Anita G. Howard

         There once was a land called Roses and Thorns, set deep within the belly of the earth.  Impenetrable as a giant's fisted hand, the thistles and brambles grew gnarled and tall in this place so that not even a sliver of light could pierce their arched walls.  Here, the roses weren't the roses of the upper realm, as they were born in darkness, and their petals were of blackest velvet.  These blossomed but once a year, upon the birthday of the reigning prince.  He was known only as the Shadow Lord, a man of incomparable charm gifted with the ability to transfer his thoughts to others. 

         One month before his twenty-third year, the Shadow Lord fell prey to loneliness and longed to find a woman suitable to sit alongside him and rule his kingdom.  Rarely a word was spoken between his Lady Mother and himself, as they communicated only in their minds.  But she felt his misery, and it pricked her heart.  So one day, with a prayer and a few wise words, she sent her son on a quest into the upper realm to find his match.  Donning his richest brocade cloak and armed with three gifts for his bride—a sterling silver brush, a handful of jeweled hairpins, and a delicate lace scarf—he rode away on his steed of black steel.

         But finding his mate proved no easy task.  For though many women desired to wed him—as he had great wealth and power to his name—in order to live in his land, his chosen could be no ordinary woman. 

         First, she must endure the constant pricking of thistles the size of sewing needles.  Then, she must tolerate complete darkness.  And lastly, she must uphold silence, for in his realm the only inhabitants were creatures of concealment.   The marbled salamanders that preferred dankness to sunlight and warmth, and the spiders and roaches that raced into hiding at the slightest disturbance were his most loyal subjects. 

         Such an environment appalled most ladies, as they were tender-skinned and didn't like darkness or the things that crept soundlessly therein.  And as for maintaining silence, most couldn't keep their mouths and tongues in check for so much as an hour. 

         Many women looked the part with wavy hair that swirled like riotous storm clouds, and eyes of endless ink.  Their skin was much like his own, translucent and supple as China silk, untouched by the sun.  But these tried to fool him and feign their bravery and tolerance, unaware he could see through each one simply by reading her thoughts.

         For three weeks, he searched high and low to find a woman of impeccable breeding with faith enough to shun her fear of the unknown and appreciate the rare beauty God provided within the shadowed calm of darkness.  But no one could meet his mark. 

         Finally, with a lumbering heart, the Shadow Lord made his way home.  The sun was unusually bright and a cave beckoned to soften the journey.  He dismounted his horse and they padded upon the mossy terrain, welcoming the shaded chill and the familiar scent of mildew and damp earth. 

         No more than halfway in, the lord spotted an underground stream bordered by watercress and mushroom, and thought to stop for a snack.  He'd taken only three steps when he noted a splay of sunlight piercing the cave through a hole in the wall, illuminating a disheveled young woman.  She sat next to the water, trailing her fingers through the watercress and staring directly into the light, unblinking. 

         The vision stopped his breath.  For though she looked nothing like royalty—with her dull, sandy tangles of hair and dirt-crusted skin—there was a grace in her movements and a tranquility to her thoughts, and she touched him in a way no other lady ever had.  But he had no hope to merit such a one, as he could see her love for the sun by the intensity with which she stared, her lashes never bowing to its penetrating power. 

         Still, captivated he was, and he sat quietly some feet behind her.  He held his horse by the reins, observing.  A variety of insects scrambled alongside the woman, traversing a path across her bared ankles and feet, yet never once did she fidget or cringe.  Instead, she sat contented and reposed, intent only on her silent exploration of the world beneath her fingertips.

         They sat like this for some time—the lord held by his fascination and the lady oblivious to his presence—until the sun crept out of range and no longer illumined the scene. 

         Now we shall see, he reasoned in his mind, as he felt sure the woman would be fearful and leave, so she might find her way home before nightfall.  He watched smugly, his eyes acclimated to the darkness like a cat's.  But even when the hidden creatures crept from beneath pebbled sanctuaries and emerged from abysmal holes, even as the scorpions marched with their poison tipped spears and the centipedes glided on whip-like legs all around her, she remained.  Unconcerned, unmoving—the embodiment of restraint and poise.

         No longer able to contain his curiosity, the lord released his horse's reins and stood.  He called out to the woman, gently, so as not to frighten her.   Receiving no response, he moved closer, calling louder still.  Only when he was upon her did she startle and nearly fall into the water in her haste to stand.  Capturing her waist, he steadied her.  She tilted her chin upward, a silent scream opening her lips. 

         Then it became clear.  Her gaze, though fixed on his own, searched far beyond him for focus.  Her eyes were the color of ice on a pond, transparent and desolate.  She was blind.  And as he smoothed her tangled hair, speaking softly to comfort her, he realized from the knitting of her brow that she was deaf and mute as well.

         Pressing on her shoulders, he urged her to sit and linked his thoughts to her own in much the way he spoke to his mother.   "I'll do you no harm, fair maid.  I simply ask to know you."

         To this, the young woman's mind opened and responded with eagerness.  "Thank you, oh thank you!  Never in my life have I met a soul who can speak to me in such a way."

         Her gratefulness touched his mind and heart. 

         "Never in my life have I heard the voice of another ringing in my head.  Never in my life have I even heard a voice..."  She trailed her dusty hands along his face and mouth, learning him... seeing him.  "You must be an angel."  Tears ran along her cheeks, trailing muddy lines.

         "I am nothing but a man.  What is your name, my lady?"  The Shadow Lord asked, wiping moisture from her cheeks.

         "I cannot remember.  Perhaps I have none."

         "Then you shall be called Lily, as you are the fairest water flower mine eyes have ever beheld."   As the Shadow Lord knelt beside her, Lily caught his hand.

         "Pray tell me, kind sir," her breathless thoughts touched his, "tell me of these things I cannot see or hear.  What is this that strokes my hair and tugs my skirt on nights that moisture falls from the sky?  What is this that pulses beneath my bare feet like the strumming of the earth's heart?"

         "Wind, and thunder." 

         His answers only awakened more curiosities and her eyes glowed like stars as she asked a whirlwind of questions.  Settled beside her, he patiently telepathed each answer, watching her grubby face light with his responses. 

         In time it grew late.  The Shadow Lord thought of home, and yearned to return before dawn.   But he had no desire to abandon this woman who had captured his very soul.  So he told Lily of his quest and the dark kingdom over which he reigned, and she never faltered in her interest.  She offered little of her own background, admitting only to having lost her home and family.  She, too, was seeking someone to fill her empty days with joy and love—the only light one such as her could ever conceive. 

         And in that moment, the Shadow Lord believed that God had intervened, for what more perfect mate for him than a blind and deaf woman who embraced darkness and silence as her daily routine? 

         So, there beside the rippling water, he caught Lily's hands in his.  "Return with me to my kingdom.  Be my bride.  I promise you love unconditional.  Loyalty unmovable.  We shall share days of quiet walks hand-in-hand, kisses stolen beneath the cool of perpetual shadows.  Nights of passion and conversation aplenty, held private within our kindred thoughts."

         Her answer came in a rush of joyful tears that gathered on her mouth.  He sealed her lips with his own.  And despite the dusty-salt residue, he could scarce pull himself away, as he had never tasted such purity and sweetness.  

         But still they had the journey home.  Though he had no doubt this woman was his soul's helpmate, his Lady Mother would not be so easily convinced.  A respectable appearance was of utmost importance to her, so the lord helped his betrothed ready herself. 

         First, she washed in the stream.  With the grime rinsed away, her lovely features emerged and her skin radiated the blue-tinged white of shadows upon snow.  As he helped her dry, he found that minute scars flecked her dainty face, arms, and legs.  She offered no explanation, and he asked not a question.  

         Using the silver brush intended for her gift, the lord coaxed the snags and dust from her locks until they glistened pale as moonlight.  He braided two plaits at each temple and secured them to her nape with the jeweled pins.  And for the finishing touch, he tied the lace scarf around her shoulders to cover her ragged smock. 

         Pounding in his chest, his heart exalted her.  For despite her feather-soft scars, no such beauty had ever graced his eyes.  Within Lily's mind, he told her this, and received a grateful kiss. 

         Mere hours before dawn, they arrived in the land of Roses and Thorns upon his steed of steel.  The Shadow Lord carried Lily into his dark castle, wrapped in his brocade cloak to isolate her from the thorns that snarled within every crook and crossing of the land.  His Lady Mother had seen them from the turret and hurried down a long, winding staircase, ashen face alight with hope.  But upon seeing this delicate woman cradled in the lord's cloak, her thoughts grew anxious.  She questioned her son upon his choice. 

         "Why did you not allow her to enter on her own feet?  She must pass the final test.  If her skin is too tender to withstand the pricks, she has no place in this kingdom." 

         But the lord was too tired to argue and disregarded his mother's plea, as his heart was now joined to this lady, and he could not live another day without her by his side.  He apprised his mother of Lily's infirmities and bade she treat her with kindness.  His mother, sensing his exhaustion and turmoil, agreed to find his betrothed a comfortable place to sleep for the night, and sent her son off to bed. 

         She led Lily into the bowels of the castle, into a room cluttered with rusted chains and shackles.  As the young woman felt her way around the stone walls, the Lady Mother positioned a feather-down quilt across a bed of nails sharp as dragon's claws.  After tossing a pillow at the head, she turned to Lily and spoke to her mind.  "In order to win the Shadow Lord's favor, you must sleep nowhere but the place I have prepared for you.  Only then shall you be worthy to reign by his side."

         And she left Lily in the dungeon, locking the door behind her.  

         At morning's arrival, the Shadow Lord, furious with his mother for her deception, stormed into the dungeon to rescue his delicate love.  But upon opening the heavy door, he found her curled atop the bed of nails, sleeping the slumber of a babe.  He knelt beside the bed and kissed her smooth, glowing forehead, and she awoke to his touch with a smile.

         "Dear Lily, did you sleep well?" he asked of her mind. 

         "As I haven't slept in years," came the answer.  He helped her stand and as he led her up the stairs, she explained. 

         "I was born a deaf and blind mute.  Mother and I were poor, for I cannot remember living in a shelter.  But God provided the forest as our home.  The trees and sky were our walls and ceiling, the leaves our bed, and the stones our chairs and table.  And we never wanted for food.  We had sweat peas and yams aplenty, and turnips always at our fingertips.  Mother used to carry me as she gardened.  She would snuggle me in a binding of fabric cinched to her breasts and I could feel her crouching and tugging with her hands; I could smell soil overturned. 

         "But soon I grew too big for her to carry.  Then God provided again.  For each day she dropped me in the midst of a bramble bush, so no animal nor bandit could harm me if she strayed too far.  She always supplied me a gourd filled with water and a basketful of berries to tend my physical needs until she returned.  But at times, I grew lonely.  As I couldn't cry out, I learned to adapt.  I made friends of the creatures that would creep along my skin.  I learned how to position my body in ways that would allow me to nap and play comfortably, despite the prickles.  I even came to feel safe there.  Thus, I slept last night as a child, without the cares or worries of a woman.  My beloved mother found heaven two years ago, and I have since been alone.   I've slept little all these lonely nights.  So I must thank your Lady Mother, as she has done me a great service."

         Absorbing her thoughts, the Shadow Lord's heart filled with delight, as he knew indeed God had a hand in this.  He married Lily upon his birthday a week later, with his mother's full consent.  The Lady Mother prepared a wedding feast of roots and stems steamed to perfection.  She served chilled beet juice spiced with the heart of a cherry blossom.   Lily wore a black gown of velvet rose petals gathered by the roaches, and a veil of finest lace spun by the spiders.  For her shoes, a salamander curled around each dainty foot, their marbled skin glistening like jewels, reflecting the soft blue glow of Lily's complexion. 

         When the groom kissed his bride, the dark kingdom praised God in reverent silence, as they loved their Shadow Lord, and had long prayed for his happiness.  And from that moment on, the Shadow Lord and his Lily Love were inseparable, sharing days of quiet walks hand-in-hand, kisses stolen beneath the cool of perpetual shadows, and nights of tender passion. 

         But of every moment they shared, their most cherished were their internal conversations... some portioned out to their children, some to their Lady Mother, but most held private within their own kindred thoughts.

 

Copyright 2006, Anita G. Howard

An active member of Panhandle Professional Writers and involved with a writing critique group, Anita began writing seriously when she lost her grandfather to cancer.  The hole he left in her life will never be filled, but exploring words and fictional characters offers an outlet for her emotions.  

Now, five years later, she divides her days between working at a local middle school, spending time with her husband, children, and Labrador Retrievers, and plotting on her next writing project.

As of date, she has several short stories published on online venues, but her ultimate goal is to write novels. 

 

 

Cover: "Fiery Crash" 

On a rugged outpost planet, the incoming shuttle experiences problems. Will anyone survive?

L. S. King shares her Bryce original creation with us, hinting at stories that might be found in The Sword Review or sister publication, Ray Gun Revival < www.raygunrevival.com >, where King is on the editorial team. 

Copyright 2006, L. S. King