pearls

                                       Pearls
         
         Once in a far away kingdom in a far away time lived a lovely queen named Lily. She was kind and just, and had the beauty that made flowers blossom and people blush. Together with her king she ruled the land with fairness and consideration, and their subjects were the happiest in the nation. The only that that Lily wanted for was children of her own, but try as they might, the royal couple was unable to conceive. Before she went to bed, Lily would pray to the moon goddess to grant her fertility. She would dream of little girls with flowers in their hair, so real she often woke up laughing and looking for them to be lying next to her. But every morning her bed was as empty as her womb, and she cursed the sun for rousing her from dreams of fulfillment. Once she had even gone to the kingdom’s midwife, asking for some sort of a potion. The woman had given Lily a string of pearls. She told the queen to sleep with them under her pillow, and rub them every morning. Lily followed the directions, rubbing the beads until her fingers were calloused, but still, there were no children.
         One day Lily went for a walk along the river that ran through the forests behind her castle. As she watched the water churning she noticed little flowers growing along the edges. She looked closer and noticed tiny pixies dancing between the wildflowers. Lily laughed, delighted at the funny faces they made as they waved their arms around, somersaulting between the blades of grass. They twinkled, their laughter like sparkles falling through the air. Lily kneeled down, her hair hanging in her face, her eyes wide. She made sure not to breathe too hard, scared of knocking the creatures down. She reached her hand out and carefully caressed one of the flowers, admiring the deep red of the petals. She curled her fingers around the stem and plucked it, wanting to inhale its fragrance, which surely was as beautiful as its colour. As she ripped the flower from the ground, one of the pixies collapsed by her knees. She plucked another flower, enchanted by the colours and smells. The red one smelled like her mother’s hair. The purple one smelled like her grandfather’s cloak. The blue one reminded her of the wind after a rain storm. She collected a rainbow’s worth of flowers, not noticing that each one picked left a pixie dead on the ground. Pleased with her collection, Lily started to rise until she saw an orange flower that grew close to the water’s edge. It was the most amazing hue she had ever seen, one that looked like a pumpkin, and then a sunset, and then the outermost edge of a flame. She leaned over to pick it, putting her other hand on the ground to balance herself. Suddenly a gust of wind pushed her from behind and she tumbled into the churning waters. She bobbed in and out of the rapids, unable to pull herself back to shore.
         As Lily rushed down the river in the current, she wondered if she would ever see her loving husband or faithful subjects again. She cried out, mourning that she never had the chance to have children. As she began to accept her fate, she noticed the currents had stopped pulling her. She was suspended, still bobbing up and down, and noticed a little man standing on the river’s edge. He stood about three feet high and had a halo of grey curls across his head. His eyes were small, but bright, and they crinkled when he spoke.
         “Why did you kill me pixies?” he asked.
         “I did not,” the queen replied.
         “You picked their flowers. You took their lives. Did you think there would be no consequences?”
         “Kind sir, I did not realize that the beautiful flowers were the life-force of those dainty creatures. I do not know of these things. I spend my days in my castle, trying to rule my kingdom in a fair and just manner,” Lily said.
         The little man’s eyes lit up, but he said nothing. Lily continued.
         “Please, kind sir, if you are able to help me from this river I will give you whatever I can. I did not mean to kill your pixies. I simply wanted to bring home some of the beauty I had found.”
         “Have you any children, queen?” he asked.
         Tears started falling from Lily’s eyes.
         “No, I have not had the chance to bear children yet. It is what I want most in the world, but my husband and I remain barren.”
         The little man stretched his hand out and grabbed hers, pulling her out of the river and to the shore. She lay on the grass, bedraggled, choking, and coughing. She wrung the water from her hair and sat up, shivering.
         You saved my life. Thank-you,” she said. “What is your name? How can I reward you?”
         The little man stood next to her and smiled.
         “My name is Yusal, and I am the keeper of this river. I watch over the water and the wildlife, the flora and the fairie creatures that all live here,” he said. “And you, my queen, will give me your first two daughters when they are of the age of womanhood. This is how you will repay me for saving your life, and this is how you will repay me for killing my own children.”
         Lily shook her head, trying not to smile. She feared her laughter would anger the river-keeper.
         “But sir, I have already told you. I do not have children. My husband and I...” she looked down as a wave of sadness washed over her. “We are unable. We cannot.”
         Yusal put his hand on Lily’s shoulder and brought his face in line with hers. She looked into his eyes. They were not bright. In fact, they were cold and glassy, like a bird’s. He stank, his breath rotten.
         “When you go home, go straight to your rose garden. Underneath the only bush that is in bloom you will find a fruit. Eat it, and all at once. Do not eat some then, and some later, or the spell will be altered and the consequences will be severe,” he said.
         And with that he snapped his fingers and disappeared.
         When Lily arrived back at her kingdom she walked slowly towards the rose garden. Just as Yusal had said, there was only one bush in bloom, covered in a shimmering opal colour she had never seen before. She knelt down, looking for the fruit he had spoken of. And there, poking out of the dirt, was an orb the colour of the roses it lay beneath. Lily picked it up. The skin was smooth. She put it to her mouth and took a bite of the yielding flesh. The meat was soft and tasted rancid. She swallowed it, and took another bite, and then another. The fruit suddenly looked gigantic in her hand, and she was unsure of her ability to finish it. The little man’s words rang in her ears. He had not said what the consequences would be. He surely cannot expect me to finish this rotting thing. Surely, there cannot be any harm if I finish the rest of this back in the castle, with a glass of ale to help wash it down. She stood up and brushed the dirt from her knees, and carried the fruit back to her home.
         That night Lily lay in bed next to her king, unable to sleep. Her stomach had gurgled violently all evening, and was finally calming down. She thought of the little man and his words, and wondered if she would escape the dire consequences he had spoken of. Eventually she succumbed to sleep, and dreamt anxious dreams of laughing children with rotten flesh.
         For a month afterwards Lily was sick every morning, and every evening too. After a visit from the doctor, the queen and king rejoiced, and the entire kingdom celebrated their joy. The royal family was finally going to have a child.
         Nine months after Lily had eaten the fruit, she gave birth to two beautiful girls. One had a head full of curls the colour of flames, and this one she named Sophia. The other had eyes the colour of ice, and this one she named Oona. The babies were quick to develop personalities. Sophia had a wide smile and bright eyes, and seemed to love everyone she met. Her laugh would echo through the hallways, and subjects couldn’t help but smile when they heard it. Oona was far more serious. She constantly frowned, and seemed to have no interest in anyone but her mother. Lily fretted for months until one day Oona let out a cackle after watching a servant fall to the floor. That was the only time anyone heard her laugh, and the subjects were thankful for it. They often whispered amongst each other about the child, marveling at the difference between the two girls. Like good and evil, they would say.
         Years passed and the children grew older. Sophia would often run through the castle, hugging the maids and playfully scolding the cooks. She loved reading, especially in her mother’s rose garden. She would often lay on the grass for hours, her bright curls visible from across the yards. She would bring in armfuls of flowers for her mother, and carefully arrange them in colourful vases throughout the rooms. Everyone loved her. Sophia would light up any room she walked into.
         Oona spent most of her time at the bottom corners of the kingdom, wandering through dark patches of the forest. She had an intensity to her that often frightened her parents, and her face was drawn in a perpetual scowl. She never laughed or played, and would frown at the bouquets of flowers her sister would place through the castle. She had no time for games, and no interest in love.
         Lily began dreaming of rotten fruit when the girls celebrated their fifteenth birthday. On their sixteenth birthday she lay in her bed, thinking of what beautiful women her girls were becoming. The kingdom was quiet, so quiet she could hear faint gurgles of the river. The room began to fill with a stink that tickled the back of her memory. Her heart beat quickly and she felt a fear she hadn’t known since sixteen years before. She sat up and saw a little man dancing across the foot of her bed.
         “Hello, dear queen. Do you remember me?” His eyes were dark and hard, and glinted like glass against fire.
         Lily pulled the blankets up to her neck. She remembered him all too well. She nodded.
         “Do you remember the promise you made to me?” he asked.
         “My daughters are not yet women. They are still children,” she said.
         Yusal stroked his chin. “It is near the time. You should prepare.”
         “What were the consequences you spoke of?” Lily asked.
         The little man ran up the mattress and put his face against hers.
         “You didn’t eat the fruit all at once?” he asked.
         “I ate half in the garden, and the next half as soon as I got to the kitchen of the castle. It was not more than ten minutes after,” she said.
         “You foolish woman,” he hissed. “I needed them identical. They were supposed to be one and the same.”
         “Then you do not need them,” Lily said. “They are as different as can be. You cannot take them.”
         Yusal’s mouth curled up into a grimace that brought goose-bumps to Lily’s arms.
         “I will take then one year sooner. This will be the punishment for your disobedience,” he said. And with that, he snapped his fingers and disappeared.
         With each month that passed Lily grew more despondent. Her king became worried, and brought her gemstones and spices from across the oceans to no avail. Sophia spent days picking wildflowers and writing poems, but brought no smile to her mother’s face. Even Oona seemed concerned, and delivered hot milk with honey to Lily’s room every night. One night Oona sat on the edge of Lily’s bed and took her hand. Her mother sighed, tears running down her cheek.
         “Do not cry, mother,” Oona said. “There is no reason for your sadness. Please mother, do not cry.”
         Lily looked away and sighed again. How could she look her daughter in the eye? She had not even told her children about their fate. Oona eventually rose and walked away. Lily curled under her blankets, her heart heavy and face wet.
         Six months before their birthday, Oona and Sophia walked down to the river their mother had visited years before. They sat on the river’s edge, dipping their fingers in the water.
         “What shall we do?” asked Sophia.
         “What can we do?” replied Oona. “She will not smile, she will not laugh, she will not even get out of bed. We have done everything we can.”
         “You are right,” agreed Sophia. “We have done everything we can.”
         The girls both sighed and collapsed to the grass. Sophia looked towards the river and saw a pixie dancing around a pale blue wildflower. She smiled, and the pixie danced over to her face. It rubbed its hands across her cheek and whispered in her ear.
         “What makes pretty girls so sad?” the pixie asked.
         “Our mother has not smiled in half of a year. Something is breaking her heart and we cannot share her burden,” Sophia replied.
         Oona crept closer to her sister to listen to the conversation.
         “Why can pretty girls not share burden?”
         “It really is not any of your business,” Oona replied.
         The pixie crawled into Sophia’s hair, wrapping the soft curls around itself.
         “All right. What does pretty girls’ mother look like?”
         “Her hair is long and dark, as dark as a tree, and as soft as rabbit fur,” Sophia said. “She has eyes that are as green as the greenest leaf, and skin as smooth as glass.”
         “Her smile is lovelier than the first bird’s song in the morning,” Oona finished.
         The pixie smiled.
         “I know mother of pretty girls. Pretty mother would come to river, but not anymore,” it said.
         Sophia sighed. “Mother will not do much of anything anymore,” she said.
         “Girls are very sad for this, yes?” it asked.
         “Very,” the girls both said.
         The pixie jumped out of Sophia’s hair and into the river, making a tiny splash. Suddenly, a small woman appeared. The girls sat up, startled, and held each other. The little woman smiled, her eyes soft and warm.
         “Hello, young ladies. I could not help but hear your conversation with Ixle,” she said. “Do you really not know the reason of your mother’s sadness?”
         Oona leaned forward.
         “Do you know? You sound like you know. Who are you?” she asked.
         “I am someone who will help you. Sixteen and one half years ago, I saw your mother here, at this river. She slipped in, and very nearly drowned,” the woman said.
         The girls gasped, and clasped each other’s hands.
         “No need to worry, darlings. She was rescued by Yusal, the little man who watches over the life of the river. But he demanded a reward for his deed, and made her promise him her first two daughters when they would reach the age of womanhood,” she said.
         “No,” Sophia cried.
         “No, no mother,” Oona cried.
         “Because she did not follow his directions strictly, your mother gave birth to two wonderfully different daughters, instead of the identical beings Yusal was looking for. And because of this, he will punish her by taking you two a year early. At the end of this half year, he will come for you. The both of you,” the woman said.
         “But why? If we are not the identical beings he wants, why will he take us?” asked Oona.
         “Because your mother made a promise, as did Yusal, and he will see them both through,” she replied. “My name is Gwyn, and I will help you. I am the keeper of the forest. Yusal is my brother. Be warned, he is shrewd, and mean, and very treacherous. If you encounter him, do not believe anything he says, “Gwyn said.
         The twins cried silently at the thought of being parted from their kingdom.
         “What do we do?” Sophia asked.
         “On your seventeenth birthday, Yusal will come to your mother’s bedroom to demand his reward. He will bring you here, to the river. Once here, take this nut and throw it into the water. I will come then, and help you.” Gwyn opened her hand and held out a chestnut. Sophia picked it from her palm, and tucked it into her dress sash.
         “In the meantime, sit with your mother. Do not despair, try to overwhelm her with the love and kindness that is in your hearts. This will help her get through this,” Gwyn said. She smiled, winked, and slipped back into the water.
         The girls rose and walked back to their kingdom, hand-in-hand, crying with each step.
         The days passed, and Lily grew more subdued. Sophia spent day and night by her side, telling funny stories and poems, braiding her hair, and kissing her cheeks. Lily’s beauty had faded, and she was always tired and teary-eyed. Her heart was broken, and it seemed to be slowly killing her. Sophia grew lovelier each day, and the servants would marvel at the patience, love, and kindness she showed the queen. Every morning, she would bring Lily hot tea and toast covered with mounds of butter, but her mother’s spirits would not be raised.
         Oona grew angry and bitter as the time passed. How dare her mother make a promise like that. The servants spoke amongst each other of how Oona seemed to be growing uglier. Her skin became sallow, and her long, dark hair matted into dreadlocked knots. Her eyes, though, were still cold as ice. She did not spend days trying to console her mother. She stalked through the rose gardens instead, pulling down blooms and grinding the petals into the dirt. Her mother had stopped tending to the garden a year ago, and the roses grew wild and unconstrained now.
         The day before their seventeenth birthday, Sophia walked through the castle giving each servant bunches of wildflowers. She had a meal with her father, and cried when she bid him goodbye. The rest of the day she spent in her mother’s chambers, lying in bed with her, holding her hand and whispering poems of love and forgiveness.
         That day, Oona walked down through the forests to the river where they had seen Gwyn. She stood at the edge, her heart pounding.
         “Yusal?” she asked quietly. “Yusal, are you here?”
         “Hello my dear,” Yusal replied. He was standing behind her. Oona almost fell backwards as she turned to see him. She stood speechless, trying to decide if she was dreaming or not.
         “You…” she threw her shoulders back and pressed her chin forward. She would not let him see how frightened she really was. “You rescued my mother and made her promise her first two daughters in return.”
         Yusal nodded.
         “I am one of them. My sister is in the castle, wasting her time trying to save our mother from dying of a broken heart. I am here to talk to you,” she said.
         “What is it you want to discuss, my dear?” Yusal asked.
         “My sister and I came to this spot six months before. We spoke to your sister, Gwyn.”
         Yusal’s eyes flashed at the mention of his sister’s name. “What did she say?”
         “She told us you and our mother made promises to each other, promises you intended to keep. What do you want us for? Why would you need my sister and me?” she asked.
         Yusal jumped up into Oona’s arms, like a demented toddler. Oona shuddered at the touch of his clammy skin and dropped him hard on the grass. He stood up and laughed, brushing dirt from his back. 
         “You two, my dear, are going to help me take over my sister’s watch. I have grown tired of watching over the wildflowers and pixies. I need more. I want the forests, the entire river. I want the water nymphs and the wood elves. Gwyn feels I am not ready for this, nor will I ever be. But… but with the two of you…” Yusal trailed off, his words quiet.
         “But that makes no sense. How would we two help you?” Oona asked.
         “Never you mind. What brings you here to tell me of this?” replied Yusal.
         “Because I hate my kingdom. I hate the subjects, I hate my father, I hate my sister, and I hate my mother. No mother should promise to give up her flesh, no matter how much danger she is in. And Sophia? She spends her days trying to bring cheer to the queen. To the traitor! To the woman who betrayed us both. I want to make them pay.  I want to help you.”
         “Very well,” said Yusal. “You will help me. Tonight I will visit your mother in her chambers.”
         “What will you say?”
         “None of your business. Tomorrow morn, you shall bring your sister to the river. Make sure you are both here. This will not work if there is just one.”
         Oona began to shiver with fear. The little man’s eyes were void of any feeling. She had never seen anyone so cold.
         Yusal continued. “To ensure your sister comes without a struggle, put this in a mug of hot milk and bring it to her tonight. Make sure she drinks it all.”
         Yusal handed Oona a small block of something that looked like chalky sugar. She brought it to her nose and smelled it, and had to fight the urge not to toss it away right there. It stank like vinegar, a sharp smell that brought tears to her eyes.
         “This will make her forget everything that Gwyn has said to her. Once you are here, I will appear, and you two shall help me realize my destiny. Now go, and speak of this to no one.”
         Oona turned and ran all the way back to the castle.
         That night Oona did as she was told. She brought Sophia a big mug of hot milk. The block had dissolved almost instantly, and left the slightest smell of bitter almonds in the liquid. Her sister was sitting in front of the fireplace, crying.
         “Why do you cry, my sister?”
         “Tomorrow we leave the kingdom forever. I am sad, my sister. This is why I cry,” Sophia replied.
         “Do not worry. It is an adventure we will embark on, a beginning, not an end. And besides, we will be together,” Oona said as she handed Sophia the mug. “Here, I have brought you some warm milk to help you sleep. Make sure to drink it all,” she said.
         Sophia smiled wearily. “Thank-you, dear sister. I shall drink it once it has cooled.”
         Oona smiled and bent down to kiss Sophia on the forehead. She turned and left, sure her sister would finish the milk. Sophia was so gentle and kind-hearted, and often naïve and too trusting. There was no doubt in Oona’s mind the milk would be gone by the hour’s end.
         Sophia watched her sister walk out of the room. In all their years, Oona had never brought her hot milk. In fact, she rarely had such kind words for her, save for the walk home six months before. Sophia brought the milk to her nose and inhaled deeply. She smelled almonds, and decided to empty the mug out the window. She crawled into bed and tried to sleep, frightened of what tomorrow would bring.
         That night, as her children tossed and turned in their own beds, Lily watched Yusal crawl through the window and across the floor. He stood beside her bed and they looked at each other, both silent. He clambered up the blanket and stood at her feet, as he had before.
         “Dear queen, you have lost your radiance and beauty that all across the kingdom once spoke of.”
         Lily turned her head and sighed.
         “The time has come. In one year your daughters will be women. If you had obeyed my instructions, you would have one more year with them. But now, I shall take them,” he said.
         Lily sighed again, tears running down her cheeks.
         “Do you have nothing to say? No protests, no cries of ‘please do not take my children’? Are you so weak and pathetic that you will not even defend them?” he asked.
         The queen opened her mouth, but released only a soft cry. She had not spoken in a year, and all words had long escaped her. She turned over and sighed again. Yusal shook his head slowly and climbed down the bed.
         “Dear queen, I am disappointed,” he said. He turned and walked towards the window, leaving the way that he came.
         The next morning Sophia awoke to see Oona standing above her.
         “Good morning, my sister,” Oona said. “Did you sleep well?”
         “Well enough considering today we leave our kingdom forever,” Sophia answered.
         “Well, no time to dawdle. The sooner we leave, the sooner we can begin our journey,” Oona said.
         “Please, gentle sister, let me say goodbye to our mother before we go,” said Sophia.
         Oona sat on the edge of the bed. “Sophia, this will bring only heartache and pain to her. Do you really want her to suffer more than she already has been?”
         Sophia shook her head. “No, no I do not. Very well, Oona. Let me dress myself, and then we shall go to the river.”
         Sophia slowly got dressed, making sure she had the nut Gwyn had given her still tucked safely in her sash. After she had combed her hair and put on her shoes, she walked to Oona’s room. Together, they walked through the castle, across the grounds, through the forest and to the river. Once there they held hands and stood at the edge. Sophia said nothing to Oona of Gwyn, or the chestnut held tightly against her waist. She turned to her sister, scared. “What do we do now?” she asked.
         Oona looked into the river, her eyes the colour of the water. “Now, dear sister, we wait for our destiny.”
         Moments after, Yusal jumped out of the river and stood between the two girls. He smiled, rubbed his hands together, and let out a chilling cackle.
         “Very good, very good. After so many years it has finally come,” he said. He reached out to take the girls’ hands. Both shuddered at his touch.
         “Let us go children, deep into the river,” he said, ready to jump.
         “No!” Sophia cried. She pulled her hand back. “Your sister will rescue us. We will not go with you.”
         Yusal shrieked and turned to Oona, his eyes fiery with anger. “What of the milk?” he demanded. “Did you disobey me as well?”
         Oona shook her head, filled with fear.
         Yusal grabbed their hands with a death grip. “No need to go willingly, I will take you like this!”
         He jumped into the water and pulled the girls with him. As soon as the chestnut hit the water, the current quickened, and the river became a trail of froth and rapids. Yusal lost is grasp on the sisters for one moment, and in that moment, Gwyn appeared. She took the girls by the hands and brought them deep into the river, under the rapids and swelling waters. She stroked Sophia’s cheek and kissed her lips, breathing into her. She then turned to Oona and did the same. The girls sank slowly, Gwyn’s breath heavy in their lungs. By the time they had reached the bottom of the bed, the girls had turned into two large, rough pearls. Gwyn took Sophia in her hands and polished her until she shone like fire.
         “You, Sophia. You shall rise in the sky. You shall provide warmth and love for all below you. Creatures and flowers alike shall raise their faces towards you. You have a pure heart, and your kindness shall not be unrewarded,” Gwyn said. She put the blinding globe down and took up Oona. She picked up a handful of dirt, and rubbed Oona until she was dull.
         “You, Oona. You shall rise in the sky as well, but you shall be eternally shrouded in darkness. Creatures and flowers alike shall hide from you. You have tried to betray your sister. Your heart is cold, and you shall not be unpunished,” she said. She picked up Sophia and rose to the surface, through the water, into the air. She lifted her arms and sent both gloves spinning into the sky. Yusal screamed in anger, water filling his mouth, drowning him.
         The girls rose high into the sky until they reached their place in the heavens. Every morning Sophia rises, and brings the world to life. Flowers strain to face her, and children bask in her warmth and love. She watches carefully over her kingdom, and every dawn and dusk peeks into her mother’s window showering her with gentle rays of kisses. Every night Oona rises, and puts the world to sleep. Plants curl into themselves, hiding from the dark, and creatures lurk from tree to tree, and people commit treacherous acts they would not have the courage to do in daylight. And every night from dusk till dawn she watches through her mother’s window, bathing the room in a soft, pale light.