“You cannot leave me here!” The young man yelled at his tiny prison cell. “Do you hear me? You cannot leave me here!” He beat his hands on the stone blocks and the thick wood door braced with metal brackets until his skin was raw and in some places, bleeding.

Hour after hour until his throat was hoarse.

Day after day until his strength began to fail him.

Finally he slumped to the ground, sobs wracking his body that was weak from lack of food and water.

“You cannot leave me here.” He croaked, his eyes red and his hair limp across his forehead. He stayed on the far side of the tower cell from the only other object in the room. Even in his broken state, his pride still remained and he shook his head vaguely, never taking his eyes off it.

“No. Never…never…never…”

Sitting in the only dash of sunlight through the tiny tower window was a spinning wheel.

Many years later…

It was the perfect day for a festival. The sun was high, the sky was cornflower blue and the clouds that dotted the heavenly expanse were fluffy and white and bore not a hint of rain or gloom. Its happy, summer gaze looked down on a prosperous village in the shadow of a large castle. And though the castle wasn’t the most handsome construct that had ever been seen, it was festooned with so many banners and flags it was nearly strangled. The castle had been built in the mountains. One corner of it was nestled against one steep incline while another corner dropped straight down a cliff face and looked down at a forest far below in a land that seemed a lifetime away.

It was separated into two unequal portions. The largest part was against the mountain incline and the cliff face. It had four turrets, two of which that looked down over the cliff and an impressively large keep that was at the very back and was adorned with a rather beautiful stained glass dome. The keep looked over the upper bailey and was hemmed in or part of the wall that surrounded it. Then there was a gap between the main portion and the smaller part which was made up of a gatehouse, a watchtower and lower bailey. Joining the two parts was a long, wide stone bridge. Under the bridge flowed a river that came down from the mountains, crossed beneath the bridge and poured itself down the cliff face into the valley far below.

Sprawled out before the castle was a village of stone, thatch and wood, of taverns and inns, homes and stables, a blacksmith, a cobbler and all manner of businesses that gladly sheltered under the protective gaze of the castle behind it. And the village was alive with music and festivities. Children had tied ribbons to trees and bunting from every sign, post and doorway imaginable and they ran through the streets squealing with delight.

Beyond the village there were fields and mountain forests and a road to the lands below. Despite the fact that it was a little out of the way, the village and castle were practically bursting at the seams with people and the road showed a steady stream of visitors continuing to flow in.

For one particular visitor in her hood and carrying her satchel, the crowds seemed to break and flow around her as if they were aware of her presence but unaware at the same time. It was a great advantage to an elf as she slipped in and out of groups of people talking, dodged children as they ran screaming and laughing past her and avoided the hammering of market stall owners crowing the much exaggerated virtues of their wares.

If one were to take notice of her they would have seen a fair face surrounded by a bright red wool hood that had white stitching. They might have noticed that her eyes were a particularly pale shade of green or that the single braid that had slipped out from the hood was so fair it could have been mistaken for white. But for the most part, she wasn’t noticed and for that, Jé Kinah was grateful.

It was not within her nature to seek out places where humans dwelt in great numbers but she had heard of a wild and ferocious beast in these parts and had felt the nudge in her heart that she had come to rely upon to guide her to go forth. So it was, on this fine afternoon, that she approached the village of Gaileth and found it in the throes of a festival of epic proportions. As she passed beneath the banner of eggplant and navy with the woman lying on a bed of lilies stitched in silver, Jé Kinah did wonder if she should come back at a less crowded, conspicuous time.

Still she was here and the road had been a long way up and it would be a long way down. What she truly needed was a horse. Perhaps she could purchase one in Gaileth. She would soon find out as she headed deeper and deeper into the rippling chaos.

There were acrobats and jugglers, jesters dressed in gay colours and dozens of young girls in the same eggplant and navy hued dresses as the banner at the village’s entrance. There were also many young boys yelling and striking at each other with wooden swords and charging off on wonderful imaginary adventures. The stalls of baker’s bread made her mouth water and the fruit bins of fresh peaches and plums made her stomach rumble. There were open spits with the cooks shaving pork, lamb and beef into flat bread for anyone who wanted one and the line was long.

At the village centre was a battle ring, a roped off square where a loud mouthed crier called out the next opponent of the knight in shining armour. And it was true, his armour did shine. It was polished to the point of reflection and in his hands was a jewel encrusted sword. His head was covered with a helmet, the visor was shut and a purple plume flowed from its peak. A line of hopeful men edged towards the ring, each one outfitted in bulking canvas bags stuffed with padding and then were sent into the ring. A crowd of women had also gathered no doubt to cheer on their favourite.

Jé Kinah watched the battles for a short while, noting that the knight was light on his feet and knew how to handle his blade. Even against such poor opponents he carried himself well. Small boys cheered the matches on while young girls squealed and screamed in hysterical excitement. And through the crowd Jé Kinah felt eyes on her shadowed face. A man at the far side of the square was watching her. Unlike everyone who surrounded him, he was dressed very in the best fabrics and design and he had a sword sheathed at his hip. His hair was either black or very dark brown and his eyes were dark. He was clean shaven and his lips were faintly smiling at her perusal. Realising she’d been caught staring Jé Kinah spun on her heel and headed in the opposite direction.

She made her way past small bonfires where they were burning, of all things, spinning wheels and a puppet showing a prince kissing a princess and a witch dressed in black screaming unintelligible curses. It was all very confusing.

Her skin prickled as she found herself nearing the edge of the village. An archery contest was being held on a large green that ran right up to the river. A single, solitary tree was in the middle the meadow and tethered to a nearby stake were a numbers of horses as well as one tied directly to the tree. A large crowd of spectators gathered to hear the crier explain the terms as he clambered up onto his little podium.

“Ladies and gentlemen, my name is Sixten and I am here to announce that the sleeping beauty archery contest is moments from beginning! In just a few short minutes, Lord Dagmara and his lady will join us on the green for one of the most profitable contests in the entire festival!”

A roar of approval rose from the crowd. Jé Kinah stood at the back to watch as Sixten, with his eggplant and navy tunic signifying him as someone of importance, preened at the attention and continued.

“Why is it one of the most profitable contests I hear some of you ask? Once a month you have the opportunity to win a purse from the castle treasury! Third prize is ten pieces of silver! Second prize is a purse of silver! And third prize is a purse of gold!” The people applauded. “But wait! For those who know this famous archery contest, you will know that the third stage target has proven impossible to hit! So, for anyone who is able to break this drought and hit that bull’s-eye, you will receive not only a purse of gold but also a stallion from the very stables of Lord Dagmara!”

He flung his arms wide to the horses that jolted at the attention.

“Is that not generous of our Lord?” The crowd agreed loudly. “And all you have to do is hit three targets! That’s all! Who here is capable of doing so?” At least a dozen archers bellowed their confidence. “Registrations are being taken now! One silver piece each. A fair price! Come on then!”

Jé Kinah joined those who wandered over to inspect the horses that were the bait for this enterprise. She had suspected that they would be nags, flea bitten horses dragged out for the paltry few able to complete the task and certainly not worth a silver piece admission. But the horses were fine and strong, their coats were shiny from good food and good health and they bore no defects from what she could see. They were worth far more than a purse of silver and possibly more than a purse of gold. Jé Kinah had never known a lord to lose money on these enterprises, so she concluded that the final target would be impossible to hit.

Her eye was drawn to the horse no one was approaching. It was tethered separately to the others and not with rope but with chains and cuffs. It was bound in a blanket of the same colours as the festival theme which only served to make its white coat whiter. There was no colour in its appearance at all except for its eyes…which were bloodshot red and angrier than anything she had seen before…even her own reflection.

“My lord,” she whispered, her will power only just keeping her from prostrating herself before the magnificent beast, “Eroin…”

“Here is your number sir and five banners. Next. Yes miss, can I help you?”

“I am registering for the archery contest.”

“This isn’t an amateur contest miss,” Sixten remarked in a patronizing tone, “the best archers within travelling distance come to participate. You’d probably best wait over with the other ladies and watch the tournament from there. No point wasting your silver.”

“My silver is as good as the next man’s, expert archer or no, so unless you have a reason to pass up easy money…”

“Just trying to spare you, miss. Here is your number and your five banners. Attach the banners to your arrows so we know which arrow is yours in the target.”

Jé Kinah moved away to where she could attach the thin strips of fabric. Her colour, she noted with a heavy dose of irony, was black. They were light enough not to affect the flight or the accuracy of the arrow by a significant amount but the stakes had suddenly grown higher. She was not playing for a steed to carry her onwards. She was playing for a life to be spared. She couldn’t afford an amateur mistake.

She didn’t stand with the other archers as she slid her satchel from her shoulders and set about removing her bow and quiver of arrows from the straps that held them to her satchel. After she had attached the strips of fabric to her arrows, she rechecked her bow, made sure the cord was taut and that everything was in pristine condition. She knew some of the other archers had noticed her and were having a light chuckle amongst themselves. A woman participating in such a contest was cause for mirth it seemed, at least, in these parts. But if they had known she was an elf…

Jé Kinah glanced up and around subtly. She removed her red cloak for it was cumbersome to use a bow in and flicked up the leather hood that was part of her vest so that it was secured over her tell tale ears. There were more things about herself that pointed to her true origins but humans weren’t the most observant of creatures and while Sixten had not said anything about non humans competing, given the fact that elves were thought to be extinct from the earth, Jé Kinah didn’t want to advertise the fact.

A bellow of trumpets announced the arrival of Lord Dagmara who was a man too round for his height and dressed opulently in the festival colours with gold chains and a gold band around his head. Not a king but certainly, in his eyes at the very least, worthy of almost the same amount of respect. A stunning young woman accompanied him with a vacant gaze in her eyes. Either she was utterly bored with the festival and her lumbering Lord, or she had far less brains than she had beauty.

Sixten bowed deeply to the Lord. “My Lord Dagmara, will you officially open the archery contest?”

The Lord, still reclined on his litter that was now resting on a specially built stage, smiled broadly across his rosy cheeks and raised his sceptre. “Let the archery contest begin!”

“Archers! Step up to the line!”

As the very last competitor Jé Kinah found herself at the far right of the line which was facing the river and the high, solid wall of the castle. Had one managed to cross the river without being swept away by the rushing current, a person would have found themselves unable to move anywhere. The thirty yard stretch between the river and the castle was entirely consumed by rose bushes to the point where it looked like a rose forest. The bushes had even tried to climb the walls and the roses that bloomed were the largest and darkest red Jé Kinah had ever seen. They also had the largest thorns she’d ever seen as well and their scent, even at this distance, could easily be smelt.

“The rules of the contest are thus.” Sixten announced. “There are three stages. Those who fail to hit the target, or within the four smallest rings of the target in the first stage are eliminated. Those who do, move on to the second stage. Those who fail to hit the target, or within the three smallest rings of the target in the second stage, are eliminated. Those who do will move on to the third stage upon which the winner must hit a bull’s-eye or the circle around it. You each have five banners attached to five of your own arrows. You can use all or just one arrow during each stage, however, once an arrow has been used, it cannot be recovered.”

In other words, Jé Kinah had to hang on to as many arrows as she could for the final round because she knew it was going to be a test of her skills. The first stage of targets were hung from the wall of the castle. They were large, at least three feet and had rings of colour around them, starting at white at the edges and then becoming smaller through black, blue red and ending at the yellow bull’s-eye at the centre which was the size of her fist.

“Archer one!”

The first man stepped up to the line. Jé Kinah tried not to roll her eyes at the politeness of the match. Most contests meant all the archers stepped up and loosed their arrows all at once. That way they could blend into the crowd and concentrate. It also meant the contest was over quickly. Going one by one meant it was dragged out and each and every archer felt the eyes of the enormous crowd that had gathered on the back of their heads, causing their hands to sweat and their vision to blur.

Jé Kinah waited and watched as arrow after arrow flew across the river, most hitting the targets within their designated zones. A few hit the stone wall and ricocheted into the rose bushes. They would never be recovered. By the time her number was called out, the five targets hanging from the walls were peppered with arrows and holes.

“Archer twenty eight!”

Jé Kinah stepped forward and heard the excited chatter of the people behind. She slipped one arrow into the groove of her bow and raised it up.

“Wouldn’t you be more comfortable without the hood, miss!”

Jé Kinah grimaced at the rude interruption which was barked down by Sixten. It wasn’t completely silent as she was the last of the first round and the crowd was growing a little bored. So she let loose her arrow and it struck on the outside of the first stage zone. There was a mild round of applause and several mutterings of lucky shot as she stepped back. Had Jé Kinah wanted to she could have hit the bull’s eye easily but a less than perfect aim would draw less attention…at least in the beginning.

The targets were hoisted over the edge of the keep and a servant held up flags of colour to show which archers had succeeded. The bulk of the archers moved on to the second round while the eliminated ones slunk away to nurse their wounded pride after failing to hit the target with all five arrows.

“Second stage of the archery contest will begin momentarily!”

Jé Kinah couldn’t resist rolling her eyes then reprimanded herself for such a betrayal of her emotions. She took a moment to glance at the horse she was playing for. It was standing stock still, its head turned towards the peaks of the mountains that were capped with snow. As she turned back to Sixten who was talking with Lord Dagmara, she saw the lord had been joined by the man who had watched over the sword fighting ring. Now his fine but practical clothes made sense. He was the force behind the lord and he caught her gaze once more. She looked away and did her best to yawn. Play acting did not come naturally to her.

“Second stage! A target will be loaded into a slingshot and fired into the air from the upper bailey. You will have as many chances to hit it as you have arrows in your quiver but remember! The third stage is almost upon us! Archer one!”

The first stage gave everyone a fighting chance to enter the competition. The second stage whittled out the good from the best. The archer would nod to the aid that held up a flag to another aid on the castle wall who would shout and in the next second the target would fly into the air, straight up and down. The targets were heavy so that meant they didn’t move about greatly in the strong breeze. But it was foolish to think they didn’t shift at all and a number of archers were caught out by not adjusting for it. Several archers used up all their arrows and still didn’t hit it or hit within the second stage zone. Most used at least two while a few archers hit it in one go.

Jé Kinah took note of these archers because they would be the ones to beat.

She wondered if she should hit the target in her first shot but then was concerned that if she did so, someone might question her lineage. She sighed and decided to hit the target but not in the zone the first time and in the second she hit close to the middle. With two arrows left she and seven others remained. Three of the finalists had one arrow left while another three had two which put them in the same category as Jé Kinah. Only one of them had three arrows left.

“Third stage of the archery contest! Cast your eye to the farthest turret. If you can see it perhaps you can hit it.”

It was an impossible shot. Hoisted up on the turret’s mast was a single target. It was in the windiest, most precarious position imaginable. All arrows that missed would plummet down the cliff face into the valley below, lost forever. And almost undoubtedly most arrows would.

“Archer nine, take up your position.”

Jé Kinah could feel the arrested gaze of the crowd. Their numbers had surged and they had gone from their noisy guffaws and chattering at the first stage to this silent tension that felt like it might snap. It was hard not to bear it herself and she shook it off with difficulty. She couldn’t afford to pretend to be human. She had to hit the target and keep one arrow in spare in case her aim wasn’t up to scratch.

The archers lost their arrows one by one. An unexpected gust, a startled pigeon, sweat on the fingers or in the eyes…the reasons were plentiful and the hits were none. The final archer before Jé Kinah stepped up. He had three arrows left. The first hit the side and spun away. He grunted and tried again. This one went wide. His final arrow lined up and she could see himself preparing mentally. There was no doubt he was excellent. But was he good enough?

The arrow thudded into the target and there was much debate about whether or not it hit in the designated zone. Jé Kinah shivered, tension having crept into her body despite her attempts to keep it at bay. The archer turned and looked at her, the respect for a fellow expert archer in his eyes.

“Excellent mark.” She said sincerely.

“We’ll see if it’s excellent enough.” He said and allowed her to take up position.

Jé Kinah swallowed and lifted her bow. The arrow feathers brushed along her fingers as she rested it along the sights and peered down the shaft. She stood, not counting the time that passed whether it was seconds or minutes or hours. She breathed and blinked, refocusing the target, on the almost imperceptible yellow spot in the very centre…and released.

It sailed through the air, straight and true and buried itself into the heart of the target.

The crowd gasped and for a moment all that could be heard was a fluttering of flags. Then they erupted like a volcano, cheering and whooping so that their voices bounced and echoed all around them until it was deafening. Sixten had a hard time getting them to calm down.

“Before we celebrate prematurely!” He cried and clapped his hands. “Enough!” They finally quieted enough for his voice to be heard. “Before we acknowledge this truly remarkable shot, the archer has yet to fire her final arrow.”

“I do not require my final arrow.” Jé Kinah told him.

“You mean you officially forfeit your final arrow?”

“Yes.”

“Such confidence!” Sixten glanced at the Lord who had been so swept up in the excitement he had forgotten that he had just lost a stallion from his stables. The man by his side looked at Jé Kinah then nodded at Sixten. “Very well! If she says she has hit it, then let us draw it down and see for ourselves!”

“One might say that was arrogant.” The other finalist archer remarked.

“Anything else would be a letdown, especially if I should miss,” Jé Kinah replied, “besides, why waste an arrow?”

Sixten was having trouble containing the crowd as they waited anxiously for the aid that would wave the coloured flag of the archer who had won. At long last a man appeared on the castle wall.

“Ladies and gentlemen…” He called and they all turned to look as the aid waved a black flag in the air. “She’s done it! The lady has hit the impossible target!”

Jé Kinah winced at the roar of the crowd and found herself propelled forward by willing hands that shook her hands, patted her on the back and offered their congratulations. Several times she felt her hood being drawn back and had to fight to keep it up. She burst from the crowd in front of the litter where Lord Dagmara sat up.

“No lord likes to part with gold and horses carelessly so I ordered Wischard to make sure that the third target was impossible to bull’s-eye. He assured me it was so. Now we know to make it harder for the next festival. From where do you hail milady?”

“Far South.”

“How far?”

“Farther than you have travelled I would wager, my lord.”

The lord seemed unperturbed by her vague answer. Wischard, the man who stood beside the lord, gave a slight smile. Their conversation was interrupted by the aid running up and handing Sixten a piece of parchment. He called out the third place, second place and finally first place, which went to the only other archer to hit the final target. Unfortunately his arrow was off by a good five inches. Sixten called out for cheers for the winners as they were presented with their prizes.

“…and an invitation to attend a banquet hosted by myself tonight,” Lord Dagmara offered, “for it would be an honour to have all the finalists and of course, the winner of the archery contest, in attendance.”

With a pompous flair the fat lord was carried away on his litter. Jé Kinah noted that Wischard stayed behind, clearly wishing to speak with her but she was already being drawn to where the horses were tethered.

“You have a remarkable skill,” Sixten gushed, no doubt regretting his earlier slight because of her sex, “and now you may choose your reward.”

“Then I choose that one.”

He followed the line of her finger to the horse that was shackled, bound and, from the muzzle around its nose, gagged. “I am very sorry milady, that horse is not part of the selection.”

Jé Kinah stiffened. “It is with the other horses.”

“Yes, I am aware but it is tethered separately and I do not have the authority to part with it. You see it is a dangerous animal and we used to have a competition regarding it…”

“What competition?”

Sixten glanced at Wischard who had joined the conversation. He nodded. “That horse was captured as a foal and since it has been old enough to take a grown man upon its back, it refused to do so. There was a purse of silver to go to the man who could stay on its back for one whole minute but no one was able. And for the last three festivals, no one has dared.”

Jé Kinah frowned. “You say the person who can stay on its back will receive a purse of silver?”

Sixten faltered. “…yes…”

“Add that to the purse of gold I have just won and against the stallion I was going to choose…if I stay on its back for one whole minute…will you give me the horse?”

Sixten gaped. “I am not…I do not…”

“Then let us ask someone who is capable of making such a decision.” Jé Kinah turned to Wischard who watched the negotiation with interest. “You, sir, are Lord Dagmara’s right hand. What say you to my proposition?”

He considered what she had said, in no hurry to rush to a decision. “A silver purse, a gold purse and a stallion for the snow horse,” he said slowly, weighing it all up, “if you stay on. Very well, I accept.” He held out his hand and Jé Kinah shook it, feeling a slight pinch to his grip. “Before we release, you should know that several men have been killed trying to ride this monster.”

“As it was pointed out so blatantly earlier, I am not a man.” She let go of his hand.

“Aid! Run and fetch a minute timer!”

A young lad ran off and Jé Kinah heard Sixten wasting no time in taking bets on how long she’d stay on the horse or even if she’d live or die.

“While we wait, may I approach the horse?”

“Of course. We had one man tried to sweeten it up before the ride years ago. It did him no good.”

Jé Kinah moved over to the horse. Its eyes watched her with anger fuelled intelligence and she knew it understood exactly what was happening. Its muzzle prevented it from biting her but she saw its head jerk as if it would have liked to try.

“I know what you are, Eroin,” she murmured, “and I know where you come from. I would like to set you free…if you will let me…” Her hand touched its pure white hide and a blinding fire ripped through Jé Kinah’s mind and she pulled back, startled. The horse glared at her, so angry it might have been steam erupting from its nostrils. She could hear some chuckling behind her and blotted out what the observers had to say. She tried not to tremble as she reached out again. The heat didn’t shock her so much the second time but it was only by grim determination that she kept her hand where it was. And finally, through the rage and fire she heard it speak.

Get your hand off of me witch!

“My name is Jé Kinah, Eroin and I want to set you free.”

I will not be ridden by any descendent from Adam!

“You must allow me to do so. If I ride you for one minute, you are mine and I can release you.”

Never!

“It is just one minute. A drop in an ocean. Please…you are dying here in this heat. You must return to the snow.”

If you attempt to ride me, I will throw you off and kill you where you fall!

“I have lived a long life. If I was killed by a creature such as you, I would die in peace.”

Liar!

“The timer is here. Are you ready?”

Jé Kinah breathed out. “Yes.”

Wischard came close. “You must mount it first and then a brave soul will unhitch the brace between its legs so that your wild ride can begin.”

“I understand.”

“May I know your name, milady?” Jé Kinah looked at him in surprise. “If Lord Dagmara had been here I would not have been free to cheer you on. I should like to know your name so I can do so.”

“It is Jé Kinah.”

Wischard nodded and stepped away. The brace was a chain that kept the horse from walking while it was tethered. Once unlocked, the front legs would be joined by a chain attached to shackles as would the back. It meant the horse could buck and run but because the right hand shackles were linked to a chain that circled the tree, it wouldn’t be able to go far. Its limit was about thirty yards from the tree trunk and Jé Kinah noted that the crowd had surrounded the tree but at a safe, forty yard distance.

She approached the horse and put her hands on the saddle. The horse tensed and she stroked its neck. “I promise I will set you free. On my word as an elf.”

Get away from me!

With no other petition to make she swung her leg over and rested in the saddle.

“Are you taking up the reins milady?”

“No. Unlock the brace.”

The horse was stock still and everyone had taken a deep breath. Jé Kinah gripped with her knees, filled one hand with mane and fixed the other tightly on the saddle.

“I wish you well, Jé Kinah.” Wischard said quietly.

Jé Kinah barely heard him, her mind focused on the moment the brace fell slack.

And the horse wasted no time. Its piercing whinny caused the crowd to wince and look away. When they finally turned back it was bucking and rearing, twisting and surging wildly, its screech like a beast of the forest, not a majestic Eroin. Jé Kinah was barely staying on. There was no doubt this horse was giving everything it had to throw her from the saddle. Many times her backside lifted high from the leather but her hands pulled her back down. She threw her weight to counter the Eroin’s surge and twists, leaning back as it bucked and tried to keep her weight centred. The world was a blur and she felt like she had been on the horse for hours, her body bashed about like waves on the rocks.

“Please!” She called out to it. “Please!”

I said get away from me!

Suddenly there was a shout and the crowd convulsed in excitement. And the horse became still. Shaking hard, breathing ragged breaths, Jé Kinah hardly knew what was happening as someone ran close.

“Milady, dismount. You have won!”

Regaining a little composure Jé Kinah slid from the Eroin’s side and half sank to the ground. The hands that pinched held her shoulders.

“Are you well milady? Are you injured?”

“No… I mean…yes…” She stood up to see Wischard gazing at her with admiration.

“What a lovely shade your hair is,” alarmed she flicked up her fallen hood and he helped her to her feet, “I have never seen anything quite as remarkable. You are stunning.”

Jé Kinah looked over at the Eroin. It had become very still…defeated. Its head was low and its flank quivered, shining with sweat. The one eye she could see was focused on her, betrayed by her.

“The prize is yours with my heartiest congratulations. A servant will brace its legs once more.”

“No!” She spoke too forcefully and softened her tone. “No. Where is the key to its bonds?”

“Here.”

She took the small iron key and, with a degree of trepidation, approached the Eroin. It trembled at her and she had no doubt that it had the energy to crush her still and then run to the end of the earth. It was not exhaustion that caused it to be still. It was shame.

“Forgive me.” She whispered and unbuckled the muzzle. If a horse could scowl, that is what it was doing at her as the muzzle was peeled away. “Forgive these humans,” she removed the saddle and the blanket, “forgive yourself.”

“Milady…the horse will run!”

“And so it should.” She said quietly and unlocked the shackles.

When the last shackle dropped away the Eroin kicked wildly and Jé Kinah threw herself back to dodge its sharp hooves. She landed on her side and sat up to see the glorious white stallion, an Eroin, a horse of the snow and ice, galloping to freedom. She stood up, aware that the crowd was murmuring behind her, not sure whether to laugh or cry at the, in their eyes, failure.

“You win an impossible archery contest so that you can pay twice as much as a well bred horse is worth just to ride the impossible stallion only to let it go,” Wischard said at her shoulder, “this is a day that will be long remembered and talked about.”

“I am pleased to have been of some amusement.” She said at long last and walked away. Ignoring the comments and questions by the crowd she retrieved her satchel and slung it over her shoulder.

“You are not leaving?”

“I have little reason to stay now,” she looked at Wischard, “and I am one piece of silver and three arrows lighter than when I arrived.”

“You still have the invitation to Lord Dagmara’s banquet.”

“Please pass on my regrets. I do not like crowds and I have nothing to wear.”

“I insist.” Wischard smiled. “A hot bath, a change of clothes, a good meal and a night in a luxurious bed is the least I can do. This festival was becoming quite boring in my eyes. You’ve given me quite a thrill today. Please.”

Jé Kinah was tempted by the bath and she was still internally shaken by her wild ride and the Eroin’s furious thoughts. Without really making a decision she simply allowed Wischard to remove her satchel for an aid to carry and let him take her arm and escort her through the village to the castle.

“May I ask if you planned on visiting Gaileth during the festival or you just happened to strike the right time?”

“I was travelling and heard…stories.” Jé Kinah fudged over the truth a little. “I did not plan to arrive at this time. Which happens every month am I right?”

“During the warmer months. In the mountains you can imagine that is less than half the year. A full moon and good weather mean we host the festival. If I had not offered a bed for the night, you would have had a hard time finding a room that was not knee deep in visitors in which to sleep.”

“Your festival certainly seems to have drawn a crowd.”

“Very much so.” Wischard gestured to the three quarter drunk fools dancing to the musicians who were still playing despite the sinking sun. “Gaileth is known far and wide for its sleeping beauty festival and many people travel to sell their wares and produce at a place that triples in population every full moon.”

“Forgive my ignorance but why is it the sleeping beauty festival?”

Wischard gave a chuckle. “I would not wish to offend your ears with my poor oration. At the banquet there is always a retelling of the tale. It should answer all your questions.”

They passed the fighting ring which was abandoned and turned to approach the watch tower and lower bailey. Wischard escorted Jé Kinah past the guards, over the stone bridge where the river rumbled loudly and into the upper bailey of the castle. Torches were lit everywhere and servants ran around with tremendous purpose, although they all had the presence of mind to stop and bow respectfully to Wischard.

“Dagmara is not a king, is he?”

“No. While it would be a change in his title rather than anything else, we are not interested in fending off the King’s army should we challenge his authority in such a way. Gaileth brings in a great deal of finance and the King knows to honour and favour Lord Dagmara so that he continues to receive his taxes. It is all very polite and the details would bore you to death. In here, milady.”

Wischard showed her to a room where servants were already filling a deep claw bath full of steaming water. A luxurious four poster bed dominated the room and there was a large gilded mirror on the wall, a tall wardrobe to one side and a deep chest at the foot of the bed. Light peeked in through a small arched window and there was soft candlelight all around the room.

“The banquet begins in an hour. I am needed at my Lord’s side but if you need anything, do not hesitate to ask one of the servants.”

Jé Kinah waited primly until the servants were gone before barring the door firmly. She undressed and sank deep into the bath. The rumour that elves never become dirty was a foolish fallacy. Of course their hands stained with dirt or paints or, if they were unfortunate, blood. Their clothes were not immune to the touch of earth or anything else that might dirty a human. But they were simply lighter of foot and gentler of touch so it happened less often. Thus they always looked clean.

They were also exceedingly modest, bathing in absolute solitude where there was no fear of discovery. And as Jé Kinah had not bathed in months she stayed in the water far longer than she probably should have, rubbing away at the grime that had built up on her skin. She noticed that her palms were not as smooth as they once were and there was a patch of skin on her thighs that had become quite scaly. No amount of rubbing would remove it so she dropped the cloth into the tepid water and wrapped a light gown around herself.

She didn’t really want to go to the banquet but now she was curious about the tale of the sleeping beauty. However she had nothing appropriate to wear, if the day wear of the Lord’s lady was any measure to go by. Just when she was debating about forgoing the banquet altogether there was a knock on the door and a servant entered with something wrapped in very thin parchment.

“Forgive the intrusion milady and the lateness of the hour but I bring this with Sir Wischard’s best compliments for this evening and with the hope that you will sit next to him at the banquet.”

It was a gown. A beautiful velvet gown in deep purple with a laced bodice and a square neckline. The sleeves were capped small but from their lace trimmed hem erupted purple silk with delicate silver embroidery. The skirt fell straight from the waist where a silver cord emphasized the slightness of the design. It split at the thigh and more purple silk took its place with the same silver embroidery. It was without a doubt the most beautiful thing Jé Kinah had ever worn. The outfit was completed with a pair of purple shoes that fitted like they were made for her.

“You look like a princess.” The servant gushed. “Milady, not even Idonea, Lord Dagmara’s current love, could hold a candle to you.”

“This dress would make anyone feel like a princess.” Jé Kinah remarked, gazing at her reflection.

The servant offered to weave matching purple ribbons and silver cord through her hair and used pins to secure a ring of purple flowers around her crown. She seemed nervous and accidentally stabbed Jé Kinah with one.

“Good gracious! Forgive me milady! Oh please!” The servant cowered pathetically on the ground at the simple mistake. Jé Kinah wondered if Idonea was a harsh mistress.

“Of course I do. Please continue.”

The servant rose and finished the remainder of the flowers with a shaking hand. “Would you care to remove the pendant milady?”

“No.” Jé Kinah kept her response as soft as possible. “No sparkly adornment is necessary. This is all I need.” Her hand closed over the little vial and the servant bowed and hurried out of the room. Jé Kinah raised her eyes back to the mirror and her transformed reflection. Her hair seemed paler than ever and her lips were naturally soft and light and her eyes were brought out by the contrast of the dark colour she wore. Not realising she was biting her bottom lip she leaned in to the mirror so close that her breath fogged up the glass.

“Are you in there?” She asked in a fearful whisper.

There was no reply and for that she was glad and stood back. Resolved she walked out of the room after tucking her satchel beneath the bed, leaving the ghosts of yesterday for another time.

It was a simple matter to find the banquet hall. Jé Kinah simply followed the sound of music and laughter. She found herself at the top of a giant staircase looking down on festive sight. The great pillars of the hall went all the way to the ceiling high above and they were adorned with wreaths and banners. Ceramic pots were filled with rose bushes and there were several suits of armour tucked into alcoves and archways. Down the length of the hall was a long table covered entirely in a pristine tablecloth. The table’s uniform shape was broken up by a large circular piece that seemed oddly out of place which was almost at the head of the table. It was at least six feet across. There were two more tables, smaller ones, that ran parallel to the main table and all were dressed in gold candelabra, fine china and silverware. There were many kings in the world that could not host a banquet of this excess.

Jé Kinah made her way down the staircase, looking for Wischard. She needn’t have worried. The moment her feet touched the floor he was by her side with a pleased smile on his face.

“I thought you would look very fine in that. I was wrong. You are stunning.”

“Do you have beautiful gowns lying around for all your unexpected lady guests?” She asked, covering her pleasure at the compliment.

“Only that one. And you are the first to wear it.” He took her arm and led her into the fray of drinking guests. He must have felt her tense up. “Have no fear. I will not abandon you.”

“Wischard! Wischard! What beauty is this that you have been keeping hidden from your lord and master?”

Wischard steered Jé Kinah to where Lord Dagmara stood with several wealthy noblemen, going by their girths and expensive clothes, and his lady friend. “Lord Dagmara, Miss Idonea, honoured guests, may I introduce Jé Kinah, expert archer and stallion rider.”

“That was you!” Lord Dagmara boomed. “Good gracious, don’t you dress up nice! If you are not careful Wischard I will have to steal her from you.”

Jé Kinah felt her tension rise again. “You speak as though I am a possession my lord.” She said, trying to keep the bite from her tone.

“You will have to forgive Lord Dagmara, Jé Kinah. I am his right hand man and he is used to me looking out for his best interests.” Wischard nodded to the group and led her to the table as dinner was announced. “Please, Jé Kinah, allow me to wait upon you.”

It was a feast of succulent meats, crusty fresh bread, slabs of cheese, tomatoes still strung onto their vines and easily twice as much as the people could eat. Jé Kinah wondered what happened to the leftovers and remarked upon that to Wischard who was as good as his word as he waited upon her, pouring wine into her goblet.

“At midnight Lord Dagmara sends out all the food that remains into the village onto tables there. The people, who have been dancing all night as they wait, are able to eat and drink just as we do now.”

“I see.” Jé Kinah never let her goblet out of her sight, not trusting Wischard or anyone else with her wine. But Wischard was too busy talking and pointing out the different food on the table and, when the desserts arrived, where he had acquired all the best recipes for Lord Dagmara from. Jé Kinah ate sparingly, yearning for sleep more than conversation.

At the end of the meal Lord Dagmara stood and clapped his hands. “And now we shall have some entertainment. I wonder what story we shall tell?”

The room rippled with laughter and Jé Kinah saw a man in a sombre black robe step forward with a scroll. He had the face of a man of learning with silver grey hair and beard and his brow heavy in thought.

“The Sleeping Beauty. There once was a King and there once was a Queen and in a land of prosperity they lived.” Two actors sprung from the shadows. One was dressed in rich red robes and the other in buttercup yellow. They wore white masks over their faces and said not a word as they acted what the orator spoke. “They yearned for a child. One day, after many years of waiting, they were blessed with a little baby girl whom they named Freya.”

A doll was handed to the king and he lifted it high. “They invited all the king and queens, lord and nobles of the land to come and bless the child at her christening. Fair folk were invited too and among them were seven fairies and the King honoured them for their blessings upon his daughter. They blessed her with beauty, grace, kindness, dance, song and music.”

The baby doll was placed in a crib and six fairies flitted in and around the crib. “However, an eighth fairy arrived, uninvited and unannounced. She had been forgotten and arrived in a rage.” A single figure stepped forth, dressed in a black gown with tattered edges and horns on her head. “She cursed Freya, saying that one day the little princess would prick her finger on the spindle of a spinning wheel and die. Then the fairy left.” With a grand flourish the dark fairy strode from the stage, her part to play in the saga now at an end.

“The King lamented and the Queen wept over their daughter’s cruel fate when the seventh fairy stepped forward for she had not yet given her gift. She was unable to lift the curse but she was able to alter it so that, instead of dying, the princess would fall into a deep sleep.”

“Why is the curse always to sleep?” Jé Kinah wondered under her breath.

“And after one hundred years,” the orator continued with elegant flow, “the princess would be woken by the kiss of a prince. Fearing for the life of his daughter the King ordered all spindles and spinning wheels destroyed on a great fire and for sixteen years they lived in a tentative peace. Freya grew in beauty and grace and everyone who saw her loved her for she was fair and true. She danced and sang her way through the years, unaware that all the while she was cheating fate.” A young woman skipped about on stage dressed in rose pink and everyone delighted in her.

“But then…while the King and the Queen were away, Freya woke in the night hearing a strange sound. She followed it through the castle and found an old woman spinning with her spindle in a secret room beyond the hall of mirrors. The young princess, fascinated by the unfamiliar task, asks if she can try it. She pricked her finger on the spindle and immediately fell into a deep, dark sleep.”

The girl fell into the arms of the actors waiting for her and they carried her ceremoniously up the stairs and out of sight as the orator continued.

“Every attempt was made to revive her but it was no use. The King and Queen summoned the fair folk for aid but all they could do was put the entire castle to sleep and then grow a hedge of impenetrable thorns around it, to protect it from outside invasion. But as the years passed, the knowledge became legend, legend became myth and after one hundred years Princess Freya and the sleeping castle was forgotten. They were abandoned by the world and to this day, Princess Freya sleeps for she is and forever will be the sleeping beauty.”

The ceiling above groaned and Jé Kinah looked up to see two half circle trapdoors swing downwards as something descended by rope and chain to rest on the round section of the banquet table. Jé Kinah stood up in astonishment. On a duck down stuffed mattress covered in white satin set deep into an ornate silver oval base, lay a young woman of extraordinary beauty. Her skin was creamy, her cheeks were blushed with pink and her full lips were slightly parted. Her rich gold hair was curled around her with silver stars pressed into the luscious locks. She wore a pale pink dress and her hands were gently resting across her slight breasts. And with Jé Kinah’s sharp gaze she could see those hands were ever so slightly rising and falling.

Jé Kinah had stood up, shocked at the sight. All the other guests saw it as a sign of respect and rose to their feet as well.

“This is,” she turned to Wischard, “this is a trick.”

He put his finger to his lips and nodded to Lord Dagmara who had heaved his corpulent figure from his throne like chair. “Oh dear Sleeping Beauty, though you may never awaken, your beauty, kindness and grace have meant that this castle, its village and inhabitants, are blessed with your presence. May you sleep forever!” He raised his goblet. “To the sleeping beauty!”

All the guests echoed the toast but Jé Kinah gripped Wischard’s arm. “She is not dead.”

“No. The legend is that she sleeps.”

“Then she is as good as dead unless we can find the prince who is meant to kiss and waken her.”

Wischard smiled and Jé Kinah felt a shiver down her spine. “Now why would we want to do that?” He turned her shoulders and gestured to all the guests in the banquet hall. “All this wealth and prosperity is her doing. People come from all corners of the globe to pay homage to the sleeping beauty.”

“And pay a pretty price to do so,” Jé Kinah pulled away from Wischard, “all the while you deny her the happily ever after that was rightfully hers.”

Wischard shrugged and drank of his wine. Jé Kinah heard a pulley start up and swung around to see the princess rising on her silver bed back to the hole in the ceiling, where she would no doubt be kept until the next full moon. Without hesitation she grabbed a knife from her plate and leapt onto the table. The guests gasped and cried out as she sprinted along its length, over bowls of fruit and kicking goblets of wine out of her path until she leapt and grabbed the bed as it rose. They swung wildly together as chaos broke out beneath her and suddenly she was pelted with all manner of objects taken from the table.

“She is going to kill the sleeping beauty!” She heard Wischard cry out. “It’s the witch! Stop her!”

Jé Kinah was finding it hard to grip. She was a little addled in her senses and her dress and shoes were useless for anything more than standing stiffly in a room so she couldn’t drag herself up. She took the knife from her teeth and swiped at the rope, the bed lurching across the room.

Something hard hit her shoulder and she slipped down, the knife falling but she caught it with her feet.

“Stop the witch!”

Jé Kinah forced herself to concentrate, to hoist the knife up to her one free hand. Another good lash and she would have broken one of the ropes. The room swum before her eyes and to her astonishment she simply dropped the knife…her hands losing grip and then she followed it down, down…

“I will never escape this tower. I will be here forever.”

“Do not say that milady. One day she will let you go free.”

“You know nothing of the witch that holds me here. Her anger runs deep, like poison in her veins. Her pure form is forever corrupted and there is no forgiveness for one who has destroyed so many happily ever afters. From the very first time she killed a prince, she condemned herself to this life…and me.”

“Weep not milady. I am sure one day her heart will soften.”

“You are mistake. She has no heart.”

“She does. She does her best to hide it but it is there. One day you will be free…”

“…brilliant. Such a spectacle! Now that is a banquet they will never forget!”

“Indeed my lord. Rumours of her villainy and beauty will spread. People will come great distances to see the evil witch that condemned the princess to sleep.”

“Witch? Was it not a fairy?”

“We will just have to adjust the orator’s script. Fairies are hard to hate. Witches are drowned frequently in this day and age.”

“And will she…shh…she’s waking up.”

Jé Kinah pried her eyes open and the room wanted to spin around again. Gritting her teeth she forced herself to sit upright, despite the lengths of rope tied around her arms, torso and feet. She was on the bed in the room that she had prepared for the banquet in. And in the doorway, a safe distance from her she noted was Lord Dagmara and Wischard. Wischard looked remarkably pleased with himself while Dagmara, despite his banquet being left in an uproar, was beaming all over his fat face.

“My dear, you were superb. I could not have asked for a better presentation of the witch who cursed Princess Freya.” Jé Kinah said nothing. It did not appear to worry Dagmara who turned to Wischard. “Do you think she is a little too beautiful? We would not want a growing sympathy towards her.”

“Perhaps the aubergine shade is too flattering on her. It brings out the colour in her eyes and face.”

“She needs to be severe, and wretched. Beautiful but fearsome.” Dagmara gripped Wischard’s arm excitedly. “Put her in black.”

“Brilliant my lord! That will blanch her features and make her eyes limpid.”

“Pity about the hair. It’s such a fair shade...can elves change their hair colour by will alone?”

“If not I know of several dyes we can use. Black as well?”

“Perhaps. We will wait and see what works. After all, I am going to start buying up all the bolts of black fabric I can lay my hands on so she does need some appeal. Every tempestuous girl will want to be her just as every fair maid wants to be Freya.”

“She will be a beautiful spectre when we’re done.”

“But will she submit? Will she play the role? Elves are notoriously stubborn.”

“So are princes…but even he succumbed to the whip and steel…eventually. She will too. But best keep her locked up and without food for several days. If I am to break her, I will need to make sure she cannot kill me with her bare hands as her eyes are telling me they would happily do.”

“Oh well done Wischard. You are a marvel.”

“And you pay me well my lord.” Wischard bowed as Lord Dagmara clapped his hands in giddy delight and very nearly skipped out of the doorway. Jé Kinah only had eyes for Wischard as he looked in at her. “You may think I have betrayed you and I suppose in a way I have. But it would have been a greater betrayal of Dagmara’s trust in me had I not secured the only elf still known to walk the earth. He likes his whimsical creatures. The Eroin was far too dangerous and had failed to bring in any finances for months. But it did bring you. And you my dear are going to turn this festival into a gold mine.”

He leaned on the doorframe and folded his arms. “I wanted to have a witch for the tale for a long time. But it was impossible to find anyone with the right carriage, the right face…those lips…I would have very much liked to taste them but I think if I tried now you would bite me. And then there are your ears. Impossible to fake. You are a gift and it would be a shame to let such a gift go to waste.”

He raised his eyebrows. “Nothing? No words? No matter. I can read the hatred in your eyes just as I read suspicion earlier. You must forgive the servant for pricking you with the hairpin. Such clumsiness would never be tolerated…unless she was told to do so. I thought the poison on the hairpins would knock you out before the banquet but had you not had such a stout constitution, we would have missed your exhibition. Imagine, the witch that cursed innocent, pure Freya, come back to finish what she started. Oh yes, you will bring in a great deal of gold. And if you learn to behave, you will want for nothing.”

He stood up straight. “Enjoy your solitude. I will see you in three days Jé Kinah.”

The door shut and she heard the lock turn and the bar fall into place. She swallowed and stood up. It was hard not to feel the tension in her body but she focused on her breathing until she was calm and relaxed…and the ropes simply fell from her. Angry at herself for being so deceived she looked for her satchel. It was gone. She turned around, taking in the room. There was no way out except for the door, which was bolted beyond her ability to get past, elf or no. The window which was only a foot wide and perhaps a foot and a half as high.

She put her head through the gap and looked down. It was an almost flat surface where there was no obvious indication where the castle wall ended and the cliff face began. And it was a long way down. She twisted and looked up. Because of the full moon the grey stone of the side of the castle was almost white and as flat as the wall below it. But she could see some golden light so at least there were windows above her.

She pushed the chest to the window and leaned back on it. Her feet went through the window first and she shuffled forward until she had her legs out as well. Her hips, despite being narrow, were troublesome and she had to regulate her breathing several times to get them through as she angled her body to pass through the small gap sideways. Then her torso lay on the sill and she wriggled around so that she faced downwards, twisted her shoulders and slipped all the way out.

Jé Kinah gripped the sill tightly and looked up. Strong winds whistled around her, flinging her dress about and sending her hair wild. She held down a tremor of fear and reached out with her foot. Her shoe slipped so she kicked it and its twin from her feet and used her toes to find invisible footholds. It was only by sheer will power that she finally let go of the sill and clung to almost nothing against the wall.

Progress was painstakingly slow and she slipped numerous times up the wall, aiming for the window above. Her fingers were bleeding as she scraped around for handholds but there was no pain. She was numb. Her toes were likely in the same predicament but she pushed onwards until a particularly large gust hit her and nearly threw her to her death.

She hugged the wall, allowing herself to whimper, feeling tears of ice run down her cheeks.

“I cannot do this.” She whispered. “I cannot do this.”

I TOLD YOU, YOU WOULD NEVER BE FREE OF ME!

Her eyes flashed open and her face constricted in fear.

LOOK AND SEE YOUR CREATOR!

She looked down and saw red lava beneath her, bubbling, boiling and rising up the cliff face and then the castle wall. A dark shape writhed in the lava, thrashing about as though it could escape the inferno.

JÉ KINAH! I AM COMING FOR YOU!

Terrified into motion as the lava rose towards her Jé Kinah scrambled up the wall, forsaking secure footings for speed and she fairly flew up the last few feet to the window above. She could feel the burn at her feet, the consuming of her legs. She could feel her skin blistering and peeling away. She was on fire! She was on fire!

Violently she threw herself through the, thankfully larger than her own room, window and landed hard, knocking the wind from her lungs. She beat at her feet and legs, looking for the fire though there was none. She scrambled around and crawled to the window to look out…on a cool, dark moonlit night. There was no fire, no lava...and nothing climbing up to reclaim her. Air finally reached her lungs and she gasped, the violent rush nearly shattering her ribs, shaking uncontrollably and without a thought about containing it. She clasped a hand over her mouth and turned from the window…and saw a man standing in the room, staring at her in astonishment.

He was old enough to be in his thirtieth year and possibly closer to his fortieth and he was dressed in well cut trousers of dark grey and a white silk shirt with loose sleeves and that was open at the neck. His hair was dark brown and curly. His eyes were almost the same hue of brown but had green flecks in them. His cheeks and chin were flushed as though he had just shaved and his mouth was open in shock.

They stared at each other for a ridiculous amount of time.

“Who are you?” He asked at last.

“A prisoner.”

“Prisoners usually stay in their cells.”

“Then I am an escaped prisoner.”

His eyes narrowed. “Are you a test?”

“A what?” Jé Kinah saw him lunge for his razor blade and darted for the fire place. She grabbed a poker and spun around to hold it out in front of her. The man held the blade towards her and they paused for another long moment. “Why would you ask a woman that fell in through your window if she is a test?”

“He does this. He tests my resolve. He reminds me of how easily my privileges can be taken away. He plays games. He is my friend one moment and my enemy the next.” The man moved closer and Jé Kinah put a high backed chair between them. “And what prisoner tells the first person she meets that she is a prisoner and that she has escaped? You must be a test. And if I do not report you I will lose my privilege.”

“A test!” Jé Kinah pointed to the window. “Who would go to the extreme of climbing up a cliff face, risking life and limb, to fall through your window in order to test you?”

The man blinked. “Wischard.”

“Wischard.” Jé Kinah put her poker down in a risky but calculated move. “I am not here to test you and you have only my word on that. I climbed up from a room down below. All I want is to free the sleeping beauty.”

“Freya?” The man blurted. “You want to free Freya?”

Jé Kinah’s eyes narrowed. “What do you know of Freya?”

The man dropped the blade and tears filled his eyes. “I know I love her.”

“My name is Phillip. I am the son of King Charles and Queen Amelia.”

“I once met a Prince Rupert who claimed the same thing.”

“He is my younger brother!” Phillip declared. “How was he?”

Jé Kinah winced. “I am afraid he is dead.”

Phillip’s joy instantly turned to sorrow. “How?”

“Well…it was over a hundred years ago.”

“Yes…yes of course. I forget, you see because for me, it has been a far shorter time.”

“Perhaps you should start at the beginning.”

“Do you know the legend of the Sleeping Beauty?” Jé Kinah nodded. “When she was cursed by the evil fairy, I was there with my father and saw the whole thing. Afterwards, when Freya’s father had destroyed all the spinning wheels in his kingdom, my father exported cloth and clothing to him and I often joined him in visiting this castle. I grew up with Freya and spent hours amusing her. And as she grew into a beautiful young woman, I fell in love with her. She used to laugh and say I was too old for her…for I was five years her senior and when my father found out about my attachment, he forbid me to visit any longer.”

“Because of the curse.”

Phillip nodded. “He did not want me to bear a broken heart. And then, shortly after I was forbidden, beautiful Freya pricked her finger just as the fairy said she would. When I heard I travelled here as quickly as I could and found the entire castle in a deep slumber. The fairy that had changed the curse had put everyone to sleep. I tried to reach Freya but the fairy stopped me. She said my kiss would have no effect because the curse had to wait out its hundred years first. I would be dead and dust by then so I begged her to do something so that I could be with Freya and she with me.

I did not know what she planned as she coaxed me into one of the turrets and imprisoned me in there with a spinning wheel as the only adornment of my cell. She told me that I had to prick my finger on the spindle so I would sleep for exactly one hundred years. I tried to get out, I did not want to sleep for one hundred years. It was not what I thought she would do and as I watched from my tower she caused giant rose bushes to grow up and almost consume the castle walls, protecting everyone within from the world outside. After days I was weak, hoarse and broken. And so I touched the spindle.”

“And you slept.”

“It felt like a night’s sleep when I woke. I thought the curse must have failed but when I looked out, the rose bushes were cut back and there was a village prospering in the lee of the castle. The door had half fallen from its hinges and I made my way down the tower stairs to the locked down at the base. I cried for attention and someone let me out, astonished that I was in there. I was brought to the self imposed lord of the castle, Dagmara, and explained who I was and what I wanted to do. Without a word of warning he imprisoned me in the dungeon so that I would never reach Freya,” Phillip hung his head, “and try as I might, I could not convince them otherwise.”

“He had already discovered Freya and decided he could make more money from a sleeping princess than he could from one who had been woken.” Jé Kinah paused. “What about everyone who lived in the castle? The King and Queen, all the servants…”

“I do not know. I did not see a single soul that I knew and none that knew me. It is as if they vanished.”

“Meaning the only one left was Freya and she was unable to undo her own curse.”

Phillip’s face contorted in anger. “She is a freak to him. A prize. A carnival attraction without a soul or a life to live. For her to wake up…it would be his undoing. And every day I was beaten for begging to see her and kiss her back to life.”

Jé Kinah’s lip tweaked. “And Wischard?”

“He is cunning and merciless, a man without conscience.” Phillip shuddered. “He knew I could suffer beatings all my life and would never yield. So he played games, changed my room around as I slept to confuse me, whispered lies and truths wound together until I could not tell friend from foe. In the end…he said if I behaved I would be allowed to see Freya once a month, to look upon her and to know that she was safe for he often threatened me with her death or an illness. So I complied. I trained the guards with my knowledge of sword and bow and arrow and of horse riding in order to earn my keep and during the festival I don armour and fight off anyone willing to test me.”

“You are the knight in shining armour. Why do you not cry out for justice?”

“Because I am gagged any time I leave the keep and here, in these four walls…no one hears my pleas,” Phillip looked around, “and I have lived here for almost fifteen years.”

Jé Kinah felt a ripple of rage run through her. “Then it is high time we were leaving and taking Princess Freya with us.” She stood up, Phillip rising with her.

“I am not sure I can risk it.”

“Is love not worth the risk?”

“My life yes but Dagmara has told me with absolute certainty that he would rather Freya dead than alive and with me.”

“Then we will have to rescue her first.”

“If we can find her. The entrance to her room is through the hall of mirrors and I am blindfolded at the start of it so I cannot learn my way. The guards even spin me around so I am disoriented.”

“Delightful.” Jé Kinah moved over to where the remains of Phillip’s supper rested. “Have you been to see Freya already?”

“No. But it will be soon, when midnight is reached.”

Jé Kinah took up a bread roll with only a bite taken out of it. “Here. Toast this on the flames.”

“Why?”

“It will crumb better.”

Phillip returned from his outing nearly an hour later. He waited until the door was shut and locked behind him before looking around the empty room.

“Jé Kinah?” He whispered. She rolled out from underneath the bed and he shivered, a bead of sweat rolling down his forehead. “I thought for a moment you were not real and that I was going mad.”

“Did you do it?” He brushed off his hands and nodded. “Now to get out of here.”

“I have escaped several times so I am afraid the room is even more tightly sealed than when I first arrived,” Phillip looked to the window, “I suppose I could get through it but able to climb the wall…I do not think…”

“Why do we not use the door?” Jé Kinah held up a key. Phillip stared in wonder.

“How did you…”

“Servants and guards do not tend to lock a room that they think is empty.”

“You left this room and found the key? What about the bar?”

“Hid it.” She dragged her satchel out from underneath the bed. “I had to work very quickly and quietly to find my things and some weaponry for you. They are beneath your pillows. I would dress warmly. Even though it is summer, it is cold in the mountains and we will have a desperate run ahead of us for I do not think Dagmara will give us up lightly.”

Jé Kinah could not find her clothes so she had pilfered a leather vest from the armoury and its matching arm cuffs. The boots she had found were too big. She could have gone barefoot but her feet, especially her toes, needed protection. Her tunic and leggings had been stolen from the laundry in the keep and thankfully they fit her well. Her red cloak and even her weather beaten leather cloak had been thrown with her satchel and it looked like nothing in the bag had been disturbed. Still, had she been left with naught but the vial around her neck she would have had everything she wanted…but not perhaps what she needed.

Phillip put a vest on, a long cloak with a hood and heavy solid boots and he strapped a sword to his thigh and tucked a blade into his boot.

“I was able find some clothes for Freya and a pair of boots.” Jé Kinah patted her satchel. “They are in here.”

“You worked fast in that short amount of time.”

“I had no time to waste.” Not even time to tend her bruised and bleeding fingers and toes but in her boots, her toes were at least covered and she tugged on a pair of gloves. “There is money and food in my satchel that will sustain you should I fall behind. Do not hesitate to take it and run if you must.”

“You think you shall?” Phillip asked as he slung her bag on his back, her bow and quiver strapped to it.

Jé Kinah looked at him firmly. “I think your first priority is Freya and no matter what happens to me, you must get her to safety, or I have no doubt Dagmara will make good on his threat towards her.”

Phillip nodded and Jé Kinah slid the key into the lock. She prayed that no one had noticed the trail of bread crumbs and swept it away but it seemed good fortune was on their side. Everyone in the castle was either drunk or asleep and even the guards were lax on their duties as the two of them flittered from shadow to shadow, dashing up a narrow set of stairs as they made their way into the heart of the keep. The crumbs disappeared under a heavy curtain and Jé Kinah drew it aside. Suddenly there were dozens of Jé Kinahs all staring back at her.

“The hall of mirrors.” She breathed her heart in her throat. She swallowed with difficulty. “The crumbs go this way.” The mirrors were suspended from the ceiling on silver cord pulled tight. If one was bumped, they twisted and an interlocking system above caused all the mirrors to shift and the mirror maze changed shape.

“It is any wonder that they tried to confuse me for I am already lost even without the blindfold.” Phillip murmured.

“Your feet would know where to go. They would remember.” Jé Kinah followed the crumbs, keeping Phillip close behind her. The chilling aspect of being watched by dozens of her own reflection was made even worst by the fact that some of them seemed to have a life of their own. Jé Kinah forced her eyes down, terrified of what she might see if she peered too closely. “Here.” The final mirror twisted and they stumbled into a circular room surrounded by a wall of mirrors and topped with the dome of stained glass. The white moonlight washed through the rich, bold colours of the stained glass, bathing the entire room in a pristine, cold rainbow. And lying on her bed of white, blissfully unaware of the festival held in her name, was the sleeping beauty. Jé Kinah heard Phillip give out a little gasp but she stopped him from rushing forward.

“Dagmara might not have left her unguarded.” She whispered and they crept around the outside of the room. Two wheels were fitted on either side of the princess and they were wrapped with chains that were attached to pulleys that were bolted to the side of the bed base. The base rested on the large circular doors and there was a level that opened them. Jé Kinah could not see any traps or guards and she wondered if Dagmara had become so confident with his situation that he had become complacent.

“Phillip, I believe it is now or never,” she said, taking up position on the far side of the room from where they entered, “Freya has slept for long enough.” Phillip moved close, half sat on the edge and looked into Freya’s restful face. Jé Kinah turned away to give him some privacy. When nothing happened she looked back to see Phillip frozen in place. “What is it?”

“What if she does not wake? Or what if she does not love me? I am nearly twenty years her senior now. She laughed when I was merely a quarter of that!” He looked at Jé Kinah. “What if it has all been for naught?”

Jé Kinah stared at him in disbelief. “Seriously?”

“I have waited and hoped and prayed for so long that now I am here,” Phillip balled up his fists and pushed them to his face, “this could be a trick. Wischard…he is cunning…”

“Phillip, you cannot stand upon the cusp of all you ever dreamed of and falter!” Jé Kinah put her hand on his shoulder. “Now is not the time for a crisis of faith. Now is the time to be the prince Freya has dreamed of for over one hundred years.”

Suddenly they heard drunken singing and Jé Kinah heard the mirrors shift and shunt as someone came close. “Phillip!”

Lord Dagmara appeared in the doorway and though he was clearly drunk and still holding a goblet in his hand, it only took a second for him to see Phillip leaning down to kiss Freya.

“No.” His eyes went wide. “No!”

“Phillip now!” Jé Kinah cried as Dagmara lunged for the lever just as Phillip pressed his lips on Freya’s. Dagmara’s whole weight landed on the lever and the doors dropped away, the wheels spinning into a blur, releasing the chains taking the silver bed with them to crash almightily onto the barren banquet hall below. And dangling in that open space was Freya, wide eyed and staring up at Phillip who had hold of her hand, the other struggling to keep hold of the edge of the hole.

“Jé Kinah!” Phillip roared. Jé Kinah hooked one foot into a wheel, braced herself and grabbed his hand just as it slipped from the edge. She was the only thing keeping Freya and Phillip from falling to their deaths. Dagmara staggered to his feet. He looked down at Freya who clung onto Phillip’s hand for dear life, her eyes wide open.

“No. My beautiful Freya. Now you will grow old, wither and die…” He looked up and his fat face formed a snarl. “You!”

Jé Kinah couldn’t pull them up in time so she reached down, pulled Phillip’s blade from his boot and flung it at the lord who was rushing towards them like an angry bull. The blade sunk into his heart and he screamed, lost his footing and fell through the hole to the banquet table below. Jé Kinah heaved and was able to get Phillip upright who was then able to draw Freya up as though she was a feather. They all stood at the edge, Phillip and Jé Kinah looking down at the dead lord broke banquet table, Freya gazing at Phillip in wonder.

“Phillip?” She whispered and he turned to her as she raised her hand and touched his face. “Is that you?” She didn’t wait for an answer as she traced his features. “You have changed…”

Jé Kinah stepped in. “I would love for you to have a blissful reunion but we just killed the lord of the castle and I can hear guards coming.” She pressed against the mirror next to her and they slid into the maze.

“Where are mother and father?” Freya called as they darted along. “What has happened here?”

“I promise you all the answers I am capable of giving,” Phillip assured her, “but for now we must run.”

“Not that way,” Freya grabbed Jé Kinah’s arm, “it will take you back to the room we just came from.”

“How do you know?”

“Because my father built this hall of mirrors and I played in here often.”

“I didn’t know that!” Phillip cried as Freya led the way.

“It was a secret!” They heard the guards smashing their way through the mirrors. “Over here!” They nearly fell out of the maze and found themselves at the end of a corridor that they could run down or they could climb narrow stairs.

“Which way?” Jé Kinah demanded.

“What you do you want to do?”

“Get out of here!”

“Then down here!” Freya led them down the corridor and they ran hard and fast. At the end of it, however, Wischard stepped into view. Phillip gripped Freya as she slipped and pulled her behind him.

“Naughty, naughty little prince,” Wischard said and his tone became hypnotic, “what did I say would happen to your sleeping beauty if you were naughty?”

“You wouldn’t dare kill her!” Phillip snapped. “Not now, not now that she’s awake!”

“What do you think happened to all the people who lived in this castle before?” The remark was so casual that it chilled Jé Kinah to the core. “And who needs to bury them when there’s a long drop down…”

Jé Kinah shoved Phillip and Freya back the way they came. They took the narrow stairs as the guards who had smashed the hall of mirrors into pieces had finally broken free and were upon their heels. Jé Kinah threw open a trap door and they clambered into the turret. Phillip closed it and put the only thing he could over the top of it. A spinning wheel.

They were well and truly trapped. There was no where to go and the window was far too small for anyone to squeeze out of, let alone climb down to the keep below. Guards pounded on the trapdoor and Freya trembled in Phillip’s arms.

“Are we going to die? Phillip?”

“What will we do?” He cried at Jé Kinah who faced the wall. “They will tear us to pieces!” He grabbed her shoulder to try and turn her around. “Jé Kinah!”

“Do not look at me.”

“What?”

She pulled away from him so he couldn’t see her face and said in a voice that didn’t belong to her, “I said do not look at me.” The turret darkened and had they been able to see the sky clearly, they would have seen heavy dark clouds thickening the sky, swirling in terrible majesty as they blotted out the moon and the stars. The turret creaked as though it was straining to keep the forces that manifested within it contained. The mortar burst into powder and the stones cracked and moaned. Freya clung to Phillip and in fairness Phillip clung to Freya as the room filled with a malevolent horror.

“Close your eyes and whatever you do, do not look at me.”

Phillip turned Freya to face his chest and buried his head in her hair. Freya jumped as strong, thick arms surrounded her in a blistering embrace. She could hear something leathery stretch and flex around them and there was the sickening sound of bones and flesh snapping and reshaping.

Suddenly the turret was ripped apart by two almighty wings that had to know freedom. The stone blocks flew in all directions as a roar filled the air that could be heard even in the valley down below. Freya peeked out once but all she could see was a hide of leather. And then…there was nothing beneath her feet. The beast leapt into the air and spread its wings wide, the wind howling at them as they fell much faster than anticipated. The beast beat its wings and slowed their descent just enough to land hard on the stone bridge that linked the keep to the lower bailey. The force of the beast striking the ancient bridge caused it to crack beneath the weight.

Phillip and Freya were thrown from the beast’s arms, their bodies grazed upon the unyielding surface. They both looked up and froze in fear at the creature before them.

“No...it is impossible...” Freya whimpered.

“By the…” Phillip gasped.

“Dragon!” Guards yelled and they rang the watch tower bell loud and long. Only a second later a volley of arrows left the wall of the keep from over a dozen bows. Some hit the water and vanished, swept over the cliff face to the lake below. Others struck the stone bridge and ricocheted off. Lastly there were those that sank into the back of the beast. It roared in pain, swiping wildly at the onslaught. Its wings were riddled with holes, the leather tearing so that they were in tatters. Freya, despite her fear, screamed,

“Stop! Leave her alone!”

“Run.” She heard it spit out of its jagged teeth. Its voice drew her attention to its eyes. They were not the eyes of a mindless creature. They were sentient, clear, moss green eyes. When they hesitated it opened its jaws wide, a hot glow at the back of its throat. “Run!”

Phillip grabbed Freya’s hand and sprinted for the lower bailey, joining hundreds that fled the village in terror. The beast, that was starting to regain some of its former presence, heard clapping behind it and turned with difficulty, its bat like wings in a great arc above them. Wischard stepped onto the bridge, clapping as though it were all in fun.

“What a wonderful find you are!” He declared. “I hadn’t even considered the financial loss that the awoken sleeping beauty would bring and yet, before the very next dawn, here you are! Oh yes, I am going to make more money than Lord Dagmara could have ever dreamed of with you!”

Its eyes darkened and smoke rose from its nostrils. “Do not look at me like that. Had you been able to roast me with the fire in your belly, you would have done so already. You cannot fly away either. Your wings are useless now! You are trapped. Your only choice is to submit to me.”

Guards brandishing their sharpened swords approached in front of and behind the beast and on the walls of the keep, even more archers levelled their bows. Over fifty armed men fixed the beast into their gaze.

Wischard saw the beast’s eyes flicker, taking in its situation. The odds were not in its favour. “Once you’ve been starved and chained, you will learn to harness this remarkable gift…and you will serve me.” He chuckled, drunk on power and sauntering even closer. “Of course I will have to hunt down and kill your prince and princess. I cannot have them coming back to try to rescue you…or maybe I will just keep them imprisoned…in case you decide to misbehave.”

The beast growled and raised its heavy forearms high above its head. With all the strength it possessed it struck the bridge and the crack in the stone became wider. Wischard staggered, far from the safety of the upper bailey.

“What are you doing?” He cried as the beast struck the bridge again. “You’ll kill us both!”

With a roar the beast bashed the stone bridge apart and it and Wischard fell into the raging depths of the mountain river.

The icy chill woke Jé Kinah up and brought her back to her senses so fast it was like she’d been slapped with an icicle. She could feel Wischard scrabbling for her, screaming at her to fly or to do anything in order to save them. But as always, the change back was lethargic and Jé Kinah was still rather heady when she and Wischard were thrown off the edge of the cliff face and down the great waterfall into the lake below.

Jé Kinah couldn’t recall much of anything. She felt no pain, no fear or dread. She was sinking into the water and she simply waited for death to take her. There was something inevitable about the way the darkness was swallowing her up and she let her body sink into its depths without a fight. Then something rose up beneath her and she was suddenly in the snowy plains to the far north, snowflakes falling all around her and her hooves flinging snow out behind her as she galloped as fast and as far as she had ever gone before. There was such a thrill of joy, of freedom and peace as she whinnied high and long, hearing her song echo for anyone that was able to hear.

And then everything went dark.

The next thing she knew someone was touching her back. Jé Kinah’s hand scrabbled around for a rock and when she found one she twisted, rising to her knees and holding the rock high above her head. Freya jerked back in surprise and Jé Kinah froze in position.

“What are you doing?” She demanded hoarsely. Freya blinked, holding up a length of bandage and a cloth that was mottled with blood. Jé Kinah stared at them, confused.

“I was tending your wounds.” Freya whispered.

“What...what wounds?”

“Where the arrows hit…when you were…not yourself.” Freya dropped her gaze. Jé Kinah looked at the rock in her hand and dropped it. She then realised she was barely covered in a rough blanket and tucked it tightly around herself, her cheeks flaming with uncommon colour. She swallowed down her embarrassment and looked around. They were in a glen that was nestled against an off shoot of the mountain river. She couldn’t see the mountain or the village or the castle. They could have been a hundred leagues away for all she knew.

Jé Kinah turned back to Freya who was bitting her bottom lip. “I am not injured.”

“But I saw,” Freya shook her head, “I must have been mistaken. I am sorry.”

Jé Kinah softened a little and sank down onto the grass. She had never spoken of what happened to her before. It was difficult to know where to begin. “My form…it is larger than this one and…well…when I become me again the wounds…they will be little more than scratches by now, forced to close and heal quickly.”

“What about your...the...uh...” Freya made flapping motions with her hands. “So many arrows tore through them...”

“If...when...I next transform,” Jé Kinah shivered at the thought, “they will be uninjured.”

“How can you know that?”

“Because it has happened before.”

“It has happened before?” Jé Kinah wanted to weep, her hand clutching the vial around her neck. Of course it had happened before. But it should never have happened again. After all she went through, after what she had lost...why wasn’t she free of this horror? Freya swallowed, seeing emotions flicker across Jé Kinah’s face. “Is it a curse?” There was so much compassion in her eyes that Jé Kinah couldn’t berate her kind inquiry.

“It is.”

“Then maybe true love’s kiss will break it.” Freya saw the disbelief in her eyes. She put her soft fingers over Jé Kinah’s hand that was now covered in light, flesh coloured scales. “Just like Phillip’s kiss broke mine.”

“Not all curses are broken in the same way,” Jé Kinah said quietly, “and even if it could be, true love is hard to find...and even harder to keep.” Freya nodded and handed her a tunic, shirt and pants. She turned away as Jé Kinah dressed. “How did I come to be here?”

“Phillip and I are travelling to his father’s kingdom…at least the descendants of his father if there are any…and we heard something moving through the bushes. Phillip went to hunt it and he found you here. He has gone to…well…give you some privacy.” She turned back when she heard a belt being buckled. “There were, are, two lumps on your back.”

Jé Kinah inwardly winced, having felt them when she pulled the tunic on. “Yes.” She shook away the crawling sensation up her spine, the memory of the words from the pit of lava nipping at her composure. “Are you well since your hasty departure?”

“Yes. With everyone fleeing, no one thought to ask who we were and as soon as he could, Phillip moved us away from most of them so that we could travel in safety.” Freya gave a shy smile. “He is as handsome as I remember.”

“A touch older perhaps?” Jé Kinah raised her eyebrow and Freya blushed.

“I was young, flustered by the attention of a young man and I said something silly to brush them away. I did not realise how much I had hurt him. I am so pleased I have the chance to make up for such a foolish mistake.”

Jé Kinah nodded then looked up, handing reaching for a weapon. “Who is there?”

“I beg your pardon, it is Phillip. I would like to approach but is everyone decent?”

“Yes.” Freya stood as Phillip parted some heavy brush and stepped into their glen.

“Jé Kinah, it is good to see that you are well in spite of…everything…” Jé Kinah appreciated his tact into leaving the unusualness of their rescue unsaid. “I took your satchel like you said. Your cloaks were tied to it and your quiver is here and your bow.” He handed it to her. “I owe you so much for saving both of us.”

Jé Kinah busied herself by checking over her bag. “You owe me nothing,” She stood up, swallowing down her queasy stomach and taking up her satchel, “and now I must go.”

“No, you cannot. You are not well…” Freya exclaimed.

“I must.”

Freya looked at Phillip. “Phillip, you must persuade her...”

Phillip caught the Jé Kinah’s eyes and their gaze held before he swallowed and took Freya’s hand. “Some meetings in life are over almost before they have begun.” He told the young princess gently. Freya’s eyes filled with compassionate tears. Phillip took her hand and squeezed it gently. She bit her lip then looked back at Jé Kinah.

“Will you permit us to walk with you for a time so that we know you are safe?”

“I think it is clear that other things need to be safe around me.” Jé Kinah muttered. She looked up at Phillip. “You should not have left Freya alone with me. I am not safe.” She felt Phillip’s hand on her shoulder.

“And yet here we are.” He smiled and his face became young and fresh. Freya put her arm through his. “If we cannot persuade you to travel with us, we wish you all the best on your journey.”

Jé Kinah nodded and flashed Freya a rare smile. “Love life together. Farewell.”

She moved off into the forest, leaving the prince and princess behind. But as she travelled onwards in the dim quiet she knew she was not alone. Something moved along side of her and when a clearing opened up she came upon the Eroin. It stood in a shaft of light, its silky white mane and tail glistening with health and its body quivering with excitement. Since it had been freed it seemed to have grown in stature and it tossed its head, its eyes having emptied of all its red anger, leaving them crystal clear and blue.

Jé Kinah stopped and gazed at it.

“I never thought I would see you again.” She said quietly. “Why did you come back?”

It huffed and pawed the ground. Jé Kinah breathed in sharply, the memory of a memory, of galloping across snow laden plains, returning to her. She closed her eyes and swallowed.

“You saved me from the lake.” She said and opened her eyes again, her moss green irises rippling with unbroken tears. The Eroin lifted its head. “You took me to where I would be found. You did not owe me that kindness…but I am grateful.”

The Eroin bobbed its majestic head, its eyes blue as sapphires and its demeanour, calm.

“Go. Run free. Return to your home.”

The Eroin gave her one last look before turning and plunging into the forest. Jé Kinah could hear it snapping through the undergrowth until there was silence once more. She reached up and held the vial that was always around her neck and smiled.

“Well worth one piece of silver and a few arrows.”