Part One

There once lived an enchanted Princess who was called Briar Rose. Briar Rose was not her name, though. She was called so because of the nature of her enchantment, which was to be trapped within a castle that was surrounded by an impenetrable thicket of Rose Briars. This briar patch was so densely intertwined, that any man attempting to hack his way through it – and there were many, over the years – would ultimately find himself trapped in the midst of the living wall, too far from help to be rescued. After a long period of loudly entreating for aid, and then just as loudly bemoaning their fate, these unfortunates would finally fall silent and die, either from infections caused by numerous piercings of the briars' poisoned thorns, or from simple lack of water and food.

There were many stories told about Briar Rose. Details changed from time to time, and from place to place. Here and now, it was an evil witch who enchanted her: there and then; a jealous stepmother. Sometimes she was said to be laying in a kind of eternal sleep, never aging, never waking. Other times the story told of how she was fated to wander the twilight between the Faery World and ours. But whatever the tale, what remained constant was her imprisonment beyond the thorny wall that surrounded her castle home: that, and the assertion that the Princess Briar Rose was waiting for someone Heroic enough to brave the magical barriers and come save her by breaking the spell.

And so, it came to pass that many would-be Heroes made their way just far enough into the thicket of thorns to get trapped and die. With the towering hedges woven together like chain mail, not even the crows could make their way down through them, in spite of the tasty morsels of trapped Heroes waiting to be feasted upon. In the thicket, only the flies and the worms held sway.

After much time, the colors of story of Princess Briar Rose became as pale as sun-faded dye on a near-forgotten tapestry. The tales of those failed Heroes, however, kept the legend alive, drawing ever more future story fodder into the tangle of barbs. Nobody really knew exactly what it was they were questing for, anymore. All anybody could say, was that so many brave and noble souls could not have died for nothing, and therefore, there had to be a pearl of great price hidden beyond the briars that gave that pearl her name.

And so, it also came to pass, that one late summer's day, yet another would-be Hero came riding in off the long, open highway into the small village that was closest to the reported site of Briar Rose's enchanted castle. He and his cortege all took lodging at the local Inn; an Inn that had seen more than one of his kind: youthful adventurers with more ambition than sense. And sometimes more money too.

Such was the case with young Prince Gyllain, who hailed from a Principality (naturally) that was some three months' travel, by well-constructed carriage and well-appointed livery, from this remote, and not particularly handsome, village. Gyllain, like so many others across the countryside, had grown up hearing the stories of the bewitched Princess living in a place where enchantments still ruled. He had also heard, like so many others, the tales of the heroes before him who had come to break the spell, and who had died so nobly in their efforts.

What Gyllain had also grown up hearing, but which so many others did not, were the tales of his own forebears, and the Heroic acts and deeds that they had accomplished over their multifarious generations. Gyllain's father, and Gyllain's uncle, and Gyllain's grandfathers and great-grandfathers: in the palace where Gyllain grew up, there was a wall the size of a cliff, and on it was a tapestry that covered the entire wall. This tapestry was of a tree; a tree whose many branches and leaves all represented heroic acts and deeds, and all marked with names, none of which were Gyllain's.

A fact that Gyllain's entire extended family made quite sure that he was never forgetful of. Somewhere in the vast reaches of that woven tree, there was a bare twig waiting for a leaf with Gyllain's name and deeds stitched upon it. And so it was a long and sometimes sorrowful tale that led to Prince Gyllain being here at this Inn on the edge of the distant northern mountains, below the hilltop where rested the fabled castle surrounded by its enchanted shrubs. Though it was when he dismounted his horse at the edge of the thicket, ready to prepare his own assault on the enchantment, that his part in this story did truly begin.

Gyllain began by walking around the perimeter of the thicket. It was awe-inspiring, to say the least, to stand before something that he had heard stories of his entire life. Stories so numerous and fanciful, that he had nearly come to believe that none of them were true at all. That he would have arrived at this village to learn that there had never been a castle, or an enchantment, or even a Briar Rose. It elated him to no end, then, that at least some of it was true. And if the castle and the thorns were true, then perhaps it was all true. All true, after all.

Each day when he arose, Gyllain washed and groomed and dressed in his finest: expensive suede breeches and polished knee-high leather boots with buckles of silver that gleamed. He shaded his brow from the sun with a plumed, black and silver tricorn hat. He wore a white silk shirt and a white silk cravat, and a coat of deep green velvet so lush it felt like the pelt of a creature of heaven. The coat had large embroidered cuffs, and these were woven from thread that was itself made of pure spun gold; an extravagant gift from some nobleman looking to curry favor. If ever there was an occasion for wearing it, this was it.

Gyllain also wore a short sword, a rapier, with an engraved handle in a scabbard on his belt, although he had already decided that hacking one's way through the thorns was not the method that would bring success in this endeavor. Exactly what would bring success, Gyllain wasn't sure. He had faith in himself, though. He knew he would find the solution, if he just looked long and hard enough. He was prepared to take as long as it took, to do so.

To this end, he set up a camp at the edge of the thorny wall. He had a stock of provisions, and as time went by, he sat by a fire at night cooking dinner and considering his observations of the day. Then he would sleep. The next day, while his horse contentedly grazed on the long, summer-bleached grasses that grew along the sloping hillside, he set out and observed some more.

And observe he did. He made many observations, and he cataloged them all. It took one hour by the sundial to walk the perimeter all the way 'round. If he climbed a nearby tree, he could barely see the tops of the castle towers in the center. The briars were high enough to start casting shadows by mid-afternoon. The sky was generally clear, but clouded up most afternoons. It had not rained since he had been here. The moon was waxing, and each night was a little brighter than the last.

The ground was stony; the grasses were high; the thicket was a series of bushes so close together that it was impossible to follow even one single branch from root to thorn. There were birds in the surrounding copses of trees but none in the thicket or even roosting on it's highest branches. In fact, it seemed that animals avoided the place altogether. Even his horse spent most of the day grazing down the slope of the hill. The bushes themselves were profuse with pale pink flowers that looked like layers of crinoline, and the thorns that grew in even greater profusion were long and black and shone with the sheen of poisonous oils that sometimes oozed and dripped from their tips.

By the fourth morning, Gyllain was beginning to wonder what he was a going to do with all of his observations. He had a quite a lot of them, but they didn't seem to add up to anything. He had never done this sort of thing before, and so had no real idea of how to go about it. His father had been no help; the man was so completely filled with his own exploits he only had time to scoff at his son for not yet having had any of his own. Asking his father how to go about it would be like asking how to take a piss while standing up. Worthy only of scorn.

And so on the fourth morning, Prince Gyllain walked somewhat dejectedly around the perimeter of the thicket once again, wondering if there was anything he might not have observed yet. In truth, he wasn't much observing anything at all any more. Mostly he just looked down at the ground and kicked at stones that were in his path. It was for this reason that he didn't know he was not alone until heard a sharp gasp in front of him, and when he looked up he gasped himself.

There was a girl, standing maybe ten paces ahead of him. She had long red hair pulled and tied, or perhaps braided, behind. She wore a simple dress, of a style he had seen locally. Gyllain could see that she was as startled as he was; perhaps even frightened. Her eyes were a bright, hard green, and were wide and fully alert as she stared at him. Her entire body seemed tensed, as though she were about to bolt, and for a moment he was sure that was what she was going to do. Then all at once she visibly relaxed, as if she had decided that flight was not an option and it was better to stand and wait.

Who are you? Gyllain asked. Where did you come from? I've been up here for days and I've seen no one at all.

The girl cocked her head and regarded him, apparently unafraid now.

Well?, the Prince demanded. Can you speak?

I can, said the girl.

Good. Who are you? Where did you come from?

I'm from here, said the girl, answering the second question first. I live here.

You live where?, asked Gyllain, looking around. Here? I've been here for days, I've seen nobody at all. No one lives here.

If no one lives here, said the girl, then what did you come here for?

If you're from around here, then you must know the legend of this place, said the Prince.

Of course, said the girl. This is the home of the Princess Briar Rose.

Amused at her tone, Gyllain said to her, You sound as though you personally know her.

I do, the girl responded.

The Prince stared at her. I don't understand, he said. What do you mean, you know her?

I am her servant. I am her lady-in-waiting.

What?

I am Meridian, and I am the handmaiden to the Princess Briar Rose, said the girl.

That cannot be, said Gyllain, in shock.

Why not?, said the girl.

Because... there is an enchantment on this place. If you were Briar Rose's handmaiden, you would be trapped in there with her, waiting to be rescued.

I am, said Meridian.

Then how can you be here?, snapped the Prince.

I am here because you are here, said Meridian.

Because I'm here?

Yes. You wish to find a way into the castle, do you not?

Of course I do. I've come here to break the enchantment on the Princess.

Do you know how to break an enchantment?

Who are you?, said Gyllain impatiently. Some daft farm girl, come up here to plague me? Be off, before I take a crop to your backside. He turned angrily, staring off in the other direction. After a moment, hearing nothing, he whirled around again, ready to berate her further. But when he turned back, there was nobody there at all.

Where are you?, he called out, but though he searched for an hour after that, he didn't see her again. That night, he sat up long beside the fire, unable to sleep for thoughts of the strange girl who called herself Meridian.

If Prince Gyllain hoped she would make another appearance, he was not disappointed, though it was not until late the next day that she did so. Because of the way she had vanished, he was now inclined to believe that she perhaps did play some important role in the unraveling of this mystery. So he spent the day slowly walking the perimeter, and when he finally heard a quiet shuffling behind him, he turned to see her standing there once again. Her long red hair was bunched beneath a kerchief. She wore a peasant's dirndl, the long skirt woven of some practical, sturdy fabric. She inclined her head and looked at him through lashes that seemed unnaturally long.

Good day, he said to her.

Good day to you, Sir, she said, and curtsied.

Gyllain took a breath. I'll only ask you this once, and whatever your answer, I'll take it to be true, he said. Do you really live there in the castle with the Princess Briar Rose?

I do, said Meridian.

Gyllain felt a tightness let go inside of him.

I want to help, he said. Can you help me break the spell?

No, she said. Any spell you break must be done by your own lights, I'm afraid.

Can you help me at all?

If I can, I shall. You need but to ask.

You come and go, through the thicket?

I do, said Meridian. There is a way.

Can you show me?, he asked her. Can you show me the way through?

I am the way through, she replied.

That's an odd thing to say, Gyllain mused.

Nevertheless, it is true, said Meridian. Do you wish to pass through the briars and enter the castle?

I do. You can show me the way?

I can take you through. But I will not take you unless your motives are pure.

My motives are as pure as a newborn babe, Gyllain cried. I seek to rescue the Princess from her bondage within the thorns. What could be more pure than that?

The Princess is not in bondage, though, said Meridian. And while you may seek to rescue her, rescue is not what she seeks for herself.

But she has been trapped within this living wall, for Lo these many years, replied the Prince. There must be some terrible enchantment upon her.

Yes; she is cursed with eternal youth and beauty, but that which may only be admired from afar. Isn't that terribly sad? said Meridian.

I would change that if I could, Gyllain told her.

By what? Taking her away from her home?

But her home is a prison! Why would she want to remain trapped?

Well, it matters little, said Meridian. The Princess doesn't wish to be rescued; therefore you shall not rescue her.

I could wait until you go back there on your own, and just follow you in.

You could, said Meridian. But I doubt you would get very far.

Oh, please, I implore you, said the Prince. Grant me entry into the castle. I swear to you I'll do nothing that the Princess doesn't wish done. But only allow me to hear it from her own lips. Isn't that fair enough?

I'm afraid not, Meridian replied. She regarded the Prince in a way that made him feel that she was reading something that was written on his face. No, she said, you would have to agree beforehand to the Princess' conditions.

Her conditions?

That is correct, Meridian told him. And if you cannot agree to them, then you can never gain entry into the castle.

Well, what are they?

Only this: that rather than take her away from her home, that you will remain there with her, until the final turning of the Wheel of Time.

If that is what it takes for me to be allowed into her presence, then swear to it I will. Gladly.

At this, Meridian lowered her eyes, so that the long lashes nearly touched her pale, freckled cheeks, and she looked demure; even shy. It startled Gyllain, for he had not thought the hard-eyed servant girl capable of such softness.

Do not make vows when you do not fully understand what you are promising, Prince Gyllain, she said, her voice now as soft as her lowered face.

I do not make promises I cannot keep, he said defiantly, drawing himself up. In truth, I ought to be insulted that you even suggest it.

And what if I had lied, and she is actually an ancient, hideous hag, after all this time? Would you keep to your promise then? Think before you answer, Prince.

If staying there by her side, regardless, is the price for the answer to this Mystery, then I shall willingly pay it, said Prince Gyllain. She has my word on that.

Meridian looked at the Prince, and he was once again struck by the notion that she was reading something engraved upon his very face.

I will take you, she said.

You will? Excellent. I only need to go back to my camp to pack a few things---

Take nothing but what you have on your person right now, said Meridian. Carry nothing else.

Gyllain hesitated, the request making him feel uncomfortable.

And I cannot take you now. Meet me again tomorrow.

But why? Asked Gyllain. What is there to stop us from leaving this moment?

Do you see that tall Hickory tree off in the distance? said Meridian, pointing to a place somewhere over Gyllain's shoulder. He turned and did, indeed, see the tree standing alone partly down the grassy slope.

Yes, he said, but when he turned back, Meridian was no longer there. This time he knew better than to go search for her. Instead, he returned to his camp, made a fire, cooked himself dinner, and sat up most of the night, unable to sleep for his anticipation of what the next day would bring.

The next day seemed as thought the the sun had slowed its course across the sky. Meridian did not appear again until the shadows had grown long, and the bright colors of the day were beginning to dim.

I was afraid you would not return, said Gyllain.

And now you need fear no longer, said the girl. I am here.

You will show me the way through the thorns?

I will take you. You must stay close to me. The way is narrow, and dangerous, but I can see you to the other side. You must follow my instructions exactly, and not speak to me once we have begun, until we have passed completely through. Do you agree to that?

I do, said the Prince.

Then follow me, said Meridian, turning and walking away. She held up her skirt, so the hem just barely brushed the dewy grass. Prince Gyllain saw that she was barefoot. He followed close behind.

They walked along the perimeter of the circle of Rose Briars, but everywhere Gyllain looked, he was unable to see even the smallest opening through which even an animal might makes its way safely. Even rabbits, he thought to himself, would not deign to make this tangle of madness their homes. When Meridian stopped walking, the late day sun was directly opposite them on the circle of thorns, and the thicket before them stood in shadowed gloom.

Now what? Gyllain said to her. There is nothing different about these bushes than any other part of the circle. How are we to get through?

The opening is here, said Meridian, in a voice of calm assurance. But as I said: once we enter into the hedge, you cannot speak to me until we have gone through to the other side. This is very important. You must agree to it.

I agree, I agree! said Gyllain, his patience beginning to wear thin. Girl; do you see the time of day? I'm sure even you don't wish to get caught in the midst that tangle of insanity when the day turns to dark.

And right you are, said the girl, and with that, she turned and walked directly up to the seemingly solid wall of leaves, branches, and long, black thorns. Gyllain followed, still baffled, but holding his tongue. She stood with her back to him, and he waited.

Take hold of my sash, she said without turning around. Get a good grip. Watch me closely as we go. Do everything I do, exactly as I do it. The thorns, as you know, are poisoned. Follow me, remain silent, and you will pass safely to the other side. Are you ready?

I am, he said. No; wait: hold a moment.

He had just had a thought come to him that overwhelmed even his need to begin the passage.

Yes?

You called me by my name yesterday.

Pardon? Meridian had not turned around: he was speaking to her back.

I never told you who I was, said Prince Gyllain. But you know my name.

And now you know mine, said Meridian. So we are equal in that respect. Are you ready?

He wanted to say more but didn't. Instead, he repeated, I am.

Then take hold, said Meridian, and he did, looping his fingers beneath the fabric of the bright yellow sash that wound tightly about Meridian's waist.

Meridian moved at a slow but steady pace. Gyllain quickly learned to anticipate her moves, and he was able to place his feet exactly where hers had been, and to lean this way or that in the exact same manner as she. It was as though, by holding onto her sash, he had become an extension of her own body. Moving exactly as she did came to him as thoughtlessly and easily as taking a breath. In fact; the more he thought about it, the more difficult it became. So he didn't think about it at all.

There certainly was a path through the briars. But the very nature of the hedge was to confound the senses. The passageway they traveled was invisible to him even as they walked it. Gyllain wondered how Meridian was able to negotiate it with such elegant grace. The trail was a labyrinth, looping and curving in on itself, before righting and heading deeper toward the center. The center of the circle where waited the enchanted castle, within which lived the enchanted Princess; a truly worthy partner for one Heroic enough to win her.

He had no idea how long they had been in the thorns; he only knew that the gloom around them was deepening with every passing minute. He looked up, wondering if the sky had gone dark. Instead, he saw that the briars reached high above their heads and wove together into a canopy. It was as though they were moving through a tunnel made of branches and leaves. For a moment he nearly forgot himself, and opened his mouth to say something: what, he wasn't even sure; he was so used to barking commands that he might have been ready to order her to pick up the pace. But even as his vocal chords tightened, he remembered her admonishment to silence, and he choked whatever he was going to say back into his chest.

After that, Prince Gyllain surrendered himself to keeping hold of Meridian's sash, and following her into the gloom.

All of a sudden they passed through a stone archway and instantly the foliage was gone. Gyllain turned to see that the archway was the gate in the outer wall of the castle, and that the great wooden doors had fallen from their hinges, wrapped in the spiky vines of the briars. Elsewhere, the briars grew with uniform thickness directly up to the stone wall, and clung to it like some kind of malevolent ivy.

We got through! Cried Prince Gyllain in wonder. Meridian gazed at him with a bemused smile.

Of course we did, she said.

Gyllain looked at the place of his journey's end for the first time. A road, overgrown and in disrepair, ran straight through open fields growing wild with long grass. He saw derelict huts with thatched roofs falling in on themselves. He saw an abandoned plow made nearly invisible by weeds. The distant dark inner walls of the castle, and the seemingly empty courtyard beyond them, felt bleak and uninviting. Twin crenelated towers topped by ragged banners rose against the last light of day; blistered clouds burned like a fever in the sky.

And Princess Briar Rose resides behind those walls, he said, uttering the words as though they were a prayer. What dark enchantment would keep her in a place such as this?

I know not, said Meridian, looking up at the changing sky. It is not my place to ask. Neither is it yours.

The Prince bristled, though at the same time he felt a certain admiration for her boldness. You are impertinent, he said. I daresay you're on the edge of deserving a good thrashing.

I hope I haven't offended you, Good Sir, said Meridian, lowering her eyes again.

Now you tease, retorted the Prince. You have the advantage of me, knowing I've put myself in your hands.

Aye, that you have, said Meridian, looking up. Do you now regret the decision?

Gyllain thought of many things to say, then thought better of all of them. Instead, he stared across the abandoned field again. The castle was dark, with no lights burning in any of the windows. No torches lit the gate. No guards could be seen patrolling the walls; no farmers could be seen in the field.

Does no one live here, but you and the Princess? He asked. What do you do for provisions?

I know not, said Meridian, a note of wonderment in her voice. That's rather strange, isn't it? It must be a consequence of the enchantment.

You don't know where it comes from?

I don't know if we need any. I can't quite remember the last time I had a meal.

Well, I'm not enchanted, so I hope you at least have some bread and meat for me. And some ale or wine would be nice. Please tell me you have that?

I can tell you that you will never want for anything here, said Meridian. That is, unless you choose to want for it. Shall we go to the castle now?

Will you take me to the Princess?, asked Gyllain.

Not tonight, said Meridian. But you will be made comfortable. Not to worry.

Gyllain was going to protest, but again he thought better of it. He had agreed to submit to her rules; that is what he would do. This girl was a means to an end. A glorious end. He could wait.

Prince Gyllain believed, you see, that the only reason the Princess might refuse to leave this place, would be because of the enchantment that was laid upon her. He also believed that the breaking of such spells and enchantments could always be achieved. Achieved by a truly heroic effort, made by a pure and sincere spirit, to rescue the victim from the dark magic that holds her in thrall. It was this heroic effort that Gyllain intended to accomplish. This was what he had come here for. For the first time in his life, he thought he might actually be catching a whiff of the smoky fragrance of Destiny. A heady scent it was; one he thought he could get used to.

And so, he kept his silence as he followed the servant girl Meridian across the empty field blowing with dry grass, toward the home and prison of her Mistress. The sky, which he had thought clear outside the thicket, was quite cloudy now. With the last of the sun gone out of sight, those clouds had turned the color of weather-stained pewter, lowering and dark. As they approached the inner gate, he saw that there was a light: the doors to the castle stood open, and a fire burned in a large hearth inside the front hall.

Inside, the flagstone floor was covered with various rugs placed about. Clustered around the hearth was a semi-circle of sofas, and large stuffed seats, but there were no tables in the room, and no sideboards where one might expect to find food and drink. The Prince walked over to the sofa that faced the hearth, and sank down onto it. It was exquisitely soft and welcoming, and in the warmth of the fire, he immediately felt his eyes grow heavy.

Fighting his fatigue, he lifted his head to say something to Meridian, but when he looked about, she was not in the room. There was the open front door, and there were two open archways on either side of the hearth, but he had not seen nor heard her leave.

Meridian?, he called out, but even that felt like too much of an effort. Meridian, are you there?

Meridian didn't answer, and so Prince Gyllain leaned his head back against the plush upholstery of the sofa, closed his eyes, and sank into a deep, and dreamless, sleep.

Part Two

Gyllain awoke leaning back on the sofa, his legs splayed before him, his boots kicked off sometime in the night and left where they had hit the floor. Grey light spilled in through the open doorway, and in the hearth, the fire continued to burn. It appeared as though someone had fed it fresh wood during the night. He looked around sleepily, and noted that he was alone.

He sat up, struggled to reach his boots and then pull them on, and stood, first urinating copiously into a chamberpot, and then stretching and unknotting unusually cramped muscles. He stepped over to the open door and looked out. The courtyard had once been paved with cut stones, but most of them had become dislodged by the roots of trees that grew up through the cracks. In the center of the courtyard was the well; a wide, circular stone wall about waist-high, and set around it were wooden buckets attached to long chains that were bolted to stone basins on pedestals.

Gyllain descended the uneven stone steps and crossed to the well. He picked up a bucket and dropped it down to the water, then pulled it up on its chain and filled the stone basin with water. He washed his face, rubbing it briskly, trying to stimulate some wakefulness into himself. He felt dull, and lethargic. The air was warm, heavy and still, and the sky was a ragged quilt of low dark clouds, as it had been every morning since he had arrived here.

That thought took him by surprise, and he stood there, blinking stupidly in the gauzy light, staring without understanding at everything around him. How many mornings, had he awoken here, performing these same rituals, thinking these same thoughts? It seemed to him that it must be many. How many mornings? In his mind's eye, bright and dark slices of days and nights riffled through his memory like a magician's deck of cards. How many mornings? He might have been here for weeks, months – years, even, for all he knew.

He heard a sound behind him and turned to see Meridian coming down the same stone steps from the open castle doors. He watched as she approached, deftly sidestepping the broken stones of the courtyard and slipping up to the well, where she, too, picked up a bucket and dipped it for water.

Good morning, she said to him, pulling the bucket up and pouring it into another stone basin. She put down the bucket and, using a cloth that she wet with water, leaned over the basin and gently cleaned her face, ears and neck. Gyllain stood there watching her, still trying to make sense of the broken-mirror bits of memory that lay scattered inside of his head.

Meridian, he said thickly. How long have I been here?

I don't keep track of the days here, she said to him. I've found it to be a rather futile pursuit. The days come, and then they go. Like water in a stream. Would you try and count the drops?

I don't know what that means, said Gyllain. Why hasn't the Princess seen me yet? Does she even know that I am here?

Of course she knows. She knows everything that happens here. As to why she hasn't seen you; only she can answer that question.

Such impudence, said Gyllain. You speak like that in front of your Lady, do you?

I serve her to the best of my ability, said Meridian. If there have been complaints, they have not come from her.

Well, you can take a message to her from me, that I request – no; that I demand – either audience with her, or reason as to why I won't be granted one.

I thought you abhorred impertinence, Sir, she said. It would be unseemly for me to pass such on from you, would it not?

You sassy little wench, snarled the Prince. I'll take a hickory stick to you yet before this is all over. Just wait till I report on you to your Mistress.

You find me repulsive, said Meridian, her frown making her face hard, her eyes harder still. A repulsive servant girl whom you can despise.

I do not, said Gyllain. When you aren't working so hard to make yourself disagreeable, I find you quite fair.

Do you, now? One would never guess from your words and the way you use them.

Prince Gyllain gazed at her, and wondered if even this exchange might have occurred for many mornings prior to this one.

Accept my apologies, Lady; I allowed my impatience to get the better of me.

Meridian said nothing, but inclined her head instead.

But I must be true to my quest. You do understand that, yes? There is an evil enchantment about this place. Someone needs to be the one to break the spell holding Princess Briar Rose.

You agreed to stay here, if I took you. Until the final turning of the Wheel of Time.

I agreed to abide the wishes of the Princess Briar Rose. But as of now, I know not what those wishes are.

But I told you what they are, said Meridian. I haven't been dishonest with you.

Haven't you? If she knows that I am here, why hasn't she allowed me into her presence?

I cannot say.

No? I am here to free her from all this. Why has she not acknowledged me? I can only presume that she is being kept from doing so.

Kept from doing so?, said Meridian. By whom?

By you, of course.

By me? I am not her Mistress; she is mine. I do not make her choices for her.

I do not believe she would choose to stay here.

Briar Rose is here of her own accord. And I am here to serve her will.

I don't believe you.

Meridian looked at him but said nothing.

I wonder if perhaps it is you who are holding her here, said the Prince.

Meridian's eyes changed for the very briefest instant. Gyllain saw something flat, and cool, and quite unknown to him in them. The Prince felt, in himself, the hint of something that in a lesser man would have been called fear. The need to erase that sensation made him only bolder.

Perhaps you are the Enchantress, he said. Perhaps this is your domain, and the Princess Briar Rose is held in your thrall.

You would say such a thing?, said Meridian. Now she simply looked sad. After what I did for you. How very low of you.

You could have brought me here to be a prisoner, too. How am I to know?

So, I am a witch, is that it?

All I know is that the Princess is under an enchantment, bound here, and all that has prevented me from going to her since I got here has been you.

It is not she who is under an enchantment, said Meridian. It is not she who is bound.

Who, then?, said the Prince.

Are you so blind? Me, of course.

Prince Gyllain stared at the servant girl, faintly stunned at her outburst. But Meridian was not done.

I am the one bound to this place, she cried. I am a slave to her every whim. My life belongs to her. I do her bidding day by day. At night, her dreams invade my sleep, so that even that respite is denied me. If you wish to break a spell, then break the one holding me. Leave Briar Rose to her branches and thorns, and take me away from this place.

How can you be prisoner here?, he asked. When first we met, you had left this place on your own, and now you've taken me back with you. Whereas the Princess has never left here at all.

I am bound to always return, said Meridian. Until the spell upon me is broken.

And how is that to be done?

Take me away with you. Take me away from this place.

How can I do that?, said Gyllain. I needed you just to get here.

I can show you the way. But you must take me. It must be your Will that breaks the spell, not mine.

A light dawned in Prince Gyllain's mind. This is why you brought me here, then. Not so I could fulfill my Quest, but so I might help you to escape instead! This was not for the Princess. This has all been for yourself!

Your Quest is to break an enchantment. Why is it you cannot break mine? Is that not good enough?

No, because my Quest is to save the Princess Briar Rose, Gyllain thought, but he thought better of speaking it, so he did not. He was desperately trying to make sense of all this. Could it be true? Could it be that Princess Briar Rose was herself the enchantress? No; this girl must be lying to him. He had studied enough of heroic deeds and acts to know that a hero needed his Wits about him at all times, and he needed his Wiles to make the most of what comes along. He would find a way to make this work for him.

So you are under a spell, he said to her, but your Mistress is not; is that it?

Prince: free me, and you will have broken all the enchantments you will ever need to. Of that, I can promise you.

And all I need do is to take you away from this place?

That is all you need do, said Meridian. But, of course, you can never come back here again. Because you will have gotten what you came for.

And you swear that it is not you who keeps me from seeing the Princess?

Only Briar Rose decides what happens to Briar Rose, said Meridian. My swearing to it changes nothing. Especially whether or not you believe me.

Alright then, said Gyllain. I'll take you. My retinue is staying at the large Inn on the west end of the village. Or they were. After so long, they might have given me up for lost or dead.

They will be there, said Meridian. Time moves differently here. You will see.

Fine, then. Do you need to take anything with you?

I have everything I need, said Meridian. But we cannot go now: the morning has grown late. When we awaken tomorrow. Will you take me then?

I will take you, said the Prince. We will go from this place, with you showing me the way. We'll make our way to the Inn, and stay there for the night. You will be given your own room. After that, you can do as you will, and if you wish, I will take you with me to my palace, which is the capital city of my domains. And, again; if you wish; you can stay with me there.

If he expected to see servile gratitude in the servant girl's eyes, he was disappointed. Instead, she looked at him appraisingly, as though she were considering him in all his various facets. If it bothered him, however, he let it go by. He had another plan in mind, and he was busy thinking it through.

* * *

In the morning the Prince awoke as before, splayed out on the sofa before the fire in the hearth. Meridian, however, was already in the inner courtyard by the well, waiting for him.

It is best to leave during the waxing of the day, she said to him. Spells are most easily broken in the sunlight. She hesitated before speaking again. That is, if you still plan on holding to your promise of last night.

Of course I'm going to hold to it, said Gyllain. But I can't help but wonder if the Princess is going to make an appearance at all before we leave. After all; neither one of us will be coming back.

If the Princess plans on appearing, she will appear, said Meridian. If the Princess wants you to take her from this place, then she will be with you when you leave.

The Prince looked up at the darkened windows of the castle. Well, then. I suppose you're right. That being the case, we might as well make our leave now.

And so we shall, said Meridian, and she led him across the courtyard to the castle gate. Again, they passed through the fallow fields littered with abandoned tools. When they reached the gates of the outer wall, Gyllain turned back. The castle was as dark and desolate looking as the first time he'd laid eyes upon it. He had half-hoped to see the Princess herself coming toward them on the road, finally ready to leave this place forever. But there was nothing. Only the grasses, bowing in the wind.

Together, they walked up to the wall of briar thorns. Meridian repeated her instructions from the time she took him through from the outside. He grasped her sash with his left hand, ready to follow her through. But as she began to move, his free right hand began to pull at loose golden threads on his sleeve cuff; threads that he had spent the night before unraveling, ready to be pulled out, one by one.

As they moved through the thicket, he plucked one long thread of pure spun gold after the next, and allowed them to get caught on the branches and thorns of the hedge, leaving a gleaming trail: a trail that he would be able to come back and follow on his own, with no need for anyone to show him the way through anymore.

* * *

When the full moon filled the windows of the Inn with it's soft, silver-blue glow, Prince Gyllain slipped out of his room and down the stairs to the courtyard. All was quiet. Meridian had been right: only a day had passed here, in the time he had spent behind the thicket on the grounds of the enchanted castle. Even his horse had been waiting for him, and, gentleman that he was, he had allowed Meridian to ride the mare all the way down to the Inn. He had secured her a room, and they had ordered food and eaten, and then, after Gyllain gave instructions to his servants, they had each gone to bed.

The late summer night was filled with the grating music of the crickets, so loud that their chorus covered the crunching of his boots on gravel and crushed shells. He carried with him a lantern, unlit now in the brilliance of the moon, but which he knew he would need in the gloom of the thicket. A small leather knapsack was strapped to his back, and he carried a walking stick of polished hardwood, tipped by a shoe of steel. As prepared as he was ever going to be, he set out along the uphill track to that place where, behind a forest of thorns, waited the enchanted Princess Briar Rose.

He cast a final look back to the Inn, and cast a final thought to the servant girl Meridian, sleeping in her own bed in her own room there. She would be recompensed well for her aid; he had already seen to that with his orders to his staff. If she was to feel deceived, she would in time come to understand that his Quest was meant for a higher calling; to Right a Mighty Wrong that had been done to one both innocent and pure. He could think of no Nobler thing to do, than to risk himself, in the service of righting that wrong. Surely she who had served the Princess so faithfully for so long could understand that?

And then he was off; up the path, thinking now only of the future. It would require concentration and attention to manage this properly; but his trail of golden threads should not have been disturbed since his flight with Meridian back through the thicket. With care, and diligence, he would find his way to the castle once again.

It took him much longer than he had planned to find the entrance into the briars through which Meridian had taken him. Not an auspicious beginning. By the second trip around the hedges, Gyllain was practically making his way on his hands and knees, his arm aching from holding up the lantern close enough to spy the glitter of golden thread. When finally he found it, draped around a long black thorn, he placed the lamp down and rolled onto his back, as exhausted as though he had been on a hunt and pursued a wounded Hart on foot for a full half a day.

Now would come the most dangerous part of his journey; winding his way alone down the labyrinthine path through the briars. Carefully he examined the twisted branches of the hedge, and now he could see it: a space, between the hedges, large enough for a man to pass through. The reason it was normally invisible was because rather than opening a way directly into the bushes, it veered off at such an extreme angle that only very close inspection, by someone who already knew what he was looking for, would reveal it to the eye.

Carefully, he stepped into the space. He probed ahead with his stick, and held the lamp aloft before him; already the moon was on its descent to the west, and the bright moonlight that had lit his way from the Inn was a mere mockery of twilight here in the thicket. Leaning forward, he held out the lantern, moving it slowly back and forth until he saw the next tiny yellow gleam of gold. Then he would place the steel shoe of his walking stick at the spot where the thread was, and carefully make his way toward it, before once again searching for the next golden thread that would mark his way.

It was laborious, painstaking, and yet fraught with great tension, for fear of turning the wrong way and impaling himself upon the black, oily, poisonous thorns. As in the first time he had come through the thicket, he wore his rapier on his belt, but he knew from all the previous failures before him, that trying to hack his way through would be the last desperate flailings of a doomed fool. No: nothing less than total success – making his way completely through to the other side – would suffice in this enterprise. He could not even consider failure.

Slowly, carefully, he tracked the golden threads following the twists and turns of the path. The farther along he went, the more he sensed that something wasn't quite right. It wasn't just that it was taking longer, for he knew he was moving much more slowly than before. It was that the path itself seemed longer, more full of loops and reversals, than his memory of this trip would allow for. Were it not for his certain knowledge that he himself had blazed the golden trail, he would have assumed by now that he had somewhere along the route gone very wrong.

A drifting fog had risen from the ground, and it took what little moonlight was left in this night and thinned it like milk diluted by water. The thicket was a patchwork of faint luminescence fractured by a jackstraw jumble of jagged branches and spiky thorns. Although the path was wide enough for him to move along, the dim light meant he could only see a foot or so in front of him, even with the lantern's glow. He considered turning up the wick to make the way brighter, but hesitated, fearing that he might use up the oil in the lamp before making his way through to the gate in the castle's outer wall.

Slowly, he moved forward to the next gold thread, keeping his eye on it and the stick planted in the ground. When he was even with it, he once again thrust the lamp forward, ready to search for the next one, but this time he gasped and yanked his hand back so fast he nearly lost hold of the lamp itself. Horrified, he stared at the thin red line that had been scratched onto the back of his hand. He quickly brought it to his mouth, sucked on it, spat, and did it again. Then he very carefully held up the lamp, and looked.

Before him was a near-solid wall of branches, leaves and thorns. He looked for a possible turn to the left and the right; but the path he had been walking on had abruptly come to an end. Feeling something like the seed of panic begin to germinate inside of him, he slowly backed up until he could see the last thread he had encountered. It was caught on a leaf, and hung limply in the shadow. He reached out and took it; yes; it was one of the threads of spun gold that he had pulled from the cuff of his coat the day before. He had put this here. Then why could he not find the next marker of the path? Why did there seem to be no path at all?

He moved closer to where the next thread should have been, where now there was only thicket. He stared into the branches, moving the lamp back and forth to shift the shadows, until he saw something that caused a cold and icy flower to bloom in his breast.

There was the next golden thread marking the way. Only, it was not marking the way. It was tangled among thorns deep in a wall of shrubbery; so deep that he did not think he could reach through now to retrieve it. It was his own golden trail marker, caught in the vines. But it looked as though between the time he had dropped it and now, the thicket had completely overgrown the passageway that he had taken twice before.

No, he said aloud, startling himself at the sound of his own voice. This could not be. Or, rather, this must itself be a part of the enchantment. A terrible thought occurred to him. What if it was not the knowing of the path, but the being taken along it – by the Princess' handmaiden – that allowed one to break the spell? What if Meridian was the key to reaching the Princess after all, and by leaving her behind, he had made a devastating mistake? What was it she had said? I am the way through?

Prince Gyllain turned around, and then he saw that he had, indeed, made such a devastating mistake, for the pathway along which he had come was also sealed up again. He now found himself in a small space, big enough only to stand in and to turn around, with the poisonous thorns bristling at him from all sides.

He tried to remain calm while he considered what options lay before him. After all; it is the wiles of a Hero that allow him to survive those things that lesser men don't. He could cry out for help, though the likelihood of being heard was small, and being heard by someone who could help him was smaller. Would the Princess hear him, perhaps, and be able to come to his aid so that he might rescue her? It was a possibility.

He could take his sword and try to cut his way through. But this he already knew was futile. If he thought that the path opened up again just beyond this barrier, he might be able to make his way that far. There was no way to know for sure, though. Not in this darkness.

It seemed he would be forced to remain here, at least until the morning light allowed him to make a better assessment of the situation. Perhaps Meridian, when she awoke and saw he was gone, would deduce that he had come back this way, and perhaps take pity on him for the sake of his sincerity, and come to help him out again.

Of course, being a woman, she might not, and that was a worry.

He settled back to wait for the morning light, but all the while, his own thoughts harried him like pecking birds. Little pecking birds of despair, singing their songs of hopelessness, and of a certain knowledge that he had doomed himself though qualities he would rather not believe were his own. It was hard work, trying to ignore those twittering, pecking birds. Prince Gyllain could feel himself begin to weary greatly, and then he did despair for himself after all.

And in that despair the Prince cried out, to whom he did not know, or care, as long as aid might result from it. Help me! he cried, and then, Princess, if you can hear me, help me! I have come to break your enchantment, but now I need your aid! Someone help me, please! Princess, I beg you, please come!

He stopped, and closed his eyes. He pulled a water skin from his knapsack, and drank the cool water, trying to sooth his burning throat. When he opened his eyes again, ready to call out some more, he saw it: a faint golden light moving slowly deep in the thicket. His prayers had been answered. Help had come.

He waited, silent now, watching the warm light slowly make its way toward him. He moved closer to the thorny wall so he could peer into the hedge and see who his saviour was. Slowly, the light approached, until he could see the form of a woman behind it, dressed in a gown of long flowing sleeves and skirts. When the light stopped moving a short distance away, he waited.

Princess? Princess Briar Rose, is that you? I have come to be your Champion, Princess, and to break the enchantment that holds you here. Can you come to me, so that together we can find our way to freedom?

You were here before, whispered the Princess.

You saw me then.

Why did you leave?

I was deceived by your servant, said the Prince. She told me you stayed of your own free will. That she was the prisoner here. She convinced me to take her away. But she couldn't lie to me. I returned for you.

She did not lie, whispered the Princess.

The Prince found himself at a total loss for what to say to that.

You told her you would stay with her, said the Princess.

But I didn't tell her I wouldn't come back for you! Come with me now, and we can all live together outside of this place.

You were told you couldn't return.

But I left a... Prince Gyllain stopped and thought about what he'd been about to say. That he was going to show how clever he had been, to leave a trail of golden threads so that he might find his way back to rescue her. But look at how badly that had served him in the end.

Why did you come back?, asked Briar Rose.

I came back for you, said Gyllain.

Did you? she responded. For me? And what about for her?

But I didn't come for her!, said the Prince. I came to save you.

You chose wrong, whispered Briar Rose.

No, Princess, that cannot be. You truly don't wish to be saved?

Princess, will you help me? I need your help.

There was a long silence. Slowly, the warm golden light began to move again, coming closer through the thicket. Now Prince Gyllain could see that she carried a glowing taper in a silver holder, topped with a glass chimney. She came closer still, the light illuminating her. The Prince looked up into her face, and it was then that he saw the true nature of the fatal error he had made.

Princess Meridian, whose name had been all but forgotten, and was now known far and wide as Princess Briar Rose, moved closer still, until only a scrim of thorns separated him from her. She looked into his face, and her eyes held neither the hardness nor the softness he had seen in them. Instead, they were the cool, flat eyes that had disconcerted him so before. Prince Gyllain was brought to mind of nothing less than a spider. Pitiless.

You were asked for help, she said to him. You were given what you sought, but it wasn't enough for you, and you abandoned it. When you don't know who it is you seek, it's always best to treat strangers well. How sad you won't be able to pass that knowledge on to the next one, though.

Wait, he said, but she had already turned and was now moving away. Wait, he called out, louder, and as she vanished into the dark, he began to scream, and he screamed until his voice was nothing but air. When he could make no sounds anymore, not even grunts, Prince Gyllain drew his sword, and began hacking away at the thicket, cutting, cutting, and cutting again, and for all anybody knows, he may be cutting still. For such is the way that these sort of stories often end.

Impressum

Texte: (c)2011 October Light Studios
Tag der Veröffentlichung: 08.09.2011

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