He didn’t leave once Selma told him the guards had left the village, onto the next one no doubt. It was logic that stayed him. Here was as good a place as any to hide. Now that he knew they were ahead of him, the chances of them catching up with him were poor. He didn’t have to tell Selma that he couldn’t leave the one person he could be himself with. She understood. So he let himself be selfish.
Their days passed together in quiet companionship. She did whatever she still did, refusing to tell him, and he wrote his stories. What years of running hadn’t been able to heal, having each other did. The gloom on his head became easier to bear. He started to laugh more. He even began to tease Selma and when she teased him back, he could forget the yawning distance of time between them.
It was idyllic and it was liberating. And then when one night she whispered, “Tell me a story about bravery,” tucked like they were with their heads joined and staring at the stars, Arthur could pretend he was thirteen again and none of the bad things had happened.
*
There was once a sorceress who had never been in love. It was because of a curse that made her turn to stone at dusk and let her go from its clutches at dawn. It was difficult to fall in love in such a short period, she had come to realize. All the men she had found interesting didn’t want to put in the time so it could be quite useful, her curse, if she wanted to get out of a wooing, she didn’t particularly care for.
She was content in her little cottage by the sea. She made all kinds of potions and the townsfolk would come to her often, looking for a remedy or a mild curse that would help them get out of a chore they didn’t want to do. They often asked her why she couldn’t just magic away her own curse. She told them she wasn’t strong enough and the only sorcerer who could undo the curse was the one who had cast it and she was long dead.
What the townsfolk did not know was she was mighty strong. She just didn’t want to undo the curse. It had become like her crutch and she had become comfortable with it. She liked her life and couldn’t find it in herself to change it.
Also there was the small matter of her – sort of, maybe, only a little bit – fancying someone. No one could see him though, because he was a painting that she had acquired in lieu of a potion she had made. She had resisted at first but then put an enchantment on the painting. To give it a personality, she took a lock of hair from all her customers – she told them it was to tune the potions to them but in truth, it was for something else entirely. The hairs she collected, she would twine them into a braid and then tie it to the back of the painting.
She had been doing this for over two years now and the painting of the handsome Prince, for he was a Prince to her, had such fantastical personalities that here was never a dull day.
The sorceress though had done a naughty thing. She had tweaked her curse. When she turned to stone, she would become a stone with no feeling or sense of being a human. In a way it was a mercy. She couldn’t imagine living with the trauma of being trapped in stone. But the tweak allowed her to be aware of the Prince and he her. They would talk into the night and she would let herself believe it was him and not the hundred plus people whose hair she had used to power him.
Reality and magic collided one day when a man who looked decidedly like the Prince walked into her cottage.
“I wish to catch a witch,” he said without preamble, looking around the cottage with mild disapproval.
So amazed was she with the request, she couldn’t speak. It was like she had turned to stone! She cleared her throat and said, “You do know who I am, don’t you?”
The man laughed abashedly. “I do. I did not wish to cause offense. This witch that I wish to capture has ensorcelled me and I need to cut ties.”
She turned pale. She hadn’t thought her little enchantment would affect the real him. She said, “What do you mean? It is only that if I understand better, I can help better.”
He nodded and looked around. Understanding what he was doing, she pointed at a chair and asked him if he’d like some tea. Thankfully he declined.
“It is strange. It’s like an affliction that comes over me after sun down. I hear voices in my head and there’s a sorceress. Her voice is the clearest and it’s like she can see me because she’s talking to me. I need to stop her. I cannot function like this. My people will think their prince is unfit to rule!”
She gulped convulsively. But also had to smile, a gentle pride stealing over her. She had had no idea her enchantment had worked that well. She asked, “Do you talk to this…witch like you call her?”
The Prince’s hands had been on his knees, relaxed. At her question, they curled into two tight fists. He was angry, she realized. She had thought, hoped really that he would reciprocate her love. But he was furious at this attack on his person.
Without waiting for his answer, she said, “My specialty are potions. I’ll make one for you and it’ll…create a barrier,” she thought with some ingenuity, “between the witch and you. With time…”
“I don’t have time. Please.”
She took another breath. “Come back in an hour. I’ll have something for you.”
He bowed deeply and left.
She had to take a moment to gather her scattered thoughts. She aligned herself, went to her room and stripped off all the hairs she had attached to the painting. One by one she burnt all the locks and then the painting. After that she made a potion, which was basically some water mixed with ginger and honey, and waited for the Prince to return.
She let him go and because she was angry and upset, decided to undo her curse as well. It didn’t take any naked dancing around the fire. It was a simple curse that required a cauldron and a drop of her blood. Once the curse was broken, she set her eyes on the night sky filled with stars after eleven years.
She fell in love with the night and how the earth smelt when humans were home and how mischievous the sea could be. And when the Prince came back, insisting he wanted the witch and the prattle back because it turned out he couldn’t sleep without the cadence of her voice and he missed her terribly, she accepted him and let him fall in love with her too.
This is Chapter 20 of 26 of The Travelling Librarian series. Written as part of #BlogchatterA2Z.
Psst: I also have 2 ebooks on Kindle – and if you’re on Kindle Unlimited, they’re free!
- Read The Gunslinger here.
- Read 23 Letters of Love here.
tales of Suchita 
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