Wednesday, August 1, 2012

Chapter 11: Mother Dear



  Once, in a great forest far far away from here, there lived a beautiful woman in a cottage. Now, this woman was actually a Queen who fled from her home in time of war. Despite her stately upbringing, she was an extremely capable woman, and fended herself well in the heart of the dark, threatening forest. She was indescribably beautiful as well. Her hair was the colour of amber, her complexion fair as spring. She wore the rubies and velvet of her country; a ghost of a bee in the centre of a deep red rose.
  No one knew of her whereabouts, sans an old farmer’s wife who visited her every full moon with fresh vegetables and meat. You would think that she was very lonely, and in truth she was. But not for long, for in the Queen lay the beating heart of new life.
  At the height of war, when the flames burnt the brightest, and the screams of dying were shrillest, the Queen gave birth to a healthy prince all by herself. Her strong maternal instincts told her how to care for her little weakling. They were very well off, for no man or beast harmed them in any way, and the suckling babe thrived into a fine boy.
  The Queen loved her son with all her heart. She gave him everything she could, squeezing out the last drops of her warm milk into his eager mouth when he suckled, the largest portions of every meal when he began to stomach everything in his path. Of course, the prince loved his gentle mother, and fetched and carried for her when he was not three years old.
  There was one thing, however, that the Queen kept away from her darling son. This was a crystal goblet of wine. Often when the moon shone like marble in the night sky, the Queen would sit herself in front of this goblet and stare into the still, red liquid. Often she would cry, silently, so as not to wake her sleeping son. But sometimes a choke or sob would escape her trembling lips. Her young Prince would awaken, and watch his mother as she did her solemn ritual. He knew not of the importance of all this, certainly all he could see was his mother crying over a cup of not-spilled milk, and he saw no fuss in that.
  Many times, he tried to climb to the table to peer into the goblet himself, but his mother would slap his hands away (the only time she ever laid a hard hand upon him).
  “But whyever not, mother?” He wailed each time. “Why may I not look into the goblet for myself? I want to know what is inside that makes you weep!”
  “You must never, never look into this goblet,” the Queen implored. “My child, I am only doing this to protect you. I love you, and would rather not see you hurt by things you do not, will not ever understand.”
  “But what is inside, mother?” The Queen would refuse to say another word, and sent him to bed while she put the goblet away.

  One night, however, curiousity got the better of the little boy. He pretended to be asleep, and watched where his mother hid her goblet up on the top shelf. When she had her back turned, he climbed up to the shelf and reached for the goblet. But though he stretched his fat fingers as far as they would go, he could not reach it. He stood on his tiptoes, and grabbed at the goblet in a lunge. It flew right off the shelf onto the floor with a crash, just as his mother turned around, and the moon burst through the black clouds and starless sky.
  The Queen shrieked, a scream that seemed to awaken the entire forest. Wolves howled from their dens, eagles cried from their nests, owls hooted, bears roared in answer to the Queen’s cry.
  The prince stood rooted in shock, as his mother began to transform before his very eyes. Her hair seemed to crackle like fire; her pearly white teeth grew strong and carnivorous. The rubies and red velvet trickled down her naked white skin, staining and pooling at her feet in puddles of blood. Her eyes clouded to black, with just a pinprick of white in the centre of both.
  “Do you see now?” The Queen asked her son in a voice of a beast. “Do you see now, dear son, foolish son, stupid boy! Do you see why I tried to keep you away from what is mine, and mine alone?” She took a step towards the prince, who backed away from her in fear. He stumbled over broken glass, his own blood mingling with the growing dark puddles at his feet.
  “Come, my son,” The Queen crooned. “You have always wanted to look into the goblet. You have always wanted to see the reason why I weep. Come, look into my eyes now and find what you are looking for.” He was trembling now, his knees clacking together like bones in an empty dish, picked clean. And yet, he could not resist. He could not fight his childlike curiosity. Slowly, he lifted his head to look into the soulless eyes of his beloved mother, gazing into the tiny twin moons in her black orbs that were now like glass mirrors.

And, deep within them, he saw himself.