It was an interesting voyage. The fairy miserably pointed left, then right, and all were amazed to find that they were making their way through the marsh with dry feet! The fairy was leading them true, upon a path where they would not sink up to their knees in filthy mush.
The marsh, let it be known, was not happy about this. It cried out woe, it cried out disaster, and when it saw that it was not having much success, it began trying to trick them.
“It's just a jump to the left,” it moaned belligerently. “Oh, don't you want to go to the left? Doesn't anyone want to come to the left?”
“Anyone who listens to the marsh gets an arrow to the knee!” the prince commanded loudly. His army shuddered and tucked their knees in. They were an adventurous lot, as all Denerspellians were, on account of always hunting for food other than barley and turnips. And so they certainly did not want to take an arrow to the knee as that would be the end of their adventuring days.
On account of the prince's threats and the fairies' glum pointing, they made their way out of the stinky, ooky, and gooky marsh and out onto a rocky craig. Fresh wind whipped the air before them, rising up crisp and clear to the blue sky. There before him, the prince saw the mountainous beginnings of the pass. Just beyond, the kingdom of Farfadel awaited. He grinned maliciously. “The fairy has pointed us well! Someone reward her with a turnip and some barley wine.”
Everyone shuddered at such cruelty. Barley wine was not particularly gentle on the digestive system and turnips were, well, turnips. But orders were orders, and so a half-baked turnip was shoved through the metal grid to the fairy, and a tiny cup of wine was squeezed through as well. The fairy accepted both with a meager smile. Then she sat down on the bottom of her cage and began trying to eat.
“Do not get lazy!” the prince snapped. “Point the way!”
Again, the fairy pulled her tongue at him. Thumping the turnip down she held her cup in one hand and pointed the way with the other. The prince lifted his chin imperiously and began to lead the way onto the mountainous terrain.
So on and so forth, the voyage continued. Up, up, and up, the adventurous Denerspellians climbed. Sometimes they walked alongside their horses. Sometimes they trudged. Sometimes they tripped. But most often than all they enjoyed the fresh air that was not talking back to them.
It was when they reached the top of the mountain that a change came over the prince. There, the beautifully lush sight of Farfadel spread before them. There, he stood at the pinnacle of the mountain and looked down on it. It seemed ripe for picking. Bright green fields waved in the wind. Far away, the castle glinted like an ornamental pincushion. Fattened livestock were pinpricks here and there, frolicking in the fields.
One would have expected the prince to utter some sort of victorious speech to his army. After all, no other army had come this far without being covered in marsh warts and boils. Yet he did not say a word. Instead a strange glimmer came over his eye. To the fairy he said “Point us the fastest way down.”
The fairy sighed and lifted the other arm, as her first arm was rather tired by now. Just then, a wizened and old commander stepped to the prince's side to congratulate him.
“You mother and father will be proud of you, young prince,” the commander said. But the prince brushed these words away with a wave of the hand.
“Onward!” he proclaimed.
And that, everyone thought, was quite strange. For the young prince was the sort who could bask in the rays of compliments for hours. Lavish praise upon him, and he would lay back and be content to listen to eulogies of his grandeur for days. Yet now he could not seem to care?
“Must be the marsh air,” mumbled one soldier to the commander.
“Maybe there's a wart in his brain,” added another.
And then, of course, in true Denerspellian fashion, the soldiers began to worry. Had there been some strange kind of poison in the path the fairy had led them upon? Were their personalities subtly shifting from this poison?
“Am I me?” moaned one soldier, patting herself all over to be sure that nothing had changed. Yes, she still had two arms, two legs, two noses - no - only one of those!
“What if I am not me?” wailed another soldier, patting himself atop the head.
“Then who is the prince?” the commander murmured, spying with a strange eye the suddenly brave and mature leader who was leading the way atop his fat horse.
A dark murmur settled into the ranks. Surely, if he was no longer the brattish, spoiled, and dishonorable prince, then only one option remained.
“He has become honorable!” they moaned. A shudder ran through the ranks.
The commander shook his head. “I knew something bad was going to happen.”
Another high-ranking archer began to sniffle. “Oh, what shall we tell his parents? Think of his mother's heart!”
“It can't be helped,” murmured the commander. “We will see to it that he returns home unharmed – and as best as we can!”
And so, in the prince's unsuspecting back, a plot was being hatched. It was a meandering plot such as a bag full of fools would come up with. It had no particular plot of motion, except to return their slightly beloved prince back to his pampered and dastardly nature.
“We shall have to feed him turnips!” was the first conclusion anyone came to. “Even when we find sweets, we shall replace them all with turnips. That way he shall be reminded of home!”
All nodded except the commander. “What about the honeycakes? How shall we turn those into turnips?”
One clever guard held up a hand. “We mash the turnips, and we replace the honey of the pie with turnip juice!”
All around shuddered as such dastardly notions. A turnip pie! Oh how dastardly! It was such a horrid thing that surely, surely, eating it would turn anyone's heart bitter and sour.
“What shall we do about the fields? The happiness?” one soldier asked, spitting out the word 'happiness' as if it was a vile thing.
“We will put mud in the visor of his helmet,” another suggested “that way when he crosses all these things, he will not see them! The darkness will remind him of home.”
All nodded and cajoled each other at such wisdom. My, they felt intelligent!
Far up ahead, not so far in fact, the prince was eagerly leading the way. He cared not that the wind seemed to be whispering loudly just behind him. He did not notice that his horse was growing tired and that the sun was beginning to set. He hardly even noticed that the fairy had fallen asleep with her arm resting on the cage's bars so it kept pointing in the same directions. A path was now clearly laid before him, with the castle at the end. A spark burned in his eyes and he was full of magic.
Oh no, a Denerspellian would have said, had they seen this spark. For it was certainly not a dastardly spark. It was love.
Comments (0)
See all