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burned inside my lungs. Until the kerchief I wore was plas-tered to my
head with sweat, and then the sweat dripped down into my eyes. I ran
until my hands hung limply, too worn out to make fists at my sides.
And then I stopped and caught my breath, and sat down to wait by the
side of the road.
By the time the wagon pulled up beside me, Melisande was sitting next
to Mr. Jones.
"You ran a long way," she said. "Was it far enough?"
"I'm not sure I know."
"You'll appreciate a drink of water, in any case," the tinker said.
"I would," I acknowledged. "And a change of head-gear, I think."
"Fortunately for you, I believe I can assist with both." He handed over
the waterskin, then climbed down from the seat of the wagon and
began to rummage in the wagon itself. The sides had been rolled up, I
noticed. Our hiding place was now com-pletely gone.
"Harry found this, our last trip together," the tin-ker said, and he
handed me what my fingers told me was yet another piece of cloth,
even as my eyes watched it flash in the sun. "He intended to give it to
you himself, of course."
After that first gift of cloth for a kerchief, Harry had continued to bring
me such presents from time to time. Each more elaborate and fanciful
than the next, till even Melisande looked forward to seeing what would
arrive. Some were shot through with threads of gold and silver. Others
were woven of every color I could imagine, and even some that I could
not. The most recent had been stitched to resemble a peacock's tail,
with actual feathers flutter-ing along its edges. We'd put that one on
the head of the scarecrow in the cornfield, where it had success-fully
intimidated the crows.
I held the fabric by one corner and let the rest flutter out in the
breeze.
"For heaven's sake, I can't wear this!" I exclaimed. "I'll blind the
horse."
"You might at that," Mr. Jones agreed. For, rather than being covered
only with embroidery, this cloth was decorated with tiny mirrors held
in place with elaborate stitches in red and silver. "It's very beauti-ful,
though. I can see why Harry thought you might like it."
"Harry," I said, and tried not to hear the way my voice threatened to
turn those two syllables into a sob.
"He'll be all right, Rapunzel," the tinker said. "He's young and strong,
and he knows the roads."
"Of course he'll be all right," I said, as if I could hide my fears by the
crossness in my voice. "It's just so like him to be late."
"He's not late yet," said Melisande. Then, to my surprise, she hopped
down from the wagon seat. "Here," she said. "You ride and I'll run for
a while. By nightfall we will come to a place where the river turns to
run beside the road. There is a small stand of trees where the river
bends that makes a fine campsite. There I will answer all the questions
you've been so careful not to ask. For which I am most grateful, by the
way."
"Can I have a bath?" I inquired.
"Yes," the sorceress answered, and she smiled. "That question I can
answer now."
"I heard what he said to you," Melisande said, late that night. "The
boy, that last day, in our yard. He said that you were cursed. Not only
is this cruel and unfair, it's also untrue. For it is not you who is cursed,
my Rapunzel. It is I."
We had come to the bend in the river, just as the sorceress had
declared we would. Made camp, eaten our dinner, and washed from
our bodies the stains that fear makes, and the dust from the road.
Now the three of us sat around a small, bright campfire, while Mr.
Jones's horse grazed nearby.
The tinker had brought out a pipe, and its bowl illuminated his face,
then darkened it again, as he puffed. Its fragrant smoke mingled with
the smoke of the fire. The water beside us made a cheerful sound. I
was grateful for this, for I had found to my surprise that the land made
me nervous in the dark-ness. It was so great and open and wide. In it,
Melisande's words seemed to fly out in every direc-tion, gone almost
before I could understand what she had said.
"How can that be?" I asked. "Who has the power to curse a
sorceress?"
"The answer to that is simple," the sorceress her-self replied. "One
whose power is greater than mine. In this case, it was a wizard, and
for this reason: He had witnessed me doing a thing that I should not
have done. Once, a very long time ago now, I com-mitted an act of
unkindness."
"But," I said, then stopped short. Who was I to question the actions of
a wizard, after all? But Melisande seemed to understand what my
objection might have been, had I decided to say it aloud.
"True enough," she acknowledged. "Acts of unkindness happen every
day, some intentional, oth-ers not. Mine was of the second variety, not
that it made any difference in the long run."
"I'm not sure I understand," I said.
"That is not surprising" Melisande answered. "For it has taken many
years for me to understand it myself."
She fell silent for a moment, gazing into the fire, then lifted her eyes
to mine. When she did, I got a jolt. For it seemed to me that, just as I
had done with the tinker on that day so long ago now, I caught a
glimpse into the sorceress's heart. In it I thought I recognized myself.
But behind me, moving closer even as I watched, was the person
Melisande had asked to step aside. Though for many years we had not
discussed how I had first come to live with her, I had never forgotten
her words: I made room for you inside my heart.
It is another girl, I realized. Just as I thought she might come close
enough for me to see her features, Melisande spoke again, and the
vision vanished.
"I have wanted to tell you this story many times, Rapunzel," she said.
"Even more, I have known that I must. But every time I wondered if
the time was right, my heart counseled me to wait, and I listened to
its voice. For that is supposed to be my gift, is it not? To see what is in
the heart?"
"In another's heart, yes," I answered without thinking, for my head
was still full of what I believed I had seen, trying to figure it out. Mr.
Jones shifted position suddenly, as if he would have answered
dif-ferently if the question had been put to him. But the sorceress
simply nodded.
"That is a just response. To see into another's heart is one thing. To
see into one's own heart may require a different power entirely. I'm
still not entirely certain it's one that I possess."
And so the sorceress told us her story.
Chapter 9
"Many years ago," Melisande said, "long before you were born,
Rapunzel, the world was less afraid of magic than it is now. As a
result, magic itself was more powerful. In this, I suppose it could be
said that it was like a radish in our garden."
"Better that than a carrot," I said, and heard both the tinker and the
sorceress chuckle. And with that, I felt the tension around our fire
ease, as if, now that the story had at last commenced, we all
understood we would stick with it till the close. What might hap-pen
then was anyone's guess, but for now, we would all be united in the
telling and hearing of it.
"Though it could be any plant," I went on, "assum-ing that I've
grasped your point. If you give a plant room, it will grow and flourish.
But if you crowd it, you may choke it out."
"That is indeed my point," Melisande agreed. "Not that magic has died
out entirely in these days. But fear is strong. Fear of what is different,
of what cannot easily be explained, particularly explained away. We've
had proof enough of that recently, I think, you and I."
"But this is not a story of these days," I said.
"No," Melisande agreed. "Or at least, the start of it is not, for this story
is still ongoing. It has not yet come to its conclusion, though I hope
that the day for that is not far off. It is a cautionary tale, one that
shows how, even when used with the best intentions, the strongest
magic can still go wrong. [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]