The Kingdom of Back(40)

A dream. As he shifted again, he let out another strangled gasp and sighed.

“I’ve searched for years,” he muttered this time, and in his voice was a song of mourning, the ache for summer when winter has already settled in. “Where are you?”

Hyacinth had been afraid of this ogre, and so was I, but even monsters must dream of fears and wants, and the sadness in his voice drew me closer. Now I could see the faint outline of his face in the night. What I’d imagined as the jutting jaw and ivory fangs of a beast, I now saw was a thick beard, aged and unkempt.

“Where are you?” he repeated.

Something told me I should answer, so I did. “Here,” I whispered.

He stilled, then turned his closed eyes toward the window, in my direction. I froze. “I heard you,” he said, wonder seeping into his voice. His lips, hidden beneath that hard beard, tilted into a hopeful smile. “There you are! Are you near the trees?”

I crept silently around his bed until I was on his other side. “Yes, near the tree line,” I answered.

“Ah!” he exclaimed, and turned to face me again, still asleep, his hands shifting against the sword’s hilt. His fingers twitched. “Are you safe?”

Who was he searching for, I wonder? I cleared my throat, then dared to step closer. “I am safe,” I replied, “although there is a great beast here, right across the river! Lend me your sword, so that I may fend him off.”

The smile wavered, and the ogre’s brows knotted. He hesitated, his grip still tight on the sword’s hilt. “It is very heavy. Will you be able to wield it?”

“I can,” I said, creeping closer. I stood right at the edge of the black drapes now, my hands poised near his. From here, I could see all the sword’s details, its red pommel stone and the fine curls of writing etched into its blade. “You will just need to throw it a bit farther.”

He murmured again, his voice too low for me to catch. Then, suddenly, his fingers loosened against the hilt.

Now. With a surge of strength borne of panic, I reached past the drapes and toward the hilt, my hands grasping it right as his hands started to close around it again.

“What is this?” he grumbled, his brows knotting deeper above his eyes.

I yanked the sword out of his loose grip before he could move again. The weight of it surprised me, and instead of pulling it to me, I stumbled and dropped the blade with a loud clatter on the floor.

The ogre startled, stiffened, and grew quiet. His eyes fluttered open.

I did not hesitate. I scrambled forward and hoisted the blade with both hands, then half ran, half stumbled toward the stairs. Behind me, I heard the bed groan as the ogre shot up and let out an angry snarl.

“What are you doing in my house?” he growled.

I didn’t look back. I rushed down the stairs, the blade bouncing heavily at my side, my arms already aching from carrying it. Heavy footsteps landed one after the other behind me. The door was wide-open now, blown askew by the wind, and I struggled to move faster.

A hand landed on my shoulder, yanking me backward. I cried out in terror.

“There you are, thief,” he said.

I shut my eyes tight and tried desperately to pull away.

A great wind surged underneath me then, and when I opened my eyes, I saw every window in the house blow open, the ogre falling backward as the west wind came to my aid. It carried me up into its embrace again, and then, as I clutched the sword closer to me, it lifted me out through the door and up into the sky.

A strangled cry of fury came from the ogre as he raced out into the clearing. When I looked over my shoulder, I saw him standing there, his figure growing steadily smaller, his face turned toward me in shock and rage, the woods and river and land around him turning back into blankets of darkness and silver ribbons. I trembled all over. The sword in my hands glinted in the night, reflecting starlight as the wind carried me up, up, back up to the clouds where Hyacinth waited.

His eyes brightened in delight when he saw me. “How brave you are, my Fr?ulein!” he said, taking me into his arms and kissing my hands. He marveled at the sword. “Very well done.”

I smiled, but the memory of the ogre’s dream lingered like a ghost in my mind, keeping me from feeling pleased. “Do you know anything about the ogre?” I asked Hyacinth as he ran a long finger down the sword’s blade.

“Oh?” Hyacinth said idly.

I told him about the ogre’s dream, the way he stirred and startled and called out in fear. “Who was he searching for, that he wanted to find so badly?” I said.

Hyacinth’s glowing eyes found mine, and for a moment, he straightened, touching my chin once. “The ogre hungers for flesh,” he explained in his wild, gentle voice. “He hunted the kingdom’s villagers, when they still lived here. All feared him. The ogre was surely dreaming of his hunt, and how to devour it.” He shook his head. “It’s a terrible thing to talk about. Let’s keep it between us, Fr?ulein.”

I thought about the way the ogre had tossed me his sword when I seemed in distress. It was not the response of a hunter to his prey. Still, I nodded and said nothing. Hyacinth was pleased, and I had fulfilled another part of my side of our bargain. Neither the grief of an ogre nor the crown emblazoned on his shield was something I was here to dwell on.





THE BOY IN FRANKFURT