Authors: Cameron Dokey
You might as well just come right out and invite something you'd rather not meet to rear its ugly head and bite you. Or in this case, scratch you, which is what happened next. As Ironheart turned back around, he turned a corner at the same time and one long cane of thorns, hidden by the turn in the maze, slashed across his face.
He gave a cry that had my heart leaping straight up into my throat. I sprinted toward him, already shucking off my knapsack.
"How bad is it.p Let me see!" I said.
102
He had one hand—his left hand—pressed against the same side of his face. As if, even in wounding him, the maze had deliberately left his right side unimpaired. I could see bright drops of blood leaking out through his fingers—the same color as the blossoms covering the bushes all around us, as the thorns on the cane that even now arched above us, still quivering with the force of their contact.
"It's all right. I'm all right," he gasped.
"You're not all right," I insisted, dragging on his hand.
"Ironheart, I can't help you if you won't let me see."
To my amazement, he jerked back. "Not yet," he snapped.
"Not until we reach the heart."
"That's crazy," I said. "You're hurt. You have to let me help you now." But I was talking to his back.
"When we reach the heart," he said again as he staggered off.
"Not before that."
And so we completed our journey to the heart of the maze, the heart of the Forest, with Ironheart weaving like a drunkard and me trailing along behind him, following the bright drops of blood that slipped from his fingers and fell to the grass like so many scarlet bread crumbs. To this day, I can't tell you how long it took, though he was right about the way the maze worked, of course. After what seemed like endless twisting and turning, we rounded one final corner and there it was. I'm not sure quite what I'd expected. Something stately and royal, I suppose. Or at the very least something that reeked of storybook magic. A smooth square of perfectly green grass with a pavilion made of crystal in its very center and a fountain splashing water as clear as diamonds. Or perhaps a woodland glen inhabited by both a lion and a unicorn.
La Foret being what it was, the thing it held within its heart was neither of those things. It was simply a garden, and a practical one at that, with herbs and vegetables planted in tidy rows. The only structure I could see was an old wooden potting shed. The closest thing to a fountain was a brick-lined well. And the only place where a princess might have slept for a hundred minutes, let alone a hundred years, was a bench with a flowered cushion for her head at one end. On the other end lay a straw hat with a bright blue ribbon tied around the crown, as if whoever tended this place had just taken it off and gone for a morning stroll.
103
But of the gardener herself, there was no sign.
"No," I heard Ironheart choke out. His steps faltered, and he came to a halt. "No."
My heart was knocking against my ribs so hard I thought it might break. With his sorrow, not with my own.
"Sit down," I said, putting my hands on his shoulders and pushing him downwards. "Let me see your face."
His legs folded like a house of twigs, his hands flopping useless in his lap. "She's not here. She's not here, Aurore."
"Don't be ridiculous, of course she's here," I said, making my voice as brisk as I could. "You don't think a princess is going to sleep for a hundred years outside. She'd catch her death of cold long before her handsome prince could even set out, let alone arrive."
Not so bad. It's not so bad, I thought. Though it had bled fiercely during our sprint, most of the bleeding had stopped by now, and the wound had somehow missed his eye. It started midforehead, then slanted downward across the left side of his face. I was pretty sure the thing that had saved his eye had been the bridge of his nose. But the cut was deep, especially across his cheek, and would need to be cleansed and stitched.
"Sit there," I said. "I'll get some water from the well."
"No," he protested, trying to get to his feet. "I can't just sit here. I have to find her, Aurore."
"And so you will," I said. "But you can't do it looking like you've just been attacked by brigands. You want to bring her the kiss of true love, not scare her half to death. Wouldn't you say she's already been through enough?"
"You're right. Of course you're right," he said. "It's just—
"Sit still," I commanded, making my voice as stern as I could.
"The sooner you let me do this, the sooner you can get on with your quest."
But as I started to rise, he caught my hand. "She is here, isn't she? I will find her, won't I, Aurore?"
"Of course you will," I said, though I felt the pain of doubt close like a vise around my heart."Isn't it the thing for which you were born?"
104
"That's right. It is," he said. And then he smiled, a thing that caused a sluggish line of blood to ooze from his cut at its deepest point.
"I'll be right back," I said. I made for the well. After returning with most of a bucket of water, I knelt down beside him, then rummaged in my knapsack for my extra shirt and the healing supplies I had brought along.
"This will probably hurt," I said, as I used my knife to hack one of the sleeves off the shirt. "I'm sorry, but I don't think it can be helped."
Ironheart attempted a smile. "It's all right," he said. "Really, I'm tougher than I look."
I paused in the act of dunking the sleeve in the water and met his eyes. "No, you're not."
He opened his mouth to protest, then closed it again as he realized what I'd meant. "Thank you," he said. "I think that's about the nicest thing anybody's ever said to me, Aurore."
"Just don't let it go to your head," I remarked. "There's nothing worse than a man who thinks too well of himself."
Then swiftly I laid the damp cloth against his face while he was still chuckling. He jerked once, his eyes telling me he knew exactly what I'd done, then calmed. Carefully I washed the dried blood from his face, working slowly and patiently until I felt sure the wound was as clean as I could make it.
"I'm going to have to stitch your cheek," I said.
Somehow, he managed to make a face. "A thing you've no doubt done a million times before."
"A million and one," I said, as I deftly threaded my needle, grateful for the first time for Maman's insistence that I learn to use one properly.
He chuckled and reached one hand out to grasp mine at the wrist, holding it still. "I like you, Aurore. I just wanted to say that—before whatever else is going to happen happens."
"I like you, too," I replied.
"All right," he said. "Let's get this over with."
Though the first instance of needle going through flesh gave us both a bad moment, in a matter of minutes I was snipping off the thread and the deed was done. I wove the needle through 105
the thigh of my right pant leg, desperate to get it out of my hands before they could begin to shake, then turned to dip a fresh piece of torn shirtsleeve into the bucket.
"Here, take this," I said, leaning forward to hand it over."The water is cold. It will help keep the swelling down. Why don't you rest for just a moment before you—"
I felt a small, bright spear of pain, for all the world like the sting of a bee, shoot through my right hand as I sat back upon my heels and my hand brushed against my thigh. Turning it over, I could see something exactly in the center of the pad of my right forefinger.
One bright drop of blood.
My eyes dropped to where I'd tucked the needle into the top of my pants. You great idiot, Aurore. And so the fate I'd been waiting my whole life for was upon me, and of course I'd brought it on myself.
"Ouch," I said softly. And then, "I wonder what happens now?"
Ironheart took the cloth down from his face. "What is it?
What's the matter, Aurore?"
There was urgency in his voice, I could hear it, but I could no longer seem to summon any sense of urgency myself. There was a strange sound filling my ears, a sound that somehow managed to sound like weeping beyond all hope of consolation and joyous shouting at the same time.
"There's something I need to tell you," I said.
"What is it?" he said, and I think I felt his hands upon my shoulders. "For the love of God, Aurore."
No longer able to answer, I looked up into his face, and, as I did so, for the very first time, I saw what and who it was I carried, strong and safe, inside my heart.
Oh for heaven's sake, I thought. How on earth could I have missed a thing like that? I wished that I had said something, but I suppose it's too late now.
Then my eyes went blind and my mind went blank. And in my ears, a sound like church bells ringing on a cold, clear dawn.
I awoke to a thing I'd never felt before. Something was moving across my face, fierce and demanding. And a voice was saying my name in exactly the same way. "Aurore. Aurore."
Then I felt something touch my lips. Once. Twice. Then a third time, each with growing desperation, and realized what I felt were lips themselves. I was being kissed.
"For the love of God, don't leave me," the voice said. "Come back, Aurore."
"All right," I said, struggling to open my eyes. They didn't seem to want to obey my mind's instructions, as if they knew better than I that being closed was their proper position. A position they'd been in for a very long time.
"I can hear you. My ears still work. There's no need to shout."
Whoever held me made a strange sound and pressed me against his chest, rocking me back and forth the way you do a small child.
"I'm going to knock you senseless as soon as you're completely awake," he said.
At this I struggled to sit up, for it seemed to me it was a voice I knew. And no sooner had this thought occurred than I opened my eyes. The sun was so dazzling that I immediately shut them again.
"Ironheart?"
"Well, who else would it be?" he asked, his tone more than a little aggrieved. "What on earth happened? You scared me to death, Aurore."
"You kissed me," I said, opening my eyes once more. They watered like anything, but this time I managed to keep them open. "Did you kiss me?"
"All right. Okay. Yes, I did," said Ironheart, and even through my watery eyes I could see the way his face colored.
"There's no need to get all bothered about it. The truth is, I sort of lost my head. One minute you were fine. The next you were saying all these things that didn't make any sense at all.
Then you keeled right over. I've never seen anybody go as white and still as you did. I thought—that is—I was afraid that you were dead, or something."
"Not dead. Just sleeping. I was supposed to sleep for a hundred years," I said. And watched his mouth drop open.
107
"Well, it certainly felt like a hundred years," he said forcefully.
"But that would mean—" He broke off, his eyes growing wide.
"That would mean that you— that I . . . oh." He dropped his head down into his hands. “I don't understand any of this, Aurore."
"Neither do I," I said with a smile. “I do know one thing, though."
"What's that?"
"I want to go home"
"Sounds good to me," he said. "Do you suppose the Forest will let us go?"
"Your grandfather must have thought so," I said. "Otherwise, he never would have sent you on this quest."
"Good point," said Ironheart. And with that he stood up, pulling me with him. Supporting me when I swayed, as if my legs had forgotten their proper function. "Oh, my."
"What?" I asked. In answer, he simply turned me around, so that I faced back the way we'd come.
The maze was gone.
In its place were low-growing rose shrubs and wild clematis, scrambling over and through one another in great curving mounds. It was as if the maze had become an old woman, still beautiful, but bent, softened with time. Beyond the roses, the trees of la Foret opened up to rolling pastureland. I could see the towers of a castle in the distance, their banners blowing bright against the sky.
"That's my father's castle," I said. And heard Ironheart make a sound.
"I was afraid you were going to say that," he said.
I turned in his arms to gaze up at him. "Why?"
"Because it's also the place where I grew up. This is getting stranger by the minute, Aurore."
"The sooner we get back, the better," I said.
"Right," Ironheart agreed at once."Okay, off we go."
With that, he scooped me up into his arms and started down the hill toward the castle.
"Wait a minute!" I cried. "I'm not a sack of potatoes, in case you hadn't noticed. Put me down!"
108
"In a minute," he said. "And if you keep squirming like that, I'll throw you over my shoulder as if you were a sack of potatoes. You're still a little shaky on your feet. You just don't want to admit it. Let me help you for once, Aurore."
"You could have asked first," I grumbled, though I did stop squirming. The sentiment he'd expressed had been rather sweet.