"To keep beauty in its place is to make all things beautiful."
George Santayana, ‘The Essential Santayana: Selected Writings’
Charles stood before the wall of bushes and stared at the thorns that stuck out from the curling branches. The branches themselves looked formidable enough: almost twelve feet tall, intertwined like lovers in the act of love, clinging desperately to each other, threatening to obliterate anyone that dared pull them apart.
But the thorns…
He had never seen anything like them.
They were decorating the branches like festival horns. Long, thick at the bottom, and razor-sharp at the top. Shiny. As if they were made of metal, not wood.
He wondered if his chainmail was hard enough to withstand the attack of the thorns.
The forest of enormous bushes spread a mile to his left and a mile to his right. God only knew how far ahead it went. The castle in question had to be somewhere in the middle of the forest but it was completely hidden from view. It must be a small castle, otherwise, at least its turrets would show. Well, of course! Three hundred years ago, castles used to be much smaller than the ones we build now.
Charles was a young man full of energy. Full of desire for adventures. Full of desire to find some meaning in his senseless world ruled by wars, betrayals, sickness, and death. He was the son of a king who had barely escaped three murder attempts because he was trying to be righteous in an environment of injustice. Charles wanted to follow his father’s example and try to change the world order, but he didn’t know if it was possible. Anyone who dared to challenge the system sooner or later died.
Then he heard about the legend. The place where he now stood used to be a land of peace and prosperity. A land of equality and respect. A land of true love.
Once, the whole world was like that. Things, however, had changed. Kingdoms were rotting away, stricken by spiritual and physical sickness. This place was probably the only pure spot that remained on earth.
And, according to the legend, it could be resurrected.
There was no path between the bushes so he had to cut out one.
Charles drew his long sword. In his trained arms, the seventy-pound beauty felt as light as a feather. Yet stable. Deadly.
It had been with him in many battles. Saved his life more than once. It would do well this time, too.
The branches turned out to be extremely tough. He needed all the strength of his enormous muscles to bring down one branch; when it fell to the ground it gave a prolonged, screeching sound.
Charles froze.
What was that?
A sound of pain?
Are these bushes conscious?
He had no time to think about that. He needed to move on. He kept on cutting, sweat pouring down his face and back, and every time a branch fell, it screamed in agony. Charles would duck to avoid the attacks of its brothers and sisters who would immediately lean towards him, now grabbing an ankle, now an arm, now his waist, trying to break through the chainmail with their ominous thorns. They’d only manage to scratch his skin, but half a mile in, Charles was already bleeding profusely from dozens of superficial wounds. He was getting tired. He felt dizzy. He could not even afford to stop for a sip of water because the bushes were now attacking him in groups.
Don’t give up. It will be the most stupid thing, dying in this witchy forest. You’re stronger than whatever spell that evil fairy cast once on the place. Goodness is on your side.
Charles cut and trudged on, cut and crawled on, cut and cried: “Goodness is on my side!” and then he saw the sudden change in the bushes’ behavior. Their wooden hands trembled and loosened the grip on his body.
“Goodness is on my side!” he shouted hoarsely. His throat hurt from a cut. He had lost so much blood that he could not stand on his feet anymore. His hands grappled with the soft soil and his bloody nails dug out trails of desperation that were mingled, for the first time, with thin streams of hope. “Goodness is on my side, so let me pass! Move away and let me pass!”
The branches shrank back. The great bushes wriggled their roots out of the ground and used them as legs to step back, pushing at their neighbors who followed their lead and moved away, too. After hearing a considerable amount of rustling and moaning, Charles saw that a clear brown path had opened before him. It was wide enough for him to walk on it.
Or crawl.
He tried to stand, holding his sword in his sweaty hand. He lurched, fell once, and got up again. Finally, propped on the sword, he managed to remain in a standing position and briefly inspect his wounds. Far too many, although none of them was lethal. The loss of blood, however, would soon be.
He staggered ahead. Walk. Walk. Walk. The path widened and soon, bathed in the orange rays of the setting sun, Charles saw the castle.
It was indeed a small one. A round building with tiny rectangular turrets. Dozens of small, oval windows were lining up along the walls, decorated with flowers that looked as fresh as if they had been watered just yesterday. Only their heads were slightly drooping as if they were sleeping.
Can flowers sleep?
The stone was supposed to be greenish with time, but it looked white and shiny as if the castle had been built just a few years ago. There was a big garden blooming with apple and peach trees; purple hyacinths, yellow tulips, and bright red roses. Charles could feel their sweet aroma wafting in the air, tickling his nostrils.
This castle is three hundred years old. How is this possible?
The legend had it that an evil fairy once put everyone here to sleep and said that only the kiss of a prince could wake up the princess lying in the bedroom on the second floor. With her, the rest of the castle would wake up, too.
Charles knew all that, but he had expected to see an old, dilapidated building full of dead plants and smelling of desolation. Instead, it smelled of roses and hyacinths.
He entered the front yard through the open gate and walked around the gardens. Flowers of all sizes and colors, a sea of beauty and serenity. Trees heavy with fruit: he plucked an apple, a peach, a pear, and a handful of cherries. They were not only edible: they were the most delicious thing he had ever eaten. His strength returned and he was amazed to see that his blood had stopped running and the wounds had started to heal.
Charles walked behind the castle and saw the staples. Magnificent horses sleeping on the sweet-smelling hay, their muscles twitching with the pleasure of unknown dreams. A few grooms, mostly boys, were lying next to the horses, cheeks red, smiling in their sleep.
Was this fairy really a bad one?
The guards on the turrets wore old-fashioned armor, shining in the setting sun. Their longbows were resting beside them, and they seemed to be enjoying the wild beauty of the landscape, albeit with closed eyes.
Guards who would never hurt a human being.
The sentinels at the entrance, propped on their swords, were wearing the same dreamy expression.
Inside the castle — more wonders.
Courtiers, men, and women, lavishly dressed, were resting against corners, against walls decorated with thick tapestry, on carpets embroidered with landscapes, and on intricately carved wooden chairs and tables. Some of them had stopped in the middle of carrying trays of fruit that seemed still fresh and juicy; others in the middle of hugging each other, their hearty conversation cut in only to continue endlessly in their dreams.
In the kitchen, cooks were leaning against the tables, knives still in their hands; plump peppers, yellow potatoes, and round onions half-cut and spread across the wooden surfaces, sprinkled with the green leaves of spring spices.
Smiles on the sleeping faces and knives used only for cutting food.
In the big hall, noblemen were in the middle of an extravagant reception. Dressed in gorgeous ancient garments, they were frozen in the middle of a dance: the ladies leaning against the men’s shoulders, tenderness engulfing the pairs like a lilac cloud. Musicians seemed to be still playing invisible music that only they could hear: their hands enveloped their instruments in an eternal caress and they seemed to be beating their feet in time to the melody in their sleep.
Charles felt so enchanted by the sheer joy of life that this room radiated that he didn’t want to leave it. There were no intrigues here, no sneaking and planning theft and murder; no jealousy and cheating, nothing but the pure delight of the warm embrace and the rhythm that makes your arms and legs fly.
This castle is not dead, as the legend says. No, it’s fully alive.
It just lives in the moment.
A fairy like this one can’t be an evil one.
Charles climbed the stairs and reached the golden door at the end of the hallway. He opened it. Entered the room.
It was a large chamber with pink and purple curtains covering the oval windows. One of the windows was slightly open and the distant chirruping of unknown birds filled the silent air. The air wasn’t stale: it was fresh and mint-flavored. When Charles looked around, he saw the source of the scent: a big glass vase full of fresh mint leaves.
The vase stood on the bedside cabinet.
Right next to the bed where the princess was sleeping.
The princess…
She was lying completely motionless, safe for the slow rising and falling of her chest. She was wearing a simple pink dress that matched the chestnut hair tumbling down the white pillow and the white sheet under her body. A thin purple blanket was covering the lower half of her body. Her delicate hands were resting on the sheet and there was a soft smile on her face.
Her face…
Charles had never seen anything so beautiful in his life.
It wasn’t just the perfection of the features. Far too many beautiful women had been part of his existence and yet their beauty had been always corrupted by greed and premature lust; by mistrust and cynicism. This creature here didn’t know what greed was. Didn’t know what lust was. She had lived in a world where everyone kept their innocence and childish honesty even when they grew up. In such a world, no cynicism or mistrust could thrive.
Charles made a step toward the bed. Now he was so close that he only needed to bend over and his lips would touch hers.
If I kiss her, I will wake her up. The impenetrable wall of bushes will disappear. This castle will become a part of today’s world. I thought I could use this place to change the world I live in, but I’m very much afraid that the world I live in will change the place instead.
He stared at the porcelain-white face, the long dark lashes resting on the flushed cheeks, the full red lips, slightly curved in a smile.
The princess was dreaming and her dreams were beautiful.
Charles stroked her hair gently, then turned around and left the room.
Left the castle.
Left the forest of bushes.
Behind him, the wall of thorns rose again and closed the makeshift path. The castle vanished from view.
Sweet dreams, princess.
Interesting take.
That twist at the end was amazing! What a curveball. I like the Charles character. He's a guy filled with honor. :D