chess and played it as a master; his opponents were fools and were vanquished one by one. Little by little, he united the people and finally created peace. They elected him their king. He built a glorious castle with 30 spires and a thousand rooms for all the world to see. He brought justice to the people and became the richest and most famous man in all of the lands.
“One day, the king was visited by his childhood friend, a man he hadn’t seen for many years. He was now a sorcerer and told him of a legend of a great dragon whose blood gave one power and whose silver sarcophagus gives one life. The wizard wore a dark cloak and had a staff with a small ram skull on top. He had a short dagger in the shape of snakes on his waist.
“The king’s own daughter, a seeress and learned in many ways of magic, warned him that his desire for fame and power would make him a tyrant and a slave, but he didn’t listen. All the wars and battles had changed him. She begged and pleaded, but he still didn’t listen. She even showed him the future, for she could capture glimpses of things to come in her crystal ball.
“Not long after, the king set out on a quest, just him and his sorcerer friend. They traveled far and wide, over deserts and through forests and then into vast mountain ranges, until they came upon the beast’s lair. They entered the cave; the yawning teeth of stalactites and stalagmites greeted them. The cave was black as a pit of doom; the king couldn’t see as he stumbled in the dark.
“ ‘Who’s there? Who dares enter my lair?!’ a booming voice of thunder cried out.
“The king saw two glowing red eyes in the darkness. The eyes were like flames of hatred.
“ ‘I’m an adventurer.’
“ ‘Adventurer? What do you seek?’ The hideous voice said.
“ ‘I seek fame and fortune.’
“ ‘In what? My death? Such vanity shall curse you and your lands,’ the dragon hissed and let out a hideous laugh. The king drew his glowing sword of fire.
“ ‘Why are knights so quick with swords and slow with tongues?’
“ ‘I’m here to see you.’
“ ‘You have no free will, young knight. You’re drunk with vanity.’
“ ‘You just guard gold all day and night,’ the young king replied. ‘You sleep and then eat heroes! What do you know?’
“ ‘Shall I entertain you or devour you?’ the voice growled. The glowing eyes then disappeared in the blackness.
“ ‘I prefer to be entertained.’
“ ‘Entertained by murder and blood?’ the dragon asked.
“ ‘That’s the mother of history,’ the king said.
“ ‘History? You want to be remembered? You have just cursed yourself.’ The dragon’s words echoed in the caverns.
“High on a ledge above them, the wizard let loose a massive spark from his staff, blinding the dragon with bright white light. It let out a roar of pain.
“ ‘Strike him!’ the wizard said.
“The king struck the dragon with his mighty sword, beheading him.
“Its head fell; it was beautiful. Its scales were like jagged plated armor, and twisted horns emerged from its skull. Its mouth was like a massive alligator’s, with rows of huge white teeth. Its tongue was blue and its eyes glowed like massive, exotic gems. The king walked to it and touched it; it was still warm with the last vestiges of life. The wizard lit the cavern’s torches with his staff, revealing vast riches. The fires made the shadows dance along the walls of the dragon’s sinister temple. The ceiling was many ships high, with hundreds of pillars to hold it up; it was a place fit for an army of giants. Thousandsno, millionsof gold and silver coins littered the floor. Treasure chests bulged with colored gems and brilliant ingots of gold, silver and platinum. Among the riches were fallen heroes, their skeletal remains surrounded by armor and broken swords.
“ ‘You must drink its blood for its power.’ The sorcerer stood over the great dragon.
“Though already drenched in the dragon’s blood, the young king snatched up a gold and silver chalice. He pierced the heart of the dragon, and blood poured into his cup. As he drank it, he gagged and choked and tears came to his eyes. The muscles on his face strained; his neck became deformed and scarred. The king stood and let out a roar of rage. The wizard smiled and took only a silver tomb from the halls of the great dragon as his reward.
“The young king went back to his kingdom with massive treasure, which he stored under his fortress. But he no longer smiled, no longer laughed. His wife, the queen, noticed the change. One day, the king had an argument with her and she fell ill. When she failed to recover, the king tried to revive with a vial of the dragon’s blood. She awoke and left him, never to return, and is now a spirit in the outlands. It’s rumored that the wizard now sleeps in the silver coffin of a priest who destroyed those who burned his temple in revenge. He drinks wine from the priest’s skull. He is never seen.
“One day, his young motherless son became ill, so the king went to a shaman in the village, a man known to be the greatest healer in all the land. The shaman tried alchemy and enchantment and used every herbal thing for many weeks, yet the son of the king passed soon after. The king asked the shaman what happened, and when he didn’t answer, the king had him taken away.
“After that, the kingdom fell into ruin. The king now walks the halls of his fortress all alone, in a suit of rusty black armor, never making eye contact with anyone and speaking only to himself.”
“You tell the history of this kingdom well,” the child said. Her parents smiled at the fortuneteller and she smiled back.
“History is a story of wishes, dreams, memories and nightmares.”
“What’s a wish?” the child asked.
“It’s a key to our dreams. It’s fate that brought you here, and as a seeress I sense this.”
“Then I’ll make a wish for you.”
“Thank you.” The fortuneteller smiled.
“Maybe I can save you?” the child asked.
“We all need to be saved.”
“What do they call you?”
“My name is Fortuneteller. I have the gift of sightsometimes.”
The child smiled a beautiful smile “Are your wishes worth your sight?”
“Where are you staying tonight?” the fortuneteller asked.
“We’ll go to the Red Dragon Inn. We don’t want to impose,” the parents replied.
“Outside, I have a small cabin where you can stay tonight. Tomorrow morning, Lokem shall escort you to the inn.”
“What can we give you for your help?”
“I wish to do this for free, but I cannot, for I am poor. Some silver if you have it will be fine.”
The man handed her a few small silver coins. She looked at them; one of them was blackened, one clipped at the edges and the third brilliant and shiny like a mirror.
“Thanks again,” the mother said.
“Don’t thank me. There are no guarantees. I don’t know if this will work.”
“You have given us hope.” The father shook the fortuneteller’s hand and hugged her. The mother got up and did the same.
* * * *
After her visitors had settled in, the fortuneteller went into the dank cobwebbed cellar with an old leathery book called The Book of Life and Death. It had strange charts depicting waves of candlesticks, exotic pictures, colors of deep purple, dark green whirlpools and nautilus shells of magical art. Margret the Lich looked at her and disappeared again in the darkness. The fortuneteller lit a few candles, which glowed blue and green, and recited a few incantations from the book.
“Malanori Balatzar!
The breath of the dragon, to charm men and women,
Death is one with life, the alpha and Omega are one.”
She blew out the candles and went upstairs. She didn’t know what to think about the feeling she had about the child. Strangely, she couldn’t sense the child’s fortune. Something was different. She went to sleep and dreamed. She dreamed of her memories, the day she met her future husband, the great healer and shaman. A few days after losing her mother, she’d run away and was lost in the great forest. She came upon a palace that was having a great ball, and it was there that she met him. She remembered when her husband had first showed her this tower he’d made, after they were married. It was beautiful back then. She remembered the days they sailed the world with the Arabian sailors over the great blue oceans and traveled to the great white mountains of the North. The world shattered like a million mirrors when she woke from her dream.
The sun’s rays cut through the stained-glass windows from above. Ribbons of light glowed in the room. She took off the bearskin rug that kept her warm during the cold autumn nights. She had some tea and ate a few fruits and nuts from the orchard. Then she noticed that the family was gone. They must have left early in the morning. She whistled for Lokam and gave him some Wapiti jerky, which he chewed on. Then, gathering her knapsack and her crystal ball, she walked toward the town.
As she neared the Red Dragon Inn, she spied a great commotion. People were gathered around and she could see the girl’s parents in the center of the crowd, weeping. She approached them.
“She’s gone,” the mother said to her.
“I’m sorry.” The fortuneteller wiped a few tears from her eyes.
“We had hope,” the father said.
“Hope.” The fortuneteller closed her eyes for a brief second as she said the word.
“She kept us going. You have a great heart.”
“Hope is but a dream. Even the greatest sorcery cannot create it.”
“I know,” the husband said.
“Did you have something to do with this?” The captain of the guard’s voice rose as he approached them. He put his hands on his hips. Two of his men stood behind him.
“She did nothing. She only offers her condolences,” the mother answered.
“I see, I see.” He kicked the town chicken as he walked away.
The parents took the fortuneteller’s hand and held it.
“We still have faith,” the mother’s tears, like diamonds, fell from her eyes.
“Hope.” The fortuneteller closed her eyes and thought about that one word.
A few days later, the fortuneteller cut some roses from her garden and decided to go to the graveyard. The sun set fast that day. Owls and bats flew above her as she entered the cemetery.
“Who’s there?” The gravedigger called out.
“It’s me, Fortuneteller.”
“Ah, you want to tell the fortunes of the dead?”
“Nay.”
“What do you seek?” he asked. He held up a lantern made of a skull whose eyes glowed with light. By that light, she could see that he wore an eye patch and was balding, with stringy white hair.
“I seek to see the dead that shouldn’t be.”
“We rest upon them.”
“I know,” she said.
“We’re their spirits, in a way.”
“We’re the walking ghosts,” the fortuneteller replied. “We’re their memories and they are our history.”
“Yes, ghosts perhaps.” The gravedigger smiled. “I will leave you to pay your respects, my lady.” He walked away, carrying the flickering skull lantern with him.
The fortuneteller walked around the cemetery, with her wand lighting the way. She saw a pair of eyes look at her from the branches of an old oak tree. It was a large great owl.
“Hello,” it said. “Which of the dead do you seek?”
“I seek the newest.”
“Ah yes, the poor child. What a shame! That the currency of time was taken from someone who is rich with it.” The owl shook its head.
“Yes, time,” the fortuneteller said.
“Fate is the thief of hope. Fate or not, the world takes from us and we give to it,” the owl said.
“Which way?” She looked around.
“You were going the right way.”
“Thank you.”
She walked over a hill and past a thicket of trees and bushes to an old section of the cemetery where there were a few large ruined tombs.
A white wisp passed by, screeching and howling. It was her husband’s spirit.
“You haunt me.” She took a step back out of fear. Then she took a step forward out of love.
“We’re all haunted by our pasts and by the things yet to come. But be rest assured, I shall be free and rest when the curse is undone.”
“I shall do my best.”
“My love,” the ghost said in a rattling voice that sounded like icicles.
“Yes, my dear?”
“Have you come to see the past? Or your future?”
“I can only see others’ possible future, but I’m here to see someone from my past.”
“Ah.”
“But we all become ghosts, don’t we?”
“If we are lucky, spirits,” the fortuneteller said.
“Yes spirits. And if not?” The ghost raised its spectral hands toward the other graves.
“Rotting corpses,” she said.
“Forever in forgotten tombstones,” the spirit said. “What do you seek?”
“Another’s fortune. One that didn’t come to pass. I need to understand something. Why my cure didn’t work.”
“Maybe it did work but this is a riddle. For you to see today, you must forgive. A tide is coming, a tide of fortune. Good luck, Fortuneteller. May your spells and enchantments succeed. May your choices create fortunes to lift your boat.”
“Thank you, my love.” She blew him a kiss, and he blew one to her.
She walked over a hill and saw the fresh grave of the child.
“This shouldn’t have happened.”
She stood over the grave and cried. She thought of her past, her dead husband, her parents, all her past hopes and dreams and how they’d faded in timea promising future that never happened. The child was gone. What of her dreams, her life? She had the currency of time on her side, but it wasn’t meant to be.
The fortuneteller’s tears fell upon the grave. She was about to place her roses on the grave when she saw a small flower blooming in the darkness. She knelt for a closer look. She touched it and the sunflower grew. She pulled her hand back, but then she touched it again and it grew a bit more. She moved her wand closer and the sunflower turned toward the light and bloomed in all its glory. Her heart raced from seeing something so beautiful. The flower grew and grew and then stopped. She didn’t know what to make of it. The fortuneteller then placed her flowers on the grave and turned away and walked back home.
* * * *
That night, the fortuneteller lay in bed and closed her eyes and dreamed of vines and flowers growing everywhere. When she awoke, it was already late morning and the ground had a new covering of snow, as if the world was covered in powered sugar. She drank some hot peppermint tea, ate a few nuts and berries and headed for the village. Before her eyes, the sky turned from gray to turquoise, the roads from muddy to paved with silver and gold. A great knight on a white horse, dressed in white satin, rode past her toward town. A reindeer with jingling brass bells around its neck and pulling a sled glided by. The ugly stone walls of the stores and shops of the town square were now painted and no longer in ruin. The empty church across from the fountain was full of people singing Christmas carols. Its stained-glass windows glowed with a rainbow of colors in the sunlight.
The toy store across the street was filled with happy children. Toy trains roared past red toy soldiers in the window display. No longer dried up, the fountain in the middle of the town square now gushed with water that jetted into a sparkling blue pool. The golden cherubs on top of the fountain blew their trumpets, and groups of children chased the town chicken, which had burdensome tarnished silver rings around its neck. The chicken stopped in front of her and she said, “Now you’ve become what you really are.” The former captain squawked and ran away.
On the hill, the king’s castle was no longer a dark, foreboding fortress but a fairy-tale palace, with dozens of spires and colorful flags snapping in the wind.
She made her way up the path to the castle. The guards’ brilliant armor was plated with gold. Inside the walls of the palace, the courtyard was full of people trading pigs, roasted turkeys, wheat and corn for gold coins. She recognized the black cat, the hunter and the miner from the dungeons. Now free, they exchanged gifts with the owl, the ghost and the gravedigger. They had smiles on their faces. Four knights were in the courtyarda red knight, a black knight, a white knight and a green knightall discussing the waves of history and the seasons of civilization.
In the main hall of the castle, the walls had been transformed to alabaster, and dozens of foreign princes and princesses roamed the halls. Golden horns sounded as the king entered and took his place on the throne. She looked at him from across the great hall. He wasn’t the old ugly tyrant he’d been when she was arrested but a man with a flowing white beard and a red robe. Next to him was the child she’d tried to save, now resurrected and flanked by her parents, the visiting royalty of a foreign land.
Before her eyes, the child morphed and grew into a tall, beautiful angel with giant white wings. She held a sword of sunlight, and a golden halo glowed above her head. Her eyes were like the fires of God. She smiled at Fortuneteller with the face of mercy. Fortuneteller looked at the king; his blue eyes met hers. He was no longer asleep; he’d awakened from his trance. Glancing down, she caught sight of her hands, no longer wrinkled and old but those of a young woman. She caught a glimpse of herself in a mirror as she walked toward the king. She was no longer an old woman but a young princess with long, curly golden hair and wearing a dark purple hat covered in the stars and crescent moons of the royal Magi. She sensed she could no longer feel some people’s fate as she once did. She looked at the floor of the throne room; it was no longer a black abyss but white marble with hints of gold.
“You’ve come again.” The king stood up. “I missed my daughter, the princess of my kingdom, my greatest warrior, the heir to my throne. You have saved the kingdom and set the world free.”
About Author
The author lives and works in New York City and is writing an International thriller.
Website
www.thewitchandthesunflowergirl.com